“And did you understand me?”
“Yes.”
Mrs.
Thompson looked satisfied.
Ruby continued before Edward could speak.
“I also understood that they were standing in rooms where I had to work.
I talked to my mop.
I talked to statues.
I talked to stuffed animals.
Sometimes they laughed.
Sometimes they stayed.”
She lifted one shoulder.
“I wasn’t trying to fix them.”
Her eyes went to Olly and Liam.
“I didn’t think they were broken.”
Edward flinched.
Mrs.
Thompson’s face hardened.
“That’s a lovely sentiment, but you’re not qualified to make decisions about traumatized children.”
Ruby nodded once.
“You’re right.
I’m not.”
That answer seemed to surprise the nanny.
Ruby set her cleaning basket on the floor.
“I’m qualified to clean.
I’m qualified to know when a six-year-old doesn’t want an adult staring at him.
And I’m qualified to know that when a child finally says hello, you don’t make him perform it again for everybody in the house.”
Silence filled the office.
Edward remembered what he had done the first time a therapist told him one of the twins had made a sound during a session.
He had rushed home.
He had knelt in front of them at dinner.
“Say it again.”
They had stared at their plates.
“Come on, boys.
Just one word.”
Nothing.
He had mistaken desperation for love.
He had made every sound carry the weight of saving him.
Edward looked at his sons.
“Olly.
Liam.”
Mrs.
Thompson immediately turned toward them.
Edward raised one hand.
“No.
Nobody asks them to speak.”
He left the desk and crouched several feet from the boys.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
Olly watched him carefully.
Edward swallowed.
“I just want you to know Ruby isn’t in trouble because of you.”
Liam’s fingers tightened around his brother’s hand.
Mrs.
Thompson started, “Mr.
Royce—”
“Please don’t.”
