Page 5 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
The two women in the room chuckled warmly. “Perhaps we can sit and talk for a bit?” Mrs. Wickens suggested. I dropped back down as if someone had kicked my knees out from under me. Valeria climbed onto the sofa beside me and placed her hands on her thighs. Her socks were twisted around her ankles but appeared to be clean. The child smelled like rain.
“That sounds wonderful,” Mrs. Tanner chimed in. “I have a cake cooling. I’ll ice that and make some coffee.”
“Coffee tastes like cat turds,” Valeria tossed out as she lifted her legs into the air, barely missing my nose. “These are bunny socks.”
I glanced at Mrs. Wickens and got a shrug. “There are no bunnies on your socks,” I pointed out. “They’re pink with hearts.”
“Yes, that is bunny love. I love bunnies. Do you love bunnies? Is Mama still cold?”
My eyes widened as my sight flew to the social worker. Sensing my total lack of any kind of comfort speak for a tiny person, Mrs. Wickens left her seat on a well-used recliner to come sit on the other side of Valeria. She looked at me. I nodded frantically.
The child listened carefully—or as carefully as one could when one was waving their feet in the air—until Mrs. Wickens said that her mama was so sick she went to Heaven last night. Tears welled, feet fell from the sky, and Valeria launched herself at me. The impact was solid, knocking me back an inch as her arms cinched around my neck. I stared at the social worker in a panic. She was no help as all she did was look stricken. I did what I would do for any human in crisis. I slowly hugged her close. Valeria clung to me for several minutes, weeping softly, her wispy hairs clinging to the whiskers I’d forgotten to shave off due to suffering the aftereffects of two bottles of bourbon.
When the first round of crying slowed, Valeria placed her cheek on my damp shoulder.
“Mama is in Heaven. Am I with you now?” She peeked up at me through soggy lashes.
That was the moment. Those deep brown eyes looked at me for comfort. Comfort that I had no idea how to give to a child, or an adult, if I’m being frank. That was when the walls began to crack and tumble.
“We’re hoping your uncle will be able to take you home with him, yes,” Mrs. Wickens said since I was too stunned by the feelings bursting free in my breast to form coherent replies, it seemed. “That is what your mama requested.”
Valeria nodded, sniffled, and then sighed as if the weight of the world rested on her slim shoulders.
“Mama says Uncle Wes would give me white soup with little crackers,” she stated, then wiped her runny nose on my sweater. Did the child not know about tissues?! “Can we see her in Heaven?”
Oh. My. God. I was so wholly unfit for these questions. I silently pleaded with Mrs. Wickens, but she seemed to be busy digging in her satchel.
I looked down at the little thing on my lap. Such an open and trusting child. “We cannot see her in Heaven, but we can talk to God when we pray, and he will inform your mother that we left a message for her.”
Valeria took that in for a moment. “Okay. Can we have cake now?”
The leap from mourning to hungry gave me whiplash. Mrs. Wickens smiled warmly and gave the two of us a look that said this was not abnormal behavior for a child.
“What will happen next is, if your uncle wishes, we’ll do some paperwork. Once a judge, that’s a person in charge of laws like a policeman but without a badge, looks over all the papers and sees your uncle Wes is a good choice, you’ll go to spend the summer with him. He’ll be your guardian.”
It was wise of her not to tell the girl she would be living with me permanently. I had no worries about a background check. I was stupidly wealthy and had never once even gotten a speeding ticket. I was, though, not known for being a warm, fuzzy sort, and even if I took her temporarily, I might discover I was not a good guardian. Best to say it was a vacation and let the future play out as it would.
“Like the space man with Groot?”
“Yes, just like that, only your uncle lives in Boston and not in the stars,” Mrs. Wickens replied with humor.
“Can you see Heaven from Boston?” Valeria enquired of me.
I had to snicker at that. “Only from the old Hancock Tower.” The child stared at me in loss. “It’s a very tall building.”
“Can we go there to speak with Mama?”
Good Lord, this child was destroying me. I prayed none of my lawyerly rivals ever got wind of how easily Wesley Barlowe waseviscerated. Seemed all it took was innocence beaming up at me through my sister’s soulful eyes.
“If the judge says you can visit with me, then yes, I will take you there and we’ll eat in the café, then go outside to send your prayers up to Heaven with the winds.”
I had no clue if I was doing well or filling the child’s head with pablum. Given she was just a few months shy of four, perhaps pap was best. If she could find some comfort in talking at the mirrored sides of The Hancock, then so be it. In times of trouble, I tended to talk to…well, I generally sorted my woes out with a run, a new suit, and a bottle of bourbon served with a fine meal. It was amazing how a perfectly cooked filet mignon could ease your mind.
Valeria’s dewy eyes flicked to me. “Mama said you take care of everything.”
Gods be damned. “Your mama was right. I will take care of you.”
I couldn’t save my sister, but I could damn well save her daughter, right? I hoped. If only someone could show me how…
