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-11- Burgers

Kendra Lincoln

I change out of the skirt and blouse I wore to work swapping them out for a pair jeans and a plain T-shirt.

Rhett will be home late, he's having problems with some software he's been developing for a client and that always means late nights and long weeks.

Holt on the other hand should be home shortly. I've noticed on the nights when Rhett is late getting in, Holt is slightly more relaxed.

I don't know if it's Rhett himself or if it's men in general but he seems more uneasy around them.

There's nothing in his file that says abuse but his behavior says otherwise.

I head down to the kitchen, deciding to start prepping dinner because as usual, at least lately, my mind is on Holt and how to help him and my hands need something to do while I lose myself in these thoughts.

We've already tried to get him to see a therapist. We tried a few different ones and every time Holt just sat, never muttering a word.

I'm throwing together a salad when I hear the front door click open. I glance at the clock, it's later than 4:45 but Holt has practice and judging by the time he came straight home.

"Holt, honey, is that you?" I call.

I listen to the familiar sound of his movements in the hallway before he emerges in the open frame of the kitchen.

"Yes ma'am."

I wipe my hands on a towel, giving Holt my full attention. I desperately want him to know that I'm here, that I'm listening. To whatever he has to say, whenever he wants to say it.

I smile even though he's staring down at his shoes. His hair is still damp, his clothes sweaty and clung to him.

"How was school?" I ask.

"Good, ma'am."

He's never replied with anything else.

"Have you made any friends?"

His head nods slowly, his reply slightly hesitant which isn't normal. "Y-yes ma'am."

"That's good." I hope it's true. "And how was your first day of practice? Did we get you everything you needed?"

His head bobs again. "Yes ma'am, thank you."

I'm clinging to patience desperately. I don't know how to make Holt understand that I'm on his side. That he can trust me. That I'm not just someone who will disappear from his life.

"Rhett will be home late, so it's just you and me for dinner." I tell him. "How do burgers sound?"

He shifts on his feet, his hands trembling slightly. "Good, ma'am."

I release a breath, studying the boy before me. I know he wants to ask if he can be dismissed. He does so at the end of every conversation, like clockwork but today I decide before he gets the chance to intervene.

"Would you mind helping me with dinner tonight Holt?" I ask, watching as he slowly lifts his gaze to mine.

But as soon as his eyes meet mine, he drops them back to the floor and nods his head. "Yes ma'am."

I ignore the fact that he's only agreeing because that's what he thinks he's supposed to do. That he doesn't seem to realize he has a choice.

"Wonderful." I say cheerily. "Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up and then we can start?"

He gives me another nod and "yes ma'am" before turning and heading to his room. I release a heavy sigh, my mind running through scenarios of what might have caused Holt to be the way he is. I've been doing it since I met him. And I have theories. But unless Holt confirms them, all they'll ever be is theories.

It only takes Holt twenty minutes before he's back in the kitchen, a pair of joggers and a T-shirt on. He enters quietly, so quietly that as I turn around I jump letting out a small shriek.

"I'm sorry ma'am." Holt says in a panic. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

My hand is clenched over my heart as it stampedes around in my chest. But even through my freight I can see the fear ignite within Holt.

"It's okay." I let out a laugh. "I just didn't see you there."

"I'm sorry ma'am." He repeats.

I take a step forward and his entire body tenses. His breathing is shallow and he hangs his head.

"Holt it's okay." I repeat softly. "I'm not mad. Why don't you come over here and we'll start on dinner together."

I wait for him to take a step forward. He hesitates, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he breathes rapidly.

"Take some deep breaths." I suggest.

When we accepted to foster Holt, his social worker had told us that he'd been having panic attacks. But as with everything with Holt, no one seems to know why. That is except for Holt.

"Long inhale, slow exhale." I exaggerate my own breathing, watching as he tries to mimic me.

"Very good."

Rhett and I haven't seen a panic attack, or at least nothing more than this. But I've heard him at night, waking himself up with ragged strangled breathing, and I've listened through the door after he's asked to go to his room. I know they're worse than this.

It takes a few minutes before his chest isn't rapidly rising and falling and his breathing isn't shallow. He raises his head slightly and apologizes.

"No need to apologize." He apologizes way too much. "Can you cut a tomato for me?"

He takes a step toward me, I still don't move, letting him dictate the space between us. I already have a small wooden cutting board, knife, and a bright red tomato sitting out. He picks up the knife, examining the tomato before lining the blade up with the area he intends to cut. I delegate myself to making patties, happy that he's allowing me to spend time with him. I'm hopeful that if I can continue to be around him, that he'll eventually see me as a friend rather than an enemy.

We work silently, Holt carefully slicing the tomato into perfect cuts. A pile of patties beginning to form in front if me when Holt speaks on his own accord.

"Birdie." He whispers barely loud enough to hear. "My friend. Her name is Birdie."

My heart swells in my chest as I accept this small piece of him he's offered up. I know that it's minuscule information but it feels like he's given me a piece of treasure. I've asked him everyday if he's made friends and he's never told me a name.

Whoever this girl is, I'm more than thankful that she's befriended Holt.