Found: A Mother for His Son. Dianne Drake
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said, starting to rock him. “He’s coming right back for you, Max. He’s not going to leave you. He’ll be right back, I promise.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything. His body still shuddered though, and he clung to her as hard as he could. “If he doesn’t come back, do I have to go to Grandpa’s house?”
“He’s coming back. And I’m not going to leave you until he does.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Poor child. He was trying to be brave, but she knew what it was like to have nightmares. She’d had them. Only there’d been no one to hold her like this, no one to take care of her when she’d been so scared, and hadn’t known of what. More often than not, her father had hit her and told her to shut up.
“Max!” Dermott gasped, running through the door. He stopped short of the bed, breathless, his face drained of all color. “I heard from downstairs.”
“And we’re just fine,” Jenna said. She was still rocking back and forth with Max in her arms, stroking his hair, holding on to him as tightly as he held her. He had quieted down and seemed contented to stay right where he was. She was contented to have him there, too. “He had a bad dream, but it’s over now and he’s doing better, aren’t you, Max?”
Max nodded, but didn’t look up at his dad. His head was still tucked against Jenna’s chest, and Jenna held him protectively, the way a mother would. To anyone looking on who didn’t know, Jenna could have been his mother, the way she comforted him. Dermott saw that. Saw that she had already become a fierce protector of Max.
“Dermott, we’re going to need some fresh pajamas and sheets, if you don’t mind getting them. And I think Max would like a quick little bath before he settles back in for the night.”
Ten minutes later, after Dermott had gotten Max ready for bed again, and Jenna had changed the bedsheets, Max asked, “Can Jenna read me a story before I go back to sleep?”
“What’s your favorite one?” she asked, wondering if Dermott would prefer doing this. She gave him a questioning look, but he smiled, and nodded.
“I wouldn’t mind hearing a story from Jenna either.” Dermott sighed a huge sigh of relief and slumped down into the chair next to Max’s bed. Then he handed her a book. “This is our favorite. We especially like the part where the big, red dump truck wins the race.” He looked straight into Jenna’s eyes and mouthed the words “Thank you”, then settled back to listen to the story.
And so she read, while Max snuggled in again, and Dermott sat across from them, looking totally distracted, trying with everything he had to hold it all back.
After Max was asleep once more, and the grilled cheese sandwiches long forgotten, Dermott walked Jenna to the apartment door. “I’m sorry we put you through that. Max doesn’t have these nightmares often—they started after his mother died. But they’re so hard on him when he does.”
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