Vicious Cycle (Vicious Cycle #1)(10)
I’d been teaching kindergarten at Buffington Elementary for five years now. The first year I was practically a baby myself at just twenty-two. Luckily for me, the principal had complete confidence that I could handle a class full of five and six-year-olds.
As a child, I had played school with my dolls and stuffed animals, and for many years, I wanted to be a teacher. But then, as I grew older, my desires changed, and I thought of pursuing other careers. In the end, events in my life, especially the death of both my parents, had changed my mind. I wanted an honorable profession where I felt I could make a difference, so I had followed their footsteps into education. While my father had been a high school math teacher, my mother had also taught kindergarten. They’d spent their lives molding young minds, and I felt my career choice honored their memory.
I once again turned my attention to my group of eager students. “All right. Let’s see who is here today, and then we’ll go to the mat for calendar time.”
As I started taking attendance, my eyes fell on an empty seat. An ache went through my chest at the sight. It was the fourth day Willow Malloy had been absent. Protocol dictated we call home after the third straight absence, and when I had tried the day before, I had received a message that the number was out of service. Although I loved each of my little students equally, there was something special about Willow. I’d realized it the moment I’d met her, and she’d stolen my heart.
It was the day before school started. The Meet and Greet had just ended. After talking with a slew of new, anxious students and their equally anxious parents, I had collapsed at my desk, rubbing my feet, which ached from the heels I’d tortured them in. After throwing my head back in ecstasy at the way the foot massage felt, I popped open my eyes to see a dark-haired little girl standing beside my desk. I’d jumped out of my skin and almost fallen out of my chair.
A warm embarrassment rushed to my cheeks that she had seen me being so goofy. Trying to play it off, I wiped my hands on my skirt and held out my hand. “Well, hello. My name is Miss Evans, and I really like foot rubs and hate wearing high heels. What’s your name?”
The little girl didn’t respond. Instead, she just kept staring at me. There was recognition in her eyes that didn’t make sense, considering I hadn’t seen her before. “I didn’t meet you earlier. Are you in another class this year? You’re going to have so much fun in kindergarten.”
I still didn’t get a response from her. I began to wonder if perhaps she was on the autism spectrum and nonverbal. Then a panicked woman’s voice echoed through the empty hall. “Willow? Willow, where are you?”
Taking a guess that the little girl was the missing Willow, I quickly called, “She’s in here.”
Within seconds, an attractive older woman with salt-and-pepper hair came rushing into the room. “There you are! You had me worried to death!” she cried.
Willow only momentarily acknowledged her before turning back to me. She edged around the desk and came to stand beside me. I couldn’t help my mouth falling open when she casually climbed into my lap. One of her hands came up to touch the strands of my hair. Gazing down at her, I smiled. To my surprise, she smiled back at me.
When I glanced at the woman, who appeared to be her grandmother, there were tears shimmering in her eyes. “I … I’m sorry. I just haven’t seen her react to someone outside her world.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry she gave you a scare. We were just getting to know each other.”
The woman nodded. “I had car trouble, so we were late for the Meet and Greet. I was across the hall, talking to her teacher, and when I turned around, she was gone.”
I held out the hand that wasn’t stroking Willow’s head. “I’m Alexandra Evans.”
“Elizabeth Malloy. I’m Willow’s grandmother.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Holding out her hand, Elizabeth said, “Come on, Willow. Mrs. Gregson is excited to meet you.”
Willow burrowed deeper in my lap, giving me the impression she was going to be with me for a while. For the first time, I noticed she was clutching something in her hand. “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to what appeared to be a tiny doll.
Slowly, Willow opened her hand, and I saw that it was actually a small Christmas angel. “Oh, what a pretty doll.”
My compliment brought a smile to Willow’s face. “You look like her. … You look like Angel Mommy,” she whispered.
“Why, thank you.” Peering down at the doll, I tried imagining the similarities. We both had long, dark hair, and we were both wearing a white dress. With a smile, I said, “You’re right. I do look like her.”
A strangled cry came from Elizabeth. When I glanced up, she was clutching her throat. “She hasn’t spoken in four months—not to me, not to her father. Not to anyone since her mother was …” She glanced at Willow and nervously shifted on her feet. “Since her mother passed away.”
I blinked my eyes in disbelief as a flood of painful memories flickered through my mind. The face of Charlie, my little brother, appeared before me. I was seventeen when my parents were killed in a car crash one icy December day. Charlie had been ten—the only survivor of the wreck. The shock of losing our parents, along with being trapped in the car for hours, had rendered him catatonic for six months. Even after we moved in with my aunt and uncle—the two most wonderful, loving people in the world—Charlie didn’t recover. For months he remained locked in a world of his own isolation. And then one day he slowly started to come around. Now he was twenty and partying way too much at college.