Page 6 of Sweet Distraction

Sandra doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.

Because I already know—my life might have just changed irrevocably.

And fuck if I want it to.

CHAPTER THREE

Willow

The squeak of the swings is a constant as I study the little girl sitting on the edge of the sandbox. Poppy Whitmore. She’s wearing a frilly yellow top, white shorts, and clutching to her chest a pink stuffed bunny that’s seen better days. Her hair is a tangle of copper curls. She absently brushes them out of her eyes as she sits and cautiously watches the other kids play.

She’s in the mix of them all, yet she doesn’t interact in that carefree way like the other kids do.

If I didn’t know what she’s been through, I’d assume she’s just shy. But I do, and that makes watching her sit there silently even more heartbreaking.

“She still hasn’t talked since the accident?” I ask, more to myself than to anyone.

Alan, my cousin and her CPS officer, stands beside me with his arms crossed over his chest, concern etched in the lines of his expression, and nods before looking toward Jackie who’s standing on the other side of him.

Jackie was Olivia’s best friend and the only connection we have to know what Poppy’s life was like before the accident. Her favorite foods. Her routines. Her personality. Her norm.

“She hasn’t in the time that I’ve spent with her,” she says. “God only knows what she saw in that car. What she heard. What her mind has made up to fill in the gaps. I feel so helpless.”

“We all do,” Alan says and reaches out to squeeze her forearm in comfort. “The doctor said the mutism is not an unusual trauma response and that her speech will return in time. The main goal now though, is to give her the support she needs while we figure out the next steps for her.”

“You know I’d take her in a heartbeat,” Jackie says, her hand moving up to rest over her chest. Her despair and helplessness is palpable.

“I know, but legally my hands are tied here,” Alan says. “The note you found in Olivia’s paperwork, in addition to Poppy’s birth certificate, indicates for all intents and purposes who her father is and where she should be placed. The paternity test is being administered today, and once the results come in, then we’ll go from there.”

“There’s no question he’s the father. She looks exactly like him,” Jackie says.

Alan shushes her and glances my way like I just heard something I shouldn’t have. “I understand,” he says, “but at this time, nothing has been proven, and what you read needs to remain confidential.”

“I know it does. I just . . . if it’s him, like . . . how is he going to be a father when he lives the life he leads?”

“Jackie. Please. Willow is on a need-to-know basis here,” Alan says, which has my interest piqued even more now.

Need to know?

What am I walking into here with this request?

“I’m sorry. I know. It’s all just been a lot and—” Jackie huffs out a breath. “I’m worried about Pops. There’s so much change for her already. So much instability. And now a new, random man who might be her father.”

“I know. I agree. That’s why I’ve brought in Willow,” he says, referring to me like I’m an associate and not his cousin.

“But what if Rock—if he’s not her dad? What then? Does she go to foster care? Do Olivia’s parents get her? Just more trauma to a little girl who deserves the world.” Her voice breaks on the last few words.

“We’re taking it hour by hour right now. The main thing is that during all of this transition, Poppy has someone who stays by her side. Someone she becomes comfortable with so that no matter where she ends up, that person can help bridge that gap between all this new ‘strangeness’ and her old world.” He points to me. “That’s why I was able to get the special authorization from my superiors to bring in Willow. She has experience in childcare, a degree in early childhood development, and is currently between jobs.”

Between jobs. I tense at the description but smile at Jackie regardless. It’s too much to get into, too much to explain, and Poppy’s the priority here.

“I told Alan that I’d be more than willing to help. I’m from Los Angeles, and not only am I familiar with the resources available to her as far as her care, but I’m willing to stay on and help with her transition to a new family,” I say, hoping to ease her fears.

If I were in her shoes, meeting me for the first time, my fears would be far from erased. Am I a special needs teacher who used to nanny to work her way through college? Yes. Am I in any way equipped to handle a traumatized toddler? I hope I am. I have love. I have arms to hold her. I have experience with my nonverbal students.

“She’s an incredible little girl who didn’t deserve this,” Jackie says quietly as she wipes away a tear with the back of her hand.

“Poppy,” Alan calls out gently. “Come here, sweetheart.”