The Beast (Black Dagger Brotherhood #14) - J. R. Ward Page 0,58

the grim story, showing years of broken bones that had reknitted themselves. For them both.

Closing the file, she traded it for Bitty’s. The girl’s was thinner as her medical record had been merged with her mom’s and she’d given them even less to write down than Annalye had. There had been regular talk sessions, as well as art therapy and creative play and music class. But there was not much to go on.

In a way, everyone had only been waiting for the inevitable—

“Ms. Luce?”

Mary jumped in her chair, throwing out her hands and slapping the desk blotter. “Bitty! I didn’t hear you.”

The little girl was standing just outside the open door, her small frame looking even smaller in between the jambs. Tonight, her brown hair was down and curling all around, and she was in another one of her handmade dresses, yellow this time.

Mary was struck by a nearly irresistible urge to get Bitty a sweater.

“Ms. Luce?”

Shaking herself, Mary said, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I was wondering if my uncle has come yet?”

“Ah, no. He hasn’t.” Mary cleared her throat. “Listen, would you come in here for a moment? And shut the door, please.”

Bitty did as she was asked, closing things behind her and coming forward until she was standing in front of the desk.

“These are your files, honey.” Mary touched the manila folders. “Yours and your mahmen’s. I’ve just gone through them again. I’m not … I don’t see anything about your uncle. There’s no mention of him in here? I’m not saying he doesn’t exist, I just—”

“My mahmen got in touch with him. So he’s coming for me.”

Crap, Mary thought. Talk about having to tread carefully.

“How did your mother do that?” she asked. “Did she write to him? Call him? Can you tell me how she reached him? Maybe I can follow up with him?”

“I don’t know how. But she did.”

“What’s his name? Do you remember?”

“His name is…” Bitty looked down at the desk. At the folders. “It’s…”

It was physically painful to watch the girl try to come up with what was probably going to be a made-up name. But Mary gave her the space, hoping against hope that there would be a magic solution to all this, some brother who did in fact live and breathe out in the world, and who would be as good to Bitty as she deserved—

“Ruhn. His name is Ruhn.”

Mary closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t help herself. Ruhn was close to Rhym, of course. Just a step over from the intake supervisor’s name, a distance that was very easily crossed by a young mind searching for a rescue from a horrible situation.

Talk about needing to stay professional.

“Okay, well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” Mary held up her phone. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll post on a closed Facebook group about him. Maybe someone out there can get in touch with him for us?”

Bitty nodded a little. “Are we done?”

Mary cleared her throat again. “One other thing. Your mahmen’s ashes … they’ll be ready to be picked up soon. I was thinking, if you’d like, we could do her ceremony here at the house? I know everyone here loved her very much, and we all love you, too—”

“I would like to wait. For when my uncle comes. And then he and I will do it.”

“All right. Well, would you like to come with me to get them? I want to make sure that you have—”

“No. I want to wait here. For my uncle.”

Crap. “All right.”

“Are we done?”

“Yes.”

As the little girl turned away, Mary said, “Bitty.”

“Yes?” Bitty glanced back. “What?”

“You can talk to me, you know. About anything. And at anytime of the night or day. I’m here for you—and if you don’t want to speak to me, anybody else on staff is here to help you. My feelings won’t be hurt. The only thing I care about is that you get the support you need.”

Bitty stared at the floor for a moment. “Okay. Can I go now?”

“I’m very sorry about the way it … about what happened at the clinic last night. I encourage you to talk about it with someone—and if not me—”

“Talking is not going to bring my mahmen back, Ms. Luce.” That voice was so grave, it seemed like it should have come out of an adult’s mouth. “Talking is not going to change anything.”

“It will. Trust me.”

“Can it turn back time? I don’t think so.”

“No, but it can help you adjust to your new reality.” God,