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Andrew hated being four, because when you are four you can’t eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but you also can’t tell adults ‘No’. The drive to his new fosters house is long, quiet, and quite frankly boring. The car hummed along the road, the low rumbling of the tires against the ground was the only real sound besides the occasional crackle from the radio of the old car. The social worker he is with doesn’t make small talk; she stopped trying a long time ago when Andrew just stared back and offered no response.
Occasionally she sighs and adjusts in her seat, but Andrew doesn’t pay her much attention. His eyes trail off into the calm countryside, its vast and full of trees and crops. Everything was big when you were so little. He saw horses and cattle, big leaning trees and wheat that was blowing gently in the soft wind.
He isn’t entirely sure why he was removed from the Spear’s care; he heard hushed words and secretive conversations but only picked up a little information. He was sure it was partially because of Drake; Andrew didn’t like the way he seemed to impose on him, constantly looking and analyzing, waiting like he wanted to do something. Andrew didn’t like how touchy he was, Andrew didn’t like a lot of things about Drake.
He watches as trees blur past the windows, he has a name tag with his name on it, and the car seat he is in is getting uncomfortable. His fingers curl around the handle of his Animaniacs backpack, the zipper is broken and there is a stain on the bottom, but he doesn’t mind, it holds some of his clothes and his favorite book. The handle is creased and his hands are imprinted from the tightness pf his grasp.
He moves his focus to the band aid on his knee, picking at it until it begins to peel up. He scrapped it running away from Drake one night, tripped up the stairs and hit his chin on the stop stair and scraped his knee on the one below. He cried and cried when it happened, attempting to seek comfort from Cass for hours. The wound was now scabbing over and the redness had faded.
By the time the social worker pulls into the driveway the sky has shifted; from dull grays and blues to a vivid gold of early evening. The house, from what Andrew can see, is small, but not cramped and closed. It has a wrap-around porch and faded shutters, plants hang down from different posts, leaves beginning to breathe life through the spring.
There is a small collection of windchimes hanging, clinking and singing soft, uneven notes through the air. There is a large tree off to the left of the house, looming and offering shade from what would be sweltering summer heat in the coming months.
There is a woman on the porch, she sets her book down and stands. Her hands are tucked into a soft cardigan and she holds a clam and steady presence against the quiet backdrops of the rural countryside, her gaze settles on Andrew as the worker helps him out the car and hands him his backpack. She doesn’t move towards him though, she waits for him to come to her.
The social worker always holds his hand when they go somewhere, he hates that. None the less he follows her up the few stairs of the porch and moves her hand to rest behind hiss back, encouraging him to say hello.
“This is Andrew, sometimes he can be a little shy, go ahead and say hello Andrew.”
But Andrew does not say hello, in fact he doesn’t make eye contact with the woman in front of him; However, the woman crouches down in front of him, he can tell she is smiling as she introduces herself, “Hi Andrew,” She says. “My name is Betsy, but you can call me Bee if you want, that is what my friends call me.”
He doesn’t say anything and his hands clutch the straps of his bag all the more tighter.
A deep bark startles him and he steps back, a small noise of fear escapes him before he could stop. He stands rigid and he prepares to run.
Bee doesn’t miss it, “And that is Milo.” She explain, tone easy and even. “He is a huge baby, but we can take it slow.”
When she opens the screen door a large, lumbering dog with thick golden curls comes out to the porch and sniffs Andrew’s shoes. He doesn’t move, he stands still, shoulders tight until the dog just sits. He sits there and watches Andrew with big brown swirling eyes and a drooling tongue hanging from its mouth, his tail is thumping against the worn wooden floorboard of the porch.
“See?” She says. “He will give you your space.”
Andrew stares at the dog and Mill stares back. Then, cautiously, Andrew steps inside following Bee. His social worker falls behind him and Milo comes back behind her and making his way to walk in step with Andrew.
She doesn’t rush him through the house either. She walks ahead slowly and leads them up the stairs and to a room on the left. It’s bigger than what was at the Spears, but it isn’t barren and open.
“This will be your room,” She says, stepping aside to let him see in.
The walls are a soft blue-grey, the bed is rather big from him and looks warm, it is draped in navy blue blankets and there is a blanket on the end covered in yellow stars. There is a fox nightlight plugged into the wall by the door, it isn’t turned on yet. A yellow glow is cast over the room from the fading sun and on the nightstand is a lamp. In the corner, next to the dresser is a small bin of various toys and books, Andrew really likes books.
He turns his head as Bee pulls something out of her cardigan pocket, “I got you something,” She says, resting the box in her palm and facing it towards Andrew. “I heard you like the movie Cars.”
Andrew doesn’t move, but he does look. The toy is new, shiny and red. He is wary.
“You can take it if you’d like, it’s yours.” She offers.
For a long moment he doesn’t move, but eventually his feet move and he slowly reaches out to take it.
He doesn’t say anything. Just holds it tightly in his grasp.
Bee explains that her and his social worker are going to have a brief talk downstairs, she will let him explore the room and if he so wishes, put his things down. Milo follows Bee downstairs and Andrew sits on the floor, he is tired.
Once the worker leaves Betsy brings him down for dinner, she keeps it simple. She offers a choice. Two small plates are placed in front of him, one has plain buttered noodles and the other has grilled cheese.
“Either is okay, or neither. But if you are hungry and can pick which looks better.”
He stares at the plate, his gaze darts between them and he thinks of the loose tooth he has. His fingers twitch around his new toy and he carefully lifts up his hand to point to the soft noodle.
She nods as though it's the most normal and mundane thing, “Buttered noodles, good choice, I loved them growing up.”
She slides the plat in front of him and takes the other one. She is stood at the stove as Andrew eats, he does so quickly and quietly. Milo lies down a few feet away, watching and tail waggin, but never moving any closer.
Bee chuckles, “He won’t take your food,” She says, catching the way Andrew keeps looking back at Milo. “He’ll just thinks about it, but he knows better.”
Andrew stands in the bathroom doorway, he declined a bath but Bee sets a toothbrush on the counter. “This is yours,” She says, tapping the countertop lightly before stepping back. Its red and has Lightning McQueen on it.
He hesitates, but picks it up as she picks her own up. He mirrors her movements, still wary and cautious. He stands on the step stool and looks at the bathroom in the mirror as he brushes. There is a bathtub behind them, various soaps and washes and a few dog-specific soaps on the top of one of the shelves. The top half of the walls are an off-white tile and the bottom half of the wall is a light green color.
In the bedroom, Bee sets out a soft pair of pajamas. “I will be downstairs in my office, “ She explains. “You don’t have to go to sleep yet, but if you need me I’ll be close.”
Milo is laying at the foot of the bed, a big bundle of golden fur. Betsy pulls up the cover around him.
She pauses. “Would you like the nightlight on or off?”
Andrew stares and then hardly nods towards it.
She flips it on and it casts a soft and dim glow against the wall, shadows of stars lay over the various furniture pieces. She leaves the door open when she leaves, and Andrew has half a thought to get up and close it, but he is afraid of what might ligner out in the dark of the hallway.
For a long while, Andrew doesn't move, he clutches his toy car and keeps his eyes on his backpack. Milo gets up and walks himself in circles before settling beside Andrew, with his big goofy head laying on his tummy. Andrew lets his other hand curl softly around the fur between Milo’s ears, and a few moments later he is asleep, soft puff of air.
From her desk downstairs Bee listens for footsteps, but there are none, and there is no crying or movement. She exhales softly and turns to her unfinished patient notes.
“One step at a time.” She thinks.
Andrew had been with bee for a few days now, and the newness of everything was still very much sinking in. Every corner of the house felt different, and every interaction had its own rhythm. There were fewer rules than he was use to, but there were new ones too. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt like there was a invisible line around him that had shifted, the rules could be bent, but were still there. Bee had been nothing but kind and patient as well, he didn’t know how to respond to genuine kindness.
Today was something small, something silly that shouldn’t have mattered.
Andrew had forgotten to put his shoes away after coming in from the yard. It was small and trivial, but Bee had asked him to do it. His gut twisted when he mentioned it and he thought that he might cry, for a second he felt a flash of panic and his ears rung. When she didn’t immediately tell him he was in trouble, when she didn’t raise her voice, he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Andrew,” Bee said gently, when she noticed. “Can you put your shoes away when you’re done with them, please?’
It was a simple and easy request, but to Andrew it felt like she was breaking rules. She wasn’t punishing him, or yelling or scolding, just asking. He expected her to chastise him and tell him he messed up, he didn’t understand how to respond.
“Why aren’t you mad?” He asked, voice loudest it has been, although still meek.
She frowned, her eyes soft with confusion. “Why would I be mad?” She asked, tucking a piece of long brown hair behind her ear and crouching down.
He couldn’t answer. Instead, the frustration turned, he felt exposed and on the spot. The newness was suffocating and the change from the rigid world of eggshells that was the Spears that he knew to the gentleness of Bees home didn’t feel like something he could handle.
Without a word, and without blinking, he turned and ran up the stairs; he didn’t want to be asked to explain and he didn't want to be asked questions. He couldn’t explain himself, why was everything so confusing?
His room, already feeling like a small safe zone, became a refuge and the door clicked closed behind him. He pressed his hands into his face trying to not tear up at the big feelings he was having.
The familiar sound of paws against the hard wood made him freeze. Milo, the big retriever that had been following him since day one was now at the door, laying outside of it.
Andrew carefully opened the door and Milo went straight to Andrew’s bed, curling up on the end and looking at him with those big brown eyes. Andrew shut the door again before climbing into bed with the dog.
“Why wont you go away?” Andrew mumbled, as Milo rested his head in Andrews lap, nudging his hand for pets.
It wasn’t much but the presence was enough, and grounding. For a few moments the anxiety and sadness in his chest began to settle and fade as he scratched behind the dogs ears.
The soft knock on his door brought all those scary feelings back, his head snapped up and listen as Betsy gently talked from the otherside of the door.
“Andrew? May I come in?”
He didn’t answer immediately, he wasn’t sure he was ready to explain the mess of feelings that he was to small top ut into words for. But he heard her, the softness in her voice, and the way she asked, no demanding, but respectful.
He made a small noise of agreement and hoped she heard him.
Bee opened the door slowly, her presence was quiet and steady. Milo lifted his head and wagged his tail, clearly happy to see her here, but he stayed put at Andrew’s side. Bee sat at the foot of Andrews bed, and on the other side of Milo, a barrier to help ease Andrew’s mind. Her hands rested on Milo’s back, gently petting him and giving Andrew space.
“Are you feeling a little better?” She asked softly, tone open and patient. "I bet everything seems rather scary right now hm?"
He didn’t answer at first, didn’t know how. He wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear either, Andrew could feel a lump forming in his throat and this scary tightness in his chest, but no words for any of it.
“You didn’t punish me.” He said it like a fact, although it was laced with thick emotion.
Her eyes softened, and Bee leaned forward slightly, her fingers never ceasing their soothing motions on Milo’s fur, “I know,” She said, voice steady. “And you don't need to be punished, Andrew. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“M’supposed to be punished,” Andrew muttered, mostly to himself. “Im supposed to be, I don't know, It’s just supposed to happen.”
Her gaze shifted to his hands, which were curled tightly into Milo’s fur. “That’s what your used to hm? It’s different here Andrew, I don’t want to punish you, especially for not breaking rules, it was just a silly mistake, I just want to help you learn.”
He looks down at his hands. “What if I mess up? What if... I do something wrong?”
She was gentle and firm when she answered, “If you mess up, we will talk about it, and figure it out. No matter what Andrew, I wont punish you like you’re used to, I wont punish you at all like that. Your safe here and you are allowed to make mistakes. I’m sure Milo gets into more mischief than you.” At the sound of his name the dogs ears perked up, looking back at Betsy.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He looked up to Bee, her face was warm and open, and he could see trust in her eyes. It felt like maybe, possibly, this new world she was offering him wasn’t so bad.
“Okay,” whispered. “I think I'm okay now.”
Bee nodded, her voice quiet and reassuring. “Good, and if you ever aren’t okay, you can come talk to me, at any time.”
His lips twitched slightly upward, but he didn’t speak. He just let Bee sit there with him, letting the weight of the past few days fall over small shoulders and settle into something that might feel okay.