Fireside

by Cate Culpepper

  “Vivian?” Mac rose. “Mind if I sit in on this?”

  “I don’t mind if our new lady doesn’t.” Vivian was her way to the entry. “It’s a good idea, Mac. We’ll ask her.”

  Abby paused at the swinging door to the kitchen and looked back at Mac, and Mac felt that small, secret muscle in her sex tighten again. Abby smiled and went through the door.

  Mac watched it swing shut, wondering at the sadness she had seen in Abby’s smile. She might have expected a certain awkwardness between them, after that suddenly intense embrace. But a counselor had to be adept at reading silent nuance in expressions, and there had been regret in Abby’s eyes, even apology. It might be important to find a few minutes alone with her later in the day, to be sure she was all right.

  Then it occurred to Mac that more time alone with Abby, so soon after that odd moment, wasn’t necessarily a wise call today. Not given her newly awakened and weirdly contrary hormones. Better that she focus on why she was here, on Fireside.

  “Inez, meet Mac and Cleo, two of our staff.” Vivian appeared in the entry, accompanied by a slender Latina woman and a girl who looked about six, almost lost in the folds of her mother’s coat.

  “Hi,” the woman mumbled. She seemed far too young to have mothered this child, but her eyes were old and wary. She nudged the girl with her elbow. “Say hi, Lena.”

  “Lo,” the girl whispered.

  “You two come on in and have a seat.” Vivian ushered them to the sofa. “We’ve got paperwork to do. Might as well get comfortable.”

  Cleo waited until they settled stiffly side by side on the couch. Then she crouched on her heels, her sturdy body oddly graceful, to meet the child’s eye level. “You all look pretty cold. You a coffee drinker, Inez?”

  “I could use some.” Inez was fumbling through some papers in a worn backpack.

  “Are you a coffee drinker, Lena?”

  “Me?” The girl blinked at Cleo. “Uh-uh.”

  “Hm. Wonder what else we got in there.” Cleo scratched her chin. “How about prune juice, you like prune juice?”

  “Yuck,” Lena giggled. “Don’t want no prune juice!”

  “You take what they got, Lena, be nice.” Inez’s voice was low.

  “Well, we might have some hot chocolate. I was about to heat some up myself.” Cleo smiled at Lena, and Mac was introduced to an entirely different woman in the sweetness of that smile. “How about it?”

  “Yeah, hot chocolate.” Lena beamed.

  Cleo nodded and stood up. “One coffee, one cocoa, be right back.”

  Mac caught Vivian’s eye. “Inez, would you two mind if I sat in on your talk with Vivian? I’m new here myself. I’d like to see how things work.”

  “Okay with me,” Inez said. The little girl nodded solemnly.

  Mac settled into the hickory rocking chair she already considered Abby’s as Vivian brought the paperwork back to their circle. Lena looked at Mac curiously, her short legs tapping a rhythm on the cushion’s edge.

  “Lena.” Mac rested her elbows on her knees. “Is that short for Angelina?”

  “Angelina.” The girl nodded.

  “Pretty name.”

  “My mom, she calls me Lena, but my friends, all my friends call me Angel, and then my teacher, she call me Angelina, and then my daddy—”

  “Hush, Lena, Jesus.” Inez nudged the child again and she subsided, still jiggling her legs and smiling at Mac. Inez stared at Vivian. “Do we have a curfew here? We had a curfew, that other shelter.”

  “We don’t do nightly bed checks here, if that’s what you mean.” Vivian balanced a clipboard on one elegant knee and uncapped a fountain pen. Mac appreciated her willingness to transfer her hand-written notes to the laptop later; not having that big screen between them made for a more personal approach. “Fireside is a transitional housing program, and the rules are a little different from the emergency shelter you came from.”

  “Good thing.” Inez licked two of her fingertips and smoothed Lena’s bangs off her forehead.

  “But the rules we have are enforced,” Vivian continued pleasantly. “Our children attend school. Our residents meet regularly with staff. No visitors are allowed on the property, as we keep our location as secret as possible—”

  “Lena didn’t miss a day of school all year,” Inez interrupted. “She does real good in her classes. You come into our place every day? Every day I got to meet with you?”

  “We’ll see a lot of you this first week.” Vivian nodded. “The doctor on our staff does a health screening, and you’ll have case management to help with goals and resources—”

  “I don’t need help with goals.” Inez zipped her backpack shut, a sullen sound. “I got my business organized. Lena’s up on all her shots, so we really don’t need a doctor, either.”

  “Well, you’ve got a fine doctor, so best use her while you can.” Vivian ignored Inez’s sigh. “Abby’s a family physician. She can prescribe medications if there’s need. At Fireside you have case management, medical care, counseling services, and legal help, all under one sturdy roof. And everything is included in your rent, no extra fees.”

  “We gotta pay to stay here, right?”

  “Indeed,” Vivian said. “Thirty percent of your income, whatever it is.”

  “We don’t get but about four hundred bucks a month from the state.” Inez still watched Vivian with hooded eyes, but she was listening carefully.

  “Then your rent for a two-bedroom furnished unit, utilities included, will be about a hundred and thirty dollars a month. And we have some funding for job training, so you can look forward to kissing off welfare someday.”

  “You guys pay for a computer class?” Inez flicked a glance at Mac. “I was good with computers at school.”

  “Lots of jobs in computers, with the right training,” Mac said. “You and I can check out the community college in town.”

  Inez’s shoulders were losing a little of their stiffness. Mac noted it, but she was in no hurry to coax those shoulders soft. This young woman had cultivated her anger carefully over time. She wore it around her like a cloak. Mac believed many women could benefit from a goodly dose of righteous rage. She remembered how she’d needed her own.

  It took courage for anyone to leave an abusive relationship. But Mac hadn’t been able to break free until she found rage. A simple, marrow-deep fury that the woman she loved would take the gift of her trust and shatter it, repeatedly and completely.

  Mac remembered the last time she saw Hattie. Mac had been leaving the hospital and found her waiting outside. Hattie was leaning against her car, tossing her keys in her hand, her face filled with the tortured regret Mac could have predicted. Mac paused when she reached her, just for a moment. She spat at the ground at Hattie’s feet, and limped on. As far as Mac was concerned, the rage that Inez harbored might prove a useful ally, if channeled wisely and well.

  She watched Inez’s thin arm wrap around Lena as Vivian took them through the intake forms. Mac figured her morning run had eased enough of the residual stiffness in her back that she could help Inez haul her stuff to their unit when they were ready.

  Then she wanted to meet the women in the east wing, if they were up. She wanted to see Waymon’s truck. She had to set up a schedule for the first week, introductory sessions, a peer support group. She needed a basket of toys and art supplies for her office, for sessions with kids. The light tingling sensation filled Mac’s hands again.

  A full day, Abby had promised, and it looked to be one. The first of a long string of them, beneath Fireside’s sturdy roof. Mac rested the crook of her arm over the back of the rocking chair and winked at Lena, as Vivian’s voice lilted on.

  Chapter Four

  Abby finished polishing the pedestal sink in her small infirmary, caressing the white porcelain now more than scrubbing it. She folded the cloth and turned to regard her gleaming workspace with a distinct sense of satisfaction. Woe betide any germ foolhardy enough to threaten a resident on Abby
Glenn’s medical turf.

  A high-pitched squeal drew her to the small window that looked out over their spacious front yard. She brushed the curtain aside. Mac and Inez’s little girl, Lena, were having a high old time constructing a curvaceous snowwoman in the center of the blanket of white within the circular driveway. They had packed one snowy arm raised in friendly greeting, a cheery welcome to anyone approaching the main house.

  That the figure was female was richly evident, as Mac and Lena were industriously patting more snow around her already formidable breasts. Abby’s gaze lingered on Mac, and she smiled. She could be watching two eight-year-old girls at play. Mac’s cheeks were flushed from the cold, and her eyes danced as she laughed at the size of Lena’s snow-nipple.

  Yet her hands were gentle around the little girl’s waist, lifting her so she could pat down the top of the snowwoman’s head. Mac was easily adult again, careful as she lowered Lena to the ground and spoke to her, focused entirely on the needs of this one small client. Lena nodded solemnly to whatever Mac had said, and answered her.

  Abby was seeing two free spirits at play, but she was also watching a skillful professional at work. She recalled poor Jazz as being rather hapless when it came to counseling the shelter’s children. She couldn’t seem to get past simply sitting even her youngest clients in a chair in her office, and expecting them to open up about the traumas they’d suffered. But Abby knew Mac was conducting a therapy session before her eyes, an hour of apparent play with a child who might more easily confide her fears when she was relaxed and happy. She was beginning to appreciate what a find Vivian had conjured from Seattle.

  She saw Mac brush Lena’s tumbling hair off her face, and a light warmth filled her, almost a longing. Abby wondered what it would have been like to have someone like Mac in her life when she was eight years old. She couldn’t imagine her own mother brushing back her hair with such easy affection. Anything she knew about tenderness in parenting she had learned from her father. She was grateful their residents’ kids now had a counselor able to express simple kindness so naturally.

  Abby heard a car pulling into the drive. Good, Cleo was back from taking Inez to her deposition in town. It was always nice when they managed to end their workdays at approximately the same hour. In the two weeks since Mac had joined them, they were getting better at doing that. They had started to have dinner together more often now, and it felt like a slight letdown if one of them wasn’t there.

  Abby turned and regarded the infirmary once more before she put it to bed for the night. Mac had her genius for finding the right physical space to tend the needs of her people, and Abby had hers. She flipped the bar of the standing scale with one finger, then took a silent inventory of the spotless jars and small instruments set out on the counter. The infirmary was orderly, well-stocked and stringently clean, but less forbidding than the traditional medical station. The fresh scent of the small pine boughs Abby had tucked on a corner shelf helped soften the smell of disinfectant, and colorful posters drew the eye away from shining, sterile surfaces.

  The clinic Abby had worked in before she came to Fireside had been much larger. The equipment had been state of the art, the medical suites expansive. Certainly the pay had been more lavish. But Abby took more pride in this small healing space than any office she’d ever known, because she had earned it.

  Abby hesitated, her hand hovering over the counter, examining that thought. Yes, she had earned her home here—bought and paid for it, in every way but monetarily. She needed this place. She had come here for healing, just as much as any woman who sought refuge at this shelter. She did honorable work here, with families who truly needed her help, women who could never afford the high-priced services of a private clinic. She was finally on the right path, and she intended to stay there.

  Abby started as a short scream sounded from the front yard, unnerving even through the closed window. She pulled back the curtain, and at first saw nothing but the abandoned snowwoman, her arm held high in greeting. Then Abby looked past it and saw Cleo kneeling beside Lena, who lay in the snow next to Cleo’s Jeep. Inez was just dropping down beside her daughter, and Mac was moving quickly toward them.

  Abby switched to automatic, lifting her newly stocked medical bag out of its cupboard and walking swiftly through the living room to the front door. Even on alert, she tried not to give in to worst-case scenarios. She was almost certain she had heard the Jeep’s faint backfire as its engine stopped, almost a full minute ago. It was unlikely Lena had been run down.

  She stepped onto the porch, then trotted down the steps to the yard. Lena was unleashing another ear-splitting wail, which Abby considered a good sign. She had worked on enough pediatric wards to distinguish the cries of children, and this sounded more like fear and shock than sustained agony. She kicked through the snow to the group huddled beside the car.

  “Hush, mijita, hush!” Inez’s hands were trembling as she cradled Lena’s face, which was splashed with blood. “I’m so sorry, angel.”

  Mac had crouched at Lena’s other side and was holding a folded bandana to the girl’s nose. She shifted quickly to make room for Abby.

  “We’d just parked, and Lena ran up to say hello to her mom.” Cleo spoke from behind Abby, her voice a bit timorous. She knew Cleo didn’t do well with blood. “I didn’t see her, and neither did Inez. When she opened the door, it smacked her in the face.”

  “And gave her quite a bloody nose, I see.” Cold wetness sank through the knees of Abby’s jeans as she knelt in the snow and lifted Inez’s hands gently from Lena’s face. “Did she lose consciousness?”

  “No,” Mac answered. “She cried out right away.”

  The little girl’s eyes were screwed shut and her cheeks were streaked with tears, and her yawning mouth revealed a missing front tooth. Abby did a fast preliminary check and saw no other signs of injury. She had just updated Lena’s medical chart last week, and knew she had no serious health conditions that might complicate a nosebleed. The blood was still trickling steadily, but it wasn’t gushing, and there was no sign of fracture.

  It was the shape of Lena’s small body as she lay in the snow that brought it on, a brief, painful flood of memory. In those few seconds, taking in the little girl’s splayed limbs, Abby remembered the boy. He hadn’t been much older than Lena, and about her size, small for his age. He had been bleeding too.

  Lena’s screams had subsided into sobs, and Abby gave herself a quick mental shake, dispersing the past like snowdrift. She could feel Inez’s anxious gaze, and she offered her a reassuring smile.

  “Lena, you took a knock to your nose, and it seems you’ve lost a baby tooth, but you’re going to be just fine. Let’s take you inside and get you warm and dry. Here, keep this under your nose.”

  Abby gestured to Inez, and together they helped Lena stand. Cleo bent to pick up the child, but Mac rested a hand on Cleo’s arm and nodded toward Inez, who was already lifting the girl into her arms. She struggled a little, as she wasn’t that much bigger than her daughter, but then cradled her tightly, crooning comfort. Cleo tipped her chin at Mac in thanks, and escorted Inez and Lena carefully through the snow toward the house.

  Abby snapped her bag shut and fell into step next to Mac. “Poor Inez. She’s paler than Lena.”

  “Cleo’s paler than both of them.” Mac returned Abby’s smile. “You don’t think we’ll need to take Lena into town?”

  “Not unless I see something more worrisome inside.” A breeze blew a lock of Abby’s hair into her eyes, and before she could lift her hand, Mac’s fingers brushed it gently off her forehead. Abby kept her gaze on the ground as they walked together, wanting to remember exactly the sensation of solace she found in that brief touch.

  “You all right, Doc?” Mac asked. “Back there, you looked a little rattled for a moment.”

  Abby shook her head dismissively. “Just remembering another patient, someone I couldn’t help. A long time ago. Mac, would you mind joining us while I look at Lena?
She seems comfortable with you.”

  “Sure, I’m there.”

  Inez and Cleo had Lena seated on the raised examination table in the infirmary, and Abby brought Inez a small folded towel to replace the bandana she still held to her child’s nose.

  “It looks like it’s just about stopped, honey. Here, I’m going to put something cool on the back of your neck.” Abby took out a chemical icepack and slid it beneath Lena’s hair. Lena was calmer now, her sobs reduced to occasional hitches of breath.

  “I didn’t even see her. She was just there,” Inez said softly. She looked at Abby with tear-filled eyes. “I didn’t open the door very hard, I swear.”

  “Hey, I didn’t see her either, Inez,” Cleo said. “Same thing would have happened if she’d run up on my side.”

  “It was loose already. My tooth was.” Lena’s voice was high and faint, and she looked from her mother to Mac with obvious worry. “It was already gonna come out. It’s okay, Mama.”

  “Your mom will feel better when she sees you still have that pretty smile, Lena-Angelina.” Mac selected a stuffed animal from the shelf that contained Abby’s kid-comforters, and tucked it into Lena’s arms. “I’m glad you let her know you’re not mad at her.”

  Like a clear river swirling over smooth rock, Abby decided as she checked the child’s pupils. She had been trying to find the right phrase to describe Mac’s voice for days. That low, rich timbre, flavored with the mildest of Western drawls, sounded more like music than speech.

  Inez was still patting Lena’s leg with a soft, nervous rhythm. “Is she gonna have a scar?”

  “No, I hardly think so. There are no real cuts.” Abby noted with satisfaction that the blood flow had stopped, and she measured the girl’s pulse one more time. “Lena will be out building magnificent snowwomen in our front yard again in the morning.”

  “Hey, yeah, I saw that statue of me you built out there, Lena.” Cleo tweaked the ear of the toy bear Lena cradled. “Thank you. Beautiful work. Looks just like me.” Lena giggled.