Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Renthrow
My fingers grip the steering wheel hard enough to tear it clear out of the dashboard. Adrenaline courses through my heart, short-circuiting all rational thought and turning my foot to lead.
Harder on the gas pedal.
Tighter on the steering wheel.
It’s still not enough to regain a sense of control.
The park on my right becomes a kaleidoscope of greens and browns. The buildings on Main Street blur into unrecognizable blobs of brick and steel.
Nothing registers.
Nothing except the panic.
I have a vivid memory of Gordie burning up in her crib when she was eighteen months old. She’d been fussy all night, and I faithfully followed the doctor’s instructions, giving her the medicine he prescribed. But it wasn’t working. The symptoms were getting worse.
I remember bundling her up as tightly as I could and driving like mad to the hospital in the city. My heart flogged my chest the entire way to the emergency room, and I didn’t dare to breathe until a doctor came to see her.
Pangs of that fear and helplessness carry through to this moment. The fact that the school secretary couldn’t describe Gordie’s ailment scares me.
Hold on, baby. I’m coming.
Just then, I see a flash of red-and-blue lights, and the chirp of a police siren fills the air. A look in my rearview mirror reveals Sheriff Kinsey’s truck.
Biting back a curse, I yank the steering wheel to the side and wait for Sheriff Kinsey to approach.
He pushes his sunshades up to the top of his head, his eyes wide. “Renthrow?” His voice rings with disbelief. “I recognized your vehicle, but I thought for sure someone had stolen it.”
“Sorry, Sherrif.” I tap my fingers on the steering wheel.
“This isn’t about apologies, Renthrow. Do you know what speed you were going? You or someone else could have gotten hurt. Now, what’s so urgent that you—”
“It’s Gordie. The school called, saying something’s wrong.”
Tires screech behind me.
Sheriff Kinsey’s head lurches up, and he squints into the sunshine. Two of the three vehicles slow to a crawl behind mine. Gunner speeds up, and he stops his truck close to his father.
“Dad, he got a call that Gordie’s in trouble! He needs to move.”
Sheriff Kinsey clamps his hands on my window. “Did something happen at the school? Do I need to call the fire department?”
I shake my head. “They only mentioned Gordie in the call.”
Sheriff Kinsey’s nostrils flare. He picks up his walkie and mumbles into it.
A voice squawks back, “Understood, Sheriff.”
To me, Sheriff Kinsey says, “You can’t drive at those speeds…without an escort. Wait a moment. I’ll clear the way.”
I nod my thanks.
Sheriff Kinsey turns the loud, crooning sirens off, but he keeps his blue-and-red lights flashing as he drives. I take off the moment he does, barely allowing myself to breathe until I get to Gordie’s school.
Max, Gunner, Chance, and Sheriff Kinsey park behind me, but I’m already halfway up the stairs by the time they climb out of their cars.
I crash through the front doors and run pell-mell through the hallway. When I round the corner to Gordie’s classroom, I notice that almost all the kids are outside. Many of them are standing on tiptoes, trying to peer in through the window in the door.
My heart lurches to my throat, and I quicken my steps. “Excuse me. Excuse me.”
As gently as I can, I steer the children out of the way. Once I get to the knob, I yank the door open and burst inside.
Miss Potts, Gordie’s homeroom teacher, is stooping on the ground. Her neck twists to look at me, and relief pours through her expression.
“Viking,” she says softly. Just beyond Miss Potts’s shoulder, I see a flash of pink. It’s the same shade as Gordie’s Space Rocks shirt that she chose from her closet this morning.
Stomping forward, I kneel beside the teacher and look carefully under the desk.
What I see makes my heart shrivel up inside. My daughter is lying sideways on the ground, her eyes shut as she curls into a fetal position.
“Gordie?” I croak out.
She keeps her eyes closed, but I notice her fingers relaxing a bit.
“She’s been under there for an hour,” Miss Potts explains in a low voice. “Every time we try to touch her or get her out, she trembles and gets more flustered. We didn’t know what to do.”
Her words are English, but they make no sense to me. What does she mean Gordie randomly hid under her desk?
As if to prove her point, Miss Potts inches under the desk and touches Gordie’s arm. “Gordie, you need to—”
My daughter trembles and inches away. Her mouth is tightly shut, but the deep, pained frown on her face is enough to break my heart in two.
I can hardly believe my eyes.
Miss Potts backs away, straightens her shoulders, and gives me a “you see” look.
I swallow hard. “Gordie, you need to come out from there.”
My daughter doesn’t respond to me.
“Gordie, come on. Daddy’s here. Come out, and I’ll take you home.”
She remains quiet.
It sends me into a deeper mode of panic. I reach for her.
Gordie squirms away from me too, trembling and tucking her chin close to her chest.
My heart shatters, and my throat bobs in disbelief.
Her silence is louder than the bells ringing in my ears.
Withdrawing from the desk, I stand and turn to the large windows looking out over the school yard. I take a moment to wipe the tear at the corner of my eye and then whirl around.
Miss Potts is behind me, wringing her hands in front of her skirt.
“What happened?” I bark at her.
She flinches, and I feel a twinge of remorse for lashing out when it’s not her fault at all.
“I don’t know. We came back from lunch and started reading time as usual. A bit later, I noticed that Gordie wasn’t at her desk, and I saw her like this.”
A pain so deep consumes me that I can’t talk for a moment.
Wrestling my emotions away, I approach the desk again and croak out, “Pumpkin?”
Gordie keeps her eyes closed and doesn’t respond to me.
My brain is firing on all cylinders. A million thoughts rattle around in my skull.
I don’t understand. She was fine this morning. She was fine. Why is this happening? What did I do wrong?
The helplessness I felt when she was eighteen months old, and I didn’t know how to make her pain go away, crawls over me.
How do I protect my baby girl?
“Excuse me, Mr. Renthrow.” A soft, gnarled hand lands on my bicep. I turn to find an old woman in a pink shirt, khakis, and orthopedic socks gesturing to me. “I’m Mrs. Howard, the guidance counselor. Can I have a word?”
I follow her a few steps away, my eyes still locked on Gordie. Her breathing is starting to even out as it does when she’s falling asleep at night.
“I can’t believe this.” The words scrape my throat as I utter them. “She’s never— I’ve never seen her act like this.”
“Well, that answers my first question. I wasn’t sure if this was the first episode.”
“Episode?” My left eye starts twitching. Why would a six-year-old have an “episode”?
“Have there been any sudden changes in Gordie’s life recently? Any loss of a loved one? Or bad news?”
“I mean”—I run my hands over the stubble on my chin—“her nanny left Lucky Falls two days ago for treatment, but she’s been totally normal since then. I’ve been watching her closely, and I didn’t see any changes in her demeanor.”
Mrs. Howard purses her lips thoughtfully. “I would advise taking Gordie to see a child psychologist, but I believe that a professional will verify my hunch.”
My eyes are drawn to my precious little girl again, seeing her curled up in that ball, and I pull my gaze down to the ground.
The guidance counselor speaks softly as if she senses that I’m about to lose my mind in the middle of this brightly decorated classroom. “Your mother and I are acquaintances, so I’m aware of her job on the cruise ship, and I hear that Gordie’s mother also travels a lot.”
“Yes, she’s a…” My voice sounds strange, even to my own ears. “She’s a…” I swallow hard. “She’s a wildlife photographer.”
“Mm.” Mrs. Howard makes a sound low in her throat. “I believe she might be having a Reactive Attachment Disorder episode.”
My heart stiffens in fear. “W-what is that?”
“It’s when a child emotionally withdraws in times of intense stress. Some children suffering from RAD do not respond to comfort during these episodes. As Gordie is doing right now.”
It’s too much.
Too painful.
“I can recommend a psychologist who specializes in this area,” the guidance counselor says.
“I’ll take her there right away,” I blurt.
Before I can stomp ahead and collect Gordie from under the table, the guidance counselor stops me. “There is no magic cure for something like this, Mr. Renthrow. You can’t force Gordie to get better in a few minutes or a few days or maybe in a few weeks.”
My head rejects that notion. I’m her father. I’d give my life for her. Hockey? My job? This town? None of it matters compared to her. How can she ask me to sit still while Gordie’s in pain?
“It’s best to give her space. Wait until she falls asleep, then you can take her home.”
I swallow hard. Everything inside me is fighting that advice, but I know the guidance counselor is right. If there were physical enemies keeping Gordie pinned under her desk, I’d run in with guns blazing to rescue her. But this isn’t a fight I can win with my fists.
My chest pumps up and down, but I take deep breaths and nod.
The guidance counselor pats my arm and smiles. “I’ll get the number of that psychologist for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, meeting her eyes and trying my best to convey my gratitude. “I’ll do everything I can to help her…feel better.”
“I know you will, Mr. Renthrow. Gordie is lucky to have you.”
It doesn’t feel like it. Not when she’s suffering and I didn’t know.
I had no idea.
What kind of father am I?
The guidance counselor gestures to Miss Potts, and the two women leave the classroom. It’s just me and Gordie left.
I sink against the wall a couple feet away and watch her. The sun moves in the sky, and outside, children play. Squeals of joy and laughter ring out.
But my daughter and I sit in the silence.
Until, finally, I see her chest even out and her breathing deepen.
She’s asleep.
Moving as gingerly as I can, I inch under the desk and slide one hand under her shoulder. The other, I slide under her knees.
Gordie mumbles in her sleep, and I soothe her, “Sh, sh, pumpkin. It’s okay. Daddy has you.”
She settles back to sleep, and I cradle her close as I take slow steps toward the door. But there, I meet another problem. I’ve got my hands full with Gordie, and I don’t want to jostle her too much in case she wakes up.
I lift my foot, thinking maybe I can wiggle the lock with my dress shoes, but it’s too high up. Looking down at Gordie again, I debate setting her back on the floor so I can get the door when it suddenly swings open.
Chance meets my eyes in the empty hallway.
My eyebrows climb in surprise. He’s still here?
He steps back, and I realize he’s not alone. Gunner and Max are here too.
My throat gets tight as I watch my teammates and team manager step aside so I can walk into the hallway.
I nod at them, inhale a deep breath, and carry my baby to the car.