She saw her way out and took it.
“Speaking of counselling, you won’t believe what Melindi has got herself into. You know that meeting she went to, when we babysat Ben and Lilly? The lady who runs the meeting has got her going every week now. On top of that, they’ve offered her free counselling. Seriously, who would fall for that?”
Bel put the plate on the pile in the cupboard and turned back to take another out of Liam’s hand. She pulled, but he held on.
“Liam?”
He stood rooted, forehead creased, eyes locked on hers.
“It was a meeting for single moms, wasn’t it?”
“Let go.” Bel tugged and his fingers sprang open. His eyes darkened and she waggled a finger at him, “No, don’t even go there. It is not that whole conspiracy thing. It’s just a support group.” She piled the plate and swung her cloth as a hint.
He hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d mentioned the group.
Bel didn’t want the conversation to come back to her. She kept talking. “My biggest fear for Melindi is that they’ll rip her off. She thinks she’s a good judge of character, but look at her choice of husband. Honestly, free counselling? Who does anything for free? There’ll be a catch and I just hope Melindi sees it before it costs her.”
Liam put a cup down and took her by the shoulders. “It could cost Melindi her life. This is exactly what I thought was happening. How can you not see it, Bel?”
Damp seeped through her sleeves from his soapy hands. Isobel wanted to kick herself. She’d distracted him from analyzing her life, but had swatted another hive of bees in doing so.
“You know what? I’m going to prove to you that there is nothing sinister going on at that group. A bit of a scam, maybe even fraud, but murder and kidnapping? I don’t think so. I’ll prove it.”
He lost a shade of colour. “Stay away, Bel. Please. I’ll stop hounding you with this. I’ll find somewhere safe for Mia. Anything you want. You don’t have to get involved.”
She wriggled free of his damp hands. “Too late.”
****
Isobel’s chair squeaked every time she moved. As if she didn’t feel conspicuous enough already. She sighed and tried not to fidget. The single moms’ group met in a tired church hall that had long since felt the loving caress of a paint brush. Heat and the humidity, so common to the south coast, had curled the ancient layers of paint into cracked bubbles a disturbing shade of fried egg white.
Melindi had dropped enough info in casual conversation for Isobel to pick up on and make contact with the group. They ran a number of meetings during the week. All Bel had to do was avoid the night Melindi went.
The moms chatted in little bunches, like burrs on a sock. Sitting amongst these ladies, Isobel was beginning to wish she’d listened to Liam. She might as well have fraud tattooed on her forehead.
Liam was convinced that coming to this group was as dangerous as slapping an elephant. If he could have successfully disguised himself as a woman, it would have been him sitting here now, rear end going numb from the effort of trying not to squeak.
The door leading deeper into the church opened. A slip of a woman with too little hair walked in. The limp bits that she did have hung off her scalp in frazzled dryness. She stopped off briefly at each group, trading a few quiet words before moving on. A stiff cotton dress in neutral colours fell like a shopping bag from her bony shoulders and swished around her legs as she walked. It was, without doubt, the wrong range of colours for her to be wearing.
It was a mismatch that made Bel itch between the shoulder blades. It didn’t ring true. The woman peered over her thick glasses at the room full of ladies and clapped twice to get their attention.
“Come and sit, ladies. It is time to start.”
The moms kept chatting as they found their seats, wallowing in the rare treat of adult conversation.
For most of them, Isobel would guess this was their only break from a week full of wiping runny noses, changing diapers, and feeding hungry mouths.
“Welcome to our first-timers. I hope you’ll enjoy your time with us.” She paused and smiled at them all in turn. It didn’t seem to come from a warm place in her heart, but rather from the depths of some script that said it was a good time to smile. “My name is Loreen. We’d love to get to know you, so please tell us a bit about yourself and your children.” With that, she turned her bug-under-a-microscope gaze onto Isobel and nodded for her to start.
Isobel’s carefully rehearsed words turned purple with stage fright. Liam had insisted they go over her back-story until she could recite it backwards at two in the morning. That was all very well, but sitting here with all these eyes on her was another story altogether. The one thing they had managed to agree on, was to stay as close to the truth as possible.
The truth.
She could tell them the truth.
“Hi, my name is Isobel. The truth is I’ve only been a mom for the last few weeks. Though I guess I’m more like a substitute mommy.”
Silence fell in the room as the words left her mouth. Yep, they were all paying attention now.
“I found a toddler abandoned on the beach. I’m looking after her till I can track down her real family. I’m here because I have no family of my own. I’m in way over my head and I need help.”
A pale-skinned redhead was the first to break the silence that had fallen over the room. “That is so brave. We’d love to help wherever we can. Right, ladies?”
A chorus of warm encouragement swept over her as heads nodded and a few hands patted her knees.
One mom didn’t agree. A delicate woman, all in shades of pink with ‘Shawna’ scrawled on her name tag, she spoke as if she’d swallowed half a bottle of vinegar. “You can’t do this. That child must be handed over to the welfare to deal with. You can’t play finders-keepers with a life.”
Mere weeks back, Isobel would have been the first to agree. Now, the thought of Mia being taken from her was unbearable.
Shawna had touched a raw nerve.
“I know. You’re right. I’m going to have to do the right thing. I just want to make sure she’s recovered properly first.”
The redhead tsk’d, annoyance colouring her voice. “Shawna, stop being so proper. Isobel should get a medal for what she is doing. Seriously. How many people do you know who would take in a child like that?”
Throughout this exchange, Loreen sat silent, her face expressionless but for a faint flush that stained her cheeks. She waved the redhead back to her seat. “This is not an issue for us to sort out here. It will need to be put right, but this is not the place. We are here to encourage one another.” Encourage came out of her mouth sounding like something one would classify right up there with salmonella poisoning. Something best avoided. Her slow drawl ground on and on.
Isobel shook her head to stay awake. She pinched her arm a couple of times, hoping to shake the lethargy that fogged her brain.
This woman was too much. She was saying all the right things, but there was no sign she believed what was coming out of her own mouth.
Isobel couldn’t help yawning.
This lot was about as dangerous as a bowl of oatmeal. At room temperature. Served with a plastic spoon.
The door creaked open and clipped footsteps crossed the hall. A man in jeans and charcoal cotton shirt bent low, whispering in Loreen’s ear. He glanced up and his gaze caught Isobel’s. A strangle tingle tiptoed down her spine. Dark hazel eyes, faint silvery scar down one cheek. A vague smile played the corners of his mouth. She shut her eyes to breathe, and when she opened them he was leaving.
“Er, Isobel—did I get it right? We must talk. If you stay behind after the meeting, I may be able to help.” Loreen regarded her, puzzlement creasing her brow.
Isobel sat upright as she heard her name. She blinked and pretended to rub an itchy eye to cover her sleepiness. “Pardon?”
“I want to help you. We’ll talk after.”
“OK, thank you.”
The rest of the meeting was a blur of discussion and laughter which left Bel feeling nauseous. Liam had been so persistent last night, to the point of making her think maybe there was some fire to his smoke. But the longer she faced this washout Loreen and her group of average ladies, the more convinced Isobel was that they were barking up the wrong tree. In fact, right now, she was pretty sure that there was no tree at all.
Bel, stick it out. Surely after this, Liam would have to let it rest. This is the only way to prove him wrong in his suspicions.
Her interview with Loreen was as underwhelming as the rest of the meeting. Once they were alone, she gave Isobel a form to fill out and sat in brooding silence while Bel’s pen squeaked its way through twenty random background questions. She felt oddly detached as she handed it over, as if she were rehearsing lines for a movie.
“We’ll assess this and my people will get back to you in a few days.”
Bel’s unasked questions stayed that way as she was ushered out of the room and building with no chance given for anything more.
****
The call came through three days later.
Bel was trying to persuade Liam that it would be a good idea for him to go home. Just that morning, she stumbled out of bed in her half-awake state on the hunt for coffee. Forgetting that the door at the top of the stairs was locked, she’d smacked into it, head first. A purple bruise flowered instantly on her forehead.
The fact that he’d laughed made eviction by force a very attractive idea.
Every time she brought it up, he’d put her off saying it was as if they were living in two separate flats anyway, courtesy the locked door. This was always followed by mutterings that she never quite heard other than the word ‘safe.’
Even now, as she answered the phone, he leaned against the wall with his arms across his chest and a cheeky eyebrow halfway to his hairline. It messed with her brain. It was time for him to go home.
“Isobel speaking.”
“Loreen here, from the single moms’ group.”
Isobel felt a sudden need to make friends with the wall.
“I’m sorry, but we won’t be able to take you into the counselling program. The criteria for acceptance is very specific, and I’m afraid you aren’t quite right for it.” She droned on for a while, but her words were buzzing noise in Bel’s ears.
By the time they said good-bye, Bel had her hand on her hip, fingers drumming victory on her hip bone. She couldn’t help grinning at Liam smugly. There was no way that the meeting she attended was a front for anything.
Liam was hovering over her like a nosy kid. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” It was all she could do to bite back the I told you so! that hovered on her tongue. “They don’t think I qualify for counselling. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Not really. It just means they don’t think that approach will work on you. They want Mia. There will be a backup plan. Make no mistake.”
“Honestly, Liam? Why are you so obsessed?” Something deep and fragile within her snapped. “I’ve been through too much to live with your constant paranoia. I’ve got some serious thinking to do.”
Mia started crying upstairs.
I can’t do this.
Liam glanced upstairs and back, his eyes searching hers.
She looked away, shutting him out.
With a frustrated growl, he pushed past her and ran up the stairs two at a time. His leaving left nothing between her and the front door.
Fresh air.
She took the gap and bolted.
****
Upstairs in Bel’s bedroom, Liam picked up Mia, set her on his lap, and dried her tears with his thumb. “There there, small stuff. All better.”
She swatted his hands away, not ready to stop being grumpy just yet.
He held his hands in front of her, palms up. She fell for the bait and started slapping her palms on his, a two-year-old’s version of a clapping game. The reprieve was brief. Four clumsy swats and she lost interest. “Where Mine?”
“She’s coming now.” Liam fought the smile off his lips. Laughing at that serious face would have been parental suicide. Mia never called Isobel “mom.” She was “Mine,” and that was the end of that. It made Liam melt. Every single time.
“Want Mine. Now.” She slid off his lap and felt for his thumb, “Come wif. Find Mine.”
She led him down the stairs, and he waddled after her like a duck on a string, hunched over to reach her hand. He nearly toppled down the stairs headfirst. How he managed to stay on his feet was nothing short of a miracle. This little girl was on a mission.
Mia stopped on the bottom step and called, “Mine?”
Liam saw the open door and knew they wouldn’t find her.
Mia dragged him to the kitchen and the lounge.
Isobel’s absence was too much for Mia. She flung herself onto the carpet and sobbed. Great gulping, heartbroken sobs, tiny fists thumping the innocent carpet.
Liam’s heart could only take so much. “Come, Mia. I’m with you. Mine is coming now.” He picked her up, dodging flying fists and feet. He held her close, forcing the flying bits to wave ineffectually behind him. The swing bench was the only solution he could think of for this inconsolable little mess. The cool air washed over them as he pulled open the door.
Stars littered the moonless sky, their fierce blaze reduced to a twinkle by the thousands of miles between space and their swing.
Mia stopped crying. She sat on his lap, blinking like an owl. “Schtars!” She pointed and patted his chest in excitement. “Schtar! Tinkle schtar!”
Liam was relieved to find the off button for her tears. He was only too happy to oblige if it meant that button stayed off. Clearing his throat, he got the swing going and launched into his own, rather mauled version of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” that somehow managed to involve pizza and a cow.
Mia didn’t seem to mind. She relaxed in his arms, humming along here and there.
Even as nursery rhyme gibberish was coming out of his mouth, Liam’s insides pressed upwards to the only One who could untie impossible knots. Jesus, we need a breakthrough. For Mia. For Isobel. Keep her safe wherever she is. Show us what to do next. He felt a warmth flood through him as he laid his gut bare. The hairs on his arms stood on end, and he knew that whatever came out of his mouth and heart now was being heard before the hosts of Heaven.
God Himself was listening.
At some point in the crossover from bovine pizza to powerful destiny, Mia nodded off. Safe and content.
17
Isobel ran. She left the house behind, not knowing where she was going. Ducking past a red pickup, her sneakered feet pounded the gravel. Her pace changed from I-gotta-get-out-of-here to the regular slap-slap of a normal jogger. I’d give anything to be a normal jogger. She ran through pools of light cast by overhead streetlights, through patches of inky blackness. Gravel became grass then became sand.
The crashing roar of the incoming tide broke around her as she dropped to her knees on the beach, breathing hard. Perspiration ran freely as she gasped for air. She slid to the side and then pulled up her knees, wrapping her arms around them.
The starlight did little to break the hold of darkness, but she welcomed the gloom. It enveloped her like a cloak, and it felt good. What you can’t see can’t harm you. Heightened by the blood rushing through her body, delivering fresh oxygen to depleted cells, her senses were in overdrive. She felt the prick of her unshaved legs.
Her priorities had shifted since Mia’s arrival.
The sand beneath her rear was cold and damp, and sogginess seeped into the fabric of her denim shorts. The ocean hid in the dark, visible only as a deeper blackness than that which was all around her. The noise of the sea pounded in her ears, a seething mass of restless water—never ceasing, not moving forward, not receding. Endless tossing with little purpose.
Just like my life.
Isobel was alone for the first time in week
s, and her mind darted—a pond full of goldfish catching mosquitoes. She could feel herself breathing. Chest rising and falling. Predictable. Ordered. The goldfish slowly calmed, circling until they came to rest on one single conundrum. Mia.
It was too late to keep the walls up. Mia had shattered those completely and torn down the barricade to Bel’s past in the same effortless flourish. Mia had ripped off the scab of the wound deep in Isobel that had never healed and somehow it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because she loved the little blonde girl. It was a simple fact.
Keeping Mia…that was the challenge. If Liam was right, she was next in line to be kidnapped. So bizarre, so paranoid. Yet even if all that was just a delusion—child welfare would step in sooner or later. Either way, Isobel’s heart was left quivering on the chopping block.
God, what am I going to do?
It felt as if her own thoughts answered her, but the tone was so different, the intent—the heart behind the words…
Fear not, My light has overcome the darkness…
The words trailed off as the moon broke through the bank of clouds camping on the horizon. Instantly, a thousand living sparkles set off a dazzling moonlit fire across the water. Waving shadows retreated to reveal a chorus line of palms swaying in the wind. By the silvery moonlight, she saw the curve of the beach off to the left, many footprints crisscrossing the sand at her feet.
Isobel staying on the beach, listening to the voice of the waves and wind as her mind tried to come up with a plan. Any plan.
My light has overcome the darkness…
At 3 AM she started shivering. The numbing cold of the sand joined forces with a sly wind that threaded goose bumps all down her spine. Her teeth started chattering, but she stayed put. She just wasn’t ready to face what was waiting for her back home.
Fear not…
The words echoed in her head but her heart still fluttered.
If it was true, if Light truly had overcome the darkness—then she knew exactly what to do. But still she stayed there, frozen. Paralyzed by emotion and fear. Through the darkest hours of night, Isobel sat.
Finding Mia Page 9