From Scratch (23 page)

He turned his back to the kitchen and picked up a cooking and lifestyle magazine from the trunk acting as her coffee table. Flipping through the pages, he didn't register the articles on planting the perfect winter box garden or the mother versus daughter outfits. He wanted to keep his hands busy. He started a simple repetitious prayer.
Help me help her. Help me help her.

She slid onto the seat, setting a mug in front of him.

The clean aroma of peppermint tea filled his nostrils, driving a quick, crisp path through his body. He tossed the magazine on the trunk as he lifted the tea. “Just the pick-me-up I need.”

She blew over the rim of her mug and sipped. “After that big meal, my stomach needed a little something to soothe it before I drop into bed tonight.”

“You barely ate a thing. Joey could probably use a vat of this stuff.”

“I'll pack a little thermos for when you go home tonight. But, it didn't sound like they would be back before you.”

“Naw, they're going to catch up with some local buddies. Mac is dropping Joey at some place in Grandview, and then he's off to Clintonville to see the baby of one of his high school friends who teaches at Ohio State.”

“That's kind of far to drive this late at night.”

“They're big boys, Mom. They've both lived on their own for quite some time. But if you want, I can have them call or text you when they make it home safe.”

Her cheeks flushed bright pink. She took a long drink from her mug.

His heart warmed. He could watch her for hours just like this, calm and relaxed after a day with friends and family. He could picture their life together in six months, six years…sixty years. He could see their wedding day, the birth of their first child, their first home, all of it. He just needed to convince her that all of the future planning he was doing meshed with her future. He knew there were holes in her story.

But he wasn't worried. He was a cop. He wasn't stupid. He had checked into her background when she first rented the space. Not much to tell. Her life seemed to start in the past few years, not much activity between her birth certificate in Baltimore and her culinary degree from the Culinary Institute of America in Napa Valley. More holes. But the holes didn't scare him. Holes could be patched, mended, and made to be like new. What scared him was why she kept putting off filling in those holes for him.

She rested her mug on top of her knees, pulled tight to her chest. She stared at nothing, her finger running the edge of the cup.

He reached for his own mug and sipped some of the nearing lukewarm tea. He lightly rubbed the top of her foot and she shifted her focus to him. “Are you ready to talk?”

She set her mug on the trunk and began pacing. Kneading her lower back as she moved, her bare feet were silent against the wooden floor.

Sean set his cup beside hers and reached out a hand, stopping her mid-stride. “Look at me, Maggie.” He grasped her other hand. “Whatever it is, whatever is haunting you, it won't make me love you any less. I love you, regardless of what you do or what you did, or what was done to you.” He tugged her to sit beside him. “I love you, Maggie McKitrick, and your past is not going to make me run scared. I promise.” He kissed her cheek and drew her to his side.

She was trembling.

“You can tell me anything.”

She exhaled a long breath, moved slightly away and looked up, her crystal blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. She laced her fingers with his and glided her thumb back and forth on his hand. “Sean, I know you love me. And I want your love more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. I love you, too.”

He squeezed her hand.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. Drawing her legs to her chest, she wrapped her free arm around her shins. Silence hung between them, an unseen, unknown weight that he wished he could carry for her.

Dear Lord, help her to find the strength to share this burden. Help her to know she is safe. To know it in her head and her heart.

“My parents died in a car accident when I was a senior in high school.”

His eyes flittered open at the sound of her voice, soft but solid.

She didn't look at him. Her gaze focused toward the front window of her apartment. “They were protective. I was their only child. So they wouldn't think of letting me drive to a party on the other side of town. That night, they'd dropped me off and were planning on going to a movie, maybe dinner, too, and then pick me up around midnight. I felt like such a dork having my mommy and daddy drop me off at this cool kid's house. I refused to talk to them the whole way there. I didn't even say good-bye when I slammed the door. My mom rolled down her window and called out, ‘I love you.' I remember my stomach clenching in embarrassment. Everyone would think I was such a little girl.”

He gave a little snort as similar memories of his mom kissing him after a baseball game floated through his mind.

A faint smile brushed her lips, but she continued to stare into the dark distance. “By ten o'clock, I was ready to go. The party wasn't what I thought it would be. My best friend Cam hadn't been allowed to come. Her parents knew the kinds of parties these kids had. So I called her to come and pick me up. I didn't want to interrupt my parents' evening. I called my dad and got his voicemail. I told him I got a ride home and I would see them later. He didn't respond, but I never thought that was weird. I figured they were at the movies and he probably turned his phone off or something.” She swallowed hard and wiped her cheek against her pant leg.

“At two-thirty-three in the morning, the doorbell to my house rang. I'd fallen asleep on the couch waiting for my parents. I wanted to apologize to them for being so rude and was kind of surprised they hadn't woken me up when they came home. I remember rubbing my eyes and yelling for my mom as I made my way to the front door. I looked out the side window and saw a State Highway patrolman and another man standing on the doorstep. I yelled again for my mom, but there wasn't any answer. The rest of the night was a blur. My parents had been hit by a drunk driver as they were turning into the movie theater. The police took me to the hospital. My dad was in surgery. My mom died on impact. I called my Uncle Jack and he got there just before my dad died.” She gave him a sad smile. “I remember being super cold. I don't think I got warm again for months. I wore this scarf they'd given me everywhere.”

His stomach dropped and his heart twisted at the pain of the loss she endured. The image of a petite, curly-headed teenager, frightened and alone, flashed through his mind and tears burned in his eyes. He'd lost his dad suddenly at twelve, but still had his mother. And when his mom became ill, they had nearly two years to prepare for her death. And even then, he had his brothers and the Greys, and this whole town to help grieve and move forward. How would he have felt if he'd been left alone at seventeen, without parents or any family to lean on for support?

He raised a hand to her wild hair and smoothed a strand behind her ear. “You must have been very brave. I'm sure your parents would be very proud of you.”

She rested her cheek on her knee, her lips drawn in a tight line, tears dropping down her pant leg. “I never got to say good-bye.” Her voice hiccupped and she drank in a deep breath. “It is my greatest regret. The last thing I did to my parents was ignore them. All they ever did was love me. And I treated them like…like they were nothing.”

He stroked her hair and her eyes fluttered close. “I am sure they forgave you before you even crossed the threshold into that party.”

She nodded her head and expelled a whisper of a sigh, opening her eyes. “My Uncle Jack wanted me to go to therapy to deal with their deaths, but I never felt right about discussing how I felt. They couldn't talk anymore so why should I get to? I knew they were in heaven, they were both so open about their faith. And that was enough. Eventually, many years later, when I finally made it to therapy, I forgave myself. They would've wanted it that way. And it was essentially as much a gift for them as it was for me.” She tilted her head. “Therapy does really work. It's never too late.” She sighed and rubbed her cheek. “I spent the rest of the school year with my friend Cam's family, and then moved to Washington with my Uncle Jack for the summer. I was already enrolled at the University of Maryland for the fall semester and decided I wanted to be a normal freshman.” She stood and the pacing resumed.

He waited. He'd learned through years of interrogation that silence was the best way to keep a suspect talking. He figured the same rule applied when the love of your life was trying to share her life story.

She walked to the window, rested against the frame, and stared into the night. With a single finger, she began to trace a shape in the steam on the glass. He wished she would turn around and complain about the broken seal on the window. Yell at him that he was failing as a landlord. Anything—just so she didn't have to keep telling this story. Her pain weighed heavy in the room. He wanted to do whatever he could to ease her burden—to throw it through that window and watch it tumble down Main Street. But she needed to rip the bandage all of the way off. Tell her whole story.

The investigator in Sean wanted to prod her with questions, get her to peel back another layer of the onion. But the boyfriend remained silent, waiting for her to give what she could.

She turned, leaning her back against the wall. “I was like any other freshman. Confused. Nervous. A little scared. My mom wanted me to major in musical theater. I didn't have her passion for it, but I also didn't have anything else I was good at so…I found myself with a theater-only course load and little time to breathe or think. Uncle Jack convinced me not to take extra classes so that I could try different activities, make friends. And that's what I did. I ended up in the chorus of the fall production and joined my roommate in a weekly Bible study. Tried to be normal.”

Musical Theater major. That made sense. He imagined her mother recognized her gift and wanted her to be able to share it. Another piece to the Maggie McKitrick puzzle fell in place.

“The show was fun. I met a lot of new friends, but the Bible study was where I really felt comfortable. We met weekly on campus. There were about twenty of us, and our leader was a grad student. He was charming, handsome, a little mysterious, and knew the Bible better than anyone I'd ever met before.

“I'd been raised in the church, but it was through those weekly sessions—partly because of the teaching and partly because of the teacher—that I truly connected with Jesus. He seemed to sense I needed extra attention and would drop by my dorm room to chat, send me an email with reassurances, or leave little gifts in my mailbox. He was super supportive and I was grateful for the friendship.

“Fall turned to winter, and then spring semester started. I auditioned for the spring theater production. It was a long shot, but somehow I got the part. My Bible teacher wasn't thrilled, the part was racy. He thought I was somehow going against God's will by being in the play. But I didn't care. It was amazing. Being on stage. Being someone else. For two weeks of performances, I stopped being a pathetic little orphan and got to be a strong, powerful woman. And then, one night, after a show, I came back to my dressing room and there were flowers from Sam Riegle.”

“Wait,” Sean rubbed his face. “I know that name. He was a…he was a running back for the University of Maryland. He was touted to go in the top ten in the NFL draft. He bought you flowers?”

The corner of her mouth curled up and she laced her arms. “I've been known to attract some pretty amazing men.”

Sean felt his face grow warm. He lifted his hand to his neck and worked the knot that seemed to perpetually have residence. “So, you got flowers from a football star…”

Her cheeks tinged a sweet pink, helping to stifle the irrational jealousy bubbling in his stomach.

“Sam waited for me that night and asked me out for coffee. After that, we were inseparable. Call it first love, call it youth, call it whatever you want, but for the first time in a year I was able to go a whole day without feeling pounding guilt over my parents' deaths. I laughed, truly laughed for the first time in months. All because of Sam.” She closed the space between them. Perched on the trunk sitting just in front of him, she continued. “He was the sweetest boy-man I'd ever met. He was spontaneous and filled with such joy. He made time for me, even coming to Bible study. My teacher hated him. He kept trying to convince me that Sam was just a player who didn't really care about me. That Sam was keeping me from wholly devoting myself to God and The Mission.” She shook her head. “Sorry, The Mission, was the organization Mitchell—the leader of the group—represented on campus. They sponsored the Bible study.”

Sean sat up straight. Mitchell…The Mission? A pretty little singer…a thousand questions started to race through his mind. Chuck's quick background check started to replay like the ticker on a news channel. He felt a twitch start in his left eye.

“Sam was pretty vocal about his distrust of Mitchell. He didn't like that Mitchell would drop by unannounced or send me notes in the mail. I guess I could see his point, but I didn't want to let Mitchell go. He'd been as much a part of my healing as Sam, and I was fearful to say goodbye to anyone, you know?”

Sean nodded. If he spoke his questions wouldn't stop.

She reached for his hand squeezing it tight. “After the Combine, Sam was high on everyone's draft board. He decided to forgo his senior year. We both knew that he'd be spending most of the summer at the facility of whatever NFL team drafted him in April, and I didn't want to waste my summer in a muggy apartment waiting for my Uncle Jack to return from one of his work trips. So, when Mitchell arranged for me to work at this summer retreat in the Catskills, I thought it was a perfect compromise. I would get some time to truly spend with the Lord and be able to make a little money teaching skits to the children of those attending the retreat.” She sucked in a deep breath and dropped her gaze to their hands.