Free Her Unexpected Family by Ruth Logan Herne

problems, Dolly could work the crowd. “Bee, ba. Beeeees.”
    â€œShe’s saying please,” Grant told Emily. “She knows she’s supposed to, but rarely does it. Should I give her the bell?”
    â€œDid she walk to you?”
    He frowned and when he did, it was Dolly’s frown, just bigger and even more concerned.
    â€œToughen up, Dad.”
    â€œIt’s hard,” he muttered, but he stood his ground. “Come get it, Doll-face.”
    â€œOh, what a cute nickname. I love it.”
    Dolly wasn’t impressed with their banter. She noticed her brother playing quietly and quickly dropped down. She took off in his direction.
    Grant jangled the bell softly, intermittently. She whirled around, still on all fours, assessing the situation. At that moment, Emily understood part of Grant’s problem. Because Dolly’s appearance was more normal than most kids with her challenges, the expectation for her to process normally was high. Grant had mentioned that.
    But the bright look in her eye indicated she was doing a mental assessment, much like Emily had noticed at the office when they first met, and that could mean her reasoning was probably in the higher subnormal range. Either way, Dolly was sizing up the situation and making a choice, and that was pretty solid behavior to work with. She worked the cymbals again, then slid back to the floor. “Come here, precious.”
    â€œBa!” Dolly crawled back her way, pulled herself up on Emily, patted her cheek and smiled. “Oh, ba!”
    â€œYou’re pretty, too,” Emily interpreted, smiling. “Here you go.” She handed Dolly a pair of slightly bigger cymbals and showed her how to clang them. “Ding! Ding! Ding!”
    To take the cymbals, Dolly had to let go of Emily and the couch. Emily put a shiny cymbal in each hand and when Grant called Dolly’s name, she turned his way, beaming. “Ding! Ding!” She clapped the two cymbals together, off center, but close enough to create music. “Ding, Da!”
    â€œYou’re making music, Doll-face.” Grant smiled at her and he started to cross the room, but Emily shook her head.
    â€œStay right there. Squat down, open your arms and call her, as if she comes running to you every day.”
    He sent her a funny look, but did it, and then...
    Oh, then!
    Dolly clanged her cymbals, grinned in delight and took a step as if she’d been doing it forever. Then she stopped, made music again and took another step, a happy smile brightening her face. She repeated the action until she got to Grant’s side. “Doll-face, you did it! You walked to Daddy!”
    â€œTing! Ting! Da!”
    â€œYou made music and walked to Daddy, Dolly.” Emily crossed the room and hugged her, then smiled right into her china-doll eyes. “You did it! Big girl!”
    â€œI have some?” Timmy noticed the instruments, stood up and came their way. “Music for Tim?”
    â€œAbsolutely.” Emily reached into her bag and withdrew a xylophone and a little horn. She showed him both instruments and let him pick. He picked the horn, then marched around the room, tooting and strutting, the leader of the band.
    Dolly got down on all fours and followed him, but she couldn’t keep up. Finally she sat back on her bottom and wailed.
    â€œAnd this is where you would normally pick her up and move her closer, but let’s see what she does if we just walk away,” Emily whispered. She was close enough to Grant to note the way his hair curled around the back of his ear, enough to say Dolly’s curls came from her daddy. When he followed her toward the kitchen, a whiff of some inviting, guy-scented soap took precedence over old breakfast dishes.
    Dolly fussed and scolded in unintelligible gibberish, while Tim kept marching. She looked at them.
    They pretended not to notice.
    â€œDa!” she yelled, but without her normal force.
    They