I drove home with the pictures on the passenger seat and Ethan sitting obliviously in the back with Biscuit. Ms. Carter’s question kept looping through my head like a song I couldn’t turn off.
If that isn’t you, who is she?
I had no idea. And I had to find out.
“I’m going to figure this out.”
***
That night, after Ethan fell asleep clutching Biscuit, I sat on the edge of his bed and studied his face. I didn’t want to scare him, but I needed answers.
***
The following morning, over cereal, I tried to sound casual.
“Ethan, honey, can you tell me more about the lady in your pictures?”
My son didn’t even look up from his spoon.
I didn’t want to scare him.
“She has gray hair. And a red scarf. She sits on the bench by the gate.”
“Does she talk to you?” I asked.
“Sometimes. She asks if I had a good day. She waits with me until your car comes.”
I set my coffee down slowly.
“Does she ever ask you to go somewhere with her?”
Ethan shook his head.
“No, Mommy. She just waits.”
“Does she talk to you?”
***
That weekend, I dug out the class parent directory from the folder I’d shoved in a drawer back in September. I spent the whole weekend working my way down the room parent email chain, then calling every number that answered.
Nobody knew a gray-haired woman with a red scarf. Nobody had seen her at drop-off.
My chest tightened with every “Sorry, no.”
I dug out the class parent directory.
***
By Sunday night, I’d convinced myself she was dangerous. On Monday morning, I marched into the school office and asked to speak with Principal Davis.
“I need to see the security footage,” I said, my voice shaking. “There’s a woman near the gate every afternoon. She’s been talking to my son.”
***
Principal Davis folded his hands.
“Rachel, I understand. I’ll review the cameras today and call you this evening.”
I’d convinced myself she was dangerous.
I nodded, but I couldn’t shake the guilt crawling up my throat. Because deep down, I knew why she had time to talk to Ethan. I was always late.
***
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