Love To The Rescue

by Brenda Sinclair

  “Well, Sweet Pea, you’re in luck because my job is writing stories for grown up ladies. And every story has a beautiful lady and an extremely handsome man. And they eventually fall in love and live happily ever after, just like in your fairy tale stories.” Amy smiled and settled herself atop the spare bed with her pen and notebook in hand. She patted the quilt beside Sarah and Rover leapt up and settled beside his little friend, resting his head on her leg.

  Sarah tilted her head, deep in thought. “Will our story also have a beautiful lady in it?”

  “Better yet, why don’t we put a pretty girl in our story?”

  “Okay,” Sarah smiled. “What’s the girl’s name?”

  “Her name can be anything you want.”

  “Can her name be Sarah? I’d like to be in a story.” Sarah sat with her fists tucked under her chin.

  “Sarah is a beautiful name. So, our story is about a girl named Sarah. And she has long wavy blonde hair that hangs down her back, and her mother brushes the tangles out of her hair every night.”

  “Mrs. Harris brushes and braids my hair after my bath so it won’t get all tangled up while I sleep.” Sarah swiped her flowing hair out of her eyes. “But I like my hair when it’s not braided, too.”

  Amy silently chastised herself for not thinking to braid Sarah’s hair, but apparently, her little charge wasn’t troubled by her misstep.

  “We’ll put hair brushing in our story. What kind of bed does Sarah sleep in do you suppose?” asked Amy.

  “A beautiful bed with a white thing on top.”

  “Do you mean a canopy?” asked Amy.

  “Yep, and a pink blanket and a fluffy white pillow.” Sarah petted Rover’s head as she spoke.

  “Great idea. See, Sarah, writing a book is fun and easy. Do you have a bed like that?”

  Sarah nodded. “Mrs. Harris decorated my room all pink cause I’m a girl.”

  “Your room wasn’t pink before Mrs. Harris came to care for you?” Amy tilted her head. Why would the housekeeper redecorate Sarah’s room? Wouldn’t keeping the same, familiar surrounding be wiser?

  “No. My room wasn’t pretty like Bonnie’s room. She’s my bestest friend. Mrs. Harris talked to Bonnie’s mommy and then she made my room pretty, too.” Sarah beamed.

  “What was your room like before?”

  “There was a really small bed, and my clothes were in a tiny yellow dresser with stupid bunnies on the drawers. It looked like a baby’s room not a big girl room. But Mrs. Harris told Daddy that I needed a big girl room now, and Daddy said okay.” Sarah leaned closer and confided, “I’m glad Mrs. Harris made my room pretty. I like having Bonnie come to play now.”

  “Did you feel bad about the baby room before?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t want Bonnie to see it.”

  “Is there anything else that makes you feel bad?” Amy held her breath, realizing she might be treading on thin ice here. If the perceptive little girl caught on to what she was doing, she might clam up forever.

  “Well…” Sarah wrapped one arm around Rover.

  “You can tell me,” whispered Amy, noticing Sarah had reached out for support from the one source she knew she could count on, her new four-footed playmate. “We’re good friends, aren’t we? You can tell me anything, and I won’t tell anybody. Promise. Rover won’t tell anyone either.”

  Sarah giggled and hugged the dog’s neck. “Rover can’t talk!”

  “Oh, that’s right. Sorry, I forgot.”

  Sarah heaved a sigh. “My mommy went away and then she died. I don’t have a mommy like the other girls do. I wanted to join Girl Guides, but I think you need to have a mommy. Bonnie says Girl Guides is a lot of fun. She’s in Brownies. But Bonnie has a really nice mommy and I don’t. So I didn’t ask Daddy if I could go.”

  “Do you feel sad because you’re not in Girl Guides?”

  “Yeah. Bonnie has a nice uniform and she goes to a meeting every week and she does all kinds of neat stuff.”

  Amy noticed how Sarah’s eyes lit up while she spoke.

  “Bonnie and her mom got to sell really good cookies.” Sarah’s arm dropped from around Rover. “They weren’t as good as the ones we made.”

  Amy suspected Sarah added the last comment in case she’d hurt her feelings. Recalling the comment about liking her hair braided or not, Amy realized that comment was for her benefit as well. Sarah was certainly kind-hearted and mindful of the feelings of others, thought Amy, for someone so young.

  “I agree with you. I bought three boxes of Girl Guide cookies, and they were so good.” Amy smiled, recalling the extra time on the treadmill required to compensate for those darn cookies which tasted way too delicious for her waistline’s own good.

  “Daddy bought some, too. We had a cookie with a glass of milk before I went to bed when he was home. Mostly, I had them after school with Mrs. Harris.” Sarah scratched her nose with her pajamas sleeve and then added, wistfully. “I sure would have liked to ring doorbells and sell cookies.”

  Hearing the sadness and regret in the little girl’s voice tugged at Amy’s heartstrings. She remembered selling those cookies herself as a kid. Her mother chatted with all the neighbors and collected the money while she counted out the number of boxes of cookies needed for each customer. She’d loved it!

  “I think I know what we should do.” Amy hoped her idea was the right thing. Her friendship with Kevin was rapidly becoming a relationship, at least to her way of thinking. But she couldn’t be certain how Kevin felt. Should she have asked his opinion before suggesting she accompany Sarah to Girl Guides? Too late now, unless she worded the idea in the proper way.

  “What should we do?” Sarah twisted a corner of her pajamas top around her fingers.

  “Why don’t we ask your daddy if I can take you to Girl Guides?” Amy reached for Sarah’s hand. “I know I’m not your mommy, but maybe if I come with you then it would be okay?”

  “Really?” Her face lit up.

  “Really,” confirmed Amy.

  “Jane’s daddy has a girlfriend. She lives at Jane’s house, and she sold cookies with Jane. They came to our house and Jane sold the cookies to Daddy. You’re Daddy’s girlfriend. I’d like you to come with me.” Suddenly, Sarah’s smile disappeared, replaced by a frown. “What if Daddy says no?”

  “Why would your daddy say no?” Amy hoped Sarah would open up and share some of her fears.

  “Because I made Mommy go away. And I wouldn’t talk to Dr. Prescott, and I don’t like going to school, and I heard him tell Mrs. Harris he doesn’t know what to do with me.” Sarah lowered her voice to a whisper while her fingers played with one of Rover’s ears. “I don’t think Daddy loves me any more.”

  “Whoa right there.” Amy scooted over and wrapped her arms around Sarah. “First of all, you didn’t make your mommy go away, and your daddy couldn’t possibly love you more than he does now.”

  “But, Mommy…”

  “No, there’s no but. Your mother will love you forever, even though she lives up in heaven now.”

  “You think so?” Sarah peeked up through wet eyelashes.

  “I’m certain. How could she not love a wonderful girl like you?” Amy squeezed Sarah and whipped up her pajama top and tickled her belly until she squealed. Rover leaned over and touched Sarah’s bare tummy with his cold wet nose which elicited another squeal. “And if you didn’t give Dr. Prescott any answers, then he must have asked the wrong questions.”

  “I didn’t like him. He smelled like rotten bugs.” Sarah wrinkled her nose and then pinched her nostrils with her index finger and thumb.

  Amy laughed, suspecting Dr. Prescott was perhaps a chain smoker and smelled like stale smoke. Or maybe the fellow just wasn’t religious about bathing.

  “Why do you hate school, Sarah?” Amy tossed the question in hoping to catch Sarah off guard. Would she volunteer the truth before realizing what she’d done?

  “I can’t make my letters properly, and I hate doing numbers, too.”

>   Amy felt Sarah’s body stiffen as soon as she blurted the admission.

  “I was never a fan of numbers myself. I guess that’s why I’m a writer and not an accountant.” Amy laughed. “But I could help you practice your letters.”

  “If I get really good then the teacher will like me more. She says I exasperate her. I don’t know what that is, but I don’t think it’s good.”

  “It means she feels a little frustrated, much like I’m certain you feel frustrated when you can’t get your fingers to work right and make pretty letters. But we’ll work on it and soon you’ll make the prettiest letters in the whole class. Okay?” Amy raised her hand for a high five.

  “Okay!” Sarah slapped hands with Amy.

  “Now, lay your head on the pillow and let’s play a game. You don’t appear to be very sleepy yet.” Amy flopped down atop the quilt and plopped her head onto the other pillow.

  “What kind of a game?” inquired Sarah, scooting over and laying her head next to Amy’s. “I play eye spy with Mrs. Harris on Saturday mornings while I eat my happy face pancake.”

  “You get a happy face pancake?” Amy sat up, resting on one elbow. She smiled recalling her mother’s famous animal shaped pancakes when she was a child.

  “Yep. She makes the eyes and the smile with slices of banana. They’re really good.” Sarah’s little eyebrows raised a fraction.

  “Would you please warn Mrs. Harris that I’m coming for breakfast next Saturday?”

  “Okay, I’ll tell Mrs. Harris to make lots of pancakes. And I’ll say my friend is coming over. She’ll think Bonnie is coming.” Sarah giggled, and then covered her mouth with her hands.

  “She’ll never suspect a thing.” The innocent conspiracy warmed Amy’s heart.

  “What game are we playing?” asked Sarah, attempting to stifle a yawn.

  “It’s my most favorite game ever. It’s called ‘happy and sad’. We have to tell the other person one thing that makes us very happy and then something that makes us sad. I’ll go first.” Amy placed her index finger on her chin, appearing to be thinking really hard. “I’ve got it. Rover makes me very happy when I watch him playing in the backyard with his ball. And when you have to go home after visiting me that makes me sad.”

  “My turn.” Sarah copied Amy’s gesture, placed her finger onto her chin. “When Daddy is home and tucks me into bed that makes me happy. Having to go home after playing with Rover makes me sad.”

  “Ah, that’s a good one. I used to love it when my daddy tucked me in at night, too. Does your daddy give good kisses?” Amy smiled, recalling with first hand knowledge, wow does he ever!

  “Yep, and he tickles me when he kisses me and makes me laugh. Daddy says the angels will hear me laughing and then they’ll watch over me while I’m sleeping.”

  “So that’s how it works. I’ve always wondered about that watching over little children thing. Thank you for clearing that up for me.” Amy rolled onto her side, met Sarah’s eyes. “My turn again. Let me see. When I sit on my deck and admire all my lovely flowers it always makes me very happy. But when I spend a beautiful sunny day weeding all the flower beds, it makes me sad because I could be playing ball with Rover instead.”

  “I like pretty flowers, too, Amy. They make me happy.” Sarah thought for a few seconds. “When the teacher…” Sarah clammed up and turned away from Amy’s gaze. One small hand reached over and buried itself in Rover’s fur.

  “What about your teacher? Does she do something that makes you sad?” asked Amy. “Remember, I can’t tell anyone what you say. That’s part of the rules. So you can’t tell anyone that I hate weeding my flowerbeds.”

  “When the teacher makes me read out loud, I don’t read very good. And the other kids laugh at me and I hate it.” Sarah turned, tearfully meeting Amy’s eyes.

  “Do you know the secret to learning to read better?”

  “No.” Sarah’s hand swiped at her tears.

  “You have to read more.”

  “But I don’t read good. And I don’t like reading.”

  “You don’t read well,” corrected Amy. “But, if you practice lots, before you know it you’ll be reading even better than some of those other kids in your class. Then nobody would even dare to laugh while you’re reading.”

  “But I hate reading.” Sarah shrugged her shoulders.

  “Why? Don’t you like the stories?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Why only sometimes?”

  “Because when I read them, they don’t make sense.”

  “You don’t understand the story you read?”

  “No. I forget what it was about.”

  “Because it takes too long to read it?”

  “Yes. When Mrs. Harris or Daddy reads the stories, they read really fast and I listen to the story and I like it.” She brushed a missed tear from her cheek.

  “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to practice your letters and practice your reading, too.” Amy nodded her head, decisively. “We can’t have anybody laughing at my favorite little girl, now can we?”

  “I’m your favorite little girl?” asked Sarah, incredulously.

  “You bet!” answered Amy.

  “Can you make me read better?”

  “Nope, but you can if you try. It probably doesn’t make sense, but the more you read the better reader you’ll become. Do you trust me?” Amy met Sarah’s eyes, held her breath while she waited for the answer.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “You’re pretty close to a mommy. You’re really nice, and you listen to me, and you smell nice.”

  Amy’s eyes misted, hearing the nicest compliments she’d received in ages, and they were offered by a seven-year-old. “I’m your friend, Sarah. And I’ll always be here for you whenever you need someone to talk to, to tell secrets to, to help you with any problem.”

  “Okay. I haven’t got any more ‘happy and sad’. Can I go to sleep now?” Sarah yawned.

  Amy tucked the blanket around her and kissed her cheek. “You most certainly can, and Rover can sleep up here beside you all night. If those angels go for a coffee break, Rover will watch over you while they’re away.”

  Sarah giggled and then closed her eyes. “Good night, Amy.”

  “Good night, Sweet Pea. Sleep tight.” Amy switched off the bedside lamp and tiptoed out of the room. She left the door ajar, faintly illuminating the bedroom with a sliver of light from the hallway so Sarah could find the bathroom if necessary.

  Amy headed to the kitchen to make a cup of herbal tea while she reviewed everything she’d learned from Sarah’s confessions. Mrs. Harris prepared special pancakes on Saturdays, the psychologist smelled bad, and she hated reading because she needed extra help with letters and words. And she desperately wanted to become a Girl Guide.

  No problem, she thought. I can handle this.

  ****

  The next morning, Leslie popped in for a quick visit before the salon opened. “How did your ladies only night go?”

  Sarah sat at the kitchen table, eating a piece of toast and a plate of scrambled eggs decorated with a ketchup happy face. “We had fun and we wrote a story about a girl named Sarah.”

  Amy poured a cup of coffee for Leslie and joined her at the table. “We made a pizza for supper, and we played cards. It was a lot of fun, wasn’t it?”

  “Yep.” Sarah wiped her mouth on the butterfly-patterned napkin Amy set by her plate and then met Amy’s eyes. “Can I play outside with Rover now? Maybe Sherry will come over.”

  “How did you eat all that so fast?” asked Amy. And then she noticed Rover licking his lips.

  “Did you share some of your breakfast with him?”

  “A little bit,” confessed Sarah, grinning. “It takes too long to eat eggs, and I wanted to play outside.”

  Amy picked up her dirty dishes and set them in the sink. “I won’t scold you this time. But don’t do it again. You’ll make Rover sick. It’s okay if Sherry comes over, but don’t go out of the backyard.”

&
nbsp; “I know the rules, Amy.” Sarah beamed up at her.

  “What about the rule ‘don’t feed Rover people food’?”

  “I’m sorry. I forgot. Bye, Leslie,” she called over her shoulder as she slipped outside through the back door with Rover loping along behind her.

  “If I had half the energy that kid has,” said Amy, shaking her head. “Tiffany’s daughter and Sarah are both seven years old, and they play together so well. And Tiff’s dog loves Rover. By the way, how’s your new kitty? Is Priscilla still doing okay?”

  “I just love that cat. She’s a snuggly girl, loves cuddling with me on the couch while I read or watch TV. Hasn’t scratched up any furniture or attempted to climb my living room drapes, uses her litter box faithfully. She’s such a little darling.”

  “I’m glad she’s as much a joy for you as Rover is for me.”

  Just then, the front doorbell rang. Amy heard the door open before she climbed off the kitchen stool. She’d given Kevin a key to the front door and the code to her alarm in case of an emergency. “Hello. I come bearing gifts—bagels and donuts,” he called, walking down the hallway and into the kitchen, carrying a square box from the local donut shop.

  “Hello, yourself. You’re a little late. We’ve already had breakfast. But I won’t say no to one of those donuts.” Amy leapt up and took the box from him, gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I see you used your key. Do you consider this an emergency?”

  “Yes. I worked most of the night. I need coffee and sustenance, now.” Kevin checked his watch. “I thought you never get up until nine thirty or ten. It’s only nine thirty-five.”

  “That’s when there’s just me and Rover.” Amy bit into a double chocolate donut. “Mmm, so good. Your daughter and Rover leapt onto my bed at eight fifteen, buster. How is anyone supposed to sleep in with a seven-year-old in the house?”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. I usually turn on the TV in my room and she snuggles up, watches cartoons, and I fall back to sleep. She wakes me up when she’s ready for breakfast.” Kevin grabbed a multi-grain bagel, sliced it in half, and stuck it in the toaster. “Do you have any cream cheese?”