The note was signed Trent.
No, it couldn’t be.
She thought back to the handsome man who’d rear-ended her one week ago, how concerned he’d been when he’d first shown up at her window, the way his azure gaze had penetrated her. That couldn’t possibly be the same man. Could it?
She tried to remember their conversation. Hadn’t he rushed off to pick up his child from after-school care? Did that mean . . . ?
No, lots of people had children, and Trent wasn’t exactly the least common name in the world.
She gulped nervously as she slipped the note into her desk drawer.
So what if it was the same guy? It didn’t mean anything.
In fact, their accident would be a heck of an icebreaker, especially when Amy hinted that she feared abuse or an undiagnosed developmental issue might be responsible for Olivia’s difficulties in the classroom.
She couldn’t remember Trent’s last name, but she knew it hadn’t matched Olivia’s. Was it possible that he was her stepfather or a foster parent instead of her bio dad? Either situation could certainly hint at a recent upset in Olivia’s life. But most kids at this age bounced back pretty quickly from an event-based trauma. Maybe there was an ongoing problem at home? Was it possible Trent didn’t know? He’d seemed like such a nice man the other day, and yet . . .
Perhaps she could ask Nichole for her professional opinion. She worked daily with families who had been split up or displaced by deployment. As a social worker who worked out of the joint military base, she’d treated children of all ages and backgrounds. Might she be able to offer insight into Olivia’s situation, too?
The day came to an end, and Amy dismissed the children with a reminder that their first dioramas were due that Friday. She wondered if she should hold Olivia back to wait for her father, but Trent’s note hadn’t indicated any change to her usual schedule. In the end, Amy let Olivia get on the bus headed for her after-hours care facility while she returned to her desk to grade the homework the students had turned in that morning.
About ten minutes later, a knock sounded on the doorframe.
“Come in,” she called, standing to smooth the pleats of her skirt.
Sure enough, the very same Trent she’d met during last week’s accident strode straight into her room. “You,” he said with a small smile. “How’s your car?”
“Good as new,” she answered with a nervous smile. “Um, I hadn’t realized that you’re Olivia’s . . .”
“Father, yeah.”
“Your names are different.”
“Her mother didn’t want to change her name when we got married, so we flipped a coin and Olivia ended up as a Springer instead of a Holt.” He stopped by the chalkboard and frowned. “I’m sorry. I should have come in to speak to you sooner.”
Amy folded her hands and held them near her waist. “Is everything okay at home?” she asked gently. This was never an easy conversation to have, but it was especially awkward given their recent history. It was hard to appear authoritative and competent after the wreck she’d caused in traffic.
Trent glanced around the room, then pulled out one of the small plastic student chairs and sat.
Amy leaned back against her desk and waited while he collected himself. Why was it taking so long for him to answer this question?
Trent smiled and let out a puff of air. “Everything’s fine now. Olivia has everything she needs at home . . . except for her mother.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you recently get divorced?”
“No, she died. Cancer.”
Rather than offering her condolences, Amy’s jaw hung open from shock. No words came out, just a sharp intake of breath.
“I know I may not be the best at putting together outfits or styling her hair, but I’m trying to be better for both of us. I’m afraid school is especially hard for Olivia, because her mother was homeschooling her until she got sick. It all happened really fast, especially at the end.”
“I’m so sorry,” Amy murmured. “I just lost my mom, too. She had cancer in her brain.”
“Olivia’s mom had lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life, but that’s just how things go sometimes.” Trent smiled sadly. “Anyway, thank you for caring enough to send that note. Olivia, she just needs time to heal. Eventually, she will, but it kills me every time I think about her growing up without her mommy. All the things she’ll miss out on because of it. I hate that she doesn’t smile anymore, and more than anything, I hate that there’s nothing I can do for her.”
“I want to help,” Amy blurted out practically before she’d even formed the full thought in her head.
Trent sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’m afraid there’s not really anything you can do, other than what you’ve already done.”
“But I just lost my mom, too. Maybe it will help her to have someone who understands and can talk to her about what she’s feeling.” Suddenly, this was desperately important to Amy. She’d always wanted to do right by her students, but this mattered more for some reason.
Trent seemed unsure as he studied her skeptically. “I thought you said she won’t talk at school?”
“She won’t, but I’d love the chance to spend some time with her outside of school. With you there, too, of course.”
He studied her for another moment before shaking his head and breaking into a large smile. “I’d like to say that you don’t have to do that, but I also don’t want to deny my little girl any chance for interaction that might make her feel better. Thank you so much for wanting to help.”
Maybe Amy was being crazy, just like Bridget and her overzealous goal with the shelter dogs. But even so, here she had the chance to do some good in the world and she was definitely going to take it.
“Let me give you my number,” she said, feeling excitement rise in her chest. She could do something good. She could change the whole course of this little girl’s life.
“Sure,” Trent said with an easy smile. “Do you still have mine?”
Heat rose to Amy’s cheeks as she remembered tossing his business card in the trash at the dealership. “You’d better give it to me again,” she mumbled.
Trent stood to take his phone out of his pocket. After they exchanged numbers, he extended a hand. “Thank you so much for this,” he said.
She accepted his hand and he pulled her into a hug. While not strictly appropriate given their relationship, she understood. He felt like he might finally have an answer.
And she did, too.
Chapter 13
Amy called Nichole via her car’s Bluetooth as she drove home from school. She knew Nichole would still be at work for another hour or more, but needed to at least try to get through.
When the voice mail picked up, Amy tried to sound breezy so as not to worry Nichole. “Hi! I’m coming over to your place. See you when you get there.”
She thought briefly about heading to the store to pick up some games and activities for Olivia, but ultimately decided she’d rather talk to Nichole about the situation before investing money in it. After all, Nichole worked with traumatized children daily. She would know how best to break through to little Olivia.
Once she reached Nichole’s condo, Amy parked in her driveway and pulled out her phone to catch up on her latest read. Time always passed so quickly when she had a book—or an electronic device with a book—in her hands. She’d barely managed a couple chapters when Nichole pulled up behind her and let out a short blast of her horn.
Amy closed her reading app and got out of the car to greet her friend, but Nichole waved her off. “Move first, so I can get into my garage.”
When the parking situation was settled, Amy followed her friend in through the garage.
“Did you forget something here yesterday?” Nichole asked, searching her neat and clean counters for an errant object. “Because I didn’t find anything.”
“Nope, I came because I need your expert opinion.”
“Uh-oh. Wha
t now?” Nichole’s brow pinched with worry. Amy had long since figured out that her friend used cynicism as a way to mask her ubiquitous anxiety, so Amy rarely let it bother her.
Amy put both hands on her hips. “Why the uh-oh? It’s a good thing.”
“Prove it,” Nichole challenged as she crossed her arms and sank into a nearby chair.
Amy leaned against the counter and thought about the best way to present her case to Nichole. Had she been smart, she would have prepared for this conversation in her head while waiting for Nichole to come home.
“There’s this girl in my class—Olivia,” she started at last. “She’s having a hard time. She doesn’t talk to me or the other students, and she’s always so sad.”
Nichole sighed. “I don’t like where this is going.”
Amy frowned and shook her head. “I met with her dad today—same guy who rear-ended me last week, actually—and found out her mother just died.”
Nichole’s face was empty of expression and her voice went flat, too. “Let me guess. She died of cancer?”
This startled Amy. “How did you know?”
“Because we can’t escape it. Haven’t you noticed that the big C seems to follow us wherever we go these days? Heck, one of Bridget’s rescue dogs probably has it, too. Fast forward twenty or thirty years, and I’m sure we’ll all be diagnosed with it as well.”
Amy chewed the inside of her cheek. Normally, she thought of Nichole’s attitude as kind of a lovable quirk, but sometimes her friend took her cynicism so far that she really upset everyone. This appeared to be one of those times.
As Amy thought about how best to proceed with her request for help, Nichole groaned and said, “Sorry. One of the families I’m counseling at work, their son has it, and I’m just so fed up with cancer destroying everything that’s beautiful in life.”
Amy’s eyes lingered on Nichole’s drawn expression. Sometimes a hug helped Nichole feel better. Other times it seemed to heighten her anxiety, and Amy never liked getting it wrong.
“Sorry,” Nichole said again, uncrossing and recrossing her arms. “Go ahead.”
When Amy hesitated, Nichole nodded. “Go on. I’m ready.”
“Olivia’s dad and I talked today,” she continued, “and he’s agreed to let me help. Since I just lost my mom, too, we thought maybe I could get through to Olivia by spending some time with her outside of school hours. I was hoping you’d have some advice for me?” Amy’s voice hitched at the end as she studied Nichole’s thoughtful expression.
“She’s eight?” Nichole asked.
“Should be since she’s in my class.”
“C’mon.” Nichole stumbled out of the chair and led Amy to the second bedroom in her condo. Because Nichole preferred not to have a roommate, she’d converted the room into a small library with wall-to-wall shelves stuffed full of various reference books and self-help guides.
She flitted around now, grabbing thick books from several different places and stacking them all in Amy’s outstretched arms. “That should do it,” Nichole said, once she’d dropped a seventh on top of Amy’s precarious pile.
A moment later, Nichole grabbed half the stack from Amy and guided her back to the kitchen table. “We’ve got some Piaget, so you can brush up on the concrete operational stage, which I’m sure you learned about when you were studying for your teaching degree,” she explained before pushing that book aside and holding up another. “I also have books on explaining loss to children, overcoming the step in stepparent—not strictly relevant to your situation but close enough, I think—and one on the savior complex, which you should probably lend to Bridget when you’re done reading it.”
“You want me to read all of these?” Amy asked, not even attempting to hide her deep frown. “I thought we could just, you know, talk about it.”
“We can talk, but when you’re ready to dive in deeper, you’ll have a good place to go,” Nichole said with a smile. She loved learning. Perhaps even more than Amy herself, which was quite the feat.
When Amy swallowed, her throat felt impossibly dry. Nichole had just thrust more than two thousand pages of psychology and parapsychology on her. Did she really need to do so much background research before spending time with a little girl who needed a friend?
“Thank you for all these,” she said, trying not to let the books overwhelm her. “I was thinking I could start by getting her to trust me. No deep counseling sessions or anything like that. I just want to remind her that she’s a little girl again. Does that make sense?”
Nichole nodded as her gaze swept across the table.
“So, how do I do that? What kind of activities are appropriate?”
“You said you met with her dad, right?” Nichole glanced up toward Amy and waited.
“Trent.” Amy smiled as she pictured his intense gaze and earnest smile.
“So, start with him. Ask him what Olivia likes, or at least what she liked before.”
Amy raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “As easy as that?”
“Yes, as easy as that,” Nichole said, letting out a sarcastic huff of air. “Kids aren’t these unsolvable puzzles. They’re just little people, and oftentimes their motives are a thousand times clearer than any adult’s. Don’t you know this from teaching?”
Amy ran a hand along the back of her neck. “Well, yeah, but dealing with a kid in the classroom is very different from counseling one. That’s why I came to the pro.”
“Fair enough,” Nichole said with a relieved smile.
“So, you’re saying I start with what she likes, read all these books, and then what?”
Nichole leaned forward and grasped one of the books between her hands. “Every case is unique. Every person handles grief and trauma differently. Just like us, right? It’s great going in with knowledge and a plan, but mostly you need to be ready to play it by ear. I know you’re used to being the leader, but this time you have to let Olivia guide you. React instead of acting first. Make sense?”
“Is that what you do?”
“Pretty much. You’re not going to make any progress until she trusts you. That’s step one.” Nichole thought for a moment, then jumped up from her chair, startling Amy. “Oh, let me go get you a book on mirroring!” she cried.
Amy stared at the books scattered across the table while Nichole ran to add yet another to her assigned reading list. No doubt, the longer she stayed, the more books would find their way into her possession.
Nichole was right about one thing, though. She had to start by getting Olivia to trust her.
And she had a pretty good idea of how she might accomplish that.
Chapter 14
Amy tried not to feel nervous as she stood waiting at Trent and Olivia’s front door. The large pizza she’d brought with her was so hot it practically burned her hand right through the box. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to balance it with one hand while carrying two stuffed grocery bags in the other.
“There she is!” Trent said when he flung the door open and motioned for her to follow him inside. “C’mon in, Ms. Shannon.” He grabbed the bags from her hand and led her through the living room straight to the eat-in kitchen.
She spied Olivia sitting on the couch with her knees hugged tight to her chest, and said hello as they passed. Tonight would be a low-pressure way for the three of them to spend time together. Amy would make sure of it. She’d already texted with Trent to determine Olivia’s favorite foods, movies, and pastimes—and she was ready to show the sad little girl a fun night in.
“Mmm,” Trent said, rubbing his stomach animatedly. Amy noticed he positioned himself precisely on the border of the two rooms so that both she and Olivia could easily see him. “This pepperoni pizza smells so delicious. And what’s on these plates, Ms. Shannon? Is that Tinker Bell?”
Although she knew Trent’s over-the-top enthusiasm was for Olivia’s benefit, Amy couldn’t help but laugh. He looked so adorably goofy with his silly faces and exaggerated voices.
“I lo
ve pizza and Tinker Bell, too!” Amy called out merrily, deciding to add to his performance while they tore into the pizza and stuck a slice on each tiny plate. “So, I thought maybe we could all watch the newest Tinker Bell movie together. I brought a copy with me, just in case.”
Trent grabbed two of the plates and returned to the living room.
Amy followed closely after with a couple slices of pizza for herself.
“What do you think, Olivia? Does that sound like a good plan?” Trent asked, swaying in a dance while he held the plates at waist level.
The little girl nodded and held her hands out to her daddy, who stuck a plate between them. “Thank you,” Amy thought she heard the girl mutter before she began to pick off the toppings and pop them into her mouth one by one.
Amy set her plate down on the side table and went back to grab drinks.
“Do you like orange soda?” she asked Olivia, holding a cup out to her.
Olivia nodded and accepted the drink.
Amy smiled at her in return. “I like it, too,” she said before taking a seat on the adjacent couch.
“Everyone ready?” Trent asked with a glance toward Olivia, then Amy, and back again. When they both nodded, he approached the TV, rubbing his hands together like a showman about to present a magic trick.
“Okay, let’s get this party started!” he said as he bent down to pop the movie into the Blu-ray player. After grabbing the remote and his plate, he plopped down on the couch beside Amy. Even though it was a three-seater, he felt impossibly, enticingly close. She liked this—being near him, being part of a casual evening spent at home with family.
Amy stole a few glances toward Olivia and found her enraptured with the animated storyline. Where it seemed appropriate, she laughed and added a bit of excited commentary to help Olivia get used to the idea of her being around, to show her that she liked the same things.
The Sunday Potluck Club Page 6
