Unlikely Allies (36 page)

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, embarrassed, 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.”

Dr. Sullivan’s sharp-witted inspection flicked to Maggie. “You’re both what he needs. Why didn’t I see it earlier? My intuition is slipping.”

Oh, no, Maggie wouldn’t agree. The woman had a good grasp and read on people.

“Look, Mama.” Both hands were over Cece’s head as she showcased six dead beetles, some squished with gut juice oozing on the Kleenex.

Yuck.

“A gift for ya, Mama.”

Oh, wonderful.

Kat crouched next to Cece, both beaming up at her. “Say thank you, Mags.”

Dr. Sullivan took a step closer to Cece and Kat like she’d chosen a side, her lower lip pinched between her teeth.

All righty then, on the outside again. Using her fingertips and thumb, Maggie picked up two corners of the Kleenex and pulled them toward the center, clasping the corpses inside so she didn’t have to look at them anymore. Ugh, she hated insects of any kind. Kat no doubt egged Cece on, daring her to bring them to her mama. They were partners in crime many times before, so she didn’t doubt it one bit. She bent over, kissing Cece on the head. “Thank you, sweetie. Kitty loves mud pies. You should go out back and make her one.”

“Yeah.” Cece ran inside, slamming the door and screaming “mud kitties” over and over, then another loud bang came as the back screen shut.

That spring really needed to be fixed.

“Well, I better get going before your daughter decides to bring me some.” Dr. Sullivan shook her hand, then Kat’s. “You have my contact information. I recommend counseling for all of you. It’s better to deal with traumatic events head on than bury them. It’ll just make it harder to overcome and put behind you.” While going down the porch steps, she glanced over her shoulder. “If CYS comes by, give them a card I left on the table. I can talk to them if you like. Give them my professional opinion.”

Beating Maggie to the punch, Kat leaned over the railing, a white-knuckled grip on the post. “Which is?”

A clump of her sister’s shirt clutched in her hand, Maggie hoped the fabric would break her fall if she collapsed after the doctor’s account.

“Miss Cecily Bryna Tyson is living in a safe home, with a devoted, compassionate aunt, and an affectionate, dedicated mother, who both provide a supportive, loving environment.” With a wave over her shoulder, the doctor got in a Dodge Dart and drove away.

“Kitty, I got ya a pie.”

Both of them spun around to the door and thank goodness Dr. Sullivan had left already. Covered in mud, head to toe, there wasn’t a piece of skin showing. Cece’s T-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes were coated in grimy gook. How in the heck did Cece manage that mess in such a short time?

“I useded a hose,” Cece announced, her white teeth, orange eyelashes, and green eyes the only shining, untouched spots.

Groaning, Maggie became sick to her stomach as Cece tracked muck-coated footprints along the floorboards, carrying a clump of soaked dirt piled up like elephant dung in her outstretched hands.

“Give that to your mama. I gotta pick up Matt.” Dangling a set of keys in her fingers, Kat shook them over her head while jogging to the SUV, laughing at the quick escape.

“Here, Mama.” Cece pushed the gooey mess up to her face. Little squishing hands forced clump after clump over the sides, plopping onto Maggie’s flip-flops and toes.

Great, just great.

The sight should’ve infuriated her, but after what they survived, Maggie couldn’t bring herself to take a minute for granted or get upset over the little stuff anymore. So . . .

Maggie slapped her hands down onto the icky, lumpy sludge and with a wild hair, screamed, “You’re it.” Then skipped around to the side of the house.

Her daughter’s jubilant giggling filled her with pure joy as Cece chased her into the backyard, shouting, “I gonna get ya.”

The hose still gushing water on full blast, a mush pit swamped the entire mulch pile along the rear fence, at least ten foot wide and growing. As soon as Maggie turned off the spigot, Cece tackled her from behind, and both of them fell into the muck.