by C. C. Koen
She shook her head again.
He swung around and punched his fist into the plaster; stabbing, furious pain shot up his arm, across his chest, and into his throat. His jaw clenched so hard, he could’ve sworn he cracked a few molars. A hesitant, light touch settled in the middle of his back. He cringed and slammed the front door open, running down the steps and sidewalk toward his car.
Now he couldn’t do this. Whatever the fuck it was.
When he sprinted across the road and noticed Matt’s silhouette in the passenger seat, it didn’t help his dark mood at all. He sure hoped his best friend prepared for an earful, because if Matt wanted a ride home, he’d get a hell of a lot more than that.
“I thought you drove,” Rick grumbled, throwing the stick shift into gear and taking off.
“I gave Kat the keys. She’ll pick me up on the way to the station tomorrow.”
At least sports cars were good for something, and he pushed it to eighty on the highway. Matt’s silence was deafening. Fine with him. He had other plans when he dropped Matt off at home. For the entire thirty-minute drive, he formulated the ass whooping which would commence on arrival.
And after Matt’s shit advice, the pummeling would be long overdue.
“HEY, CAN I COME IN?” Kat poked her head into Maggie’s room.
Hours earlier, Maggie had tucked Cece into her king-sized bed because she didn’t want to sleep without her baby tonight. The two of them were gathered in a cozy bundle in the middle of the mattress. “Sure.”
Lifting the covers, Kat crawled in behind them, threw an arm around Maggie and Cece’s waist, and rested her head on the same pillow. “Mind if I stay with you guys?”
Maggie glanced over her shoulder and at Kat’s watery eyes. “I never thanked you.”
Kat nestled her forehead into the crook of Maggie’s neck, pulling her tighter. Her damp lashes trickled tears that fell underneath Maggie’s nightshirt and down her back. “If we’d been a split-second later.” As if reliving the horrific events all over again, their bodies trembled.
Silent for a long time, Kat said, “Can I ask you something?” The out of the blue question caused Maggie to flinch from a half-awake doze.
While yawning, Maggie mumbled, “Yeah.”
“Don’t get mad, okay?”
Exhaustion wanted to pull Maggie into dreamland. But curiosity got the better of her, and she resisted. She thought they’d hashed everything out already. “Besides Cece, you’re my second favorite person in the world. After everything you’ve done and we’ve been through, nothing you could say would make me angry.”
From behind her, Kat’s fingers brushed through the bangs on Maggie’s forehead over and over, relaxing her. They always shared a room growing up. One of their favorite things to do at night had been to push their twin beds together and chit-chat and gossip for hours. During difficult times, whether friend or boy troubles, Kat would massage Maggie’s temples or drift a hand through her hair until she fell asleep. She couldn’t remember the last time her sister did that, and the fond gesture warmed her from inside out, replacing some of the awful memories she had trouble erasing.
“Why did you treat Rick that way?”
Wide awake now, Maggie tensed from her shoulders to tiptoes.
“More than anyone, you should know that kind of love doesn’t come around every day. I know you’ve been through a lot, and I’m sorry for bringing it up now, but you broke his heart.”
Her lips crushed together. It took all of Maggie’s willpower to resist telling Kat the truth.
“I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but I couldn’t resist.” Kat’s caresses stopped and were replaced by her fingers weaving through Maggie’s, squeezing them. “What I don’t understand is . . .” Kat’s thumb tossed Maggie’s up and down, wrestled from the top to the bottom like they used to when they were little girls. “He’s nothing like shithead Jake . . .”
A groan gurgled in Maggie’s throat. She opened her mouth to tell Kat to never say his name again, but she didn’t get a chance since her determined sister motored on.
“Even after the asshole’s threats, you didn’t report him. Yet Rick, who’s crazy about you and our little bucket head, you didn’t just push him away, you destroyed him. Why? Make me understand, because I sure the hell don’t. It’s not like you. It doesn’t make any sense. You give everyone a chance to right wrongs, but when it comes to a man who’s perfect for you and head over heels, you tell him to get lost. If I didn’t think you felt the same way, I wouldn’t push, but you’re gonna have tell me you don’t.”
Uncontrollable sniffles and jerky spasms hit Maggie. Yanking a clump of tissues out of the box, she blew her nose, wiping away the tears streaming down her cheeks. After a long while and many deep breathing exercises, which didn’t work, she snuffled and stuttered through an answer. “B-because I 1-love him, I have to 1-let h-him g-go.”
Kat bolted up, her hand crushing the pillow and causing Maggie’s head to roll onto it. Given no choice, she had to face Kat’s frown. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Since they knew each other too well, Maggie had never been able to pull a fast one over Kat. Stressed to the max, her overwrought brain tried to think of a quick excuse.
“I can see the wheels spinning, Mags. Don’t lie to me.”
A doozy of reason came to her, and Maggie hated herself for using it. “Today was horrible, I’m so tired.” And then she added a pout and whined, “Please, sissy.” When she’d been a little girl, her pitiful pleas worked in an instant. Now though, it would be a wait and see game. Kat narrowed her inspector eyes, examining every inch of her face.
“For the record, I’m not fallin’ for your ‘poor little me’ act. I’m pooped too, so I’ll let you off the hook. Tonight.” Kat turned the light off on the nightstand and snuggled up to her and Cece again. All of them settled in the darkness, a knocked-down, dust-their-boots-off and get- back-up family unit.
“I love ya, Magoopie.”
She lifted Kat’s arm off her ribs and blew a loud raspberry and smooch on her sister’s hand. “Back at ya, Cholly.”
Kat’s rumbling laughter helped her fall asleep with a smile on her face. And when her eyes closed, no nightmares came.
Instead, the next morning when Maggie got up at the crack of dawn, the person who haunted her dreams—Richard Maxwell Stone, the one man she’d never, ever forget, and would love until she took her final breath.
And beyond.
“You look like shit,” Kat murmured in Maggie’s ear before taking a huge chomp out of a slice of spinach and sausage quiche from a pie pan on top of the stove.
At four a.m. Cece got up wide awake after almost eleven hours of sleep. Still dark out, her daughter acted as if it were midday, and if she didn’t get going, she’d miss out on playtime. Unable to get Cece to stay in bed, and worried she would wake Kat, Maggie threw on a robe and they came downstairs.
Maggie leaned her hip against the counter and sipped her coffee. Cece shoveled a heaping spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. Mama’s little helper prepared the large bowl, covering it with two boxes of raisins, brown sugar, and a tablespoon of heated milk. Something warm and comforting on a rainy day should be filling her empty tummy too, yet she couldn’t stomach much of anything. From the minute she woke up, it had been flip-flopping. Dreams of Rick wouldn’t stop replaying in her head. The thought of never seeing him again, or worse, not telling him she loved him too, had her so upset, she broke out in a rash all over her neck and the backs of her arms. The last time that happened had been after Cece’s birth, when Jake hadn’t come to the hospital. Thank goodness for family. Her mom and dad and grandparents provided support and were excited for the new arrival. Her sidekick had been there, serving as a coach, and the best big sister in the world.
As she took in the sight of Kat and Cece, sitting side by side at the kitchen table, teasing each other, cracking jokes, their smiles and lighthearted banter made it seem like yesterday never happened. Yet
the bruises covering her hip and ribs told her otherwise. It would take a while for the soreness to subside. Not to mention the amount of time to wipe out the horrific images of a gun pointed at Rick’s heart. To think he might not have escaped just increased her agony. Yes, she could have died too, and the possibility that Cece wouldn’t have her mother when she already didn’t have a father ripped her to shreds. She didn’t know how her daughter would overcome the tragic events. Cece hadn’t brought it up yet, but at some point they would have to. Cooking, computers, reading, being a mommy, she could handle. Trying to explain to a five-year-old why her father tried to kill her mama and Rick, she didn’t know how to address that. What would she say? Caught up in her musings, when the doorbell rang, she jumped out of her skin, bumping her unbruised hip into the counter.
“I’ll get it.” Kat bolted out of her seat and dashed into the living room.
“Mama, I done. Down, please.” Maggie unlatched Cece from the booster chair, and as soon as she set her on her feet, Cece ran into the other room, yelling, “Kitty, let me.”
Curious who’d visit on a Sunday, she refilled her mug and followed the trail of raisins that must have fallen from Cece’s lap. She’d have to get the broom and dustpan out later. A blond woman dressed in a smoky gray blouse and black slacks, briefcase in one hand, the other extended to Cece, crouched down to her height. “Hi,” her lullaby-singing voice said, “I’m Cassie.”
When Maggie came to her sister’s side, Kat slipped her a business card: Cassandra Sullivan, Psychologist, Ph.D., Family and Child Counseling Center.
“Cecily Bryna Tyson,” her daughter blared at an overexcited megaphone level. Cece shook the woman’s hand a dozen times. The doctor bit down on her lip, a smile tugging at the corners.
Worried social services might be involved, she placed a protective hold on Cece’s shoulder and stepped in front of her. “I’m her mother, Maggie.”
“Margareta Cassidy Tyson,” Cece shouted again. “Mama.” Darting around the leg Maggie used to block her, Cece looked up with a sweet, angelic face. “She got ya name.” Then tucked her hand into Dr. Sullivan’s and tugged the stumbling woman toward the couch. “I gotta read ya somefin.”
“Do you mind?” Dr. Sullivan asked over her shoulder while following in Cece’s direction.
Not seeing she had much of a choice, Maggie nodded and shuffled along, taking a seat in the club chair a few feet away. Her ever-protective sister did the same, sitting on guard next to her elbow on the armrest.
After throwing several books off the shelf until Cece found what she wanted, she plopped down next to the doctor, reciting the Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes from a hundred-page anthology, a favorite book and collector’s edition Kat bought for her first birthday.
As Cece read, Dr. Sullivan chimed in, pointing at different pictures, discussing specific phrases and events. The casual conversation the doctor used pinpointed horrific and tragic parts in the rhymes Maggie hadn’t given much consideration to before. The laid-back, pleasing discussion didn’t come across with an intention to cause alarm. No, the psychologist put her at ease and established a non-threatening rapport and dialogue with a five-year-old, debating the choices characters made and what Cece thought about them. At particular instances, a probing question related to yesterday’s situation got woven in without being a direct reference: How was Cece feeling? Was she sad or afraid? Did she see or hear anything that upset her? It amazed Maggie how the conversation unfolded. She never would have believed it had she not witnessed Dr. Sullivan’s calming assurances herself. An overwhelming amount of gratitude engulfed her. She glanced at Kat, realizing they experienced a similar awestruck reaction. They could use the same approach with Cece, even when the psychologist wasn’t there to provide guidance.
The doctor stayed about an hour. A pack of crayons were spread out across the coffee table, and she drew several pictures with Cece, chatting away. They leaned against the sofa, legs crossed, in a comfortable and relaxed slouch.
The weather had cleared and Kat took Cece to the neighborhood park a few blocks away. Maggie rocked on the porch swing waiting for Dr. Sullivan to take a seat in the padded wicker chair and deliver a report. Glasses of sweet tea on a matching table provided a dividing line between them. “Your daughter’s not only beautiful, but a bright and intuitive little girl.” The doctor took several sips of her drink before continuing. “I envy you, and should probably add a warning.”
Maggie stomped her foot down onto the floorboard and the swaying came to a stop. Already worried for her daughter’s welfare, that type of announcement didn’t help and snapped her into an upright position.
Dr. Sullivan placed the glass on the table. Her forearms resting along her thighs, hands clasped between her legs, she cautioned, “I counsel tons of teenage boys. When she’s their age, you’ll never have a sound night of sleep again.” She reached out and gripped Maggie’s arm. “Cece’s lucky to have you and your sister. You make a fierce trio. I could see that the second I came into your house.”
The compliment should’ve reassured Maggie, but she couldn’t help worrying that more might be at play here. She’d fight tooth and nail if social services tried to take Cece away from her. It wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let them. “Who sent you?” Distress brought her blood to a boil. Her question hadn’t contained any of the compassion or grace the doctor exhibited.
Dr. Sullivan reclined in her seat and drummed her fingers on the armrest. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
A deafening pause had Maggie fidgeting along the wooden slats of the bench, unease still agitating her regardless of the psychologist’s assurances. “Who sent you?” Her demand came out in clipped spurts. She didn’t appreciate the fact her question remained unanswered.
Dr. Sullivan lifted her hand and twisted and twirled a heart-shaped locket hanging around her neck. Her calm and collected demeanor switched to a far-off gaze, aimed across the street at a tree or the neighbor’s home. Maggie couldn’t tell which captured her attention, if any.
The non-answer made Maggie antsy. She jumped up from the swing so fast, it rocked back and slammed into her calves. Her arms crossed, and she blocked the doctor’s view. Her worry flipped to pissed off in an instant. “You’re not taking my daughter from me. Get that straight right now.” She shoved the sleeves of her cardigan up to her elbows, ready to duke it out if she had to.
“Ri—Mr. Stone called, told me what happened, asked me to come by.”
Maggie hadn’t missed the slip, the familiarity, covered by the formal surname. There was no reason to ask why. Rick’s concern for Cece’s welfare made her love him that much more. After her bitchy attitude, he still cared, looked out for them. The constant reminders and his thoughtfulness would make it impossible to forget him. She wished she could reach out to him, do something as generous and considerate. But she couldn’t, not without risking his grandfather’s finding out. It had been bad enough her deranged ex almost killed him. The repercussions were bound to be severe once the old man recovered and got out of the hospital. More so than the bruises burning along her left side. The stress agitated her rash, and she scratched the itchy splotches on each arm and her neck, hoping for some relief.
“Eczema?”
Uncomfortable with the doctor’s professional and sincere kindness, she returned to the previous subject. “How do you know Rick?” She wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or curiosity, or a whole lot of both compelling her to ask. Either way, she wanted to know how close they were. As if she could do anything about it.
Again, Dr. Sullivan fingered the locket, running it along the silver linked chain. “We went to college together.”
Crap, the fondness in her voice made Maggie cringe. History, she couldn’t compete with that. Ha! What was wrong with her? She couldn’t do jack about it anyway. Which depressed her more than the doctor’s unexpected visit. “You’re in love with him.” As soon as the rude accusation got blurted out, she covered her mouth with both hands, embarrasse
d, yet not at all sorry for saying it. She wanted to know the answer that much.
The doctor burst into hysterical laughter. After she got control of herself, she picked up the glass of tea and gulped. “Oh, lord no. Wouldn’t touch that ever. It took just three of my hundred and twenty psych credits to figure out he’d be a horrible bet. There’s nothing or no one that could get past the impenetrable shell Rick built around himself. Believe me, in the four years we went to school together, not one of the hundreds of women who tried could get very far. He wouldn’t let anyone get close enough, except Matt. Oh, don’t get me wrong, he was the cock of the walk, had a female on his arm most of the time. But he never went past one night. That wasn’t my style. I’m the monogamous, marriage type. That man most definitely is not.”
Throughout the blabbing, Maggie’s jaw dropped wide open and remained there even when the doctor finished. A sting in her fingers pulled her focus off the over-informative visitor to her picked-raw skin around her nails, blood smeared across the cuticles and coating her thumb. Oh, dammit. Between her rash and that gross habit, she could be a case study herself. Jeez, she wondered what the insightful doctor would say about her. The detailed analysis of Rick Stone had been bad enough. She hadn’t realized she’d covered her face with her yucky hands until she felt them being tugged away.
Dr. Sullivan stood there, examining, observing, her pinky tapping her lip. “So . . . I thought I caught some emotion in his voice this morning. But I never anticipated this.” She set her hand on Maggie’s shoulder and rubbed her thumb along it in a circular, soothing motion. Her head tilted, and a brilliant, toothy smile came gradually at first and then bloomed. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re the one.” The doctor chuckled but composed herself quickly. All of a sudden her eyes darted over Maggie’s shoulder.
“Mama, I gotta bunch a bugs. Kitty let me put 'em in a tissue.”