Page 14 of Second Start: Family
She drew in a slow breath. “Vicky told me about the girls’ mother — your wife. I am so sorry for your loss, Mr. Quick — your entire family’s loss.”
He showed no inclination to fill the crack she left, so she continued. “As their teacher, I am naturally most concerned about Molly and Lizzie’s welfare. Already, I can see they are both strong-minded girls, who—”
“You mean they don’t listen to a damned thing I say. They get that from their mother, too.”
Despite the matter-of-factness of his words, she stifled a wince as she slid her hands along the rail’s surface. “It’s not necessarily that they don’t listen to you or don’t want to please you. Kids that age have so much energy…”
He grunted, ano-kiddingagreement.
“And they don’t always know what to do with their emotions.”
He turned toward her, started to say something. Changed it to, “You’re bleeding.”
“What?”
“Your hand. It’s bleeding.”
Before she could raise her hand to look at it, he took control of it, wrapping his thumb and little finger around her wrist and using his other fingers as a tray to hold her open hand up to his inspection.
“Splinter,” he diagnosed.
Her wince had not all been from his words, yet she hadn’t even noticed.
“I’ll just—”
“Hold still.” He reinforced the command by not relinquishing her hand. Frowning as he bent over it, he said, “I, uh, don’t know what all’s waiting for you inside. They’ve cleaned up some, but what they plan to feed you … Still, seemed like with them wanting this so much they should get it. They haven’t been hit as hard by their mother’s death as Dan, but—”
“Children show grief in different ways.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He pulled a pocketknife out, flicked it open one-handed and rested the blade lightly on the heel of her hand. In a quick motion, he pressed it against his ring finger, catching the sliver of wood, then lifted. “Got it.”
She felt the sting momentarily before he pressed his thumb against the spot.
“It’ll stop bleeding soon. Losing their mom was real hard on them, but Molly and Lizzie seem to be doing pretty good.”
Warding off the sensation — the sting of the splinter and its removal, of course — she said, “Girls at their age tend to internalize what’s happening around them. Boys act it out, so you see what’s happening. With Molly and Lizzie you’re more likely to see indications of how they’re processing their grief in play with dolls or in their imaginary life. Later on, though, in their early to mid-teens, they could show more of a tendency to certain behaviors. Rebellion against authority, earlier sexual experiences, experimentation with alcohol—”
Hall Quick uttered one expletive.
He’d clearly been thinking, or at least hoping, his daughters escaped being traumatized by their mother’s death. And she’d been reeling off reactions like a clinician.
“It doesn’t mean it has to be that way,” she said. “Those are tendencies. Every child reacts differently. As long as you give them an opportunity to talk about what’s bothering them … That’s the most important element, that a child has a trusted adult to talk to. An adult who will ask open-ended questions to get them talking if that’s what—”
“Here.” He pulled a bandanna from his back pocket. “Wrap this around your hand in case it’s still oozing.”
“Oh, I can’t—
“It’s clean.”
“That’s not … If I bleed on it—”
“Better on that than your clothes.”
There was something appealing in his combination of off-hand generosity and practicality.
“Thank you.”
She fumbled a one-handed effort to wrap it around her hand.
