Christmas Sugar (Insta-Spark)

At least the water was hot and the pressure in the shower strong. It felt good pounding on my back. I got out and dried off, throwing on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. I realized I had only brought dress shoes with me, so I pulled on a pair of socks and decided to head downstairs to find out what the hell took so long to bring up a bottle of alcohol. Somehow, I doubted my lack of shoes would cause any great disturbance.

I yanked open my door, stepped into the hall, and froze. Sitting on the floor a little way down the hall, was a child, playing quietly with a doll. I looked up and down the empty corridor, then back at her. She gazed up at me curiously, her wide green eyes calm. Reddish colored hair, long and curly, tumbled past her shoulders, and she was dressed in fuzzy pajamas with slippers on her feet.

For a minute, I considered stepping back into my room and shutting the door. Children made me nervous. They were highly unpredictable—I never knew what they were going to do or say. Their hands were usually sticky, they often wanted hugs, or to feed you something they had already chewed. They darted places quickly and spoke in a language I often had trouble understanding, and the one down the hall didn’t have a parent around to interpret.

As if she knew what I was thinking, she stood and smiled brightly at me.

“Hi!”

“Um, hello.”

“I’m Nowowl. Wif two oowls.”

What? She had owls?

I cleared my throat. “Pardon?”

She frowned and stepped closer. “N-o-e-owl-owl-e. Dat’s how you spewl it.” She looked proud when she finished her sentence. “My mommy taught me.”

I mulled over her words in my head, then realized what she was saying.

“Noelle? That’s your name?”

She clapped her hands, grinning widely. I noticed she was missing her two front teeth, which explained her odd speech pattern. “Yeth! What’s yours?”

“I’m Dylan Maxwell.”

She pursed her lips. “Dats a big name. And it has owls in it. I has twouba wif owls.”

For some reason, I bit back a grin. Considering the large gap in her teeth, I’d say she had trouble with H, L, R, and undoubtedly, a few other consonants. Some of her S’s were slurred, while others were clear. Strangely enough, I found it quite endearing rather than annoying. She didn’t make me nervous at all. She was cute, actually.

“You can call me Dylan,” I offered.

She held out her surprisingly clean hand. “Hewwo, Dywan.”

Now, I was smiling. L’s were a big issue, it seemed.

I folded my much larger hand over hers and shook it gently. “Hello, Noelle. That’s a pretty name.”

She nodded. “My birfday is on twitmath. Mommy thays I was the best gift eveh.”

“I bet she does.” I cleared my throat again. “Where, ah, is your mommy . . . and daddy?”

“I not have a daddy.”

“Oh. Your mommy, then?”

“Mommy is wooking.”

“Where does she work?”

“Heewer.”

I frowned. Her mother worked here and left her alone while she did so? That was unacceptable. The child was no more than four—maybe younger. Even I knew that was too young to be alone. Anger started to burn.

“And you’re all alone?”

“No. Sef is wooking afta me.”