Most Wanted

42

SOPHIE CHO PUSHED THE BABY STROLLER DOWN A pathway darkened by an overhang of lush late-summer trees. With the sun high overhead at eleven o’clock, it was ninety degrees in the shade in Central Park. The air smelled of ozone and baking pavement; the pathway was completely deserted except for a professional dog walker escorting a lethargic group of terriers and poodles. She wondered where the experienced mommies went on a stifling morning like this. They had a secret gathering spot, she was sure-an air-conditioned museum perhaps, or a coffee shop.

She was heading for a sculpture she’d noticed and admired many times in the past, a whimsical brass rendering of Alice in Wonderland characters that she’d often seen covered in small, climbing bodies. She’d imagined herself there, shouting at a child who had her hair, her eyes-be careful, don’t fall. But as she wilted more with each step and Maya began to fuss, she knew she’d made a bad choice. That sculpture was best on a clear, cool day. Going there in the heat, like so much else in her life these days, was a mistake.

Dead calm, without the slightest stir of breeze in the trees. Sophie leaned down into the stroller and blew lightly on Maya’s face, earning a delicious giggle for her troubles. How could she possibly run away to Vancouver and leave this baby behind? Melanie’s job was so demanding, and her marriage was on shaky ground. As time went on, Aunt Sophie’s role in the little girl’s life would grow and grow. She imagined buying her clothes, taking her to tea at the Plaza, listening to her childish confidences. Giving up those dreams would feel like ripping her fingernails from her flesh. Yet she’d reached the point where she saw no other way out.

Maybe if she’d told Melanie that first night, when Jed was murdered and the fire broke out. Then it wouldn’t seem so much like she had something to hide. But would that have made any difference? Either what she did was a crime or it wasn’t. She didn’t know the exact legal answer to that question. The only person she could think of to ask was Melanie. But asking, of course, would reveal her secret, and then Melanie would never let her care for Maya again. Yet if she ran to Vancouver, she wouldn’t see Maya anyway. She just went around and around in terrible circles.

She reached the sculpture and took a seat on a bench, lifting Maya out of the stroller to sit on her lap. As she’d feared, they were the only ones here today. The sun beat down on her head as she pulled out a bottle filled with a mixture of one part apple juice to two parts water, exactly as Melanie instructed. She’d measured it out with great care. She held it for Maya, who began to suck happily, oblivious to the heat now that she was enjoying her favorite treat.

“Good girl. See, look over here, Maya. See all those funny critters? Aunt Sophie’s going to tell you a nice story about them. Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Alice.”

They were no longer alone. A young man came and sat down on the bench opposite. She smiled at him, proud to be observed mothering this child, wondering if he had children, too. Because, despite his intimidating appearance-he had small, cold features and multiple tattoos-he seemed to listen to the story with great interest.