Page 19 of Silent Echo

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

S ebastion hardly ever asks about his parents anymore.

We’ve settled into a nice routine. Up at eight, breakfast, some playtime outside, then lessons from nine to eleven.

Another play break, lunch, and free reading for an hour in the afternoon.

I ordered a homeschool kindergarten curriculum online, and I love giving all my attention to just one student.

As much as I loved teaching pre-K, I can see now that having my attention divided among twelve students didn’t allow me to maximize learning for each of them.

I can’t imagine how children fare once they’re in classrooms twice that size.

I do miss the camaraderie with my fellow teachers, and I’m realizing that Sebastion needs the company of other children.

Our homeschool group thinks my name is Cathy Miller.

Watching some YouTube videos on Photoshop and making a new birth certificate and a fake social security card was easy.

That, plus the phone and utility bills in my new name, was all I needed to get a Florida driver’s license.

If Sebastion ever corrects me about my name, I’ll remind my new friends that I had to change it to avoid his abusive birth mother finding us.

I’ve told them that she lost her parental rights and that we need to stay off the radar in case she tries to kidnap Sebastion.

To avoid a digital trail, I cut up all my credit cards and withdrew my entire inheritance from a North Carolina bank branch on the way down here.

Installing a safe in the rental house was next on my list so that the two hundred thousand dollars would be secure.

Swapping out my Maryland tags for Florida tags registered to Cathy Miller was the final step in starting my new life.

We joined the group in January, and we take field trips together, have park playdates twice a week, and get together for a few classes where we take turns teaching.

It’s really the best of both worlds. The one fly in the ointment is my fear that Sebastion’s former parents will find us, but I’m confident I’ve done an excellent job impressing upon the mothers how important it is that his birth mother doesn’t know where we are.

Many women in the group are already leery of authority figures, some having been persecuted by the school board for homeschooling.

I trust that I can count on their discretion.

Today, we’re meeting the group for lunch and a beach day at Cocoa Beach.

Sebastion’s been in his bathing suit since breakfast.

“Can we go now, Mommy?” he asks again as I clean up the breakfast dishes. It still thrills me to hear him call me that.

“We’re not meeting everyone until eleven, but what if we take the morning off from our studies and head there now? We can bring our books and read under the umbrella.”

He jumps up and down. “Yay!”

When we arrive, we set our things up on the beach, and after everything is ready, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the water. “Come on, let’s go swimming.”

I grab the wet bag with my keys and wallet and strap it around my arm. You can never be too safe, and I’m not about to leave them on the beach where anybody could steal them.

We run into the water and have a splashing fight until I tire of all the water in my eyes.

I start to get bored but can tell he’s not ready to get out yet.

To be honest, I really don’t like swimming in the ocean.

There are too many strange creatures. I much prefer a swimming pool.

I watch him try to do a handstand, and we hold hands and jump when the small waves come.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Time to get out.”

“No,” he says as he sticks his chin out defiantly.

I feel my temper surge. He’s been a bit of a handful lately, and this rebellious streak is getting worse.

“Sebastion, it’s enough already, Mommy’s tired.”

He turns and swims away from me, his legs kicking as fast as they can. In two strides, I’m behind him and I grab him around the waist to stop him.

“Let go of me,” he shouts.

“Sebastion! If you don’t stop this instant, we’ll go home and forget the playdate.”

“I hate you,” he yells, and the heat rises to my face when I notice swimmers near us all looking at me.

Under my breath, I say, “Please be a good boy, and I’ll buy you an ice cream.” I know it’s the absolute wrong thing to do, but I can’t risk him causing a scene. The promise does the trick. He turns back to me, and we walk back to the beach.

“We have to go to the car and get my money,” I tell him, wanting to talk to him where no one can hear us.

I open the door to the Volvo, and he climbs in the front seat, which I allow only because we’re not driving. I get in on my side and shut the door.

“I’m extremely disappointed in your attitude, young man. It’s not acceptable for you to speak to me that way. Especially in public.”

He gives me a long look. “You promised ice cream.”

“I know. But first you have to promise that you’ll listen the first time, otherwise, the police might come and take you away. Little boys who sass their mommies can get in big trouble.”

His eyes narrow, and his face turns red. “You’re mean! My real mommy is nice.”

It feels like all the breath whooshes out of me. “I’m your real mommy. How many times do I have to tell you that? I would never give you away like she did. But if you’re not happy, I can take you to the orphanage. In fact, maybe we should go there now.”

“No, no.” He starts crying, his breath coming in uneven hitches.

I don’t reach out to comfort him—not yet.

He needs to learn that his words have consequences.

“Well then, I don’t want to ever hear another word about your old mommy.

She doesn’t love you. She doesn’t want you.

She’s forgotten all about you. She even sent me a letter saying how happy her life is without you.

” In a few years, if he’s still asking, I’ll say they died, but I’m confident he’ll forget.

His shoulders are shaking now, and I’m starting to worry he’s getting hysterical.

“But I love you, Sebastion. I’ll never leave you.

I promise. It’s not your fault. Your mommy is a bad person.

She couldn’t see what a wonderful little boy you are.

I’m sorry I had to say all those things, but it hurts my feelings when you talk about her.

Especially since I’m the one who loves you and takes care of you. Can you understand that?”

He nods, his tears still falling, but his chest no longer heaving.

“So do you promise to never, ever, talk about her again?”

“I promise.”

“Okay, let’s go get you that ice cream.”