Taking a guess that the little girl was the missing Willow, I quickly called, “She’s in here.”
Within seconds, an attractive older woman with salt-and-pepper hair came rushing into the room. “There you are! You had me worried to death!” she cried.
Willow only momentarily acknowledged her before turning back to me. She edged around the desk and came to stand beside me. I couldn’t help my mouth falling open when she casually climbed into my lap. One of her hands came up to touch the strands of my hair. Gazing down at her, I smiled. To my surprise, she smiled back at me.
When I glanced at the woman, who appeared to be her grandmother, there were tears shimmering in her eyes. “I … I’m sorry. I just haven’t seen her react to someone outside her world.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry she gave you a scare. We were just getting to know each other.”
The woman nodded. “I had car trouble, so we were late for the Meet and Greet. I was across the hall, talking to her teacher, and when I turned around, she was gone.”
I held out the hand that wasn’t stroking Willow’s head. “I’m Alexandra Evans.”
“Elizabeth Malloy. I’m Willow’s grandmother.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Holding out her hand, Elizabeth said, “Come on, Willow. Mrs. Gregson is excited to meet you.”
Willow burrowed deeper in my lap, giving me the impression she was going to be with me for a while. For the first time, I noticed she was clutching something in her hand. “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to what appeared to be a tiny doll.
Slowly, Willow opened her hand, and I saw that it was actually a small Christmas angel. “Oh, what a pretty doll.”
My compliment brought a smile to Willow’s face. “You look like her. … You look like Angel Mommy,” she whispered.
“Why, thank you.” Peering down at the doll, I tried imagining the similarities. We both had long, dark hair, and we were both wearing a white dress. With a smile, I said, “You’re right. I do look like her.”
A strangled cry came from Elizabeth. When I glanced up, she was clutching her throat. “She hasn’t spoken in four months—not to me, not to her father. Not to anyone since her mother was …” She glanced at Willow and nervously shifted on her feet. “Since her mother passed away.”
I blinked my eyes in disbelief as a flood of painful memories flickered through my mind. The face of Charlie, my little brother, appeared before me. I was seventeen when my parents were killed in a car crash one icy December day. Charlie had been ten—the only survivor of the wreck. The shock of losing our parents, along with being trapped in the car for hours, had rendered him catatonic for six months. Even after we moved in with my aunt and uncle—the two most wonderful, loving people in the world—Charlie didn’t recover. For months he remained locked in a world of his own isolation. And then one day he slowly started to come around. Now he was twenty and partying way too much at college.
As I looked into Willow’s face, I couldn’t help thinking of Charlie. If he hadn’t been surrounded by loving, caring people, I don’t know what would have happened to him. Although it was strange and I didn’t understand it, Willow had bonded with me. Since she had already been through too much, I hated to break the bond.
I smiled at Willow. “You know, I have one spot left in my class. What would you think about going down to the office and seeing if you could be transferred to me?”
Willow’s dark eyes lit up with what looked like absolute pleasure. She glanced over her shoulder at Elizabeth with a pleading expression. After wiping the tears from her eyes, Elizabeth asked, “It won’t be too much trouble to do that?”
“Nope. No problem at all. It should just take a few seconds to change it in the computer.”
With a smile, Elizabeth said, “I think that would be a wonderful idea.”
Since that day, Willow had stuck close to my side whenever she was at school. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t seem to get her to make friends with any of the other children. Most of the little girls were put off by the fact she rarely talked. So instead of jabbering along with them, Willow liked to stay with me during recess, and sometimes she would refuse to go to the gym or to art. I never forced her. Instead, I just went about my usual routine during my off-time while Willow tagged along. Some teachers might have treated her differently and refused to give her any special attention. But my own tragic past made me empathize with Willow and her situation.
After speaking further with Elizabeth, I learned that Willow’s mother had been murdered right before her eyes. She had then come to live with her father, meeting him for the first time. Considering only a few months had passed, Willow was still desperately trying to acclimate herself to her new life. It would have been hard on an adult, but a five-year-old? It was almost impossible.
I was brought out of my thoughts by one of my students wiggling in his seat. “Miss Evans, can we go to the mat now?”
Laughing at his excitement, I nodded. “All right, let’s go work on the calendar.”
That afternoon, after I escorted all the second-load kids out to the bus lanes, I came back inside and went straight to my computer. Once I logged into the attendance program, I went to Willow’s name. Grabbing an apple-shaped notepad, I jotted down her address. I didn’t even bother with trying Elizabeth’s contact information. I wanted to go straight to the source. If I couldn’t reach her father by phone, then perhaps I was just going to have to track him down at his house.
I grabbed my messenger bag and purse and headed to my car. On the way, I typed the address into my GPS on my phone. It was another scorching late-September day in northern Georgia. The backs of my legs stung when I slid across the leather seat of my Accord.
After following the directions of the GPS’s monotone voice, I turned a few blocks and found myself in one of the seedier areas of town. Even though I hadn’t grown up here, Uncle Jimmy had made sure to always steer me clear of the area. He’d informed me that when the cotton mills had gone out of business in the late eighties, the area had rapidly declined. Crime rates had risen with the unemployment, and it was now inhabited by transient workers and the local motorcycle gang that I had seen from time to time on the road.
When I pulled up to a gun store and pawnshop, I glanced down at my phone to double-check that this was actually Willow’s address. Then I grabbed the Post-it note out of my purse to make sure I hadn’t entered it into my phone wrong. I couldn’t help feeling surprised that I was in the right place. Peering through the windshield, I could see that a shop had been made out of part of the old cotton mill. Next to it was the old mill’s office, which appeared to have been converted into some sort of roadhouse or bar.