“Mrs. Lee sent you?”
A single nod.
“Come on in.”
He slouched into the small office and curled into the chair across from her desk, wrapping his arms around his knees. Tiny in that adult-sized chair.
“What’s going on, kiddo? You don’t seem yourself today.”
Emmet buried his head in his knees. His hand tightened on the paper.
Fair enough. Not the smartest way to open the conversation. She bit her lip. Maybe it would be better to call in Marilyn. The seasoned counselor would surely handle this with more finesse than Ivy had thus far.
She studied the scroll wadded in his hand. “Do you have a note from Mrs. Lee?”
He shook his head, slid the hall pass onto her desk, and buried his head back in his knees.
“Do you want to talk?”
Another head shake.
Ivy stifled a sigh. Counseling 101. First, never open a session with closed-ended questions, not if you want to get someone talking. Second, nine-year-old boys almost never volunteer to talk about what’s bothering them.
Ivy massaged her forehead. She was putting too much pressure on herself. She wasn’t the school nurse who handed out cartoon character Band-Aids for scraped knees. There might be nothing Ivy could do to ease Emmet’s pain. But she could be present with him and offer an understanding heart. Love.
“You know, I’m having kind of a long day myself. What do you say we take a break for just a few minutes? I’ve got a whole wall of cool stuff over there.” She pointed to the other side of her office. “Puzzles, games, a few toys, books. And those bean bags are way better than the stiff old chair you’re sitting in.”
Emmet eyed the tall corner bookshelf of promised fun.
“Pick out a game or something for us to do. I don’t know about you, but I could use some laughs.”
He stood, still stoic, scanned the shelves, and chose a tiny plastic toilet. One hand still clutched his paper. He turned, a spark of mischief and a question in his eyes.
Ivy mock groaned. “That one? No, come on, Emmet. Any game but that one.” It was a pretty gross game—a toy toilet that sprayed water on you if you rolled the wrong number on the plastic toilet paper roll. When she purchased it, her fiancé, Seth, had treated her to a verbal dissertation on the dumbing down of American children. But she hadn’t bought the silly game to spur the kids on in their academic pursuits.
Emmet cracked a smile.
“All right, you’re on. Pull up a bean bag.” Ivy filled the plastic toilet with water from the sink behind her desk. “You go first, kiddo.”
He spun the plastic toilet paper roll. “A one,” he whispered. His lip disappeared between his teeth and he pressed the lever. The toy emitted a flushing sound. He flashed her a tentative grin. “Your turn.”
Ivy spun the roll. She groaned. “A four? I’m doomed.”
Emmet snickered.
Wincing, Ivy flushed once, twice, three times. Emmet leaned away from her, giggling. She winced. This was it. But on the fourth flush, she was still in the clear.
“Your go, Emmet. You’re gonna get soaked.”
He spun the roll. “A one!” He punched his hand in the air.
“It’s going to get you,” she wheedled.
He pressed the flusher. Still no spray. He full-on cackled. “Ms. Ivy, better keep your mouth shut.”
Ivy moaned and groaned, hamming up dismay for all her pathetic acting skills were worth. She rolled a three. Flush one, flush two. Spray. Right up her nose. She choked, nose burning.
Emmet rolled on the floor laughing. Between gasping breaths, he said, “Okay, new game now.”
“Uh-uh. No way. It’s payback time.”
They played three more rounds, both of them getting sprayed. Emmet’s mischievous cackles sent a jolt of joy through her, but his crumpled scroll never left his clutch.
Ivy returned the game to the shelf and occupied the bean bag across from Emmet, where he poked through her basket of puppets. “Hey, what’s that in your hand?”
His gaze dropped to the multicolored rug.
“Mind if I take a look?”
He shrugged but held out the crumpled page.
Ivy unfurled the paper and smoothed it across her knee. An ache twisted in her chest as she studied the assignment, at the care he’d put into his family tree.
Detailed shading added depth and texture to the trunk and branches. His name painstakingly written on the appropriate line. The spaces where his parents’ names belonged had been written and erased so many times, he’d worn clear through the page.
She ran her fingers over the blank spaces, barely breathing. “Can I tell you a secret, Emmet? Something I’ve never told anyone.”
He raised his head.
“It is my professional opinion that family tree assignments are the single worst idea on the face of the planet.”
A ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.
“Can I tell you something else?”
He nodded and swiped at his cheeks with a loud sniffle.
“I’m adopted.”
He straightened, his dark eyes searching hers.
“It’s hard to know the right way to fill the spaces, isn’t it? I don’t know who my birth parents are. I wish I did. What about you? What’s your beef with family trees?”
Emmet took a heavy breath. “Don’t know my bio dad. I get a few letters from my bio mom. I have good parents, the ones who foster me. They love me. I love them. Been with ’em a long, long time. No matter how I tried to make this stupid tree, it felt like I was doin’ it wrong.”
Didn’t she know that feeling. Ivy hadn’t realized as a third grader that everyone in her small town knew she was adopted. Brassy Britney Hall called her out in front of the whole class during Ivy’s family tree presentation. Said Ivy cheated. That her adoptive parents weren’t her real family. That none of the people she’d written down were even related. Funny how a simple memory could leave her heart so raw and exposed even after all this time.
Ivy cleared the tightness in her throat. “Family trees can be tricky things, and that’s okay. Yours is pretty special and deserves a little more time and care. How about I send a note to your teacher to let you take this home. Then you and your foster parents can make your tree together. I have a feeling that with all of you working together, you can come up with a tree that you’re satisfied with.”
She checked the schedule. “You have ten more minutes until recess. I’ll write that note to your teacher, and you can read or build with LEGOs while I work. If you’re up for it, you can rejoin your class on the playground.” That transition would come a little easier than having to walk back into a quiet classroom in the face of curious stares.
Emmet offered a small smile and nodded.
A few minutes later, Ivy stood in the doorway watching Emmet rejoin his class on their way outside. The familiar jaunt back in his step. A warm bubble blossomed in her middle, replacing the ache. This. This is why I do this job.
Cheryl, the secretary, poked her head out of the main office. “Hey, girl. What kind of magic did you work on Emmet? He went in a storm cloud and came out like he was walking on sunshine.”
Ivy shrugged. “Sometimes a person just needs to know that they’re not alone in this world. That someone else understands things that hurt.”