Cecelia nodded.
Amanda paid the adoption fee, and she and Cecelia waited while the attendant affixed new tags to the dog’s collar. With a bag of kibble under her arm, Amanda followed her daughter out to the car. The attendant brought out the crate, with Skipper inside, and placed it on the back seat.
“I’ll sit back here with him, Mom, so he doesn’t get lonely.”
Cecelia spent most of the afternoon with the dog, first walking him up and down the street in front of their house and then showing Amanda the commands Skipper knew. That night, the dog walked into his crate in the corner of her room and lay down with his head on his front paws, his eyes following Cecelia as she got ready for bed. The next morning, when Amanda went in to wake Cecelia, the dog raised his head and yawned from his position at the end of her daughter’s bed.
“Cece, it’s time to get up. Why is Skipper on your bed?”
“He looked so lonely in his cage. When I let him out, he jumped up here and lay right down. He’s protecting me. I like that. And he didn’t make any noise.”
“I see. Well, it’s time for breakfast. You need to take him outside.”
In minutes, Cecelia was downstairs with Skipper at her heels. After a few minutes outside, the two entered the kitchen. The dog lay down under the table. Out of the corner of her eye, Amanda saw Cecelia reach under the table, a piece of shredded wheat in her hand. Skipper took it from her, crunched it quickly, and lay back down to wait for another treat.
“I have to go to the office for a little while, Cece. I’ve asked Janet to come over in ten minutes to stay with you. If you and Skipper go for a walk, you must tell her where you are going, and I’d prefer that you stay on our block. Will you do that?”
Cecelia nodded. “Sam wants to come over and see Skipper. Can she stay for lunch?”
“Sure. But the two of you must do what Janet says.”
“We will.”
So began a new regime. Amanda attributed Cecelia’s recovery to the daily walks she took with Skipper. Her daughter’s mood was upbeat and the only sounds emanating from her room at night were occasional snores from Cecelia, or from Skipper, who began each night in his crate, but was found each morning at the bottom of Cecelia’s bed.
Two or three times a week, Marcus came over to the house to read stories with Cecelia. One afternoon, Amanda went to the store, taking advantage of his presence to pick up an early birthday present for her daughter.
Marcus and Cecelia were at the end of the book they had been reading together when he turned to her. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to work with the child.
“Can I give you a hug? That was a super story,” he asked, watching her for any negative reaction.
“Yes,” she replied calmly.
He hugged her quickly, relieved she was so responsive. “What shall we do now?”
“I want to take Skipper for a walk.”
He looked out the window. “It’s kind of windy today. Why don’t you get a jacket? Your mom won’t like it if you catch cold.”
“Okay.” Cecelia went upstairs, followed by Skipper, who preceded her back down the stairs. “Here it is. Can you help me?” She showed him a much-used light jacket.
Marcus looked at her and laughed. “It’s all messed up. Is this zipper broken?”
She looked down. “I don’t think so, but those things at the bottom don’t always work right.” She tried to catch the zipper and shrugged her shoulders. “See, I can’t them to go together.”
“Let me see what the problem is.” He turned her around to face him. “Hmm. I see what you mean.” He worked the zipper without success. “I have an idea. Turn around so I can pretend I’m putting it on myself. Maybe I can get it to go together that way.”
Cecelia turned around, and Marcus pulled her closer to his body, his arms on either side of her as he worked the zipper. He pulled and tugged, and then he said, “Got it!”
“Yeah!” Cecelia turned and gave him a quick hug. “Come on, Skipper.”
Amanda was standing at the door, her arms across her chest, her eyes wide.
“Bye, Mom. Marcus and I finished the book, and I’m taking Skipper for a walk.”
“Don’t be gone long.” Amanda turned to him. After Cecelia was walking down the street, she said, “You were holding her near your lap.”
“I was fixing her zipper. And she had no problem with me doing that. I think she’s over all that.”
“At least with you.”
“Isn’t that a start—what the therapist wanted to happen? She trusts me. I don’t think it occurred to her that I would do anything like what Carl may have tried.”