Page 40 of Nine Week Nanny

I writetrauma-responsive practicesin large letters, underlining it twice.

"I think I already know the answer, but children who are a little withdrawn? Lennon, the child I'm working with, is quite reserved. How do you handle drop-offs for children who might be hesitant?"

The ocean waves crash in the distance as Dr. Serrano describes their gentle transition approach. I glance at Lennon, still absorbed in his sand world, unaware of the research I'm doing for him.

"We don't force participation," she continues. "Observation is a valid engagement for many children. Some kids spend their first few days just watching before they join in."

I nod, forgetting she can't see me. "And enrollment? Is there a minimum commitment?"

"We operate week-to-week. Many families in transition appreciate that flexibility."

I cap my marker. "Could you email me an information sheet? I'll need to review everything with his father before making any decisions."

After ending the call, I pocket my phone and pull the second patio chair closer, propping my feet up as I process what I’ve learned. This could work. This could actually work.

“Hey, Lennon?” I call softly.

He looks up, dark hair falling across his forehead, hands still buried in the sand bin.

I nod toward his little rake. “That is a cool moat you're digging there.”

His mouth tugs, the smallest flicker of pride, and he goes back to digging a circle around the lumpy mound.

I gather my hair and twist it up, securing it with the ponytail holder I’ve been wearing on my wrist all morning. The breeze slips across the back of my neck, cool and welcome.

“You ready for some lunch?”

"Not right now."

I look at my watch. It’s eleven-thirty. I’ll give him twenty more minutes.

Lennon is bent low over the sand bin, rake scraping slowly and methodically around his fortress. His focus is unshakable. That buys me enough time to make another call.

I dial Maris’s number, pressing the phone tight to my ear while keeping Lennon in my peripheral vision.

“Mar? Can you talk?” I lower my voice, though he’s still hunched over his project like I don’t exist.

“Hey! Yeah. I’m done for the day. How’s it going with Lennon?” Maris’s voice is bright and clear, cutting through the muffled crash of waves.

I shift on the chair, angling my body away from the sandbox, but my eyes never leave Lennon. “We’re still finding our way together, but we’re getting there. Pope is another thing.”

“Have either of you acknowledged anything? Or are you both just tiptoeing?”

“It’s strange, sharing a house with a man I know intimately and don’t know at all. We avoid each other like the plague.”

“Awkward. But probably for the best.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” A breeze lifts a strand of hair that escaped the elastic, tangling it across my cheek. I tuck it back and glance at Lennon again. He’s still digging, still silent. “Lennon is the sweetest, though. He's very quiet, but I’ve broken through a few times. Baby steps. It’s only my second day.”

“How’s the teaching going?”

“I haven’t started yet. I decided to build trust first.” I smile faintly, watching Lennon’s shoulders hunch in concentration.

"That's smart. Look at you, using your skills already."

“I'm trying. He’s playing in the nicest sandbox I’ve ever seen right now while I sit in the shade with the ocean in the background. Besides the awkward living situation, it's pretty heavenly here.”

“I'm glad for you. He's a lucky kid to have scored you.”