The Soldier's Surprise Family. Jolene Navarro

one glass door.

      During the forty-five-minute trip to town, she told her heart not to get too engaged. These were his children. His family, not hers. She was just the nanny. But still, the pictures of those innocent faces embedded themselves in her head. She had a feeling that in the end, her heart would be broken again. She was never the kind of person who could keep an emotional distance. With her, it was always all in or not. How did someone teach their heart portion control?

      Garrett cut the engine. He leaned over the steering wheel and looked at the sky. “I can’t believe how fast this has happened.”

      “You made it easy for her to move the kids from an emergency shelter to a home. I’m sure she wishes all her cases were this easy.” She checked her watch again. “We’re early.”

      With a glance to the backseat, he opened the top button of his starched blue shirt. His black cowboy hat and jeans looked sharp. “Well, I guess it’s time to fill those car seats.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for all you’ve done so far.”

      “How could I not help?” Waiting for him to move out of the truck, she sat in silence. Her attention went to her watch again.

      Thirty minutes early. If he needed to sit out in the parking lot, she could do that, but she really wanted to see the kids.

      “Okay.” With one hand on the door, he turned to her. “Are you ready?”

      She bit back a laugh and just nodded. He was a mess. She imagined a first-time dad might react the same way with the birth of his child. But for him, skipping those first few years probably made it harder.

      The heat off the black asphalt threatened to melt her makeup. Garrett held the glass door open for her as he pulled on his collar. “It’s unusually warm for March.”

      Nodding, she entered a sterile and empty lobby. Green vinyl chairs lined a paneled wall. Above them were posters depicting women and children, along with warning signs of abuse or neglect. A narrow corridor led to rows of more doors.

      Without any hesitation, Garrett started down the hallway. At the far end, Sharon and an older man stepped out from one of the rooms. “Oh, Officer Kincaid, you’re early. Good. The children are here. This is Joe Ackerman. He’s your new caseworker.”

      The men shook hands and everyone else was introduced. Half of the wall behind Garrett was glass, so they could clearly see inside what looked like a conference room.

      The man stepped back through the door and spoke with a woman who stood inside holding an infant car seat. A little boy sat in an oversize chair, his feet dangling above the floor as his small hand hung over the side of the yellow blanket covering the baby.

      Anjelica touched Garrett’s arm. Looking down, he raised his eyebrows at her. She pointed to the brother and sister. “There they are.” Not sure why she was whispering, Anjelica shifted her gaze between the man standing next to her and the little boy who looked so much like him.

      His forearm tensed under her hand. He stopped talking and became still. Nothing moved.

      Sharon broke the silence. “Are you ready to meet them?” She turned to look at the kids.

      Garrett took in a deep breath. He licked his lips and his throat worked as if he were trying to swallow. Anjelica wanted to wrap him in her arms.

      Sharon continued talking, apparently oblivious to his struggles. “He attended the Head Start program. We know he can speak Spanish and English, but he hasn’t spoken since they’ve been in custody. They documented that his oral development is behind, but that isn’t unusual for a dual-language child. Pilar is physically behind. She’s not sitting up on her own yet. There are small developmental delays, but they look to be more environmental.” She sighed and looked back at the kids. “He’s protective of his sister and gets very upset if he can’t see her. There are several signs of general neglect.”

      “Such as?” Garrett asked without taking his eyes off the children.

      “He knows how to make her bottle and dress them both, and he can work a microwave. We have found him changing her diaper. For a five-year-old, that indicates to us that he was the caregiver.”

      Had she just heard him growl?

      Anjelica’s fingers tightened around his arm. Garrett’s other hand came up and covered hers.

      “He’s been appointed a child psychologist. He’s experienced a traumatic event and will need time to heal and feel safe. You’ll need patience in large supplies.” She looked at Garrett and smiled. “I’m so relieved you’re letting us place Pilar with you. I’m not sure Rio would survive being separated from his sister.”

      Garrett nodded. “Rio?”

      “At Head Start they called him Garrett, but we’ve discovered his grandmother called him Rio. The rest of the family called him River. What do you want to call him?” Sharon looked through the window at the kids.

      Garrett shrugged. “We could ask him what he wants to be called. If he wants Garrett, I’ll go by something else. Can we go in now?”

      Oh no. I’m not gonna cry. Anjelica let go of Garrett and squeezed her fingers together in front of her. With a count to five, she steadied her heartbeat.

      He paused with his hand on the door. “What do I say?”

      Sharon gave him a soft smile. “Keep it simple. I’ll introduce you. But still tell him who you are and what’s going to happen in small steps. Don’t lie or make promises you can’t keep.”

      With a nod, he walked through the door. Anjelica followed but hung back, staying close to the wall. She needed to proceed slowly. This was his time to bond with the kids. As much as she wanted to hold that baby girl, she was only a temporary babysitter. The hired help.

      The mini Garrett tucked his feet under himself and hovered over his sister. His curly dark hair hung in his face, hiding his eyes. The baby appeared to be asleep. She looked too small for a ten-month-old.

      Anjelica watched as Sharon and Garrett approached the little boy. The small body froze, becoming unnaturally still. He didn’t look at them directly but from the corner of his eye.