Page 65 of Left Behind

Ava thought about that, then jumped down and ran down the hall.

Wiley followed. He wanted to see the look on her face when she saw herself in the mirror. When he got to her room, she was standing in front of her dresser, touching her hair all over.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I like it,” she said.

“So do I. Bath next. And we don’t get our hair wet in the bathtub, okay? That kind of soap isn’t good for your hair. Just your skin.” He started the water running in the tub, added a little nonallergenic bubble bath, and let the tub fill to about a foot of water with a thick layer of bubbles.

Ava was beside herself with glee, leaning over the tub and poking her fingers in the bubbles and laughing.

“I can get in the bubbles now?” she asked.

Here’s where he ran into another roadblock. Was it proper to help a little girl bathe, or did they wash themselves at this age?

“Can you get in the tub and wash all over by yourself, or do you need help?”

“I don’t know. I never had a bath like this before,” she said.

He had to go with his gut on this. She wasn’t a baby. She was going to be in second grade. Even if she’d never had the luxury, she’d surely seen other women in bathtubs.

“I know you’re old enough to wash yourself, but the bubbles will make the tub feel slick. So be careful getting in, and when you’re through, I’ll be sitting on your bed waiting. Then we’ll get you dried off and into your new nightgown, okay?”

“Yes, Bubba. I can do that,” she said, and was already pulling her shirt over her head.

He had one glance at the lack of flesh on the child, the prominence of her ribs and hip bones, and then walked out of her bathroom.

“I’m right here!” he called out as he sat down on the side of her bed.

“’Kay!” she said, and then she was in the bubbles.

He could hear her slapping her hands together, popping bubbles and giggling, and then sloshing.

“Don’t forget to wash. Your bar of bath soap is right there in the little shelf,” he said.

“I see it!”

Moments later, he heard it thump into the tub and grinned. Likely slid out of her hands. Now she had to go fish.

He remembered doing that with B.J. when they were little. Mom always bathed the boys two at a time. The two oldest, then the two youngest, changing water between because little boys were always dirty.

And then as he sat, he realized she was talking, but not to him.

“The bubble princess came up from the sea and blew bubbles all over Corina, ’cause she needs a-washin’. Lipstick won’t make her pretty. She’s mean, and I’m not a mistake. Bubba wants me. I don’t never have to go back to Conway again.”

His throat tightened with emotion. He couldn’t begin to imagine the things this child had seen, and closed his eyes.

God, please help me do this right.

He gave her fifteen minutes and knew the water was probably getting cold and the bubbles were most likely gone. She was still rattling away, lost in her own little world, but it was time to intervene.

“Hey, honey! Time to get out.”

“I’m gettin’,” she said.

He walked in as she was climbing out, wrapped a giant bath towel around her, then carried her into the bedroom and set her down beside her bed, dried her all over, then slipped one of her new nightgowns over her head. Her hair was completely dry now, and the curls were soft as silk beneath his hands.

“I sleep in this?” she said.

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