Abby looked at Mac, puzzled. “I don’t think that’s likely, dear. Cleo’s just going to be glad you’re safe.”
Mac nodded. “She told you to come here if you were ever in trouble, right?”
“Right.” Danny sighed again. “She gave me bad directions, though. She said turn at the sign, but hello, what sign?” She touched one finger to her split lip. It obviously hurt her to talk.
“You’ll be staying with us tonight.” Abby brushed a wisp of hair off Danny’s brow. “I’d like to get some food in you before we let you sleep. Do you think you can handle something light?”
Danny nodded listlessly, plucking at the blankets.
Outside, a muted grinding sound emerged over the wind, and Abby heard one car, then another pull up the gravel drive. “I believe our attorney is home. Would you two excuse me? I’ll let her in.”
Abby swiveled off the high stool beside the bed. Cleo hardly needed her help finding them, but she wanted to brief her before she saw Danny. Her injuries weren’t serious, but her battered face made for an alarming first impression.
She closed the door to the infirmary just as Cleo stepped down into the living room, followed closely by Vivian and Scratch. She lifted a reassuring hand.
“Danny’s resting, Cleo. She’s not badly hurt.”
Cleo blew out a breath, but her gaze never left Abby as she shucked off her parka. “How bad is not bad?”
“She has a cut on her head that required stitches, and some nasty bruises. But her vitals are stable, and she’s lucid. No broken bones, no sign of internal injuries. She’s been asking for you.”
“You see, Cleo, Mac told us there was no need to rocket back here like a bat out of hell.” Vivian unwound a long scarf from her neck and winked at Abby. “Your Danny is in very good hands.”
“I believe we were rocketing along right behind her, my love.” Scratch patted Abby’s shoulder. “Tell us how we can be of service tonight, Dr. Glenn.”
“Well, you could heat up some of that good chicken soup you brought us yesterday, Scratch,” Abby said. “Danny needs something in her stomach.”
“There’s no ill in the world that can’t be made better by the company of friends, and a fine chicken soup. You’ll find me in the kitchen, ladies.”
“And I plan to commandeer Cleo’s office to make a few calls.” Vivian rummaged in the large handbag she carried, then peered at Abby. “You look like you could use a little TLC yourself tonight, young woman. Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes.” Abby smiled weakly. “I’m fine. It’s just been…an eventful evening.”
Cleo was already heading toward the infirmary, and Abby followed her. Cleo tapped softly on the door, then pushed it open.
Danny turned her head on the thin pillow and lifted three fingers in a small wave. Cleo went still for a moment as she took in her face, but she recovered quickly. She glanced at Mac, then walked almost casually to the bed.
“Lord, this is one colorful little high school senior.” Cleo’s tone was gentle, and Abby could see Danny’s body relax under the blankets. “So, Danielle. How was your day?”
Danny almost smiled, but it must have hurt her lip. “It kind of sucked, really. I’ll be okay, though.”
“Yes, you will be.” Cleo rested her hand on Danny’s arm. “You hurting much?”
“Not now.” Danny pointed at Abby. “She gave me some good drugs. Amy, right?”
“Abby.” Abby smiled and slid onto the stool next to the bed. She checked Danny’s pupils, and then her pulse. “And yes, they were good drugs indeed.”
“Have you told Abby and Mac what happened?” Cleo’s expression was calm, but it must have taken effort. Imagining anyone striking this girl in anger was appalling.
“You know what happened, Cleo,” Danny mumbled. “My dad lost it.”
Cleo nodded. “Had he been drinking?”
“Well, duh, of course he was drinking.” A spark of irritation entered Danny’s tone for the first time. “He wouldn’t have hit me if he hadn’t been drinking. He’s never hurt me this bad before, ever.” Danny fingered the bandage on her forehead. “And I was stupid. I pissed him off.”
Cleo spoke without inflection. “How did you do that?”
Danny looked at Mac uncertainly, and Mac nodded encouragement.
“It’s gonna piss you off too,” Danny muttered to Cleo. She shifted in the bed, and Abby helped her turn partially onto her left side. Danny fumbled with the neck of her gown and drew the fabric down to bare the back of her right shoulder.
Abby had seen the small tattoo before, when she initially examined Danny. It was obviously a new adornment, well drawn, still slightly red. Cleo stared at the colorful design, and Mac seemed to be watching her closely.
Finally, Abby spoke. “It’s lovely, Danny. Is it an iris?”
“No, it’s a lily.” Danny peeked up at Cleo unhappily. “I know, I promised you I’d wait until I was older. But her birthday’s next week. She’d be thirty-eight.”
“Lily was the name of Danny’s mother.” Cleo brushed a blunt finger over the tattoo with unmistakable tenderness. “Your dad saw this tonight?”
“Yeah.” Danny did not elaborate.
Cleo’s eyes were a study in veiled emotion. “It’s real pretty, baby.”
Danny’s smile, split lip and all, lit up the room.
Abby turned at a polite knock on the infirmary’s door. “That will be Pastor Childs, Danny, bringing you some dinner. He’s one of our good friends. Do you mind if I steal Cleo and Mac for a while, so we can catch up while you eat?”
“Okay.” Danny yawned, and winced. “You gave me lousy directions, Cleo.”
“Sorry about that. Glad you persevered.” Cleo bent and kissed the top of Danny’s head. “I’ll be right in the next room.”
“Okay.”
Cleo didn’t look at Abby or Mac as she left the infirmary. Abby adjusted Danny’s blankets, then followed her. Mac’s hand on her arm stopped her before she reached the door.
Mac glanced over her shoulder, as if making sure they were far enough from Danny’s bed to ensure privacy. Then she looked down at Abby, whose pulse picked up considerably.
“You hanging in all right?” The soft Western twang in Mac’s voice was more evident when she spoke this softly.
“I am. I suppose I’m still in crisis mode.” And Abby was glad of it. She could no more begin to sort out her body’s intense erotic reactions to this woman right now than solve all of Danny’s problems in one night. She resisted a craving to touch Mac, and told her as much of the truth as she knew. “We’re going to be all right, Mac, you and I. You’ve become my friend. Whatever happens, I want to hold on to that.”
The relief in Mac’s eyes was palpable. She smiled at Abby, then gestured to allow her to leave the room first.
*
Cleo was in the living room by the fireplace, striking a match to the cigarette clenched in her teeth. There was a murky light in her eyes, and she lifted a warning hand when they joined her. “Look, it’s either this, or I go upstairs now and get my gun and kill him tonight.”
Smoking was strictly forbidden on the lower level of the main house, but Abby hardly felt inclined to protest. Cleo looked dead serious. She started to reassure her, but Mac touched her wrist and nodded toward the rocking chair. Abby followed her lead, curling into the familiar comfort of the rocker while Mac sat on the sofa.
Mac’s instincts were right. Cleo wasn’t ready to talk. She paced in front of the hearth, blowing smoke in tight bursts, the ticking of the grandfather clock and the gusting wind outside the only other sounds in the large room. Abby could feel Cleo’s struggle for control, and her heart ached for her. She had a thousand questions for her colleague, but Cleo was her friend too, and Mac’s, and they would give her time.
Finally Cleo paused in front of the fireplace, and slid back the steel mesh screen that separated the grate from the hearth. She flicked the butt of her cigarette into the waning flames. Then she bent and picked up
two small logs to add to the grate, and Abby knew she was coming down off that dangerous crest of rage.
Heels tapped across the hardwood floor, and Vivian stepped down into the living room, looking as poised and immaculate as if she hadn’t been pulled out of her warm house in the middle of a stormy night. She studied them alertly as she settled into a stuffed armchair.
“We were lucky. I knew the intake screener working the CPS line tonight.” Vivian consulted the pad of paper in her hand. “We’re licensed for under-18, so she agreed to place Danny here temporarily, under our supervision. And Fredericksburg’s finest are on their way to interview Mr. Samuel Sherrill as we speak.”
“Thanks, Vivian. Good to know.” Mac extended one arm over the back of the sofa, and silence fell again.
“Ms. Lassiter?” Vivian’s voice was kind. “I believe you have a story to tell.”
Cleo still stood by the fireplace, her arms folded as she watched the flames. “You know all my stories, Viv.”
“Yes, but Abby and Mac don’t, and they need to. Fireside has been drawn into this now.”
Cleo rubbed the back of her neck. “What do you want to know?”
Abby thought it likely that Cleo wasn’t being evasive; she honestly didn’t seem to know where to start. “Cleo, you said that Sam Sherrill lost a case you were involved with, years ago, when you lived in DC.”
“I handled Lily’s divorce and got her custody of her daughter.” Cleo spoke Danny’s mother’s name quietly. “Danny was four at the time.”
They waited while Cleo sat heavily on a wide footstool and clasped her hands between her knees. “I was working family law, and Lily Sherrill was one of my first clients. I fell for her hard. Crappy professional boundaries, I know.” Cleo looked at Mac, and the corner of her mouth lifted ruefully. “Lily and Danny moved in with me, and we were a family for five years.”
Abby sat very still, not wanting to distract Cleo but wishing mightily she could touch her. This was bedrock ore, from the shadows of Cleo’s deepest mine. Abby closed her eyes at her next words.
“Lily died when Danny was nine. Breast cancer. Sherrill sued for full custody, and of course he got it. He wouldn’t let me see Danny again.” Cleo studied her hands. “But there are ways of keeping track of a kid, if you’re patient and careful. I knew Danny’s teachers, and I’d park by her school to watch her on the playground. I’d see if she looked healthy, if she wore warm clothes, if she had friends. I watched her soccer games from my car, when she was older.”
Cleo’s grim features softened. “That scrappy little girl. Bright as a damn diamond, with all of Lily’s sweet spirit, and none of her sadness. Until she lost her mom.”
“And you too, Cleo,” Mac added. “Did Danny ever know you were there, at those soccer games?”
“We talked, on three foolhardy occasions. Danny knew no one could know I was looking out for her, especially her dad. We’ve been each other’s best-kept secret.”
Red and gold light flooded from the renewed fire, and the logs snapped sleepily on the grate. Abby saw Mac watching Cleo with the same listening stillness she must bring to her counseling sessions.
“Two years ago, Sam Sherrill ran his business into the ground in DC,” Cleo continued. “He moved Danny down here and set up that pathetic plumbing outfit on the east end of town. And soon after…” She looked at Vivian.
“Soon after,” Vivian caught up the thread, “a new domestic violence shelter opened just outside Fredericksburg and advertised for a legal advocate. A certain overqualified attorney from the Beltway was willing to slice her salary in half in order to take the job.” She removed her glasses and nodded at Cleo. “Fireside’s women have benefited richly ever since.”
“And I think Danny has too.” Abby regarded Cleo with compassion. “You’ve been able to see her more often, now that she’s older?”
“Yeah. We meet in a park near her school during her lunch hour, sometimes.” Cleo shrugged. “We talk about her art class. She’s a wicked sketch artist. Or the basketball player she’s crushed out on. We talk about Lily. Sherrill won’t allow her mother’s name mentioned in his house.”
Cleo’s shoulders were bowed, as if the telling had drained her. “Viv’s right. I should have told you guys. I was just so used to keeping Danny my private business.”
Abby understood the impulse toward secrecy very well, and she held nothing against Cleo. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed midnight, and they were quiet until its melody faded.
Then Vivian folded her pad of paper and sat up. “Let’s have Danny move into the guest bedroom upstairs tomorrow, if Abby deems her able. We’ll need to house her in the main facility with staff, since she’s still a minor. We don’t know how long this placement will last, but we can make her comfortable here.”
“Sounds good, Vivian.” Mac brushed her fingers together, and Abby had a visceral memory of their cool touch on her face. “I’ll be glad to have some time with Danny in the next few days, if she’s willing.”
Abby unfolded her legs from the seat of the rocker, relieved to turn to practicalities. “Vivian, you and Scratch should take that bedroom upstairs tonight. We don’t want you driving home in this weather.” She paused. “There’s an extra roll-out cot in the storeroom. I’d like to set it up in the infirmary, to be near Danny if she needs anything.” She could feel Mac’s gaze on her.
“I’ll sleep in there tonight.” Cleo lifted herself off the footstool with effort. “Don’t worry, Abby. I’ll call you if Danny springs a leak or anything.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks, you all. For letting Danny stay. And for taking such good care of her.”
“Someone’s been taking good care of Danny Sherrill for a long time.” Mac stood, and without ceremony drew Cleo into a hug. Cleo hugged her back, and for a moment, she rested her head on Mac’s shoulder like a tired child.
Abby felt tears rise to her eyes for the second time that night. “I’m going to go check on Danny, Cleo, and then we’ll let you get settled in there.”
“Thanks, Abby.”
Abby looked at Mac, regret, relief, and confusion threatening to surface beneath her crisis demeanor. Mac smiled at her with sweet reassurance, and Abby was able to turn her steps toward her infirmary.
Abby knocked softly and cracked open the door, and she heard Danny’s faint voice inside, talking to Scratch.
“You can tell me the truth,” Danny said. “Does it look more like an iris or a lily?”
Chapter Nine
“Man, I been over the moon for this girl since the third grade, Mac.” Jo grinned, struggling to push the wheelbarrow over the rutted ground. Her partner, Tina, rode in its deep tray, giggling, clenching the metal sides in her gloved hands. “You tell me, what did I ever do to get so lucky, that she loves me now?”
“I’ll tell you what you did.” Tina’s voice vibrated as the thick rubber wheel rolled over a rocky patch. “You saved me from that crazy woman, Jo. And now you’re gonna kill me with wheelbarrow road rage!”
Jo laughed and slowed down, her breath pluming in the chilly air. Mac could see her wiry arms trembling even through her jacket—Tina was a large woman—but they were having so much fun, neither Mac nor Abby offered to help.
She glanced at Abby, who strolled quietly next to Jo. Abby returned her gaze, and there was no denying the pleasant current of erotic tension still humming between them. Mac remembered the yielding warmth of Abby’s lips against her own, and nearly walked right into a stump embedded in the trail. She sidestepped it ruefully.
She and Abby had both tried several times throughout the day to carve out a few minutes of privacy. They needed to talk. But the hours since Danny Sherrill had arrived had been unrelentingly busy.
Their latest mini-crisis involved running out of firewood at the main house. The huge fireplace in the living room was as iconic to the shelter’s residents as it was to its staff. The friendly crackling of the hearth welcomed them to support groups and budgeting classes, community meeting
s and parenting workshops. The flames cast an aura of light and safety, symbolic of Fireside itself. An empty wood bin qualified as a crisis. Luckily, Scratch kept a standby woodpile in the back lot. Unluckily, Tina and Jo had insisted on helping with the hauling.
“Hey, the new girl who moved into the house last night?” Tina looked over her shoulder at Abby. “Is she gonna be okay? We hear she’s pretty banged up.”
“Yes, Danny’s going to be fine,” Abby said. “You’ll meet her in a few days, after she’s had some rest.”
“Did her boyfriend go off on her?” Jo’s animated face sobered, and Mac saw the muscle in her jaw stand out. “Tina says she’s just a kid. Where are her folks?”
“I guess we’ll let Danny tell you about it, if she wants to.” Mac plucked a pinecone from a tree bordering their path, showering her sleeve with dry snow. “Thanks for asking about her though, Tina.”
“Ooh, sweetie, I got a cramp in my foot, I gotta get out.” Tina craned her head toward Mac and winked, and Mac chuckled. Jo was breathing heavily, and she lowered the wheelbarrow’s stand to the ground with a grateful sigh.
“Here you go, darlin’, careful now.” Jo took Tina’s hand and helped her climb out of the barrow, and Tina limped around dutifully for a moment. Their spare woodpile wasn’t far, but Mac doubted Jo could have kept up her studly carriage gig much longer. Jo kissed Tina sweetly on the nose before grasping the handles again.
“Look at me, even I just figured it was a guy who hurt the new girl.” Jo shook her head, wheeling the barrow along easily now. “Everybody always assumes the batterer is a guy. Like at that first shelter we went to? We had to pretend we were running from a man.”
“What?” Abby asked. “I haven’t heard this story. What happened?”
“Well, after Fran beat me up, me and Jo didn’t have anywhere to go.” Tina was walking carefully on the uneven ground, her smile fading. “We tried to get into a safehouse, but they wouldn’t take lesbian couples.”
“So we went to another shelter, and we had to lie.” Jo didn’t look particularly remorseful. “We said I was Tina’s cousin, and Tina’s husband was after us both. That’s the only way they’d take us in.”
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