The first sound, I realize, I've ever heard come from her mouth.
"Kaylee!" I shake her. "Wake up! Little one, wake up! It's just a dream!" I shake her again—less gentle this time. I must wake her. I must pull her from whatever horror has her in its grip.
"Kaylee!"
She quiets, the thrashing stops, and her eyes open. But she isn't seeing me—she's still lost in the nightmare.
"Look at me. Look at my face. It's me. You're having a nightmare—everything's okay. You're okay." I sit on the side of the bed and reach for the lamp and turn it on. Then I put my arms around her, but she pushes me away. One of her fists flies toward my face. I dodge her blow and grab her arms. "Oh, Kaylee, it's okay. It's just me, little one. You're okay."
As she tries to focus on me, I realize that she's not okay. Of course she's not okay. I put my hands on either side of her little face. "Shh . . . it was a nightmare. You're here now."
Her eyes, wild with fear, finally focus on my eyes, but her body trembles. Then she lifts her hands and covers her ears.
I drop my hands from her face and wrap my arms around her shoulders and hold her trembling body tight. For the second time in twelve hours, I stroke her back and her hair and hold her until finally her arms drop back down to her side and her breathing returns to normal. I finally let her go, but just long enough to move from sitting on the edge of her bed to lying down next to her. I put one arm under her shoulders and the other around the front of her, then pull her close. And there, with her head on my shoulder, she falls back to sleep.
I lie awake holding her all night. I hold her until the rays of a new day filter through the curtains above her bed. I begin the day with a whispered prayer. "This is the day the Lord has made . . ."
It is a verse I remember from Sunday school, and today it is a prayer of commitment. I commit Kaylee's day, and mine, to God. He is in control.
He has to be, because I have no idea what I'm doing.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Kaylee
I hold my breath and count.
One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three . . .
When I reach one thousand forty, my lungs burn and I let out a woosh of air and then suck in a deep breath. Then I hiccup again.
"Okay, let's try something else." Sierra gets up from the table and goes to a cabinet and pulls out the sugar bowl. Then she gets a spoon and a glass. She fills the glass with water and brings it to the table. She dips the spoon in the sugar bowl and takes out a heaping spoonful.
"Open your mouth and swallow the sugar as fast as you can. Then drink the whole glass of water."
She puts the spoon of sugar in my mouth and I try to swallow the dry granules, but they get stuck in my throat. I swallow again but feel like I might choke. I reach for the glass of water.
"Drink the whole thing without stopping."
I gulp the water and drink the whole glass. I set it on the table and wait. Sierra watches me. We both wait.
"Hey, that did it!"
And then, I hiccup again.
"Oh no. Well you may just have to wait them out. Do you want to try to eat some breakfast or do you want to wait until the hiccups are gone?"
I grab my pen. I'll wait.
I slump in my chair and scribble little circles in my notebook. The nightmare last night seemed so real, just like I was back at the cabin with him. But in the dream my mom was there too. She was sitting on a chair in the kitchen, which wasn't really like the kitchen in the cabin at all, but that's how dreams are. She was watching him and he was watching me. Then her head sort of rolled to one side and rested on her shoulder. Her eyes were still open but she wasn't really looking at anything. He looked at her; then he came and sat down next to me and put his hand on my thigh. I knew what was going to happen but instead of just waiting for it to happen, I pushed his hand away. But then he grabbed me. I started to scream and tried to fight him, but he was too big. I kept screaming for my mom, but she never came to help. She just sat in the chair, staring at nothing.
Now I can't get the nightmare out of my mind and the scream is in my head. I shake my head, I hiccup, and I shake my head again. But this morning I can't make the scream go away. I cover my ears and lay my head on the table.
Pretty soon Sierra sits in the chair next to me. She reaches over and takes my hands off my ears. "Little one? How can I help?"
I don't know. All I can think about is my mom and how she looked in my dream. And I think about him and I hear the scream. Then I hiccup again. Sierra scoots her chair closer to me. Finally she asks me if I'd like to listen to some music. "Would that help?"
I nod. I don't know if it will help, but maybe . . .
She gets up and goes to her room. When she comes back, she has headphones connected to her MP3 player. She puts the headphones on my ears and turns up the volume. The music fills my head. Sierra sits by me again and starts rubbing my back. With my head resting on the table, and Sierra's hand on my back, and the sound of the music filling my ears, my eyes get heavy and my breathing gets more normal. The hiccups go away. I sit like that for a long time.
Sierra always knows how to make me feel better.
This should make me feel good.
But it doesn't.
Sierra lifts headphones off one of my ears. "Hey, kiddo, that was an awfully big sigh. I'm sorry you're having a hard morning. I wish I could make whatever's troubling you go away." She leans forward and whispers, "I love you. How about some breakfast now?"
I lift my head off the table just enough to nod. I better eat. This might be the last day I get to eat for a while.
"Another sigh? Oh, kiddo, do you want me to call Dr. Beth? Would it help for you to see her this morning?"
I sit up, pull the headphones off, and shake my head. No. No way. No. That won't help. She'll just ask me questions I can't answer and make me draw something. That won't help. I know what I have to do. I reach for my notebook.
May I have oatmeal and bananas?
Sierra reads my note. "Oatmeal and bananas it is." She gets up and starts to make my breakfast. While she's cooking, the picture of my mom from my nightmare last night stays in my mind. It isn't hard to remember, because I've seen her like that before: just staring, sometimes scratching at her neck and face, shaking. When she was like that, I'd get a wet washcloth and hold it on her forehead or neck. Or I'd get a glass of water and hold it while she'd take sips. Sometimes I could get her to lie down in her bed and I'd lie next to her. When she'd get sick, when she'd throw up, I'd hold her hair back, like she used to do for me when I was little and I got sick. Then I'd put toothpaste on her toothbrush and help her brush her teeth.
When she was like that, I don't even think she knew I was there. Maybe she was like that because of the drugs—maybe I'm starting to understand. One thing I know for sure is that she needs someone to help her.
And it has to be me.
I'm the only one she has.
I look at Sierra who's standing at the stove stirring the oatmeal and I slump back down in my chair. She doesn't need me. She doesn't. She has Ruby and her parents and her job. She'll be fine. I tell myself this over and over. But then a little voice in my head interrupts and says, But you need her . . .
I lay my head back down on the table.
I don't need her.
I just like her and I like being here. But I don't really need her.
I don't!
"Here you go, kiddo. Go light on the brown sugar, okay?" Sierra sets the bowl down in front of me, but I push it away.
It's time for me to go.
And this time I'm resolved.
re·solved—1. firm in purpose or intent; determined.
Resolved means this time I won't change my mind.
I spend the day getting ready again—just lik
e I did last time. I spend most of the day in my room reading. Sierra comes in several times and asks me questions. "Would you like to go to the wharf this afternoon? We could watch the seals."
No.
"What about a drive over to Monterey? We could go to Dennis the Menace Park—I bet you'd love it."
No.
"The Boardwalk? We could ride the Giant Dipper this afternoon!"
To this suggestion I shake my head hard. No!
"Okay!" Sierra's voice gets quiet. I can tell she's worried. "Kaylee, are you . . . are you upset because of your mom? Or . . . does it have something to do with Jack? You know you can tell me anything. If you'll just tell me what you're feeling, I think it would help. If you could just tell me . . ."
No! I take the book I'm holding and throw it against the wall. No! No! No!
Sierra jumps. I see anger replace concern on her face. She walks over and picks up the book, sets it on the bookshelf, and then walks back to my bedroom door. "Kaylee, I only want to help you. Throwing things is inappropriate behavior, even if you are angry." Her words are steady, like she's working really hard to say the right thing. "I know you're tired. So am I. We didn't sleep much last night, did we? I guess we'll stay here and rest for the day. Maybe I'll work a little and you can read, or . . . whatever." She turns and walks out of my bedroom.
I follow her and shut my door. I shut it hard—almost a slam. I need her to leave me alone today and maybe that made it clear. I lean against my door and then slide down to the floor. I sit with my back against the door and my knees pulled to my chest. I hug my knees and rest my head on them. I feel a tear slide down my cheek and onto my knee. I'm sorry, Sierra . . . I'm sorry. I choke back a sob.
I can't cry now. I have too much to do.
I am resolved.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Sierra
You said to call if I noticed extreme angst in Kaylee . . ."
As I listen and respond to Dr. Beth's questions, I open the slider and walk to the Adirondack chair and sink into it. I should have called her earlier—for Kaylee's sake of course, but also because as I listen to Beth, I realize, as I did when speaking to Pete yesterday, that I'm not in this alone. God has provided tangible evidence of His care for me, for Kaylee, through others. It's been so long since I've let myself rely on anyone else.
"It seems like she's on an emotional roller coaster. Up one minute, down the next. I think I've seen every emotion cross her little face: fear, anger, sadness, happiness, joy, peace, and then back to fear and anger again."
"Sierra, we can't discount the trauma Kaylee's experienced—we don't even know the depth of that trauma. But what we do know is enough to expect that Kaylee will experience a wide range of emotions that she's not prepared to deal with. What you're seeing is, sadly, within the range of what I'd consider 'normal' under these circumstances. And seeing her mom likely unearthed feelings she's managed until now.
"Sierra, Kaylee aside for a moment, how are you doing? This is a lot for you to handle too."
I lean my head against the back of the chair and breathe deep, filling my lungs with warm sea air. "Honestly? I think I'm riding that roller coaster with Kaylee. I feel so much love and concern for her, but at the same time her silence and moods frustrate me. I'm having to walk away from her because I'm angry that she won't answer my questions and because I can't figure out why she seems angry with me." I close my eyes and sigh. "I don't know how to help her."
"Sounds like you're feeling as though you have no control . . ."
"Exactly."
"Those are emotions I'd expect you to feel. It's hard to work with someone when communication is so limited. Kaylee needs you to be steady, even—someone she can count on. You won't handle everything perfectly. None of us does. But your steady countenance provides Kaylee with a sense of safety, and that's what she needs now."
"And what about her emotions? She seems so angry today."
"I don't know, Sierra. I can't know what she's feeling. It's possible she is angry with you, or needs to feel angry with you. Maybe she's struggling with what she feels for you and what she feels for her mother. It's not unusual for a foster child to feel they're betraying their parents by caring for their caregiver. She may be pushing you away right now as she deals with whatever she's feeling for her mom. Again, these are only assumptions. Hold on a minute, let me check my schedule . . . Can you bring her in tomorrow morning? I'm not supposed to see her again until next week, but it sounds like sooner might be better than later."
I get up and walk back to the kitchen to hang up the phone, having agreed to bring Kaylee in to see Dr. Beth in the morning. I feel more settled knowing someone else will see and talk to Kaylee right now.
I'll check on her again and then decide what to do about dinner. If it were just me, I'd open the fridge and grab a piece of cheese or fruit and call it good.
But it's no longer just me.
I blink my eyes several times trying to clear what feels like a thin veil of sand.
I tap on Kaylee's door and then crack it open and peek in. She is lying on her bed reading, of course. But today she's reading her dictionary. "Hey, are you about ready for some dinner?"
She shrugs, never taking her eyes off the big book.
"I think we'll make it an early night."
Still no response. She keeps her gaze riveted on the dictionary.
I close her door and shake my head. Another long, silent evening lies ahead. I wander back to the kitchen and set the teapot to boil. As I wait for the whistle, I think back to my conversation with Pete yesterday and allow myself to consider what I haven't until now: Kathryn has entered a rehabilitation program.
I recall Pete's words: "Sierra, Kathryn's entered a residential rehabilitation program. She showed up at CWS this morning. She was in pretty bad shape, but I was able to talk to her, to convince her we would help her, if she'd accept our help. She finally agreed."
I haven't let my mind jump ahead to this possibility, not in all these weeks. I was so sure she'd come back here looking for money. "So, what does this mean? For Kaylee?"
For me?
Pete exhaled. "Well, it could mean Kaylee is returned to her mother's care if Kathryn successfully completes the program. She wasn't arrested for possession, so there are no legal ramifications—"
"What?" My pulse throbs in my temples. "No legal ramifications? What about abandoning your child? Is that legal these days? Neglect? Abuse? What about that?"
"Whoa, hold on. Of course there are legal ramifications for abandonment and abuse. But right now we don't know the whole story. Kathryn's sticking with the kidnapping story and so far, all we have is her word against Jack's. I don't believe either of them has told the truth, but we don't have proof either way. When the police arrested Jack, there was no evidence of Kathryn having lived in the cabin. For all we know, Kaylee was kidnapped by him. But Kaylee is the only one who knows the truth."
"She has to tell us, Pete. She has to talk."
"Yes. But she'll only talk when she's ready to talk, and right now I think pressuring her, telling her too much, will only increase her anxiety and inability to speak. Her emotional health, her well-being, are the priority. I do think it's important she know that her mom is all right, that she's getting the help she needs. She needs to understand that Kathryn is sick, that she's dealing with the disease of addiction, and that she's receiving the care she needs."
Pete pauses and I hear him sigh. "You know, that little gal gets to me." He chuckles. "I work with kids everyday and I'm supposed to maintain a professional distance, not become emotionally involved in their lives. Though, honestly, I've never understood how not to become emotionally involved. If you care, you're involved. And Kaylee, well, she's just something else. She's very easy to care about."
"I know. She's so quirky and so lovable."
"Of course you know. I want the best for her, Sierra. Never doubt that."
"I know, but, ultimately, isn't the truth the best for her?"
"Sure it is. But for now Kaylee's not ready to tell the truth. Or much of anything."
"So what do we do?"
"You keep on doing what you're doing. Provide a safe place for her, care for her, love her. And I'll keep doing my job. We have some time—rehabilitation doesn't happen overnight."
"Okay." A ragged sigh marks my resignation. "I know you're right. But . . . there's one more thing we need to do."
I picture Pete cocking his head to one side, much like Van does when I talk to him. "What's that?"
"We need to pray."
He is silent for a moment—thoughtful, I think. "Yes. We'll pray. Good to know we're not the ones in control, isn't it?"
"That's for sure. I have no idea what I'm doing."
"You know more than you think. Hey, don't mention any of this to Kaylee just yet. We don't know if Kathryn will stay in rehab. Let's not rock her boat for the moment. As I said, it's important she knows her mom is okay and being cared for, but let me consult Beth today and get her recommendation on how she'd like to handle this information with Kaylee."
"Okay." I think about the ups and downs Kaylee's already experienced this week and agree with Pete's assessment. "She's dealing with a lot right now. There's so much going on inside her already."
Tonight, as I consider that conversation, I realize prayer is the only answer. The emotions welling in me at the thought of Kaylee being returned to Kathryn are more than I can handle. And getting Kaylee to speak—that's definitely out of my control. As much as I long to help her—to encourage her—to provide the safety she needs to speak again, I know I can't do this on my own. I need help—I need divine intervention.
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