“Can we do anything to help?” she asked.
Maddie Routh blinked, picked at the grass. “I hate it here,” she said.
“Yeah, I can understand that,” Joanna said. “It must be really hard to visit.”
“I don’t,” Maddie Routh said. “I have avoided coming past this corner ever since it happened. I have never driven by even one time. Can you believe that? I will drive miles out of my way so that I don’t have to drive by this spot in the middle of the city.”
“Sure, we can believe it,” Karen said. She crouched, too, a movement that was a little awkward in her work skirt and pumps. “I think we all would avoid it.”
“But you don’t,” Maddie Routh said. “Why are you here?”
The three ladies glanced at one another, and Joanna was sure that what was passing between them at that moment was a question. Why exactly are we here? they seemed to say.
“We’re worried about you,” Joanna said. “Remember when we visited you at your house?”
Maddie Routh chuckled, a frightening sound that made chills travel the length of Joanna’s spine.
“Worried about someone you don’t even know,” she said, as if this were a marvel.
“And about the baby,” Karen said. “How are things going with the baby?”
Maddie Routh’s face clouded. She closed her eyes and pushed her arms into her belly even harder, splitting herself in half. Joanna noticed how thin her waist really had gotten. Even thinner than the last time they had seen her.
“I would make the world’s worst mother,” she said.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Melinda said. “Trust me on that.” Joanna glanced at Melinda, who seemed to have sprouted tears in the corners of her eyes. But then again maybe it was the wind. Melinda caught Joanna’s curious look and answered it with a look of her own. “What? I’ve seen a lot of shitty mothers in my line of work. You wouldn’t even be close to the world’s worst.”
Maddie Routh sat up, and then stood, towering over Joanna. Karen stood with her, smoothing her skirt over her thighs as she straightened.
“No, Michael would have been a great father, but I would be a terrible mother. I don’t want this anymore, don’t you see? I don’t want to have to keep driving around town to avoid this corner, and I don’t want this dent in the grass and I don’t want . . .” She tugged at the hem of her shirt with two fists. “I don’t want this baby.”
The three ladies went silent, alarmed.
“Things will look better with time,” Karen said. “When the baby is born.”
Maddie turned in a slow circle, her head tilted up toward the sky. If she’d heard Karen, she made no indication of such. She turned her palms up, pressed her shoulders back, her chest out. A lazy smile spread across her face.
Again, the ladies exchanged alarmed glances. Joanna shivered in her thin dress, and hugged her knees tighter.
Melinda reached out for Maddie Routh’s elbow. “Listen, I think we should all go inside. We can talk in there where it’s warm.”
But Maddie kept turning, gently pulling her arm free of Melinda’s grasp.
“Come on, Maddie, let’s go in,” Karen added.
Maddie stopped and faced Melinda and Karen. “You don’t even know me,” she said, the grin still in place, giving her a creepy look, especially from Joanna’s viewpoint below. “And you won’t miss me. So you should just go inside and stop worrying. Stop thinking about me at all. I’m already gone.”
Karen’s mouth opened around words that didn’t come out.
“I’m going to call the police,” Melinda muttered, pulling her phone out of her uniform pocket.
Maddie reached out and rested her hand over Melinda’s, clutching down on her fingers so that they wrapped around the phone, useless. “Thank you,” she said, peering into Melinda’s eyes intensely. “Thank you for saving me and for trying to save him. You were a hero.” She let go of Melinda’s hand and gazed at Karen, and then Joanna. “You are all heroes, and you should be really proud about it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that before.”
She began walking back to her car, a slow, dreamy gait so different from the uneven one she’d walked with when she’d first arrived.
“That was weird,” Karen whispered as soon as she got out of earshot. “Do you think she should be driving?”
“She’s definitely off,” Joanna said, pulling herself up to standing. “She almost seemed drugged.”
“Surely not, with the baby,” Karen said.
“But she said herself that she doesn’t want that baby,” Melinda argued, in a voice that was, in Joanna’s opinion, a little too loud. Almost as if she wanted Maddie Routh to hear her. Almost as if the baby was somehow a sore point for her and she was tired of arguing about it. “Besides, I’ve seen pregnant moms do worse.”
“Maybe we should go after her,” Joanna said.
“We don’t have any right,” Karen said. “As much as we want her to be, she is not tied to us in any way if she doesn’t want to be. She’s probably right—we need to stop worrying about her. We’re not wanted.”
“But if she’s on some sort of drugs, we can’t just let her get behind the wheel of that c—” Melinda stopped short, her eyes growing wide, her hands flying up over her mouth.
Joanna and Karen turned just in time to see Maddie Routh abruptly turn toward the highway, still dense with rush hour traffic, and break into a sprint.
“Maddie! Stop!” Joanna shouted.
“She’s going to get hit!” Karen said.
Without saying another word, the three women sprang into motion, each running across the lawn of the Tea Rose Diner, trying to catch Maddie Routh.
THIRTEEN
Karen found herself sitting in a waiting room in a different wing of the same hospital where she’d visited Curt MacDonald not long before. The coffee was terrible, and her work clothes were rucked beyond all repair. The heels of her pumps wore matching clumps of claylike mud and grass from her little impromptu jog after Maddie. She’d nearly rolled an ankle trying to catch the woman. There was a run in her brand-new black stockings. There was a grass stain on her skirt, just above the knee.
They’d caught her in time. Melinda was wicked fast in her work boots. She’d gotten there first, but Maddie Routh had fought her, slapped at her and clawed at her face. Kicked at her. Joanna had reached them next and wrapped herself around Maddie Routh’s shoulders, all the while shouting, “The baby! Be careful of the baby!”
Karen wasn’t surprised to be the last one to reach her. Nor was she surprised when she stumbled at the last minute, falling up against Melinda, whose knees buckled and brought the whole mess of them down. Cars honked as the women worked to subdue Maddie Routh while not really touching her at all.
“Leave me alone! Let me go!” Maddie kept screaming, and Karen had a moment of feeling embarrassed and self-conscious as cars slowed and one even stopped, a man jumping out and rushing to them.
“Hey! Hey!” he yelled, but nobody except Karen was listening.
The struggle didn’t last long. Maddie Routh had succumbed to ragged sobbing into the gravel and dirt by the side of the road, with Joanna breathlessly shushing her and rubbing her back. Melinda knelt and called the police. The man stood around awkwardly for a few moments, before getting back in his car and leaving without a word. Karen couldn’t blame him for wanting to be gone before the police arrived. She imagined the last thing a decent guy on his way to work wanted to get embroiled in was a tussle among four women.
God, on his way to work. Where Karen should have been long ago. She definitely did not need to show poor performance at work right now. Not when Mr. Sidwell was already doing her a serious favor. She needed to get up off this hospital chair and get herself to the office before half the day was gone. There was really no need for her to still be sitting here.
They’d bandaged
a couple of scrapes on Maddie Routh’s cheek. They’d checked out the baby and everything looked fine. They were keeping her for a psych consult. They were going to share none of this with Karen, and why should they? Just because she was one of the three ladies who brought her in didn’t mean she was wanted there. And, in fact, she knew she wasn’t.
But Curt MacDonald was upstairs at that very moment. For some reason it was hard to leave the hospital knowing he was right above her. Knowing that she could possibly poke her head into 502 and see if there had been any progress. Knowing that there was a chance he might be alone and she could talk to him, pray with him. His fiancée and mother had to leave sometime, right? And if she could say something that would bring him back . . . God, she knew she was grasping.
Her phone beeped. It was a text from Melinda.
U still there?
Reluctantly, she texted back.
Yes.
Any news?
No.
You should leave. She will be fine. We can talk in the morning.
What about you? Karen texted. We didn’t get to talk today.
Still no Paul, Melinda responded. But my problems don’t matter right now.
Of course they do.
There was a long pause—so long that Karen figured Melinda must have gone out on a call—and she started to put her phone back into her purse. But just as she started to, it beeped again.
Go to work, Melinda texted. We will talk tomorrow.
• • •
She got to work just minutes before lunch. Antoinette was scanning a menu from the new Mexican restaurant two blocks down.
“You’re here. Thank God. I thought I was going to have to eat burritos with Zeke from PR.”
“The guy with all the dandruff? Why him?”
Antoinette waved her hand dismissively. “Long story, best told over virgin margs. Let’s just say he might have won me in a little wager with Sal, the old bastard. But I can totally blow him off now that my friend in need is here. How is the girl? So weird what happened to you today, right?”
Karen felt the beginnings of a migraine start to push in on her temples. Maybe coming to work hadn’t been such a great idea. She’d taken off her panty hose, but hadn’t bothered with the dirt on her heels, and now her feet were sweating inside of them, making her feel dirty and tired. Plus, skirts without hosiery were strictly against Sidwell Cain dress code.
She ducked into her office and picked up the messages their new intern had left on her desk. The first two were from the insurance company. The third stopped her cold.
Caller: Kendall
Contact: You know the number
Message: Moving, needs money, see Mark before she goes
Karen flipped the piece of paper over a couple of times, looking for more information, as if the intern had run out of room and maybe had scrawled the rest of Kendall’s message—the part that said she was just kidding; Marcus would be around always—on the back. But, of course, the cryptic message was all there was.
So Kendall was bailing after all. Of course she was. Why would Karen have thought anything else? Why on earth would she expect one of Travis’s fly-by-night floozies to stick around through better or worse? To girls like Kendall, Travis was a good time and a paycheck, and when those things dried up, he was yesterday’s news.
But what if Kendall moved far? How would Karen ever see the baby then? With Travis locked away and the baby gone, what else would she have to get up for in the morning? This shitty job? She slammed the messages down on her desk and rolled her chair out. She would call Kendall right now. Maybe make some threats. Grandparents’ rights were a thing, weren’t they? She could demand that Kendall not take that baby far, that she let him have visitation time with Grandma Karen. But just as she began to sit down, there was a knock at the door. Mr. Sidwell’s head poked around the doorjamb.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” he said, barging on in, although Karen guessed you couldn’t really consider it “barging” when a man walked into a room in an office building that he owned. Had she detected a hint of something under those words—you’re here? An accusation of some sort? A hint that he was sorry he’d hired trash like her, maybe? God, she should never have gotten a boss involved in Travis’s nonsense.
“There was an incident on the way to work this morning. Not mine,” she added. “A woman tried to kill herself on Highway Thirty-two.”
Mr. Sidwell half nodded, his disinterest in Karen’s morning commute problems evident. He pinched the razor-sharp creases on the fronts of his pant legs and hitched them up as he sat in Karen’s “visitor’s chair,” although the only visitor besides new hires that Karen ever had was Antoinette, and she usually sat on the corner of Karen’s desk.
“We’re going to plead down,” he said. “I think we can get it down to drunk and disorderly.”
Karen gaped. “I’m sorry?”
“Your son’s priors aren’t going to do him any favors, but I can pull a few strings, and I’m pretty sure we can plead down.”
“I’m shocked,” she said when she could finally find some words. “If Curt MacDonald doesn’t wake up? Drunk and disorderly won’t really cover that, will it?”
He tossed his head side to side, as if he was mulling something over. “If it comes down to that, we’ll handle it. We’ll get witnesses that say the guy hit Travis first. We can definitely make a case that he was a loose cannon, out looking for a fight, that kind of thing.”
Karen shook her head. “But he wasn’t. He was at his bachelor party.”
“Good, we’ll use that. The guy was wasted, unstoppable. Travis feared for his life.” He stood and pinched his trouser creases again, let the pants legs drop back down to rest on the tops of his shiny leather shoes. “Either way, I think we’re good. Just thought you’d like to know the good news before I talk to your son.” He showed a few teeth in what Karen guessed was supposed to be a grin, but looked a little more like hunger. “Our innocent man.”
He was gone before Karen could even form the thought for her next argument—that Curt wasn’t even drinking, that his blood alcohol level could attest to that. That he had been happy and getting married the next day and her son had been the aggressor.
She blew out a puff of air between pouched lips and leaned back in her chair.
“You ready to get your salsa on, Mama?” Antoinette asked, popping into Karen’s office, her white tennis shoes gleaming against her navy tights. She checked her watch. “We’ve got fifty-five minutes. Although I think Sidwell should give us that extra five minutes that he took with his little impromptu meeting.” She tilted her head to the side. “You okay?”
Karen opened one eye. “I’m great. Travis is going to get away with murder.”
Antoinette gasped. “The guy died?”
“No, but if he does, our innocent man is still golden.” Karen started to kick off her pumps, but thought better of it. As much as she wanted out of those shoes, the thought of stuffing her sweaty feet into her tennis shoes sounded even worse. Instead, she just heaved herself up out of her chair and grabbed her coat and purse.
“Well, that’s good news, right?” Antoinette said, dodging out of Karen’s way as she pawed the light off.
“I guess,” Karen said. “It just doesn’t feel exactly good, you know? I met the guy’s fiancée. He had a life.”
They walked toward the stairs. “Travis has a life, too, though,” Antoinette said.
Karen looked at her plainly. “I don’t know if he does. He seems to have chosen otherwise.”
“Aw, don’t talk like that. He’ll turn around.”
“If you say so.”
They walked the rest of the two flights without speaking, and when they emerged into the lobby, suddenly Karen didn’t know exactly why she was even coming to lunch. She had no appetite. She didn’t feel like Mexican food. She didn’
t even really feel like being around people. Not even Antoinette, which was definitely unusual. Usually Antoinette could be counted on to cheer her up. She’d never wanted to get away from her before.
The problem was, Antoinette would have no way of understanding. She had no children. She had no grandchild that she might never see again. She had no slut du jour calling her “Mom” and asking for money every few weeks.
She’d never held a man’s last few drops of blood in her hands.
She’d never heard the cries of a new widow’s pain.
She’d never watched a woman give up on life because everything she’d once lived for was now gone.
“Hey, look at that,” Antoinette said, poking Karen’s ribs with her elbow. “It’s your boyfriend.”
Sure enough, there he was, eating a sandwich in the courtyard, a paperback balanced on his crossed legs, a pair of earmuffs wrapped across his head. He looked ridiculous.
And suddenly Karen felt so very alone.
The wind was still blowing as hard as it had been that morning, and Karen hadn’t bothered to button her coat. But she marched across the courtyard anyway, ignoring Antoinette’s surprised yelps.
“Hi,” she said when she’d finally gotten to him. She moved a piece of her windblown hair to be captured behind her ear.
Marty Squire looked up from his paperback, his sandwich paused in midair. “Oh, hey,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How are things?”
Even Karen had to admit, he looked sort of handsome in a puffy down hunter green jacket over his suit pants. Like a ski god.
“You’re not married or anything, are you?” she asked cynically.
His eyebrows rose. “Nope. Divorced. No kids.”
“Ever been in jail?”
He chuckled. “Haven’t even been on a jury, which I try not to take personally. And I’m not a pedophile, if that was your next question.”
“It was one of them,” she admitted. “You’re not going to discover tomorrow that you’re actually gay?”
Second Chance Friends Page 13