At 2½ years old, Maci was a cute, happy little girl. She liked the beach and dancing.
Darin Jones, 54, was enjoying retirement after 30 years in law enforcement. He spent 28 years with the Indian River County Sheriff’s Office, including several as captain of its investigation unit.
Something happened in late September 2017 that caused their lives to intersect.
Maci’s mother had begun a new job and left the child with a boyfriend, Stevie Wallace, 26, in her south Indian River County rental home.
On Sept. 20, 2017, the mother was called home after Wallace told her his toddler son had gotten into a fight with Maci, leaving her bruised, deputies reported.
Two days later, Maci was lethargic and vomiting. The mother told deputies she thought her condition stemmed from the alleged fight.
Later that day, the mother and Wallace took Maci to Indian River Medical Center. What doctors found, however, didn't stem from a fight between toddlers, deputies said.
Maci had severe eye damage and brain swelling. Her brain was bleeding in way physicians at the hospital said was “inoperable,” according to sheriff’s reports.
The injuries were so severe, Dr. David Walters, a child protection team physician, told deputies Maci suffered “purposefully” inflicted trauma committed by an adult. The trauma was equivalent to injuries caused by falling three stories onto cement or being thrown while unbuckled in a speeding, crashing vehicle.
It was likely her brain cells would continue to die and that even the best medical intervention might not keep her alive, Walters told deputies.
She was taken to Palm Beach Children's Hospital at St. Mary's Medical Center, where doctors gave her little chance of survival. She remained in critical condition, undergoing multiple surgeries.
Meanwhile, Maci’s mother found it difficult to juggle work, eviction proceedings and an investigation by state child welfare officials while being with her daughter in West Palm Beach. She reached out to old friends.
“She called us,” said Jones, the father of three grown children who is married to Lisa Jones, 50. Maci’s mother was a close friend of one of the Jones daughters in elementary and middle schools.
“She looked at us as parents,” Jones said of Maci’s mom, who asked the Joneses to serve temporarily as foster parents. “But we didn’t know the whole story.”
It wasn't until a month after the abuse, when Maci came out of a coma, that the Joneses saw her in the hospital. Once there, it took only a few seconds for the couple to realize they had to help.
“All you had to do was look in that’s baby’s eyes,” the retired sheriff's captain said. “She’s laying there, and she’s so helpless. … I cried. How can you do that to a little girl?”
Over the next two months, the Joneses were at Maci's bedside regularly. Initially given no chance of survival by some doctors, Maci prevailed, Jones said.
Maci’s birth parents, in their 20s, unmarried and in other relationships, realized there was no way they’d be able to care for their brain-damaged child, Jones said.
Just after Christmas last year, Maci went home with the Joneses, who became foster parents with the goal of adopting her.
“They told us when we brought her home it was going to be like having a newborn baby," Jones said. "She was going to have to start learning everything all over again.”
Able to eat only thick liquids through a straw, Maci was down to 17 pounds just three months before turning 3. She could no longer speak or see properly, walk or move her left side. About 80 percent of her right side was damaged, Jones said.
Until about six weeks ago, when five titanium plates replaced the right side of her damaged skull, Maci had to wear a helmet to protect her brain.
With doctors’ appointments, therapy two hours a day three times a week, having to watch Maci fulltime and being the only parent able to pick her up, Jones sold his Off the Rail restaurant.
I joined Maci and the Joneses at recent physical and speech therapy sessions, where Maci also learns sign language. They were energetic and optimistic.
In the waiting room, Jones held Maci until she wanted to scoot on her right side, across the floor to color in some books. She’s outgoing and likes to sing.
Her therapists make Maci work hard but try to keep things fun. She's tasked with using her right hand to put plastic rings on a stand, keeping her balance on a swing and taking the first steps under her own power in braces.
Maci keeps smiling and often is tired after therapy, Jones said.
“She works so hard just to talk,” he said.
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