“He's a good boy, my Jack,” Cor was saying, adding his own sting to my self-flagellating thoughts. “What time do you get off work? I can drop off your car,” Cor said, pulling a face at the foam from the fake sugar that bubbled up as he stirred his coffee.
“I can pick it up.”
“No. I don't mind.” He looked up at me as if daring me to say anything different. “I can use the exercise.” He waited a beat, giving his tea another stir. “I went to the doctor yesterday. He told me I needed to get more exercise. And he started me on insulin.”
I wanted to tell him that was great, but could I rightly celebrate the fact that he would be jabbing himself two or three times a day from now on? “This is your first step toward taking control of your health,” I said in my best imitation of a television doctor.
Cor glowered at me. “I thought it might get you, Jack, and Father Sam off my back.”
“We nag because we care.”
Cor leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his ample chest, a smile flickering over his rough features. “You do?”
I looked at his face, the ever-present suspenders over the wrinkled shirt, and felt a flood of warmth for this dear man. “Yes,” I said quietly, touching him lightly on his shoulder. “I do.”
“Well… good.” He cleared his throat and nodded, then bent over his coffee and gave it another stir. “So, what time are you off?”
“I can pick up the car…”
“What time are you off?”
I relented. “Seven. I'll be home at seven thirty.”
“I'll bring it then.”
“Good.”
“Hey, Terra. Why did the elephant cross the road?”
“To get to the other side?”
“Nope. It was the chicken's day off.” He slapped the table, laughing at the sad joke. “So I'll see you later?”
“I'm looking forward to it.” And, to my surprise, I was.
“Order up, Terra,” Mathilde snapped as I came into the back.
She had been in a snit all morning because the fryer wasn't working properly and the repairman had to order parts from Cleveland. She'd been so cranky I was tempted to hitchhike down to Ohio myself to pick up the missing part.
I wondered what she was going to be like after I left. Helen, Sunny, and Anita—the other waitresses—would bear the brunt of her ire. Remorse watered down the relief of not having to deal with her anymore. I wondered if they would find someone to replace me right away.
Don't start. You need space. You need to breathe.
I also needed to talk to Lennie about collecting my wages and tell him I'd be quitting. I knew how crazy things got here, and I knew I would leave them short-staffed. Lennie hadn't made up the new schedule for next week yet. I had to tell him before he did.
Maybe I could leave tomorrow…
My heart sank as I looked at the calendar. Next week was Anneke's birthday party. I had even bought her the cutest present—a pair of plastic high heels, a tiara, and a magic wand.
Don't go there either. You've never been one to spend a lot of time with the kidlets. Drop the present off before you go.
If I went. Maybe I could stay a little while. Get some more money together.
The longer you stay, the harder it will he to leave.
My thoughts battled one another as I walked to my customer's table.
Nothing's changed. You were always going to leave. Stick with the plan.
But as Jack's face swam into my mind, I realized everything had changed. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had met someone I could spend more than a few days with. Someone with depth and character.
Don't go.
Don't stay.
Maybe what I needed was some kind of sign. The kind Leslie talked about.
Yeah, right. Now she's got you believing in that hocus-pocus stuff.
“Are you okay, Terra?” the woman asked. “You look a little pale.”
“I'm okay. Thanks.” I gave her an extra-wide smile as I set down her plate. Then I scurried back to the coffee machine to make the rounds with the coffeepot. I needed to keep busy. Just keep moving and keep the thoughts at bay.
My feet hurt when I made the final turn onto my street. My head hurt even more. My wish for keeping busy had been granted. Shortly after my schizo-thoughts moment, customers had come pouring into the café like ants at a picnic, and I had been running ever since. I didn't have a chance to talk to Lennie about getting paid, or about quitting.
So that would have to wait until tomorrow.
Now I was dog tired. Dusk was settling, and the streetlights were just starting to come on.
I heard a horn beep and turned in time to see a little white car come up the street, Cor behind the wheel. I smiled as he pulled up under the light in front of Helen's house, the branches from the weeping willow brushing the top of the car.
My car. My ticket out of here. My sign?
I started running. “You're nice and early,” I called out.
“I thought you would want the car right away,” he announced in a voice that, I was sure, carried all the way to Bozeman.
He laid his hand on the hood of the car as he walked around it, and as he came closer, I heard him wheezing.
“Are you okay?”
He waved my concern away. “Fine. Fine.”
“How are you going to get home? I should drive you.”
“No. Father Sam is picking me up. We're going bowling tonight. Now get those license plates you got the other day.”
I waited a beat to make sure he caught his breath, but he flapped his hand at me in a shooing motion. I got the hint, hurried inside the house, and found the plates, surprised to see my hands trembling. A car. The North American dream of freedom.
When I brought the plates out, Cor was already kneeling at the back of the car, a toolbox opened out on the pavement in front of him. He looked ready to do major surgery.
“You need all that just to put two screws in a license plate?”
“Jack got this for me for Father's Day.” Cor's large hands passed lovingly over the various screwdriver bits lined up like obedient little soldiers. “Thought I would give it a test run.”
I will not think about Jack now, I told myself, banishing the image of his concern from my mind. Erasing the memory of his kiss. Pushing aside the confessional moment in his arms. Focus on the car. The sign.
“Can I have the plate?” Cor's gruff question pulled me back from the thoughts I wasn't thinking about Jack. I handed him the piece of thin metal, my car's entrée into the world of roads and interstates and fuel consumption.
“Anything I can do?” I asked, uncomfortable with the spectator aspect of my situation.
He shook his head. “You just sit and watch a master at work.”
“Where?”
“Very funny, young lady.” He chose a Phillips end for the screwdriver, fitting it in while I watched.
“I really appreciate this, you know,” I said.
“Well, I wouldn't do it for just anyone, you know,” he replied.
The trouble was, I did know. And the thought that he would do this for me created an unexpected lump in my throat.
“The only problem with this, though,” Cor continued, wheezing as he walked to the front of the car to repeat the procedure, “is I'm afraid I'm just making it easier for you to leave.” He looked sad. As if he knew.
I swallowed the lump, my solid plans teetering.
Lights swung onto the street as a large car pulled up behind us and stopped. Father Sam got out. “You ready to go, Cor?” He waved at me. “Hey, Terra. So, you've got your own car. Now you can hit the open road.”
Did he know, too?
“I'll be with you in a minute,” Cor said, putting the final twist on the last screw. He took his time packing up. Then, when he was done, he tossed me a sad smile. “So. We'll see you tomorrow? At the diner?”
“And why wouldn't we?” Father Sam said. “She always works that shif
t. Now, old man. Let's get moving.”
Cor held my gaze, then came over and gave me a hug. “You're a special girl, little lamb. Don't let anyone tell you different.” He handed me the keys, wrapping my fingers around them and squeezing my hand. “Here you go, girl. She's all yours.”
“I have to pay you yet.”
“You will. I'm sure.” He patted me on the shoulder and got into Father Sam's car. I stood on the road, watching as they drove away, wishing I felt more certain about my decision.
Don't change your mind. Going once. Going twice. You're gone.
My feet kept time with the words as I hurried up the walk. I was leaving. I was leaving.
“Terra?”
The voice jumped out of the night.
Chapter Twenty-one
My heart jumped as I spun around in time to see Amelia step out from behind a tree beside the walk.
As she stepped out into the light, I saw a large smear of blood on the front of her shirt, on her sleeve. She had her hand on her arm.
“What happened? Where's Madison?” I cried. “How did this happen?” Anger coursed through me as blood seeped from her arm through her fingers. So much for Jack's talk about how much Rod cared. He should be here to see this.
“I got hurt. My arm.”
“You need to have that looked at,” I said. Her hand was getting redder by the minute, and I could feel my head getting woozy at the sight of the blood oozing between her fingers.
“I don't want to go to the hospital. I'll be okay. You can fix me up. It's just a cut.” She pulled her hand away to reveal a four-inch gash. I winced in sympathy.
“I can't do that. You need stitches.” I was no nurse, but the ragged edges of flesh told me that this had not been done with a knife. “How did this happen?” I asked, wishing I could just grab her and drag her to the hospital but knowing that, as tired as I was right now, she could probably outrun me.
She leaned against the tree, her face paper white under the streetlight. “I'm not sure.” I could smell liquor on her breath, so it was a safe bet that, as the ubiquitous domestic violence reports state, alcohol was involved.
“Did you and Rod have a fight?”
Her anxious gaze flew to mine. “Yeah. A fight.” She gave the information reluctantly, as if afraid to implicate her boyfriend.
“So how did you get hurt this bad? Did he hit you? Or cut you with something?”
“I tried to duck away, but I couldn't move fast enough.” She winced.
I imagined twenty different ways I could hurt this man. “Is Madison with Rod now?”
She caught me with her other hand. “You have to help me get my baby back.”
I tried to understand what had happened. Why was she here? Had she walked all the way after her fight with Rod? It didn't make sense.
“He said I'm a bad mother. I'm scared that Rod is taking her away.”
Her comment pulled me back to her situation. “He can't. You're the mother—he's not even Madison's biological father.”
“You have to help me get her back.” Amelia grabbed my shirt, tugging on it.
“I'll help you; just calm down.” I didn't care how much she protested, I had to get this girl to a hospital. And then I had to file a police report. Rod may have friends in high places, but he wasn't going to get away with this. Not if I could help it.
“Where are you going?”
“We need to stop the bleeding. Helen might have something.” I ran to the house and up the front stairs. Helen was sitting at the kitchen table doing a crossword puzzle when I burst into her kitchen.
“What's wrong, hon?”
“Amelia Castleman is outside. She's hurt. I need to take her to the hospital, but for now I need something to stop the bleeding.”
“Amelia's here?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“There's a message on my answering machine. Rod was looking for her, asking about her. He was worried.”
“Did you call him?”
“Not yet.”
I held up a warning hand. “Please don't call him. Amelia's got a huge cut on her arm from Rod, and she's scared to go to the hospital because she's afraid he'll find her there.”
Helen frowned. “Rod hurt her?”
“Yes, he did,” I said, squeezing the words past my clenched teeth.
“Do you need to use my car?” Her hazel eyes sparkled with questions I knew I would have to answer later.
“No. I've got my own.” My keys were still tucked in my hand. “I just need something to stop the bleeding for now.”
“I'll get a towel.”
Amelia still stood outside, leaning against the tree.
Helen hurried back into the kitchen holding a couple of fluffy pink hand towels. “The closest I have to red,” she said, thrusting them at me. “Now hurry. If you need help to get her to go to the hospital, holler. She's not too trusting. Otherwise, I'd be out there helping you myself.”
“Thanks, Helen.” I gently tugged on my hand, the keys digging into my palm. “I should get going, though.”
“You be careful. The hospital can be crazy this time of night. All the loonies decide to go out and get hammered then start driving around and get into accidents. I don't want to see you get hurt. Okay?” She sandwiched my hand between both of hers, as if to underline her comment.
“I'll be careful.” Another gentle tug.
But Helen didn't let go. “Are you sure you're okay? You look a little drained.”
“Just worried about Amelia.”
Helen held my gaze. “You're a good girl. Don't let anyone tell you different. Not everyone would take the time for someone like Amelia.”
I gave her a quick smile, gave my hand another tug, and this time she let me go.
But as I ran down the stairs her words echoed in my mind, rife with more meaning than I had head space to decipher.
An hour later I was flipping through a magazine in the emergency ward of the hospital, ignoring the crying baby beside me and the funky smell emanating from the muttering man across from me, trying to stifle my own hospital memories and my thoughts.
All my plans to leave would have to be put on hold until I got Amelia settled. And what would that entail? How was I going to get Madison back from Rod?
I threw the magazine down in anger, remembering how Jack had defended that rat. How could he?
Restlessness clawed at me, pulling me to my feet. Why was this taking so long? The doctor said they'd be done quick. This wasn't quick. This was long. This was Titanic long.
I caught a glimpse of the time. Close to midnight. The pumpkin hour.
Now that I had made up my mind to leave Harland, I wanted to be gone. I wanted to be down the road, away from people who asked too many questions. People whom I had already told too much. People with whom I had become too connected. Too fond.
I couldn't stop my mind from flitting back to Cor De Windt. How good it felt to be hugged like a daughter. Remembering that hug made me jump to memories of Jack, who hadn't hugged me like a daughter at all.
You need to get going. Get gone. Remember the plan. The longer you stay, the better chance Eric has of finding you.
Desperation clutched at me. I couldn't leave until I helped Amelia get Madison back. I'd promised her, and I knew I needed to do this. Needed to reunite mother and child. Needed to close the circle. To atone for my own sins.
The doors to the main entrance whooshed open, letting in a draft of cool evening air. I shivered and turned.
And came face-to-face with Jack, Rod right behind him.
Rod's jacket was buttoned askew, his eyes were bloodshot, and I could see the beginnings of a beard. He looked like ten miles of bad road. He looked exactly like the kind of guy who could hurt someone badly.
“Where's Amelia?” Rod asked, his eyes piercing me.
My angry gaze ticked from Rod to Jack. “How did you know?”
“My dad saw Amelia talking to you. He told me.”
“Well, it didn'
t take you long to go running to your buddy.” I spat out the words, my anger burning hot and hard.
“I didn't. He found me.” Jack's eyes grazed over mine, then past me to the emergency department.
“Is Amelia okay?” Rod asked, all solicitous and caring.
He had to be kidding me. “And you care because…”
“Terra…” Jack warned.
“Amelia is lying on a bed in there, getting who knows how many stitches in her arm because of you, and you dare act as if this wasn't your fault?” My anger gained strength, my words lashed out at him. People were watching us, but I didn't care. All my attention was focused on this man who had hurt my friend.
“Terra, please listen,” Jack said, reaching out to me.
I spun away, afraid that if he touched me I would lose my momentum. Just like I always did with Eric when he tried to make me look unreasonable.
“That poor girl has been living in fear of this guy. He hurts her—and now he has the nerve to show up here acting like he cares?” I turned to Rod, my anger building. “And where is Madison? Where is Amelia's little girl?”
“She's safe,” Jack said quietly. “Please, you have to understand.”
I turned to face him, lashing out at him as well. “No. You have to understand. Amelia is doing the best she can. She needs help, not condemnation…” I stopped myself in time. I'd already been down this road before. With Jack. The scenery wasn't worth the trip. I took a deep breath. Men didn't listen to hysterical women.
“Rod's been sick with worry about Amelia,” Jack said. “He's been taking care of Madison all day and night. He's been phoning anyone who knows anything about her, including you.”
“And somehow he found time to hurt her, too.”
“What are you talking about?” Rod cried out. “What do you mean, ‘hurt her’?”
Jack held up his hand to quiet his friend, then turned to me. “Amelia left Madison with a babysitter this morning and said she was going to be home at suppertime. She didn't show up. Rod hasn't seen her all day.”
I thought of the message on Helen's answering machine. I thought of the alcohol I sniffed on Amelia's breath. I was no nurse, but I could see that Amelia's wound wasn't very old. In spite of my anger, my mind flashed back to the first place I had been with Amelia. And the second. The bar each time.
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