I wince, comically. “Can’t tell you. You’re not standing up, unfortunately.” I glance at Hope. “Got you a surprise, too.”
She scrambles to her feet. “You didn’t have to?—”
“But now you’re standing, so I think I do have to.” I wink at her.
She catches on, shooting me a confused but appreciative look that warms me to my boots. “That’s right, I’m standing because I want the surprise.”
Another beat of hesitation passes as Bellamy weighs the injustice of having to do what the grown-ups are saying versus the possibility of a reward, and the reward wins by a narrow margin. She pushes herself up to sitting, then to standing, as if it were her idea all along.
I crouch down and open the first bag. Pull out a small pair of rubber boots in a deep forest green, with tiny frogs printed up the sides.
Bellamy stares at them. Tantrum forgotten.
I hold them out.
“Froggies,” she breathes as she takes them with both hands. Then she immediately sits back down in the gravel to yank off her shoes. Her eyes still bright with unshed tears, representing feelings she can’t communicate any other way, but her pouting mouth is wobbling up at the corners, not down.
And the boots have bought her mother a moment of quiet.
Which buys me time to reward Hope as well. For letting me interject now. For trusting me to help in this moment. For helping my family out.
I stand and reach into the second bag. Her boots are basic black. Pure function, because my instinct is that she doesn’t want anything that might seem like a gift.
And sure enough, even though they’re the most utilitarian boots available in her size, she’s wary as she stares at them.
“They’re just boots,” I say. “So your sandalsdon’t get dirty while you work. And it’s safer for your toes.”
Her pretty, perfect toes.
She opens her mouth.
“Not a gift,” I add, before she can find the shape of the argument. “You’re a ranch employee. Proper footwear is part of the deal.”
The crease between Hope’s brows doesn’t fully clear, but it softens. She takes them, and to give her a bit of space, I re-focus on her daughter.
Bellamy’s proudly put her boots on the wrong feet.
“Let me help.” I crouch back down, and she presents her feet to me with great seriousness.
As soon as we get them switched around, she starts racing around. “I need a puddle!”
“Hasn’t rained in a few days,” I say regretfully. “But there’s a hose at the side of the barn. I bet we could make a few puddles for you. If you guys have time to walk down there?”
Hope nods. “We’re done with the harvest already today. We were planting tomatoes in the octagon for your mother, and I asked Bella to stop digging up what I was putting in, and it spiralled from there. A walk down to the barn would be great.”
As we head in that direction, Bella leading the way, Hope says something under her breath that I don’t catch.
“Sorry?”
“Thank you,” she mutters. Then she lifts her voice, sounding very raw. “When she’s hurt or has a meltdown, I can’t breathe.”
"Anything else that might help with that?"
"I wish she still napped more consistently. Then I could work while she sleeps. But shedoesn't nap just anywhere anymore. Only in a bed."
"Would a baby monitor help?"
She looks at me in surprise.
