She was shoving them back into her bag when two of the doctors entered in their pristine white lab coats, not a single hair out of place. Libby greeted them, and they offered her a nod on their way past. With a sigh, she pulled her chair out, sat down, and drummed her fingers against the desk. After a quick glance around the room, she turned her attention back to the computer and waited for her laptop to start.
Once her screen lit up, she went into the break room, with its barren gray walls, rickety tables, and barely functioning TV, to switch on the coffee maker. It made a low hissing sound asshe walked back out. In the waiting room, she pressed a button to lift the shutters, allowing bright sunlight to pour in and wash away some of the dreariness her visits to the break room usually brought. With a smile, she walked around, fluffing up pillows and humming to herself.
Back in the break room, she poured herself a generous amount of coffee and added some half-and-half cream and a dollop of sugar. Then, she carried the mug back out to her desk and curled her fingers around it. In half an hour, the first patient of the day was going to be walking through the doors, and Libby was the first person they saw—the first person to greet them.
The thought always made her stomach flutter with anxiety.
She patted her hair down, took a sip of her coffee, and maximized the web page in front of her. While she scanned through an article about how to parent teenagers and the best ways to get them to open up, she kept sneaking glances at her phone. Her fingers were sweaty and clumsy as she picked it up and waited for the tracking app to load.
The tiny red dot showed Annie was at school and hadn’t moved.
Libby shifted in her seat and bit down on her bottom lip. Her heart rate sped up as she continued to study Annie’s red dot and tried to ignore the guilty twinge in her stomach. She pushed all of her negative emotions back down and tossed her phone onto her desk. But the bad taste in her mouth remained as she reviewed her schedule for the day. A part of her hated having to resort to an app to spy on her foster daughter, but she wasn’t sure she had any other choice.
It had been a year since she agreed to take Annie in. A year since she swung her front door open to reveal a scrawny little girl with too-large clothes, circles under her eyes, and hair that obscured half of her face. Sometimes, whenever Libby looked at her, all she could see was the girl who had sat at her table withher fingers linked together, sneaking glances at the bowl of fruit Libby had set out for the social worker.
Libby remembered Annie stuffing her face once the social worker left.
She recalled hovering in the doorway to Annie’s room those first few weeks, watching the even rise and fall of her chest. A few nights, she’d even dragged a chair into the hallway to keep an eye on Annie, who often tossed and turned in her sleep, crying out for her parents.
It had been a year, and Libby was still no closer to understanding her foster daughter than she was when she first arrived. She’d tried everything from taking her shopping for clothes and getting her nails done to coaxing her into watching shows and movies together.
Nothing was sticking.
And with Annie being forced to sit through summer school, Libby felt like she was failing miserably. Not only did she have no idea what was going through Annie’s head, but she also had no idea where to start. Of all the children she’d fostered, most of them had been much younger and still full of life and hope.
Annie had been dealt a difficult card.
“Hey, you’re here early.” Maggie draped her sweater over the back of a chair and fanned herself. “Everything okay?”
“I dropped Annie off at school and thought I’d just come in.” Libby curled her fingers around her mug. “How was your night with Doug?”
Maggie shrugged and disappeared into the break room. “We’ll see how it goes. I’m not sure I’m feeling it.”
“You said that about the last four as well.”
Maggie popped her head back out, wisps of ash-blond hair sticking to her face. “Yeah, and I was right. Anyway, how are things with Annie? How’s summer school going?”
Libby grimaced. “She won’t tell me anything. Half the time, it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall.”
Maggie pulled her chair out and sank into it. “Didn’t you tell me that she had a really sad backstory? She’s probably not used to letting people in.”
With a dad who abandoned her when she was old enough to understand and a mom who had been in and out of the hospital, fighting for her life while cancer ate away at her body, Annie had been through the wringer and then some.
Libby had no idea how it hadn’t broken her altogether.
She would’ve crumpled under half that pressure.
Libby sighed and checked her watch. “Yeah, I know, but I don’t know what else to do. I should go and pick up some pastries from Emily’s before the patients start coming in.”
Maggie nodded and gave her a small smile. “Things will work out fine with Annie. You just have to give it some time.”
Libby sighed again, knowing Maggie was only trying to help, and reached for her purse.
She hurried out the door and into the early morning sun. As soon as she started to walk, sweat formed on the back of her neck and under her shirt. Libby was halfway down Spring Bars Road when she spotted one of their usual patients bent over the hood of a car at O’Hara Motors. Mrs. Roberts glanced up and offered Libby a wave on her way past.
Decadent Treatsloomed in the distance opposite Morse Pond.
Libby was drenched in sweat when she pushed the door to the bakery open and waited for her eyes to adjust. In spite of her better judgment, she found herself checking the phone for Annie’s familiar red dot. She breathed a sigh of relief and looked up in time to avoid colliding with Annie’s drama teacher, Ms. Ricker. Ms. Ricker righted herself and offered Libby a polite smile.
