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Authors: Mary Alice Monroe
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hadn’t misunderstood. “But… Mr. Henderson, which is to be my room?”
Understanding dawned on his features and he brightened. “I guess I should have showed you that right away. I gave you the main bedroom. It’s the largest and it has a nice view of the pond. I put a little television in there, too. And a small rolltop desk. I thought, well, I figured you’d want some privacy.”
“I hate to put you out.”
“It’s no problem. There’s a bed in my study for me. I’ll sleep fine there, and besides, I’m at the clinic most hours, anyway.”
Ella was enormously relieved. It would be cramped, indeed, but manageable.
She saw Marion eyeing the cookies. Ella reached out to place a few more crackers and cheese on the child’s plate. These she ate without argument. Ella made a mental note to toss away all the gingerbread cookies, cakes and other sugary items that might tempt a five-year-old.
“Can you tell me about Marion’s diabetes,” Ella began. “What are her current insulin levels?”
Harris wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Marion,” he said, turning to his daughter, “why don’t you go in your room to play for a while. Miss Majors and I need to talk.”
“Do I have to?”
“She can stay,” Ella added.
“I think we should be alone to discuss this,” he replied firmly.
“It’s healthy for Marion to be a part of this discussion. She might have questions of her own.”
“I don’t think she has any questions.”
“No? After all, the disease is happening to her.”
He paused, and she wasn’t blind to his growing annoyance “I don’t want her to be afraid of the disease,” he said with finality.
“She might already have fears that need listening to.”
The two adults stared at each other, each recognizing the stubborn strength in the other.
Harris turned again to his daughter. “Marion, do you want to hear this or do you want to play in your room?” His tone clearly was trying to persuade her to play.
“I wanna stay,” she replied without a moment’s hesitation, settling farther back into the sofa with a smug gleam in her eye.
Harris pursed his lips, his eyes flashing his irritation, but conceded.
It was hardly a victory, thought Ella, since there was no real battle, yet it established her position in the house. She couldn’t possibly stay if he was going to dictate her job. The house may be strange and new, but managing a diabetic child was her field.
They moved into a lengthy discussion of Marion’s diabetes, during which Ella noticed that, though the child picked at a scab and looked at the ceiling, she was listening intently. Ella had experience with children of all ages who had diabetes. Though they all reacted differently according to their personalities and level of maturity, they had one thing in common. They each wanted to know what was going on in their own bodies, and most of all, they wanted to know how many shots they needed to take each day.
“Would you like to take a walk and look around before it gets dark?” Harris asked after they were through.
“When did Marion last have her blood checked?”
Ella saw Marion tuck her legs in close and her face grow mutinous. Harris’s face visibly paled.
“I checked it before you arrived,” he replied.
Ella looked at her watch. “There’s been lots of nervous excitement since then. Let’s give it a look-see before we go out.”
Harris cast a wary look at his daughter. Ella saw this—and how Marion watched and waited for it. On cue, Marion began to howl like a banshee, kicking and screaming. Harris went toward her, but Ella stuck out her arm, warding him off. She stood abruptly and slammed her hands on her hips.
“That will be quite enough of that, young lady,” she said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the wails. “I will be testing you four, five, six times a day, and I’ll be giving you your shots, too. Every day. That’s my job and…Marion, listen to me.” She moved quickly to grasp
Understanding dawned on his features and he brightened. “I guess I should have showed you that right away. I gave you the main bedroom. It’s the largest and it has a nice view of the pond. I put a little television in there, too. And a small rolltop desk. I thought, well, I figured you’d want some privacy.”
“I hate to put you out.”
“It’s no problem. There’s a bed in my study for me. I’ll sleep fine there, and besides, I’m at the clinic most hours, anyway.”
Ella was enormously relieved. It would be cramped, indeed, but manageable.
She saw Marion eyeing the cookies. Ella reached out to place a few more crackers and cheese on the child’s plate. These she ate without argument. Ella made a mental note to toss away all the gingerbread cookies, cakes and other sugary items that might tempt a five-year-old.
“Can you tell me about Marion’s diabetes,” Ella began. “What are her current insulin levels?”
Harris wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Marion,” he said, turning to his daughter, “why don’t you go in your room to play for a while. Miss Majors and I need to talk.”
“Do I have to?”
“She can stay,” Ella added.
“I think we should be alone to discuss this,” he replied firmly.
“It’s healthy for Marion to be a part of this discussion. She might have questions of her own.”
“I don’t think she has any questions.”
“No? After all, the disease is happening to her.”
He paused, and she wasn’t blind to his growing annoyance “I don’t want her to be afraid of the disease,” he said with finality.
“She might already have fears that need listening to.”
The two adults stared at each other, each recognizing the stubborn strength in the other.
Harris turned again to his daughter. “Marion, do you want to hear this or do you want to play in your room?” His tone clearly was trying to persuade her to play.
“I wanna stay,” she replied without a moment’s hesitation, settling farther back into the sofa with a smug gleam in her eye.
Harris pursed his lips, his eyes flashing his irritation, but conceded.
It was hardly a victory, thought Ella, since there was no real battle, yet it established her position in the house. She couldn’t possibly stay if he was going to dictate her job. The house may be strange and new, but managing a diabetic child was her field.
They moved into a lengthy discussion of Marion’s diabetes, during which Ella noticed that, though the child picked at a scab and looked at the ceiling, she was listening intently. Ella had experience with children of all ages who had diabetes. Though they all reacted differently according to their personalities and level of maturity, they had one thing in common. They each wanted to know what was going on in their own bodies, and most of all, they wanted to know how many shots they needed to take each day.
“Would you like to take a walk and look around before it gets dark?” Harris asked after they were through.
“When did Marion last have her blood checked?”
Ella saw Marion tuck her legs in close and her face grow mutinous. Harris’s face visibly paled.
“I checked it before you arrived,” he replied.
Ella looked at her watch. “There’s been lots of nervous excitement since then. Let’s give it a look-see before we go out.”
Harris cast a wary look at his daughter. Ella saw this—and how Marion watched and waited for it. On cue, Marion began to howl like a banshee, kicking and screaming. Harris went toward her, but Ella stuck out her arm, warding him off. She stood abruptly and slammed her hands on her hips.
“That will be quite enough of that, young lady,” she said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the wails. “I will be testing you four, five, six times a day, and I’ll be giving you your shots, too. Every day. That’s my job and…Marion, listen to me.” She moved quickly to grasp
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