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met
    with a chorus of giggles.
    Ah yes, it’s a breakfast
    to go down in the history
    of the Lutheran home, one
    to be retold in whispered tales,
    passed around by these good
    (if lonely) ladies. Only Greta
    seems unimpressed.
    Who does the man believe
    he is? Sean Connery? Now
    there’s an Irishman worthy
    of consideration, she jokes.
    Unlike some of the home’s guests,
    William is completely ambulatory.
    In fact, he gets around so well,
    I have to wonder why he’s here,
    flitting from woman to woman
    like a horny hummingbird.
    I watch, amused, until it’s time
    to clear the dishes. And that’s
    when he finally catches sight of me.
    Ah, such a sweet young rose.
    Who might I be addressing,
    my lovely little flower?
    For no discernible reason,
    my arms sprout goose bumps
    and my forehead leaks sweat.
    I start to say “Kaeleigh,” but my
    mouth clamps tight around my answer,
    squeezes shut around my name.

Memory Strikes Suddenly
    Chokes me. Strangles me.
    It was dark in my room.
    Very dark.
    Someone had closed the curtain.
    I was small. Maybe nine.
    Mommy wasn’t home.
    But Daddy was.
    He lurched through my door.
    That scared me. But why?
    He’d never hurt me before.
    Only touched me lovingly.
    Like any Daddy.
    So why did I tremble?
    Why did I catch my breath,
    hold it, as if
    I might never breathe again?
    Why did my heart feel
    like a race-car engine?
    Daddy must have heard it.
    Don’t be afraid, little flower.
    It’s only me.
    And almost instantly, Daddy
    made everything seem just fine.
    Even when it wasn’t.

I Didn’t Panic Then
    But here in the dining room,
    terror inflates inside me
    like a flame in a breeze.
    Especially when William
    echoes, Won’t you tell me
    your name, little flower?
    Blood rushes from my face
    to who-knows-where, and I feel
    weightless, helpless, a cloud
    in a cold, trembling sky.
    Just as I think I’ll turn and run,
    or worse, keel completely over,
    dearest Greta takes hold of me,
    props me up with the force of her.
    Kaeleigh seems to have taken
    ill, William. You and she can
    chat later. She guides me away.
    Will you come to my room for a while?
    It’s a question, not a directive,
    and for that I am grateful.

Unlike Everyone Else
    In my life, Greta knows when
    to stay silent. She sits me down
    in a chair by the window,
    settles into a rocker, opposite me.
    Then all she does is rock.
    I stare out over the fog-shrouded
    valley. The gray gulps me into
    it, infiltrates my brain. Sad.
    Will I ever find a way beyond
    this sad? Tears puddle my eyes.
    I let them fall, like how they
    feel, then come to my senses.
    “S-sorry,” I sniffle, not sure
    why, except it’s lame to cry,
    like it’s ever done any good.
    Sorry? What for? Greta asks. You’ve
    got some powerful demons, girl,
    but I’ve got a few of my own.
    Already told you I’m a good listener.
    Talk to me when you’re ready.

I Want to Talk
    But I’m     not really sure
what I can talk    about. Daddy?
    Not ever. Mom? Definitely not now.
The campaign is much too close to call.
    Raeanne? How I miss her, miss how
close we once were? Miss
the sisters we used to
be, before…
    Nope. Can’t     crack open
that particular    history book.
    Other family members, inexplicably
unable or unwilling to be a part of my
    life? Ian? Uh-huh. OMG! Greta is
undeniably right. Some very
intense demons have so
got hold of me.

I Go Over to Her
    Wrap my arms around her
    neck. “Thank you. But I’m
    okay.” Of course she knows
    it’s a lie.
    Greta, who patiently
    waits for my confession,
    can see demons hip-hopping
    in my eyes.
    She deserves a better answer.
    “Maybe someday we can
    trade stories, okay? But
    I’m on foot today.
    Better go.”
    Be safe, is her reply, and again
    I realize I only feel secure here.
    Passing William in the hall,
    I give his shoulder an easy
    poke.
    “Name’s Kaeleigh. Gotta go.
    Be good.” He offers the usual
    Always, then turns his attention
    to a couple of older ladies. Better
    them
    than me,