red hill - jamie mcguire

Nathan
“DADDY!” ZOE SAID, HALF AFRAID, half angry. She was using her scolding voice, the one she used to
parent Aubrey and me when we were breaking a rule. “You left me!” she said, her eyes already puffy
and wet from tears. “You left me!”
“I didn’t leave,” I said, rushing to my knees in front of her on the couch. I kept my voice calm and
soothing. “I was just upstairs talking to Miss Joy.”
It was irresponsible of me to let Zoe wake up alone in a strange place. My daughter was sensitive
to many things—fabric, noise, situations—and our routine had kept her calm for the most part. A year
had almost passed since Zoe’s last “episode,” as her school counselor called them, but I could
always tell when she was working up to one.
Knowing we needed to be quiet to survive, Zoe couldn’t release an overstimulation like she used
to. I refused to make it a rule, though. Not before she found another outlet. “Zoe,” I said, letting my
voice slide over the back of my tongue. Aubrey didn’t have the patience for this, but she also didn’t
have a butter voice, as she called it. Zoe responded much better to the silky smooth tone I used for
these moments.
Zoe balled up her fist and hit my shoulder. It didn’t hurt. She didn’t mean for it to, she was just
releasing the overwhelming emotions she couldn’t process any other way. “Never leave me!”
“I wouldn’t. I would never leave you. I’m sorry you were afraid when you woke up. That’s my
fault.”
She used her other hand to hit my chest. “I was! I was afraid!”
“That’s it,” I said, encouraging her. “Use your words.”
Zoe took a deep breath, always a good sign. “I was having a bad dream! I didn’t know where I
was! I thought you were dead!”
I nodded. Her eyes were wild and her body trembled, a signal that she wasn’t quite on the down
slope, but she was peaking.
“Never again!”
“You know I can’t make promises, Zoe.”
“No, you promise!” she screamed.
I nodded. “What I can promise is to never leave without telling you again. You’ll always know
where I am. Deal”
Zoe took in a staggering breath, and then breathed out. She blinked a few times, and then her eyes
relaxed. I held out my arms for her to hug me. She wouldn’t have allowed me to before she was
ready, anyway. I’d learned over the years to just offer and wait.
When her tiny body was nuzzled up against mine, I wrapped my arms around her. “I’m sorry, baby.
I’m here. You’re safe and loved. Safe and loved.”
Zoe melted against me and whimpered. It was exhausting and frightening for her when she lost
control, and if she hadn’t just woke up, she probably would have lied down for a nap. I wiped her
eyes and took her hand.