Chapter 2

Why did popular, confident Jordan Peters need an emotional support dog?

Kamzy studied the woman sitting across the dining room table from him. A bigger question: What on earth had happened to her?

She was here to interview for a temporary, low-paying job—from him, who hadn’t had enough money to take her out for a soda in high school—but that was the least of it. Her haunted eyes looked huge, her cheekbones standing out in a too-thin face. Her clothes hung on her. Her hair, which had been long and wavy, halfway down her back when he’d last seen her, was now short. Not stylishly short, but short like she’d hacked it off with scissors herself, without a mirror.

She was looking at him expectantly, though, so he cleared his throat. “My older son, Victor, is afraid of some dogs,” he said. “If we decide to go forward with this, we’ll need to introduce him slowly and be ready to back off.”

“Of course,” Jordan said. “Tiera is really gentle and well trained.”

“We’ll see.” He launched into the interview. “Tell me about your experience with kids,” he said.

“Okay. I worked as an aide at a school in the Delta for two years. Before that, I did a lot of babysitting, during high school and after. I have local references from that, but they’re old.”

“I thought you went to college?”

“I did. For two years. Then I got married.”

“Divorced now?” That might be one thing they had in common.

“He passed away six months ago.”

Oh. Whole different thing than Kamzy’s cheating wife. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” She didn’t react emotionally, at all. “Anyway, I’ve worked with kids from two on up to teenagers, though most have been in the school-age range.”

“Any special needs?”

“Yes. I was the aide for a boy with cerebral palsy, and another time, for a girl with minor cognitive delays.” She studied him. “Do your sons have special needs?”

“The older one doesn’t speak.” He said it roughly, the words fueled by shame and confusion.

Her dog tilted its head to one side. She stroked it gently. “Do you mean he can speak but won’t? Or is he nonverbal?”

“Hector can be plenty verbal.” Cam’s stomach twisted, thinking of the happy, carefree boy his oldest son used to be. “He stopped speaking when his mom left a little over a year ago. Speaking to others outside the home, that is. He speaks to me and his brother.”

“Sounds like selective mutism.”

He was glad she knew the term. “That’s what they say. And that’s one reason I’m hiring a nanny for the summer. His therapist thinks if he can get close to one person at a time, close enough to open up and speak, his circle will widen and he’ll break out of it naturally.”

“That makes sense.” She paused. “Was there…was there trauma involved, with his mom leaving? How often do they see her?”

“Never,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended.

“Oh…” Her pretty mouth twisted. “That’s sad. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry, too. For their sake.” He hadn’t intended to get into this story now, but Jodi had always been a good listener. “I was away on a job for a couple of days. Working on a fleet of rental cars uptown. She decided she’d had enough of me, of us, and she left.”

“Left them alone?”

He nodded. “Before she went, she told them they had to be quiet. No talking, no yelling. JJ, the three-year-old, he was little enough that he couldn’t follow that rule, couldn’t really even understand it. But Victor’s six. He thought if he didn’t talk, his mom might come back.” He drew in a breath, forced himself to say the rest calmly. “He talks when it’s just the family, but when outsiders are around, he clams up.”

“How sad.” Those big, understanding eyes threatened to bring his own emotions to the surface. Restless, he stood.

She jerked back at the sudden movement, her expression turning fearful.

He stepped back and flattened his hands at his sides to show her he was no threat. “As long as we’re sharing,” he said, “what exactly happened to you?”

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