The next day she started talking.
“Do you have Mickey waffles? My name is Marlow,” she said the morning the dam broke, and her words began to flood out, as though there had been so much to say and it had been blocked from exiting her mouth. Her wavy hair was a wild nest, her nightgown twisted overnight like a Rubik’s Cube, half of it tucked into her underwear.
A switch had gone off in her head.
Someone or something had figured out how to reprogram the girl’s brain. She woke up a different girl. One who spoke like she had never stopped in the first place.
“More syrup, please,” she said clear as day to Moni.
Moni smiled, unfazed—as if she knew the girl would eventually speak—and handed Marlow the plastic dispenser shaped like a maple leaf. She squeezed an excessive amount and messily patted the waffle with her blue plastic fork.
She barely finished her breakfast before she was taken to see the child psychologist. Mom and Dad rushed her over as if she had been physically injured and required medical attention. Fix this, it seems to have broken.
“She still has no memory of anything prior to being found by your daughter,” the doctor said, closing the door with Marlow inside what looked like a playroom, little wooden tables and chairs with puzzles, dolls, and books in various colored bins. I could see her through the window, examining a rag doll with black yarn for hair and yellow button eyes.
“Why do you think she suddenly started talking?” asked Dad.
The doctor, a Hispanic woman with hair tied in a severe knot at the nape of her neck, nodded before Dad finished his sentence.
“It is quite remarkable how quickly she came back from whatever trauma she experienced.”
“Quickly? Dr. Ciruelos, it was overnight,” said Mom.
“Indeed. Children tend to heal faster than adults. They are truly amazing when it comes to recovering. We did some initial assessments. She will have to come back for continued therapy and evaluation, of course, but she is very much at the level of a six . . . I’d say seven-year-old child. You should be very proud.”
Mom stepped back. “Well, she is not our child.”
“Stella,” Dad muttered under his breath.
Dr. Ciruelos dipped her head down and then up. “That does bring me to my next question. Have either of you thought about what your plans are after the emergency guardianship?”
“Our plans,” repeated Mom flatly.
“Marlow doesn’t remember anything before her life with you. Your family is the only one she has ever really known, as far as we know. We have yet to find out anything about her past. Whether she even has any surviving relatives. If you aren’t planning to keep developing this—this relationship with her—then it is best to break things off now. Give her the chance to start with whoever will be there in the long run.”
Her calmness did nothing to squelch the tightening I could see in Mom’s face. Dad reached over and tapped Mom on the arm, as if to check her.
“We haven’t talked about it in detail. But it’s something we will have to discuss in private,” Dad said, looking over at me, suddenly remembering I was there.
“I understand,” said Dr. Ciruelos. “In the meantime, please keep me posted if you notice any significant changes in Marlow.”
She moved toward the door to retrieve her.
“Do you think she may regain any of her memory?” Mom abruptly asked.
“Only time will tell. She may remember everything tomorrow. She may never remember it ever again.”
Mom nodded slowly, looking at Marlow through the window. She smiled at her, holding the doll up.
A week later, Sheriff Vandenberg pulled up in our driveway. He had grown a beard. Dad seemed surprised to see him.
“Please, come in,” he said, holding the front door open.
Moni offered him tea but he declined.
“Can’t stay long. I’m in the Cities on a separate matter so I thought I would drop by. Heard we got ourselves a little miracle.”
Marlow entered the kitchen. She was already a stunning sight. Sheriff Vandenberg paused to look at her.
“Marlow, is it?” he asked kindly.
“I’m six.”
“You are? Well, that’s great. Do you remember me?”
“No,” she said bluntly and hid behind Moni, tugging on her shirt.
Mom placed her hands on my shoulders instead of Marlow’s. “She’s still a little skittish. She talks a lot when it’s only us.”
Sheriff Vandenberg nodded gently. “I spoke with Dr. Ciruelos. She advised it was too early to question the little lady.”
“I would think that would be wise. One step at a time,” said Dad.
“Right. But since I’m here, mind if I ask Isla a few questions?”
Dad’s eyebrows lifted high. He studied me and then shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
I followed Sheriff Vandenberg to the living room. Mom and Dad stayed in the kitchen, while Moni took Marlow up to her room to play.
