The Forgotten Child

by Eckhart, Lorhainne

  “Oh shit!” Emily dropped the box and hustled across the worn wooden floor. Katy stood in the archway wide eyed.

  “Mama, Trevor bad.” Katy pointed to the tiny little dark haired boy wearing blue cotton pants and a striped T-shirt, barefoot, sitting in an orange, sticky puddle beside an open fridge door. The lower plastic side bar stuck out like a sore thumb and dangled to the floor. Jars and containers scattered the floor. Chunks of glass and pickles surrounded Trevor. “Trevor don’t move.”

  “What the hell’s going on in here?” The back door clattered and Brad stomped into the kitchen, brushed past Emily, bent over and picked up his wet boy, moving him out of the mess.

  “Stay there.” His deep, smoky voice was sharp as he cast an accusatory glance at Emily.

  “Weren’t you watching him, how in the hell did this happen?”

  Trevor tried to step into the puddle of orange juice, flapping his arms and yelling “da, da, da.” Over and over.

  “Dammit, you’re going to cut yourself.” Brad picked up Trevor and moved him over by Katy who stood quiet and unsure in the doorway. Big pools filled Katy’s eyes. She looked ready to cry.

  “Brad a delivery guy brought you a package, I signed for it. Trevor was in front of the TV. I just turned my back for a second.”

  The cream-colored walls seemed to vibrate as the tension thickened the air. Katy burst into tears and Brad ran his large callused fingers, the hands of a working man, through his hair, irritated. He ground his teeth with his tight, strong jaw. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Then he sighed and threw his hands in the air, as Emily picked up Katy.

  He let out a weary laugh and something softened as those magnificent eyes connected with her.

  “Well let’s clean this up.” Brad reached for a roll of paper towel on a shelf at the back door. He ripped off sheets and dropped them onto the puddled juice.

  Emily kissed the top of Katy’s head and wiped her tears. “Watch Dora and let me clean up this mess. I’ll come and get you.” Katy clung when Emily tried to get her to sit on the sofa. But she appeased her with her dolly and was able to slip away. Trevor was a different story. He was making a “whop, whop” noise as he swayed back and forth just inches from the chunks of glass Brad scrambled to pick-up.

  “Why don’t I take Trevor and get him cleaned up.” She didn’t wait for a reply but squatted down in front of the child. He was whimpering in his juice-covered pants, making a different noise now, “whee, whee, whee” over and over again, as he played with his fingers. “Actually, Brad I don’t know where his room is. If you could point the way to the bathroom and his room, I’ll get him changed into some clean clothes.”

  It took Emily a moment to realize Brad stopped cleaning up the mess and was watching her with a look that resembled confusion, or maybe he didn’t understand what she’d asked. Then he dumped a wad of soggy paper towels into a black garbage bag, and stood to his full height. He gestured toward the back of the kitchen, where there were a set of stairs by the back door.

  “Just up those stairs, first door on your right is the bathroom, Trevor’s room’s beside it on the left.”

  Emily hesitated in front of the boy. Not in fear, but wondered what his reaction would be toward her. She could feel the heat from his father burning into her back. Clearly, she was center stage.

  “Come Trevor let’s get you cleaned up.” She waited, holding her breath for him to freak out. She didn’t want that to happen in front of Brad, she was nervous enough as it was. Trevor was still agitated and he whimpered when Emily reached under his arms and picked him up. Trevor wouldn’t look at her but he did wrap his tiny baby-fat little arms around her neck and his wet legs around her waist. Okay so far so good. Emily stopped in the archway. “Katy, come with Mommy.”

  Emily walked with a sureness up the wooden stairs, Katy right behind her.

  Chapter Six

  Emily sat Trevor on the long discolored marble counter beside the bathroom sink. Katy perched on a small stool by the toilet. The bathroom was a large, modern bathroom with a soaker tub, lots of cupboards and room for dressing. Emily reached for a burgundy washcloth from one of the cupboards and turned on the tap until the water warmed. She soaked the terry cloth, wrung it out, grabbing Trevor’s leg every time he squirmed, and gently wiped his hands, and then his face. “Okay Trevor, stand-up. Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

  Katy, her two-year-old bright-eyed angel, looked up. Trevor didn’t, instead he jammed the edge of the washcloth in his mouth and chewed. Those pale blue eyes held no recognition to her or anything she said. They appeared glassy unresponsive. “What’s wrong with you, Trevor?” Emily snapped her fingers. He didn’t even flinch, much less look up.

  “Lift your arms.” She helped him to stand on the counter but then he reached fitfully for the damp washcloth she pulled from his mouth. And he shrieked. Emily pulled off his shirt and gave it back. He shoved it back in his mouth. Content for the moment suckling away, Emily hurried, cleaning him up.

  She carried Trevor the a way a mother does, resting on her hip, across the carpeted hall to a child’s large bedroom which held a toddler’s racing car bed and nightstand with a horsey lamp. There was also a tall mahogany, six-drawer highboy and a toy shelf filled with cars, stuffed toys and children’s books. Emily rummaged through the top two drawers until she found another long sleeve, dark blue cotton shirt with matching sweatpants and a pair of socks. She had no trouble pulling the shirt over his head and helping him to step into his pants; he was so focused on chewing on that rag. But when she tried to put on the white cotton socks, he threw the washcloth at Emily and whined a high pitch squeal as he pushed away her hands, kicking his feet against her legs. “Okay, so socks are not going to happen today. We’ll leave those for now.” Maybe that was why he’d been barefoot.

  He calmed down when Emily put the socks back in the drawer. Trevor raced for the discarded washcloth again jamming it in his mouth. “I’m not going to fight with you, Trevor. Keep the washcloth for now. Come on, Katy. Let’s go downstairs. This time she carried Katy and held Trevor’s hand down the back steps to the kitchen. Trevor never looked up, the way you expect a child to do with a tiny smile or fleeting look connecting in that personal way of non-verbal communication. Trevor focused on the spindle railing and his hand as he dragged it over each groove all the way to the bottom step.

  The screen door squealed and slapped against the wood frame. A stocky man about medium height wearing a green plaid loggers coat stalked in. Dirt caked his cowboy boots. He yanked down the brim of his black baseball cap, tufts of dark hair sticking out, and wore what must have been several days’ worth of black stubble on his round cheeks. “Hey boss, what do you want to do about the spring hay? You still want to order more from Harley? We can’t wait much longer. We only got enough for another few days.”

  “Ah crap.” Brad glanced over his shoulder but didn’t get up from where he was crouched down in form fitting jeans, showcasing the perfect set of buns, before an open fridge. He snapped the lower bar back. The floor was now clean and a black garbage bag tucked against the cupboard. Trevor pulled his hand free and raced past the other man. “Eeegg, eeegg,” he screamed over and over, gesturing wildly to the fridge.

  Brad shut the door and Trevor slapped the shiny white door again and again.

  Brad suddenly appeared tired as he let out a heavy sigh. “What do you want? Is it juice?” The thick tension buckled the air in this large square kitchen. Trying to figure out what this child wanted was exhausting and Emily just stared.

  The strange man, who now stood beside Emily, rested his large, dirty hands on his hips.

  Brad ignored both of them and grabbed Trevor’s arm, “Come here.” He pulled open the fridge door and Trevor practically dove in for the carton of eggs. His dad lifted him with one arm and pulled him out, closing the door. “No way, how about a cookie?”

  “Brad, lunch is almost ready. I just need to reheat the soup. Everything was ready before
your box came. Oh sorry, I dropped it by the door.” Brad put Trevor down and he once again raced to the fridge and tried to pull it open, screeching at the top of his lungs. This kid was out of control. Brad scooped Trevor up and took a box of chocolate chip cookies out of the cupboard. Jackpot! Trevor stopped flailing and screaming, long enough to greedily cram a cookie into his mouth.

  “Uh sorry, at least he’s quiet and you can get lunch out.”

  Emily firmed her lips and crossed her arms. He gave in to this kid, talk about reinforcing bad behavior. But now wasn’t the time. She hurried the stove and flicked on the burner, heating up the pot of soup.

  Brad ignored her and spoke with the large man in the kitchen. “Emily how long until lunch is ready?”

  She didn’t turn around. “Five minutes.”

  Chapter Seven

  Three days after that hellish first day, Emily moved into Brad’s house.

  She slid closed the glass closet door in her new bedroom—the one beside the main bathroom, which was beside Brad’s master bedroom at the top of the stairs. Katy had fallen asleep across her Irish green duvet on her small double bed, clutching her Dora doll and her faded blue baby blanket.

  Just this morning Emily discovered this house was built by his Brad’s grandfather in the 40’s. This three thousand square foot, two story home boasted five large bedrooms. Emily’s room was freshly painted an off white, with light beige carpeting and a large picture window overlooking the horse paddock and pasture with a lovely view of the distant mountains. Trevor’s room was across the hall. Katy’s was right beside Trevor’s, which left one large bedroom at the end of the hall filled with boxes and furnishings.

  When Emily issued notice to her landlord that she was moving, even with the short notice, they’d wished her well. Gina had been true to her word. Gina, Fred, their two teenage boys and what was possibly half the neighborhood packed and moved Emily to the ranch in three days. Katy appeared happy and unruffled, even after the tense first day.

  Emily wandered across the hall into Katy’s room. She ran her hand over the floral duvet covering Katy’s white princess bed. The winnie the pooh lamp sat on the nicked night table. She meant to refinish it many times, but life continued to get in the way.

  Emily peeked in on Katy who was the vision of a sleeping angel. It had been an exhausting morning and with all the changes this week and now moving to a new house, it was no surprise after she’d rubbed her eyes, Katy’d crawled up on Emily’s bed and fallen asleep. Emily used her fingers to brush back her hair that had slid in front of her eyes. No matter how many times she tied her straight hair back today, it continued to free itself. Now using her fingers, Emily smoothed her hair back and tied it once again into a loose ponytail. She released a heavy sign as she slumped against the door frame, and an overwhelming sensation smothered her as if she’d just come up for air. All because of this whirlwind change, which resulted in her herculean approach to disassemble and pack up an entire house, start a new job and relocate all within a few days. Most of Emily’s belongings, including the furniture Bob didn’t take, were stored in the one of the heated outbuildings behind the barn.

  The top stair creaked; she swung around so fast she whacked her elbow on the doorjamb. “Oh.”

  “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you. Did you hurt yourself?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Her face must have been crimson, standing in the doorway to her bedroom. Why was this bothering her? And why wouldn’t he look away with those intense, dark eyes? Seconds passed before Brad cleared his throat.

  “Getting settled in okay?” He shoved his hands in his front pockets, a man who guarded his emotions with a control resembling something hard and mechanical. But the flicker of concern shading his eyes was genuine. Emily liked to think she could pick up any sense of falseness from a person. But she couldn’t read this guy. He was too complex.

  “I think so.” Emily cleared her throat.

  His face brightened when he looked over her head. She turned to see what he found so intriguing. “It’s been a hectic day for us all I think; hopefully she’ll sleep a while.” His smile faded. He was standing really close. Her heart thudded. Could he hear it?

  She needed to move but he blocked the way. Swallowing the lump, she tucked the wisps of hair that had, once again, escaped the ponytail behind her ears. She dropped her eyes to the floor, a motion that helped her steady her nerves. Change the subject. “I should start dinner, it’s getting late.”

  He brushed his hand on her shoulder. Heat flickered. He pulled back as if he’d been burned. Then his jaw hardened as he stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets again. “Mrs. Haske started something in the crock pot, when she was here this morning to get Trevor, so no need. You finish getting settled.”

  Her tongue felt thick and she didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded.

  “I need to go get Trevor.” He hesitated as if needing to say more, but didn’t. He hurried down the stairs.

  “Brad, I almost forgot … sorry, do you have a minute?” She cringed at her inability to put together two intelligent words. Did I stammer?

  He stopped halfway down and turned back. “Yes, Emily.” How did he do that? Even the sound of her name sounded like music to her ears. When she didn’t respond, he raised his eyebrow to hurry her along. Okay speak girl. “Um, I kind of assumed some things; sorry, what I’m trying to say is I just need to clarify some things.”

  He braced his hand against the wall. He appeared to tense as he stood straighter. She was really mucking this up.

  “You’re here to look after my boy and cook.” Whoa, she’d need a pair of tweezers to remove the stinger from his sharp clipped tone.

  “Oh, I know that. But I wanted to talk about getting groceries and the laundry. I’ll do Trevor’s. And did you want me to do your laundry too? I mean we really didn’t talk about all those details. I just want to know for sure…” Emily let her words drop off at the odd expression on his face. He dropped his hand and glanced away. He chuckled as he walked back up the steps. Emily didn’t know what to do so she backed up until she bumped the wall.

  “Lady, you surprise me. And very few do. No, I can do my own laundry, but thank you. You look after the kids and the cooking and I’ll give you money to get groceries, and if you don’t mind doing Trevor’s laundry, I’d really appreciate it. Fair enough?”

  “That’s more than fair, Brad. Thank you.”

  “Mrs. Haske will come a couple times a week to do the cleaning. If you need help with something, you just need to ask. Sorry I snapped. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She smiled at the encouragement.

  “I’ve got to go.” He talked as he hurried down the stairs.

  Even though the house was warm, Emily crossed her arms and trembled as she stood alone in the silence, listening to his familiar walk, the click of the door and the sound of his truck.

  Chapter Eight

  Right after breakfast Emily hustled out the door with Katy, Trevor and a mile long grocery list. Brad, being true to his word, provided her with plenty of cash. She’d made good time through the store and both Katy and Trevor had been on their best behavior. Except standing in line for more than five minutes became a problem, Trevor wanted out of the cart and tried to climb over himself. He yelled when Emily tried to make him sit. So she lifted him out but he then tried to crawl under the cart and ride on the bottom rack. Emily grabbed his legs and he screamed, his arms flailing. Then he threw his shoe, smacking the cashier dead center in her forehead with a pervading thud—it was one of life’s most horrifically embarrassing frozen moments in time. The grumpy cashier became hostile and called security. It wasn’t just one security guard who showed up but two stern faced, out of shape, middle aged guys who looked like wanna-be cops. While Emily struggled to calm Trevor, who flailed in her arms, and Katy gripped her sleeve whimpering, one of the guards issued her a stern warning to control her child. They didn’t do it nicely and pull her aside; they did it in front of all th
e other shoppers. And Emily still needed to pay.

  By the time, she loaded all the groceries in her van, with Trevor and Katy buckled their car seats both munching on the crackers she’d piled in their laps, her insides were trembling. She worried if, in fact, her picture was now plastered in the store with each cashier with bold black lettering “BEWARE OF THIS CUSTOMER” underneath it.

  By the time Emily got home, Mary Haske was already there. While Emily hauled in the groceries, Mary settled the children in front of the television. Mary was a robust seventy-year-old grey haired woman who wore bifocals and had a grandmotherly smile that warmed Emily’s heart.

  While Emily put away the groceries, Trevor squealed in a voice sounding exactly like Arthur—the cartoon program blaring to life on the TV. When she peaked around the corner, he was bouncing and swaying in front of the TV. Katy was snuggled with her baby blanket on the sofa.

  “Would you join me for a cup of tea, my dear.” Mary filled a yellow flowered teapot with hot water. “Come sit down.”

  “Thanks, Mary.”

  Mary set a tray with milk and sugar and carried it to the oak kitchen table that had been freshly scrubbed. “Sit down while you can, you’re going to spend most of the day on your feet, so may as well take advantage of some down time.”

  Emily accepted the hot mug of tea but waved off the milk and sugar. “Mrs. Haske…”

  “Mary, please, I insist. Dear Brad, bless his heart, can’t seem to shake the formality. He’s called me that since he could first talk.”

  Emily was drawn into the genuine motherly affection of this woman. “Mary, Brad told me you live down the road and he’s known you his whole life.”

  “His mom and I are old friends, saw that boy in his diapers. We’re a small community here. You’ll find out. We help out our neighbors. I live down the road on a small ten-acre parcel; it’s all that’s left of the 50 acres Herman sold off to Brad’s daddy. Lived here my whole married life, my Herman, God rest his soul, we were married fifty years when he passed on a few years back. He brought me here from the big city of Spokane. I was a city girl who knew nothing about farming and what it takes to live off the land. He was patient and I cried a lot of tears, packed my bags to leave more times than I can count. I was a silly young thing.” Mary smiled warmly.