Page 3 of The Foul Out

I winced. There was no denying it. “Di?—”

“We tried your trick. We removed the clock from the room.” She shook her head. “Not only was it ineffective, but it became a sticking point. She fixated on the fact that it was missing.”

My chest tightened with dread.

She tapped her fingers against her arm, drawing my attention to her opal-colored nail polish, one brow raised in expectation of my response.

Piper did tend to fixate, and when she was unsettled, things never ended well. “And she wouldn’t let up until you told her the time.”

“Clearly.” Doreen’s lips flattened, the lines around her mouth deepening.

“And?” I asked, trying to pretend I didn’t want to disappear into the pavement.

“At four o’clock, when you weren’t here, she became agitated.” Her lips turned down, her eyes hardening.

Agitated. That was a nice way to say she’d thrown a fit.

“And by four ten, she was hysterical. We tried to settle her, but when Joy touched her shoulders, Piper bit her.”

My shoulders slumped, and my heart squeezed painfully.

“Thankfully, she didn’t draw blood this time.”

Shame flooded me, weighing me down heavily. I did everything I could to help my daughter. Creating schedules so she knew what to expect, giving her warnings when things were going to be different. I’d read every book I could get my hands on and I listened to the advice of every doctor. I was exhausted, and it still wasn’t enough.

“She’s calmed down now. She’s in the office with her iPad and headphones.”

“Thank you.” That eased a little of the trepidation that seemed to be a constant in my life.

She frowned. “Harper.” Man, she sounded exactly like my high school principal calling me into her office.

My skin crawled, and the modicum of calm I’d found fled. Dammit. I knew what was next.

“We understand there are special circumstances here, but we can’t keep doing this.” Her tone was soft, but her expression was firm, unwavering.

I swallowed and nodded. “Right.” Another day care down.

“You’ll need to find other arrangements moving forward.”

I blinked hard, fighting back the heat building behind my eyes. It was Friday, thankfully, which meant I had two days to find another day care willing to take a neurodiverse child. No problem.

“Come on. She’s waiting for you in my office.”

Silently, I followed Doreen inside, and as we strode down the hall, the only sound was the clicking of our heels against the tile floor. In the small outer office, Doreen’s assistant sat at her desk, avoiding eye contact. On the other side of the space sat my daughter.

Piper’s back was to me, so all I could see were her red pigtails under her royal blue headphones. If I had to guess, she was listening to one of the Boston Revs’ most recent games. She’d watched each multiple times. It was the only thing that kept my poor child calm. The headphones weren’t completely noise canceling, but they at least took the edge off for her.

Knowing better than to surprise my daughter with any kind of physical sensation, I didn’t touch her. Instead, I circled around her and stood where she could see me. Her eyes drifted to my shirt and stopped there. Then she pulled the headphones off.

“We are going to be late,” she accused without meeting my eye.

“No, Pipe, we aren’t. I told you that as long as we leave by 5:45, we’ll make it to the stadium in time to find the seats before the game starts.”

“Uncle James said we were sitting on the field.” She blinked, her lips turned down.

“No, he said our seats are in the first row on the third base line,” I reminded her.

I’d better make that clear now. The last thing I wanted was for her to melt down at the stadium when she realized we couldn’t sit in the grass. And I had no interest in explaining to James that we’d missed the game after he spent God knew how much on this birthday present for Piper. Seriously, who gave a child tickets to game seven of the American league championship?

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