Today at the library I found a girl named Rachel, who is about ten or eleven, sitting on a chair in the back corner of the children’s section on the verge of tears. I’d never seen her before and asked her if she was okay. She snuffled and wiped her nose. I learned that her parents were recently divorced, and she was spending two weeks with her father. She said he obviously had no interest in being with her—it was just part of a battle between him and her mother. The one weekend she’d spent with him before was totally boring. He’d made no effort to do anything with her and told her there was some frozen pizza in the refrigerator in case she got hungry. She was missing all her friends. She wasn’t allowed to use her dad’s computer. She confessed that if she had any courage she’d run away. I asked her about her mom, and she said her mom was happy to have two weeks “free” to be with her new boyfriend. “That totally sucks,” I told her. Then I got her talking about the things she enjoys, other than being with her friends. She said she used to enjoy reading, but not so much anymore. I asked her what books she remembered liking and she named some by Beverly Cleary, so I asked her if she’d read the Beverly Cleary’s biography, A Girl from Yamhill. I found a copy on the shelf. We talked about a few other interests. What she liked in school. She said art, so we found a book of paintings and drawings by women artists. I suggested she take along her paints and sketchbooks. I gave her a list of movies available on Netflix I thought might be appropriate. I gave her my phone number and said if things got too bad she should definitely call me. I made her promise. “I could really call you?” she said. “Definitely,” I said. I was kneeling on the floor at the time, and she hugged me. It was like she didn’t want to let me go. I felt the same way. I checked out the books on my card, and she said, “I wish you were my mom.” I repeated that she should call me if things got desperate. Or even just to talk. Definitely sad, but I think I helped her some.

With Logan being gone, I wonder if I’ll get desperate and call Rachel.