Page 35 of Please Send Snow
I know I’m supposed to be helping him with readingand writing. That’s the real reason Jake hired me. But I think the little guy needs to stretch his legs a little more before I sit him down to do something that requires so much concentration.
And honestly, it won’t hurt for Dylan to be reminded that I like him before he puts himself out there and tries to do something he’s been told he isn’t good at.
The truth is that he’s a super imaginative kid, and when he gets his mind set on writing, he’s actually really good at it. At some point, someone must have told him otherwise and shaken his confidence. And now he needs a lot of reassurance.
Dylan hides behind the living room drapes for the third or fourth time. I can see his little feet poking out underneath. But I pretend to search high and low for him to keep the fun going.
“Is that you, Dylan?” I ask, bending to peer under the dining room table.
I can see him peek out from behind the curtain out of the corner of my eye.
“Got you,” I exclaim, whipping one of the cushions off the couch and then frowning sadly when I discover that he’s not underneath.
Now there’s full-on giggling coming from behind the drapes.
“Who’s there?” I demand, spinning around. “Who giggled?”
That makes him laugh harder, and I march toward the window.
“Are you outside, Dylan?” I call out. “You know that’s against the rules.”
More giggling.
“Hm,” I say, in mock thoughtfulness. “You really shouldn’t be outside. You left your shoes under the curtains.”
I reach down and grab one little foot and he howls with laughter and pops his head out.
“It’s me,”he squeals. “You found me, Maddie.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” I sigh, accepting his enthusiastic hug. “I was starting to think I would never find you.”
Could anything feel better than this happy kid’s arms wrapped around my middle? I doubt it.
“I’m hungry,” he tells me, and I figure the game is over for now.
We made grilled cheese yesterday and I’m not really sure what else they have in the house.
“Let me just check with your dad,” I tell him, thinking that Jake might want to join us for a bite.
I move down the hall, past the powder room to his dad’s office, which is in the back of the house. It has a gorgeous view of the wooded hillside.
Right now the door is open just a crack, and I can see that he’s pacing and talking, obviously up to his neck in a phone call. I tiptoe back down the hallway, figuring he won’t mind me making a quick lunch for his son.
“Is he coming out?” Dylan asks, his eyes filled with hope.
“It sounds like he’s still really busy,” I tell him, my heart aching for the kid. “But I’ll make you some lunch.Super Maddie to the rescue.”
I stick my arms out in front of me, pretending to beflying through the air with a big cape unfurling behind me, and I wink at him.
I probably look more like Frankenstein’s monster than an off-brand superhero, but Dylan always gives me the benefit of the doubt.
“I’m Super Dylan,”he yells, flinging himself toward the kitchen with his own arms outstretched. “To the rescue.”
He doesn’t want more grilled cheese, but there’s a bowl of fruit on the counter, and I find a box of crackers in one of the cabinets along with a jar of peanut butter.
“Are you allergic to peanut butter?” I ask him.
He shakes his head solemnly.
