Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Minding Debbie - by MMB
Chapter 2: Nightmare
"Hey Syd? Sorry to bother you, but have you got a minute?"
Sydney looked up from his clipboard, where he was scoring the responses of his latest set of twins to various optical and auditory stimuli. "Broots! Sure - just a moment..." He quickly gave instructions to his aide to allow the twins - one set of identical middle-aged women with salt-and-pepper hair and matching sets of glasses, and a set of identical twenty-something men in suits - to take a ten-minute break. He then waved the technician into his office and followed him and partially closed the glass door behind him. "Now, what can I do for you?"
"Uh... it isn't for me..." Broots stumbled in his nervous way. "I was wondering if I could ask you a question about Debbie..."
"Debbie?" Sydney's eyebrows climbed his forehead while he moved around the balding man to his desk and indicated that Broots should have a seat. He hadn't seen the eleven year old girl for at least a month or more - not since he'd taken her to his fishing cabin at White Cloud while her father was on assignment one weekend. "Is something the matter? Is she all right?"
"No, she's fine, really," Broots waved his hand with a smile, then drooped visibly. "Actually, Syd, she's not fine. She's afraid to go to bed at night, and keeps waking up at odd hours crying and won't go back to sleep... Its getting to the point that I'm not getting much sleep myself at night anymore, and I'm afraid her schoolwork will begin to slip..."
Sydney shot a sharp and assessing glance in the technician's direction, and found that the younger man did indeed have dark circles under his eyes and look fatigued. "When did this start?"
"She went to a slumber party over at a friend's house about a week ago," Broots explained with a yawn, "but called me up late at night to pick her up rather than sleep over. She was upset when I picked her up, and she's been restless ever since."
The psychiatrist leaned back in his chair. "Did she tell you anything about what went on at this party..."
Broots scratched his face near his eye while he thought a moment. "You know, I asked her about it when I went to pick her up, and she just told me that she just didn't want to stay after all." The younger man looked over at his more learned colleague. "Do you suppose something happened there..."
"Its possible," Sydney nodded slowly. "Then again, childhood fears often come from memories buried deep down. We both know that Debbie's still decompressing from the life she lived with her mother."
"Oh yeah!" Broots considered the word “decompressing” to be an apt description for the way Debbie had slowly been opening up from being simply friendly and good-natured to being out-going and enthusiastic about nearly everything she got involved in over the last half-year he'd had custody of her. "I'm just kinda at my wit's end, you know? Did... did you... uh... talk to her... at all... that weekend...?"
Sydney's face softened. "Well, yes, actually, I did a bit... We had one touchy moment, during a thunderstorm. Debbie was terribly afraid of the storm, and we worked through it - I thought..." He steepled his fingers in front of him as he settled back into the comfort of the leather upholstery. "I didn't pursue anything in depth; I just gave her the support she apparently needed at the time to feel safe. She responded to simple reassurance quite well - and while she may still be unnerved by storms some in the future, I doubt she'll react as violently to them as she did that night."
"I didn't even know she was afraid of storms," Broots commented almost plaintively. "She never told me..."
"I'm not surprised," the older man reassured him. "She didn't want you - or anybody else, for that matter - to think she was a baby. It seemed to be very important to her that she measure up in YOUR eyes especially."
"But I wouldn't have thought she was..." the younger man began.
"I know that," Sydney held up a reassuring hand. "But from what little she let slip at the time... Actually, I'm deducing this more from what she DIDN'T say than what she did." Sydney interrupted his friend. "I don't think her mother handled Debbie's fears all that well during their years together, and I got the impression that the memories associated with that particular fear at least were not very good ones." Broots sighed unhappily, and Sydney nodded. "Exactly. And if it happened that once, it very well could have happened other times too about other things. At that point, you can never know what will bring forth one of these things again - a word, a gesture - anything could be a trigger to kick in a suppressed fear..."
Sydney sympathized with the look of frustration and pique that crossed his younger colleague's face. While he'd been trying to undo some of the damage Debbie's mother had apparently wrought, he too had felt his own share of anger at the insensitivity of any mother who would deal negatively with her small child's fears. "Would you like me to try to talk to her?" he suggested gently.
The look of relief on Broots' face was almost painful in and of itself. "Oh, Sydney! Would you? Do you mind?" His smile was almost blinding in its gratitude. "I know it's a horrible imposition, but..."
"Don't be ridiculous! I'd love to get a chance to spend some time with your delightful daughter - we just won't let her know that its really for more than just a friendly visit."
"Uh...OK..." Broots grew concerned again. "When...? How...?"
"BROOTS!!! You moron - where ARE you?!" Miss Parker's voice bellowed down the quiet Centre corridor. "I needed that security report YESTERDAY!!!"
"How about I pick her up from the sitter tonight, with the excuse that you have to work late?" Sydney suggested hurriedly as Broots bolted to his feet in anticipation of Miss Parker's pending discovery of his whereabouts. "From the sound of things, it may well be the truth after all anyway. Its Friday night - I'll pick her up and she can spend the night with me, and we'll see what we can see. How's that?"
"I...I'll call the sitter and tell her... tell her to expect... Th....thanks, Syd!" Broots turned to hurry towards the corridor and his angry boss. "I owe you HUGE for this!"
Sydney shook his head with a sympathetic smile at Broots' retreating back, not envying him the chewing out Miss Parker seemed determined to administer the moment she caught up to him, then reached for his clipboard once more with a now distracted expression.
Broots' little daughter had wormed her way into his heart very quickly over the course of a peaceful weekend at the cabin - he didn't like thinking that she was so distressed she couldn't sleep. Not for the first time he wondered what was it about the children whose lives brushed too closely to the Centre. Why, he demanded of a God he could no longer believe in, could their early years never be quiet and happy? Why did their lives have to be filled with fears and angst instead?
He sighed and mentally forced himself to pigeon-hole Debbie's problem in the back of his mind for the time being, then rose and followed the technician out into the Sim Lab to both physically and mentally return to recording the responses of his twins studies subjects.
It was going to be a loooooooooooong afternoon...
~~~~~~~~
The woman who answered the door at his knock had a kindly face. "Hello? My name is Dr. Sydney Green. I believe Mr. Broots called you to let you know I was going to..."
"Ah yes," the woman responded with a smile and stepped aside so that Sydney could enter the house. "I was expecting you. Debbie! Your ride is here!" she called towards the back of the residence.
She stood waiting with him until a tired-looking Debbie dragged out of the kitchen, shrugging her backpack onto one shoulder. One glance at the person waiting for her, however, and the expression of fatigue partially evaporated into a tired happiness. "Sydney?"
Sydney bent to catch the girl up in his arms as she ran toward him. "There you are, ma petite! Its so good to be seeing you again!"
"I'm staying with YOU tonight until Daddy gets home?! Oh, this is SO cool..." Debbie could hardly contain her joy at the idea of being able to spend more time with her new most favorite person in the world, and she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly after planting a noisy kiss on his cheek.
"Yes; your Dad has to work very late," he explained after kissing her cheek gently and hugging her tightly back, "and Miss Parker has to work too. So that means you and I get to spend a little more time together, if that's alright with you..."
Sydney could feel the girl's body struggling with a deep fatigue that was only thinly masked by her happiness at seeing him so unexpectedly. "It is," she agreed, then seemed to abruptly run out of energy. She settled her head tiredly on his shoulder and cling to his neck just a bit tighter as she looked over at her sitter. "Good night, Mrs. Connelly," she said quietly.
The kindly woman put her hand on Debbie's back comfortingly. "Good night to you too, Debbie." She smiled at the tall, older gentleman with the continental accent and bearing who had come to claim the girl who was one of her favorite charges. "Nice to meet you, Doctor."
"And you, Mrs. Connelly," Sydney answered with a bow that was too slight to disturb the tired little girl in his arms. The woman flipped a switch that illuminated the front yard as well as the porch so that he could see to carry his burden to his waiting town car. He bent to open the passenger door, then carefully deposited Debbie in the seat. She looked up at him with sleepy eyes while he settled the seat belt over her shoulder. "You seem tired tonight, ma petite. Are you feeling OK?"
"I'm fine," she tried to reassure him, but her body was telling him another story entirely.
Sydney chose not to challenge her, but rather moved quickly to the driver's seat and started up the motor. He drove very carefully and smoothly through the darkened streets of Blue Cove, aware that his passenger had closed her eyes almost the moment the car had begun moving. He frowned in concern. Broots was right to worry - it wasn't normal for a child her age to be this tired at this early an hour. It was just a little after the dinner hour after all... He pushed the button to open his garage door and pulled the car fully into the garage before closing the rolling door behind them.
"Debbie, cheri, we're here," he called softly, a hand on her knee shaking her gently. He wasn't prepared for the girl coming awake like a shot, her body tense as if ready to flee, her eyes wide and terrified. "Hey," he smoothed a hand against her hair, " it's OK. It's just me, Sydney. Remember?"
Even in the dimly lit car, he could see her gathering her tired, scattered wits and struggling not to cry. Instead, she nodded, then reached for her seat belt buckle. He reached down and covered her little hand with his big one, stopping her. He waited for her to turn eyes swimming with tears to look up at him then reached up to smooth her hair away from her eyes. "Something's wrong, isn't it?" At first she shook her head, but then as he continued to gaze at her gently, she dropped her gaze and shrugged and nodded slightly.
"Let's go inside, then, and I'll make you a nice mug of hot chocolate, like I did up at the cabin, and then you can tell me what's troubling you. OK?" He held his breath; it was always better to take a relatively straight approach with children, but sometimes that straight approach could fail miserably.
"OK," she mumbled, her gaze still trained on the fabric of the car seat between them.
Satisfied he'd at least gotten this much of a concession from her, he pushed the button to release her seat belt for her and then unbuckled himself. Together they each climbed from the car, and then Debbie followed him into his kitchen, dimly lit from the light in the stove hood. He pointed for her to drop her backpack on the kitchen table, then helped her out of her coat. "You sit, and I'll fix," he directed her, and then turned to gather the makings for hot chocolate while Debbie drooped into one of the kitchen chairs to watch him with tired and wary eyes.
"How long has it been since you've had a good night's sleep?" he asked her eventually after he'd poured the milk into a saucepan. He looked up when he didn't hear an answer, then prodded gently, "Debbie?"
"A while, I guess," she answered in a flat voice that Sydney vividly remembered from their previous time together was her defense mechanism against things she didn't want to think about.
"How long?" he asked again, looking up at her. "Just a couple nights, or longer than that?"
She shrugged, then mumbled, "Longer than that," when she concluded he wouldn't stop pressing until she answered him.
He put the saucepan on the stove and put a very low flame under it, then reached for the chocolate powder and began adding it slowly and stirring carefully. "A week?"
"Maybe," she shrugged again.
"More than a week ago?" he persisted.
Debbie's brows furrowed tiredly, then she shook her head. "I don't think so..." she offered finally.
Sydney was silent while he finished heating the milk carefully, then divided the steaming liquid into the two mugs he had sitting along side the stove, then put a spoon in each and brought them over to her and sat down around the corner from her. "What makes it hard so hard for you to sleep?" he asked gently, the question he'd wanted to ask since he'd seen her.
Debbie gathered her mug close and began stirring her chocolate and avoiding his gaze. "I dunno," she shrugged in an attempt to be nonchalant. "Dreams, I suppose."
"Bad dreams?"
She cringed when she looked up sharply, and he knew he'd scored a hit. She looked back down into her chocolate quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed the fear on her face.
He sat with her and drank at his chocolate quietly for a while, letting her settle and calm a little without being pressed. Then, "Does it bother you to talk about it?"
She shot him a look of pure terror, then looked back down again and nodded, one tear breaking free and tumbling down a cheek.
Sydney set his mug back down on the table. "This is NOT going to do," he announced and then reached over and grasped the girl under the arms and pulled her into his lap before she could squeak out a complaint. "There, that's better. We do our talks better when you're here with me." He wrapped his arms around her completely and leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "Now. Do you remember the storm, up at the cabin?" he asked quietly, gently.
"Uh-huh?" Confused by her sudden shift in location, Debbie was lost.
"Remember how you didn't want to show me how scared you were at first," he explained in a patient tone, "but after we talked everything out, you found out that it was OK to be scared."
Debbie relaxed a little then, leaned against him and nodded. "I remember," she replied in a small tone.
"And do you remember," he continued as if she hadn't said anything, "that later that night we discussed how, when you get scared of something, that you should tell someone about it so that they can help you understand and get un-scared again? Remember, you weren't so scared of the storm after..."
"Yes, but this is different," she whimpered, burrowing closer to him and trembling.
He tightened his arms around her. "Different how so?"
"Storms are loud and flashy and scary," she explained quickly, "but..."
"But..."
"They don't hurt." The three words were in a nearly inaudible whisper, and Debbie sniffled and hid her face.
"Hurt?" Sydney blinked, startled. He held her close and didn't speak for a while, giving her a chance to pull herself together a bit. When he thought she'd regained some of her composure, he asked, "Do you remember what happens in these dreams?" He took a beginning tack that would move toward the cause of her distress slowly and carefully.
She nodded against him.
"And in these dreams, you get hurt?" His voice was soft and soothing, so as to make the subject less traumatic to talk about.
Debbie nodded against his chest, trembling again slightly.
He stopped asking questions again for a while and simply held the girl close until her trembling faded and she rested tiredly against him. "Can you tell me about what scares you in the dreams?" he asked very carefully.
"Snakes," she answered flatly with a full shudder.
"Snakes?!" That took the older man completely by surprise. "And do these snakes hurt you?"
Debbie nodded again and sniffled. "They bite," she explained in a teeny voice that grew more and more shaky as the words seemed to begin to tumble out of her, "and then the grownups have to cut you and make you bleed and you get real sick..." She choked back a sob.
"What..." Sydney could hardly believe his ears. He loosened his hold on the girl and cupped her head so he could look into her face. "Debbie Broots, when have you ever been bitten by a snake?!"
The clear, blue eyes were tragic and filling with tears, and once more the words just tumbled out as if relieved to be finally set free. "My mommy... left me once with these people... in Las Vegas... one time... they lived... there was a... a... rattlesnake... under the trailer... it got in... sometimes... I went to go potty... at night... I heard the rattle but... I didn't see... I stepped on it... it bit me... on the foot... they had... to... cut my foot... 'til it bled... a lot... I got... so sick..." she was now crying hard. "Mommy was... so mad because... she had to come back... and I was in the hospital..."
"Sweet Mother of God!" Sydney whispered, shaken. He'd known that Debbie's life with her mother had been less than optimal, and she'd had given him an inkling in their previous time together of the emotional callousness with which she had been treated. But Broots had told him nothing of such dire or traumatic events in his daughter's life. It was likely he knew nothing about them, which meant Debbie had been suffering with these traumatic events in her life all alone all these years. "But why on earth would you remember this NOW?? What happened to bring this back to you now?!"
"At the slumber party... Nicole's little brother... had this... plastic snake... and he snuck up... behind me... under my chair... and stuck it... into my leg... hard... almost the same spot... He thought it was funny when I screamed..."
"I get it," Sydney said gently and tightened his arms around the girl and pulled her close again. "I understand," he repeated softly in the little girl's ear as she trembled and clung to his shirt front. "Debbie, its OK. You aren't the only person to be afraid of snakes..."
"Charley laughed at me... called me a baby... then he kept pushing the snake into my face..." she whimpered. "His mom finally told him to leave me alone... and I called my Dad..."
"Listen to me," the older man said gently yet firmly. "You have a good reason to be afraid of snakes, and this little boy, Charley, was being very cruel to pick on you that way. You've nothing to be ashamed of..."
"But..." Debbie shook her head and looked up at him again hesitantly, the tears still fresh and wet on her face, "Nicole's mom was... really kinda mad at me too because... I was so upset... and then I wanted to go home..."
"You didn't tell her why you were upset, though, did you?" Sydney pointed out gently.
Debbie shook her head and sniffled. "I was having a hard time to... stop crying..."
He kissed her forehead. "Sweetheart, if you'd have at least told her something, she'd have understood why you were having such a hard time."
"But, Sydney..." Now she was confused. "Mommies always get mad when their kids get scared, don't they?"
Sydney closed his eyes, frustrated beyond belief and furious that Debbie's mother would have let her little girl come to believe such a thing. He carefully schooled his voice into calm and comforting tones so as not to communicate his ire to the girl in his lap, however. "No, ma petite, most mommies don't get mad. Maybe yours got mad more often for other reasons, but..." He wiped away her tears with gentle fingers and then folded himself protectively around the girl. "No, most mommies don't get mad, Debbie. Getting bitten by a snake is a pretty painful and scary thing - even for grownups." He felt her snuggle down into his embrace while he held her close, and he pondered for a long and quiet moment that let them both calm down a little. "Tell me, do you remember how old you were when you were bit?"
She shook her head. "Uh-unh. It was a real long time ago..."
"Did your Mom ever tell your Dad what happened?"
"I dunno," Debbie shook her head again and shrugged, and Sydney found himself once again struck by the careless kind of mothering that this child had survived. How many more of these horrors would Broots - and Debbie - have to work through? Still, having voiced the memories that had been triggered, there was only one more issue to be addressed. "So, now, do you think you can tell me what happens in your dream that scares you so and wakes you up?"
"I'm at home, with Daddy, I'm in bed, I get up to go to the bathroom, and I hear the rattling... and then the snake bites... and then there's lots of blood everywhere... and I hurt so bad again... and then I wake up..."
"OK, OK, hush now..." Sydney kissed the girl on the top of the head and rocked her back and forth in his arms until she had once more stopped trembling and had relaxed against him. "You're dreaming what you went through when you were very small, and changing it to your present situation - no wonder you've been so upset. But why didn't you tell this to your Dad? Don't you know how worried he's been about you?"
"But I didn't want him to think that I'm a baby, afraid of a plastic toy snake," she said in a forlorn tone.
"Ma petite, haven't you figured out yet that you don't have to worry that your Dad will think you're a baby?" He asked her gently, still rocking her slowly back and forth. "I think your Dad would be very sad that you had gone through such a frightening time in the first place, and very happy to be the one to make you feel safe again. He loves you SO much, you know... He wouldn't be angry with you when you get scared of something that reminds you of a bad time."
"I don't want to make him mad at Mommy again either, though..."
Sydney shushed at her and rocked her back and forth for a long time, unable to find the words to address that particular worry. How could he explain to an eleven-year-old that her Daddy was already angry at her mother for the way she'd mistreated his little girl otherwise - and that this was the reason she lived with him now and not with her mother on the gambling circuit still? How could he tell her that of all the people in her world, she needed to be defending her mother the least?
Then again, as he held her close, he realized that this little girl had had no reason to learn to trust the adults in her life properly. He suddenly understood that the closeness he'd managed to achieve with her at the cabin had been phenomenal, considering the circumstances that were slowly coming to light; and that even the conversation that had just transpired was a big step for her. He'd heard her say it twice, and only now did it fully register: "Mommy got so mad". As much as it pained him to think of it, he knew that she could only know and work with what her previous experiences had taught her - and those lessons had been hard and harsh ones that had left her deeply scarred.
He felt Debbie give a huge sigh and then nestle down against his chest utterly relaxed and limp, and he knew that she'd finally given up and actually fallen asleep. After all the tears and exhaustion, her feeling safe enough with him to let down her guard and fall sleep in his lap was still nothing less than a gesture of complete trust from a child who he was now certain didn't otherwise know how to trust those closest to her. Nothing could have made her dearer to him at that moment. He kissed the top of her head again very softly and continued to rock her back and forth slowly, engraving this moment in his memory.
When after a while it became apparent that her sleep was deep and genuinely restful, he shifted her slowly and cautiously in his arms so as not to awaken her, and then lifted her up and rose to his feet. Walking slowly and smoothly, he made his way through the otherwise darkened house to the front and then up the stairs toward the spare bedroom. He caught back the bedspread with his fingers, then gently deposited her against the pillows, with gentle hands removed her shoes, and then covered her with the bedspread against the chill of the winter night. He clicked on the electric blanket beneath her to a comfortably low setting, then stepped quickly out into the hallway far enough that he could turn on the light there, so that the bedroom was dimly and indirectly lit through the open door.
He then settled himself into a winged easy chair by the window where he could watch over her sleep, all night if need be, ready to comfort should the nightmare make another disruptive appearance. Then tomorrow, when she was hopefully more rested and fresh, the two of them would discuss her bringing this latest fear to her father when Broots came to pick her up. She needed to see for herself that she didn't have to fear his reaction the way she'd had to fear her mother's. He knew she trusted HIM now; he just wanted to make sure she could experience how much she could trust Broots too - for all those times in the future when she would need to trust him.
~~~~~~~~
Debbie looked up at Sydney for reassurance, then seeing his nod, reached down to her sock and removed it. She pointed to a puckered and smooth line of skin near two smaller healed puncture marks. "There."
Broots studied the scars and then looked up at his daughter sadly. "I didn't know, sweetheart. Your Mom never told me about this." He glanced up into Sydney's sympathetic face, then focussed his gaze on his little girl's face. "God, Debbie, I'm sorry. I didn't know..."
"Its OK, Daddy," Debbie pulled her sock back on quickly and wrapped her arms around her father's neck. "I got better. It doesn't hurt anymore..."
The young tech hugged the girl back tightly, his eyes closed against the frustration he felt at the suffering his daughter had gone through that he'd never suspected. "I know you got better, Deb, but for me to think that you've been having nightmares because you remembered this..."
"Are you mad at Mommy?" Debbie's sky-blue eyes bore holes into his soul.
"Well, yeah... I am a bit," Broots admitted with hesitant honesty, after looking at Sydney and getting his own reassuring nod from the psychiatrist. "Even when I wasn't there for you, after your Mommy and I broke up, I still loved you and wanted to know what was going on with you. I would have wanted to know if you were sick - especially if you were sick enough to land in the hospital..." He swallowed hard and then gazed right back at her. "But just because I'm mad at your Mommy doesn't mean I'm mad at you too. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Are you sure?" Her voice was small, hesitant.
"Of course I am, Deb," he said and pulled her back into his hug. He held her close to him, and then whispered at her, "and I bet if we told Mrs. Fielding what you just told me, she wouldn't be so upset with you either."
Debbie shook her head against her father's chest. "I don't want to get Charley in trouble," she protested.
Sydney reached out a hand and smoothed her hair from behind. "You know, I think that Charley could use a good lesson, ma petite, and I think maybe Mrs. Fielding does too. When a child gets that upset, there usually is a good reason - and anger or frustration is never a proper response."
"I think I'll have a talk with her anyway, explain to her why you were so upset," Broots decided. "I'll let her decide whether or not she should scold Charley afterwards. Will that be OK?"
"OK." Debbie turned and looked back over her shoulder at her father's - and now her - friend. "Sydney told me you wouldn't be mad," she informed her father with a soft smile aimed at the subject of her sentence. "He was right." She looked at her father again. "I'm glad he talked me into telling you about my dreams and stuff."
"I'm glad he did too, sweetpea." Broots turned grateful eyes to his colleague. "Sydney knows a lot of stuff about people, Deb, how they feel, how they react." He turned back to her. "We're lucky to have him as a friend, aren't we?"
She nodded her agreement firmly. "Daddy?" She twitched her forefinger to get her father to bend close to hear her whisper. "Do you think it would OK with you if I come over to visit Sydney sometimes, if he's not busy? On the weekend or holidays or something?"
Broots glanced back up at Sydney, knowing the older man's hearing to be acute enough to have heard his daughter's question. The older man knew from the twinkle in the technician's eye that his future access to a certain little girl was assured, if he wanted it to be. He nodded his agreement, and Broots turned those twinkling blue eyes back on his daughter. "I think if you asked, I bet he'd let you..."
Debbie nodded seriously, then turned around and looked up at Sydney wistfully. "Do you think, maybe, sometime, I might come over and see you? Visit, just you and me, I mean?"
Sydney bent down and picked her up out of her father's arms and looked her straight on after he settled her on his hip. "Debbie, I would be very honored if you would like to come over sometime to visit. There's a very nice park just down the street here - maybe when you come over next time, I could take you there?"
"I think I'd like that," she announced, still very seriously, then wrapped her arms around the older man's neck and hugged him very tightly. "I love you, Sydney," she whispered softly against his ear.
Touched deeply, he automatically returned the sentiment in French rather than in English, knowing she'd understand him anyway. "Je t'aime aussi, ma petite," he murmured very quietly into her ear in return and hugged her back. "But that's our secret, yes?" She nodded her head against his, while Sydney's eyes caught Broots' in a conspiratorial glance. Then he put her down again on her feet. "You'd better scoot upstairs for your backpack, then," he advised her, and she scampered from the living room, taking the stairs noisily two at a time.
"You heard too?" Sydney asked quickly and quietly.
"I can't believe how quickly she's taken to you," Broots nodded. "I want you to know how much I really appreciate all you've done for her already. You sure you don't mind her coming over once in a while?"
"Not at all - you heard my answer to her." The psychiatrist laid an arm around the shoulders of his younger friend as they walked together toward the front door. "I meant every word. I enjoy her company greatly and will be looking forward to having her come to visit again verrry much. I..." Sydney paused, and Broots stared at the sight of his very esteemed colleague sounding almost uncertain of himself, the light accent thickening slightly. "I was hoping that perhaps you wouldn't mind if I... think of her sometimes as a kind of adopted grand-daughter. I don't..." Then he remembered that Broots knew about Nicholas. "I don't know that I'll ever have grandchildren of my own. I'm hoping you won't mind if I think of your little girl once in a while..."
Broots was already smiling from ear to ear. "Syd, there's nothing that would make me happier than knowing you've taken that much of a shine to her. Deb's had no family at all around her, ever - just Maggie for a long time, and now me... Maggie's folks and my folks were both long gone before Debbie came on the scene. I always thought, after she came to live with me, that if she could only have just a couple of other people... you know, who would give her a little attention..." He rubbed his nose roughly to hide the way the request had touched him deeply. "You and Miss Parker are the only people I know that I really care about... For you to care about Debbie too..." He rubbed his nose again. "Thanks, Syd. I mean that."
"And thank YOU," Sydney smiled widely, both at Broots' easy acceptance of his request and at the sound of an active, much-more-happy little girl clomping noisily down the stairs. "Do you have everything?" he asked the child as she joined him.
Debbie nodded, then slipped her free hand into her father's. Sydney laid a gentle hand on her head, then smoothed down her hair fondly. "I look forward to your next visit, ma petite," he said gently, then extended the same hand to shake Broots'. "Have a good weekend, Broots - I'll see you Monday."
"Uh, Syd?" Broots looked down at Debbie. "Are you doing anything special tomorrow?" When she grinned and nodded enthusiastically while bouncing on the balls of her feet in happiness, he looked back up at his friend. "Debbie and I have this... tradition... of making Sunday a picnic or special day. She does a pretty good tuna salad sandwich spread that she was intending to make tomorrow anyway. I was just thinking we all could have a picnic together at this park of yours - if the weather is warm enough."
"I'd love to!" the older man smiled widely. "I'll provide the drinks and dessert, how's that?"
"Hot chocolate?" Debbie asked quietly, but with a twinkle in her eye.
"Absolutely!" he agreed, bending down to poke her in the tummy with a gentle forefinger. He straightened. "We can meet here at noon and walk over."
"It's settled then. See you tomorrow at noon, then," Broots nodded and, with a hand at Debbie's back, the two of them took their leave. Sydney waved them into the beat-up sedan and down his driveway, then headed back into the house and back into his kitchen to finish cleaning up after a big breakfast of pancakes.
As he came through the kitchen door, he was struck anew by the sight of the now TWO pieces of artwork that decorated his refrigerator. The top picture had been hanging there for a month or more, a colored-pencil sketch of a mountain cabin surrounded by fall colors. He still had intentions in the back of his mind of having that one matted and framed so that he could display it proudly in his Centre office. The second, however, was a new one - a faithful crayon rendering of Sydney's face - that had been drawn and added to the first just that morning. And while it too would eventually be matted and framed and given a place of honor of its own to hang, unlike the sketch of the cabin, this one would remain the guarded and very private property of the man who owned it. Like the first, it had been signed and dated at Sydney's request. But unlike the other, there was more writing on the back - writing that made this picture extra special:
"To my Grandpa Sydney,
"Even though I haven't known you very long, I love you very much. Thank you for helping me get un-scared, and for being my Grandpa. You're the best Grandpa in the world.
"Love, "Debbie"
He decided he would have to show Broots the pictures tomorrow, before he escorted his little granddaughter - he even liked thinking the words - and her father to the park for their picnic. Smiling in anticipation, and warmed by the permission he'd received to openly think of Debbie in that way, he reached out and turned on the hot water in the sink to begin rinsing dishes.
His life had recently made a subtle but important shift in direction that promised much in the days and years ahead. Playing Grandpa to Debbie opened many possibilities for him to explore that he'd thought forever closed to him. Humming “Frere Jacques” jauntily to himself, he brought the first plate, sticky with syrup, under the steaming faucet.
Life was good.
Chapter 2: Nightmare
"Hey Syd? Sorry to bother you, but have you got a minute?"
Sydney looked up from his clipboard, where he was scoring the responses of his latest set of twins to various optical and auditory stimuli. "Broots! Sure - just a moment..." He quickly gave instructions to his aide to allow the twins - one set of identical middle-aged women with salt-and-pepper hair and matching sets of glasses, and a set of identical twenty-something men in suits - to take a ten-minute break. He then waved the technician into his office and followed him and partially closed the glass door behind him. "Now, what can I do for you?"
"Uh... it isn't for me..." Broots stumbled in his nervous way. "I was wondering if I could ask you a question about Debbie..."
"Debbie?" Sydney's eyebrows climbed his forehead while he moved around the balding man to his desk and indicated that Broots should have a seat. He hadn't seen the eleven year old girl for at least a month or more - not since he'd taken her to his fishing cabin at White Cloud while her father was on assignment one weekend. "Is something the matter? Is she all right?"
"No, she's fine, really," Broots waved his hand with a smile, then drooped visibly. "Actually, Syd, she's not fine. She's afraid to go to bed at night, and keeps waking up at odd hours crying and won't go back to sleep... Its getting to the point that I'm not getting much sleep myself at night anymore, and I'm afraid her schoolwork will begin to slip..."
Sydney shot a sharp and assessing glance in the technician's direction, and found that the younger man did indeed have dark circles under his eyes and look fatigued. "When did this start?"
"She went to a slumber party over at a friend's house about a week ago," Broots explained with a yawn, "but called me up late at night to pick her up rather than sleep over. She was upset when I picked her up, and she's been restless ever since."
The psychiatrist leaned back in his chair. "Did she tell you anything about what went on at this party..."
Broots scratched his face near his eye while he thought a moment. "You know, I asked her about it when I went to pick her up, and she just told me that she just didn't want to stay after all." The younger man looked over at his more learned colleague. "Do you suppose something happened there..."
"Its possible," Sydney nodded slowly. "Then again, childhood fears often come from memories buried deep down. We both know that Debbie's still decompressing from the life she lived with her mother."
"Oh yeah!" Broots considered the word “decompressing” to be an apt description for the way Debbie had slowly been opening up from being simply friendly and good-natured to being out-going and enthusiastic about nearly everything she got involved in over the last half-year he'd had custody of her. "I'm just kinda at my wit's end, you know? Did... did you... uh... talk to her... at all... that weekend...?"
Sydney's face softened. "Well, yes, actually, I did a bit... We had one touchy moment, during a thunderstorm. Debbie was terribly afraid of the storm, and we worked through it - I thought..." He steepled his fingers in front of him as he settled back into the comfort of the leather upholstery. "I didn't pursue anything in depth; I just gave her the support she apparently needed at the time to feel safe. She responded to simple reassurance quite well - and while she may still be unnerved by storms some in the future, I doubt she'll react as violently to them as she did that night."
"I didn't even know she was afraid of storms," Broots commented almost plaintively. "She never told me..."
"I'm not surprised," the older man reassured him. "She didn't want you - or anybody else, for that matter - to think she was a baby. It seemed to be very important to her that she measure up in YOUR eyes especially."
"But I wouldn't have thought she was..." the younger man began.
"I know that," Sydney held up a reassuring hand. "But from what little she let slip at the time... Actually, I'm deducing this more from what she DIDN'T say than what she did." Sydney interrupted his friend. "I don't think her mother handled Debbie's fears all that well during their years together, and I got the impression that the memories associated with that particular fear at least were not very good ones." Broots sighed unhappily, and Sydney nodded. "Exactly. And if it happened that once, it very well could have happened other times too about other things. At that point, you can never know what will bring forth one of these things again - a word, a gesture - anything could be a trigger to kick in a suppressed fear..."
Sydney sympathized with the look of frustration and pique that crossed his younger colleague's face. While he'd been trying to undo some of the damage Debbie's mother had apparently wrought, he too had felt his own share of anger at the insensitivity of any mother who would deal negatively with her small child's fears. "Would you like me to try to talk to her?" he suggested gently.
The look of relief on Broots' face was almost painful in and of itself. "Oh, Sydney! Would you? Do you mind?" His smile was almost blinding in its gratitude. "I know it's a horrible imposition, but..."
"Don't be ridiculous! I'd love to get a chance to spend some time with your delightful daughter - we just won't let her know that its really for more than just a friendly visit."
"Uh...OK..." Broots grew concerned again. "When...? How...?"
"BROOTS!!! You moron - where ARE you?!" Miss Parker's voice bellowed down the quiet Centre corridor. "I needed that security report YESTERDAY!!!"
"How about I pick her up from the sitter tonight, with the excuse that you have to work late?" Sydney suggested hurriedly as Broots bolted to his feet in anticipation of Miss Parker's pending discovery of his whereabouts. "From the sound of things, it may well be the truth after all anyway. Its Friday night - I'll pick her up and she can spend the night with me, and we'll see what we can see. How's that?"
"I...I'll call the sitter and tell her... tell her to expect... Th....thanks, Syd!" Broots turned to hurry towards the corridor and his angry boss. "I owe you HUGE for this!"
Sydney shook his head with a sympathetic smile at Broots' retreating back, not envying him the chewing out Miss Parker seemed determined to administer the moment she caught up to him, then reached for his clipboard once more with a now distracted expression.
Broots' little daughter had wormed her way into his heart very quickly over the course of a peaceful weekend at the cabin - he didn't like thinking that she was so distressed she couldn't sleep. Not for the first time he wondered what was it about the children whose lives brushed too closely to the Centre. Why, he demanded of a God he could no longer believe in, could their early years never be quiet and happy? Why did their lives have to be filled with fears and angst instead?
He sighed and mentally forced himself to pigeon-hole Debbie's problem in the back of his mind for the time being, then rose and followed the technician out into the Sim Lab to both physically and mentally return to recording the responses of his twins studies subjects.
It was going to be a loooooooooooong afternoon...
~~~~~~~~
The woman who answered the door at his knock had a kindly face. "Hello? My name is Dr. Sydney Green. I believe Mr. Broots called you to let you know I was going to..."
"Ah yes," the woman responded with a smile and stepped aside so that Sydney could enter the house. "I was expecting you. Debbie! Your ride is here!" she called towards the back of the residence.
She stood waiting with him until a tired-looking Debbie dragged out of the kitchen, shrugging her backpack onto one shoulder. One glance at the person waiting for her, however, and the expression of fatigue partially evaporated into a tired happiness. "Sydney?"
Sydney bent to catch the girl up in his arms as she ran toward him. "There you are, ma petite! Its so good to be seeing you again!"
"I'm staying with YOU tonight until Daddy gets home?! Oh, this is SO cool..." Debbie could hardly contain her joy at the idea of being able to spend more time with her new most favorite person in the world, and she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly after planting a noisy kiss on his cheek.
"Yes; your Dad has to work very late," he explained after kissing her cheek gently and hugging her tightly back, "and Miss Parker has to work too. So that means you and I get to spend a little more time together, if that's alright with you..."
Sydney could feel the girl's body struggling with a deep fatigue that was only thinly masked by her happiness at seeing him so unexpectedly. "It is," she agreed, then seemed to abruptly run out of energy. She settled her head tiredly on his shoulder and cling to his neck just a bit tighter as she looked over at her sitter. "Good night, Mrs. Connelly," she said quietly.
The kindly woman put her hand on Debbie's back comfortingly. "Good night to you too, Debbie." She smiled at the tall, older gentleman with the continental accent and bearing who had come to claim the girl who was one of her favorite charges. "Nice to meet you, Doctor."
"And you, Mrs. Connelly," Sydney answered with a bow that was too slight to disturb the tired little girl in his arms. The woman flipped a switch that illuminated the front yard as well as the porch so that he could see to carry his burden to his waiting town car. He bent to open the passenger door, then carefully deposited Debbie in the seat. She looked up at him with sleepy eyes while he settled the seat belt over her shoulder. "You seem tired tonight, ma petite. Are you feeling OK?"
"I'm fine," she tried to reassure him, but her body was telling him another story entirely.
Sydney chose not to challenge her, but rather moved quickly to the driver's seat and started up the motor. He drove very carefully and smoothly through the darkened streets of Blue Cove, aware that his passenger had closed her eyes almost the moment the car had begun moving. He frowned in concern. Broots was right to worry - it wasn't normal for a child her age to be this tired at this early an hour. It was just a little after the dinner hour after all... He pushed the button to open his garage door and pulled the car fully into the garage before closing the rolling door behind them.
"Debbie, cheri, we're here," he called softly, a hand on her knee shaking her gently. He wasn't prepared for the girl coming awake like a shot, her body tense as if ready to flee, her eyes wide and terrified. "Hey," he smoothed a hand against her hair, " it's OK. It's just me, Sydney. Remember?"
Even in the dimly lit car, he could see her gathering her tired, scattered wits and struggling not to cry. Instead, she nodded, then reached for her seat belt buckle. He reached down and covered her little hand with his big one, stopping her. He waited for her to turn eyes swimming with tears to look up at him then reached up to smooth her hair away from her eyes. "Something's wrong, isn't it?" At first she shook her head, but then as he continued to gaze at her gently, she dropped her gaze and shrugged and nodded slightly.
"Let's go inside, then, and I'll make you a nice mug of hot chocolate, like I did up at the cabin, and then you can tell me what's troubling you. OK?" He held his breath; it was always better to take a relatively straight approach with children, but sometimes that straight approach could fail miserably.
"OK," she mumbled, her gaze still trained on the fabric of the car seat between them.
Satisfied he'd at least gotten this much of a concession from her, he pushed the button to release her seat belt for her and then unbuckled himself. Together they each climbed from the car, and then Debbie followed him into his kitchen, dimly lit from the light in the stove hood. He pointed for her to drop her backpack on the kitchen table, then helped her out of her coat. "You sit, and I'll fix," he directed her, and then turned to gather the makings for hot chocolate while Debbie drooped into one of the kitchen chairs to watch him with tired and wary eyes.
"How long has it been since you've had a good night's sleep?" he asked her eventually after he'd poured the milk into a saucepan. He looked up when he didn't hear an answer, then prodded gently, "Debbie?"
"A while, I guess," she answered in a flat voice that Sydney vividly remembered from their previous time together was her defense mechanism against things she didn't want to think about.
"How long?" he asked again, looking up at her. "Just a couple nights, or longer than that?"
She shrugged, then mumbled, "Longer than that," when she concluded he wouldn't stop pressing until she answered him.
He put the saucepan on the stove and put a very low flame under it, then reached for the chocolate powder and began adding it slowly and stirring carefully. "A week?"
"Maybe," she shrugged again.
"More than a week ago?" he persisted.
Debbie's brows furrowed tiredly, then she shook her head. "I don't think so..." she offered finally.
Sydney was silent while he finished heating the milk carefully, then divided the steaming liquid into the two mugs he had sitting along side the stove, then put a spoon in each and brought them over to her and sat down around the corner from her. "What makes it hard so hard for you to sleep?" he asked gently, the question he'd wanted to ask since he'd seen her.
Debbie gathered her mug close and began stirring her chocolate and avoiding his gaze. "I dunno," she shrugged in an attempt to be nonchalant. "Dreams, I suppose."
"Bad dreams?"
She cringed when she looked up sharply, and he knew he'd scored a hit. She looked back down into her chocolate quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed the fear on her face.
He sat with her and drank at his chocolate quietly for a while, letting her settle and calm a little without being pressed. Then, "Does it bother you to talk about it?"
She shot him a look of pure terror, then looked back down again and nodded, one tear breaking free and tumbling down a cheek.
Sydney set his mug back down on the table. "This is NOT going to do," he announced and then reached over and grasped the girl under the arms and pulled her into his lap before she could squeak out a complaint. "There, that's better. We do our talks better when you're here with me." He wrapped his arms around her completely and leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "Now. Do you remember the storm, up at the cabin?" he asked quietly, gently.
"Uh-huh?" Confused by her sudden shift in location, Debbie was lost.
"Remember how you didn't want to show me how scared you were at first," he explained in a patient tone, "but after we talked everything out, you found out that it was OK to be scared."
Debbie relaxed a little then, leaned against him and nodded. "I remember," she replied in a small tone.
"And do you remember," he continued as if she hadn't said anything, "that later that night we discussed how, when you get scared of something, that you should tell someone about it so that they can help you understand and get un-scared again? Remember, you weren't so scared of the storm after..."
"Yes, but this is different," she whimpered, burrowing closer to him and trembling.
He tightened his arms around her. "Different how so?"
"Storms are loud and flashy and scary," she explained quickly, "but..."
"But..."
"They don't hurt." The three words were in a nearly inaudible whisper, and Debbie sniffled and hid her face.
"Hurt?" Sydney blinked, startled. He held her close and didn't speak for a while, giving her a chance to pull herself together a bit. When he thought she'd regained some of her composure, he asked, "Do you remember what happens in these dreams?" He took a beginning tack that would move toward the cause of her distress slowly and carefully.
She nodded against him.
"And in these dreams, you get hurt?" His voice was soft and soothing, so as to make the subject less traumatic to talk about.
Debbie nodded against his chest, trembling again slightly.
He stopped asking questions again for a while and simply held the girl close until her trembling faded and she rested tiredly against him. "Can you tell me about what scares you in the dreams?" he asked very carefully.
"Snakes," she answered flatly with a full shudder.
"Snakes?!" That took the older man completely by surprise. "And do these snakes hurt you?"
Debbie nodded again and sniffled. "They bite," she explained in a teeny voice that grew more and more shaky as the words seemed to begin to tumble out of her, "and then the grownups have to cut you and make you bleed and you get real sick..." She choked back a sob.
"What..." Sydney could hardly believe his ears. He loosened his hold on the girl and cupped her head so he could look into her face. "Debbie Broots, when have you ever been bitten by a snake?!"
The clear, blue eyes were tragic and filling with tears, and once more the words just tumbled out as if relieved to be finally set free. "My mommy... left me once with these people... in Las Vegas... one time... they lived... there was a... a... rattlesnake... under the trailer... it got in... sometimes... I went to go potty... at night... I heard the rattle but... I didn't see... I stepped on it... it bit me... on the foot... they had... to... cut my foot... 'til it bled... a lot... I got... so sick..." she was now crying hard. "Mommy was... so mad because... she had to come back... and I was in the hospital..."
"Sweet Mother of God!" Sydney whispered, shaken. He'd known that Debbie's life with her mother had been less than optimal, and she'd had given him an inkling in their previous time together of the emotional callousness with which she had been treated. But Broots had told him nothing of such dire or traumatic events in his daughter's life. It was likely he knew nothing about them, which meant Debbie had been suffering with these traumatic events in her life all alone all these years. "But why on earth would you remember this NOW?? What happened to bring this back to you now?!"
"At the slumber party... Nicole's little brother... had this... plastic snake... and he snuck up... behind me... under my chair... and stuck it... into my leg... hard... almost the same spot... He thought it was funny when I screamed..."
"I get it," Sydney said gently and tightened his arms around the girl and pulled her close again. "I understand," he repeated softly in the little girl's ear as she trembled and clung to his shirt front. "Debbie, its OK. You aren't the only person to be afraid of snakes..."
"Charley laughed at me... called me a baby... then he kept pushing the snake into my face..." she whimpered. "His mom finally told him to leave me alone... and I called my Dad..."
"Listen to me," the older man said gently yet firmly. "You have a good reason to be afraid of snakes, and this little boy, Charley, was being very cruel to pick on you that way. You've nothing to be ashamed of..."
"But..." Debbie shook her head and looked up at him again hesitantly, the tears still fresh and wet on her face, "Nicole's mom was... really kinda mad at me too because... I was so upset... and then I wanted to go home..."
"You didn't tell her why you were upset, though, did you?" Sydney pointed out gently.
Debbie shook her head and sniffled. "I was having a hard time to... stop crying..."
He kissed her forehead. "Sweetheart, if you'd have at least told her something, she'd have understood why you were having such a hard time."
"But, Sydney..." Now she was confused. "Mommies always get mad when their kids get scared, don't they?"
Sydney closed his eyes, frustrated beyond belief and furious that Debbie's mother would have let her little girl come to believe such a thing. He carefully schooled his voice into calm and comforting tones so as not to communicate his ire to the girl in his lap, however. "No, ma petite, most mommies don't get mad. Maybe yours got mad more often for other reasons, but..." He wiped away her tears with gentle fingers and then folded himself protectively around the girl. "No, most mommies don't get mad, Debbie. Getting bitten by a snake is a pretty painful and scary thing - even for grownups." He felt her snuggle down into his embrace while he held her close, and he pondered for a long and quiet moment that let them both calm down a little. "Tell me, do you remember how old you were when you were bit?"
She shook her head. "Uh-unh. It was a real long time ago..."
"Did your Mom ever tell your Dad what happened?"
"I dunno," Debbie shook her head again and shrugged, and Sydney found himself once again struck by the careless kind of mothering that this child had survived. How many more of these horrors would Broots - and Debbie - have to work through? Still, having voiced the memories that had been triggered, there was only one more issue to be addressed. "So, now, do you think you can tell me what happens in your dream that scares you so and wakes you up?"
"I'm at home, with Daddy, I'm in bed, I get up to go to the bathroom, and I hear the rattling... and then the snake bites... and then there's lots of blood everywhere... and I hurt so bad again... and then I wake up..."
"OK, OK, hush now..." Sydney kissed the girl on the top of the head and rocked her back and forth in his arms until she had once more stopped trembling and had relaxed against him. "You're dreaming what you went through when you were very small, and changing it to your present situation - no wonder you've been so upset. But why didn't you tell this to your Dad? Don't you know how worried he's been about you?"
"But I didn't want him to think that I'm a baby, afraid of a plastic toy snake," she said in a forlorn tone.
"Ma petite, haven't you figured out yet that you don't have to worry that your Dad will think you're a baby?" He asked her gently, still rocking her slowly back and forth. "I think your Dad would be very sad that you had gone through such a frightening time in the first place, and very happy to be the one to make you feel safe again. He loves you SO much, you know... He wouldn't be angry with you when you get scared of something that reminds you of a bad time."
"I don't want to make him mad at Mommy again either, though..."
Sydney shushed at her and rocked her back and forth for a long time, unable to find the words to address that particular worry. How could he explain to an eleven-year-old that her Daddy was already angry at her mother for the way she'd mistreated his little girl otherwise - and that this was the reason she lived with him now and not with her mother on the gambling circuit still? How could he tell her that of all the people in her world, she needed to be defending her mother the least?
Then again, as he held her close, he realized that this little girl had had no reason to learn to trust the adults in her life properly. He suddenly understood that the closeness he'd managed to achieve with her at the cabin had been phenomenal, considering the circumstances that were slowly coming to light; and that even the conversation that had just transpired was a big step for her. He'd heard her say it twice, and only now did it fully register: "Mommy got so mad". As much as it pained him to think of it, he knew that she could only know and work with what her previous experiences had taught her - and those lessons had been hard and harsh ones that had left her deeply scarred.
He felt Debbie give a huge sigh and then nestle down against his chest utterly relaxed and limp, and he knew that she'd finally given up and actually fallen asleep. After all the tears and exhaustion, her feeling safe enough with him to let down her guard and fall sleep in his lap was still nothing less than a gesture of complete trust from a child who he was now certain didn't otherwise know how to trust those closest to her. Nothing could have made her dearer to him at that moment. He kissed the top of her head again very softly and continued to rock her back and forth slowly, engraving this moment in his memory.
When after a while it became apparent that her sleep was deep and genuinely restful, he shifted her slowly and cautiously in his arms so as not to awaken her, and then lifted her up and rose to his feet. Walking slowly and smoothly, he made his way through the otherwise darkened house to the front and then up the stairs toward the spare bedroom. He caught back the bedspread with his fingers, then gently deposited her against the pillows, with gentle hands removed her shoes, and then covered her with the bedspread against the chill of the winter night. He clicked on the electric blanket beneath her to a comfortably low setting, then stepped quickly out into the hallway far enough that he could turn on the light there, so that the bedroom was dimly and indirectly lit through the open door.
He then settled himself into a winged easy chair by the window where he could watch over her sleep, all night if need be, ready to comfort should the nightmare make another disruptive appearance. Then tomorrow, when she was hopefully more rested and fresh, the two of them would discuss her bringing this latest fear to her father when Broots came to pick her up. She needed to see for herself that she didn't have to fear his reaction the way she'd had to fear her mother's. He knew she trusted HIM now; he just wanted to make sure she could experience how much she could trust Broots too - for all those times in the future when she would need to trust him.
~~~~~~~~
Debbie looked up at Sydney for reassurance, then seeing his nod, reached down to her sock and removed it. She pointed to a puckered and smooth line of skin near two smaller healed puncture marks. "There."
Broots studied the scars and then looked up at his daughter sadly. "I didn't know, sweetheart. Your Mom never told me about this." He glanced up into Sydney's sympathetic face, then focussed his gaze on his little girl's face. "God, Debbie, I'm sorry. I didn't know..."
"Its OK, Daddy," Debbie pulled her sock back on quickly and wrapped her arms around her father's neck. "I got better. It doesn't hurt anymore..."
The young tech hugged the girl back tightly, his eyes closed against the frustration he felt at the suffering his daughter had gone through that he'd never suspected. "I know you got better, Deb, but for me to think that you've been having nightmares because you remembered this..."
"Are you mad at Mommy?" Debbie's sky-blue eyes bore holes into his soul.
"Well, yeah... I am a bit," Broots admitted with hesitant honesty, after looking at Sydney and getting his own reassuring nod from the psychiatrist. "Even when I wasn't there for you, after your Mommy and I broke up, I still loved you and wanted to know what was going on with you. I would have wanted to know if you were sick - especially if you were sick enough to land in the hospital..." He swallowed hard and then gazed right back at her. "But just because I'm mad at your Mommy doesn't mean I'm mad at you too. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Are you sure?" Her voice was small, hesitant.
"Of course I am, Deb," he said and pulled her back into his hug. He held her close to him, and then whispered at her, "and I bet if we told Mrs. Fielding what you just told me, she wouldn't be so upset with you either."
Debbie shook her head against her father's chest. "I don't want to get Charley in trouble," she protested.
Sydney reached out a hand and smoothed her hair from behind. "You know, I think that Charley could use a good lesson, ma petite, and I think maybe Mrs. Fielding does too. When a child gets that upset, there usually is a good reason - and anger or frustration is never a proper response."
"I think I'll have a talk with her anyway, explain to her why you were so upset," Broots decided. "I'll let her decide whether or not she should scold Charley afterwards. Will that be OK?"
"OK." Debbie turned and looked back over her shoulder at her father's - and now her - friend. "Sydney told me you wouldn't be mad," she informed her father with a soft smile aimed at the subject of her sentence. "He was right." She looked at her father again. "I'm glad he talked me into telling you about my dreams and stuff."
"I'm glad he did too, sweetpea." Broots turned grateful eyes to his colleague. "Sydney knows a lot of stuff about people, Deb, how they feel, how they react." He turned back to her. "We're lucky to have him as a friend, aren't we?"
She nodded her agreement firmly. "Daddy?" She twitched her forefinger to get her father to bend close to hear her whisper. "Do you think it would OK with you if I come over to visit Sydney sometimes, if he's not busy? On the weekend or holidays or something?"
Broots glanced back up at Sydney, knowing the older man's hearing to be acute enough to have heard his daughter's question. The older man knew from the twinkle in the technician's eye that his future access to a certain little girl was assured, if he wanted it to be. He nodded his agreement, and Broots turned those twinkling blue eyes back on his daughter. "I think if you asked, I bet he'd let you..."
Debbie nodded seriously, then turned around and looked up at Sydney wistfully. "Do you think, maybe, sometime, I might come over and see you? Visit, just you and me, I mean?"
Sydney bent down and picked her up out of her father's arms and looked her straight on after he settled her on his hip. "Debbie, I would be very honored if you would like to come over sometime to visit. There's a very nice park just down the street here - maybe when you come over next time, I could take you there?"
"I think I'd like that," she announced, still very seriously, then wrapped her arms around the older man's neck and hugged him very tightly. "I love you, Sydney," she whispered softly against his ear.
Touched deeply, he automatically returned the sentiment in French rather than in English, knowing she'd understand him anyway. "Je t'aime aussi, ma petite," he murmured very quietly into her ear in return and hugged her back. "But that's our secret, yes?" She nodded her head against his, while Sydney's eyes caught Broots' in a conspiratorial glance. Then he put her down again on her feet. "You'd better scoot upstairs for your backpack, then," he advised her, and she scampered from the living room, taking the stairs noisily two at a time.
"You heard too?" Sydney asked quickly and quietly.
"I can't believe how quickly she's taken to you," Broots nodded. "I want you to know how much I really appreciate all you've done for her already. You sure you don't mind her coming over once in a while?"
"Not at all - you heard my answer to her." The psychiatrist laid an arm around the shoulders of his younger friend as they walked together toward the front door. "I meant every word. I enjoy her company greatly and will be looking forward to having her come to visit again verrry much. I..." Sydney paused, and Broots stared at the sight of his very esteemed colleague sounding almost uncertain of himself, the light accent thickening slightly. "I was hoping that perhaps you wouldn't mind if I... think of her sometimes as a kind of adopted grand-daughter. I don't..." Then he remembered that Broots knew about Nicholas. "I don't know that I'll ever have grandchildren of my own. I'm hoping you won't mind if I think of your little girl once in a while..."
Broots was already smiling from ear to ear. "Syd, there's nothing that would make me happier than knowing you've taken that much of a shine to her. Deb's had no family at all around her, ever - just Maggie for a long time, and now me... Maggie's folks and my folks were both long gone before Debbie came on the scene. I always thought, after she came to live with me, that if she could only have just a couple of other people... you know, who would give her a little attention..." He rubbed his nose roughly to hide the way the request had touched him deeply. "You and Miss Parker are the only people I know that I really care about... For you to care about Debbie too..." He rubbed his nose again. "Thanks, Syd. I mean that."
"And thank YOU," Sydney smiled widely, both at Broots' easy acceptance of his request and at the sound of an active, much-more-happy little girl clomping noisily down the stairs. "Do you have everything?" he asked the child as she joined him.
Debbie nodded, then slipped her free hand into her father's. Sydney laid a gentle hand on her head, then smoothed down her hair fondly. "I look forward to your next visit, ma petite," he said gently, then extended the same hand to shake Broots'. "Have a good weekend, Broots - I'll see you Monday."
"Uh, Syd?" Broots looked down at Debbie. "Are you doing anything special tomorrow?" When she grinned and nodded enthusiastically while bouncing on the balls of her feet in happiness, he looked back up at his friend. "Debbie and I have this... tradition... of making Sunday a picnic or special day. She does a pretty good tuna salad sandwich spread that she was intending to make tomorrow anyway. I was just thinking we all could have a picnic together at this park of yours - if the weather is warm enough."
"I'd love to!" the older man smiled widely. "I'll provide the drinks and dessert, how's that?"
"Hot chocolate?" Debbie asked quietly, but with a twinkle in her eye.
"Absolutely!" he agreed, bending down to poke her in the tummy with a gentle forefinger. He straightened. "We can meet here at noon and walk over."
"It's settled then. See you tomorrow at noon, then," Broots nodded and, with a hand at Debbie's back, the two of them took their leave. Sydney waved them into the beat-up sedan and down his driveway, then headed back into the house and back into his kitchen to finish cleaning up after a big breakfast of pancakes.
As he came through the kitchen door, he was struck anew by the sight of the now TWO pieces of artwork that decorated his refrigerator. The top picture had been hanging there for a month or more, a colored-pencil sketch of a mountain cabin surrounded by fall colors. He still had intentions in the back of his mind of having that one matted and framed so that he could display it proudly in his Centre office. The second, however, was a new one - a faithful crayon rendering of Sydney's face - that had been drawn and added to the first just that morning. And while it too would eventually be matted and framed and given a place of honor of its own to hang, unlike the sketch of the cabin, this one would remain the guarded and very private property of the man who owned it. Like the first, it had been signed and dated at Sydney's request. But unlike the other, there was more writing on the back - writing that made this picture extra special:
"To my Grandpa Sydney,
"Even though I haven't known you very long, I love you very much. Thank you for helping me get un-scared, and for being my Grandpa. You're the best Grandpa in the world.
"Love, "Debbie"
He decided he would have to show Broots the pictures tomorrow, before he escorted his little granddaughter - he even liked thinking the words - and her father to the park for their picnic. Smiling in anticipation, and warmed by the permission he'd received to openly think of Debbie in that way, he reached out and turned on the hot water in the sink to begin rinsing dishes.
His life had recently made a subtle but important shift in direction that promised much in the days and years ahead. Playing Grandpa to Debbie opened many possibilities for him to explore that he'd thought forever closed to him. Humming “Frere Jacques” jauntily to himself, he brought the first plate, sticky with syrup, under the steaming faucet.
Life was good.
