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The little girl looked back at him. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the hairy stalk he still held.
“This is called a weed.” He could give the child the scientific name. Could lecture her about wildflowers, those which weren’t cultivated, that most gardeners considered weeds because they came uninvited and took over. He could also give her many instances when these so-called weeds were used to create exquisite beauty.
“Weed bad, hurt pretty flower,” the little girl said.
“That’s right,” Grant told her, glad he’d kept his lecture to himself. “What’s your name?”
“Kara.”
Her short legs, dressed in jeans with a design on the pockets that matched the pink design on her short-sleeved white top and the pink in her little white tennis shoes, didn’t seem to tire from her position.
And her mother wasn’t calling her away from bothering him.
Or acting bothered by him, either.
“How old are you, Kara?”
“Three.”
She was rocking back and forth, still squatting, and then just as suddenly as she’d been there, she was standing, putting her hand back in Maddie’s.
“Bye, Mister, see you soon I love you.”
The words came out so fast, and with babyish garble, and he wasn’t sure he’d heard them right. And then she was gone.
It took Grant a couple of seconds to realize that he was pulling weeds with a grin on his face.
* * *
“LYNN, CAN I talk to you for a minute?” Maddie’s words were enunciated as slowly as always, her pretty face marred with anxiety, about half an hour before her therapy session Friday morning.
“Of course. Close the door,” she told the woman who looked great in her leggings and lightweight T-shirt. Maddie’s short blond hair was curled this morning, and sprayed. She was wearing makeup.
Not a first, but not usual, either. Makeup on Maddie usually meant she’d been spending time at a bungalow that housed some of their younger residents. One in particular, Katrina, had been with them for several months and was good with Maddie. She also had dreams of being a cosmetologist.
“I’m prettier with makeup,” Maddie said, sitting down on the edge of a chair across from Lynn’s desk. Maddie’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap. Her knees bobbed up and down.
“You’re pretty either way,” Lynn told her. “Pretty comes from the inside out.”
The cliché rolled off her tongue with very little thought—or emotion, either, for that matter. Because she was starting to take the job for granted?
God, she hoped not.
“If I want boys to notice me, I have to take care of myself.”
Lynn leaned forward. “Who told you that?”
“I’d rather not say.” Maddie seemed irritated by the question, not agitated. A difference Lynn had learned to ascertain.
“Have you talked to Sara?”
Maddie was fond of her counselor, but seemed to have bonded more with Lynn. Lynn and Sara had discussed the situation with Lila, who guessed that Maddie probably felt closer to Lynn because of Kara, and wasn’t concerned.
It didn’t really matter which of them helped Maddie as long as they helped her.
“No.”
“Okay, what’s up?”
“I like someone.” There was no glee in the words. No excitement. Only… Yes, there it was now, agitation.
“Who?”
“I don’t want to say.”
There was a time to accept that answer, and a time when she couldn’t.
“I can’t help you unless I know who we’re talking about.”
“I just… Do you think it’s wrong for me to like someone?”
“Absolutely not. But it’s always good to get the opinion of a trusted source before you pursue a relationship.”
Most particularly in Maddie’s case. She couldn’t read people, was an easy target and…
Lynn’s senses were on full alert. As far as she knew, Maddie hadn’t left the grounds in over a month. But she wasn’t aware of the outside workings at the Stand a lot of the days when she was in her office with patients. Or tending to new arrivals.
“I just like him,” Maddie said now, looking down. “And he might like me.” The words were nearly a whisper, aimed at Maddie’s rib cage.
