Chapter Text
Three-year-old Sylvie folds one hand into the much-larger one Johanna, her social worker, offers to her. Her other arm is wrapped around her cherished porcupine, Quilly. She half-runs as her little legs try to keep up to Johanna.
“Are you excited to meet your new family, Sylvie?” Johanna asks, kneeling beside the toddler as they finally slow to a stop outside the door.
The little girl bites her lip nervously but nods, not wanting to disappoint her friend.
“Good. Do you want to ring the doorbell or should I?”
Sylvie squeezes her porcupine tight, as if its downy soft quills give her courage. “Me, pwease?” She might be scared, but Johanna says she should be brave even if she’s scared. She wants to be brave.
“That’s my girl,” Johanna beams, pushing herself back to her feet and hoisting the little girl onto her hip so she can reach the button.
They hear the bell resonate throughout the house and the door soon swings open in front of them.
“Oh good, you’re here!” A tall brunette who appears to be in her mid thirties exclaims. “Come on in! How are you? It’s so good to see you again.”
Johanna smiles politely and responds as Sylvie takes in the new home, wide-eyed. When she finishes, she gives the toddler a small bounce on her hip. “Sylvie, this is Maggie. She’s your new foster mom. Can you say hi?”
“Hi,” Sylvie chirps before her attention is quickly stolen by something across the room. “Jojo, down pwease?”
“Of course I’ll put you down. Good job using your manners.”
“Thank you!”
As soon as her feet hit the floor, Sylvie again reached for Johanna’s hand, not wanting to be without her just yet. She does, however, want to investigate the item that's caught her attention across the room and she tugs on Johanna's hand.
"I guess we're going exploring," the social worker chuckles, following behind the curious child.
"Jojo look!"
"What is it?"
"A fawm!" Sylvie lets go of Johanna's hand and plops down beside the toys, excitedly picking up each in turn. "And dere's a twaktor! And cows and piggies and a doggie!"
“We have some horses around here somewhere, too,” Maggie tells her.
The social worker smiles, glad the toddler already seemed comfortable in her new environment. “She lived on a farm before this, if you couldn’t tell.”
“Do you think the city will be an okay place for her? I want her to feel at home here.”
“She’s young, Maggie, and brave. All kids are resilient, but Sylvie’s got a little extra fire in her.”
“Vroom, vroom! Beep beep beeeeeeeeep!” An older, black-haired boy yells, tearing into the living room with a toy combine in hand, three toy horses tied to the sides of the hopper and the back with a shoestring.
The toddler stares at the boy, wide-eyed with curiosity. “Why horsies on combine?” she asks finally.
“Now it has more horsepower so it picks the corn super fast!” the boy exclaims.
“Wow! Weally?”
“Really!”
The boy settles down on the floor next to her, and they start playing farm together.
“What’s your name?” he asks after they corral each animal to its own pen.
“Sylvie. I’m this many!” she chirps, holding up three fingers.
“I’m Kelly. I’m five and a half.” The boy extends a hand to her.
The little girl eyes it curiously. Weren’t high fives supposed to start up high?
“My grandpa says you should always shake hands when you meet someone new,” he explains.
“Oh.” She reaches out her hand toward his, looking up at him for approval.
He grasps her hand and gives it a firm shake, just like his grandfather had shown him the last time they visited. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says -- again, just like his grandfather had taught him.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she parrots, still seeking his approval.
“Now we’ve been properly introduced,” Kelly states, with all the matter-of-factness a five-year-old could muster -
“Let’s play!” Sylvie finishes for him.
With that, the two set back to work, happily chatting and playing with the toys in front of them.
“My grandpa has a big farm,” Kelly informs her. “There’s lots and lots of tractors and he has a combine and -”
“Does he have horsies?”
“You betcha.”
“Wow! You know how to ride?”
“Yeah. He got a little one just for me! And a little four-wheeler too!”
“A four-wheeler?!”
“Yeah! But it doesn’t go super fast like his can and it has batteries and not gas.” The boy pauses, momentarily upset that he isn’t old enough to drive the big four-wheeler. “Is that a raccoon?” he asks, noticing Quilly’s backside sticking out from behind Sylvie. “Because my grandpa says we should sh -”
“Kelly,” Maggie warns. “What did I tell you about some of the things your grandfather tells you?”
“To not to say them to other people cuz it might sound mean,” the boy dutifully responds.
“Well it’s not a racoon,” Sylvie interjects, cradling her porcupine. “It’s Quilly!”
“Ohhhh, it’s a porcupine… You know a real porcupine would be too spiky to hold?”
“But pokupines need hugs too!” the toddler protests.
Half an hour later, the adults’ conversation wanes and Johanna reapproaches the children. “It’s time for me to leave now, Sylvie.”
“No, Jojo!” the little girl exclaims, her playful demeanor changing at the drop of a hat. “Don’t weave!”
“I’m sorry, munchkin, you know I have to.”
Sylvie’s lip trembles as she watches Johanna squat back to her level.
“You and Kelly were just having so much fun playing together! You wouldn’t want to leave your farm now, would you?”
The little girl couldn’t answer. She could only look up at the only consistent person she’d had in her life with watery blue eyes.
“I’ll be back to see how you’re doing soon, just like always. I promise.”
“No, no! I don’t want you to leave!” she cries, launching herself at Johanna.
She gives the little girl a squeeze and rubs her back, trying her best to soothe her. “I’m so sorry,” the social worker says to Maggie. “She’s normally so agreeable.”
“We’ll be okay,” Maggie assures her, peeling the toddler off of her. “Come here, Sylvie. Jojo needs to go bye-bye.”
“No, Jojo!”
“Be brave, munchkin,” Johanna says again, patting the little girl on the back one last time. “I’ll see you soon. I promise.”
______________________
Six Months Later:
“.... happy birthday, dear Kelly. Happy birthday to you!” Maggie and her husband, Blake, finish singing, alongside Sylvie and a dozen or so other children and their accompanying adults who’d been invited to the party.
The now six-year-old takes a deep breath and blows out the candles on his cake.
“What’d you wish?” Sylvie asks, hanging onto his right arm.
“I can’t tell you, silly! Then it won’t come true!”
She pouts briefly, but is quickly distracted by Blake cutting the cake.
“Do you want to help me hand out the pieces, Sylvie?” he asks.
She nods enthusiastically, reaching for the first plate. She hopes it will be hers. On Maggie’s birthday a month or so after she moved here, she learned that the most special person gets the first piece of cake.
“Who gets the first piece, Kelly?” Blake asks.
The six-year-old wastes no time, pointing at his best friend, Andy, before the question is out of his foster father’s mouth. “But Sylvie gets the second,” he adds quickly, noticing the tears of betrayal that appeared almost immediately in his foster sister’s eyes.
A smile reappeared on the little girl’s face as fast as it had fallen and she happily delivered Andy his piece of cake. She carefully places the next piece in her place and sits Quilly down in her chair with firm instructructions to guard it.
_____
The next day finds Kelly and Sylvie in the backyard, staring at his new bike. It’s fire engine red and - to his delight - devoid of training wheels.
“I ride it?” Sylvie asks him.
“No. You’re too little,” he responds, but at her pouty face, an idea dawns on him. “You and Quilly go inside and get some pillows.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me. It’ll be fun.”
A few minutes later, Kelly stands back from his creation, beaming. “All done!”
“It’s ready?” the three-year-old asks.
“It’s ready.”
The little girl studies the wagon full of pillows carefully. The tongue of the wagon is tied to the pole underneath Kelly’s seat with his belt. “What is it?”
“It’s a sidecar so you can ride my bike with me!”
“Cool!” Sylvie cheers and holds her arms up, a silent request for Kelly to help her.
“Okay, jump on three,” he says, placing one hand under each of her arms. “Ready?”
She nods, beaming up at him.
“One,” he starts.
“Two,” she counts.
“Three!” they both yell together as she hops off the ground.
Kelly uses her momentum and swings her into the wagon. She’s heavy for his little arms, but he’s able to get her over the edge without incident.
Sylvie sits down among the pillows and rests one arm on the side, using her other to hold Quilly tight to her chest while her brother checks the tongue of the cart behind him and situates himself on his bike.
“Vroom, vroom!” he yells, pretending to rev his bike like a motorcycle.
“Vroom, vroom!” Sylvie parrots. “Go, Kelly, go!”
He takes off with a wobbly start, struggling to balance while pulling the wagon along behind him.
Blake stands back on the porch, having followed Sylvie outside when she hauled as many pillows out as her tiny arms could handle. Since he and Maggie had taken Kelly on, the boy had tried pulling many stunts. He figured the pillows were leading up to yet another. He watches the two kids carefully, waiting for their setup to go south. He’s surprised, however, when Kelly makes it to the end of the short driveway to the alley without falling and gets off of his bike.
He makes eye contact with Blake momentarily as he’s turning it and the wagon around. The boy quickly diverts his eyes and gets right back on the bike. Maybe if he pretends like he didn’t see his foster father, he won’t get in trouble.
“Oh no you don’t,” Blake says, crossing the small yard to the children.
“But I’m taking Sylvie for a ride in my sidecar!”
“We goed vroom vroom!”
“I saw that, but your sidecar isn’t hooked up to the motorcycle safely. I don’t want either of you to get hurt. How about I pull you along so it doesn’t pull Kelly off his motorcycle?”
The kids, who’d both started to pout at their foster father ruining their fun, quickly regain their joy as they realize he’s going to play along.
Blake makes quick work of unhooking the wagon from the bike then turns to the children. “Ready?” he asks.
“Vroom vroom!” they cheer.