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“He’s cute. Does he have a name?”
“It’s not real.”
Someone hurt her enough to steal her whimsy. Not her child-like whimsy, but her actual whimsy since she is a damn child.
I hope they’re dead, and I hope it happened painfully.
“O,” Judge whispered.
I wasn’t as adept as him at hiding my emotions and had been scowling at the sloth like it owed me money and had insulted my mother.
Getting my shit together, I smoothed my features. “It’s okay to name stuffies. Or not is cool, too. I used to like coming up with the weirdest names I could think of.”
The girl tilted her head and hesitated before leaning forward. “Like what?”
“You know American Girl dolls?” At her rapid nod, I leaned a little closer, too, as if I was sharing a secret when I was actually trying to get a better look at the scrapes on her arms. “Well, when I was eight, I wanted one so bad. I begged and pleaded and did chores and said it could be the only present I got for the whole year because I wanted it that bad.”
“And you got it?”
“Yup. She had all this beautiful brown hair and big brown eyes. Hmm, she kinda looked like you. What’s your name?”
“Madison.”
“Oh, that’s a much nicer name. My doll’s name was Princess Poop.”
The little girl erupted into a fit of giggles, flopping back onto the bed and moving the arm that she’d been holding tight to her body.
Thank God for that.
“I’m glad you find it funny,” I told her, “because my mom did not. I brought that doll everywhere and would loudly tell people her name.”
She sat up and grinned, her missing front teeth letting me know she was likely a little older than I’d first thought—around six rather than four. “Did you name other dolls funny names?”
“Oh, yeah. Chair, who was a bear. I had a giraffe named Ant because I thought the idea of something so tall being named something so tiny was hilarious. I had a real pet turtle, Flash. Oh, and I had this other doll who lit up and part of her hair would grow. She was so cool, so I named her Toilet.”
Another round of giggles. “Princess Poop and Toilet?”
“They were best friends and worked in the horse hospital taking care of the toy horse I had… Joshua.”
The little girl looked at her stuffed animal. “Sloths are slow. I think maybe I’ll name him… Lightning. Like Lightning McQueen.”
“That sounds like the perfect name. Can I see him?” When she handed him over, I turned him all around. “Yup. Totally the perfect name. But did he get hurt?”
Her smile faltered, and I hated that I had to be the one to take it away. “Yes, he, uh, fell and got a little cut.”
I held out the sloth’s arm and looked at it before looking to hers. “Did you try to help him and get scratched, too?”
Tears welled in her eyes again, and she nodded fast, taking the lie and running with it. “He fell and then was caught in some bushes that were pokey.”
“Then you’re a hero for rescuing him. I’m going to fix you both up and make sure no icky germs are left, is that okay?”
Her eyes went to her mom, who had a worse poker face than I did. Barely holding in her tears, the woman nodded. “It’s okay.”
“It’s okay,” Madison repeated solemnly, pulling into herself again.
Looking over at Judge, I asked, “Hey, baby, can you get the kit from the bag?”
He lifted his chin and left, returning a minute later with the basic first-aid kit I’d been smart enough to pack in case I needed to patch bar fight injuries or, more likely, wounds I got from my less than graceful motorcycle dismounts.
