'Hello, sweetheart,' she said.
Valerie couldn't help it. Seeing Maureen made the pain of losing Callie even worse. Despite Maureen's disability, there was a resemblance between the faces of the two girls. Denise's daughter had Callie's eyes and an echo of her smile.
'How are you, Val?' Tom asked.
'I'm OK,' she murmured, not taking her eyes off Maureen.
'Do you want to come inside?'
'I can't. I just needed to get away from the circus for a couple of minutes.'
Tom nodded and stared at his lap. Valerie held out her hand and let Maureen grab her fingers. Their breath made steam on the car windows.
'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked.
'No. I wish there was.'
'I can't think about anything else,' he said.
'I know. I appreciate it.'
'Are you sure you don't want to come inside with me?'
'No. I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry.'
'Don't be.' He added, 'I was going to call you this morning, but this is easier in person.'
Valerie tensed. 'What?'
'That reporter Blair Rowe came by my office last night.'
'What did she want?'
Tom hesitated. 'It's a problem.'
'What is it?'
'Someone gave her some information. I begged her not to go ahead with it, but she's going to put it on the news tonight.'
'Oh, my God.' Valerie closed her eyes. 'What is it this time? Is it something new about Marcus?'
Tom shook his head. 'No. I'm really sorry, Val. This one's not about Marcus.'
Chapter Twenty-six
Maggie grabbed two bags of fast food breakfast and a foam drink caddy that held coffee and orange juice. With her hands full, she navigated the steps of Stride's cottage in her heels. Her sunglasses — which were mostly for show, because the sun wasn't shining — slipped to the end of her nose. Red hair swished in front of her eyes. She reached Stride's front door and kicked with the toe of her boot.
'Hey, it's me,' she shouted.
No one came to the door. Maggie put down the tray of drinks and dug in her pocket for her keys. Stride's key had a purple tab on her chain. She maneuvered her body between the screen door and the oak front door and undid both locks. With her shoulder, she shoved the door open and spilled inside.
'You around? I've got McMuffins and a couple breakfast burritos.' Maggie listened for the noise of the shower, but the cottage was quiet. 'Hello?'
Maggie deposited the food on the dining-room table. She unwrapped a straw and stuck it into the lid of one of the cups of orange juice. Her cheeks dimpled as she sucked on the drink. She strolled around the island separating the dining room from the kitchen, in order to retrieve plates for the table.
That was when she saw him.
'Oh my God.'
Maggie dropped her drink. The lid popped, and orange juice splashed on the floor. She sank to her knees. Stride sat with his back against the cabinets. Sharp glass fragments surrounded him like popcorn.
There was blood on his face and on his hands. His eyes were open, but he stared through her as if she were invisible.
'Are you OK?'
He didn't reply.
Maggie crawled to him, dodging the crumbles of glass. She took his hands and wiped away some of the blood on her shirt. She held his face and lifted his chin, and his eyes slowly focused on her. They were no more than six inches apart.
'Stay there,' she said, holding his shoulders as he tried to move.
She pulled a towel from the oven handle, soaked it in water under the sink, and washed the blood from his face. She did the same with his arms. When she was finished, she saw that he had no serious injuries, just surface cuts that had bled profusely. The cool water began to bring him back to life.
'Damn, I'm sorry,' he murmured. 'I'll be fine.'
Maggie stroked his hair. One of the cuts on his cheek began to bleed, and she used the damp towel on his face again.
'Can you stand up?' she asked.
He nodded.
'Take it slow,' she said.
With an arm around him, she helped him to his feet. He swayed as he stood upright and grabbed the counter for balance. She led him through the great space to the bathroom, where he held on to the sink with both hands. He bowed his head, and his hair fell across his face. She yanked the shower curtain back and turned on the water. She grabbed another towel, put it under the water, and carefully dabbed at the remaining blood on his skin. When she switched on the faucet, pink liquid swirled in the wash basin.
She helped him off with his bloody shirt. His bare chest was damp with sweat. 'Take a shower, OK?' she said. 'That'll help.'
He ran his hand through his hair. A few pieces of glass sprinkled to the floor.
'I'll clean up,' she said.
Maggie left him in the bathroom. She returned to the kitchen and grabbed a broom from the utility closet and swept up the glass. With a fistful of paper towels, she swabbed the blood and orange juice from the floor. Everything went in the trash. She went into Stride's bedroom and found a pair of boxer shorts in his bureau. She opened the bathroom door and saw his shadow behind the shower curtain. His hands were propped on the shower wall. She grabbed his dirty clothes under her arm and left the boxers on the towel rack, then picked up the remaining pieces of glass with her fingers.
When she was done, she sat on the floor in the great space, with her back against Stride's red leather chair and her arms wrapped around her knees. Her heart raced. She swallowed hard and stared at her feet and held back her own breakdown.
'I'm really sorry.'
Maggie looked up. Stride was in the doorway leading to the bathroom. He wore the boxers and nothing else. Drops of water clung to his body, and his dark hair was wet. She rubbed her eyes and looked down at her feet again without saying anything. He padded across the carpet and slid down beside her. Their shoulders touched, and his skin was warm. He put his big arm around her and pulled her into him.
'Thank you,' he said.
She lost it. She cried into his shoulder, hating herself for letting him see her as weak and vulnerable. That wasn't who she was. She wiped her face and pulled away from him. 'You scared the shit out of me.'
'I know.'
'What happened to you? Talk to me.'
'I dropped a glass,' he said.
'Did you have a stroke? A heart attack? Should I get an ambulance over here?'
'No, it's nothing like that.'
'Then what is it?'
He hesitated. 'I don't think I can talk about it.'
She twisted her body to stare at him. Their faces were inches apart again. Her voice caught in her throat as she scolded him. 'I don't care. Talk to me.'
'Mags,' he murmured.
'I'm serious. You are not going to lock me out.'
He steepled his hands and laid his chin against his fingers. He closed his eyes. 'It's been happening for the last couple months,' he whispered.
'What?'
'Panic attacks. Flashbacks.'
'Flashbacks of what?' Maggie asked. Then she understood. 'The fall.'
He nodded. 'I drop something, anything, and it's like I'm back there. It isn't just a memory. I'm there. And it's not getting better, it's getting worse. It's driving me crazy.'
Maggie exhaled with a loud sigh. 'Have you talked to anyone?'
He shook his head. 'No.'
'You need help,' she snapped. 'Since when do you have to be Superman? Oh wait, who am I talking to? You can't lean on anyone. You always have to be strong.' She stopped and mentally cursed herself. She leaned into him and rested her forehead on his cheek. 'I'm sorry.'