“Okay.”
I hated that I was turning an eight-year-old child into her own emergency plan.
I asked her to call Mrs. Patterson and tell her I wanted her to come over immediately.
Skyla hesitated.
“They said I wasn’t supposed to bother her unless it was an emergency.”
“This is an emergency.”
“Oh.”
That one word made my stomach twist.
She had been taught that being alone at eight years old did not qualify.
I stayed on the line while she called the neighbor from the house phone.
Two minutes later, a woman’s voice came through.
“Skyla?”
“I’m here.”
Then I heard the front door.
Mrs. Patterson had entered.
She picked up Skyla’s phone.
“Mr. Reynolds?”
“Yes.”
Her voice sounded ashamed.
“I had no idea they actually left her alone.”
“What did they tell you?”
“They said Natalie’s cousin was staying overnight.”
My jaw tightened.
“Is anyone else in the house?”
“No.”
“Did you see them leave?”
“I saw a car yesterday evening.”
“I assumed the cousin was coming later.”
“Has anyone been there since?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
I closed my eyes.
So they lied to the neighbor too.
“Can you stay with her until I get there?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m calling the police as well.”
Mrs. Patterson became quiet.
“Do you think that’s necessary?”
“Yes.”
My answer came without hesitation.
“They left an eight-year-old child unattended overnight.”
“They are currently out of state.”
“I need that documented.”
Old instincts.
Old profession.
Facts first.
I called the non-emergency line and explained everything.
The dispatcher decided to send an officer.
Then I called my neighbor.
Joseph Wright.
Joseph was seventy-one.
Retired from Delta.
The kind of man who answered late-night calls like he expected them.
“Steven,” he said.
“What’s going on?”
“I need you to watch the dog.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“A few days.”
“Maybe longer.”
“Your granddaughter?”
