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“Ah, yes, I see. Of course. You’ve drawn your hair color. Nice and yellow.” She moved her finger along to the next stick figure. “Who’s this?”
Shyly, he moved his finger and pointed at Mikey.
“It’s me? Woah, it’s great. I can see the similarities. And who’s this?” She pointed to the next stick figure.
The faintest whisper came from Andrew.
Mikey felt a strangling sensation in her throat, but she showed no emotion except encouragement. “Sorry, Andy. Who’s this one?” She slid her eyes back to the paper, careful not to put too much pressure on him.
“Theios,” he whispered the Greek word for Uncle.
Tears pricked Mikey’s eyes and she blinked them away furiously. “Theios. Loucas?”
“Yes,” he responded. His voice was thin. His words punctuated with air. He hadn’t used his vocal chords in a long time, except to scream when he had his nightmares.
Mikey wanted to jump out of her seat and whoop with excitement. But she had enough experience to know that would be the worst thing she could do. Children like Andrew weren’t consciously avoiding speech following a trauma. No, Andrew had simply been so upset, so completely wounded, that his brain had shut down. Now that it seemed to be restarting, she needed only to keep chatting to him, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.
Still, she couldn’t resist putting an arm around his shoulders and squeezing him tight. Pride was bubbling through her. “It’s a hot day today, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s very hot. But summer is hot.”
She smiled behind her hand. Yes. He was remembering his speech all right. As she’d hoped and prayed he would.
“Shall we grab our hats and go for a walk in the garden?”
His face brightened. “I’d love that!”
“Me too.”
“I’ll tell you what, Andy. You go and find your cap, and I’m going to see if Bobby wants to come with us, okay?”
“Okay.” He ran off, legs slender and skittish, feet fast on the tiled floor.
Once he’d disappeared completely from sight, she let out the cry of delight she’d been holding in. She pumped her fist in the air, and let the tears roll down her cheeks.
Bobby ran into the room, and froze, confusion on his face. Mikey was laughing and crying at the same time.
“What is it, honey?” He jogged over to her.
“Oh, Bobby.” She scraped her chair back and wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s the most wonderful news. Andrew has started to speak again.”
“What? He has? No kiddin’?” Bobby wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her clear off the ground, spinning her in a circle as he cheered along with her. “What a little champ.”
He eased her back to the ground but kept his hands locked behind her back.
Mikey was too emotional to know or care.
She was too emotional to think of anything or anyone except Andrew.
Which explained how she missed the larger than life Greek leaning against the door jam. He had arrived at the villa minutes before, and then been called to the small lounge room by the same high pitched squeal that had beckoned the American.
Only Bobby had got there
first. Loucas had seen the way she’d thrown her arms around his neck, her face a study of total pleasure as he’d hoisted her into the air. Their closeness was impossible to misinterpret.
“We were just going to go for a walk. You’ll join us?”
Loucas felt an odd lurching sensation in his chest.
