was always the hypothetical: You arestanding with your comrades in arms and a grenade is thrown at your feet. Who flees? Who ducks? Who jumps on the grenade and sacrifices themselves? You can try to predict, but until the grenade is actually thrown, you don’t have a clue.
Maya had proven herself to her fellow soldiers repeatedly. They knew that under the pressure of combat, she could be cool, calm, collected. She was a leader who had displayed those qualities time and time again.
The odd thing was, this leadership and coolheadedness had not transferred to her real life. Eileen had told her about her little son, Kyle, who was so organized and tidy at his Montessori preschool—and such a mess at home. Something similar happened with Maya.
So as she stood over Isabella, as “Joe” entered the screen and put Lily on his lap, as Isabella’s facial expression didn’t change, Maya could feel something inside of her give way.
“Well?” Maya said.
Isabella looked at her. “Well, what?”
Something behind Maya’s eyes snapped. “What do you mean, well, what?”
Isabella cringed.
“How do you explain that?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Stop playing games with me, Isabella.”
Isabella took a step back. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Did you watch the video?”
“Of course.”
“So you saw that man, right?”
Isabella said nothing.
“You saw the man, right?”
Isabella still said nothing.
“I asked you a question, Isabella.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“You saw him, right?”
“Who?”
“What do you mean, who? Joe!” Maya reached out and grabbed Isabella by the lapels. “How the hell did he get into this house?”
“Please, Mrs. Burkett! You’re scaring me!”
Maya pulled Isabella toward her. “You didn’t see Joe?”
Isabella met her eyes. “Did you?” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. “Are you telling me you saw Joe on that video?”
“You . . . you didn’t?”
“Please, Mrs. Burkett,” Isabella said. “You’re hurting me.”
“Wait, are you saying—”
“Let go of me!”
“Mommy . . .”
It was Lily. Maya looked toward her daughter. Isabella used the distraction to push back and put her hand against her throat as though she’d been choked.
“It’s okay, honey,” Maya said to Lily. “It’s all okay.”
Isabella, acting as though she were catching her breath, said, “Mommy and I were just playing, Lily.”
Lily watched them both.
Isabella’s right hand was still on her own neck, rubbing it far too dramatically. Maya turned toward her. Isabella quickly raised her left palm toward Maya to signal for her to stop.
“I want answers,” Maya said.
Isabella managed a nod. “Okay,” she said, “but I need some water first.”
Maya hesitated and then turned toward the sink. She turned on the water, opened a cabinet, grabbed down a cup. A thought flashed across her brain.
Eileen had been the one to give her the nanny cam.
Maya considered that as she placed the glass under the faucet. She filled it halfway, turned toward Isabella, and then heard the strange hissing.
Maya screamed as the pain—white-hot pain—consumed her.
It felt as though someone were jamming tiny shards of broken glass directly into her eyeballs. Maya’s knee buckled. She dropped to the floor.
The hissing.
Somewhere in the clouds past the burning, past the agony, the answer came to her.
Isabella had sprayed something into her face.
Pepper spray.
Pepper spray not only burned the eyes but also inflamed the mucous membranes in the nose, mouth, and lungs. Maya tried to hold her breath so that it wouldn’t enter her lungs, tried to blink fast and hard and let her tears wash it away. But for now there was no relief, no escape.
Maya couldn’t move.
She heard the sound of someone running, then a door closing.
Isabella was gone.
* * *
“Mommy?”
Maya had managed to make her way to the bathroom.
“Mommy’s fine,
Maya had proven herself to her fellow soldiers repeatedly. They knew that under the pressure of combat, she could be cool, calm, collected. She was a leader who had displayed those qualities time and time again.
The odd thing was, this leadership and coolheadedness had not transferred to her real life. Eileen had told her about her little son, Kyle, who was so organized and tidy at his Montessori preschool—and such a mess at home. Something similar happened with Maya.
So as she stood over Isabella, as “Joe” entered the screen and put Lily on his lap, as Isabella’s facial expression didn’t change, Maya could feel something inside of her give way.
“Well?” Maya said.
Isabella looked at her. “Well, what?”
Something behind Maya’s eyes snapped. “What do you mean, well, what?”
Isabella cringed.
“How do you explain that?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Stop playing games with me, Isabella.”
Isabella took a step back. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Did you watch the video?”
“Of course.”
“So you saw that man, right?”
Isabella said nothing.
“You saw the man, right?”
Isabella still said nothing.
“I asked you a question, Isabella.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“You saw him, right?”
“Who?”
“What do you mean, who? Joe!” Maya reached out and grabbed Isabella by the lapels. “How the hell did he get into this house?”
“Please, Mrs. Burkett! You’re scaring me!”
Maya pulled Isabella toward her. “You didn’t see Joe?”
Isabella met her eyes. “Did you?” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. “Are you telling me you saw Joe on that video?”
“You . . . you didn’t?”
“Please, Mrs. Burkett,” Isabella said. “You’re hurting me.”
“Wait, are you saying—”
“Let go of me!”
“Mommy . . .”
It was Lily. Maya looked toward her daughter. Isabella used the distraction to push back and put her hand against her throat as though she’d been choked.
“It’s okay, honey,” Maya said to Lily. “It’s all okay.”
Isabella, acting as though she were catching her breath, said, “Mommy and I were just playing, Lily.”
Lily watched them both.
Isabella’s right hand was still on her own neck, rubbing it far too dramatically. Maya turned toward her. Isabella quickly raised her left palm toward Maya to signal for her to stop.
“I want answers,” Maya said.
Isabella managed a nod. “Okay,” she said, “but I need some water first.”
Maya hesitated and then turned toward the sink. She turned on the water, opened a cabinet, grabbed down a cup. A thought flashed across her brain.
Eileen had been the one to give her the nanny cam.
Maya considered that as she placed the glass under the faucet. She filled it halfway, turned toward Isabella, and then heard the strange hissing.
Maya screamed as the pain—white-hot pain—consumed her.
It felt as though someone were jamming tiny shards of broken glass directly into her eyeballs. Maya’s knee buckled. She dropped to the floor.
The hissing.
Somewhere in the clouds past the burning, past the agony, the answer came to her.
Isabella had sprayed something into her face.
Pepper spray.
Pepper spray not only burned the eyes but also inflamed the mucous membranes in the nose, mouth, and lungs. Maya tried to hold her breath so that it wouldn’t enter her lungs, tried to blink fast and hard and let her tears wash it away. But for now there was no relief, no escape.
Maya couldn’t move.
She heard the sound of someone running, then a door closing.
Isabella was gone.
* * *
“Mommy?”
Maya had managed to make her way to the bathroom.
“Mommy’s fine,
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