Whittaker 02 The One We Love

by Donna White Glaser

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  I’d parked out back, so I went through to the kitchen. Astrid was up to her elbows in dish water. She jumped and peered over her shoulder when I came in.

  “Oh, it’s you! I thought you’d gone already.” She smiled sheepishly. “Don’t tell the others that I’m doing the dishes. The residents are supposed to take care of all their household chores, but every now and then I give them a break. They’re going through so much.”

  “It’ll be our secret,” I said. “Besides, they’re not exactly my best friends.”

  “There’s just so much you don’t understand. I know it must be hard for you, coming in like this. It even took a while for them to warm up to Regina, and that was early on. It’s just …” She struggled to find the words as she dried her hands on a towel. “They’ve both been at this so long. We see so many women, so many children—they’re all hurting. As soon as one gets out, two more show up needing our help. Or, worse, they go back to their abuser. It’s like it never ends.

  “Lachlyn’s own daughter …” she continued, “Well, I won’t get into that, but I’ll just say this: it’s not just a theory with us. It’s not just a political stance or whatever. We’ve lived it. All of us. Most women have, as far as that goes.”

  “Lachlyn has a daughter? Really?” My mind almost fritzed out trying to mentally reconcile Lachlyn as a mother. “I thought she was a nun.”

  “She had a daughter and she used to be a nun. She was discharged or whatever they call it. It was her choice. I guess she decided it wasn’t her calling.”

  “Was she pregnant?”

  “That is none of your business, now is it?”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just can’t picture Lachlyn in either role.”

  “She was a wonderful mother. Kaitlyn was practically raised here at the shelter. Lachlyn used to bring her in. Not to the groups, of course, but Kaitlyn played with the children here. She was such a happy, little girl. Very loving. And she didn’t have just one role model—she was surrounded by strong, intelligent women. Courageous women—especially her mother.

  “You should have seen Lachlyn when she was younger. She’s grown bitter over the years, but who could blame her?”

  “What happened?” I murmured.

  “A man, of course. Isn’t it always? Kaitlyn grew up, met a man—an absolute jerk, I might add—and decided she could save him.”

  “He was abusive?” I asked.

  Astrid ran more hot water, added dish soap, and set the frying pan to soak. “We couldn’t prove it. Not at first. But he was never good for Kaitlyn. Drugs. Drinking. He completely destroyed that girl. When Lachlyn tried to get her to see what was happening, Kaitlyn turned her back on her. Clotilde and I tried to intervene, too. We were like aunts to her, after all. But she wouldn’t listen to us either. I know Lachlyn felt helpless. We could see what was going to happen. And then … it was too late. She was gone.”

  I waited several moments before saying, “That must have been Lachlyn’s worst nightmare.”

  Astrid turned back to the pan with an air of finality, scrubbing vigorously. “That was a long time ago. But you can see why I don’t blame her for being cranky. She’s earned it. And she does such good.”

  “What about you?” I kept the conversation going. “How come you haven’t grown … cranky?”

  “I have my days, believe me. But I don’t know. Their jobs are a lot more stressful. I think I’d go crazy if I had to deal with all the funding issues or the people in the community who say they want to help abused women, but then protest the shelter or a group home in their own neighborhood.”

  “Is that an issue here?” I asked. “This shelter’s been here forever. I would think that any protests would have long since died out.”

  “Don’t you believe it. Every time somebody new moves in, it all gets stirred up again. Strange as this may sound, it was a lot easier when this was a low-income neighborhood. When folks with money started buying up property and remodeling, well, it all started up again. They don’t want ‘transients’ in their neighborhood. What if some crazy husband goes on a shooting spree and takes hostages or something? It’s just ridiculous. Every six months we have to spend good money on yet another community open house so we can answer questions, show off the security system, and just reassure so-called educated people that the boogy man isn’t going to eat their children. A new family moves in and back to ground zero we go.”

  “I can see where that would be frustrating, especially when the money can be used in so many different ways. But in this case, the boogy man is real, isn’t he? I mean, you don’t keep this place secret, right? One of the abusers could show up at any time.”

  “Yes, but that’s not as common as you might think.”

  “But it could happen,” I insisted. I’d had my own experience—very recently—with an abuser who was happy to use me as a substitute when he couldn’t torment his girlfriend.

  “True.” Her turn to smile softly. She knew my history. “Well, don’t tell the neighbors—I’ve got enough to do without planning another open house.”

  Just as I was about to risk delving deeper into Lachlyn’s history, Clotilde walked in. Her glance flicked back and forth between us trying to get a read on the conversation. God forbid Astrid wasn’t being suitably nasty to me.

  “Letty, I’m glad I caught you,” she said. What was it with people refusing to say good morning to me? “I’ve had several discussions with board members, and there are some points we need to clarify. We can’t allow the disruption to our program to go on indefinitely. It’s unreasonable to pull Lachlyn from her duties in this fashion. In light of that, we’ll need you to be finished with your task by the end of the week. After that, I suppose we could consider you to be on-call if one of Regina’s former clients re-contacts the shelter in an emergency. If that should be necessary.” From her tone, it was obvious that it would never “be necessary.”

  “That’s going to be rather difficult since Lachlyn keeps canceling appointments with me.”

  Okay, that only happened once, but I didn’t appreciate the bum’s rush I was getting. I needed more than a week, especially if I was going to maneuver my way back to the archives. And I needed to get Lachlyn off my back.

  “Since we’re only looking at a few days,” Clotilde said, “I can ask her to be more flexible. I feel certain she’ll agree when she understands the parameters.”

  Perhaps she would have more time if she weren’t running around trailer parks scaring off witnesses. Thought it. Didn’t say it. “I’d be happy to be finished by Friday as long as I can do the job ethically. I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything less for your clients, would you?”

  She didn’t allow herself to be baited. “Astrid, if you’ve finished with the dishes”—she gave Astrid the evil eye—“perhaps you could get started on the board meeting notes.” To me, she said, “Have a good day.”

  And then I was alone in the kitchen with the lemony-soft smell of dish soap masking the taste of bitterness left in my mouth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  A typical Monday. This one came with a trifecta of unpleasantness. Bob had astonished us all by arriving at the clinic well before his usual I’m-in-charge-and-nobody-better-report-me 10:00 a.m. start time. The early appearance coupled with his jittery behavior started a swirl of rumors, the most likely of which was that somebody from administration was descending on us for a “surprise” inspection. This, in turn, set off a whirlwind of paperwork straightening and frantic filing in the front office.

  Surprise visits were rarely a true surprise since there wasn’t a supervisor in existence who could make a move without his secretary or office manager knowing where he was going and when he was due back. And of course they’d call Lisa, our office manager, and sound the alert. We might not get a lot of notice, but there was usually enough to make ourselves presentable.

  Today, however, the normally reliable network of support staff snitches had s
eemingly failed, and Lisa hadn’t heard anything. However, when Bob had come in early, she’d called the main office and learned that Dr. Felding—the big boss—hadn’t come in yet. Another highly unusual occurrence. There were just enough discrepancies to the usual routine that Lisa had become convinced that Felding was making a sneak attack. The dreaded words “audit” were spoken, and the front office was in a tizzy.

  I wasn’t completely convinced since it would be highly unusual for an administrator to choose a Monday morning to venture forth into the field. Monday mornings were for drinking coffee and mourning the demise of the weekend. Besides, human nature almost guaranteed that visits be scheduled on bright, sunny afternoons when the boss could take his motorcycle out for a spin to the outlying sites and call it work.

  I was the only one not freaking out. Since I’d been spending the last couple of weeks immersed in files, I knew that both mine and Regina’s were in tip-top shape. Felt quite smug until Bob trudged up front clutching a mug of coffee and asked me to meet with him.

  Actually what he said was, “Letty. My office.” Then, he clomped back to his office, leaving a trail of dribbled coffee in his wake.

  “So, what’s going on with that group?” he asked after I sat down.

  “We’ve held two sessions. Two people showed up for the first, and one for the second. Most of Regina’s clients who decided to continue in therapy preferred individual sessions. Hannah and I decided we’ll offer one more session tomorrow evening and see if anyone shows up, but it’s doubtful.”

  “Well, no one can say we didn’t do what we were supposed to. How many of her clients dropped out? Any way we can make some calls and get them back in?”

  I wasn’t about to start telemarketing former clients, but I had planned to do follow-up calls in a month or so with those who had terminated therapy prematurely. I told Bob this, but he still seemed antsy.

  In fact, Bob really didn’t look well, and I was doubly surprised that he’d shown up today. For once, he looked like if he’d called in sick, he wouldn’t be lying. Since he had come in, I figured it was nerves. Maybe admin had caught on to the lackadaisical approach embraced by their newest temporary director or there really was a surprise inspection in the offing.

  A new thought occurred to me. Maybe his unease had to do with the licensing board issue that Regina had been involved in. Whatever that was.

  “Do you know whether Regina was involved in an investigation with the state?” I worded my question so that it wouldn’t matter if Regina had been the subject or the initiator of an investigation, although I highly doubted the former. Still, I’d been finding out lately that I didn’t know Regina as well as I’d thought. Bob, however, had been fairly close to her, at least until he’d taken up the director position.

  He looked like my question had given him instant heartburn. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I found Regina’s calendar and she—”

  “You what? Her calendar is on our computer.”

  “Yes, but she had a separate one for the shelter. Remember, I asked you about it? And she had the number for the licensing board written in it. I’m trying to find out why she was in contact with them.”

  “If it’s for the shelter, then I don’t care. That’s not my problem.”

  “I don’t know for certain that it involved the shelter. Did she ever talk to you about it? Or maybe to Marshall before he left?”

  “Oh, I get it. This is about Marshall, huh? I heard he was back in town. Is he trying to stir up trouble for me again?”

  “What?” My turn to feel sick. “Marshall’s back? When did he—”

  “Listen, Letty, I don’t know what shenanigans you and Marshall got up to back then and I don’t want to know. You’re both adults and if you like to take a shot at the boss, well, you wouldn’t be the first gal, ya know? But you can’t come running to me if he takes off on you. Of course, leaving the state is a little extreme, but that’s his business. If you’re trying to track him down you should be talking to one of your girlfriends. I hear they had quite the blowout Saturday night.”

  I left the office in a daze. Marshall was back? I made straight for Hannah’s office.

  Sweet, serene Hannah knew what I was about to ask before I’d even opened my mouth. She pulled me into her office and sat me in one of the comfy armchairs. I pulled a plush pillow into my lap and began kneading the velvety fabric.

  “Is he back for good?” I asked.

  “I didn’t go out with them, but I don’t think so.” She didn’t bother pretending either. She was kind that way. “I think he had some business with the cabin to wrap up. He’s having trouble selling it. I think he’s planning on heading back to Wyoming soon.”

  “Who all went out?”

  She shrugged and named a few of our coworkers, including some colleagues from around town. I wasn’t particularly close with any of them, which explained why I hadn’t heard until now.

  We sat in silence for a while as I absorbed the information. Marshall was back, but not staying. And he obviously didn’t want to see me.

  On the other hand, he hadn’t been entirely secretive about his trip, either. Chippewa Falls was a small town and the mental health community was a tight one. If he’d wanted to sneak in and sneak out, he wouldn’t have gone out with people I knew.

  “Letty, listen.” Hannah broke into my reverie. “I know that you’ve been going through a lot, especially with Marshall leaving and then Regina’s accident. Plus you’ve had a lot of responsibility thrust on you. How are you doing with all of that?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I sighed. “Marshall’s leaving? I’m dealing with that by not dealing with it. I don’t know how to feel about it, I guess, so I can’t really pick a response to it. Should I be angry? I guess I am. He left without saying a word to me. Just fled the state,” I heard myself repeating Bob, and almost gagged. “But after all that happened and everything he went through? I can’t blame him either. Besides, he and I weren’t really … I mean, there really wasn’t anything … It was all a maybe, you know? Maybe we could have had something together. But maybe not. It doesn’t matter.

  “As far as Regina’s death,” I continued, “I am dealing with that. She was such a cranky bitch and so wonderful, too. The more I’m taking care of her business, the more I’m understanding what her loss means to me.” I didn’t want to get into my suspicions about the nature of her death, however. Not yet. “Anyway, the added responsibility is keeping me busy and out of trouble.”

  Ha.

  Hannah smiled, understanding. Work disguised as therapy—we were all prone to it. “Well, if you need anything, if you need to talk …”

  I reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Hannah. I’ll keep that in mind. Promise.”

  I felt a little better after talking, not that it lasted. On top of adding several of Regina’s clients, I’d started seeing all of my own again. On the one hand, it felt good to get back into my usual routine, and as I’d mentioned to Hannah, I often used work as a panacea. But it also meant less time to figure out what was going on at the shelter. There were so many questions: What had happened to Regina? What had Mikey seen, and where had his family fled? And how was I going to finagle my way into the shelter where everyone else was trying to shove me out? I decided I would skip my AA meeting tonight and go home and hit the computer, dig deeper into the files.

  Back-to-back clients should also have meant less time to brood about Marshall, but I managed to slip that in at fairly regular intervals. Like every time I took a breath. Eventually, with enough distractions, I managed to regain some of my equilibrium.

  That lasted until I walked out into the front office and found Marshall leaning against Lisa’s desk, chatting with several of my coworkers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  My first thought was Damn, he looks good. My second thought was … Well, I wasn’t very coherent after that, so I went back
to concentrating on my first thought. I’d forgotten how dark his eyes were and how he’d let his chin get scruffy if he wasn’t working. His jeans, faded from years of hard, outdoor work, snugged his butt nicely. That I remembered. On top, he wore a black t-shirt with a silhouette of Jimi Hendrix blazoned across his chest.

  He looked startled, too, although he should have expected to see me. After all, I worked here. Lisa saved us both by taking charge of the conversation, something she does regularly anyway. After five long minutes of saying “uh-huh” to things I wasn’t listening to, I made an excuse and fled back to my office. Unfortunately, it had been the end of the day for me. I wasn’t expecting any clients, my files were all caught up, and I had nothing to do but stand with my ear against the crack in the door trying to listen for his voice.

  I couldn’t quite make out the words, but I could hear his deep rumble and frequent bursts of female laughter. I started contemplating different escape routes, but they all involved crawling through windows or setting off the alarm system that had recently been put in. Nothing stealthy about that. Besides, the alarm system would remind Marshall of why he left in the first place. It was one of the last boss-type things he’d done.

  I flopped down at my desk and rummaged through my desk drawer looking for my stash of emergency Snickers. This situation called for serious chocolate.

  Marshall, with that innate sense of timing that he’d always had, waited until my mouth was stuffed with chocolate, peanuts, and that tasty nugat stuff before tapping on my door. It swung open, not even giving me a few extra moments to deal with the candy bar lump that distended my cheeks by at least an inch.

  Options were limited.

  I could spit the wad into a tissue, but I suspected that maneuver would disclose wide, slurpy tendrils of chocolaty spit, not to mention what the half-masticated gob would resemble after it was deposited.