Fixing Perfect

by Therese M. Travis

  “Did you pick out a book?”

  “I forgot.” She scooted off again and went to the tiny pile of books by the other wall. He held the flashlight so she could see a little. Not that she needed to see very well. There weren’t many books, and she’d looked at all the pictures already, but she pulled out the one that made her think most of her dad. And Lehanie. Her babysitter used to read it to her, too, and ever since Mr. Bird took Lehanie away, Becca’d been pretty scared. Especially about going to sleep. She didn’t like to go to sleep all by herself.

  Wait. This time Mr. Bird didn’t say Lehanie went back home. He said she did a job for him. But maybe Lehanie did the job and went home. Becca hoped she got to do her job soon. She wanted to go home so bad.

  When she put The Gingerbread Man into Mr. Bird’s hands, he smiled and lifted her onto his lap. Sometimes that made her feel funny. He wasn’t her dad. He said he wasn’t a stranger, but she couldn’t remember him from when she was little, or from when she lived with her mommy and daddy. But he never did any of the things her mom said were very, very bad, like touching her where she went to the bathroom, so she let him hold her.

  He gave her a little squeeze before he opened the book. “It’ll be all right, Becca. I promise. You’re going to be perfect.”

  She nodded and stared at the first page. The little gingerbread man was so cute. She never liked the end of the story, but she always pretended the fox didn’t eat the cookie. Mr. Bird’s voice, soft and musical, lulled her eyelids heavier and heavier, until he shut the book and turned to pull the sheet down. “OK, little bird. Time for bed.” He laid her down and tucked the sheets up to her chin. “Sleep well.”

  “You, too.”

  He grinned and tapped the end of her nose with his finger. Then he and his flashlight were gone.

  After he left, Becca put her thumb in her mouth and turned so she could reach between the mattress and the wall.

  He probably wouldn’t like the little hole she’d started to make in the paint. He’d probably look at her, his cheeks hanging like a sad puppy, his pale eyes sorry, and tell her how disappointed he was with her. And she didn’t want to make him sad. Or mad. But she couldn’t help herself. One thumb went into her mouth, and the pointer finger of her other hand dug at the hole, a little deeper, and a little deeper. Something flaked off under her fingernail. In the morning she’d have little bits of white stuck there, and she’d have to scrape them out with her teeth. But she couldn’t get to sleep if she didn’t dig. Just a little.

  Some nights she had to dig harder to make the scary dreams go away.

  After a minute, she sat up. She’d forgotten her prayers again. She flapped her hand in front of her face, the way her mommy taught her, and whispered, “Ina nama Father ana Son ana Holy Spir-t, Jesus, bless Mommy and Daddy and Mr. Bird. Help Mommy and Daddy come home fast. Help me do my job soon so I can go home. And help me be good. Help me not make a mess of the wall anymore. Amen.” She made another Sign of the Cross and stuffed her hand under her bottom. In a short time, she found it had sneaked back to the forbidden place, over the edge of the mattress and back to the hole. It was bigger. She could fit two fingers in now.

  Mr. Bird wouldn’t like it. But her fingernail kept digging, and the tears kept trickling salt into her mouth.

  

  He stood outside the door and listened. No sound. Good. She was a good kid. She’d be useful. Not yet. Not for a while, but he had plans.

  First, he had to make sure the world understood what he was saying. They hadn’t gotten it last time. All that work with Lehanie, getting her ready, making sure no one found her before he was ready, making sure nothing disturbed his canvas, and they hadn’t understood. There’d been a few of the right reactions. He had to give them that. But they’d missed the big message. They still didn’t see. After all his work, after the black hair and blue eyes, they didn’t get it. What would it take to get through to them?

  He had a lot of work to do. He wanted to get started as soon as possible, but he had to be careful now.

  He was good at careful. Good at telling his stories through his art.

  4

  By the time Robin clipped into the shop, Grace had finished restocking the co-op shelves. Robin maneuvered her crutches around a new pile of baskets, edged between a rack of quilted jackets and a second hand dresser whose drawers overflowed with handmade jewelry. She spent a minute checking out a few new items before she settled behind the counter.

  “Any good sales today?”

  Grace laughed. “Lots. And, my gosh, you wouldn’t believe. That new guy, Donovan, the photographer? He came in and left some of his photos. You should check them out. I put three up behind the register.”

  Startled, Robin turned. “I didn’t even notice we had anything new over here.”

  The photos were beautiful. One depicted Avalon Bay from on high. Sun poured from the south and heavy clouds threatened from the north. He’d angled the camera to get a glimpse of the California mainland on the horizon. The one in the middle showed a family of three, a mom and dad and a little girl wearing a soft, floating white shift, walking hand in hand across the beach, facing away from the camera. The wind blew their hair the same direction as their shadows. Even from the back Robin could tell the little girl was laughing. The third was a close up of some of the wildflowers indigenous to Catalina Island.

  “Wow, he’s good.”

  “Isn’t he? And gorgeous besides.” Grace leaned her elbows on the counter and stared at the pictures. “Too bad I’m too old for him.”

  “Not by much. But unfortunately, you’re married.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. A man that good-looking might tempt me.”

  Robin laughed. Grace adored her husband.

  “But I’m not the one who’s caught his fancy. You should have heard him asking about you. Wanted to know every detail I could come up with. I’m telling you, he likes you.”

  Robin parked one crutch against her hip and tried to manufacture the correct surprise. “Me?”

  “Yup. Asked when you’d be in, how long you’d stay, how much money you made on each sale. He wanted to make sure I told you he bought some of your things. He’s going to send them all the way to Michigan to his nieces. And that he was sorry he missed you. And how much he enjoyed the baseball game and the pizza afterward. Oh, and he had plenty of questions about Sam, too. Like, did I think Sam was a serious contender. He’s very interested.” Grace’s eyes gleamed, and her cheeks bulged in a wicked smile. “You ought to snag him up in a hurry.”

  “Who says I’m interested in him?” Robin turned away, fighting the need to ask Grace what her answer to Donovan’s last question had been. Was Sam serious? Or just a good friend? But then, Robin had a pretty accurate idea of Grace’s opinion on Sam’s intentions. She’d probably told Donovan that Robin was his by default and promised to plan the wedding if he needed help.

  Grace slapped a hand on the counter. “Robin! He’s gorgeous and talented. What’s not to like?”

  Robin stuffed her backpack into the space behind the counter. “I’m not saying he’s not a catch. He’s pretty gorgeous, just like you said. But there aren’t any—there just aren’t any sparks.”

  “Like there are every time you see Sam.”

  “Like that, yes.” Robin couldn’t help a quick look around the store to make sure no one who knew Sam was within hearing distance. Only a couple of middle-aged women had entered, and they were discussing a selection of scarves.

  “Sam doesn’t feel it, though. Honestly, Robin, when are you going to wake up to that? You’re a great therapist, but not a lover. In his eyes, I mean.”

  Robin bent her head. How did Grace pick up on the one thing that worried Robin the most?

  “Honey, you can’t spend your whole life waiting for Sam to notice you’re a woman. Here you’ve got someone who’s fantastic and, besides that, interested.” Grace paused in restocking earrings to give Robin a searching look. “Don’t let him get a
way while you’re waiting on Sam.”

  “Gee, thanks. You sound like my grandmother.” Robin swung onto the stool and pushed at a few papers Grace had left on the counter. “You’re taking your break now, aren’t you?”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Robin wouldn’t. She’d crawl under her own little personal rock as soon as she got the chance and cry, maybe, but she wasn’t going to worry. Because whatever Sam might think of her or feel about her, he was her best friend and always would be. If it never got any further than that, she’d have his friendship, and she refused to do anything to jeopardize what their relationship meant to her. Even if it meant never asking for more.

  Even if it meant passing up her only chance.

  “Robin.” Grace turned her on the stool and put her hands on her shoulders. Her eyes gleamed with a hint of tears, and her forehead creased with concern. “Please don’t be upset. You know I just want what’s best for you. I want you to find love. And Donovan just might be the one.”

  “Why? Because he’s the only one who’s interested in a cripple?”

  “I didn’t say that—”

  “No, of course you didn’t. But you implied that I’d better snatch up the only adult, unattached male who shows the least interest in me, because if he finds someone else, the chances of someone as damaged as I am finding true love is nil.”

  “I didn’t say that, either.”

  Robin turned away. She really had to get a grip on her tongue. She had no right talking to her friend that way. “Look, just go. Please? I’ll handle the shop until you come back, and then I’m off. I’m not feeling too well today.”

  Grace’s eyes crumpled. “You mean you’re mad at me.”

  “Whatever. Sure. I’m mad, and I really don’t want to be here today.”

  “All right.” Grace collected her purse and headed for the door. She stopped on the threshold. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re—whatever you’re feeling.”

  “Right.”

  Robin watched Grace walk out of the shop, her shoulders hunched. What was wrong with her that she could treat her friend that way? She had no right.

  After a glance at the two customers, Robin folded her hands and shut her eyes. Oh, God, loving Father. First, forgive me. You don’t want me to treat Grace that way, and I’m sorry I disappointed You.

  A peek told her she still had time to finish her prayer before she had to get to work.

  Show me how I’m supposed to deal with people who seem to think I’m half worthless and no one wants me. Please. And—

  Before she could go into her long list of complaints, not to mention all her intercessions, a clearing throat startled her eyes open.

  The two women had made their choices and waited for her to ring them up. After that, the store got busier. One of the ferries must have recently dropped off a load from San Pedro.

  As soon as Grace came back from her break, Robin packed up her backpack and headed out.

  Grace called after her.

  Robin turned back to let her friend give her a brief hug. “I shouldn’t have talked to you that way. I’m sorry. But I really am tired,” Robin said, and cringed at the excuse. She only hoped it would make up for her querulous behavior.

  Still, the conversation left her clenching her fists tighter than normal on her crutches. Where did people get off assuming that because Robin’s legs weren’t perfect, no reasonable man would want her? Grace wasn’t alone in her prejudice; most people seemed to assume that Robin was the one who had a twisted view of her own worth.

  I am a child of God. He loves me, and because of Him, I have worth.

  Too bad she couldn’t believe herself. Too bad she couldn’t treat her friend as if Grace possessed that same belief.

  God, I don’t want to be like this. I want to love the way You do. Can I? Can You, through me?

  She didn’t want to go home too soon, or her grandmother might probe, and she was a woman who delved and dug until she’d ferreted out every conceivable secret. Robin never could decide if Gram’s repeated questions were because of her insatiable need to get to every last detail or because her hearing aids didn’t work as well as she claimed.

  Since the whole issue of her worth wasn’t one Robin wanted to share with anyone, she headed in the opposite direction, toward the classic styled, museum quality casino. She’d never make it to the building, not this week at least, not on foot, though she saw tourists straggling across the walkway to the entrance. But halfway across the curve that hugged the bay was a stone fountain with wide sides and a view of the water. She’d always liked to sit there and look at the boats in the marina and listen to the sounds of kids playing at the water’s edge. They were a lot farther away, but their voices always carried.

  There weren’t many kids out today, though, probably because of the kidnapper—the murderer. Until Lehanie’s body had turned up, there had been optimism that it wasn’t one of those situations as well as lots of speculation that Lehanie had kidnapped Becca herself, but her murder had destroyed that hope.

  The cold stone under Robin’s jeans almost changed her mind about sitting there, but she ignored the discomfort and leaned her chin on the back of her hand, which in turn she rested on the top of one of her crutches.

  Sailboats and yachts and every conceivable pleasure boat in between had berths. Many were covered with the bright blue, fadeless tarps, and sails were wrapped around masts. Donovan ought to take a picture here today.

  But not of her. She thought of how he’d admired her eyes, and she shook her head.

  She didn’t dislike him. He was a nice guy, talented, and, as Grace kept pointing out, gorgeous. He looked like a model. He liked the kids on the team, didn’t talk down to them when he could help it, and offered to do something nice for them. And he’d made it clear to both Robin and Grace that he liked her. Liked Robin. But she still wasn’t interested, not like that. She couldn’t make herself, any more than she could make Sam fall in love with her.

  “Hey, beautiful. I thought you had to work this afternoon.” Sam sprawled onto the stone beside her, seemingly oblivious to the cold.

  “I left early.” Robin shifted, trying to find a bit of warmth, but the fountain had leached all the heat from her bottom. “I was just thinking about heading home.”

  “Not feeling good?” Sam stood and waited while she hauled herself to her feet.

  “Just mad.” And now he’d ask why and what could she say?

  “Who at? I hope you’re not mad at me.”

  “Never.” She grinned up into his handsome face. Maybe he didn’t look like a model, but his face was more real, held a lot more honesty in it, and so was more attractive to Robin. She didn’t want a man carved from marble, after all.

  “OK, what’s up? Come on, tell old Sammy.”

  Robin laughed, though it held a hint of the bitter anger she still felt. “Grace just said a few things that set me off, so after she came back from her break I ditched her. The shop isn’t that busy this afternoon anyway. And I’ll be there on Friday night.”

  “You’re always there on Friday nights.”

  “Yup.”

  “She schedules you for date night because she figures you can’t get a date?”

  Robin sucked in a deep breath and mangled her crutches under her arms so she could heave herself to her feet. So humiliating to want to stomp away and have to take so much time over it.

  Sam followed her easily. “That’s it, isn’t it? Grace said something to the effect that no guy is ever going to be interested in you, and you’re mad.”

  She spun on the tip of one crutch, glaring at him, and he jumped. “What is it with you? How do you do that?”

  His eyes went wary. “What? Put my foot in my mouth?”

  “No. Read my mind.”

  “Is that what I was doing?” He drew level with her and looked at her sideways. His cautious expression would have
made her laugh, and she’d have given into it if she weren’t so close to tears. But she wouldn’t cry in front of him. She’d stopped crying over her legs and their effect on her life years before. “Pretty much.”

  “Well, it’s just common sense. Grace tends to be—a little tactless. Kind of like me, on occasion. And talking about date night—” He stopped, apparently realizing that subject was better left unexplored. “Anyway, yeah, I just figured it out.”

  “She thinks I should jump at the chance to go out with some guy I don’t like—at least, not for a boyfriend—just because he’s asked her a few things about me. She thinks if I don’t, I’ll waste my only chance at ever finding a guy willing to date a cripple.”

  “You’ve had other dates. In fact, when I first met you, weren’t you dating someone?”

  “Not really.” Not that she’d ever tried to explain that to him—how she wanted so badly for Sam to think her worthy of his attention that she’d let him believe a casual acquaintance was more. “He was just a friend. I know you had the wrong impression, but I didn’t think it would matter.” Hadn’t believed it would matter, if she told the whole truth. But she so hoped Sam would care.

  “Really?” He stopped, holding out his arm.

  She took the opportunity to catch her breath. They might not have been going fast by his standards, but for her, the pace was close to a sprint.

  “And all this time I could have asked you out, and you never told me?”

  So much for trying to get her breath. When she could make her jaw close in a normal manner, she stammered, “You wanted to ask me out?”

  “The thought crossed my mind.” He grinned. “But you got into all the therapy stuff with me—”

  “I’m not a therapist.”

  “No, but you did a lot better job for me than the guy the state appointed.”

  “I know.” And even though her breathing slowed, her heart hadn’t. He’d wanted to ask her out when they’d met. What was stopping him now?