Page 33 of Ice Darling
I don’t understand. She was fine this morning. She was fine. Why is this happening? What did I do wrong?
The helplessness I felt when she was eighteen months old, and I didn’t know how to make her pain go away, crawls over me.
How do I protect my baby girl?
“Excuse me, Mr. Renthrow.” A soft, gnarled hand lands on my bicep. I turn to find an old woman in a pink shirt, khakis, and orthopedic socks gesturing to me. “I’m Mrs. Howard, the guidance counselor. Can I have a word?”
I follow her a few steps away, my eyes still locked on Gordie. Her breathing is starting to even out as it does when she’s falling asleep at night.
“I can’t believe this.” The words scrape my throat as I utter them. “She’s never— I’ve never seen her act like this.”
“Well, that answers my first question. I wasn’t sure if this was the first episode.”
“Episode?” My left eye starts twitching. Why would a six-year-old have an “episode”?
“Have there been any sudden changes in Gordie’s life recently? Any loss of a loved one? Or bad news?”
“I mean”—I run my hands over the stubble on my chin—“her nanny left Lucky Falls two days ago for treatment, but she’s been totally normal since then. I’ve been watching her closely, and I didn’t see any changes in her demeanor.”
Mrs. Howard purses her lips thoughtfully. “I would advise taking Gordie to see a child psychologist, but I believe that a professional will verify my hunch.”
My eyes are drawn to my precious little girl again, seeing her curled up in that ball, and I pull my gaze down to the ground.
The guidance counselor speaks softly as if she senses that I’m about to lose my mind in the middle of this brightly decorated classroom. “Your mother and I are acquaintances, so I’m aware of her job on the cruise ship, and I hear that Gordie’s mother also travels a lot.”
“Yes, she’s a…” My voice sounds strange, even to my own ears. “She’s a…” I swallow hard. “She’s a wildlife photographer.”
“Mm.” Mrs. Howard makes a sound low in her throat. “I believe she might be having a Reactive Attachment Disorder episode.”
My heart stiffens in fear. “W-what is that?”
“It’s when a child emotionally withdraws in times of intense stress. Some children suffering from RAD do not respond to comfort during these episodes. As Gordie is doing right now.”
It’s too much.
Too painful.
“I can recommend a psychologist who specializes in this area,” the guidance counselor says.
“I’ll take her there right away,” I blurt.
Before I can stomp ahead and collect Gordie from under the table, the guidance counselor stops me. “There is no magic cure for something like this, Mr. Renthrow. You can’t force Gordie to get better in a few minutes or a few days or maybe in a few weeks.”
My head rejects that notion. I’m her father. I’d give mylifefor her. Hockey? My job? This town? None of it matters compared to her. How can she ask me to sit still while Gordie’s in pain?
“It’s best to give her space. Wait until she falls asleep, then you can take her home.”
I swallow hard. Everything inside me is fighting that advice, but I know the guidance counselor is right. If there were physical enemies keeping Gordie pinned under her desk, I’d run in with guns blazing to rescue her. But this isn’t a fight I can win with my fists.
My chest pumps up and down, but I take deep breaths and nod.
The guidance counselor pats my arm and smiles. “I’ll get the number of that psychologist for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, meeting her eyes and trying my best to convey my gratitude. “I’ll do everything I can to help her…feel better.”
“I know you will, Mr. Renthrow. Gordie is lucky to have you.”
It doesn’t feel like it. Not when she’s suffering and I didn’t know.
