by C. C. Koen
“Mama, I want down.” Cece’s demand pulled Maggie back to the present. Kat had already finished eating and started clearing the table. At the sight of Cece’s empty plate and the last remnants of breakfast, she felt awful for zoning out. She looked down at her own half-eaten meal and decided she couldn’t stomach another bite.
“She ate five of them and all her fruit too,” Kat remarked, nudging Maggie in the shoulder on her way to the sink. “You feeling okay?”
Unhooking Cece and helping her off the chair, she gathered the rest of the dishes as her eager daughter took off for the living room. She allowed her an hour of TV after breakfast on the weekends, and Cece took full advantage of every minute.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She tried to shrug off her sister’s inquiry and inspecting stare by turning on the faucet and washing dishes.
“What’s going on, Mags?” Kat set her hip against the counter and picked up a towel to dry.
Maggie should have known Kat wouldn’t drop the subject. Her private investigator mind never let up. Their father and Kat had the same tenacious attitude when working on cases and both earned reputations as rebels growing up. Other than that, the similarities between Maggie’s sister and father ended. Kat’s features were almost identical to their mother’s: both five foot nine, slim with darker complexion and hair, a reflection of their mom’s Greek and Russian heritage. If Kat didn’t dye her hair a white-blond, it would be hard to tell them apart. The Irish side, red hair and freckles, which Maggie embodied, came from their dad. Genetics amazed her, how it mixed up characteristics and features among siblings, sprinkling a little here and there, compliments of each parent.
“Nothing. Give it a rest, will ya?” Maggie scrubbed the plate harder, even though she already removed all the stains.
“You didn’t get another letter did you?” Kat prompted, and yanked the cleaned dish out of Maggie’s hands.
The gushing water seemed interesting enough. Better than Kat’s inquisition. Maggie dropped her chin into her chest and stared at the stream, avoiding Kat’s penetrating eyes. Her sister could always tell when she was lying, a gift their dad used often.
Kat clamped down on the handle, shutting off the tap. “Mags, look at me.”
Dang it. She faced her, knowing if she didn’t, this conversation would never come to an end.
“He wrote you again?” Kat didn’t wait for her to respond. “Let me see it.”
Maggie sighed and picked up the next plate, her reflection marred by clumps of jelly and contorted by the daylight glinting off it. Their discussion would probably end up in an argument. She loved her sister and appreciated that Kat had taken them in, but she came to New York to escape the constant barrage of questions and curious stares in their hometown. Hoping to start new, she’d moved halfway across the country to get away from the constant scrutiny. Since Maggie and Kat were only eleven months apart in age, they’d been inseparable growing up. When Kat left Texas, taking a job out of state a year ago, it crushed her. By that time, Maggie’s divorce had been finalized, and she and Cece took over her and Kat’s childhood bedroom. Her ex had been sentenced to three to six years in the county prison, and her life and emotions were a mess. She thought being with her mom and dad, her safety net, would provide some stability. Instead, even though her parents were supportive and never complained, something inside her felt unsettled and antsy. The fact her ex wouldn’t stop tormenting her, which she refused to tell her parents about since they worried a lot already, made the environment more suffocating. If she complained to her dad and revealed what Jake kept doing, her ex would get angrier and end up in more trouble. She already felt guilty enough. Each day as the pressure increased, she thought if she went away, perhaps Jake’s anger would fade. Unable to escape her sister’s interrogations and in a weak moment, she told Kat about Jake’s threatening letters and phone calls. Tired of the gossips and more than ready for an escape, she asked Kat several months ago if they could move in with her. Her sister welcomed them with open arms.
“I put it in a box with the others.”
“So let me get this straight. Jake has his drughead brother mail you crap, and what, you just sit back and do nothing?”
“I don’t want to make things worse.”
“If you’re talking about visitations then you have nothing to worry about. No judge in their right mind would let him within a foot of her. Besides, you have full custody. He can’t touch her without going through you. Not that he would anyway.”
“He’s her father.”
“He’s a criminal. When are you gonna remove those rose-colored glasses? This isn’t high school. You’re not his rescuer. He’s a grown man that made his choices. Just because Daddy said over and over again meeting Mama was the best day of his life, and she saved him from going to juvie or worse, you’ve had this bleeding heart complex for lost causes. You always were a sucker for fairy tales, but Jake wasn’t Daddy. He took bad boy to another level and reveled in it. He didn’t want fixed. Nobody does. A person has to wanna change, he didn’t.”
Maggie tossed the plate in the sink; stoneware smashing against metal rang out like a bell at the start of a boxing match. “You don’t think I know that. I’m the one that turned him in. I’m the one that testified against him. Those glasses you’re talkin’ about disappeared a long time ago. I’m not that altruistic girl anymore, and I can’t stand you throwing it in my face.”
Kat grabbed her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m worried is all. He’s not gonna be in jail forever. If you don’t deal with him now, he could cause problems when he’s out.”
Maggie looked outside to the backyard. Kat had a point, but she wasn’t sure what steps to take. She felt guilty for contributing to his incarceration in the first place. Their relationship had plenty of ups and downs, but he was still Cece’s father. He just never fit into the role of dad. Married when they were twenty, she figured the first year had been routine: wake up, go to work, and on occasion they’d eat together. If they were both home at the same time, she’d read or do chores, and he’d offer to run errands or would mention that his brother or buddies invited him out. Not wanting to squash his independence or be too clingy, she didn’t complain and often went to bed alone. Way after midnight, Jake would stumble in and collapse onto the mattress, waking her up with the scent of alcohol and smoke. Six months later when she’d told him she was pregnant, he became distant, more so the closer the due date came. No matter how hard she tried to be a good wife and get him involved with Cece, her efforts didn’t work. Then, when her daughter was a year old, their world crashed down around them.
The local newspapers and television broadcasts had been running reports for months about a string of armed robberies. Since she grew up listening to a police scanner and watching the nightly news, she’d always been vigilant even though their tiny town didn’t have a lot of crime. When she saw the video showing the thief on TV, wearing a black hoodie, skull mask, and green gloves, she hadn’t given it much thought. While cleaning out the garage, she found duffle bags with money and a gun inside tucked behind a bunch of boxes. In a backpack nearby, she came across similar clothing described in the robberies. Instead of confronting Jake about it, she’d gone to her dad with her suspicions. Not long after, Jake was arrested. If she hadn’t done that, perhaps none of this would have happened, and Jake wouldn’t be lashing out.
“Mama, I want juice,” Cece yelled from the adjacent room.
Maggie went over to the fridge, filled a sippy cup with organic white grape, Cece’s favorite, and took it to her. “Half an hour, no more. After I’m done in the kitchen, we’ll get ready and go to the zoo. Okay, sweetie?” She brushed Cece’s bangs to the side and out of her eyes. She needed to give her a haircut soon.
“'Kay, Mama.” Cece had already forgotten about her when Barney sang another song. Ugh, his voice grated on her nerves. The tunes lodged in her brain, replaying an insane number of times during the day and sometimes in her dreams
too. Directors no doubt planned it that way, making kids’ shows as annoying as possible to drive parents all over the world crazy.
As soon as she got back in the kitchen, Kat started. “What are you gonna do? And don’t think I’ve forgotten. I wanna see the letter.”
Maggie nodded while grabbing the griddle off the stove. “Let me get the rest of this cleaned up. I’ll get it for you before Cece and I leave. Just be careful. Don’t say anything in front of her.”
“Give me more credit than that. I’d never do anything to hurt my little bucket head.”
For the first time all morning Maggie had something to laugh about. Leave it to Kat to know exactly what to say to lighten the mood. “Would you stop calling her that? The poor girl is gonna grow up with a complex.”
Kat snapped a towel against Maggie’s leg, giggling along with her. “I can’t help it. With all those rules you have, you think you would’ve taught your daughter to not walk around with that damn yellow bucket on her head.”
Maggie tried to punch Kat in the shoulder, but her Flash Gordon reflexes had her flying around the table and over to the refrigerator before she could get a good shot at her. “Hey, look whose talkin,’ glue girl. It’s a wonder you grew up with an active brain cell after all the paste and Elmer’s you ate growing up.”
“I’ll have you know I had the highest score at the police academy, so stuff it, Magoopie.”
“Oh my god, are you really pulling out that lame nickname after all these years.”
The slow-paced saunter and roll of Kat’s shoulders should have been Maggie’s warning, but the lighter turn in the conversation had set her at ease, which gave her sister an opening for a sneak attack. Quicker than an arrow flying at a target, Kat wrapped an arm around Maggie’s neck, attempting to give her a noogie. She countered by snatching Kat’s wrist and struggled to hold it above her head. “You couldn’t stop watching that stupid cartoon.” As Kat mocked her, she got Maggie in a chokehold, gaining the advantage by threatening to cut off her air supply.
Maggie shot an elbow into her sister’s ribs. Kat’s hips jerked back and instead of surrendering, Kat yanked, tightening the grip even more. Wrestling like they’d done most of their life, Maggie grabbed as much skin as she could on the backs of Kat’s thighs, twisting and pinching. A huge intake of air filled Maggie’s lungs when Kat loosened the hold enough to give her a second wind. “If anything you were Mr. Magoo, and I was Cholly. He was the straight-laced sidekick, and just like me, pulled along into his counterpart’s shenanigans. Cholly was the sane one, keeping Mr. Magoo out of peril.”
“Did you seriously just spout off a lecture sounding like a 1950s housewife?”
Maggie head-butted Kat in the shoulder. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”
“Mama, ass a bad word,” Cece shouted, leapfrogging up to them, her sippy cup swinging around her thumb. “More, please.”
Kat swooped her niece into her arms, both laughing all the way to the fridge and back out to the living room.
Now she felt like the biggest ass, chastised by a four-year-old. Not like it was the first time. Cece loved pointing out her mama’s faults whether they were or not. Put Kat and Cece in a room and the likelihood that a major flub up would occur increased by a hundredfold.
Yep, she’d be gray by the time she turned twenty-seven in a couple months, no doubt about it.
THE HONKING HORN COULD WAKE the dead and all of Riverdale for as long as Kat laid on it. Jeez, they weren’t running that late. Maggie zipped Cece’s jacket, set the backpack on her shoulders, and grabbed her hand. Her daughter liked being a big girl and wanted to carry the bag herself. “Let’s go, your aunt’s being impatient this morning.”
Cece nodded and yanked her toward the door, all of a sudden in a rush, even though she was the reason they were behind schedule. It had been a Monday morning from hell. Maggie’s alarm hadn’t gone off, at least she didn’t think so. Then Cece decided she didn’t care for the two outfits placed on her dresser despite the fact they were her top choices the night before. To give her some independence, it was their ritual to pick out clothes after her bath and before a bedtime story. This saved a lot of time and arguing in the morning. Instead, Cece yelled something about it being yellow day, and tore through the closet, throwing anything and everything onto the floor, whether it was that color or not.
Thank goodness on Sundays Maggie prepared egg-and-cheese sandwiches, quiche, or some other breakfast item they could heat up in the microwave to eat on their drive into the city and made their lunches each evening before going to sleep. The routines helped them get out the door much faster.
After snapping Cece into the booster, no sooner had Maggie gotten in the passenger seat than Kat shifted into reverse and peeled out of the driveway. “It’s about time. What the hell took so long?”
“Hey, what did I tell you? Don’t swear in front of her.” Maggie tilted her head toward Cece, whose brain catalogued everything.
“She can’t even hear me over the insane kiddie tunes.”
“God, Kat, she only listens to it on the way in. Other than that it’s your choice. In fact, I remember it being your rule, sister dear,” she said sweetly, turning the volume a tad louder for the hundred-song CD to annoy her even more.
“Ha, I have no rules. Don’t be blamin’ me,” Kat countered.
“Mama, we gonna see Max?”
Kat’s gaze darted to the passenger seat, held for several seconds, much longer than she should have since she was driving, and then back onto the road. Long enough, though, for her squinty eyes to lodge twenty questions without speaking a word.
“He in your class?” Kat turned down the music, her inquisitive brain on overdrive.
“No.” Cece stretched out her response like her aunt wasn’t very bright for asking such a simple question.
“Max, my new friend . . . and Mama’s.” Cece pointed to her. “Can we get a hot dog with him, Mama?”
Maggie cringed. Three, two, one . . .
“Who the hell—heck is Max?” Kat looked at Maggie and then up to the rearview mirror. When they were little, she hadn’t minded Kat’s protective nature. Now though, she didn’t appreciate the hassle.
“Nobody.” To avoid her sister’s scrutinizing glances, she turned toward the passenger window and read the useless billboards lining the highway.
“He lemme push his buttons,” Cece shouted, kicking both of their seats.
Maggie inhaled, holding in a groan along with her frustration, anticipating an extensive and excruciating trip. For as long as she could remember, her control-freak sister wanted to become a private investigator. The independence suited Kat’s don’t-tell-me-what-to-do persona. At the first opportunity, her sister accepted an investigator position at Westlake Security, the leading personal, commercial, and entertainment protection agency in the nation. Detecting a story and sniffing out the clues were Kat’s priority, and the “Max” subject wouldn’t be dropped soon. Since intel came easier from a four-year-old, Kat tilted her chin up and spoke to the rearview mirror. “What buttons?”
“On his 'puter.”
A punch at the top of her arm shoved Maggie into the conversation. She shifted in her seat and rubbed the aching spot. Nowhere else to go, she bit her tongue and wished they didn’t have thirty minutes left in the commute. Since Kat nor Cece would let up, she figured it would be better if she got the interrogation over with.
“He works in the office next to ours.”
“Huh, I have Gateway’s account and do the background checks before they hire. I don’t remember a Max though. He might’ve worked there before I got the job.”
Maggie stared at her hands twisting in her lap and recalled the engraved CEO title. Mr. Stone embodied the role well. A T-shirt and jeans more her style, a man in a suit hadn’t appealed to her before. Yet, when she’d entered his office, she couldn’t miss him. A wall of windows with a mirrored sheen reproduced and reflected his powerful persona. A cherry wood desk pro
vided a dividing line between the haves and have-nots. At the helm, Mr. Stone’s wealth and no-nonsense demeanor exuded a halt-right-there scent, bringing her to a stop at the entrance and barring her from his elite domain.
Determined to retrieve her wandering daughter who’d cozied up to a complete stranger, she held firm and prepared for any challenge. His scrutinizing examination of her clothing wasn’t missed. If she didn’t have the Westlake Security emblem showing, he probably would’ve called them to have her removed from his office. Since her boss managed video surveillance for the entire building, she comforted in the fact Matt would have gotten a chuckle out of the comical request.
As Mr. Stone gave her the once over, she’d done the same. His crisp, white dress shirt had one sleeve rolled up to his elbow, which accentuated and exposed his prickly arm hair, and the other had come unrolled and settled an inch above his wrist, reducing him a notch from her standpoint. Disheveled dark brown hair, as if he’d been stewing over something and fisted the short strands multiple times, gave him a sloppy, casual appearance. His frustrated sexiness called out rescue me and appealed to her sympathetic heart.
“He nice, huh, Mama? He likes Herbert. He holded my hand. We rided in his car. Don’t ya think he nice, Mama?”
Ugh. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her knotted up neck. This day wasn’t getting any better. A headache would make the trying morning complete. At the zoo and all weekend long, Cece asked questions about Max, the same ones over and over again. Kat had been in and out Saturday and Sunday and must not have heard Cece talking about him. Otherwise this discussion would’ve happened a lot earlier. Now she’d have to confront this head on, otherwise the inquisitions would just get worse.
“What the h—”
“Don’t.” Kat needed her potty mouth sewn shut. Maggie constantly reminded her not to cuss. It didn’t help that they worked with a bunch of foul-mouthed men at the security firm. For the most part, she tuned out their raunchy discussions, but Kat fired them up and kept them going. At worst their banter bordered on sexual harassment, at best, off-color political jokes that had the majority of them laughing their butts off.