Nicole had been wrong. MJ didn’t control her body; the HPV controlled it. Last month she had gone for her regular pap and received an ambiguous result.
Dr. Hong had been clear. “It’s ASCUS, MJ. We need to do a colposcopy.”
MJ knew all about colposcopies. Dr. Hong would examine her cervix through a high-powered magnifier and do a biopsy. It would hurt.
She also knew all about ASCUS. It stood for Abnormal Squamous Cells of Undetermined Significance. It was better than LSIL or HSIL. Those stood for Low Grade or High Grade Squamous Intraepithelial Lesions, and both were precancerous. In MJ’s mind, LSIL and HSIL were pink and red. ASCUS was gray, like the storm clouds she remembered as a child.
Some storms blew over and the sky turned blue again without a drop of rain, but this time the clouds lingered. The biopsy showed moderate dysplasia, and she had undergone another LEEP procedure, her third in addition to a cone biopsy. The abnormal cells had been removed with an electrically heated loop, but they could come back.
A single LEEP was unlikely to affect childbearing, but multiple treatments put her at risk for an incompetent cervix, a condition that complicated future pregnancies. Two months from now she’d see Dr. Hong for a repeat pap. Depending on the result, she could be facing a hysterectomy at the age of twenty-five. She thought again of Nicole saying a woman controlled her own body and sighed.
“Mommy?” Cody was lying on his back, slapping the bed with his palms and waiting to be tucked in.
“Here you go.” She pulled the covers up to his chin and kissed his forehead. “Sleep tight.”
He swished his feet like windshield wipers. “Tell me about my great-grandpa’s house.”
“I already did.” During the long hours of the drive, she had entertained Cody with stories about the house she loved but needed to sell. Two years ago she had inherited it from her grandfather. A real estate agent tried to keep it rented, but the sporadic income covered little more than taxes and upkeep.
She didn’t want to let it go, but SassyGirl, the clothing store she used to manage, had gone out of business. Her severance would soon run out, and so would her health benefits. The situation had forced her to take drastic action, which ironically would open doors. With the money from the sale of the house, she could go back to school. She’d never be a doctor, but she could train to be a medical technician.
Cody kept wiggling. “How big is the house?”
“It has four bedrooms,” she said for the tenth time. “You’ll have your own room until we sell it.”
“And a yard.”
“That’s right.”
His feet swished even faster, a reminder of his worn-out shoes and the stranger who was unknowingly buying her a Coke. Telling Cody to sleep would only inspire him to stay awake, so she told him again about the house. “It’s old and big. The kitchen’s yellow, and there’s a playroom over the garage.”
“And there’s a Christmas tree in the yard.”
“That’s right.” Her grandparents had planted a blue spruce the day MJ was born. She barely remembered her grandmother, but Grandpa Jake planted a second spruce for Cody. They were her mother’s parents, though MJ found it hard to see similarities. She worried about how much to tell Cody about the house. She didn’t want him to become attached to a home they couldn’t keep, but she wanted him to know he had a family history. Her own mother sent birthday cards to her grandson, but the rift caused by the pregnancy was still wide.
MJ wondered again what Olivia Townsend would say when her prodigal daughter arrived in town. Six years ago when MJ came home pregnant, her mother, a high school principal, had insisted she give up the baby for adoption. When MJ refused, her mother stopped paying her college tuition.
“Be reasonable, Melissa. You can’t support a child. I know what it’s like.”
“But, Mom—”
“No! I won’t let you ruin your life.”
“Like I ruined your life? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Of course not.”
Except MJ knew the truth. She’d been the reason her mother married a musician with big dreams and no common sense, a man she divorced after a thousand arguments about money. In spite of her mother’s opinions, MJ had returned to Los Angeles naively believing she could support herself and a child. Now she knew little boys wore out their shoes and cars needed tires.
Cody’s eyelids drooped. “Do you think Grammie will visit us?”
“I’m sure she will.” Grammie was how MJ’s mother signed Cody’s birthday cards. For all her critical ways, Olivia Townsend loved her grandson.
Cody yawned. “Tell me again. What’s in the attic?”
“Boxes. More than you can count.” Her grandfather saved everything. “We have to get rid of a lot of stuff.”
“Maybe Lyn can sell it.”
“Maybe.” MJ glanced at her watch and figured Lyn would still be at Mary’s Closet, the Venice Beach thrift shop she managed. A charitable venture, Mary’s Closet was part of Maggie’s House, a citywide ministry named after Mary Magdalene in the Bible and dedicated to helping women escape abusive situations. The store provided both funding for a nearby Maggie’s House group home and jobs for women starting over.
MJ had met Lyn when SassyGirl made a large clothing donation. With her own finances tight, she enjoyed shopping at the thrift store. Lyn had become her best friend and the person who introduced her to Christianity.
Cody yawned and rolled to his side. MJ rubbed his back for a minute, then tiptoed to the bathroom. She closed the door without a click, drank a glass of cold water, then sat on the toilet lid and bowed her head.
“Thank you, Lord,” she murmured. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I know you’re looking out for us.”
What else should she say? Lyn told her to just talk, that God loved her and would listen, but why would God care about a woman like her? She couldn’t pay her bills. She lacked an education, and she had an STI, a sexually transmitted infection. She hated the virus, and sometimes she hated herself. This was one of those times, but Lyn’s words came back to her. “It’s not about what you’ve done. It’s about what Christ did for us.”
MJ wanted to believe God would help her, but her circumstances had deteriorated terribly since her decision to become a Christian. First she lost her job, then the HPV had come back.
She couldn’t pray for herself, but she could pray for her son. “Cody needs shoes, Lord. He needs other things, too.” More than anything, MJ wanted Cody to have a father and siblings. Somehow she clung to the hope that God would take away the HPV—that someday she’d have a husband and another baby, and that she’d feel loved. Abruptly she whispered, “Amen.”
Steadying herself, she phoned Lyn.
Her friend answered on the first ring. “How’s the trip?”
“It’s been good.” A picture of the man in the Laundromat popped into her mind. She could still see his denim blue eyes focused on Cody’s shoes. He’d noticed her, too. His gaze had skimmed her curves, but he hadn’t been rude about it. The chance meeting had brightened her day, but the moment was over.
She refocused on Lyn. “We just crossed into Wyoming.”
“That’s a relief. With that car of yours, I worry.”
“Me too.”
Lyn made a humming sound. “I’m still looking for shoes for Cody. If I see his size, I’ll send them to you.”
“Thanks.” MJ had been hunting for shoes for her son for a week. Nothing suitable had come into Mary’s Closet, though she snagged a snowsuit he could use this winter and a pink ski jacket for herself. She had also checked a couple of Walmarts back in Los Angeles, but they had been ransacked by back-to-school shoppers and were out of his size. Frustrated and eager to get on the road, she had decided to wait until she reached Refuge to shop for him. He was starting first grade and would also need school supplies.
While Lyn chatted about the thrift store, MJ thought back to the man in the coin laundry. She knew better than to make
friends with a stranger, but in her imagination he could be anyone. A doctor. A millionaire. A soldier who would understand a woman with some wounds of her own. She constantly spun tales in her head. They were a poor substitute for romance, but how did a woman date when she had HPV? She didn’t, at least that was MJ’s solution. But a woman could dream about a handsome stranger buying her a Coke without knowing it.
“MJ?” Lyn broke into her thoughts.
“Sorry. I got distracted.”
Lyn laughed. “After driving eight hundred miles with Cody, you’re entitled.”
A groan slipped from her lips. “We’ve played the alphabet game about a hundred times. He’s ready to run around, and I’m ready to sleep.”
“Stay strong, honey.”
When her mother said things like that, MJ balked. When Lyn said them, she wanted to salute. “I’m trying to be strong, but it’s hard. I feel so alone.”
“You’re not. I’m a phone call away. Do you still have the seagull?”
“I do.” The plastic bird was encased in a three-inch glass ball, forever caught in flight and going nowhere.
“Real seagulls are free, and so are you.”
“I know.” But she didn’t feel free.
The women chatted for another minute, then said good-bye. Feeling lost, MJ closed her eyes. Seconds later, her cell phone played the circus music Cody had picked for her ringtone. She saw her Realtor’s number and faked a cheerful hello. “Hey, Kim. What’s up?”
“We have a problem.”
MJ’s stomach caved in. “What’s wrong?”
“You know how I was gone for two weeks?”
Kim was single and liked to travel. She’d taken a Caribbean cruise. “Of course.”
“Anna was covering for me. I must have forgotten to tell her you wanted to sell, because she rented your house through February.”
“She rented it?”
“Maybe this is better. You’ll make money, and you can list the house in the spring. The market should be a lot stronger then.”
“I can’t wait.”
“But—”
“Kim! I told you, I lost my job. I have expenses.” Her COBRA insurance cost as much as her rent. If she ended up on welfare, she’d have to rely on Medicaid, which Dr. Hong didn’t accept. After six years, MJ trusted her and didn’t want to change doctors.
Kim made a humming sound. “It’s only six months. Could you stay with your mom?”
“No.”
“I understand.”
MJ doubted it. Kim had a degree in business and made good money. Her parents were proud of her, and she dated as effortlessly as she breathed. MJ scolded herself for being jealous, then glanced at the ceiling and saw a water stain that fit her mood. “You’ll have to break the rental agreement.”
Kim hesitated. “Maybe not. I have another idea.”
“What is it?”
“How about the apartment over the garage? It has a full bath and it’s huge. You and Cody could live there.”
“There’s no kitchen.”
“There’s a decent sink, and you could plug in a fridge and a microwave. Of course, we’d have to change the contract to show you’d be living there, and maybe lower the rent since the renter won’t have access to that space, but you’d have an apartment and an income.”
The plan had merit, but MJ’s heart ripped in two. She’d promised Cody his own room. And she didn’t want to live across the driveway from a stranger. “I have to sell. There’s no getting around it.”
“But this guy is solid. He’s got excellent credit. A job. Money in the bank—”
“I don’t care.”
“He’s the new history teacher at the high school.”
That meant her mother had hired him. Knowing Olivia Townsend, the man was cranky and middle-aged. He’d never tolerate Cody running around the backyard pretending to be a fighter jet.
Kim lowered her voice. “I feel sorry for the guy. He was in a terrible car accident. A month ago he needed a cane.”
“This happened a month ago and you didn’t tell me?”
“A month ago he didn’t want the place. He called last week and rented it over the phone.”
Even with a renter, MJ couldn’t wait to sell the house. She had to keep her health insurance. “I need to sell. Even if he agreed to Cody and me living above the garage, I can’t honor the six-month lease.”
“You haven’t asked how much he’s paying.”
It couldn’t possibly be enough to cover her expenses, but she wanted to pacify Kim. “Is it more than usual?”
“I raised the rent to match the house across the street.” She named an amount that would cover MJ’s health insurance and then some. With her unemployment checks, she could manage. “That’s more than I expected.”
“So you’re willing to think about it?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. He’s picking up the keys tomorrow at two o’clock. I’ll call him.”
“Make sure he knows about Cody.” She didn’t want to worry about her son disturbing a bad-tempered old man with a cane.
“Will do.”
“And make sure he knows I plan to sell. That’s important.”
MJ said good-bye to Kim and sighed. Knowing the real estate agent, she’d tell the man Cody never made a sound, which wasn’t true. The boy bounced off the walls. He needed a yard, a bike, and a place to kick a soccer ball. He didn’t need a stranger telling him to be quiet. MJ didn’t trust Kim to handle the problem, which meant she needed to arrive in Refuge before the man with the cane. That meant leaving the motel at dawn.
Weary to the bone, she pushed to her feet, turned off the light, and cracked open the bathroom door. She didn’t move until she heard Cody’s even breathing, then she tiptoed past his bed. Leaving the door ajar, she stepped across the hall to the soda machine, bought a Coke, and went back to the room. Alone in the dark, she popped the top and raised a silent toast to the kindness of a handsome stranger.
Chapter 3
“Mommy? Are you awake?” MJ felt Cody’s hand patting her shoulder. Bleary-eyed, she looked at the window and saw a strip of light between the drapery panels. Her phone alarm was set for five in the morning. The room should have been dark, and Cody should have been asleep. Groping clumsily for her phone, she knocked over the empty soda can on the nightstand. She turned on the light but still didn’t see the phone.
Squinting, she turned to Cody. “My phone . . . Do you know where it is?”
He handed it to her. “It was beeping. I made it stop.”
“Oh, Cody.” MJ flopped against the pillow. She would not lose her temper. Her little boy wanted to take care of her, but he needed to learn about waking up on time. She rolled to a sitting position, took the phone from him, and checked the time. It was eight thirty. If she hurried, she could still be in Refuge by early afternoon.
She set the phone down, then gripped Cody’s hands in both of hers to be certain he would pay attention. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Why not?”
“We needed to leave early. When I set my phone alarm, it’s for a reason. You had no business turning it off.”
His brow wrinkled into a scowl. “I don’t want to go in the car again. It’s hot.”
“We’re almost there.” MJ smoothed his blond hair, a trait he had inherited from his father. Someday her son would ask about that man and she didn’t know what to say. The story of Cody’s conception was humiliating, but when he asked, she’d tell him the truth in small, age-appropriate pieces. Until then, she didn’t want to think about men . . . not even nice men in Laundromats.
She showered, dressed, gathered their things, then walked with Cody to the office to check out. As she pushed through the door, the clerk—an Asian man with thinning hair—greeted her with a wide smile. “Miss Townsend! I have something for you.”
“For me?”
“You drive the big, old car, right?”
“Yes, I do.”
He wen
t to the back office and returned with two bags from a sporting goods store. Grinning, he came around the counter and set them on the floor. Before she could say a word, Cody pulled out a shoebox and opened it.
“Soccer shoes!” He held up a pair of black cleats that appeared to be his size. Before MJ could close her gaping mouth, her son yanked off his old sneakers and flung them across the room.
“Cody, wait!”
She might as well have been speaking Russian. The boy had the first shoe on his foot and was wiggling into the second. It was pure luck that he put the shoes on the correct feet.
MJ crouched next to him. “I don’t know where the shoes came from—”
“I do,” said the clerk. “The man who left them was a guest. He said to give you this.”
He handed her a piece of notepaper with the motel’s logo on it. In bold printing, someone had written, We met at the Laundromat. Please accept the shoes for your son—S. Riley.
Was he a creep? MJ weighed the circumstances and decided he wasn’t. Finding her would have been easy. He’d seen her car at the laundry and again at the hotel. The old sedan stood out wherever she went. If he had evil intentions, he would have delivered the shoes in person.
Confident of S. Riley’s good will, she watched her son enjoy a surprise. He had the soccer shoes on his feet and was trying to tie the laces, something he’d refused to learn with his old ones. She bent down, looked in the bags, and saw four more shoeboxes, three packages of white socks, boys’ sweatpants, a hoodie, and a Los Angeles Cougars baseball cap.
Cody looked at her with huge, questioning eyes. “Can I keep the shoes?”
“You sure can.”
He kicked his feet with unfettered joy. “Tie them for me!”
“How about we see what else is here? Those are for sports.”
With the shoes untied, Cody popped to his feet and together they enjoyed the bounty of leather, laces, and snowy white socks. The socks were brand new. Never worn. Not cast-offs from a family donating to a thrift shop. MJ’s eyes misted with grateful tears. She wanted to thank S. Riley in person, but the longings he stirred were too painful. She’d write him a note instead.
When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1) Page 2
