Words

by Ginny L. Yttrup

  "He fired. He was erratic, but we had to protect Kaylee, and ourselves." Mackenzie's thoughtful for a moment. "I promised my wife and kids I'd be home for dinner tonight. I intend to keep that promise." He tilts his head and smiles. "He got two shots off before I shot him. That was two shots too many. I hit him below the right shoulder. So he's wounded, but he'll probably make it. His type usually does."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean he'll be back, free to do this to another child. He'll get off on a technicality or maybe he'll even serve a little time, then we'll get another call and go through the whole thing again."

  I nod in understanding, although I know I don't truly understand. I can't imagine what it takes to do his job.

  "Well, Sierra, as I said, we'll be in touch." He gestures to the ambulance that's turning around on the dirt road. I nod again.

  When I arrive at the hospital, they're just unloading Kaylee from the ambulance. I follow the paramedics through the double doors and down a hallway to the nurses' station where the paramedics exchange information with a woman who looks as though she could wrap all of humanity in her ample arms and make us all feel better. She jots down the pertinent medical information then looks around the paramedics to me. "You her momma?"

  "No. I'm just . . . No. I'm not."

  Eyes the color of rich coffee stare back at me—wisdom swirls in their depths. "You have the worried look of a momma."

  "I was . . ." The whispered words slip out of my mouth before they register in my mind. "I mean, I had . . . I . . ."

  "Honey, you don't need to tell me nothin', but I'm tellin' you, once a momma, always a momma. That's just the way it is. There's no goin' back, no matter what happened. So if you're not her momma then who is? Do we have a parent here?"

  "Oh—uh . . ."

  One of the paramedics interrupts my stammering. "Charlene, Mackenzie notified CWS. They're sending a caseworker over for her."

  "She part of that mess?" Charlene points down the hallway, and I turn and see one of the officers from earlier standing next to another gurney.

  "Yep. They found her with him. Abuse. Neglect. You know . . ."

  "I sure do know and wish I didn't." The nurse's soft features harden and fire ignites her eyes. She shakes her head. "Well then, we'll just give this one some extra lovin' while she's here." As she walks away to prep a room for Kaylee, I hear her muttering, "No excuse for that kind of thing. No siree, just no excuse."

  Once a momma, always a momma. The truth of her words lingers. I became a mother the day Annie was born, and I assumed motherhood ended for me the day she died. Yet, the longings to love, nurture, and protect that her birth awakened in me didn't die with her. It's those longings, those desires, I've worked so hard to bury all these years.

  But I dug a shallow grave. So here I am. Undone. Afraid. But hopeful. Hopeful that God will allow me a place in this child's life.

  As the nurses get Kaylee into an examining room, I reach for my cell phone and dial Ruby.

  Her simple "Hello"—the sound of her voice—dislodges a well of emotions. Everything I've held inside today comes pouring out.

  "Rube . . ." I take a deep breath and try again, but instead of words, sobs emerge.

  "Sierra? Oh sweetie, where are you? What's going on? Margaret's looking for you. She tried to reach you yesterday and again this morning and finally called me. Then I started calling you and couldn't reach you. Where are you? What's wrong? Sierra?"

  I choke back another sob and, for lack of tissue, wipe my eyes and nose on my sleeve. "I'm . . . I'm okay. I'm at the hospital with Kaylee."

  "Oh, Sierra, what happened?"

  "Rube, can you come here? Can you . . . would you . . ." I take a deep breath. "I want you . . . here. Everything's okay . . . but I just want you here . . . you know?"

  "I'm on my way."

  I ask Ruby to stop by the bungalow and feed Van and let him inside for the evening and then I hang up. When I turn from the wall I've been facing, I see a man walk into the room where they've placed Kaylee. The doctor, maybe?

  I wipe my eyes one more time and head for her room where I can see Charlene and another nurse lift Kaylee from the gurney onto a bed.

  "She's light as a feather. She don't weight nothin' at all." Charlene shakes her head. "Oh, there you are. This gentleman is lookin' for you."

  "Sierra Bickford?" He reaches to shake my hand and I'm struck by the size of him. He towers over my 5' 11" frame and his hand is twice the size of mine. He reminds me of a Viking. His glacier blue eyes are set in a tan, weathered face and his smile is warm and welcoming. I'm keenly aware of my disheveled appearance and wish I'd glanced in a mirror at some point today. But then, that's ridiculous.

  "Yes, I'm Sierra."

  "I'm Peter Langstrom, with Child Welfare Services." He hands me a card and I note the PhD after his name.

  "Doctor of?"

  "Psychology."

  A shrink? Great.

  "I've been assigned to . . ." He opens a file folder and glances at a sheet of paper. "Kaylee's case. I spoke briefly with Officer Mackenzie and he gave me your name and suggested I talk with you. Do you have a moment? I'd like to ask you a few questions."

  "Sure."

  "How well do you know the child?"

  "We just met recently. I encountered her in a forested area near Bonny Doon. It seemed strange to me that she was alone. So I returned several times until I figured out where she lived. In the meantime, I filed an initial report with Child Welfare Services."

  "Yes, I have that information on the report you filed. I understand she doesn't speak?"

  "No, she doesn't. But she communicates—she writes." I think of Kaylee's notes and smile. "She's smart too—quite the vocabulary." I pause a moment then risk the question nagging at me. "What will happen to her? Where will she go?"

  "I'll need to speak with her doctor and determine how long she needs to be here. Probably won't be more than a day or two. But I want her checked thoroughly. We'll see if there's a medical reason for her lack of speech. Although, based on what it appears she's been through, it's likely an anxiety disorder. Then she'll be placed either in a residential treatment facility or in foster care—likely with a family licensed for emergency care. In the meantime I'll begin an investigation, search for her parents or extended family. If we don't find anything or if the parents aren't stable, then she'll be placed in another home. A more permanent situation. And, of course, we'll work with her and the foster family to provide for her needs."

  "What about the abuse? How do you deal with that?"

  "Counseling."

  "Do you do that?"

  "Not directly, although I'll assess her as I interview her and interact with her, and I'll work with the foster family to help them understand her needs." He consults his notes again. "I understand she's made reference to her mother?"

  "She doesn't seem to know where she is. Kaylee said her mom has amnesia—or at least she thinks she does."

  "Maybe Kaylee needed to make sense of it, to protect herself emotionally by devising a scenario that accounts for her mother's absence. Hard to say at this point . . ." He turns and looks at Kaylee and then back at me. His features soften and I see concern, and tenderness maybe, and something else, something that reminds me of my daddy.

  Maybe it's that sense of familiarity that encourages me to delve deeper. "Is there . . . I mean . . . do you ever . . . could . . ."

  I notice a slight crinkling of the skin around the outside corners of his eyes and realize he's trying not to smile at my stumbling. I feel the heat of a blush climbing from my neck to my face and feel disgusted with my inability to string together a simple sentence. I'm unaccustomed to pushing through choking emotions. I take a deep breath and begin again. "Dr. Langstrom, is it possible that Kaylee could be placed with me? W
e've developed a rapport. I believe she feels safe with me." I feign confidence I don't feel. "Wouldn't it be less traumatic for her to stay with someone she already knows?"

  Before he has a chance to answer, I notice Kaylee stirring. She lifts her head and looks toward me. I see questions and confusion on her face.

  "Excuse me . . ." I step around him to the side of Kaylee's bed. She's laid back down and her eyes are closed again. I place my hand on her forehead and brush her hair away from her face. "I'm here, Kaylee, you're doing great."

  I see her eyes flutter, but they don't open until the nurse pokes her. I hold onto her as she tries to pull away from Charlene and then continue to soothe her by stroking her forehead.

  She finally looks at me and focuses. I see recognition—and what I hope is relief—in her eyes. She tries to smile but her lips are dry and cracked. Oh, how I want to alleviate her pain, no matter how small. She's already suffered more than I can imagine, or want to imagine.

  "May I give her something to drink?"

  Charlene gives her permission and I step to the sink and fill a paper cup with water, and then offer Kaylee a few sips. I help lift her head and hold the cup to her mouth. She's fully awake now and her gaze as she watches me is intent. How I wish I knew what she's thinking and feeling.

  I set the cup on a tray near the bed and then place my hand back on her forehead. I want, through my touch, to infuse her with strength, and peace, and love. I want to transfer all that's in my heart into hers. I want to gather her to myself and never let go—never let anyone harm her again. The draw I feel toward her is strong, visceral, undeniable.

  "Ms. Bickford?"

  I startle at the sound of his voice—I'd forgotten he was here. I turn back to Dr. Langstrom. "Yes, I'm sorry. About my question . . ."

  I see him look again at Kaylee and then back to me. He seems to weigh his words. "Placing her with you isn't outside the realm of possibilities, however, we'd need to do a background check, get approval, that type of thing. But at this point I don't have enough information to make such a recommendation. Let's take it one day at a time, all right? I've left instructions for the doctor to call me once Kaylee's been examined. We'll go from there."

  He reaches for my hand again. His grip is strong, sure. "I'll check back in with Kaylee later this evening. Nice to meet you, Ms. Bickford."

  "It's Sierra . . ."

  "I'm Pete. I'll talk to you again soon." With that he turns and leaves the room, and it seems there's more air to breathe with him gone. I take another deep breath and note the rapid beating of my heart.

  It's not outside the realm of possibilities . . .

  I walk back to the bed and place my hand on Kaylee's shoulder. I realize again how little I know about her . . . how little I understand. I may want her, but there's no guarantee she'll want me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Kaylee

  Sorry, I forgot. If you do something—you do it all the way. There's never any middle ground with you!"

  "Shh . . . you're going to wake her up. Good grief, Ruby! One minute you're bothered because I've shut down, the next minute you're upset because I've opened up—because I'm willing to try again—to love again."

  "It's not that. You know it's not that. I just think you should take it slow. I don't want to see you hurt again. Oh, Sierra, this all happened so fast. You just got a dog. Give yourself some time. A child is a huge responsibility."

  Sierra and someone named Ruby are sitting in the corner of the room. They're whispering, but they're not very quiet. I feel bad pretending to be asleep when I'm really not, but they're talking about me. About what's going to happen to me. I want to open my eyes and see what Ruby looks like, but I can't. Not yet.

  Sierra's talking again. She's harder to hear than Ruby.

  "I know it's fast. But remember what you told me, 'God has a plan. Why not just go with it this time and see what happens?' I think this is what happens. I can't explain it, Ruby, but I think He's given me glimpses today of what He's doing—how He's drawn Kaylee to me, drawn us together for . . . for . . . His purpose."

  Sierra laughs a little and I hear her chair scoot back.

  "Ruby, listen to me, I sound like my mother!"

  "Your mother's a very wise woman, you know. And so are you."

  I hear Ruby take a deep breath. She doesn't say anything for a minute. Then I hear her again.

  "I'm sorry I got upset. It's just that I love you and want the best for you. I do trust your judgment. You've taken a risk following God again. You have. But He loves you so much . . . even more than I do. Sierra, this is real progress!"

  I hear them both laugh.

  "What? Better progress than Van? Hey, speaking of progress, did I mention the Viking?"

  "The what?"

  "Kaylee's social worker—he's a Viking."

  A Viking? I picture a big man with blond hair and horns on the sides of his head. I don't know what a social worker does, but I don't think I want one with horns.

  "Dare I ask how a Viking is progress?"

  "He's a cute Viking."

  They both giggle. The sound fills the room and makes me feel . . . happy.

  "No, Sierra. No. That's too much in one day. Not a child and a man."

  "I'm kidding. Anyway, there's probably a Mrs. Viking and little Vikings. And a man is the last thing I need." Sierra's voice gets serious again. "But he did seem . . . I don't know . . . like he'll be good for Kaylee. Like he really cares."

  Good for me? How will he be good for me? What's he going to do to me? Why do I need a social worker?

  I'm tired of listening.

  I sit up and push the button on the side of the bed with a picture of a light bulb on it. The lights over the bed come on and both Sierra and the other lady look over at me.

  "Hey, you, how do you feel?" Sierra gets up and comes over to the bed. She doesn't touch me this time. "You've had a good sleep and lots of fluids"—she points to the IV bag on the pole next to my bed—"Are you feeling better?"

  I shrug my shoulders. I feel a little better. But right now I just want to know about the social worker. I pretend I'm holding a pencil in my hand and write something in the air. I need to ask a question.

  "Oh . . . sure . . . hold on." Sierra reaches for the tray by the side of the bed and grabs a notebook and a pen. "I thought you might want these. I found them in the gift shop downstairs."

  The notebook is bright pink and has sparkly silver stars on the front. The pen is pink too and the top is shaped like a star.

  I open the notebook to the first blank page and run my hand across it—the paper feels clean and smooth. I hold it up to my nose and sniff. It smells like school and homework, like what normal smells like. I take the cap off the pen.

  Are these for me?

  "Yes, ma'am, I bought them for you. Ruby and I went down to the . . . oh wait, you haven't met Ruby. Kaylee, this is my friend, Ruby. My best friend. And Ruby, this is Kaylee—my . . . new friend."

  Ruby's as sparkly as the notebook. It's hard not to stare at her . . . and I do for a minute. I've never met anyone with red hair, and her eyes are the color of a 7 Up bottle—clear green and shiny. Her earrings are long and dangly and have stones the same color as her eyes.

  I look back at Sierra and write another note. May I keep these? Are they really mine?

  "Of course you can keep them. They're all yours. You can write whatever you want, but I was hoping you'd write me a few notes too."

  I nod. I will. I need to know things.

  What's a social worker?

  I hand the notebook to Sierra and she and Ruby read my note. Then I see Ruby nudge Sierra with her elbow, nod her head toward the door, and whisper. "That, I'm guessing, is a social worker."

  I look toward the door and see . . . a giant. Or
a Viking, I guess. He is almost as tall as the door frame. Sierra stands and introduces us.

  "Oh, Dr. . . . Pete. Kaylee was just asking about you. Kaylee, this is your social worker." Sierra looks up at the man. "She's wondering what a social worker is . . . or does."

  "Hi, Kaylee. I'm Pete. And you're . . . ?" He turns to Ruby.

  Ruby sticks out her hand and introduces herself. "I'm Ruby Morrissey—a friend of Sierra's."

  "Ruby Morrissey? The artist?"

  "Yes."

  "I've seen your work. It's amazing. You capture the essence of humanity—the psyche of your subjects."

  As the man talks to Ruby and smiles, I start to get it. He's social. That must be part of the work he does.

  Ruby smiles and looks at Sierra. "Doctor of?"

  "Psychology." Sierra rolls her eyes and gives Ruby a goofy look.

  "Am I missing something?"

  The social worker looks confused.

  "Ruby's a frustrated psychologist at heart. You two should get along nicely."

  Ruby swats Sierra's arm, then talks to the man again. "Thanks for the compliment. It's rewarding when someone sees beneath the clay."

  The social worker turns back to me. "So, Miss Kaylee, you're looking lovely tonight. Much better than earlier. Do you feel better?"

  I lean my head way back and look at his face. There are lots of lines and wrinkles, but they look like the kind you get from smiling lots—the kind my grammy had. He's probably near the same age as Sierra and Ruby. Maybe a little older than my mom.

  I nod my head. Yes, I feel better.

  He walks over and grabs one of the chairs and pulls it to the side of the bed and sits down. "Might be easier to talk if you can see me. Let me tell you what I do and why I'm here, and then if you have questions, maybe you can jot them down for me. Will that work?"

  Maybe. I nod my head but shrug my shoulders too. I'm not sure.

  I listen while he explains about his job and why he's here. He tells me he's already started looking for my mom. He's doing an "investigation." He asks if I know what that is. I know: