Chapter 7 - A Night With the Red Bow on the Dresser
The church twin bed barely fit against the wall in my apartment. I'd cleared out the corner by the window that afternoon, moved my workbench, vacuumed twice. Pastor Daniels and his son had carried it up two flights and didn't ask questions beyond where I wanted it.
She stood in the doorway holding my hand and looked at it.
"Is that for me?" she asked.
I nodded. "For as long as you need it. There's clean sheets. The mattress is new."
She walked over slow and ran her hand along the white frame. On the dresser next to it I'd put a small lamp I'd bought at Target that morning, the kind with a warm bulb you could tap to dim.
She had a little backpack the home had packed for her. Two changes of clothes, a toothbrush still in plastic, a folded paper with her allergies written out. She took out the red dress first. Not to pack it away. She held it carefully, smoothed the front, and hung it on the closet door handle where she could see it. Then she reached up and took the bow out of her hair.
Her dark curls fell to the side. She placed the big satin bow on the dresser top, aligned it so the loops faced out, and patted it once like it needed to be settled.
"You want to keep it there?" I said.
She nodded. "So I know where it is."
That was the whole room for her. Bed, lamp, bow, dress. She stood back and breathed in through her nose, and I realized she was memorizing it.
Dinner was chicken nuggets and apple slices. I'd asked the caseworker what she ate and she'd said whatever's offered, but she was watching her diet still. I put the plate down in front of her at my small kitchen table and she didn't touch it right away.
She looked up at me. "Can I have water?"
"Of course. You don't have to ask," I said. I filled a glass and set it next to her plate. She took a small sip, then waited.
"You can eat," I said. "It's for you."
She nodded and started, cutting each nugget in half with the side of her fork like she'd been taught to make it last. Every few bites she glanced at me to see if I was still there.
After dinner she sat with her hands in her lap. "Can I use the bathroom?"
"Yes. You never have to ask permission for the bathroom here. Or for water. Or food. If you're hungry you tell me. If you're thirsty you get it. Okay?"
She said okay, but I could see she didn't believe me yet. She went down the hall and closed the door soft and when she came out she washed her hands for a long time, checking the towel to see if she'd left a mark.
Around seven thirty I thought she might want the TV on. She shook her head. She sat on the edge of the borrowed bed with her feet not touching the floor and pulled a creased photo from the front pocket of her backpack.
It was small, bent at the corners, a picture of a woman with the same dark curly hair, holding her as a smaller girl. Elena. Younger, smiling in a way I remembered from before.
"Do you look at that every night?" I asked.
She nodded, holding it with both hands. "Mommy said to keep it under my pillow. So I don't forget."
"Do you want to keep doing that here?"
She slipped it under the pillow of the twin bed, patting the pillow twice. In the lamplight I could see the small mark above her left eyebrow clearly, a little pale comma-shaped line that caught the light when she tilted her head. Up close it was just part of her face. I had to stop myself from reaching to touch it.
"I can leave the lamp on low if you want," I said.
"Low is okay."
There was a knock at the door at eight. Ms. Alvarez, the caseworker, with her clipboard and her soft shoes. She'd said she'd do an evening check for the first overnight.
She stepped in, smiled at the girl, then walked the apartment. Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom corner. She checked that I had a smoke detector, that the cleaning products were up high, that the window locks worked.
She looked at the bed, the bow placed neat on the dresser, the dress hung up.
"This is good, Mr. Vitari," she said quietly while the girl was brushing her teeth in the bathroom. "It's passable. It's clean and safe and she has her own space. That's what we needed to see."
I exhaled. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it.
"But tomorrow we need a plan," she added, keeping her voice down. "School enrollment, even if it's just paperwork to start. And a pediatrician. She needs a well-child check within the week for the file. And you need to keep this routine consistent."
"I will. I've got the elementary school's number. I was going to call in the morning."
"Good." She glanced toward the bathroom where the water was running. "She's hypervigilant, as you saw. Asking permission for everything. That's normal for kids who've been in congregate care. Don't make a big deal of it. Just keep answering the same way."
When the girl came back, Ms. Alvarez knelt down. "How are you feeling tonight?"
The girl looked at me, then back at her. "Good."
"Are you safe?"
"Yes."
"Good girl. I'll see you tomorrow." She stood and gave me a look that said we were okay for tonight, but nothing was decided.
After she left, I helped the girl into the bed. The sheets were a little big, light blue with small stars. She lay stiff at first, then curled onto her side facing the dresser where the bow sat in the low light.
"You good?" I asked.
She nodded, her eyes already heavy. "Are you going to sleep over there?"
"Right there on the couch. So I'm close if you need anything."
May you like
She reached out and I held her hand for a minute. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes closed, opened once to check the bow was still there, then closed again.
I sat on the floor beside the bed until I was sure she was asleep, watching the small mark above her eyebrow rise and fall with her breath, the red bow waiting neatly on the dresser for morning.
