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Sunlight trickled through the lacy leaves and splashed onto Lorena’s blanket. She gathered up the remains of Kit’s lunch and stuffed it in the picnic basket.

“Can I go swimming yet?” the little girl called out.

Lorena stood up. Impressions of her feet in the soft moss marked her path down to the river.

“What are you building?” Lorena studied the pile of sticks bound together with vines. “Is that a castle?”

Kit nodded. She wrapped a vine around and around a stick. “This is the castle door.” She wedged her creation into place. “If I had a pulley, I could make it go up and down. But I don’t, so the princess will just have to open it herself.”

“Are you going to be a princess when you grow up?”

“There’s no such thing, Lorena.” Kit rolled her eyes. “Just in fairy tales.”

Lorena laughed even though she forced her face into a stern expression. “I’ve told you not to call me by my name. It’s not polite.”

“Your friends call you Lorena.” Kit grinned a mischievous grin. “Aren’t we friends?”

“That’s enough. It’s not polite.”

A breeze rustled the leaves as a car passed by. Lorena’s heartbeat quickened. The car was maroon, not red. It was the wrong year, wrong make, wrong model. The car sped away.

“When is Dad coming?” Kit jumped to her feet. “He promised he would come with us.”

“He’ll be here.” Lorena’s stomach clenched just like it did when she told a lie.

“Can I go swimming, yet?” Kit bounced up and down. “Those kids are.” She pointed to a gaggle of splashing children in the river. They batted a red ball over their heads.

Lorena sighed. “All right. Go on.”

“Yesss!” Kit bolted for the water. She jumped in and splashed her way to the children. The red ball floated through the cerulean sky to her. She hit it back.

Lorena breathed in the mushroom damp air  as she climbed back to the blanket. Maybe later she and Kit could poke around under the canopy of trees and find new flowers to press in the pages of the encyclopedia.

A shower of gravel rolled down the hill as a sporty red car skidded to a stop. A man stepped out of the car and posed like the Colossus of Rhodes with his arm shading his brow. Like a crack of thunder from an unexpected storm, the passenger door slammed shut. Franklin held out his hand to the willowy woman who wore her custom-made clothes with the casual air of a princess dressed in finery.

Lorena’s stomach twisted and folded in on itself. He wouldn’t dare bring that woman here. He wouldn’t dare. Hatred, insistent as a cigarette burn, spread inside her. Lorena didn’t move. She didn’t call out. The hatred burned and blazed.

Franklin squinted into the sun. He scanned left then right.

Lorena didn’t move.

Finally, the princess tugged on his arm. Together, they got into the car. A shower of gravel trickled down the hill as they drove away.

“Hey lady,” a boy called out. He pointed.

Kit screamed. She thrashed and kicked as a hulk of a man plucked her from the water and tossed her over his shoulder.

“Kit!” Lorena shrieked. Her feet furrowed up chunks of moss as she slid and scrambled down the bank

“Mom!” Kit howled. Her cries grew weaker as the man ran with her into the tangle of ferns and juniper.

Lorena rushed into the woods. Sticky pine branches snatched at her hair and blackberry spines clawed her skin. Her heart throbbed. She pushed her legs one after the other. She forced them to go.

She threw herself forward. She stumbled. She lurched. She scrambled and ran even though her body threatened to collapse. Her heart hammered hard enough to break bone.

Leaves rustled. Branches snapped.  Sounds twisted her in their maelstrom. Torrents of noise rushed and battered and sucked at her pulling her into their eddy.  She ran left, right, back again. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong way. Like rapids, panic roared in her ears. No matter how fast or how far she ran, she couldn’t catch even a glimpse of Kit.

Lorena doubled over and gasped for breath.

Like a sign from heaven, a shard of sunlight cut through the thicket of trees. Lorena dove through the opening.

She blinked as the sunlight trickled down through the lacy leaves and splashed onto Kit lying on the blanket.

Lorena flew to her, fell to her knees at her side. She gathered her up – a bit, a piece, an arm, a leg, the remains of her. She held her tight. “I’ll make it better,” Lorena sobbed.

Lorena flew to the river’s edge.

Children laughed as a red ball flew up into the cerulean sky.

Lorena waded into the river.  Her feet were as heavy and as unwieldy as stone. She dragged them. She lifted them, one then the other. She snatched up a child.

These fingers, they are her fingers. These toes are her toes. Lorena ran with the pieces back to Kit.

Wrong size, wrong part, wrong child. Lorena screamed in panic and fear as she wrapped vines around and around her little girl. Time was slipping away. Her daughter was slipping away.

Lorena wailed and howled as she flew down to the river’s edge. Frantically she searched. She would find her child – all the parts of her. She would make her better again.

Don’t go down to the river, child,
Don’t go there alone;
The sobbing woman, wet and wild,
Might claim you for her own.  – La Llorona,  Mexican folksong