“Thanks.” She sighed, relaxing against him.
He brushed a light kiss on her temple. “Anytime. I’m a public servant.”
“And I’m thankful to be a member of the public.” She chuckled through her tears. “But I hope you aren’t treating Sissy Jenkins to this kind of service.”
“I reserve this for our special citizens. Sissy is special in an entirely different way.”
Her faint smile reflected in the glass.
“Gotcha.” She released a deep breath. “So, there I was. Sitting on this little bench outside of the gas station, a disaster in tears, and a local Sheriff pulled into the parking spot in front of me. He’d been called to look for me. When he started to put me in the car, I began screaming for Sam. People were watching me in horror.” She opened her eyes and met his in the reflection. “I remember this mother yanked her little girl behind her, I guess to shield her from the crazy, but I didn’t care. Something was wrong. I knew it.”
With the first warm wet drop on his arm, Sean drew her in snug against him.
Sobs begin to wrack her tiny frame. “I k-kept yelling at the S-sh-sheriff to go look for Sam, but he wouldn’t l-l-listen to me. He said they were w-w-worried about me at the retreat, and he needed to take me back. He said he d-didn’t know anything about Sam. I remember crying and crying until I felt as if I was going to throw up.”
Sean turned her in his arms. Tears chased after tears down her face. He hugged her wishing he could absorb the pain from the wound that was being reopened. He wanted to jump in, to tell her the pieces he had filled in on his own, but he kissed the top of her head, lightly caressed her back, and encouraged her to keep talking. Only she had the right to share her life.
“The Sheriff drove me back to the retreat compound. About two miles from the camp, we passed a cluster of emergency vehicles on the opposite side. I yelled at him to stop and thankfully, he did. I barely waited for him to put the car in park. I threw open the door and ran to the rim of the ravine where the crews were working. I remember firemen holding me back from the edge, the rocks slipping under my feet. When I saw the taillights of Sam’s car, I started screaming again. I shouted, ‘Save him, please save him.’ I knew they had to hurry.” She lifted her gaze to his. “They needed to hurry, to h-help him. To save him. But it was too late.” Her voice lowered to a broken whisper. “They said his brakes were faulty. That he’d taken the turn to quickly. But I knew the truth. It was my fault he was gone. Just like my parents. It was all my fault.” She broke away from Sean, went to the kitchen, lifted the teapot and lowered it under the tap. “You want some more tea?”
Sean closed the small space and gently placed his hand over hers. “Maggie…Maggie, look at me.”
Her eyes were soggy with shed tears and make-up was smudged, but she was under control and so lovely she broke his heart. With his free hand he lightly caressed her cheek. “Maggie, none of this is your fault. None of it.”
She yanked away and slammed the teapot onto the stove. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I know that it was a drunk driver who killed my parents and that Sam was the victim of horrible accident? I know it in my mind, but my heart won’t let me rest.” She pounded her chest with her fist. “If it wasn’t for me they would all be alive. My rational mind understands that logically I didn’t cause any of this to happen, but my heart continues to feed my guilt.”
He dropped his hands to her shoulders. “But God doesn’t want you to live with that guilt anymore.”
“I know.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I know. And most of the time I believe it. Like ninety percent of the time. But when I go through the whole thing, I have a hard time acquitting myself.”
He tugged her into his arms. “Maggie, tell me the rest. Get it all out.” He was sure there was more to the story. She needed to be free. And the only way to freedom was through truth.
“Do you mind if we sit?”
He led her back to the sofa, cradling her against his side as they sat.
Sean willed himself to remain silent. He stroked his hand up and down her arm; her head rested on his shoulder.
“I left the retreat that day.” Her voice was low again. “Mitchell wanted to drive me home, back to D.C., but I insisted I’d be all right. One of the girls who shared my cabin helped me pack. She was pretty quiet most of the time, but that afternoon she asked me if the boy who’d fought Mitchell was the same one who’d died.” She shook her head as if she could erase the memory from her mind. “I dropped on the bed, clothes still in my hands, and asked her to tell me everything that had happened earlier. She said that a young man she hadn’t seen before was arguing with Mitchell and she heard my name.”
She twisted to look at Sean. “It didn’t make any sense to me. Sam knew I was at the gas station. Why would he go to the retreat center? I left the girl in my cabin and ran outside to find Mitchell. He was with this group of leaders talking in hushed tones, but I didn’t care. I went straight up to him and started yelling. His eyes were filled with…with this cold fury. With a snap of his wrist, he backhanded me across the mouth, grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the group. I can remember the acid taste of the blood as it filled my mouth, but I think I was more shocked than anything. I didn’t respond. I just let him haul me half way across the camp with no fight.”
Sean felt the white heat of temper and he instinctively squeezed Maggie closer.
“When we got to my cabin, the girl who was helping me took one look at Mitchell and ran out the back door. He threw me on my bed and started pacing the room. He told me he had enough. He was tired of chasing after me. Of me pretending that God hadn’t sent us to each other. He started quoting Scripture and interweaving it with parts of The Mission guide, parts about God’s ordination of certain unions to be supreme unions, or something like that. He believed God spoke to him and meant for the two of us to be together. He grabbed my chin and looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Why else would Sam have died, if not for us to be together?’”
Sean smoothed a curl behind her ear. “He told you this on the day your boyfriend died?”
She nodded. “I didn’t know what to do. He looked so…so…sane. I just knew I needed to get away from him, from the retreat center, from The Mission, from everything. And I needed to do it in a hurry. I pulled out every trick I’d learned in the last year of acting classes. I told him that it was a lot to think about and I needed to pray. I asked him to leave so I could be alone with God and his mouth twisted into this off-centered smile. He told me he could be patient, ‘that was what love was all about,’ he said. And then he kissed my forehead. I must have scrubbed that spot a hundred times, and it still didn’t feel clean for months.
“I threw the rest of my stuff in my bag and raced out to my car. I’d locked my cell-phone in my glove compartment and called my Uncle Jack’s emergency line on the way back to D.C. It’s almost an eight hour drive and I made it in seven flat. I didn’t stop except to get gas. I locked myself in my uncle’s apartment and didn’t answer the door for three days, not until he got home.”
“Maggie, what exactly does your uncle do?”
A faint grin touched her lips. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think he might be a spy or some kind of law enforcement special agent. I know he works for the government in a classified division and he travels a lot.”
More puzzle pieces. They were all fitting neatly together. And most of the picture made his stomach churn.
“Uncle Jack called a friend in the Justice Department and they arranged for a restraining order against Mitchell. I tried to put the whole incident—the whole year—in a box and forget about it. I let my uncle handle all of the legal hurdles and I went about trying to grieve and to start over…again. I didn’t go back to Maryland. It was too hard to be at school. All of the memories and the possibility of Mitchell being around any corner. I told Uncle Jack I needed some time. Time to figure out what was next. I got a job at a coffee shop near his apartment.
And that fall I auditioned for a regional theater production. I was the understudy for one of the main characters and sang in the chorus. I was thrilled to be working. To be able to set the past behind me, even for a little while. Each day that I was further away from that day, I started to imagine it hadn’t happened. Maybe it had just been an accident.”
“But it wasn’t an accident, was it, Maggie?”
She shook her head. “A week into the play’s run, I was called to understudy. I was excited, but also shocked. Understudies almost never get called the first week of the run, especially in regional theater. I went on and I was OK, not great, but OK.”
“I highly doubt that. Remember, I’ve heard you sing.”
“You might be a little biased. But when I left the theater, Mitchell was standing in the alley with a dozen white lilies. I’ve never been so frightened. He told me what a wonderful performance I had given and handed me the flowers. He leaned in to kiss me and I started to scream, but he grabbed my jaw, his hand was like a vise.”
“I reminded him about the restraining order. He threw me into the alley wall and started to chuckle. He said, ‘No piece of paper will stand in the way of God’s will, my dearest.’ He went on to talk about how God brought us together and nothing would ever separate us. He kept going on and on—long enough for me to dial 911 and the police to arrive. They took him away, but he was out in the morning.”
“I left D.C. and moved to Miami the next day. Worked in a restaurant waiting tables and got in another show. Four shows into the run, I looked into the audience and he was sitting front row center. I almost threw up on stage. I made sure to leave with other cast mates and went straight to the airport. That was my last performance. The last time I sang in public before today.
“After the incident in D.C., Uncle Jack and I developed a plan to help me run. I spent the next six years hopping from New York to Chicago to Houston and everywhere in between. Uncle Jack had the restraining order registered in every state in the U.S., but no matter where I moved, within a few weeks or months Mitchell would track me down. His violence escalated with each incident, but nothing his parents’ lawyers couldn’t get him out of.”
“So, I kept running. I’d become a great waitress, but when he kept showing up for dinner, I thought it would be safer, easier to run, if I worked in the back of the house. And that’s how it started.”
“How what started?”
“How I fell in love with cooking.” She smiled and for the first time a twinkle sparkled in her eyes. “I was a sponge. I traipsed after every sous chef and line cook I could find. I asked smart and really stupid questions. It was all so amazing, how this tiny space behind the scene at a restaurant was filled with all of these different worlds. It was like being part of twenty great plays every night. I was hooked.”
“After a year of kitchens, I talked my Uncle Jack into letting me apply to cooking school. At school, I was able to see how those backroom one act plays were developed and transported to a plate. As much as I loved cooking, I decided to specialize in pastry. Pastry is art in a bite—how could I resist? It was a wonderful time, the Napa Valley is so beautiful and the food is so special there. I was happy. For the first time in six years, I was happy. I accepted an apprenticeship under the executive pastry chef at a five star restaurant. Everything was perfect. Until June twenty-third three years ago.”
“June twenty-third…” he whispered.
Scooting to the opposite side of the sofa, she drew her legs to her chest, enfolding them in her arms. “I was working early. Setting dough to proof. I was alone in the restaurant but I wasn’t afraid. It had been over a year since he’d found me. Uncle Jack heard that The Mission had run into some trouble with the IRS, and we both assumed those legal issues put me on the backburner. I started to think that maybe he’d moved on, found a wife, started a new life. I thought Napa was my Promised Land.
“I remember I had this classic jazz album—one of my favorites—blaring in the back room. I used to love that CD.” She gave her head a little shake. “Anyway, I was on my seventh batch of dough when I heard a click at the back door. I thought maybe one of the line cooks was coming in early to prep his station. I really didn’t think much of it. And then crack, everything was black. The next thing I remember I was waking up in the trunk of a car. I was nauseous and dirty. My hands were bound and so were my feet. I was bumping and banging. My head was swimming. I kept praying. I don’t even think I was saying words, just praying, you know?”
He couldn’t imagine.
“When the car stopped, I didn’t know what to do. I thought we were still in California. But when the trunk popped open, I saw the University of Maryland football field in the distance. Somehow, he brought me back to Maryland. We were on campus. I was still bound as he dragged me into one of the dance studios. There were mirrors everywhere and I caught my first look at my face. It was awful. I had blood caked on my cheek from cuts on my forehead and my eye was swollen and purple. I thought I was going to die.”
Sean’s gut clenched, the anger from earlier pushing to explode. This man had laid a hand on his woman. No one had a right to do that. No one. Sean prayed to get past his anger.
“Most of that day is a blur. Mitchell kept spouting about God’s will. How we were meant to be together. Shaking me. Calling me a sinner. A Jezebel. He hit me and I crashed into one of the dance mirrors, smashing it in hundreds of pieces.” She pointed to a tiny scar at her hairline. “That’s how I got this thing. I’m truly blessed that I wasn’t more seriously injured, but that hit knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, my head was pounding and my face felt like it’d been ripped at the seams. “I was dressed in my costume from the play. White lilies were on the table beside me. We were in the theater. He’d set the stage with the sets from the play. It was eerie. Everything was exactly as it had been in the production six years earlier.” She wiped at her tears and tugged her legs tighter to her chest. “He was sitting front row center staring at me. I was so afraid. I knew I was going to die.” Shudders wracked her body.
Sean wanted to hold her close and never let her go. To infuse his strength into her. To protect her from a past she was forced to relive.
She continued describing the twisted wants and needs of her captor. Mitchell brought her back to the place where he felt he’d lost her, where Sam won. Where he was convinced she’d turned her back on God’s will. He called her despicable names. He kept her trussed up on the stage for hours forcing her to relive the former part over and over again.
“It was a nightmare I desperately wanted to wake from. I kept trying to figure out how we’d gotten to Maryland. What day it was. Had anyone seen Mitchell bring me into the studio or to the theater? Would anyone find us? Why now? How could I get away? Would he hit me again? Would that hit kill me?
“He started to relax. I don’t know what clicked in him, but he leaned back in his chair and started to rub his finger slowly across his lips. I’ll never forget that…how he just sat there staring at me as if he were assessing the value of a piece of art. And I realized, he’d won. I wasn’t resisting anymore. It had been hours and no one was coming to find us. I felt hollow. Empty. I didn’t have any more tears or fight. I prayed for God to forgive me for quitting. And I prayed that Jesus would just take me home.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Mitchell stood and walked toward me. He was slow, like a panther hunting his prey. I remember closing my eyes and waiting…I think I was waiting for him to give me the final blow, to kill me.”
Sean reached for her.
“No, I’m OK. I’m OK. Mitchell was nearly to me, and then everything seemed to happen at the same time. Every entrance to the theater burst open simultaneously and dozens of police stormed into the room. Mitchell lunged toward me, but this cop grabbed him by the waist and threw him to the ground. A tiny female cop unbound my hands and feet and wrapped me in a blanket. She looked at my face and started screaming for the EMT’s.
“Uncle Jack came running to me, tears str
eaming down his cheeks. I’d never seen him cry before. He crushed me to him as they dragged Mitchell from the theater. He was kicking and screaming, yelling over and over, ‘I’ll never let you go. Never. You are mine.’
“All these years later, I can still smell the scent of fabric softener on my uncle’s shirt and hear the muffled echo of screams and shouted orders. But I can’t tell you what the cuts or bruises felt like. Or describe the face of the officer who was so kind to me. I can hear her voice as clear as a bell and feel the scratchy warmth of the blanket she gave me. The whole thing was surreal.
“From the moment I heard the click in the restaurant to the feel of my uncle’s arms, I felt as if I were living someone else’s life. The whole thing was like a movie. I didn’t feel as if I was quite there, but rather watching the whole thing in slow motion. Sometimes, when I remember or have a dream, it feels as if all of it happened to someone else. And, really, I guess it did.” Maggie fell quiet; her eyes shuttered against Sean’s gaze.
Sean wouldn’t be satisfied unless the story had a clean, tight ending. He needed to know the rest of the story because without it, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.
She stood as if every bone in her body ached and moved to the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, she looked at ease and casual, but the skin over her knuckles was pulled taut-white.
He closed the distance to the kitchen in three steps and laced his arms across her middle, pulling her back to his chest in a soft embrace. He kissed her temple and she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Maggie, I love you. And I wish I could change everything that has happened to you. But there’s still a missing piece, isn’t there? There’s more to the story. What did you mean, ‘it happened to someone else’?”
She turned to him, folding her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest. “Because it did.” Her words were muffled against his shirt and a new wave of tears dampened the heavy cotton fabric.
“What does that mean? Maggie, who did it happen to?”
From Scratch Page 19