I pat her panda on the head. “Do you think Poppy would like to go down the slide Granny bought you? She can gowheeeeeall the way down.” I bend my knees in a quick dip.
Peony holds Poppy up. “Wheee!” Her sweet voice is thick with tears, tinged with a touch of joy.
I chuckle. “That’s right. Wheee!” I brush my thumb over her wet cheeks. “Can I introduce you to your uncles now? We’ll take it slow.”
Part of me wonders if I should wait until after her first play therapy session next week. But a larger part—a part that might be an idiot when it comes to this parenting thing—tells me to try again but take smaller steps this time.
“We’re just gonna meet Butterscotch. You can stroke him. He’d like that. You don’t have to talk to Uncle Troy. Is that okay with you? You want to see the doggy?”
“Doggy,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from crying.
I drag in a slow breath.You’ve got this, soldier.
With the level of care taken when dealing with an IED, I walk toward Butterscotch and stop three yards from him. I nod at Troy, who lowers himself to the ground, so he’s sitting behind his dog.
“It will be okay,” I tell Peony. “My brother won’t hurt you. He’s a really nice guy, just like his dog.” I sit on the grass, positioning myself so Butterscotch is between us and Troy. Butterscotch flashes Peony a doggy grin and lowers to his stomach.
Peony clings to my side, her gaze torn between the dog she wants to stroke and the man who is a stranger to her. Her lower lip trembles, and I brace for the wailing to recommence. I’m ready to intervene if it does.
I stroke Butterscotch. Pride warms me at how Peony feared me just four weeks ago. Now, she’s holding on to me, like I’m a life preserver in fast-moving flood waters.
“Butterscotch is a very special dog,” I explain, still stroking him. “He has magical powers, so when people stroke him, they don’t feel so nervous. He volunteers with Uncle Troy at the Veterans Center, making people feel better.” I doubt she understands any of what I’m telling her, but her grip loosens on my shirt, and she slowly inches toward Butterscotch.
Troy remains silent, watching Butterscotch perform his magic. The dog wielded the same magic on Jess when she first moved to town and was struggling with complex PTSD and anxiety.
Peony crouches in front of Butterscotch and follows my lead, gently stroking him with one hand. The other arm crushes Poppy against her body.
Kylie and Zoe giggle and squeal as they play with Jasper in my periphery. Peony continues stroking Butterscotch, her attention fully on him.
“Peony, that’s Uncle Troy.” I point to my brother, who’s sitting cross-legged on the grass.
She tears her attention from Butterscotch and stares at Troy, trepidation narrowing her eyes.
He waves at her and offers her a small smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Her gaze moves from Troy and surveys the rest of the backyard, to where Kylie and Zoe are throwing Jasper’s ball to him while Lucas supervises.
Peony points at Jasper. “Doggy.” She then points to Simone, Jess, and Bailey. The three of them are watching the girls play. Bailey is lying nextto Jess’s feet and has on herService Dog in Trainingvest. “Doggy,” Peony repeats, referring to Jess’s golden retriever.
“That’s Bailey. She’s a working dog. She helps Jess feel safe. Like Poppy makesyoufeel safe.” I pat her panda on the head and gesture with a wave of my hand to Lucas and Simone’s golden Labradoodle. “That’s Jasper. Do you want to visit him?”
Or is meeting Troy enough for now?
She buries her face into my side, turning her head slightly to peek at the dogs—or their owners. I can’t tell which.
I stroke my thumb across her shoulder blades. “That’s okay. You can meet him when you’re ready.” I’m talking about Lucas, but my comment could refer to any of the males in the backyard—canine or human.
I nod my thanks to Troy. He returns the nod in a silent reply and pushes to his feet.
He and Butterscotch walk to where Jess, Bailey, and Simone are standing. He wraps his arms protectively around Jess’s waist, and she leans into him.
A flash of longing hits me like the crack of lightning during an electrical storm. And a sudden, unexpected need to have Zara by my side swells in me. We wouldn’t be able to kiss, since we’re keeping this new twist to our friendship to ourselves. But still…I miss her.
I wish she were here.
Mom and Athena walk out of the house, carrying plastic glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. They place the stuff on the table, and Athena rushes over to join Peony and me. I have a feeling she witnessed through the kitchen window what happened, but Mom kept her from racing out to be there for Peony.
Athena kneels next to us and puts her hand on Peony’s back, just below mine, our fingers touching. “Hi, sweet kebab. How are you doing?”
