One Week Later, Saturday
Tessa's POV
My week is full of runny noses, nursery rhymes, and toddler tantrums during the day and nights spent home by myself recuperating from it all. I don't work weekends, but I do have plans today as I head out to catch the next bus.
My destination: 8 Mile Mobile Court.
I met Mrs. Helgeland earlier this year when I first started working at the daycare. Donna- as she insists I call her- had been there for 20 years prior and had been a huge part of the center. She taught me the ropes, and was so loved by the children. In a way she reminded me of my late Nana, and so I clung to her a bit.
But shortly after I started, she retired. So now, whenever I can, I visit her and share stories of the children. I think it helps her too, so she doesn't suffer too much from post-retirement depression. Though, she still cares for the children in her trailer park. I often drop by and see one or two little faces with her.
And I bring with me a bag full of homemade meals for her. Cooking has become a passion of mine since moving to Detroit when I inherited many of my Nana's recipes and remember all the skills she has taught me. I've ended up loving to cook and bake. Especially when I can share it with people. Mrs. Helgeland enjoys my cooking and I practice by making her meals. We often talk over whatever baked goods I brought too.
It's not that long of a bus ride, and soon enough I'm walking through the entrance of the trailer park. A few girls are playing jump-rope and as I pass I smile at them, and they wave. An older man sits drinking outside his trailer, watching me as I pass. A couple audibly argues inside another trailer. And a boy rides by on his bike. Various people are coming and going from their own homes, a busy Saturday afternoon.
I walk up the three small steps of Mrs. Helgeland's trailer and knock on the front door, hearing instantly her soft voice yell, "Come in Tessa, it's open-you know that!"
"Hello!" I say as I walk in, seeing her sitting in her chair in front of the TV. As usual, she's wearing her house dress and slippers, a perk of retirement she says. She has on her thick prescription glasses and her long, strawberry blond hair is down the way she likes it. She dyes it that color to keep the grays away, but I think it's fitting for her. Mrs. Helgeland is 67, stout and about my height. Like me she has no family- a widow who never had any children of her own, just the children at the daycare. Which is another reason I check in and bring food. I would have wanted someone to have done the same for my Nana.
I put my bag down on the nearest table, my eye's scan the floor where a little blonde girl is coloring, "And good morning to you too, princess!"
The girl looks up and the frown on her face turns into small, sweet smile at my greeting.
"You remember Lily, right? I watch her for the Smith's, across the way." Mrs Helgeland informs me, lowering the TV volume.
"Of course!" I say, walking over and crouching down beside her. I look at the drawing she has made. Two stick figures; a man-her father most likely-and a blonde girl who I'd guess is her. There's a sun and the beginnings of a trailer behind them. It's really good for a child her age. "You're a wonderful artist!"
She smiles again, but doesn't say anything. Lily has been here a few times when I've visited, and while she's warmed up a lot since the first time, she has yet to say a word to me. As a teacher, I'm used to shy children and know I can't force her to open up. A trust needs to develop first. So while I talk to her and am friendly, I give her space as well as to not overwhelm her, and hopefully over time I'll earn it.
