As Debra and I had expected, Nicole ran out of steam after just a few hours and spent the afternoon sleeping in the family meeting room. By the time we headed home, she still seemed exhausted, but she was in good spirits. I wasn’t surprised. Work was a great thing, a healthy thing, and I had no doubt this little job was going to have all sorts of positive effects on my sister. Too bad it would only last for four weeks, until her sentence kicked in and she would have to head off to rehab—or to jail.
On the drive home, I told Nicole that Miss Vida had invited her over for dinner, followed by a mah-jongg lesson. And though she was tired, she actually seemed pleased at the idea.
“Just me, though?”
“Yeah. I have some things I need to do. I figure at least this way you won’t be bored while I’m gone.”
She grunted. “In other words, Miss Vida is babysitting me again—though why over at her place this time?”
“It’s not babysitting.”
“Oh, wait,” she said, ignoring my objection. “I get it. You’re wanting a little private time with Dr. Ken Doll.”
I glanced at her. “Actually, we did have a date tonight, but I canceled it. Too much else going on.”
“You canceled on him again? Better be careful, Maddee, or you just might make his plastic hair fall out with worry.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “What’s it to you? You don’t like him anyway.”
“I like him fine. I just don’t like him for you. In fact, if you think about it…” Her voice trailed off, leaving silence between us.
“If you think about it, what?”
“Well, it’s just…if you’re willing to skip a date with a sexy hunk like him just to run errands or whatever, then maybe you’re not as into him as you think you are.”
I hesitated, not wanting to sound defensive but wishing I could make her understand. “Austin and I want the same things,” I said finally. And we did. Family, kids, stability.
“Whatever you say, sis,” she replied. Then she turned and gazed out the window, silent the rest of the way home.
Greg led me across the squishy mat, one hand on my elbow for stability. We were at his physical therapy clinic, after hours, in the main gym, which was a large, impressive space lined with fancy equipment. Along one wall was a huge blue floor mat, and that’s where we got into position now.
After spending more than an hour at the carriage house, checking and fixing the locks on all windows and doors and installing two exterior motion detector lights, we were at last embarking on the self-defense portion of the evening. As a former instructor, Greg had said he could show me a number of moves and techniques I could use to protect myself in dangerous situations.
“The most important thing to remember when you’re under threat is this,” he said, and then he counted off on his fingers. “Eyes, throat, groin, knees. These are some of the most vulnerable parts of the body, and that’s what makes them your four primary targets. Injuring your attacker, even briefly, in one of those places may give you enough time to get away.”
“Okay, I’m ready.” Stifling a grin, I raised both arms and one leg in the air, assuming the classic crane pose from The Karate Kid.
Greg smiled. “Intimidating. But remember, it’s not about karate—or taekwondo or krav maga or anything else, for that matter. It’s just basic self-defense, where anything can be a weapon. You don’t need perfect form or special knowledge.”
“But what if I have some smooth moves?” I asked, digging deep in my middle school martial arts memory and executing an impressive side snap kick.
This time he didn’t smile. He walked over to me and placed his hands on my upper arms, looking me deeply in the eyes. I had previously thought we were the same height, but with both of us face-to-face and barefoot, I realized he was a good two inches taller.
“You need to take this seriously, Maddee. I want you to be safe.”
I could feel the warmth of his hands through the thin fabric of my shirt. Goose bumps lifted on my forearms.
“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. “I’ll behave. Guess it’s just easier to be silly than to admit I actually need to know this stuff.”
He gave me an understanding nod, let go, and returned to his previous position on the mat.
“Basically, you want to use your elbows, fingers, feet, car keys, cell phone—anything you have at your disposal to cause pain to your attacker, which will momentarily distract him. Whatever it takes.”
I nodded. “Cause pain, escape. Got it.”
“Good. Okay.” He stepped back a few feet and turned to one side. “Let’s say I’m you, and you’re the attacker.”
I wanted to make a joke, something about if he were me, then he would definitely not be wearing that shade of orange, but I held my tongue. After all, I’d promised to behave.
“Are you ready?” Greg asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Ready for what?”
“I want you to come at me, but in slow motion. I’ll show you what you should do in response.”
“All right.”
Concentrating now, I did as he said, moving toward him and grabbing his left upper arm with both hands. As I did, he raised that arm in a wide circle, breaking my grip, and then he quickly spun toward me and pretended to jab at my eyes with his other hand.
I stepped back, surprised at how easily he had managed to defend himself.
“Good. Let’s try it again, this time from the back.”
I did as instructed, moving forward and flinging an arm around his throat, but before I could even blink, his foot was at my kneecap. Had he actually kicked, I would have been on the ground in agony.
We spent the next hour trying different techniques, changing roles, learning and experimenting until I began to feel confident. It was strenuous, both of us growing sweaty as we worked, but it was fun too. More than once, I found myself marveling at his surprising physique. Having never seen him in anything other than his standard uniform of navy polo shirt and khaki pants, I hadn’t realized how fit he was.
If that day ever came when he and Nicole actually did start dating, she wouldn’t just be getting a good man, I realized. She’d be getting a buff one too.
“Think you’re up to it?” I asked Nicole the next day after work as we stood side by side gazing up at the walking bridge that led across the river to a small island known as Belle Isle. Now that her casts were off, Nicole was supposed to walk a little bit each day, but after spotting Hedge at the window the night before last, I’d decided we wouldn’t be taking those walks in the neighborhood, where we might cross paths with him. Instead, we’d do it here.
“We won’t walk the whole thing today, of course,” I added, sensing her hesitation. “But I thought it might be nice, especially on a day like this.”
The temperatures had been dropping lately, but today was wonderfully clear and warm, even now at just an hour before sunset.
After a little more thought, she agreed to give it a try, and she took hold of her walker as the two of us set off toward the switchback ramps that would bring us up to the bridge’s entrance. Suspended below an interstate, this footbridge and the island beyond were quite popular with tourists and locals alike.
As she moved slowly up the ramp, I realized that perhaps the slope was too much for her at this stage. But she persisted, and eventually we made it to the top. Once we were actually on the more level bridge, she seemed to rally.
We started across, Nicole concentrating on her gait as I walked beside her, ready to catch her should she start to fall. Far below, the James River churned and swirled in a beautiful flow toward downtown Richmond, which rose majestically in the distance.
We went perhaps twenty feet before she had to turn around. By the time we got back to the car, she was pale, out of breath, and limping.
“That might have been too much,” I admitted as I helped her get comfortable and handed her a bottle of water.
“Let’s try it again tomorrow,” she replied, the determination a
nd resolve in her voice a lovely sound.
Nicole continued to do well at work over the next few days, sleeping a little less each time. Not only did they seem pleased with her performance, but I could tell she was liking it too. She’d always been an intuitive person, instinctively tuning into others’ needs, so it didn’t surprise me when I caught her reading some of the psychology books in the treatment room during her breaks. Perhaps she was hoping to figure out some of her own issues.
We returned to the footbridge daily for our walk, going a little farther with every visit. By Friday, we made it more than halfway across before we had to turn around because of the time. Not only would it be dark soon, but tonight’s agenda was to finish reading the letters before our grandmother’s weekly visit.
That was, of course, the first thing Nana asked about as she came in the door the next morning, and for once I was relieved to answer yes, we’d read them all and we loved them. We sat and talked about some of the various elements—from Celeste’s misfortune in love to Berta’s health to Emmanuel’s sudden appearance—for at least ten minutes before I realized that Nana and I were doing all of the talking. Even though Nicole had read the letters too and found them quite fascinating, she now sat hunched in her chair, looking as though she would rather be anywhere than here.
That was odd enough, but then Nana did something even odder. As I poured her some more coffee and set it on the table in front of her, she looked up at me and asked if I would mind giving her and Nicole some time alone.
Again with the weird thing that was none of my business?
I was vaguely offended but could hardly refuse. I managed to mutter, “Sure,” and then asked how much time they would need.
“Oh, I suppose the rest of the hour,” Nana replied. “So you and I can say goodbye now. Then you’ll be free to run out somewhere if you’d like.”
Ouch. Talk about a dismissal.
I glanced at Nicole, but her eyes were trained on the floor, her cheeks a vivid pink. Whatever this was about, I realized, maybe I didn’t want to know.
Considering that I’d been told to vacate the premises, I decided to go for a bicycle ride. Because of my sister, I’d been forced to take the car to work all week, and I’d really missed my little blue sissy bike.
Though the day was cold and cloudy, I ended up having a lovely time, pedaling in a big loop that took me all the way to Maymount Park and back. By the end of my ride, I was hungry for lunch and curious to learn how the rest of Nana’s visit had gone.
I was slowing things down, about two blocks from home, when I noticed a man sitting in a parked car up ahead. I didn’t give it much thought, assuming he was just waiting for someone or texting on his phone. But as I pedaled past, motion from inside caught my eye, and I glanced over to see him bringing a camera to his face and taking a picture.
With all of the gorgeous historic homes in the Fan district, it wasn’t unusual to see people snapping photos, but I’d gone another half a block when it struck me that something was different with him. His camera had had a telephoto lens—which he’d been pointing directly at the windows of the carriage house.
My heart pounding, I looked both ways and then swung out into the street, making a U-turn on my bike and heading directly back toward the car. In seconds, I heard the ignition spring to life, and then the vehicle pulled out and began speeding in my direction.
At first, I thought the driver intended to hit me, but he veered around me instead, just trying to get away.
“Hey!” I shouted as he flew past. “Stop!”
But he didn’t. He kept going, barely even pausing at the corner before continuing on.
At least I’d gotten a look at his license plate, and I quickly pulled out my phone and typed in the number. After that I pedaled for home, trying to gather my wits about me as I went. My mind was spinning, however, with the most disturbing realization of all. This was the same older, balding, paunchy man I’d seen lurking suspiciously in the alleyway almost four weeks ago, two days after Nicole first moved in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Maddee
Between a known ex-con who lurked outside my house, peering into the windows at night, and some random older guy, who seemed to be keeping a watch on the place from afar, I couldn’t decide which was creepier. All I knew was that this business had to stop.
Not surprisingly, Nana was gone by the time I arrived at home, but otherwise things seemed normal. Nicole was napping in her bed, so I went back outside to call Detective Ortiz. I felt really bad burdening her yet again with matters that more than likely had nothing to do with her, but she was gracious, taking the license plate number and saying she would follow up, including making a second call to the local precinct on my behalf. I asked if she thought this could have anything to do with her investigation, but she sounded skeptical.
“I can’t imagine why. Let me run the plate first, and then we’ll know more.”
“Do you think Nicole and I are in danger?”
She was quiet for a moment before answering. “I don’t know, Maddee. Not necessarily. Spying on people and doing harm to them are two different things. That guy today could be anything from a pervert to a federal agent. There’s no way to know for sure without more information. Your getting the license plate number was key. Hopefully, that’ll lead us to some answers.”
We ended the call, and I felt a little better—until I went back in, heard a soft whimpering noise in the living room, and realized my sister wasn’t napping. She was crying. With all that had just happened, the realization made my heart lurch.
“Nicole?” I ran to her. “What’s the matter?” Had that man been inside the house? Had he hurt her somehow?
She twisted around in the bed to look at me, her eyes puffy, her nose red. “I’m fine. It’s just been a difficult morning. You know how Nana can be.”
Relief flooded my veins. Nana, I could handle.
“Would it help to talk about it?”
She shook her head and reached for another tissue. “I really just need to be alone right now. Thanks.”
Pitiful as she was, I gave her some space. Whatever was going on between her and our grandmother was not my affair—Nana had made that abundantly clear. If Nicole was choosing to shut me out as well, I would just have to live with it.
After all the drama of the morning, the rest of our day was blessedly quiet. We made it to a meeting, but otherwise Nicole spent the afternoon and evening withdrawn and subdued, lost in her own thoughts. It was just as well. Her mood freed me to retreat to the sanctuary of my room and get some much-needed alone time. As I sat in my chair by the window and listened to the children in the park, I found my heart softening toward Austin. Surely the early cast removal had not been intentional. Any man who wanted a houseful of children the way he did would never endanger another person’s health just for his own selfish gain. Feeling better, I texted with him for a while, and we made lunch plans for the following day.
The next morning, for the first time since moving in, Nicole went to church with me. When the service was over, Austin was waiting for us at the curb as planned. Prior to this, I had intentionally kept these two parts of my world separate so Nicole wouldn’t feel awkward. But now that her status as his patient was nearing an end, it seemed appropriate to transition into a different sort of relationship.
Austin drove the three of us to a restaurant he had chosen, a lovely little Italian place on the south side of the James. I liked it immediately, and the food tasted even better than it smelled. Best of all, Nicole’s funk from the day before seemed to have lifted, and at lunch she was witty and engaging.
At one point, Austin surprised me by asking her about her plans for the future. I was going to kick him under the table, thinking, Duh! Rehab or jail. Take your pick!
But then he added, “The real future, I mean. The one that’s waiting for you on the other side of all of this.”
I settled back down. What a lovely way to put it.
; “It’s a little soon to know for sure,” she replied, “but lately I’ve been thinking about going back to college and actually finishing this time.”
“Excellent idea,” he said. “Any thoughts on a major?”
She glanced shyly at me. “To be honest, I’d really like to get a master’s in social work and become a counselor.”
I tried to mask my surprise, but I knew she saw it. Worse, she surely saw my skepticism as well. Going back to college was one thing, but sticking it out all the way through grad school? Working as a counselor? Those were lofty goals, and I doubted she had it in her. Nicole never finished anything she started. What made her think this time would be any different?
The conversation went on from there, but her words came back to mind a while later, over a dessert of blueberry mascarpone tarts. She and Austin were talking about books and reading, and it struck me that when I’d seen her with a psychology text at the office, she hadn’t been trying to solve her own problems. She’d been exploring a topic that deeply interested her, one she might even want to make a career out of. She had the right to dream and plan and hope—even expect. I should allow myself to do the same on her behalf.
Watching her across the table now, I couldn’t believe this lovely young woman in the Stella McCartney blouse with the elegant makeup and expensive highlights was the same kid who, just a few months ago, had sported bleached-blond scraggly hair with dark roots, torn jeans, dirty shoes, and the jittery intensity of a hard-core meth user. If only she could see what I saw, the emerging of a beautiful butterfly from a dark and dingy cocoon. It wasn’t even about appearance, though the difference was striking. It was about the person, the clarity of mind, the gleam of hope and promise that had begun emanating from her more and more each day. With every thought that stretched beyond the next hit, every memory that emerged painfully from the fog, every day of sobriety that built on the previous day, Nicole was finally becoming the woman God intended her to be.
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