A Kingsbury Collection

by Karen Kingsbury

  She knows. I know she knows. Maggie hung up and slipped the phone back in her purse. Who had told her? Why else would she have called? Wasn’t the prayer team supposed to do things in private, secretly?

  Her hands were shaking, and perspiration ran down her arms and neck She glanced at the running shoes. Why did she have them on? Oh yes, her run. She frowned, glancing about the parking lot and across the street to the park. Think, Maggie, come on. Had she finished her run already? So quickly? She barely remembered a moment of it.

  Remembering to breathe, she slipped her shoes off and froze. She felt the breath of something evil on the back of her neck, something close enough to touch. Tossing her shoes back in the trunk she hurried into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut and hit the lock.

  It was no use.

  The invisible darkness had followed her into the car and now was locked inside with her. How did I finish my run so fast? She looked across the street once more at the familiar park and its asphalt jogging trail that ran the circumference. I did run, didn’t I? Her body was sweaty, her heart beating hard. She must have run.

  Maggie started the car and again felt the presence of evil beside her. “Get out!” Despite her shouted command, the feeling didn’t ease. All I want is peace, Lord what’s it going to take?

  Confess your sins and you will be clean.… The prayers of a righteous person are powerful and effective.…

  Maggie shook her head. No. She wouldn’t confess to anyone. Not after years of building the life she had, her marriage with Ben, the career she loved. She wouldn’t throw it all away now by admitting the truth.

  Not even to one whose prayers might be powerful and effective.

  One like Laura Thompson.

  Maggie pulled out of the parking lot and realized she had never been so tired in all her life. I must have overdone it on the run. She needed to pick up groceries and stop at the post office before getting the boys, but in that moment every breath required a conscious effort.

  As she drove, the darkness closed in around her. If only there were a hole she could crawl into, a place where she could sleep for ten years or twenty, she would have gone there without hesitating. She forced herself to regain control, summoning the strength to keep the car on the road. Things began to look familiar, and she knew she’d be home in a few minutes. Maybe I’ll take a nap.

  Other drivers were passing her, and Maggie wondered why they were speeding. She let her eyes fall to her speedometer. What? Twenty miles an hour? How long had she been driving that slowly? She stared at the road ahead of her, concentrating, frowning. I need to pick up something … buy something …

  Up ahead, a store sign caught her eye, and she made a sudden turn into the parking lot. That was it; she needed food. They were out of milk and eggs and cheddar cheese. But she was so tired. The idea of climbing out of her car and grocery shopping right now felt as impossible as attempting the Boston Marathon on two hours’ sleep. You can do it, Maggie. It’s not that hard.

  She parked, climbed out of the car, and pulled herself across the parking lot. For what seemed like an hour she wandered through the produce section, staring at row after row of vegetables, fruits … round, even, orderly rows …

  What food did she have back at home? Ben liked apples, green apples mostly. Or was it red apples? She ripped a plastic bag from the roll, opened it, and began placing apples inside. Five, six, seven apples, that ought to do it. One a day.

  She dropped the bag into her cart and made her way deeper into the store. Vegetables. Canned vegetables. She had a casserole to make for the weekend. A church function. What was it? A potluck? A reception? Maggie stopped walking and pulled her cell phone from her purse. She scanned the numbers programmed into the directory and pushed connect when she saw “C.C. Church.”

  “Hello, Cleveland Community Church, can I help you?” Maggie started at the voice, then froze in place. Why am I standing in the middle of the grocery store calling church?

  “Uh … never mind. Wrong number.”

  She put the cell phone back and stared at the shelves. What did she need here, anyway? Why couldn’t she remember what she was doing and how come she was so tired? If it wouldn’t seem a little crazy, she would just as soon lie down right where she was standing—smack in the middle of the canned vegetable aisle—and take a nap. An hour of sleep, that was all she needed. Maybe then she’d feel better. But of course people would notice if she took a nap in the middle of the grocery store, wouldn’t they?

  They would, Maggie was fairly sure. She’d have to wait and sleep at home. What was it she needed? Tomato sauce. That was it. She pulled four cans from the shelf and moved on to the next row of food products.

  At that moment a woman entered the aisle from the other direction and beside her was—

  Maggie gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. It was her! The blond girl. She was six, maybe seven, and her blue eyes took up most of her face. Cascades of curls spilled over her shoulders, and she had that questioning look in her eyes, the same one she always had, like she wanted Maggie to help her find her mama.

  Other times Maggie knew she’d imagined the little girl, but not this time. This time it was really her. Maggie dropped all four cans of tomato sauce on the floor and pushed her cart straight for the child. When she got close enough, she left her food and knelt in front of the girl. Moving slowly so as not to frighten the child, Maggie took her small, warm hand—-but before she could speak she heard someone talking above her.

  “Excuse me, ma’am? Do I know you?”

  Maggie blinked. An Hispanic woman in a tailored business suit was peering down at her, and though the woman’s tone was polite, her face was lined with concern.

  Where did she come from? Maggie blinked again. “Yes … I mean, I thought your little girl … ” She glanced back at the child and inhaled sharply. The girl whose hand she held had short brown hair and brown-skinned features.

  The little blond girl was gone.

  Maggie dropped the child’s hand and uttered a nervous laugh as she stood and faced the girl’s mother. “I’m sorry. I thought she was someone … ” Maggie’s mind raced. “Someone I knew from church. Sunday school, actually.”

  The woman smiled coolly and reached for her daughter’s hand. “I don’t think so.” She pointed to the other end of the aisle. “I think you forgot your tomato sauce.”

  Tomato sauce? Maggie saw the cans lying on the floor and forced another laugh. “Right. Thanks.”

  She pushed her cart back down the aisle, retrieved the cans, and dropped them in the cart. Why did I need tomato sauce? She stared at the bottom of her cart and squinted in confusion. There was a bag of onions where her apples had been. Did she have the wrong cart? Had someone taken her apples and replaced them with onions?

  The girl and her mother had moved to a different aisle, and Maggie hoped they didn’t think she was crazy. She wasn’t, after all. Tired maybe, worn out. But not crazy. It wasn’t her fault the little blond girl followed her everywhere she went.

  Maggie wandered the aisles. Later on she would look back and know that the breakdown truly began in frozen foods, somewhere between the boxed pizzas and bagged tropical fruit. But now … now she didn’t know what was happening, only that tears were coming quickly, filling Maggie’s eyes and making her mind a jumble of thoughts. Why had she married Ben in the first place? How had she survived so many years living a lie? Why was she so tired and what was she doing with tears streaming down her face and a cart full of tomato sauce and an overstuffed bag of onions, paralyzed by something she couldn’t see or understand?

  A white-haired man with a cardigan sweater and a concerned look tapped her gently on the shoulder. “Are you all right, ma’am?” He waited for an answer.

  Maggie dried her eyes. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t call a doctor and have me committed. “I’m fine.” She nodded tersely at the man. “Just … it’s been a long day. I’m tired.”

  “Okay.” The older gentleman hesitate
d a moment longer, then continued shopping.

  Collect yourself, Maggie. Get it together. You’re bigger than this; you’ve been bigger than it for years. Why should things be any different now? She thought of the little girl and how sure she’d been that this time—finally—it was really her and …

  Help me, Lord … Please.

  I’m here, daughter. Come into the light.

  But there was no way out, no light to come toward.

  Maggie began to tremble again. She was on the edge of the darkest, deepest canyon that had ever bordered her path, and the only thing stopping her from tumbling over was a threadbare rope of memories. Even that was fraying badly.

  She forced herself to take deep breaths and suddenly she was at the checkstand, falling asleep on her feet. The ground seemed to shift as her eyes flew open and her head jerked back into an alert position. What was that in her cart? Onions? Tomato sauce? Where were the apples? The milk? She had forgotten every item she’d come for.

  She stared over her shoulder into the store. The thought of turning around and heading back for milk was overwhelming. Too many aisles and food displays stacked high above her. Too many colors and people and sales signs fought for her attention. Suddenly the store seemed like a sinister maze, one from which she might never come out alive if she ventured back inside. She exhaled slowly. Help me, God. I need You. The words felt empty, much as they had often felt lately. Maggie waited for an answer. Silence. Okay Maggie, concentrate. You can do this on your own.

  Over the next thirty minutes she forced herself back through the store where she painstakingly collected the three necessities and several canned goods and packaged food that would help get her family through the week.

  As she pushed her cart out of the store toward her Chevy Tahoe, she congratulated herself on having survived. Whatever it was that wanted so badly to consume her, she would simply have to be tougher, think things through, and gather her determination. It was merely a matter of trying harder.

  The darkness isn’t going to get me. Not ever again. I don’t need to wait for an answer to prayer; I need to believe in myself. I’m stronger than I think.

  She unloaded her groceries, slipped the cart back into the nearby rack, and climbed into her vehicle. Only then, as she glanced into the rearview mirror and saw her face in the reflection, did she realize things were worse than she’d thought.

  How long had she looked like this? Why hadn’t anyone said something more to her?

  If the mirror was right, she was weeping without her knowing it; tears streaming down her face. Minutes passed, and suddenly she was jolted awake by the honking of a horn behind her. Two cars vying for a parking space.

  I’ve been sleeping …

  The realization shook her. The boys! What time is it? She glanced at her watch and her heart sank. She’d lost almost an hour. She was still tired, but she forced herself to stay awake.

  Casey and Cameron needed her.

  4

  Maggie slipped on a pair of dark glasses, then raced to get the boys. Since her eyes seemed bent on shedding tears, she kept her glasses on even after she and the boys got home, wearing them during snack time and while she made dinner. Everything inside her cried out for the warmth of her bed. Now, before the sun sank and the nighttime demons refused to let her sleep.

  She searched the cupboards. Macaroni and cheese, that’ll work. It’s been months since we’ve had that.

  Maggie opened a box of noodles and poured it into a cold pan of water. She began slowly stirring the mixture. Ten minutes passed … twenty … and suddenly one of the boys was at her side, tugging on her sleeve.

  “Aren’t you going to cook it, Maggie?” He dipped his finger into the water and Maggie pushed him back.

  “Don’t! It’s hot … can’t you see it’s boil—” She blinked twice. The water was not boiling; the macaroni inside was no closer to being ready to eat than it had been half an hour earlier.

  She dropped the spoon on the countertop and pulled Cameron into a hug. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to push you. I thought—”

  There was fear in his face. Her strange behavior was probably worrying both boys even though they’d only been living with her and Ben for a month.

  “Right, honey. Maggie has a lot on her mind, that’s all.”

  “I like macaroni and cheese. We had it last night, too.”

  Last night? Maggie thought hard, but she had no memory whatsoever of the night before. She watched Cameron return to the table and then she switched on the burner beneath the pan. At the same time she heard the door swing open.

  “Hey, Maggie, I’m home.”

  It was Ben. Maybe he could cook dinner and she could get some sleep. That was all this was, this darkness and desperation. A simple lack of sleep. Ben tossed his briefcase and overcoat onto a living room chair and came up behind her.

  “Hi.” Maggie knew she didn’t sound very enthusiastic, but she could no longer force herself. Everything about their marriage, about who she was when she was with him, all of it was a lie. What was the point of making small talk?

  Ben kissed her neck tenderly and glanced over her shoulder. “Good thing we all like macaroni and cheese.”

  She could hear the teasing in his tone, but she bristled anyway. “You don’t like it, you cook for once.”

  He stepped back, his expression changing. “We had it last night, Maggie. I’m fine with that, but don’t get defensive with me. I’m only trying to make you laugh.”

  His eyes searched hers. “How was your day?”

  Maggie thought about the desperate feeling of doom that had followed her from the keyboard at work, to her jogging, to the frozen food section of the grocery store. She thought about how—without knowing it—she had wept while paying for her groceries and how she had stirred a pan of cold water and hard macaroni noodles for thirty minutes before realizing she’d forgotten to turn on the burner.

  She looked at Ben and forced a smile. “My day was fine. You?”

  He walked toward the boys, keeping his eyes trained on her. “Things are coming along with the Jenson murder trial. The evidence is in, and I think we’ll get a conviction.” Leaning over, he studied the boys’ homework sheets and smiled broadly. “You boys are going to be scientists one day, mark my words.”

  He looked back at Maggie. “Brightest boys in Cleveland, Mag, wouldn’t you say?”

  Why am I here? Why are we going through the motions when it’s all a big lie? “Yep,” she mumbled.

  Dinner was uneventful, and Maggie maneuvered her fork through the pile of cheese-covered macaroni trying to figure out how she’d made the same meal two nights in a row without remembering it.

  When they were finished eating, the boys went upstairs to their room to get ready for baths. Maggie dropped her fork on top of the now cold noodles and stared at her husband. “I’m not hungry.” Her voice was flat as she stood and moved toward the kitchen, aware that Ben’s eyes followed her.

  “Sit down, Maggie.”

  His voice was not angry, but neither did it leave room for negotiation. Maggie set her plate in the sink and returned to face her husband. There was nothing she could think to say, so she waited.

  “What’s wrong with you, Mag?”

  She sighed and studied her fingernails for a moment. “Nothing.”

  Ben shook his head. “There’s something wrong. Either something with you or something with me or something with both of us. But I’m tired of walking around here acting like everything’s okay.”

  Why didn’t I tell him the truth from the beginning? Then he never would have married me, and we wouldn’t be in this mess. “Okay.” She leveled her gaze at him. Her voice sounded tired as she continued. “You want to know what’s wrong with me, I’ll tell you.”

  Ben waited expectantly. There was love in his eyes, so much so it pained Maggie to know she was hurting him. But sooner or later he would have to know that she wasn’t the sweet, Christian girl he thought he’d married
. Maybe if she told him now, at least part of the truth …

  Not too much, Maggie. Don’t tell him too much.

  She drew a deep breath. “I’m tired of pretending.”

  Ben couldn’t have looked more dazed if she had just announced she might like to dye her hair pink. “Pretending?”

  “Yes.” Maggie crossed her arms. “All day long I pretend. I pretend to be this wonderful Christian woman worthy of handing out advice to half the people in Cleveland, then I pretend that managing foster children is a satisfying substitute for having babies of my own. And when you get home … ” Her voice trailed off and she saw his eyes fill with fresh pain.

  “What, Mag? When I get home, what?”

  The walls of the dining room began to close in on her. Why, God? What’s happening to me? How come I can’t leave it alone and let it go? She gripped the edges of her chair.

  Come on, tell him. He’s waiting. Tell him the truth about how you feel At least give him that. This isn’t someone you love, remember? He’s hurt you; he’s the enemy.

  “Ben, it’s just—” Her voice was barely a whisper and this time she could feel the tears gathering in her eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, well … I pretend with you, too.”

  He hesitated, and a flash of fear skittered across his eyes. “Come on, Maggie. You’re overreacting, having a bad day or something. I mean, there’s nothing here that can’t—”

  “No! You’re wrong.” She was trembling now, crying openly and raising her voice. “I’m telling you how I feel. Don’t you understand?”

  Ben was silent, and Maggie saw his eyes were wet, too. Tell him, Maggie. You’ve lied to protect him long enough. It’s your turn to hurt him for a change.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them she felt stronger than before. He had done this to her, after all. Forced her to live a lie, to pretend she was the perfect Christian girl, and then later, the ideal wife. What choice had she ever had but to lie to him?