Page 11 of Pucked Up Plans
I go to argue, to point out the kid currently on the zip line is about her age, but I stop myself. There’s only so much boosting I can do. If she wants to do it, she will. In her own time. She’s been this way since day one. Or more like nine days past her due date when she finally made her appearance in the world.
“Okay.” I peruse the rest of the park. A toddler playground stands off to the side but most likely still too much for her.
This should be interesting.
Parking in the spot next to Walsh, I manage a few deep breaths before making my way out of the car to unbuckle Aubrey. With a genuine and excited big grin on her petite lips, you’d think she was ready to tackle everything at the park.
By the time we’re out of the car, Walsh is holding Lennon. While he’s not an overly big guy, she seems even smaller in his arms. My heart squeezes at the protective way he carries her. Aubrey won’t ever have that.
I don’t let my mind go down that path of thinking. It’s our reality, and we both have to be okay with it. Hopefully, I love her enough to make up for it.
“Where to first?” Walsh asks, sweeping his arm out toward the playscape.
“Swings!” Lennon cheers.
Instead of heeding her suggestion, he assesses my daughter standing next to me, holding onto my hand like the good girl she is.
“Shall we hit the swings first, Aubrey?” he queries, waiting patiently for her answer.
“Otay,” Aubrey finally mutters.
At her approval, he starts off toward the swings.
The park is mostly deserted at this time of day. A few moms stand off to the side chatting among themselves as their kids play nearby.
Off to one side, there’s a tall climbing structure, which Aubrey won’t foot on. Off to the other, two sets of swings: a set of four for older kids and another set for the younger crowd. The ones more Aubrey’s speed. A playscape stands in the middle of the park, offering different methods of climbing apparatuses: stairs, an arc of rungs, a climbing wall, as well as a wall with a rope for the most daring. Three or four slides shoot off in different directions providing a means back to the ground.
Walsh walks around the perimeter of it all, his gaze set ahead of him on the set of “older” swings. Lennon chatters, going on about something I’m not able to make out completely.
Six feet away from the swings, he sets her down, and she barrels her way to the swing, shimmying her little self up, grabbing onto both chains when she’s in the middle.
“Ready, Keeley,” she calls out, motioning her head for him.
Aubrey observes her new friend intently from her position next to me, making no move to join in on the fun.
Almost as if he can sense her hesitation, Walsh crouches down next to Aubrey. “You want to swing too?”
Aubrey dismisses his question with a head shake.
“She’s definitely more inclined to sit on the sidelines than participate,” I fill in to assuage his bewilderment. “Give her a little time to warm up to the idea, and she’ll maybe want to go in the toddler swings.” I follow my comments with a nervous giggle, an action I can’t explain. Must be the proximity to this man.
During the brief interaction, Lennon’s hopped down off the swing, coming over to join us where we stand.
“Are we swinging or not?” Her question is more inquisitive than impolite. She looks first to the adults, then to Aubrey.
In my head, I beg Lennon not to provoke Aubrey or make her uncomfortable. It’s my way of protecting my kid, shielding her from the cruelties of life. And while I won’t be able to do it forever—or much longer, in all honesty—the longer I can keep her from the hurt of other kids, the better in my book.
Almost as if she can read Aubrey’s reluctance, like her father did mere moments ago, Lennon stares at Aubrey but speaks to her father. “Keeley, I think it’s a green swing kinda day, wouldn’t you say?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he replies, pride exuding off him at his daughter’s ability to put the focus on someone other than herself. She may have the body of a five-year-old, but his comment about being wise beyond her years couldn’t be more accurate.
Lennon holds out her hand to Aubrey. Without a moment’s indecision, Aubrey lets go of mine and tucks her hand in Lennon’s. My heart catches at this simple gesture, the childhood innocence of the two of them extending way beyond what it truly is.
The two girls walk from us, hand in hand, to the other set of swings while I’m left standing in awe at the kindness of this stranger, the perceptiveness and cleverness occupying one tiny human.
It’s not until Walsh voices, “You coming?” do I discover I’m rooted in place.
“Um, yeah. The green swings.”
