Page 3

Willow

T he squeak of the swings is a constant as I study the little girl sitting on the edge of the sandbox.

Poppy Whitmore . She’s wearing a frilly yellow top, white shorts, and clutching to her chest a pink stuffed bunny that’s seen better days.

Her hair is a tangle of copper curls. She absently brushes them out of her eyes as she sits and cautiously watches the other kids play.

She’s in the mix of them all, yet she doesn’t interact in that carefree way like the other kids do.

If I didn’t know what she’s been through, I’d assume she’s just shy. But I do, and that makes watching her sit there silently even more heartbreaking.

“She still hasn’t talked since the accident?” I ask, more to myself than to anyone.

Alan, my cousin and her CPS officer, stands beside me with his arms crossed over his chest, concern etched in the lines of his expression, and nods before looking toward Jackie who’s standing on the other side of him .

Jackie was Olivia’s best friend and the only connection we have to know what Poppy’s life was like before the accident. Her favorite foods. Her routines. Her personality. Her norm .

“She hasn’t in the time that I’ve spent with her,” she says. “God only knows what she saw in that car. What she heard. What her mind has made up to fill in the gaps. I feel so helpless.”

“We all do,” Alan says and reaches out to squeeze her forearm in comfort. “The doctor said the mutism is not an unusual trauma response and that her speech will return in time. The main goal now though, is to give her the support she needs while we figure out the next steps for her.”

“You know I’d take her in a heartbeat,” Jackie says, her hand moving up to rest over her chest. Her despair and helplessness is palpable.

“I know, but legally my hands are tied here,” Alan says.

“The note you found in Olivia’s paperwork, in addition to Poppy’s birth certificate, indicates for all intents and purposes who her father is and where she should be placed.

The paternity test is being administered today, and once the results come in, then we’ll go from there. ”

“There’s no question he’s the father. She looks exactly like him,” Jackie says.

Alan shushes her and glances my way like I just heard something I shouldn’t have. “I understand,” he says, “but at this time, nothing has been proven, and what you read needs to remain confidential.”

“I know it does. I just...if it’s him, like...how is he going to be a father when he lives the life he leads?”

“Jackie. Please. Willow is on a need-to-know basis here,” Alan says, which has my interest piqued even more now.

Need to know?

What am I walking into here with this request?

“I’m sorry. I know. It’s all just been a lot and—” Jackie huffs out a breath. “I’m worried about Pops. There’s so much change for her already. So much instability. And now a new, random man who might be her father.”

“I know. I agree. That’s why I’ve brought in Willow,” he says, referring to me like I’m an associate and not his cousin.

“But what if Rock—if he’s not her dad? What then? Does she go to foster care? Do Olivia’s parents get her? Just more trauma to a little girl who deserves the world.” Her voice breaks on the last few words.

“We’re taking it hour by hour right now.

The main thing is that during all of this transition, Poppy has someone who stays by her side.

Someone she becomes comfortable with so that no matter where she ends up, that person can help bridge that gap between all this new ‘strangeness’ and her old world.

” He points to me. “That’s why I was able to get the special authorization from my superiors to bring in Willow.

She has experience in childcare, a degree in early childhood development, and is currently between jobs. ”

Between jobs . I tense at the description but smile at Jackie regardless. It’s too much to get into, too much to explain, and Poppy’s the priority here.

“I told Alan that I’d be more than willing to help. I’m from Los Angeles, and not only am I familiar with the resources available to her as far as her care, but I’m willing to stay on and help with her transition to a new family,” I say, hoping to ease her fears.

If I were in her shoes, meeting me for the first time, my fears would be far from erased.

Am I a special needs teacher who used to nanny to work her way through college?

Yes. Am I in any way equipped to handle a traumatized toddler?

I hope I am. I have love. I have arms to hold her.

I have experience with my nonverbal students.

“She’s an incredible little girl who didn’t deserve this,” Jackie says quietly as she wipes away a tear with the back of her hand.

“Poppy,” Alan calls out gently. “Come here, sweetheart.”

She turns her head as she stands and moves slowly toward us.

She doesn’t smile nor does she frown, but rather just looks at Jackie, then Alan, before shifting to study me—the stranger in the group.

Her eyes hold a weight and wariness a three-year-old shouldn’t have nor can I fathom.

It’s almost as if that stare of hers questions if I’m as safe as the other two people I’m standing with.

“Hey there,” I say softly as I crouch down so that we’re eye level. She’s currently grabbing hold of Jackie’s leg like it’s her only lifeline. “I’m Willow.”

Nothing. No change in expression. No blinking. No response whatsoever.

“That’s okay,” I add quickly making sure I remain at eye level with her so that I’m not towering over and intimidating her. “It’s a really weird name. I’d look at me with a name like that too.”

For a brief second, she gives a flicker of a smile and relaxes her features slightly before they harden again.

It’s something, and I’ll take it.

“You know that you don’t have to speak, right?” I say, assuming that everyone’s asking her to talk. “Sometimes I don’t feel like talking either.”

She pulls her bunny tighter against her and twists her lips .

“I like the quiet. I get overwhelmed when there’s too much going on, and then it makes me not want to talk at all. So I don’t because it’s easier. Is that what you’re doing?” I ask, making her feel like she’s making the choices for herself.

She might be three, but when your world is out of control, having some kind of say matters.

She nods ever so slightly. Her lips part but no words come out.

“When I feel that way, sometimes I use hand signals to tell other people what I want or how I feel.” I lean in closer and whisper, “That way I get what I want but don’t have to talk. You can try it if you want to.”

She shifts on her feet, and a curl falls out of her pigtail into her eyes. She brushes it away but keeps her eyes on her bunny.

I try again. “Like, if you want juice or a snack or...just to go play on the playground.”

At that, her eyes lift again to meet mine. She points to the playground and nods.

I smile. “You want to go play with the other kids?”

She nods a bit more enthusiastically this time.

“Awesome. Look at you learning how to talk with your hands. I knew you were super smart. High five?” I ask and hold my hand up.

She studies it as the smallest twitch curls up the corners of her lips before softly tapping it.

“Woo-hoo! Now go play, and we’ll be right here when you’re done. We’re not going anywhere, okay?”

She takes a step toward it. Stops. Alan and Jackie both encourage her to go play, and with one more glance for reassurance, she’s then off with her bunny bouncing against her hip as she walks timidly toward the slide.

It’s as if she knows she’s supposed to want to play, but inside she’s still trying to process how this world still exists without her mom in it.

“She went from vibrant and full of life to this ,” Jackie says, compassion owning her voice.

“Nothing will replace her mother or erase what she went through. Taking it day by day is the only way to handle it,” I say as Poppy drops her bunny before quickly picking it up and having what appears to be a silent conversation with it as she picks pieces of grass off it.

Can I do this? Am I able to provide the stability and soft place she needs to cope with this tragic void in her life? Even more so, do I want to do this ?

“Do you mind if I go play with her?” Jackie asks, already taking a few steps Poppy’s way. “She just seems so lonely, so unsure of herself.”

“Of course,” Alan says and then recrosses his arms over his chest as we both watch Jackie scoop Poppy up in her arms and spin her around. It’s not long before I feel the weight of Alan’s stare on me.

“Just ask what you’re going to ask, Alan,” I say, eyebrows raised and decision made the moment I saw Poppy.

But he knew that. He knew I wouldn’t be able to say no.

“So? Do you want to help? Do you think you can do this?” he asks.

I blow out a long, measured breath to try and bite back the emotion that has owned me since I pulled that pink slip out of the envelope.

My sense of purpose was gone. My faith in the system that we’re here to help kids was stripped.

“I don’t need a handout,” I say, although figuring out how to pay the bills in the coming months had crossed my mind more than a few times.

“No one’s giving you one. You lost your job. I have a job to offer. You are the most compassionate, intuitive person I know who just so happens to love kids and knows how to deal with them. And I happen to be in need of a person who is all of those things.”

“You’re being too kind.”

He snorts. “Perhaps, but I’m also in desperate need of help. And everything I just said was true. Plus, the job is transitional.”

“No one hires at this point in the school year.”

“Exactly. So you can help Poppy. You can transition her to her new family. And you can either look for a new job to start in the fall when school starts or maybe finish that master’s degree you’ve been putting off.

” He raises his hands in mock defense and peeks around his hands as if he were expecting me to hit him.

The thought crosses my mind—finishing my master’s has been something I’ve been talking about for some time—but I roll my eyes instead of hitting him.

“Finishing my master’s is the last thing I need to do when I’m not taking in a paycheck.”

“But this will give you a paycheck.”

Why is he making this sound so easy when I know it’s not? That it wouldn’t be.

“About the transitional part,” I say.

“Like I told you when I called you, there’s no guarantee that you’ll be picked up as a long-term caregiver for Poppy, but it’s a paycheck for now...and if the man who’s being tested is confirmed as the father, I have a feeling you might just be kept on.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I know what his lawyer has insinuated, but we’ll get into that when and if the time comes.”

My eyes find Poppy again where she sits on the bench next to Jackie. Her feet swing, but she doesn’t play.

It’s been a hot minute since I was the twenty-four-seven caregiver of a child. Those long hours I worked in college are imprinted on my brain, but so is the love and satisfaction I got from the job. No bureaucracy and red tape restricting me.

For some reason, Poppy glances up and meets my gaze. Almost as if she knows I need this to finalize my decision.

Something in my chest clicks into place. Something I can’t shrug off.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Like you were going to say no,” he says and snorts.

“But only while we wait on the paternity test...only in the interim. I need to get my life back on track with a lasting position and paycheck.”

“Noted.” He pats my shoulder, aware that lack of routine is hard for me and this no job thing has created just that type of chaos. “Jackie has provided everything important for Poppy. The foods she likes. Her schedule. Her comfort items. Her routines.”

“I’ll have to thank her,” I say, still questioning myself even though I know I’m doing the right thing.

“Okay, so we’ll work out the handoff. I’ve already gotten your background check back and you, personally, signed off on by the powers that be.

For now, I suggest you go home and pack some things.

We’ll put you two up in an extended stay hotel for now while we wait for the results to come in. And then go from there.”

“Okay.” I stand there like he just didn’t tell me I’m supposed to go and pack.

I look back at the little girl with copper pigtails, and for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, something feels right.

Like maybe this distraction isn’t a detour after all.

Like maybe life is trying to hand me something else.