Blossom Street Brides (Blossom Street #10)(54)

“I only have sketchy details. All I can say is that her home life was bad enough for the state to permanently remove her from the family. Both Casey and her older brother.”

“She was three at the time.” Lydia knew only the most basic details of her daughter’s early childhood. For the majority of her life, Casey had been a ward of the state of Washington and in the foster-care program.

“In order for these children to emotionally deal with what has happened to them,” Evelyn continued to explain, “their minds repress the memories. Then when they’re hit with all those surging hormones, it isn’t uncommon for memories to resurface. And when they do, it can be traumatic.”

“These memories return in dreams?”

“Not always, but that isn’t unusual.”

“Do you recommend counseling for Casey?” With their budget already tight and with the yarn store struggling, Lydia didn’t know where she and Brad would come up with the money to cover this additional expense. However, if Evelyn recommended counseling for Casey, then they’d find a way to help their daughter.

“How frequent are the dreams?”

Lydia didn’t have a definitive answer for the social worker. “At first they were just every now and then, but recently …”

“They’re coming more and more often.”

“Yes,” Lydia admitted. “Twice this week already. You know what a gutsy girl Casey is, and these dreams simply terrify her. She clings to me and trembles and refuses to let me go.” Tears welled up inside of Lydia as she recalled the last dream. Casey had clung so tightly to her that Lydia was left with bruises on her arms.

Evelyn paused. “Would you like me to speak to her?”

It went without saying that her daughter wouldn’t be keen on that. “I don’t know how Casey will react to that. She completely shuts down whenever we talk about these dreams. It’s almost as if she’s ashamed that she has them … as if she had any control over them.” It’d been a while since Evelyn had last stopped by, and Casey had grown somber and silent during the last home visit, as if she expected to be whisked away at any moment.

“Does Casey still come by the shop after school?”

“Not as often now that she’s in high school.”

“Will she be there this afternoon?”

With social knitting, Casey generally made a point of stopping by the yarn store, following her classes. “I believe so, unless …” This brought up another subject that deeply concerned Lydia. “She’s close to my mother … and Evelyn, I’m worried what’s going to happen to Casey once my mother …”

“Dies?” Evelyn finished for her.

“Yes,” she whispered, and her voice cracked. “Sometimes I think Casey is the one who’s keeping Mom alive. I wish you could see the two of them together. They are such a funny pair. My mother’s mind drifts and she gets confused, and while I struggle to be patient with her, Casey is as gentle and loving as can be. The two of them spend hours together.”

“That’s wonderful, and understandable. Your mother gives Casey roots, a sense of family, of belonging. She needs all that and more, especially now.”

“But what will happen once my mother … you know … is gone? By that I don’t necessarily mean when she dies. Every week I see her losing more and more of her capacity to function normally.”

“Lydia, don’t borrow trouble. Let’s tackle one issue at a time.” Evelyn was the voice of reason, so calm and unruffled. “I’ll make a point of stopping by the shop this afternoon. Is social knitting still on Thursday afternoons?”

“Yes, and I’m fairly certain Casey will be here.”

“Good, and if not, then you and I can chat.”

Seeing that the adoption had been completed three years earlier, Lydia was grateful that Evelyn was willing to listen to her concerns and advise her and Brad.

Sure enough, Casey showed up at the yarn store directly after school, and was her normal cheerful self.

“Hi, Mom,” she said as she breezed through the doorway, leaving the bell to jingle in her wake. Whiskers didn’t stir but cuddled up among the yarn displayed in the window, mellow as could be.

Lydia watched as Casey tossed her backpack into the same office where she’d so recently spoken to the social worker. “How was school?” she asked.

“Okay. I’ve got to read Moby-Dick for freshman English. Who wants to read an entire book about a whale? Don’t teachers know how many pages it has? I bet it’s got a million words. Did you have to read it when you were in school?”

“I did,” Lydia admitted, and frankly she’d found it a challenge to get through the massive tome, although she wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to tell her daughter.

“And did you actually read it from beginning to end?” Casey asked, narrowing her gaze with suspicion.

Lydia hesitated.

“Every single word?” Casey pressured.

Feeling cornered, Lydia decided honesty was the best policy. “Not every single word. I needed to write a paper on it, and so I read as much of it as I could bear and got the essence of the story down.”

“What grade did you get?”

“I don’t remember.”