“Hell, Abby, don’t point me out.” The hunched woman in the back came forward, scowling. Her brown eyes darted a side look at Mac. “Yeah, hi, I’m the asshole who sounded off. You had that creep all peaceful until I piped up. He thought I was Terry, ho, she’d be so insulted. Me and Tina heard him outside. I’m the one who hit the alarm. You hate me now, already.”
“Why?” Mac asked. “For backing us up when you could have stayed safe and toasty inside? Pleased to meet you, Jo.”
“But how’d he find us?” Ginny still sounded shrill, and the child in her arms squirmed and whined.
“It’s a good question, Ginny, and we need to find out.” Abby gave her wrist a reassuring pat. “The police will question him, and we’ll fill you all in on whatever we hear. For now, what do you say we get in out of this cold? Half of these kids don’t have jackets.”
But one of those kids wound strong little arms around Mac’s leg with a gleeful howl.
“Hey, bucko, you’re going to dump me on my kiester again.” Mac hopped to keep her balance, then lifted the boy into her arms.
“Son, you introduce yourself,” Degale said.
“Waymon!” the boy shouted. “I got a truck!”
“Waymon’s got a truck,” Mac said. She smiled at his doe-soft eyes and pudgy cheeks. “I’m in love,” she told Degale.
“Four years old, and he’s got females falling at his tennies.” Degale held out her hand. “You come with your grandma, little man, ’fore her feet freeze solid.”
“Feet,” Waymon repeated. “I got a truck.” He slithered down Mac and jumped to grab his grandmother’s fingers.
“So you’re gonna tell us what happened?” Ginny asked Abby softly. “As soon as you know?”
“Just as soon as we know,” Abby said. “Come on, let’s round up the kids. It’s way past their bedtime. I’ll come with you and help get them settled.”
“Tina and I will take care of her, Abby.” Jo picked up the little girl clinging to Ginny’s hand. “Tina will pour some cocoa down her, and we’ll sit with her awhile. We’ll be fine. You guys put in a long night already. Don’t worry about us.”
“Thanks, Jo.” Mac laid her hand on Waymon’s head. “Can I meet Tina in the morning?”
“We’re in Two.” Jo smiled. “And we’re sleeping in, I warn you now.”
“Good night, women.” Abby steered a stray child after Ginny and Jo.
“Abby?” Degale turned back to them, Waymon curled on one arm. She lifted the bat slightly. “We wouldn’t have let him mess with you two, honey.”
Abby nodded. “Good rest, dear.”
Mac lowered her voice. “Should we do a quick walk-through? These guys look fine, but others inside might be pretty shook.”
Abby smiled. “Good idea, Counselor.”
What they found pleased Mac. Women were gathering into small groups in a few of the units, and she heard spatters of the kind of raucous, relieved laughter that follows a crisis settled without bloodshed. Fireside’s residents turned to each other for support, as well as staff, and that spoke well for the diverse culture of the house. Abby and Cleo had established an atmosphere of mutual respect and caring that didn’t always exist in the stressful climate of shelters.
When Mac and Abby emerged from the last unit, Cleo and the policeman were putting final touches on the incident report. Mac snuck a quick look inside the cruiser, which still pulsed blue and red light across the dark, snowy yard. Terry’s husband appeared to have passed out in the backseat, but the other cop kept a wary eye on him from behind the wheel.
The cruiser pulled out, and they tromped back to the house, silent now in the buzz of post-crisis nerves. They gained the front porch and Abby reached for the door latch.
Locked.
“I’ve done it again,” Abby said to the door. “I’ve done it again,” she said to Cleo. She leaned her forehead against the door and sagged. “I do not bloody believe this…”
Cleo smiled smugly and twirled a ring of keys behind Abby’s back, and Mac hooted. Cleo reached up and tousled Mac’s dark hair.
“Welcome to Fireside, Counselor.”
Chapter Two
“Mac.” Cleo closed one eye and studied Mac. “Short for MacKenzie?”
Abby drummed her fingers on the arm of her rocking chair. Her jangled nerves were only now beginning to calm down after the night’s excitement. She and Cleo and Mac had settled around the roaring fireplace mere minutes ago, but the interrogation was on. She could only hope their new colleague was up for it.
“Melissa? Missy?” Cleo dug her slippered feet under the thick cushion of the couch and pursed her full lips. “Melisande?”
“It’s Macawai.” Mac was sprawled on her back in front of the crackling fire, her long legs crossed on the flagstone floor.
Cleo’s brow arched. “Macky what?”
Mac’s smile was drowsy. “Macawai Kaya Laurie.”
“What a unique name, Mac.” Abby was pleased to see her relaxed and comfortable at last, after such a rocky introduction to her new home. “Is it Native American?”
Mac nodded. “Macawai is Sioux for ‘generous.’ Guess they didn’t have a word for ‘glutton.’”
Cleo coughed into her fist. “And Kaya?”
“Hopi, for ‘older sister.’ My folks wanted a large family, but turns out I was it.” Mac winced and turned gingerly on her side. Her rich green eyes were warm with friendly interest. “What about you, Doc? Are you an Abigail?”
“I are, yes.” Abby folded her legs onto the cushion of her hickory rocking chair. “It means ‘father rejoices,’ from the English. I spent several years in London as a child. My dad was quite the Anglophile.” She dropped her eyes. She missed him more with every passing year. The pain of missing him was only slightly harder than her regret for failing him.
When she looked up again, Mac was regarding her with quiet sympathy. Her rugged features were unusually expressive, Abby noted, useful in a counselor’s calling. In a single glance, Mac had sensed and acknowledged a loss Abby hadn’t even had to explain.
“And the name of our African queen has the same meaning.” Abby smiled at Cleo. “Doesn’t it? Cleopatra, ‘glory of the father’?”
“It’s just Cleo. My patra had nothing to do with my glory.” Cleo sipped steaming cider from the large mug balanced on her breast. “So, Macky-wai, sounds like you were born in the desert Southwest. But Viv tells us she found you up in Seattle?”
“Seattle, sí,” Mac said. “By way of Tempe, Denver, Cheyenne, and Portland.”
Cleo let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of U-Hauling for your tender years.”
“It sure is.” Mac watched the flames, and Abby thought she saw a wistfulness in her expression. “I met Vivian when she came to Seattle to visit her sister, Ruth, at Christmas. Ruth was my boss at the shelter there. We all loved what Vivian told us about Fireside.”
“Well, we have a rather unusual setup here.” Mac turned stiffly onto her back. Abby lifted a small pillow from the nearby sofa and tossed it to her. “Put this under your knees, Mac. It might help.”
“Help her what?” Cleo asked.
“Mac’s back is hurting her tonight.”
“Aw, that crash onto your butt must have been fun.” A hint of real sympathy softened Cleo’s tone. “You need some aspirin?”
“Took some, thanks.” Mac adjusted the pillow under her knees and lay down again, folding her hands contentedly over her waist. Her broad shoulders stretched the soft cotton fabric of a well-worn gray T-shirt, and denim cut-offs revealed muscled legs. Mac seemed easily comfortable in their company, an ability Abby envied. It took her long weeks to truly relax around new people. Cleo had terrified her for the first month she lived at Fireside, but then Cleo would terrify a seasoned Amazon warrior.
“I’ve never worked in a program with live-in staff.” Mac groped for her mug of cider on the low table beside her. “Small group homes, maybe, but not a residential model like this.”
&n
bsp; “That’s on account of Viv is psychotic.” Cleo rotated her head slowly, to a series of muted snaps. “No way this model will work.”
“True, it goes against everything we know about healthy professional boundaries.” Abby was unfazed by Cleo’s scowl. She knew Cleo was fiercely loyal to both Vivian and Fireside, and believed in their work with all her heart. “Social service workers are taught from day one that it’s crucial to separate their jobs and home lives. Living on-site presents some personal challenges.”
“Vivian said the upper floor of this main house is reserved for staff.” Mac nodded toward the carpeted staircase. “That’s more personal space than I’ve ever had.”
Cleo jerked her chin at Abby. “Yeah, but you’re sharing it with a maniac who will sneak into your room at night and drug you in your sleep.”
Abby consulted the heavens. “Cleo, I happened to leave one smoking cessation brochure on your bedside table, that hardly constitutes—”
“Staff’s got to be single.” Cleo eyed Mac again. “No wives-slash-husbands, no dependent kids.”
“Check and check,” Mac replied. “Not inclined to acquire either anytime soon.”
Cleo rubbed the back of her neck. “Your license up to date?”
“It is in Washington state. Vivian’s started the paperwork for Virginia.”
“Much experience in DV?”
“Cleo, honestly.” Abby slid to the edge of the rocking chair. She tapped her knees. “Speaking of pains in the neck, get over here.”
“Really?” Cleo’s dark eyes lit up. “Hot doggy.”
She churned her legs and drew her feet from under the sofa cushion, then scrambled across the floor on her hands and knees to Abby’s chair. Abby noted with some amusement that along with her faded red sweats, Cleo was wearing the enormous bear-claw slippers that were her habitual nightly attire. They rather detracted from her butch ambience.
Cleo settled on the floor between Abby’s knees and extended her short legs, which put one of her shaggy slippers directly in Mac’s face. Mac snorted laughter and scratched the claws as if greeting a puppy.
“This here is Abby’s only redeeming feature.” Cleo closed her eyes as Abby’s fingers probed gently at the base of her neck. “She gives primo massage.”
“I might need a sledgehammer to break this up.” Abby frowned, hoping the tension in Cleo’s shoulders wasn’t signaling the onset of one of her disabling headaches. She had grown very fond of Cleo in the ten months they had worked together. She just wished she could convince her to take better care of herself.
Abby glanced down at Mac. “I’m glad you’re not easily intimidated by interrogation, Mac.”
“I was expecting the questions, Abby. Vivian was real clear that the two of you get final say on my hire. We’re giving it a month to see if it’s a good match.”
“Hell, you’ve got to be better than the twinkie.” Cleo’s brows lowered over her closed eyes.
A chuckle escaped Abby before she could suppress it.
“The twinkie?” Mac asked.
“Your predecessor.” Abby smoothed the heel of her hand at the base of Cleo’s neck. “I’m afraid the first counselor Vivian hired didn’t work out very well.”
“She was a twinkie,” Cleo muttered. “Jazz Hemlock, her name was, my right hand to God. She told us, many times, that she was drawn to Fireside to nurture our feministic awarement.”
Mac sputtered gently into her mug. “Really?”
“She lasted three weeks. She lasted that long only because Abby kept me on a spiked collar whenever we were in the same room.” Cleo purred like a cat as the muscles beneath Abby’s hands began to relax. “That’s nice, Ab.”
“What did you think of her, Abby?” Mac asked.
Abby thought for a moment, feeling Mac’s gaze. “She was just very young, emotionally, for this kind of work. It was too important to Jazz that the residents here accept the solutions she offered. She had a hard time grasping that we’re not really about directing women’s lives for them.” She shrugged. “She was just overwhelmed, finally.”
They were silent for a while, the soft Vivaldi lending a pleasant accompaniment to the crackling flames.
“You’re gay, right?”
“Cleo!”
“Mmph!” Cleo slapped at the fingers Abby clasped over her mouth. “We kind of have to know, Abigail.”
“You simply don’t ask such things three hours after meeting—”
“Hey, some of the women we serve are gay. We need dykes on the staff. I’ve been Fireside’s token lesbian for—”
“Fine, but could we let the poor woman spend the night before we quiz her on her sexual history?” Abby offered Mac an apologetic look, but Mac was listening cheerfully, apparently enjoying the debate. Abby tapped Cleo’s head gently. “Don’t make me get the spiked collar out again.”
Cleo nudged Mac’s shoulder with her furry slipper. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. It’s no secret where I fall on the GLBTQ continuum.” Mac smiled reassurance at Abby. “I’m a B, for bachelor. Were I not a bachelor, I’d have a lady on my arm.”
“See, she’d have a lady on her arm.” Cleo twisted and smiled smugly up at Abby. “Now we know, and how hard was that?”
“What’s going to happen to—is it Terry?” Mac’s expression sobered. “The woman whose husband visited tonight. Can the cops hold him long?”
“Depends.” Cleo rotated her head slowly. “He has a few priors. I’ll check on his chances for bail tomorrow.”
“We know he’ll be out eventually.” Abby gave Cleo’s shoulders a finishing pat, remembering the fear in Terry’s voice. She had reached her at her sister’s house to inform her of the intrusion, and she knew the news had awakened a hundred nightmares for the young mother. “I’m afraid she’ll need an exit strategy, Cleo.”
Cleo released a grunt of exasperation that became an explosive cough. “Robin just got settled in kindergarten, Abby. She loves it.”
“I know she does.”
“And Terry’s halfway through that culinary arts training.”
“Cleo, her husband knows where they live.” Abby settled back into the rocker and rested her head against the hickory wood. “If he violated a restraining order once, he might do it again. They’re not safe here any longer.”
“So we ship them off to another shelter.” Muddy anger was rising in Cleo’s eyes. “Rip them out of another home. Damn, why do we tell women they need to come to us for their own protection, if that’s the best we can do?”
Abby was silent. She hated this as much as Cleo did, and she could offer no defense. Mac was watching the flames quietly.
“I need a smoke.” Cleo lumbered to her feet and stalked toward the wide staircase at the end of the cavernous living room. She paused and turned back, and her grudging smile was genuine. “You two get some good sleep.”
“You too, honey. Take those vitamins in the morning.” Abby watched Cleo trudge up the stairs, despondence in every line of her body.
“She cares a lot about this place.” Mac’s low voice drew Abby back.
“Passionately.” Abby nodded. “Cleo is passionate about many good things.”
She wondered if Mac had seen the pistol Cleo quickly concealed in her jacket earlier tonight. Vivian had doubtless given Mac the basics about the present staff. Eventually, their new counselor might fairly wonder why an attorney who could be making huge sums of money had settled for the meager salaries of social service. Mac might fairly wonder why a board-certified doctor had made the same choice.
“Ah, listen,” Mac whispered suddenly.
Abby had hardly registered the faint chiming of the grandfather clock in the corner, but now the musical midnight sequence reached her. She was struck by the childlike pleasure in Mac’s eyes as she drank in the notes. Mac could have been any age at that moment, suspended in a simple enjoyment that banished thoughts of violent abusers and pistols and anyone’s past.
The chimes faded. Abb
y rose from the rocking chair and extended a hand to Mac, and for the second time that evening, helped her to her feet. “You’ll still be here in the morning, Mac, won’t you? We haven’t chased you off entirely?”
Mac smiled down at her. A dimple appeared in her cheek, incongruous given her obvious physical strength, and rather endearing. “I’ll be here, ma’am. I’d like to think I’m made of stern enough stuff to weather a little opening night drama. Want to hear my first impressions?”
“I would, yes.”
“I think you and Cleo and Vivian have founded an excellent program here, Abby. I’m going to work hard to do well by this place.”
Abby realized she was still holding Mac’s hand, and she released it with a friendly pat. “Well, you’ve made an impressive first impression tonight yourself, Counselor. May I show you to your room?”
“I’d be pleased.”
“Let me help with your bag. Your back’s had enough excitement for one evening.” Abby hefted the strap of Mac’s duffel bag over her shoulder. She decided to leave the still-glowing coals alive in the hearth, liking the notion of their low flickering keeping watch over the sleeping house. Abby’s own sleep had been fitful lately, but she was weary enough tonight to relish the thought of her cool sheets.
Mac followed her up the stairs, her boots whispering over the carpeted tread. Abby stumbled, trying to balance the heavy duffel, and Mac steadied her with one quick hand beneath her arm.
“Nice catch, Counselor.”
“Think nothing of it, Doc.”
Abby was beginning to feel a welcome confidence that in this new hire, it was Fireside that had scored a nice catch.
*
She didn’t like to go inside places, so she stayed outside most the time. She never got cold or hot, so outside was good. She looked through the window and saw the woman disappear upstairs, with the other lady. The woman looked sleepy and so she frowned, worried. She always tried to fall asleep before the woman did. She didn’t like to be awake while the woman was asleep, because what if something happened and she didn’t know what to do. And also it was too lonely when the woman was asleep.
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