Page 7 of Viking
She blinked rapidly, and I saw her small chest rise and fall in a quick breath.Then she reached for her juice cup, perhaps needing a moment to compose herself -- such an adult thought for such a tiny person -- but her hand knocked it instead, sending apple juice spreading across the table.
The change was immediate and heartbreaking.Her eyes went wide with terror, and she shrank back in her chair, arms coming up as if to shield her face.How had my brother not noticed these behaviors?I knew he would have questioned the woman watching Athena.There was no way he’d have left her with an abusive person, not willingly.If the person had been abusing Athena all along, then Kris would have noticed.Had the caregiver this last time been someone different?Or perhaps the woman he’d left in charge had bailed and handed Athena off to someone else?There was no way for me to know.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the first words I’d heard from her.“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I said quickly, grabbing a dish towel.“It’s just juice.No big deal at all.”I dabbed at the spill, keeping my movements slow and gentle.“See?All better.These things happen.”
But Athena remained frozen, her breathing quick and shallow, those tiny arms still half-raised in defense.
“Athena, honey.”I knelt beside her chair, careful not to crowd her.“I’m not mad.I promise.It was an accident.”
Slowly, her arms lowered, but the wariness remained.Who had made her so afraid of simple childish mistakes?Not Kris -- never Kris.But someone had taught this little girl to fear adult anger, to expect punishment for accidents.The thought made my stomach clench with a fury I’d never felt before.
“You know what?”I said, forcing brightness into my voice.“I spill things all the time.I often knock over my coffee mug and get coffee all over my shirt.It happens to everyone.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but her eyes still watched me for signs of deception.
“How about we finish dinner, and then maybe a bath?Would that be okay?”
A tiny nod.Progress.
The rest of the meal passed without incident, though Athena ate less than before.When we finished, I led her to the bathroom, suddenly realizing I hadn’t thought this part through.I didn’t have any bubble bath, any bath toys, any of the things a child might need.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” I said, rummaging through cabinets while she stood in the doorway, Hopper clutched to her chest.I found a bottle of lavender body wash that might do for bubbles and a plastic cup I used for rinsing my hair.“Not much, I’m afraid.We’ll have to go shopping, even if it’s a quick trip.”
With things so uncertain right this minute, I didn’t need to buy her a ton of stuff, but even just a few things would be helpful.Bath time was an awkward affair.I helped her undress, wincing at how prominent her ribs were.What the hell were you thinking, Kris?Did you pay attention to her at all?I had a hard time picturing my brother ignoring his daughter, but the more I observed, the more I wondered about the life she’d led.
She stood stiffly as I tested the water temperature, only relaxing when I showed her how to make bubbles with the body wash.She allowed me to wash her hair but insisted on washing her body herself, with a dignity that seemed far beyond her years.
Afterward, I wrapped her in the fluffiest towel I owned and helped her into the unicorn pajamas from her suitcase.They were worn thin at the knees and slightly short in the arms, adding another item to my mental shopping list.I wasn’t sure taking Athena out to a store was the best idea right now.Thankfully, there were a lot of places that would deliver.
“Where would you like to sleep tonight?”I asked as I combed her damp curls.“I have a spare bedroom, but it’s not really set up for kids.Or you could sleep in my room if you’d feel safer.”
“My own,” she whispered, so quietly I almost missed it.
“Your own room?Okay, we can do that.”I led her to the spare bedroom, which contained little more than a double bed and a dresser.“It’s not very exciting right now, but we can decorate it however you like.”
I tucked her into the bed that swallowed her tiny form, placing Hopper beside her pillow.“Would you like a story?The picture books I have for my students are at work, but I may have a few in my closet from when I was little.”
Technically, I had a bunch for my classroom, but those were stored or at the preschool.I didn’t keep many in my home since I didn’t have a need for them.
She shook her head, already drifting toward sleep, the emotional toll of the day catching up with her.
“Okay.I’ll leave the hall light on, and my room is right next door if you need anything.”I hesitated, then leaned down to press a light kiss to her forehead.“Goodnight, Athena.”
“Night,” came the whispered reply, so faint I might have imagined it.
I backed out of the room, leaving the door cracked open, and stood in the hallway for a moment, my heart heavy with the weight of all I didn’t know about this child.What had happened to make her so fearful?I knew my brother wouldn’t have harmed her.Although, if someone else was doing it, why hadn’t he noticed?Even if he was gone a lot, surely he would have spotted the signs.What weighed on my mind even more was the question: was she really in danger, as his letter suggested?
In the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat at the table with Kris’s letter, my phone, and my laptop.The house was quiet now, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of settling wood.
I opened my laptop and typed “Dixie Reapers Motorcycle Club” into the search bar, watching as results populated the screen.News articles appeared -- mostly from local papers from a town I’d never heard of, about an hour’s drive from where I lived, according to the map.Some painted a troubling picture: suspected ties to illegal activities, members with criminal records, territory disputes with other clubs.But there were others too: charity toy drives for children’s hospitals, fundraisers for veterans, community events.
I clicked through photos, searching for a familiar face.And there he was -- in the background of a group shot from a charity event last year.Taller than the men around him, blond hair longer now, falling past his shoulders.A beard that hadn’t been there the last time I’d seen him.But those eyes -- I’d know them anywhere.
My finger hovered over the phone.The Dixie Reapers had a listed number -- for their legitimate business, an auto repair shop that seemed to serve as their headquarters.I could call now.Might even hear his voice within minutes.
What would I say?How would I explain?Would he even remember me?And if he did, would he care?
