by Jodi Thomas
Mrs. Bailey rubbed a tear with the back of her hand and jerked clothes from one of the bags. “I brought you some of my daughter’s things.” Mrs. B. tried her best to smile as she changed the subject. “My Tuesday-girl got far too fat to wear them a few years ago but still dreams of dieting while she eats muffins on my couch and tells me how hard it is to get a job.”
Blaine smiled, almost seeing the homely child that plain Mrs. B. would parent. Big bones must run in their family and the Bailey coloring had to be beige. Light brown hair, watered-down tan eyes and skin the color of sand. Mrs. B. was megasized monotone.
“Only good thing about her unemployment,” the woman continued without pausing, “is that my daughter makes the best muffins in town thanks to a recipe Miller gave her that he said once belonged to his grandmother. They melt in your mouth. I brought you some for breakfast.” She patted Blaine’s arm. “Don’t you worry none, they’ll move you into a double-digit dress size in no time. I’ll warm you a muffin and bring it with a glass of milk. You can snack on Tuesday’s blueberry-and-cream muffins while I cook breakfast.”
The woman amazed Blaine. Like an underwater swimmer, she seemed to have the ability to go long periods without taking a breath. Pausing to inhale was an unknown rule to Mrs. B.
The housekeeper continued to yell from the kitchen. “Don’t worry none about the doctor waking up this morning. He has his demons at night, but come dawn he’ll sleep most of the day away.” Mrs. B. returned with muffin and milk in hand.
“Miller says he’ll help my Tuesday open a muffin shop when she gets the recipe down. Try this one, hon, and see if you think she’s close.”
Blaine took the plate. “I should go,” she said to herself more than Mrs. Bailey. “Dr. Early doesn’t need a houseguest if he’s ill.”
Mrs. B. sat down to watch Blaine eat. “Now, don’t you even think of leaving. He liked helping you and I figure that helps him. Miller brought us a blessing to this house and there’s no two ways about it. Since the doc’s wife died five years ago, he hadn’t had much interest in anything but reading all these old books. Dust catchers is all they are.”
“But I can’t just barge in.”
Mrs. Bailey frowned. “You’d be doing us a big favor if you’d stay a few days. Miller said he’d vouch for you and I could really use a little help.”
Blaine nodded. “With the housework?”
“No, with the doctor. I’ve been with him for over thirty years. He’s outlived all his family and most of his friends. Miller says you got a way about you. Says you could talk to the doc.”
“I have to go back home,” Blaine said, thinking of the baby.
“We’ll take whatever time you can spare. It wouldn’t hurt you to stay still for one day.”
Blaine nodded. She didn’t know how to get to Mark, and if she wasn’t very careful, he’d be in even more danger. She needed time to heal. And she needed a place to hide. Maybe she could spend one more night here.
She sat back and nibbled on the muffin, deciding she was the one who had found heaven.
One day melted into two, then three. The doctor was a wealth of information. He reminded her of a research book come to life. His body might be dying, but his mind sparkled. She could see the joy in his eyes as they talked. Pick a subject, he seemed to be saying. Pick a subject and let me tell you what I’ve learned. They talked of wars and presidents and fairy tales, of great books and modern trends. She couldn’t find a subject or a classic he hadn’t read.
For the first time, she ate all she wanted. Mrs. Bailey and Dr. Early treated her with loving care, insisting that she eat three huge meals a day and take both a morning and afternoon nap. On the fourth morning, Blaine hardly recognized herself in the mirror. Her skin had never looked better, her cheeks were rounded and her hair had grown slightly to a length that flattered her. The old, blond Blaine with a bit too much makeup had disappeared.
Dr. Early said she glowed as all mothers-to-be do. He slept most of the days away but always joined Blaine and Mrs. B. for an early supper. Then he loved to read aloud and Blaine found herself lost in his stories. She realized how much she had missed never having someone read to her. If she would join him, the doctor would have a midnight snack, then he’d climb the stairs and disappear into his rooms upstairs. She’d hear him walking the floor and coughing, sometimes even talking to himself, but she never bothered him. He must need his time alone or else he would have stayed downstairs.
The doctor might be a very private man, but Jesse Lynn Bailey proved to be a wealth of gossip. She was a one-woman, twelve-hour-a-day, talk-radio personality on steroids. By the end of the first day, Blaine knew the names and life stories of all five of Mrs. B.’s children. None of whom seemed to have amounted to anything except trouble for their poor mother. She had a plan for all of them and her mission seemed to be to inform them of it daily.
After two days of listening to Mrs. B., Blaine decided the youngest child, the only one still living at home, must be deaf. After asking the doctor if it was all right, Blaine set out on a walk. She made it halfway to the cemetery before she realized she had to turn back. She might make it to the cemetery with the bag of food for the child, but she would never be able to make it back. Blaine rested on a bench for a while and returned home defeated. She left the bag of food on the porch and crumbled into her bed, asleep before her head settled into the pillow.
An hour later when Mrs. Bailey woke her for lunch, Blaine discovered the bag was missing. Someone had stolen it from the porch. Blaine shrugged, deciding she’d try again tomorrow.
The hand-me-down clothes from Mrs. B.’s youngest offspring took a little getting used to, but Blaine accepted them as a blessing. Having something to change into that felt clean was wonderful, even if it did have Winnie the Pooh stamped on it.
Blaine almost laughed aloud. Two weeks ago she wouldn’t have worn a scarf that hadn’t been picked especially for an outfit. Now she was blending nursery-rhyme tops with cartoon-character bottoms.
Blaine asked for a paper every morning, desperately needing to keep up with the ongoing investigation of the bombings. But other news filled the headlines. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about a bombing at a clinic that killed two people.
The act that had changed her life was little more than a footnote in the news.
She found a note on the third page about police investigating new leads, and twice there were new articles about possible people who would run for railroad commissioner now that Mark Anderson was no longer considering it. Blaine noticed that Mark never gave a statement to the press, but Harry Winslow did.
Once in a while, Blaine tried to reach Mark by phone, but he never picked up at home or on his cell, and Bettye Ruth always answered at the office.
Blaine was still almost within the shadow of the capitol, but somehow in Dr. Early’s old rambling house with its overgrown trees hugging the brick, the headlines seemed a long way away. She could hear the traffic but it seemed more a hum than a roar of a city just beyond the thick walls of the doctor’s yard.
She told herself she needed to step away from everything. She needed to think.
By the fourth day, Blaine felt as if she was strong enough to face Mark. Somehow he’d find a way out of this mess. They were a family now, they needed to be together.
She dialed his cell telling herself that this time Mark would get the message. The home phone might be broken or full of messages, his office phones might be picked up by someone else, but Mark always had his cell with him.
As usual, voice mail picked up.
She hadn’t wanted to leave another message, but she had to. Maybe he hadn’t heard the last one until after she’d been stabbed. Maybe he’d thought it was a prank. Maybe the rain had made it impossible for her to see him.
“Mark.” Blaine fought down the panic as the phone beeped. “This is Blaine. I’m in danger. We’re both in danger.” She had to think of somewhere safe that they could meet. Someplace anyone listening t
o the message wouldn’t understand. Somewhere she could walk to. The cemetery was still too far. “Meet me at sunup tomorrow where we used to eat pizza for breakfast when we were in college.”
The message clicked off before she could say more.
Blaine tried to breathe. Tomorrow this would all be over. She’d find Mark and somehow he’d find a way out. If someone else, by chance, heard her message, they would have no idea where to meet her. Mark would be there this time. He had to be.
Twenty-Four
Blaine blinked away the sun and rolled over. The pillows of the couch pressed against her face. For a moment, she thought it was Mark’s back.
“Mark!”
She jumped up. How could she have slept past dawn? Not today!
Blaine ran to the bathroom, pulling off her gown and grabbing the first shirt and trousers from her pile of clothes. Both were too big, but she didn’t have time to worry about it. Looping an old belt around her waist, she tied it off with a knot and stuffed the shirt in.
Pulling on an oversize windbreaker and her shoes, she silently slipped out the front door. Mrs. Bailey wouldn’t come for an hour and the doc should sleep for hours yet. There was no one to explain her actions to.
That’s why she’d overslept, Blaine realized, glancing up at the old man’s draped window. In the few days she’d been in the house she’d come to dearly love Dr. Early. Each night she worried a little more, knowing he was one floor above her and in pain. Like Mrs. Bailey, Blaine watched him counting away his life, one step at a time, breath by breath.
Last night, about midnight, she’d tapped on his door asking if there was anything he needed. In his ever-kind way he said no, then hesitated and added, “Could you read just a few chapters to me. Just until I fall asleep.”
He lay back amid a stack of pillows and smiled as she began to read Treasure Island.
When she took a break, she went down and got them both milk and cookies, then they talked while they picnicked in the middle of his huge old family bed. He told her how this house had been full of children once. He said distant cousins who’d never bothered to visit would probably inherit the place. The office complex next door had been trying to buy the land for years and would meet the cousins by the time he was put in the ground.
Blinking away the sunrise, Blaine hurried down the front steps. She couldn’t help but glance back. It would be a shame to destroy this old home. Dr. Early said all the generations had left behind echoes of their laughter and their books for him to treasure. She’d spent her life trying to forget where she came from, while he lived with the richness of generations surrounding him. No wonder he didn’t even want to leave the house to die.
The air blew cool, not yet warmed by the day as she walked the streets toward what all the college kids called the drag. It was a long line of restaurants, coffeehouses, bookstores and little shops that bordered the campus of the university.
When she left the neighborhood around Austin Community College, the old homes gave way to businesses, the silence to traffic. Blaine pushed on, thankful she’d walked at least once a day since she’d been injured, otherwise she’d never make it.
Blaine felt strong, light-headed almost. Finally, her nightmare away from Mark would end. The doctor had given her exactly the medicine she needed, time to think. She knew more was wrong between them than just her worry over the possibility of being sick or pregnant. She also knew she loved him, at least enough to try. Now she’d get her chance to talk to him away from their town house, where he might be watched, and away from his office, where others might hear.
Somehow they’d find a way out. There had to be a middle ground where they could stand together. She might not come from a family she could remember with pride, but Mark and she were strong, they could be the first generation to build on.
If they could live through this trouble, she thought. If he’d accept the pregnancy. If he’d be willing to bend. She wasn’t sure he would. She’d never asked him to. Her whole future hung on a two-letter word. If.
As she rounded the corner, a block away from the all-night pizza parlor, two ambulances blinked into view.
Blaine slowed, noticing several police cars blocking the street. Something was wrong.
Half a block closer she blended in with the students who flowed endlessly like a river between the shops and the university. Yellow tape blocked off the sidewalk on either side of the pizza parlor that made a habit of selling all leftover pizza for half price at dawn. When Blaine and Mark had first dated, pizza for breakfast seemed like a good idea.
Blaine shoved closer until she stood among the watchers who’d forgotten classes or jobs in favor of curiosity.
“What’s up?” someone in the crowd mumbled as he shifted his backpack.
“A drive-by shooting, can you believe that, man. A drive-by right here in downtown Austin.”
An overweight man in his fifties shook his head. “Reminds me of the tower shooting back in sixty-six.”
The crowd grew silent a moment. Most of them weren’t alive when Charles Whitman climbed the Texas Tower in the center of campus and shot fourteen people, but everyone had heard the stories.
“Was anyone hurt?” a girl shouted at a uniformed policemen directing traffic.
“Read about it in the news,” he shouted back. “Move along. There’s nothing to see. It’s all over.”
No one moved. Blaine stood just behind the plump man and watched a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance.
“That’s the third,” someone mumbled. “The other two were able to walk out.”
The girl on the stretcher moved an arm and yelled something. One of the EMT tossed a backpack into the ambulance before closing the door.
Blaine waited. As the ambulance pulled away, the crowd began to move.
Blaine fell into step behind two students who barely looked old enough to shave.
“Do you know what happened?” one asked.
“Not much. I heard someone say a car raced by at dawn and blasted away at the pizza place. Shattered every window like some kind of gangland shooting or something. But everyone must have hit the floor. I heard a cop say into his radio that it was a miracle someone wasn’t killed. From the looks of those who climbed into the ambulance I’d guess two students, both girls, and that old cook who works the night shift were the ones hit. I saw a few guys talking with the police, so I’m guessing they were in the shop at the time.”
“Makes no sense,” the other one mumbled. “The pizza wasn’t that bad.”
Blaine slowed, feeling suddenly sick to her stomach. If Mark got her message, he might have been in there waiting for her.
People brushed against her as they passed. Finally, she made it to a side street and rounded the corner next to a line of Dumpsters. She folded over and threw up.
If she’d been in the pizza place on time, she might have been shot. She might be dead. Mark might be one of the two men who walked out, if she could believe the scraps of information she’d overheard.
She made her way back to the street and turned in to the first door she came to, a health food store and café. The girl who looked up from behind the counter couldn’t have been more than eighteen.
“Mind if I use the phone,” Blaine whispered. “I have to check and make sure my husband wasn’t at the pizza place.” She saw no reason to lie.
The girl nodded slowly.
Blaine dialed home. No answer. She tried the office. The office receptionist picked up on the first ring, rattling off the names of the law partners without pause.
“May I speak to Mark Anderson?” Blaine tried to keep her voice calm, businesslike.
“He’s in a meeting. May I take a message?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” the woman sounded slightly annoyed. “I saw him go in ten minutes ago, but if you’d like me to interrupt the meeting…” She trailed off as if she had no intention of doing so.
Blaine hung up without answering. “He wasn’t ther
e,” she whispered.
“Thank goodness.” The girl behind the counter smiled.
Blaine thanked her and left before she started crying. She tried to walk with the crowd, but they were suddenly moving too fast. Gripping her side, she made it to an old wooden bench in front of what had once been a clothing store. Everyone around her seemed in a hurry just as Blaine’s strength faded.
She didn’t even want to think anymore much less be afraid. Closing her eyes, she fought to keep from throwing up or passing out.
It could have been half an hour, or a minute, she wasn’t sure, but Blaine jerked as she felt something touch her shoulder.
Twisting around, she came face-to-face with the child she’d seen in the cemetery.
He held up a bottle of water.
As soon as she took it, he darted away, disappearing in the crowd as easily as he did between the headstones.
Blaine stared at the plastic bottle of cold water. She glanced around, noticing a bookstore with a side entrance that had a case of the same brand of bottles by the front door.
Blaine smiled. Her entire life was falling apart, but stolen water had never tasted so good. She didn’t have to think too hard about how the child had found her. She’d been leaving food on the porch of Dr. Early’s since that first day she’d tried to make it to the cemetery. The food kept disappearing.
It took her an hour to walk back to the doctor’s house. She let herself in and sat down on the couch. “I’m safer here,” she whispered, knowing she wouldn’t be fool enough to leave a message on Mark’s phone again. Deep down she knew if he’d gotten the message, nothing would have stopped him from being there.
“What did you say, Mary?” Mrs. Bailey asked without turning from the bookshelves.
“Where is Miller?” She thought it odd he’d brought her here and then disappeared. “I have to talk to him.” Maybe Miller could help her.
“He’s around. He’s always around,” the chubby woman answered. “He and the doctor go way back.”