When Joy Came to Stay (7 page)

He thought of the roses again and grinned. He could hardly wait to see the expression on her face when he brought them home.

Maggie had the strangest feeling…

It was as if she were single again.

As if by being even somewhat honest she had severed ties to Ben, to the man she married, the man to whom she been lying for nearly eight years.

For that reason—or maybe because the little blond girl hadn’t yet made her daily appearance—Maggie was looking forward to her run in the park. For months it had been her
favorite way to spend the hour between finishing up at work and picking up the boys at their bus stop. The first lap was effortless, and as she ran Maggie thought about her columns, how they might help children caught in the foster system. They were a good influence on society, good for her career. Even if her personal life was falling apart, even if there were times when the darkness seemed overwhelming, she was still doing something useful. Helping in some small way.

Maggie picked up her pace and as she rounded the corner of the trail, she saw a blur of motion near the playground, a hundred yards away From this distance it was hard to make her out, but then…

Maggie pushed herself faster, her eyes trained on the child. Her view was better now. The child was swinging, while a teenager—a baby-sitter or older sister—sat with a teenage boy at a nearby picnic table.
Closer
, Maggie.
Get closer
. With only fifty yards between them she spotted the hair.

Long blond curls. It was her! This time it wasn’t a mirage or a figment of her imagination or any other such thing. It was a living, breathing child, and Maggie was almost certain it was the same girl she’d been seeing.
Who is she, God? Why is she here?

Maggie was sprinting now. She wouldn’t approach the girl, not yet. Not until she was absolutely sure it was her. Even then she didn’t want to scare the girl. Maggie kept running until she was parallel with the child. Glancing over her left shoulder she saw the girl’s face. Yes! It was her; there was no doubt in Maggie’s mind.

Not sure what to do next, Maggie kept moving. Whatever terrible force desired her, it wouldn’t catch her here—not with the little girl so close.
If only I could talk to the child, ask her who her mother is, learn more about her. Then maybe I’d understand why my thoughts are so filled with her image
…Especially now, nearly eight years after—

Run, Maggie! Faster…faster!

Three laps around the park equaled a mile, and usually Maggie did no more than six laps. But as long as the little girl stayed on the swing, moving back and forth, smiling and unaware of her presence, Maggie kept running. Twelve laps, fourteen…sixteen…

Finally, on the eighteenth lap, Maggie realized her heart was pounding erratically and her vision was blurred. She clutched her side, dropped her pace to an unsteady walk, and headed for the little girl.

Without saying a word, Maggie dropped into the swing beside the child and smiled at her. “Hi. My name’s Maggie.”

Before the girl could respond, Maggie felt a hand take hold of her upper arm and she spun around, jerking free from the grip. Fear sliced through her gut like a hacksaw.
God, please
,
no
…

The man standing beside her wore a police uniform and a badge that glistened in the midafternoon sun. “Ma’am, I’d like to have a word with you, please.” He motioned toward a grassy area several feet away.

“Nicky! Nicky!”

At the sound of the child’s cries, Maggie turned back to her at once. The girl had jumped from the swing and was running toward an older boy and girl seated at a nearby table. Then the child glanced back at Maggie…and Maggie’s whole body went cold.

This wasn’t a blond little girl. Instead, the child running away from the swings had red hair and a freckled face.
But…where did she go? Why is this happening again? What’s wrong with my eyes? Am I that far gone, Lord?
Maggie stared at the child and then directed her attention back to the officer. She was sweaty and rumpled and desperately in need of a water fountain. She had never run six miles in her life, and now she was about to be interrogated by a policeman.

“I think I’m going to faint.” Maggie slipped her head between her knees and urged herself to breathe slowly. After
several seconds, she raised her head and looked over her shoulder. The officer was waiting.

“I’m serious, ma’am. Get up. I need to talk to you.”

“Sorry, I just…I don’t feel very well.” Maggie rose up off the swing and followed him, terrified that she would collapse and be taken away in an ambulance or worse, be arrested in the park adjacent to the office where she worked. If her peers got hold of the story…

Help
me,
God…please!

When they were a distance away from the playground the policeman turned and faced her. “I’m Officer Andrew Starmer. Got a call from one of the neighbors in the condominiums across the street that a female jogger was stalking a child on the playground.”

Maggie saw black spots dance before her eyes.
Breathe. Breathe, Maggie. Don’t faint now
. “A female jogger?”

The officer glanced at her sweatsuit and nodded. “Did you know that child, ma’am?”

“Child?”

Officer Starmer sighed. “Yes, the one you were talking to.”

“Oh, her. I, uh…I thought she was my niece. My niece lives near here and plays at the park all the time.”

The officer raised an eyebrow. “Tell you what, why don’t you follow me to the car, and I’ll make a report. Just to be sure.”

Panic coursed through Maggie’s veins. “An arrest report?” She did her best to sound indignant.
What have I done, Lord? Help me
.

“No. Just informational. Take down your name, that kind of thing.”

Maggie wiped her hands on her pants legs and released a laugh that said there must have been a mistake. “Officer, I work across the street. I jog at this park every day at this time. I thought the girl was my niece. Isn’t that enough information?”

Officer Starmer eyed her for a long moment.
Let him believe
me, please
…“You work at the newspaper?”

“Yes. My car’s parked there right now.”

His eyes narrowed. “Okay. Just be aware that people are sensitive about strangers getting too close to kids. You read your paper, right?”

“Sure.”
Oh, thank You, God. He doesn’t recognize me, doesn’t know I’m a columnist
. “Right. Definitely. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The officer glanced once more at the redheaded girl then back to Maggie. “If you’ve finished your jog, why don’t you make your way back to the office.”

“I’m on my way.” Maggie smiled at him and nodded as she and the officer headed in different directions. She was ten steps away before she remembered to exhale.

That was too close. What if he’d taken my name? What if he’d arrested me or taken me in for questioning? What was I doing there anyway? And why does the child keep disappearing? Who is she?

Come into the light, child
.

What light?
Maggie argued with the still, silent whisper.
There hasn’t been light for years
.

She had the strangest feeling she was forgetting something but she could hardly stop and think about it. Not with the officer watching her from his squad car across the park. She opened her car door just as her cell phone began to ring inside her purse on the front seat. Instantly her eyes flew to the watch on her wrist.

The boys!
That was it! She had forgotten the boys.

Maggie tore open her purse and grabbed the phone, speaking in a voice that sounded half-crazed even to her. “Hello?” Her heart raced and she was assaulted by a wave of nausea.

“Mrs. Stovall?”

“Yes, I’m late to get the boys. Are they okay?” Her words spilled out in a panicky blur.

“Uh…yes. They’re back at school. They waited at the bus stop for thirty minutes, and apparently one of your neighbors verified you weren’t home. She contacted the school, and we sent the bus back out.”

This was crazy. She was losing her mind. Everything she was doing proved that. She needed to be honest, ask for help. Maggie’s mind raced.

“I…my car…” She cast a frustrated glance upward, grasping at anything that might sound logical. “It…my car broke down and I…I was just going to call and see…make sure they were okay.”

The school secretary hesitated. “I had to contact Social Services, Mrs. Stovall. These children are wards of the state and anytime something like this happens…”

What was she insinuating? That Maggie was an abusive foster mother? That she and Ben were no better than the foster parents she referred to in her column? Maggie thought of how she’d failed even to tuck the boys in the night before, and a murky cloud of fear suffocated her.
Get a grip
, Maggie.
Come on
. Her racing pulse was causing her body to tremble, making it difficult for her to speak.

How could I have forgotten the boys?

“What did…what did Social Services say?”

“They said these kinds of things happen and they made a note of it.” The woman paused again, and Maggie could hear disapproval in her tone, almost see the indignation on her face. And if the officer had taken her name…She couldn’t bring herself to think about it.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Please tell them I’m coming.” Maggie hung up the phone and steadied herself. How
could
I
forget them? I love those boys. They may not be worth much in the eyes of society, but right now I’m all they have. And
I
let them down.

You’re a wretch! Worthless.
The voice in her head had changed from doubt and discouragement to a devilish hiss.
No one would notice if you drove off a cliff, Maggie Stovall.

Forget about it
, Maggie.
Think about something else.

Images shot through her mind—the blond girl, the onions in her shopping cart, the policeman—as Maggie pulled into the school parking lot, she was horrifyingly aware that the sense of
approaching doom was worse. It clawed at her with every step, making it nearly impossible for her to breathe as she found her way inside the school, comforted the crying twin boys, and led them back to the car.

When they were buckled in, Maggie rested her head on the steering wheel and began to cry, too. At first the sobs were muffled, but within a few minutes she was wailing, terrified by the despair that seemed to be sucking the life from her.

Where am I? Why am I weeping in the school parking lot and why can’t I think clearly?

“Mrs. Stovall, what’s wrong?” It was Casey and he’d stopped his own crying.

Oh no…I’ve scared him.

She straightened in her seat and quickly wiped her eyes. The child’s question cleared the fog and brought everything into focus again. She was crying because she’d been so busy looking for a little girl that didn’t exist she’d forgotten her foster boys at the bus stop. She was crying because thirty minutes ago she’d been on the verge of being arrested and losing everything she had ever worked for over the past seven years.

And she couldn’t think clearly because she was going crazy What other explanation could there be?

“I’m fine, honey.” Her voice was still trembling, but she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a relieved look cross the twins’ faces.
They believe me. Good. Now we can go home and have a normal night.

Maggie pulled out of the parking lot and headed east toward their neighborhood, fighting off another bout of tears. Normal? It had been months since she had felt anything close to normal. Most likely, she’d spend the evening barely tolerating her husband’s probing glances and tidying a house that never seemed to be clean. Then she would stumble into bed and lie awake under the watchful eyes of whatever demons had taken up residence in her home.

The thought of it made her want to turn around and drive
west, maybe until she reached California or the ocean: Maybe drive the car into the ocean until it swallowed her up—along with whatever was trying to destroy her. However far it took to get away from it all. The tears came again, and though Maggie willed herself to drive home, forced herself to battle the desperation, she couldn’t still the one thought screaming through her mind…

Maybe it really was time to check herself into a mental hospital.

M
AGGIE REMAINED AN EMOTIONAL HURRICANE THROUGH A LONG
night of ignoring Ben and his roses and on into the next morning as she tapped out a column decrying the standards in many foster homes. She could barely concentrate for the voices waging war in her head.

She focused on the computer screen and the task at hand.
Come on, Maggie. You can do this.
She began typing.

Her fingers refused to move, and she pictured the boys, alone and scared at the bus stop.

Hypocrite. Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite. You’re the worst foster mother of all. Leaving those boys out at the bus stop while you…

“Lots of good feedback on the Social Services column, Mag.” Ron Kendall leaned against her desk so he could face her. “This the final one in the series?”

Maggie gulped. She was having trouble understanding him. Something about Social Services and a series. “Yeah…it’s a series, Ron.”

His face reflected his confusion.

What? Why’s he looking like that? What did I say?
Everything about who she was seemed to be disconnecting. As if nothing
she was thinking or hearing or doing made any sense at all.

Ron frowned. “Hey, Mag, you feeling all right?”

The way his eyes narrowed told Maggie he was genuinely concerned, and she felt a rush of panic. If Ron was worried, then maybe she really was losing her mind; maybe it wasn’t only a couple of bad days or the fallout from having forgotten her foster boys and nearly having been arrested the day before. “I…I feel fine, if that’s what you mean.” Maggie stared back at the computer screen, hoping Ron would get the hint and leave her alone. She had just thirty minutes before deadline.