And what was that undercurrent between her and the bartender, Dillon, all about? Apparently the craggy-faced man had been great friends with Benjamin Drake, and according to Deanna, he held her responsible for Ben’s death. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m going to stick around awhile, Steve thought. He just might be able to help Deanna handle some of the burden that had landed on her shoulders.
He kneaded his pillow, flounced over in bed and lectured himself about the protective urges that he was feeling for this woman he’d just met.
THE NEXT MORNING, Steve stood waiting in the open doorway of the therapy room when Deanna and Penny came up the stairs with Hobo bounding ahead of them. Whether or not the little girl would come willingly into the room without her mother was the first hurdle. Sometimes a child resisted being left alone with the therapist and the first few sessions were unproductive. Nevertheless, Steve was always firm about making the child adjust to being without any parent during therapy.
He was relieved when Penny showed no hesitancy about coming into the playroom with her dog for a look-see. He suspected that Penny must have overheard some of Deanna’s preparations for furnishing the therapy room and was curious about it.
Steve gave Deanna the “okay” sign, and then shut the door. The little girl didn’t seem to notice or be concerned that her mother had gone. Shiny golden curls framed her solemn face, and a shower of freckles dotted her slightly pug nose. She would have been a beautiful child if there’d been a bit of life in her vacant expression.
Steve released a thankful breath that she hadn’t shown any resistance to staying in the playroom. He made himself comfortable on a floor cushion beside a low round table like the one he had in his office. Sitting quietly, he watched the child and dog explore the room.
Hobo sniffed at everything, poked his nose into buckets of toys, and accidentally set a ball rolling with his nose. Penny slowly made a circuit of the room, looking at the dollhouse, sandbox, an easel set up with paper, crayon and paints and an array of puppets and stuffed animals sitting on a shelf, but she didn’t touch anything.
Apparently having satisfied her curiosity, she started toward the door and motioned for Hobo to follow. She was ready to leave.
“Penny.”
She stopped and looked at Steve, her eyes fixed and staring.
He held up a small kitchen timer that was ticking away. “Have you seen a timer, Penny? Like this one? Your mother wants you to stay until this hand goes all the way around. That’s an hour. You can do anything you want until the bell dings. Anything at all. You can play or not play. It’s up to you, but you have to stay here until it’s time to go.”
She looked at him, at the timer, and then at the closed door. Her expression remained the same, closed and guarded. No sign of tears, nor hysterics, nor hint of any kind of emotion.
Hobo came over to the low table where Steve was sitting and sniffed at a plastic bag of cookies that he had requested from Maude, the cook.
“I know what Hobo wants.” Steve laughed and held up the sack. “He wants to eat a cookie. Do you want to give him one?”
There was no visible response on her face, but as Hobo did some dancing turns, begging for the cookie, Penny slowly moved closer to the table.
As Steve held out the sack to her, the dog poked at it with his nose, drooling with anticipation. “Do you want to give Hobo a cookie?”
Without even a responding flicker of her eyelashes, she took the sack, pulled out a cookie and gave it to Hobo. Then she handed the sack back to Steve.
“Does Penny want a cookie?”
As if she hadn’t heard him, the little girl’s eyes flickered to the closed door and back again.
The first hurdle had come.
Steve kept his smile relaxed as she just stood there. Would Penny accept the time allotment? Or would she challenge his authority to keep her in the playroom? Would she waste precious time in tantrums as some children did?
He waited. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the timer and Hobo’s chomping down his cookie. After a moment, Penny lowered her head, fixed her eyes on the floor and just stood there. She looked so small, alone and vulnerable that it was all he could do not to reach a hand out to her, but he knew that building the child’s inner strength could not be imposed from the outside. Deanna’s love would have healed the little girl if tender caring was all that was needed.
“For the time we have together, Penny, you can do just as you please. If there’s something you want to play with, you can. But if you don’t want to play, you don’t have to,” he assured her again.
Slowly Penny lifted her eyes from the floor, looked at the door and then back to him. Then she let her gaze go around the room.
Steve breathed a silent Good girl. He couldn’t direct the little girl or make any suggestions. For the hour she spent with him each day, Penny had to feel perfectly free to do whatever interested her, or to do nothing at all. All he could do was provide a safe environment so she would feel free to express the dark forces that kept her withdrawn. The traumatic blockage that made her fearful of being herself had to be removed, and only when he knew what that was could he help her back to normalcy. He pretended interest in making notes in a small notebook, wondering how long she would stand there.
Very slowly Penny began walking around the room. Once again she passed over all the toys and equipment without touching anything. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw her stop in front of a large window overlooking the grounds below. With purposeful deliberation, she pulled the cord that closed the drapes, shutting out the bright sunlight. Then she walked over to a small exercise mat in one corner of the room and lay on it. When Hobo came over to sniff at her, she pulled him down beside her.
Steve made the proper notes for his record, then he stretched his long legs out in front of him and waited to see what she would do next.
Nothing.
Penny lay there, staring at the ceiling for a long time. The hour passed and when the timer rang both Penny and her dog were asleep.
The dog lifted his head as Steve came over to the mat and sat beside the sleeping child. “Time to wake up, Penny.”
Long eyelashes fringing her pale cheeks lifted slowly. For a moment, Penny’s eyes were clear, but instantly darkened with shadows as she sat up.
“You had a nice nap,” Steve said reassuringly. “And so did Hobo.
Flushed with sleep, Penny rubbed her eyes, and at that moment she looked soft and cuddly. The child had inherited the same fine cameo features as her mother, and the same hint of natural curl in her corn-silk hair. No doubt Penny had inherited her mother’s strong will as well. Deanna had said that her daughter was a vivacious and outgoing child before the night her father was murdered.
The personality change was an effect of the trauma, and Steve knew that Penny’s withdrawal was a protective instinct, a barricade against frightening circumstances. How soon she would be willing to lower it would depend in great part upon how quickly she would trust him.
“It’s time for lunch. Are you hungry?”
No response.
“We’ll shut up the playroom until tomorrow. This is yours and Hobo’s place—no one else’s.”
Penny got up and walked slowly to the door. Then she stood there waiting for Steve to open it. When he turned the knob, showing that it wasn’t locked, he knew from the almost imperceptible flicker of her eyelids that she was surprised. Would the little girl have stayed if she’d known she could turn the knob and walk out?
Deanna