The smoke from Mr. Oldfield’s cigar drifted into the back of the town car. “It’s a damn beautiful day for a stroll in the park,” he shouted from his position behind the wheel. “Children need a good airing out now and then. Good for their growth. Well being. What not, you know.” The words that escaped from his mouth mingled with the smoke leaking from his lips.

Mildred barely batted an eye. She was staring out the window at cars going by, her eyes glazed heavier than a Krispy Kreme. Mr. Oldfield did not seem to notice and continued with his conversation.

“I was telling the last girl that she needed to take the young miss out more. Not natural. Little girl being cooped up in a big old house like that. My boy, hell. He goes outside every day. Strong, sturdy boy. Fast, too. Just like his Pappa.” He whistled, a talent I always admired him for as he could produce a perfect pitch while his lips were wrapped around one of his stubby cigars.

“Yep. Beautiful day for the park. Just gorgeous.” The conversation petered out as he pulled into a small glen and placed the car in park. He twisted his head around to face us and adjusted his cigar to the opposite side of his mouth. “Well here we are.”

Mildred opened her car door and scanned the landscape. Once she seemed pleased with our location, she said, “Come, Miss Sloan. Time to play in the park.”

Mr. Oldfield smiled a kind, yellow-toothed smile at me as he exhaled. “Go on now, Miss Sloan. Go breathe in some of that wonderful, fresh air“

As I slid across the seat towards Mildred’s extended hand, an uneasiness came over me. “Thank you Mr. Oldfield. I will.” He nodded and I watched as he drove away, smoke mixed with the clouds of dirt kicked up by the town car’s tires.

Mildred looked down at me and tightened her grip. “It’s just you and I now, Miss Sloan. Let’s play a game. Oh, I know the perfect one to start with. It’s called ‘How Much Does Your Daddy Love You.’”

I swallowed. “I’m not sure I know how to play that game, Miss Mildred.”

“It’s very simple,” a voice from behind answered. Before I could turn to see the owner, a heavy hand was placed over my mouth. “Rule number one is ‘No screaming from little girls.’ Especially little girls named Molly Sloan.”