Wordless, Olive moved to the table and let Tessa lift her into the booster seat. Just as she started to pick at a blueberry, a knock at the door from the inside staircase startled her.
“No worries,” Tessa assured her. “It’s Mister Dusty. Come on in!” she called.
Dusty stepped into the kitchen a little tentatively but smiled as he took in the sight of Olive eating at the table.
“How are the girls?” he asked lightly.
Tessa stifled a sigh. “Quiet.”
He approached Olive slowly. “Morning, kiddo.”
She gave no response but looked down at her blueberries, eating with intent. Not wanting to stare at her, Tessa gestured Dusty into the kitchen.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
They stepped away from the table to the far end of the kitchen counter, where he put a hand on her shoulder. “You look tired.”
“Exactly what every woman wants to hear,” she said with a fake dirty look. “Are the bags getting bigger?”
“Just a shadow of disappointment and frustration.”
She gave him an “are you serious” look. “She has not said a single word since her mother left! Not one. But she’s bright, alert, able to build a tower out of blocks and I saw her flipping through a book. Is it me? Her? Trauma?”
“Has she cried?” she asked.
“Not once. Sleeps through the night and has a dry diaper. She just doesn’t respond to me.”
She waited, searching his face.
“I’m not diagnosing her,” he began. “I want to be very clear about that. I’m a grief counselor, not a child psychologist. But I’ve done a little digging and talked to a few friends who are experts in childhood developmental issues.”
“Is it autism?”
“Not at all. The consensus is she’s trying to control her environment. But of course, we have no way of knowing that without a professional assessment and I don’t want to put her through that.”
“Control…by not talking?” Tessa asked.
“My colleagues—again, purely conjecture based on experience, not this child—think the silence isn’t delayed speech or defiance but could be something called selective mutism.”
She winced.
“It sounds scarier than it is,” he said quickly. “It’s anxiety based. Olivecanspeak. But a child practicing selective mutism simply won’t in certain situations, especially when they feel unsafe.”
“Unsafe?” Her voice cracked. “How could she feel that way? Did I?—”
“No! Trauma, instability, loss, upheaval. Tessa, that girl doesn’t know where her mother is and she’s never been here before. She’s two.”
“Of course.” Tessa bit her lip, her heart aching with sympathy as she looked at Olive, dutifully finishing her blueberries. “How long does it last?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure every case is wildly different. Hopefully, only until they feel safe, or are just so involved in something they forget everything.”
She nodded, instantly considering all her options.
“You just need patience, Tess. You’re doing everything right. She needs to be able to make small decisions, even say no to you without major consequences.”
“She doesn’t say anything, yes or no. I’d love to hear her say no.”
