Page 12 of Property of Quake

Oh no.

Several questions are on the tip of my tongue, but Melissa speaks before I have a chance to ask any of them.

“She was in the car, and I was petting her when we crashed. I don’t know what happened to her.”

A knot forms in my stomach at her dejected tone. “That must be really hard. Not knowing what happened to her.”

She nods as she twists the edge of the blanket in her hand, her knuckles almost white from the pressure. Finally, Melissa lifts her head and looks at me. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying, but there’s something else in her gaze, something deeper than grief.

“I can’t stop thinking about her,” she whispers brokenly. “What if Stella got hurt?”

“If she survived the accident, I’m sure someone helped her,” I say, choosing my words carefully.

“But what if they didn’t?”

Children often worry about people they love, as well as animals, but the urgency in her voice makes me think she’s more scared than concerned.

“Melissa, is there something else bothering you?” I ask, shifting a bit closer to her.

“No,” she replies, too quickly.

Silence settles between us, and I let it because I’ve learned that forcing kids to talk before they’re ready rarely, if ever, works. When the quiet stretches, I decide to try another tactic.

“When I first came here,” I begin. “I was afraid all the time, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I thought if I let my guard down, something bad would happen.”

“Did it?” she asks after a moment.

I smile at her. “No.”

Melissa averts her gaze. “I…” She chews on her bottom lip for a second. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

My pulse kicks up. “Talk about what?”

“Nothing.”

“Melissa, if th⁠—”

“It’s nothing,” she snaps, shocking me, before pulling the blanket tighter and rolling over to face the wall.

Doesn’t seem like nothing.

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. This isn’t the first time I’ve sat with a hurting child. It’s not even the first time I’ve sat with a child who’s afraid. It is, however, the first time I’m with a child who’s displaying disproportionate amounts of each emotion in relation to their circumstance.

I silently pray for the wisdom to handle this appropriately, but then I realize that it doesn’t really matter how I handle it as long as I do it with love and care.

“Well, I’m always here if you want to talk. Or if you don’t.”

She doesn’t turn around, but she does nod after a long few seconds. It’s not much, but it’s enough. I stand and move toward the door.

“Do you want me to see if I can find anything out about Stella?” I ask.

She flips over so quickly that I have to stifle a laugh at the shift. “You can do that?”

“I’ll try.”

Melissa nods frantically. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll let you know what I find,” I say, smiling.