The Quiet Child

by Debra Salonen

  Oddly buoyed by the memory, she walked to her suite and heated up a bowl of microwaveable soup. She could have gone across the street and eaten with her mother, but she didn’t want to face her mother’s questions. In her present state of mind, Alex might reveal her decision to have a baby. And she wasn’t ready to do that.

  For years, she’d convinced herself that working with kids was all she needed to feel good about her life, but now she wanted more. And if her plan had flaws, she didn’t want to have them pointed out.

  She was about to turn on the television—Could my life be any more boring?—when the doorbell rang. She left her soup on the counter and dashed to the front of the house, her heart racing. Mark?

  Through the peephole she could see three people—one large and two small. The adult in the group was her cousin, Gregor, who lived across the street.

  “Alex, hi. Sorry to bother you, but your mom isn’t home and I need a favor.”

  “What’s up?” Alex asked, opening the door wide enough for them to enter. Nine-year-old Luca was nearly a foot taller than his five-year-old sister, Gemilla. Both had slightly petulant looks on their faces.

  “I just got a call from Montevista. MaryAnn is having a bad night. Her doctor isn’t answering his page and the nurses thought I could help calm her down.”

  Greg’s wife, MaryAnn, had suffered a complete breakdown last May and had been committed by a judge for observation and treatment. Although she’d been accused of committing blackmail and was partially responsible for Grace getting shot, MaryAnn was not a bad person.

  “That’s too bad. I thought she looked really good at Thanksgiving.” Greg had brought his wife home on a three-hour pass to dine with the family. She’d seemed…distant, but calm.

  “I know. But she kinda went into a slump after that. Her doctor said that kind of yo-yo thing wasn’t uncommon with people suffering from clinical depression. The aide who called said she won’t quit crying. I…I really need to run out there. Would you mind watching the kids?”

  She opened her arms and Gemilla ran to her. “This is great. I was just fixing a really bad bowl of soup. Have you guys eaten? How ‘bout pizza and a video at your house?”

  Greg blinked rapidly. “You’re a saint, cousin. Thanks. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

  Two hours later, Alex was snuggled under a thick throw on Gregor’s couch, squeezed between a little girl who was sound asleep and a little boy who was intently focused on a movie from the family’s collection. Ghostbusters. Good for a laugh, she’d figured.

  Instead of watching the antics onscreen, she studied Luca’s profile. “There’s going to be a new boy coming to my after-school program tomorrow,” she told him quietly. He glanced at her, his dark eyes narrowing. “Who?”

  “His name is Braden. He’s younger than you. His father is an arson investigator.”

  “A cop?” His tone held utter disdain.

  “I believe he’s with the fire department, but you can ask him if you’re curious.”

  “I hate cops. They arrested my mom.”

  “The police who were at the marina that day saved your mother’s life. And Grace’s. And they helped rescue Maya when her father took her away.” She paused. “Luca, what’s going on? Have you been talking to your grandpa?”

  His gaze dropped and his cheeks flushed.

  Oh, Uncle Claude, when will you let go of the old antipathy between Gypsies and the police? Her father, Ernst, and his younger brother, Claude, had been vocal opponents of all things having to do with law enforcement for as long as Alex could remember. Her mother had once explained that Ernst had been arrested as a young man—a clear case of racial profiling before the term had become commonplace. When Alex had first started dating Mark, she’d been afraid her father might have the young cop roughed up to discourage him from seeing her. Though that hadn’t happened, Ernst had never warmed to her choice of fiancé. Although, to his credit, her father never said, “I told you so,” after she and Mark had broken up.

  “Listen, sweetie, I know how much you miss your mom. I miss her, too. But hopefully she’ll be better soon and will be able to come home for good. Braden isn’t that lucky. His mother died in an accident. His dad is like your dad—trying his best to be both a mother and a father, but Mark and Braden don’t have a Romani family like ours around to help out. Maybe that’s why Braden has a problem.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’ve been around the Hippo long enough to know that some children stutter a bit when they’re first learning to speak. Well, Braden never outgrew that. In fact, his stuttering has gotten worse, and his father told me some of the kids at his school have made fun of him. So, now, he doesn’t even try to talk.”

  Luca returned his gaze to the movie. After a minute, he sank down a bit more on the couch. He mumbled something. Fortunately, Alex had become quite adept at hearing children’s whispers.

  “I’ll play with him,” he’d said.

  She smiled and gently smoothed down a cowlick in his thick black hair. Maybe with Luca’s help, they’d be able to reach this quiet child and bring a little light to the boy’s sad, haunted eyes. Alex knew that sometimes friendship and family could be the best medicine of all.

  Chapter Four

  Alex pushed back the cuff of her heavy cotton sweater to check the time. The bus from Braden’s school should have been here by now.

  She’d called the school herself that morning to make sure they knew to bring the little boy to the Hippo and had been reassured that Mr. Gaylord had everything set up.

  Of course, he would have, she’d thought. Mark was one of the most organized, responsible men she’d ever met. Which was one reason his tryst with Tracey had hurt and baffled Alex so much. He wasn’t an impulsive person, but one impulsive act had changed both of their lives forever.

  A low rumble from a block away made her step to the curb and look toward the sound. “The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round,” she sang before she could stop herself.

  Darn, now that tune will be in my head for hours. One of the hazards of working with preschoolers every day, she knew.

  But the thought disappeared the instant the door of the bus opened. A few seconds later a boy in a familiar jacket appeared at the top of the steps. He hesitated and looked over his shoulder at the bus driver, who nodded and said, “This is your stop, Braden. See you tomorrow.”

  Alex had never met this particular bus driver before, but she believed in building a good rapport with everyone who had anything to do with the children she cared for, so she hopped up to the bottom step and held out her hand. “I’m Alex. I run the Hippo.”

  The driver was female, about Alex’s age and African-American. She leaned over and shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Take good care of this little guy. He doesn’t say much, but he’s a sweetheart.”

  “Will do,” Alex said, smiling down at her new charge. From her pocket, she produced a napkin that was carefully folded around one of the peanut-butter cookies that her preschool class had made that morning. “Here. I almost forgot.”

  The woman’s eyes lit up. “Thanks. I love cookies.”

  “Me, too,” Alex said. To Braden, she asked, “What about you, young Mr. Gaylord? Are you ready for a snack? Milk and cookies at my place?”

  He didn’t answer, but she was pretty sure she saw his head bob affirmatively. She reversed direction and stepped down, making sure her foot landed on the sidewalk, not in the gutter, then she waited for Braden to follow. She would have liked to see a bit more enthusiasm in his step, but she understood how scary this move was for him.

  Once they were both safely away from the bus, the driver tooted the horn then stepped on the gas. Once again the “Wheels” song popped into her mind, but she stifled it and said, “So, Braden, I see you have your backpack. That’s good. Are your practice cards inside it?”

  He didn’t answer, but he fell into step beside her as she headed toward the Dancing Hippo’s front entrance.
“When we get inside,” she told him, “you’ll hang up your coat on a hook that has your name above it. There’s a cubbyhole, too, where you can keep your things and no one else is allowed to mess with your stuff. Okay?”

  He looked up. The bright afternoon sun gave her her first truly clear look at his face. He looked so much like his mother Alex fought to stifle a gasp. Alex had only met Mark’s partner half a dozen times when Alex and Mark had been engaged, but the woman had left a vivid impression. Same perfect features, same beautiful blue eyes. Thankfully none of Tracey’s trademark intensity was there. The woman had given off a vibe, for lack of a better word, that had made Alex very uncomfortable—even before she’d stolen Mark.

  Ten minutes later, Alex was showing Braden to the “big kids’ table,” as the younger students called it, when her niece suddenly rushed up. “You brought him, Auntie Alex. Good job.”

  Maya often repeated words or phrases that the adults around her used. This time, the praise made Alex smile.

  “Why, thank you, Maya. I told you we were having a new student join us today.”

  Braden had frozen at the sound of Maya’s voice and was watching the little girl as if she might be a threat. Alex put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Braden, this is my niece, Maya.”

  “Hi,” Maya said. She blushed and looked down at her patent-leather Mary Janes. Alex could honestly say she’d never seen her niece at a loss for words.

  “Braden is ready for a snack, dear heart. Would you go to the small refrigerator and bring him a milk?”

  “Sure.”

  When Maya dashed off to the other side of the room, Braden followed her with his gaze. There was a certain longing in his look that almost broke Alex’s heart. Did he yearn for friendship or just release from the burdens that seemed to weigh down his thin little shoulders?

  “Why don’t you sit here, Braden?” she suggested, pulling out a small, plastic chair.

  Braden sat down.

  Alex put the flash cards that she’d found in his backpack near the middle of the table; then she walked to the kitchen area for a cookie and a napkin. When she returned, Maya was sitting beside him, chattering away.

  “Auntie Alex, that’s Miss Alex to you, used to be sorta…um…not fat, exactly, but not as skinny as she is today. She also danced a lot because she’s a Gypsy, like me. And when she was young she heard some boy cousins giggling and laughing about her size. They called her a dancing hippo. She thought that was sooo funny that she promised herself if she ever had a business, she’d use that name. Cool, huh?”

  Alex hadn’t realized Maya knew the story behind the preschool’s name. Not that she cared. She had been quite a bit more…voluptuous back in her teens and early twenties than she was now. Her hospitalization had melted off the pounds, not that she’d ever recommend near death as a weight-reduction program.

  She’d also cut her waist-length hair at about the same time. Teaching preschool was all about simplicity, she’d learned.

  She was a little surprised Mark hadn’t commented on the changes he must have noticed about her. But then, she told herself, his main concern was his son.

  And rightly so, she decided half an hour later after a futile attempt to get Braden to work with her using the flash cards. If the speech therapist isn’t having any luck, what made me think I could break through the little boy’s wall of resistance? she asked herself.

  Deciding they both needed a diversion, she said, “Braden, I think we need some fresh air.”

  Maya and the twenty-five children from both the day care and preschool usually spent the last half hour of the day outside, weather permitting. Today, the sky was a watery blue with high, thin wisps of clouds. Luckily, the breeze was mild.

  Over the years, she’d slowly added a variety of swings, slides, sandboxes and climbing platforms to her play yard. The children learned the rules very quickly or they weren’t allowed on the equipment. She was pleased to see how cooperative they were being today.

  Maya and her group of friends, which included Gregor’s daughter, Gemilla, were patiently waiting a turn on the suspension bridge. Three boys—all four-year-olds—were playing pirate, battling over who was boss.

  Alex let the play continue for another minute, but she could sense the little girls’ growing frustration as the boys ignored their request to share the large wooden structure. She felt her new miniature shadow follow behind as she approached.

  “Okay, boys, time to let the girls have a turn.”

  Two of the children jumped down into the sandy area below, but the third—William Moorehouse—balked. “I’m king of the pirates. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “Sorry, William, but I’m commander of the play yard and I have domain over all that you see. Hop down.”

  He crossed his arms. “No.”

  Inwardly, Alex groaned. Seldom had a day passed without some sort of challenge from William…or his mother.

  “William,” another voice said sharply.

  The child lost his bluster as his mother approached. “Get down as your teacher asked. We talked about following orders, remember?” To Alex, Roberta Moorehouse said, “He’s at that challenge-authority stage of life.”

  Her son still hadn’t moved, so Alex walked up to him and looked him directly in the eye. “William, it’s time to get down, so the girls have a chance to play on the bridge. Can you get down by yourself, or do you need my help?”

  He looked at Roberta, first, then mumbled something Alex couldn’t quite catch and scrambled down the rope steps, knocking into Maya and her friends as he passed by. Before Alex could follow and talk to him about good manners, Roberta exclaimed, “We have a new student. Hello, there. Aren’t you a doll? How old are you, sweetie? Five?”

  Braden drew back, his eyes wide with apprehension. Alex had no choice but to rescue him rather than follow through with William. She stepped between Braden and Roberta and said, “I plan to introduce Braden slowly so we don’t overwhelm him. He’s going to be joining my after-school program. He’s in first grade.”

  Roberta had the good graces to look embarrassed by her gaffe. Before she could apologize—and probably humiliate Braden even more—Maya flew to the rescue.

  The little girl launched herself from the top of the jungle gym. Fortunately, Alex was close enough to catch her, so the child made a soft landing, then Maya stepped beside Braden and put her arm around his shoulders. “He’s my friend. You better be nice to him.”

  Roberta was obviously at a loss for words.

  Braden appeared shocked, too, but he didn’t push Maya away. In fact, his expression turned soft. Alex wondered if maybe he was a little in love.

  Before she could say anything, Alex heard a shout and saw William standing over another student who was on his back on the grass. Roberta let out a loud, “William,” saving Alex the trouble. To Maya, Alex said, “You’re Braden’s official buddy, okay? Show him around while I take care of this.”

  Two hours later, the last of her regular students had been picked up. Only Maya, Braden, Luca and Gemilla remained. Gregor had called to warn her that he would be late. Mark had called, too, to see how Braden was doing. Mark was due at any moment. As soon as he and Braden left, Alex would walk the three cousins to Yetta’s where they’d have dinner and hang out until their parents showed up.

  “Mom’s watching Maya tonight so Rob and I can go out on a date. Our first since the wedding, I swear,” Kate had told her that morning. “She’s making soup and said you’re invited.”

  Alex tidied up her desk then walked to the table where the children were sitting. Maya and Gemilla were coloring. Luca was scrunched down, his attention focused on a hand-held game. Braden appeared to be doing nothing, but as she watched him, she saw that he was actually paying close attention to the other children.

  As if sensing his scrutiny, Maya looked up and smiled at him. “You’re a nice boy,” she said. “I like you.”

  Braden’s gaze dropped.

  Gemilla picke
d up a fat red crayon. She was rounder and less petite than Maya. Her wispy hair was just as dark, but cut short to give her a pixie look. Alex knew that Gemilla secretly coveted Maya’s long curls.

  “I like your hair,” Gemilla said.

  Maya shook her head to make the pigtails that were resting slightly cock-eyed atop her head dance. “Rob did it for me. He bought me a book on braids, but that didn’t work out.”

  “How come?” Gemilla asked.

  “Because my hair has a mind of its own,” Maya said, in a put-upon tone that probably parroted her stepfather’s.

  “Oh,” Gemilla said.

  “Well, braids or not, I think this is a very attractive style for you, and I give Rob credit for trying,” Alex put in, as she pulled up a chair.

  Maya look at her aunt. “That’s what Mommy said, too. I saw a picture of you when your hair was long like mine. Why did you cut it off?”

  Not by choice, Alex thought. A reaction to one of the antibiotics they’d given her in the hospital had made her hair turn brittle and start to break. Plus, she’d been too weak to brush and care for the waist-length locks, so she’d let her mother cut it.

  “Because I was ready for a change. Sometimes change can be a bit scary, even though it turns out well,” Alex said, recalling her sister’s concern about Maya’s resistance to going to a new school.

  Maya reached up and brushed a wavy black lock out of Alex’s eyes. “You’re still very beautiful, even without my kind of hair,” the little girl said.

  “She’s right,” a deep, masculine voice said.

  Everyone at the table, including Alex, startled. She couldn’t believe Mark had slipped in without her hearing.

  What kind of secure environment was this for his child? She jumped to her feet. “How did you—?”

  “It’s a cop thing. The door was unlocked and you were all so intent…” He shrugged. “Sorry if I scared you.”