Bringing Maggie Home

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Meghan groaned. “We weren’t going to talk about Sean.”

  “You brought him back into the conversation. Why’d he call?”

  “He wanted me to remind Grandma that he’d do his best but that it was really up to God whether we find out what happened to Maggie or not. Because finding her will be such a long shot.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Diane rolled onto her back and stared at the rotating blades of the ceiling fan. “Too bad he’s so religious. I think he’d be a pretty good catch for you if he could get off his God kick.”

  Meghan bolted up on one elbow. “Mom! That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  Diane tipped her face toward Meghan. “No, it’s an honest thing to say. There’s nothing wrong with believing in God if that’s what you want to do, but when you have to bring Him into every conversation…well, it’s too much. I’m a teacher, but do I talk about teaching to every person I meet? Of course not. I’d bore them if I did. But religious people don’t seem to get that. They think they’ve got to insert God-talk no matter the subject. That’s probably why the other detectives at work dislike him.”

  The light from the lamp behind Meghan painted a halo around her dark hair. A thick shadow fell over her face, but it didn’t hide her scowl. “I never said the guys at work didn’t like him. It’s really the opposite. Yeah, they rib him—call him Preacher and try to break him down into going to the bars with them. But I think if he gave in and went, they’d lose respect for him.” She lay down again and seemed to examine the ceiling. “When they’re stuck on a case and need someone with a level head to get them going again, they all go to Sean. He’s not the captain of our unit, but he’s…our stabilizer.” She sucked in her lips for a moment, her forehead puckering. “He’s got something the rest of us don’t, and I think it’s because he’s got God.”

  Diane fidgeted, uneasy but uncertain why. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about Sean.”

  They lay in silence for several minutes. The dogs shifted in their crates. One of them—probably Molly—whined and scratched at the plastic side until Diane said, “Lie still.” The noise stopped. Diane closed her eyes, ready to let sleep carry her away.

  “Mom, since we’re talking about guys…”

  Something in her daughter’s tone warned of trouble. Diane’s eyes popped open. She licked her dry lips. “I thought you wanted to sleep.”

  “In a bit.” The mattress bounced as Meghan rolled onto her side and rested her cheek on her bent arm. “When Sean prays, he calls God his Father.”

  Diane nodded slowly, but her pulse was racing faster than a car in the Indianapolis 500. Chills broke out across her frame. “I know. I heard him on the phone. So?”

  “Grandma had her father. You had yours. But I’ve never—”

  The chills changed to heat—an intense, searing, painful rush of shame-induced heat.

  March 1, 1985

  Little Rock, Arkansas

  Diane awakened with her cheek on Kevin’s bicep. He smelled like BO, stale popcorn, and beer. Like a frat boy. She screwed up her nose and rolled away from him.

  He grunted and came awake. “You goin’ back to your dorm?”

  “Not yet.”

  His arms snaked out and pulled her snug against his frame. “Good.” He brushed his lips on her temple, giving her a whiff of his sour breath.

  Nausea attacked. “Kev, go brush your teeth, huh? I have something important to tell you.”

  In the slash of midmorning sunlight pouring through the uncovered window, his grin turned leering. “I don’t much feel like talking, but I do feel like—”

  She pushed on his chest with both hands. “No.” The way her stomach felt, if he kissed her on the mouth she’d puke. “Go brush your teeth, okay?”

  He muttered, but he pulled himself out of bed and padded into the bathroom. She lay on the rumpled sheets, her heart pounding and her stomach whirling. She had the most incredible thing to tell him. The most frightening thing to tell him. She hoped he’d be excited. She needed his excitement to chase away her fear.

  He scuffed back to the bed and fell across it onto his belly.

  “Kevin, guess what?”

  “Can’t guess.” He cupped the back of her head and tried to pull her face to his.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  He froze. “What?”

  A nervous laugh escaped her throat. “I’m pregnant. Isn’t it wonderful? We’re gonna have a baby.”

  “What makes you think it’s mine?”

  The question stabbed as violently as a knife through her chest. When she had started going out with Kevin, her friends warned her he was a player, but she’d been certain he had changed. For her. The same way she’d changed for him.

  She sat up and folded her arms over her chest. “I haven’t been with anyone else.” She gulped. “Ever.”

  He rolled over, sat up, and ran both hands through his thick honey-blond hair. Still holding his head, he muttered something she couldn’t decipher, but she didn’t need to hear the words to understand the tone. He wasn’t happy.

  She’d surprised him. That’s why he was upset. Kevin didn’t like surprises—he’d told her so the first time they went out. She should have planned a better way to tell him about the baby, but she couldn’t wait. She needed his help. How could she do this alone?

  She inched close and curled her hands over his taut shoulders. “I know it’s a shock. It took me by surprise, too.”

  Kevin jerked, dislodging her hands. “How’d it happen? Aren’t you smart enough to use birth control? Of all the—”

  His accusatory words raised her anger. “I’m not the only one who could take precautions. You—”

  “Don’t you dare pin this on me.” He jumped up and whirled on her. The fury in his face sent her scuttling to the opposite side of the bed. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you? Thinking you’d get me to marry you. My family has money—is that what you’re after?”

  “No! I don’t need your money. I thought…I thought…” She thought she loved him. Thought he loved her. What a stupid notion. Tears filled her eyes, and she held one hand toward him. “Kevin, please, we’re gonna be parents. I need you to—”

  He stepped back, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna be a parent. No way. Not now. Not with you.”

  His cold glare and harsh words stole her ability to breathe. She pressed her fist against her lips and choked on sobs.

  He hung his head. The muscles in his square jaw bulged and released, and the veins in his forehead darkened and then faded. Diane waited for the explosion that was sure to come. But then he looked at her, and his expression was tender. She swallowed and clung to hope as he rounded the bed and sat next to her.

  “Di, honey…” He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “Do you love me?”

  She nodded and fresh tears spilled down her face.

  “Then you’d do anything for me, right?”

  Hadn’t she already proved that by sleeping with him? “Yes. Anything.” Even marry him at the courthouse tomorrow and live in a rat-infested basement apartment if their parents disowned them.

  “I want you to get rid of it.”

  Ice filled Diane’s veins. “W-what?”

  “Get rid of it.” He stroked her hair, spoke sweetly, as gentle as he’d ever been. “We aren’t ready to be parents. And you can’t be far along, right?” His palm slipped to her flat belly. “It’s not worth ruining our lives for, is it?”

  She’d been so afraid since she missed her second period. So scared to tell her mother, to tell Kevin, to admit it was true. She’d wished a hundred times it wasn’t true, that there was no baby growing inside her. But in that moment all she wanted to do was protect the little life.

  She leaped away from him and shook her head. “No. I can’t. I can’t kill it.”

  His gaze narrowed. “People do it all the time. That’s why abortion’s legal—so you don’t have to have a baby if you don’t want to.”

  She clutched her stomach.
The spot where right now his baby’s heart beat safe inside her womb. “But I…I want to have it.” She gulped and whispered, “With you.”

  He stood and stomped past her to the closet. He grabbed out clothes and dressed as if she wasn’t in the room. When he’d tied the laces on his sneakers, he finally threw a snarling look in her direction. “If you have it, it’ll be yours. Not mine. If you decide to get an abortion, I’ll pay for it. Then we can keep going out. But if you have it, you’re on your own. Don’t expect anything from me.”

  Her throat convulsed with the effort of not throwing up. “I…I…”

  “Make up your mind, Diane. Do you want a kid, or do you want me?”

  Present Day

  Kendrickson, Nevada

  Diane tossed the covers aside and sat up on the edge of the bed. “That’s a closed subject, Meghan.”

  “But—”

  “No!” She pulled in a slow breath and released it in increments, the controlled expulsions calming her jangled nerves. She turned a steady gaze on her daughter. “Mother might be digging up her past, but I have no desire to do the same. Believe me, your so-called father isn’t worth unearthing.” She headed for the bathroom. Maybe another toothbrushing would remove the bitter taste from her mouth.

  Twenty

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Hazel

  Hazel pointed to an empty spot in the old strip-mall parking lot. “That should work well—centrally located to all the shops.”

  Margaret Diane pulled her car into the slot and heaved a mighty sigh. “I’m glad this is our last stop of the day. My nerves are frazzled. I cannot believe the traffic in this town! And on a Monday, no less. I’d assume midday during the workweek would mean fewer vehicles on the streets.” She pulled expanding window shades from the pocket on the driver’s door and flopped them into place, covering the windshield.

  Hazel slipped the strap of her hobo bag over her shoulder. “It is summer, which means lots of tourists. And many of the people who live in Vegas work nights, so they do their errands during the day.”

  Meghan piped up from the back seat, “I guess they call Las Vegas the City That Never Sleeps for a reason. Maybe you should let Grandma drive us home, Mom—give yourself a break from driving.”

  Margaret Diane shot a frown over her shoulder. “I can drive just fine, thank you.”

  Meghan shrugged and popped her door open. “Only a suggestion.”

  Hazel chuckled. “Do I need to take the two of you home and put you down for naps? You’re starting to sound grumpy.” The statement carried her backward in time to her daughter’s toddler days and to Meghan’s summer visits. The years had slipped by so fast. Melancholy tried to sneak in, but she deliberately pushed the sad feeling aside. “Maybe some ice cream will sweeten you up. It’s been an hour since we had lunch.” If nothing had changed from the last time she visited the row of flea market and specialty shops, there was an ice cream parlor near the east end of the strip. “How about a snack? My treat.”

  Margaret Diane rolled her eyes.

  Too late Hazel remembered her daughter didn’t partake of dairy products. “Or maybe a glass of iced tea. Or lemonade? I seem to recall the ice cream place has lemonade, and you can put different fruit in it.” Lemonade was vegan, wasn’t it?

  “Lemonade sounds good to me,” Meghan said.

  Margaret Diane opened her door and grabbed the little cloth bag she carried as a purse. “How about we get something to drink on the way home? Most shops won’t let you take food or drinks inside, and I’d rather finish our shopping.” She paused, aiming a frown at Hazel. “What exactly are we looking for, by the way?”

  Confusion gripped Hazel. She blinked. “Looking for?”

  Margaret Diane pursed her lips. “In the antique store, Mother. We set out to run four errands. We printed your photograph, we dropped off your pearl necklace at the jeweler, we had a sandwich with a couple of your book friends, and now we’re at the antique store. Why are we here?”

  There must have been a reason she wanted to come to the old strip mall that now housed a flea market and specialty shops, but she couldn’t remember why. “I…” Her mouth was too dry to form words. She needed something to drink.

  Meghan reached over the seat and put her hand on Hazel’s shoulder. “Grandma likes to browse the antique shops, Mom. We came to browse, right, Grandma?”

  So she hadn’t forgotten a specific task. Relief flooded Hazel. She nodded, her breath releasing on a sigh. “Yes. We came to browse.”

  Margaret Diane slipped from behind the steering wheel and closed her door without a word, leaving Hazel and Meghan inside. Meghan rubbed Hazel’s shoulder. “Ready to go?”

  The fog of confusion was lifting. Hazel forced a short laugh. “Yes, I suppose so, if I can get my creaky bones to move. Goodness, this heat. It must be frying my brain.”

  Meghan laughed, too, but a hint of worry glimmered in her brown eyes.

  Hazel patted her granddaughter’s hand and then opened her car door. “Come on. Your mother’s waiting on the sidewalk, and she has less tolerance for the heat than I do. We’d better shake a leg.”

  At least four of the shops along the strip advertised antiques, and Margaret Diane led them to the one closest to the car. A cowbell clanged when they opened the door, the sound raising memories of Hazel’s days working at the general store in Cumpton. A musty odor hung in the shop, the scent of items long unused. For reasons she couldn’t explain, the aroma stirred sadness in the center of her soul.

  Margaret Diane located a rocking chair near the front windows and slid into the seat. She waved her hand at Hazel and Meghan. “Explore to your heart’s content. I’ll sit here and relax.” She sniffed. “Antiques aren’t my thing.”

  Hazel gestured for Meghan to precede her up a narrow aisle between shelves holding all variety of glassware, plates, and bric-a-brac. The two moved at a slow pace, gazes roving back and forth, pausing now and then to more closely examine an item. Many so-called antique stores were overpriced garage sales these days, but Hazel found little of what she would deem junk on the shelves of this shop.

  “Oh, Grandma, look. Don’t you have a bowl like this in your curio cabinet?” Meghan touched the rim of a pale-pink glass serving bowl with a raised rose pattern decorating the sides.

  Hazel cupped the bowl in her hands and lifted it from the shelf. She smiled. “I certainly do. It’s a piece from Mama’s set of Rose of Sharon dishes.” She placed the bowl on the shelf again but continued to gaze at the translucent bowl. “Lots of people in Cumpton had the same dishes. My best friend’s mother had them in green, and our preacher’s wife had clear ones. I always liked the pink best, and so did Mama, although she said it was prideful to say such a thing out loud.”

  Meghan grinned. “I bet your mother liked the pink because she had daughters.”

  Hazel smiled. Daughters…How good it felt to acknowledge that her mother had more than one daughter. But then she gave a start. Daddy had started buying the dishes for Mama long before Maggie was born. Had Daddy chosen pink because of Hazel Mae? She swallowed a lump of emotion and traced a rose with her finger. “Daddy brought ours home one piece at a time from the gas station.” She angled a grin at Meghan. “Can you imagine buying dishes at a gas station these days?”

  Meghan snickered. “Nope.”

  “Lots of things have changed since back then.”

  Meghan turned over the little price tag dangling from the bowl and whistled through her teeth. “Whew, these things are expensive. Do you have the whole set? It’d be worth a small fortune.”

  Remorse twisted Hazel’s heart. “No, those dishes were sold years ago when Mama passed away and the farmhouse and contents went up for auction. I took that one bowl because it had a nick on the rim and the auctioneer only wanted to sell undamaged merchandise. I couldn’t bear for him to throw it away because of one little nick.” She shook her head. “If God cast us aside over the nicks in our lives, none of us would make it to heaven.”r />
  Meghan giggled.

  Hazel raised her eyebrows. “What’s funny?”

  “You reminded me of something Sean said one time—about God using cracked vessels. Another detective accused him of calling us all crackpots.”

  Hazel chuckled. “Well, that’s a term we need to avoid. But Sean is right. There is no one so damaged that grace can’t redeem him. That’s one of the best things about God, I think. He never sees us as too far gone.” Not Hazel, who’d so dismally failed in raising her daughter. And not Margaret Diane, who sought peace in vegetables and intellect. God could still reach her, and Hazel would never stop praying.

  A soft smile lit Meghan’s eyes. “I like hearing you talk about God. It makes me feel…warm and cozy inside.” She touched Hazel’s hand. “So don’t stop, okay?”

  Hazel understood the hidden message—Don’t let Mom’s attitude about God silence you. “Okay.”

  They continued up the aisle, and at the far end an open doorway waited. Above the door a small metal sign stamped Employees Only gave a warning to stay out, but at eye level a hand-printed sign stating Please Come In was tacked to the door’s frame. Meghan glanced over her shoulder. “Wanna go in, Grandma?”

  Hazel shrugged. “We might as well see everything.”

  Meghan grinned and swung her crutches forward. The moment she cleared the threshold, she gasped. Hazel hurried in behind her, then stopped and stared. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined three walls of what had probably been a storage closet, and dolls cluttered every shelf. Big dolls, little dolls, dolls wearing frilly dresses, and others completely unclothed. Those with cloth bodies slumped on the shelves, and those with hard plastic bodies stood proudly over the others. Barbie dolls were tucked in every small space between larger dolls, and a stack of perhaps two dozen more lay in a lopsided pyramid on a bottom shelf.

  Meghan burst out laughing. “Holy cow, this would have been my dream room when I was six! Look at ’em all.” She turned a slow circle, eyes wide and mouth open in amazement. “How many do you think there are?”