by Kay Bratt
“I’m sleeping in here tonight,” he called out. “Come on, Woodrow.”
Woodrow rose as though his bones were a million years old, but he obeyed, crossing the kitchen to head to the box, knowing it was his job to entertain his boy while at home and off duty.
“We’ll see,” Maggie said, feeling exhaustion settle over her. If he fell asleep, she’d lift the box off and carry him to bed. She wanted his warm little body right beside hers so that she knew he was safe every minute until morning.
“Mommy,” Charlie called out.
Maggie stiffly bent again, peering into the homemade door. “What?”
“You’re my favorite person,” he said, giving her the soft smile that never failed to melt her heart.
“Ditto,” she said, grinning at the memory of teaching him the meaning of the word. Now it was a frequent exchange between them, like Patrick Swayze’s and Demi Moore’s characters in Ghost. She wondered if she and Charlie would watch that movie together when he was a teenager, or if by then he’d outgrow nights at home with his mom. She really did cherish this time with him, when he thought she was a hero for making a cardboard box fort; it might not always be this easy, though she hoped it would be.
His voice sounded like he might be getting sleepy. It had been a long day. For both of them.
Despite the damper of the email hacking, Maggie had compartmentalized the trouble to focus on mom duty.
On the way home they’d picked up a few flower boxes, some potting soil, and the cheapest impatiens they could find. Together she and Charlie had planted them and placed them on either side of their shabby front door, centered by a five-dollar welcome mat from Walmart. It wasn’t much, but she wanted to celebrate her job in some way, and at least it would be memorable and spruce up their humble home.
She stood and looked around, deciding what was next now that she had Charlie occupied.
Dishes.
She went to the sink and squeezed in a dollop of soap, then started the water. She frowned at the hardened syrup on the breakfast plate and the nonsensical number of cups that one little boy had used in a day.
She had to do better. Leaving dishes undone for hours just wasn’t her. She needed more organization.
What stopped her? Fatigue. Frustration. And if she was honest, maybe a little bit of laziness.
Sometimes she felt like a failure. But then, she had successfully kept her fear from showing in front of her son. Shouldn’t she get brownie points for that?
Fear came new to her as an adult. It definitely wasn’t something she’d ever experienced growing up. With three protective brothers, there was never a chance for anything too scary to penetrate her world, and if it had, they’d somehow managed to make her forget it. Even now, all she had to do was make one phone call or send one email, and they’d rally around her to make her problem go away.
But one of her brothers was battling his own demons, having basically sunk into a deep depression after his girlfriend left him. He needed to work on getting his own life together.
Between the other two, one was busy with his many start-up ideas, his competitive spirit sending him in a million directions to find the one concept that would catapult him to success, and the other one was still a newlywed and enjoying his life with his young wife.
Calling in the troops was tempting, she’d admit that. But it had taken her years after leaving home to finally feel independent and not like the protected kid sister. So her mother was the only family member who knew of the nightmare Maggie had gone through with her stalker, and she’d been sworn to secrecy. Maggie had opened the door to the madman, and it was her job to close it.
Her mom had begged her to reconsider, but Maggie stood firm. All her life, she’d been sheltered and protected. That’s not who she wanted to be. She wanted to be strong. Competent. Self-sufficient.
Colby couldn’t know either. Being who he was, he’d think he needed to move in with her just to protect their son. Who knew? He might even petition the court for custody. It made Maggie feel a little guilty, but no one could protect Charlie like she could. And if someone took her son, she’d have no reason to live. So far, Colby knew nothing about why they’d been on the run. He—and her brothers—just thought she was having trouble figuring out what she wanted to do in life, so she followed her best friend as a guiding light. Colby knew her better than anyone and could attest to her spirit that wandered at the same time it sought stability. The island would seem to him like the perfect place to satisfy those dueling sides of her personality. In reality, it was.
Despite always having a shadow behind her, Maggie was careful not to let him know the truth, and she made sure that Charlie lived the life of a carefree little boy. She’d learned something through this motherhood gig of hers: having a child meant being an expert at compartmentalizing.
She’d done a damn good job tonight too.
After they’d picked up the stuff for flowers, she’d stopped at a hardware store and purchased a drill and dead bolt, which she installed herself. At least it gave her a tiny bit of security, though she’d heard stories of doors being kicked down despite multiple locks. She couldn’t afford a full-blown home security system, so the dead bolt would have to do—the dead bolt and her watermelon-carving-fort-making knife.
She felt the anger come rushing back.
It just wasn’t fair. She’d thought their move to Maui was a new beginning—one that was free of always looking over her shoulder for the relentless Martin Andrews, aka the Ghost. How and why had he found her email account? Or was the culprit a random scammer and the rose emoji a coincidence? She didn’t know for sure, but she was really pissed off that the sense of safety she’d had since moving to Maui was now in jeopardy.
Just the whiff of something awry was enough to reinstate many of the precautions she’d left on the mainland. And now she wasn’t going to be able to put Charlie in a public day care as she’d planned. Having to juggle a job and childcare was more complicated when you added a stalker to the mix. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to slip some yoga into her schedule after all.
Suddenly she realized she was clutching her coffee mug so hard her fingers ached. She let go, allowing it to drop into the water as she braced herself against the sink and closed her eyes.
She counted to ten, taking deep, cleansing breaths before finishing the last of the dishes and hanging up the towel.
The clock on the wall said half past eight. Half an hour to get everything in order, give Charlie his bath, and tuck him into bed.
She took the broom from the small pantry and began sweeping the wide span of crumbs, dog hair, and other tidbits from the floor. She moved from the kitchen to the ratty carpet, wishing she could afford a vacuum cleaner.
A few years ago, she could buy anything she wanted. Her job was great and her bank account thriving. Now she lived like a pauper.
Sometimes she wondered what she’d done to deserve having her life upended by some lunatic. She was a model citizen—okay, so maybe not model, but she’d never been arrested. She paid her taxes and didn’t litter. She tried to be a good person, and she never hurt anyone.
Colby didn’t count.
They’d hurt each other.
But she’d been kind to the rest of the world. And for that, she was a target?
It truly sucked, and the more she thought about it, the angrier she got.
She paused once she’d swept the last of the debris onto her makeshift dustpan—a sturdy piece of junk mail—then dumped it in the can.
She listened, looking at the door.
When she heard nothing, she put the broom away and took a look around the small room. It wasn’t much. The apartment held the tiniest kitchen she’d ever had, a not-much-bigger living room, one bedroom, and a humble bathroom. She would’ve loved to have a two-bedroom, but first of all, she couldn’t afford the extra rent, and secondly, it wouldn’t make much sense since she and Charlie slept in the same bed. But there would be time to move up. She was jus
t glad to have reconnected with Quinn and found a fresh place for her and Charlie to start over. And a short walk or drive anywhere filled her eyes with such magnificence that she immediately forgot their modest living conditions and focused on the inspiring natural beauty of the island.
But she was tired. Bone-tired, actually.
Quickly she made the rest of the rounds, picking up toys and returning the couch cushions to their place. She tackled the laundry basket next. It could’ve waited another day, but to be honest, she was weary of it watching her accusingly from the corner of the room, its sullen silence reminding her of being a horrible housekeeper each time it caught her attention.
She held up a pair of Charlie’s jeans. Both knees had grass stains, and she didn’t have any stain remover. Despite the stains, she smiled, knowing that they represented the fact that she’d kept her son safe while still allowing him to be a little boy. All kids’ jeans should have grass stains, she told herself, then folded them and added them to his pile.
When she was done, she felt proud that she had two stacks of clean clothes and an empty basket. She kicked it as she went by on her way to put the clothes up.
“Take that, you ungrateful piece of plastic. Don’t you know you should be thankful to even have a job?”
“What, Mommy?” Charlie called out.
“Nothing. I was talking to the laundry basket.”
Her son knew her well enough to not ask why. Talking to things was normal in her household. It had been a lonely year with just herself and a tiny human most of the time, her social life cut short so she could have eyes on her boy as much as possible.
However, tonight she was feeling a little more than her normal crazy. Finally she was settled and wanted to put down roots for Charlie, and now everything was going to start up again?
She paced the floor, feeling angrier by the minute.
A knock on the door stopped her in her tracks.
Her pulse raced, and she could feel the pounding of her heart through her shirt. Quickly she tiptoed into the kitchen and to the box. She knelt down.
“Charlie,” she said, curbing her annoyance.
He looked up at her, shining the flashlight into her eyes, blinding her.
“Stop it,” she hissed.
He moved the beam and she could see his face.
“Listen, I want you to be quiet. Someone’s at the door.”
“Why don’t you open it?” he said.
“Because! We don’t open the door to strangers! We went over this.”
“Sorry, I forgot.”
Maggie took a deep breath. “Okay, Charlie, I’m going to see who it is. But promise me you won’t come out of the box until I tell you to. If someone comes through our door, you be the invisible man. You can listen, but you can’t talk, and I don’t want anyone to see you. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said, easily persuaded as long as it had to do with magical powers.
Woodrow crept out of the box, taking his place at her side.
They tiptoed to the door, Maggie wishing it had a peephole. Even the window at the porch didn’t afford a view of the front step.
More knocking. Harder this time. Whoever it was wasn’t giving up.
Woodrow growled. Maggie put her hand on his head, shushing him.
“Who is it?” Maggie called out, despising the fear her voice conveyed.
“Your neighbor,” a girl replied.
“I don’t know my neighbors yet.” Maggie didn’t trust anyone in the dark. Not even a female.
“You know me. It’s Juniper. From the clinic. I have your key and the scrubs,” she called out impatiently. “But if you want to wait . . .”
Maggie gave Woodrow a stay command and opened the door. Juniper stood there with a pile of scrubs in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” she said sarcastically as she held the wine up. She looked completely different in real clothes versus the scrubs from the clinic. Her short tie-dyed T-shirt matched her hair, and the leggings showed off her curves. Maggie couldn’t pull off leggings herself. Some things were meant to be left to the imagination, and the exact shape of her butt cheeks was one of those things. Or maybe it was that she didn’t have the confidence to pull them off. Either way, Juniper proved that leggings could look flawless and pack some serious attitude.
With her colorful appearance and spirit, combined with her petite body, she reminded Maggie of some sort of woodland fairy.
“What the hell took you so long to open the door?” Juniper said.
A fairy with a potty mouth.
Just what everyone needed.
“I was busy,” Maggie said, still blocking the doorway. “How did you know where I live?” She only had a post office box listed on her résumé, so the girl hadn’t gotten it from work.
“Um . . . on my way out, I saw you and that little booger-eater getting out of your car, with that shaggy dog trailing behind you like a ghost. I live a few doors down. Come on, let me in. This bottle cost me ten bucks, you know. For that, I could’ve gotten two drinks down at Casanova’s ladies’ night.”
Maggie couldn’t help but laugh. What near stranger had the nerve to call a little boy they’d never met a booger-eater? She must have brothers too.
“Come in. Thanks. I’m sorry. I just—well,” Maggie stammered.
Juniper held a hand up. “Stop. It’s fine. You’re new here, and really, you can’t be too careful. Maui might look like paradise, but between the millionaires and common folk like us, we have our share of meth heads and thieves. You’re smart to be careful.”
Maggie was relieved she didn’t have to say more. Then embarrassment followed. Despite the quick cleanup, her apartment wasn’t really presentable. Even for Juniper. But something told her the girl wouldn’t mind a little mess.
Juniper headed straight for the kitchen. As she turned her head to tell Maggie something else, she tripped over the laundry basket and was sliding toward a fall.
“Shit!” Juniper called as she reached out for something to steady herself and hit the wine bottle smack on the edge of the kitchen counter.
It shattered, red wine exploding everywhere. At least Juniper was wearing tie-dye . . . Maggie would have to remember that fashion trick since living with a preschooler left her looking like a walking painter’s palette half the time.
All that was left of the bottle was the neck, which Juniper grasped in her hands. She looked down at it as though it were a precious family heirloom that had just shattered to pieces.
“What was that?” Charlie exclaimed, his little blond head popping out of the cardboard window like a jack-in-the-box. He spotted Juniper. “Mommy, why did you let a clown into our house?”
Gosh, Charlie must be referring to Juniper’s blue hair. Maggie was totally mortified, but she had to admit, the red wine dripping off Juniper definitely added to the sad-clown effect.
“Well, there goes my ten bucks,” Juniper said, ignoring Charlie. Then she looked at the scrubs she’d somehow managed to hang on to. “But by some miracle, you still have a clean uniform. You’re welcome.”
If a dog could look amused, Woodrow did as he stared, obedient in his stay command.
“Oh no,” Maggie said. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left that basket there.”
Juniper shrugged. “It’s your floor. I’m okay, but I was hoping to have a glass of wine with you. Do you have any? Please tell me you do. It’ll help make it easier for us to clean this mess if you can hook us up.”
Maggie sighed but appreciated her attitude. Juniper was a little quirky. And a lot comfortable in her own skin. Maggie could use some of that in her own life. Suddenly she was glad that fate had put her and Juniper in the same apartment complex.
She headed over to the drawer that held her one and only clean dish towel. “Yes, I have wine, thanks to the supermarket genius who put a display of Chardonnay near the cereal aisle. In the hour it took for Charlie to pick out what box of cereal he want
ed, one bottle in my shopping cart turned into two.”
Juniper raised her eyebrows at Maggie. “Mommy juice?”
“I’m a single mom,” Maggie said. “Don’t judge me.”
Juniper laughed. “I knew we’d be friends.”
At least a half hour later, Maggie shut out the bedroom light and backed out the door, leaving it open just a crack.
She tiptoed into the living room, relieved Charlie was tired enough not to beg for another story. Woodrow was sound asleep, his nose resting on Juniper’s feet. Juniper sat there like some high-society dame, holding a wineglass with one hand and flipping through a children’s book on counting in the other.
“Sorry it took me so long,” she said. “Charlie won’t let me leave him unless he’s falling into twilight land.”
“That must’ve been rough when he was still in a crib,” Juniper said.
“Yeah, I wasn’t too good at sleep-standing.”
“Well, of course not. Only Coneheads can successfully sleep standing up.”
Maggie laughed.
In addition to putting a spell on her dog, Juniper was proving to be resourceful. By the time Maggie had Charlie dried, dressed in pajamas, and tucked in for the night, the kitchen was clean again.
“Thank you so much for dealing with the mess,” Maggie said, pouring herself a glass of the white wine. She took a seat at the end of the sofa. Woodrow moved over to her side and curled up next to her feet, his warmth deliciously comforting.
“You’re welcome. That was only fair since I made it,” Juniper said, then held the book up at Maggie. “Do you really think this is a good book for your son, considering his age?”
“What’s wrong with it?” Maggie said, feeling a lecture coming on.
“Isn’t he too old for flap books?”
“He’s had it a few years,” said Maggie. Book buying wasn’t in the budget these days, not that it was anyone else’s business. “I wanted Charlie to know how to count. And now he does. Now, can we have some grown-up conversation? What’s it like working for Dr. Starr?”
Juniper rolled her eyes.
“Uh-oh,” Maggie said. “Did I make a mistake accepting the job?”