TOM
A fear of doctors, and a body which looks like it’s been operated on heavily. Has she been sick at some point in her life? Maybe needed some exploratory surgery? I only got a quick glimpse, but there were an awful lot of scars on that girl’s midsection and something about them just felt plain wrong.
It’s not my business. She’s just crashing at my place, I tell myself.
But my feet are carrying me to her room. And my knuckles are tapping on the door. And now I’m opening it.
“Go away!”
She’s been crying. I can hear it in her voice.
“Mary?” I say her name softly.
“What?”
“Are you okay, Mary?”
“I’m great,” she lies.
I don’t know how to have the conversation with her, but Ken told me she needed to talk, and I agree.
“I don’t want to pry…”
“Then don’t,” she snaps. She’s prickly and I don’t blame her. She sits on the bed, her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She’s defending herself against the world. Against me.
My heart goes out to her. I can sense that she needs help, but she doesn’t know how to take it, or how to ask for it. Ken wanted me to talk to her. It’s time I did.
“Little girl.” The words escape my mouth before I can stop them. I’ve been refraining from calling her that as much as possible, even though it’s been on the tip of my tongue since we met. “I think you and I should talk.”
“About what?”
“Well, maybe about some of the trouble you’re in.”
“No,” she snorts. “No thank you. And I don’t want to talk about your brother either.”
“Okay well. What about…” I trail off. The scars. I want to know how she got them. Actually, I’d like to examine them. But I know she won’t allow that and I can’t force it.
“You’re a nice guy,” she says flatly. “But you’re out of your depth with me, okay, Tom?”
That makes me smile. “Why would I be out of my depth with you?”
“Because you just are. I know you saw those scars. You’re curious. No, I didn’t to them to myself.”
“Of course not. They’re obviously surgical.”
“Yeah.”
“Were you sick?”
“Nope.”
The tone in her voice is changing, and so is the look in her eye. It’s as if she’s slipping away from me even as she’s sitting right there in front of me. It’s almost eerie.
“Mary.”
“What?” She snaps back into the room.
I have more than enough medical training to recognize dissociation when I see it. This girl has been through serious trauma of one kind or another.
“You can talk to me,” I say gently.
“I know. I speak English.”
“I mean, you can really talk to me. I keep secrets. And I don’t judge.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” she says. “You should judge.”
“I won’t judge you.”
“Yes you will,” she smirks at me. “You just think you won’t because you can’t imagine me as being anything other than a little victim for you to rescue. Just like your brother. I was too much trouble for him, and I’ll be too much trouble for you too.”
“You weren’t too much trouble for him. He wanted you safe. And you’re not too much trouble for me.”
“Just leave me alone,” she sighs.
“Mary,” I say, letting my tone get sharper. “I’m getting a little tired of the attitude.”
I have her attention now. I can practically see her ears prick up at the injection of sternness into my voice. She needs to be looked after. She wants to be looked after too, I think. But she won’t let it happen unless I show her I’m in control.
“What are you going to do about it?”
I’m sure she intends the question to be rebellious, but I can hear the hope in her voice.
“Well, for starters, you’re going to lose privileges if you keep acting up.”
“You’re not my dad,” she laughs. “You can’t take away my privileges.”
“You’re under my roof, young lady. And while you are, you will obey my rules or face the consequences.”
“Like what?” She’s giggling now, and her cheeks are pink with what I’m sure isn’t amusement.
“Like an early curfew and bed time. Like no dessert. Like limited electronics time.”
“Okay seriously, Tom, you’re not my dad.”
I fix her with a long, stern look. “Yes, I am little girl. As long as you’re here, consider me your daddy.”
She’s not laughing anymore. She’s blushing. The look in her eye isn’t defiant anymore. It’s soft. She lowers her gaze, her fingers playing with the blanket. When she speaks, her voice is softer and lighter than I’ve heard it before.
“Okay.”