Page 8 of Quiet Beautiful Things

“What do you mean‘it appears’?”I ask angrily. “She’s four. How can you not know?”

“That’s where the neglect comes in. There are no medical records to show she’s ever been tested. Yet she’s virtually unresponsive to verbal commands. I’d suggest the first thing you do is take her to an audiologist.”

Dad pulls out his phone. “Roger Dullis is an audiologist and a good friend. I’ll text him now.”

My stomach heaves. I have a daughter. Possibly a deaf one. Definitely a neglected one. I feel utterly sick. “When can I meet her?”

Mrs. Duffey thumbs out the window. “I have a fellow social worker waiting with her in the car. Lucinda’s parents packed her belongings.”

I stand and go to the window. “She’shere?And you want me to take her?Now?”

“Like I explained when I first showed up, Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox are leaving the country. Maisy was set to enter the foster care system and would have if your paternity test had come back differently. We had a judge issue the emergency temporary guardianship. It’ll take time to get your name on the birth certificate, and, even then, there may be a custody battle ahead. But, yes, Mr. Montana, we’d like you to take her today. Right now.”

I look around. “I don’t have anything. I don’t even know where I’d start.”

Mom touches my shoulder. “I’ll take care of it. Sweetie, there’s a little girl out there who needs you.”

Dad looks up from his phone. “Roger said he can come over and meet her. He’ll be able to give you some preliminary information.”

I nod. “Okay.” My insides are shaking. “I guess… let’s meet my daughter.”

“I’ll bring her inside,” Mrs. Duffey says and heads for the door.

Dad clasps my shoulder as I take several deep breaths. “We’re all here for you, Blake.”

I nod.

Tension is building inside me, getting stronger every second, like a percolating pot of coffee.

What if she hates me?

What if I don’t know how to help her?

What if I can’t be a father?

It seems like forever before Mrs. Duffey comes back inside. When she does, she drags a large suitcase behind her, and her other hand holds onto a very scared-looking little girl.

My heart lurches into my throat. Everything the social worker said about Maisy’s situation hits me like a punch to the gut. How could anyone treat such a fragile little girl like that? The lump in my throat makes it almost impossible to speak. Because, despite her disheveled appearance, this creature is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. In one instant, one single heartbeat, I get it. I get what happened to Dallas when DJ was born. The immediate love, knowing she’s a part of me. The intense need to be a protector, a provider, an emotional rock for her. To beallthings for this small human.

Two hours ago, I was a bachelor without a care in the world.

But now, now there’s Maisy. And suddenly my life has new meaning.

I vow, right here and now, to do anything and everything I have to do to make her childhood as happy as mine was. And to make up for anything she’s been lacking.

I fall to my knees, trying to keep emotions at bay. I am, after all, a twenty-six-year-old man. Not knowing what to do, I simply smile and wave. “Hi, Maisy.”

She looks from me up to Mrs. Duffey.

Mrs. Duffey gives her a nod, releases the suitcase, and gestures to the chair to my right. Maisy shuffles over as if she’s been instructed to take a seat a million times before. She sits, removes her backpack, and pulls out a stuffed cat.

“What do I do?” I ask everyone.

Mom walks over to Maisy and points to the cat. “What a lovely kitten.”

Maisy doesn’t respond. She’s not even looking at Mom. She’s just holding the stuffed toy, her blue eyes sunken and distant. Every so often, I catch her sneaking side-glances at everyone in the room, as if she’s somehow monitoring each of us to figure out who the biggest threat might be. And she keeps looking at the door. Perhaps she thinks it’s her escape route if things go bad.

“This is all of her things,” Mrs. Duffey says.

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