Chapter 10 Tessa
Tessa was almost used to the silence, which was a sound she certainly didn’t expect when she’d suggested a two-year-old stay in her home. Like every other day since Olive had arrived, the mornings at Tessa’s house dawned quiet and strangely ordinary.
As always, Tessa had awakened multiple times during the night to tiptoe down the hall and peer into the guest room where Olive slept in a small mound of blankets and stuffed animals. Each time, she stood there listening to the soft whisper of Olive’s breath, waiting until her own pulse slowed.
Now, mid-morning, Olive was awake, sitting cross-legged on the rug in her pajamas, lining up wooden blocks in careful rows. She didn’t look up when Tessa padded in to watch. She didn’t speak. She never spoke.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Tessa said softly.
Olive slid one block into place.
Tessa had learned that Olive answered with motion, not words. With nods. With glances. With tiny choices.
Hearing only the quiet, Tessa buttered toast and cut it into triangles. She filled a small bowl with blueberries, poured a little orange juice into a sippy cup, and took the whole thing to the table.
The child’s silence hadn’t bothered Dusty at first, but yesterday he did seem concerned when she just wouldn’t answer even a simple question.
“Breakfast,” she said. “Come over here, honey.”
Wordless, Olive moved to the table and let Tessa lift her into the booster seat. Just as she started to pick at a blueberry, a knock at the door from the inside staircase startled her.
“No worries,” Tessa assured her. “It’s Mister Dusty. Come on in!” she called.
Dusty stepped into the kitchen a little tentatively but smiled as he took in the sight of Olive eating at the table.
“How are the girls?” he asked lightly.
Tessa stifled a sigh. “Quiet.”
He approached Olive slowly. “Morning, kiddo.”
She gave no response but looked down at her blueberries, eating with intent. Not wanting to stare at her, Tessa gestured Dusty into the kitchen.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
They stepped away from the table to the far end of the kitchen counter, where he put a hand on her shoulder. “You look tired.”
“Exactly what every woman wants to hear,” she said with a fake dirty look. “Are the bags getting bigger?”
“Just a shadow of disappointment and frustration.”
She gave him an “are you serious” look. “She has not said a single word since her mother left! Not one. But she’s bright, alert, able to build a tower out of blocks and I saw her flipping through a book. Is it me? Her? Trauma?”
“Has she cried?” she asked.
“Not once. Sleeps through the night and has a dry diaper. She just doesn’t respond to me.”
She waited, searching his face.
“I’m not diagnosing her,” he began. “I want to be very clear about that. I’m a grief counselor, not a child psychologist. But I’ve done a little digging and talked to a few friends who are experts in childhood developmental issues.”
“Is it autism?”
“Not at all. The consensus is she’s trying to control her environment. But of course, we have no way of knowing that without a professional assessment and I don’t want to put her through that.”
“Control…by not talking?” Tessa asked.
“My colleagues—again, purely conjecture based on experience, not this child—think the silence isn’t delayed speech or defiance but could be something called selective mutism.”
She winced.
“It sounds scarier than it is,” he said quickly. “It’s anxiety based. Olive can speak. But a child practicing selective mutism simply won’t in certain situations, especially when they feel unsafe.”
“Unsafe?” Her voice cracked. “How could she feel that way? Did I—”
“No! Trauma, instability, loss, upheaval. Tessa, that girl doesn’t know where her mother is and she’s never been here before. She’s two.”
“Of course.” Tessa bit her lip, her heart aching with sympathy as she looked at Olive, dutifully finishing her blueberries. “How long does it last?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure every case is wildly different. Hopefully, only until they feel safe, or are just so involved in something they forget everything.”
She nodded, instantly considering all her options.
“You just need patience, Tess. You’re doing everything right. She needs to be able to make small decisions, even say no to you without major consequences.”
“She doesn’t say anything, yes or no. I’d love to hear her say no.”
“Honestly, the best thing for her is to play,” he said.
Tessa sighed. “She likes the beach, so yesterday I picked up some sand toys.”
“Good. Get her completely involved in something so she isn’t thinking about her surroundings, just focused on play.”
“Do you have patients today?” Tessa asked.
“Not for a few hours.”
“Great.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to him. “Let’s go make sandcastles!”
“Brilliant!” He snagged her arm as she started to walk away. “Wait a second.”
“You are not backing out of sandcastle construction, Dustin Mathers.”
He smiled at the old name they called him when they were young, giving her a flash of that wild child on the beach from her youth. He’d changed so much and she was crazy about the man he’d become.
“What a natural you are, Tess,” he whispered. “It’s beautiful on you.”
Her heart, already feeling mushy, just melted into a pool. “The glow of sleep deprivation?” she cracked.
“Love,” he said softly. “Caring. Kindness. Maternal tenderness. All beautiful.”
She opened her mouth to make a joke, to flick off the sweet words, to…protect herself. But as she looked into his eyes, she felt a few bricks fall.
She didn’t know what to say, so she just lifted up and brushed his lips with an unexpected kiss.
He deepened it for one quick second, sliding an arm around her, but parted quickly with a glance in the general direction of Olive.
“Beautiful.” He repeated the word in a low whisper, then eased back. “Come on. Let’s make sandcastles…and words.”
Oh, heavens. Could she adore this man any more?
The beach was mostly empty when they arrived, the sun not yet high enough to scorch, the breeze soft and forgiving. The Gulf stretched out in gentle turquoise bands, calm and pretty.
Olive walked between them, one small hand in Tessa’s—not from affection, but duty as they crossed the street—the other gripping a yellow shovel Dusty had handed her at the base of the stairs. She moved fast for such a tiny person, eyes fixed forward, expression impossible to read.
To fill the silence and always hoping to elicit a response, Tessa chattered endlessly. She talked about the art of building a sandcastle and picking the perfect place where it could sit. She talked about the birds, the surf, the reason Destin’s sand was so white.
“Quartz from the Appalachian mountains?” Dusty asked after she told them. “How do you know that?”
“My sister, the scientist,” she said, giving Olive’s hand a squeeze. “She’s the smartest person I know. You’ll love Kate, Olive.”
Olive stared straight ahead.
They hit the sand and hustled toward the waterline as Dusty encouraged her to pick the perfect placement for their castle. Eventually, she stopped and plopped down on the sand.
“Okay, here it is, then,” he said, laughing at her decision-making process.
“An excellent plot of land,” Tessa said solemnly. “High value. Ocean views. Room for expansion.”
Olive just stared at the sand as if imagining a castle rising up from it.
Dusty dropped the cooler and the bag of sand toys. Tessa spread a blanket, anchoring the corners with shoes and towels. Then she sat back, deliberately giving Olive space.
Dusty crouched and began scooping slightly wet sand into a bucket, packing it gently.
“You can dump it,” he said.
Olive watched. He turned the bucket over and lifted it, revealing a squat, imperfect tower.
Her eyes flickered with interest.
She grabbed her own bucket and knelt, copying him with intense concentration. Sand spilled everywhere. She tried again and again, refusing assistance with just a shake of her head. When her tower finally held—after many failed attempts—she stared at it as though she’d summoned it by magic.
“You’re an architect,” Tessa murmured.
Olive didn’t say a word or smile.
As the sun crossed over the sand, Dusty and Olive stayed hard at work—proving they both had shockingly long attention spans. They scooped and dumped like a two-person construction crew.
Tessa tugged on her brimmed hat and watched from behind her sunglasses, her attention equally divided between the unexpectedly enthusiastic man and the incredibly focused little girl.
Before too long, three small towers appeared, each surviving Olive’s constant poking. She dug while Dusty shaped the tops to look more castle-like.
He formed a small mound beside one tower. “This can be the door.”
Olive flattened the hill with the shovel.
“Okay,” Dusty said. “No door.”
She dug faster, working on the next tower.
Tessa watched Dusty closely, taking in his strong, sandy hands, the way he kneeled comfortably under a blistering sun, his ability to meet this frightened child exactly where she was.
For reasons she didn’t really understand, it was probably the single most attractive side of him she’d ever seen. And he had many.
Tessa scooted closer, careful not to crowd. She picked up a shell and set it near the evolving castle.
Olive took it and pressed it onto a tower. Then she looked up at Tessa with bright eyes, the first real reaction she’d shown all day.
“It’s like jewelry!” Tessa said. “Can’t have too much of that. I’ll find more jewels for your tower, milady!”
While Olive worked on the next bucket, Tessa found shells and laid them in little piles to let Olive select which she wanted and where they should go. Giving her control, Tessa thought proudly.
Wordlessly—of course—Olive started placing them on the towers—well, sticking them randomly all over the place. She abandoned all construction in lieu of decorating, which Tessa praised to the skies.
Oh, this is perfect, Olive Oyl!
Look at that placement, sweetheart!
Fit for a princess!
Each lavish compliment got a glance in response, but that was all. While they worked, Dusty looked mildly amused, and Tessa intentionally let Olive make every decision.
Just as she finished the shells, a tiny sand crab skittered from a hole near the moat Dusty had created.
Olive froze, then leaned closer, eyes wide. Her mouth…almost moved. A word rose up, but then she clamped her tiny lips together and watched the crab in wonder until he vanished back into the sand.
“Bye-bye, Mr. Crab,” Tessa sang playfully.
Olive pressed her lips together as if she was about to say “Bye” but then she reached for a pretty pink shell. Carefully, she placed it over the hole and looked up at Tessa with an expectant gaze.
“How sweet, Olive. We love Mr. Crab,” Tessa said, forming heart hands over her chest.
Olive stared at her, at her hands, and then made a circle with hers in an attempt to make the same heart.
“Olive!” Tessa cooed as if she’d proved the theory of relativity. “You’re so smart!”
Stifling a laugh, Dusty stood and stretched. “That’s a lot of construction. I need a snack. Anybody else?”
They ate on the blanket—grapes, crackers, juice. Olive sat between them, eating her grapes the way she did the blueberries—one at a time, slow and deliberate.
Afterward, she turned back to the castle, looking around the sand.
“More shells?” Tessa asked. “More jewelry?”
Olive nodded.
“Let’s look together,” Tessa said, standing and picking up Dusty’s empty bucket. “Let’s go find every single shell and cover those towers until they are glorious.”
It was pretty obvious most of that was lost on a two-year-old, but the little girl took Tessa’s hand—not dutifully this time!—and they walked toward the section of sand piled with shells from the last tide.
Side by side, they filled about an inch or two of the bucket, then took it back. And the same way she ate blueberries and grapes, little Olive placed each shell one by one all over the tallest tower, nearly covering it until she lost interest.
While she did, Tessa leaned close to Dusty as they watched her together, praising her work and whispering to each other that she was cute and bright and perfect and dear.
The sun blazed on them, relentless, but Tessa didn’t care. She loved this moment, this day, this tiny community of three people life had thrust together—yet they looked, acted, and talked like any other family on the beach.
The very idea made her feel…something. She couldn’t quite name it, but knew in her bones it was good.
“This castle is perfection, Olive Oyl,” Tessa announced. “What do you call it?”
She could feel Dusty hold his breath just as Tessa did the same, waiting for an answer—any answer—to break the silence.
Olive took a slow breath and touched the top shell with one baby finger, staring at the sandcastle. Her lips formed again and they waited, silent and expectant.
Then she turned around and looked toward the house.
Tessa swallowed a soft grunt of frustration, then they quietly packed and went upstairs, where Tessa helped Olive clean up from the sand, eat a few crackers and banana slices before getting her down for a nap.
When she came out, she found Dusty in her living room, his head back, eyes closed.
She slipped onto the sofa next to him. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer, planting a kiss on her head.
“She’s asleep,” Tessa announced.
“Mmm. We all should be after all that sun and sandcastle building.”
Smiling at that, Tessa closed her eyes and nestled her head into the crook of his neck.
“You’re a good mom,” he whispered.
If she was, wouldn’t Olive speak?
She didn’t know and right then, she couldn’t worry about it. She just snuggled closer to Dusty, and they fell sound asleep on the sofa together.