Daniel never saw me.
I scream, “It isn’t true,” but even as I say the words, I remember things. The times Daniel didn’t look at me or speak to me. When he did talk to me it was a pretense, at doctor’s orders, to make Bobby feel loved. Like the time we danced. Now I recall that Bobby pointed to where I was. She’s right there, Daddy. Dance with her.
“I can be the one you talk to, Bobby,” Daniel says. His voice cracks. I can see in his eyes how confused he is by all of this, and how afraid.
“You don’t believe me,” Bobby says stubbornly. He spins on his heel and marches over to the Christmas tree, then squats in front of it.
At Bobby’s movement, I am released. I follow him, move when he does, where he does.
When he kneels at the tree, I sit on the hearth, as I have done so many times before. To my left, the card table is still set up with Candyland. There are three men on the board.
I’ll move for Joy, Dad.
At that, another piece clicks into place. Whenever Bobby and I played with action figures, he wanted me to be Frodo, wearing the ring.
The ring that made Frodo invisible.
Bobby reaches underneath the tree and pulls out a small package. It is a crudely wrapped cylinder with ribbons on each end.
We catch our breath at the same time, Bobby and I. It’s proof of my impossible journey, isn’t it?
“Look, Dad. This is from Joy. ”
“Bobby . . . ”
“Open it. ”
Daniel takes the cylinder in his hands; it looks tiny and frail against his long, tanned fingers. He unwraps it carefully, extracts the list. As he reads it, he frowns. Then he looks at Bobby. “How did you do this?”
“It’s Joy’s present to you. She told me what to write. ”
He glances down at the list again.
I was here.
I was.
Surely Daniel will believe Bobby now.
Daniel looks down at his son. “You did this by yourself,” he says quietly. “Please admit it. ”
“I couldn’t, Dad,” Bobby answers earnestly.
In the silence that follows, Daniel looks around. “Is she here now?”
“No. She disappeared in the park. ”
“SEE ME,” I say as loudly as I can.
Daniel frowns. I can see that he’s bothered by this. He knows Bobby didn’t write that list on his own, but he doesn’t believe in me. How could he?
“Please believe me,” Bobby whispers. “It wasn’t like Mommy. Or Mr. Patches. I swear it wasn’t. ”
Daniel stares at the list in his hand. The paper shivers a little, as if he’s shaking. Then he looks at his son. “You need me to believe in magic. ”
Bobby’s nod brings tears to his father’s eyes, and to mine. “Mommy would believe me. ”
“But . . . ”