Maggie exhaled and steadied her voice. “The truth is … you don’t know me, Ben.” She leveled her gaze at him and held it there. “You never have.”
His face grew pale, then flushed—all in a matter of seconds. He stood and turned away. Maggie gazed out the window where the sun had not quite settled beyond the nearly bare tree line. I hate this; all of it. Her arms ached, and she recognized the feeling as familiar. Aching, empty arms. The same way they’d been that May morning so many years ago …
Stop! The order echoed in her heart and stopped all other thoughts. She shifted her gaze to Ben and then, without saying another word, without stopping and doing up the dinner dishes or looking in on Casey and Cameron, she stood and dragged her feet up the stairs. It took the rest of her energy to tear back the comforter that lay twisted on her unmade bed and bury herself beneath.
There, still wearing her clothes and shoes, with visions of the little blond girl filling her mind and the sun not quite set in the evening sky, Maggie Stovall willed herself to sleep.
5
The column was fairly scathing, at least that’s what Kathy Garrett’s coworkers at the Social Services department were saying. Kathy found that hard to believe. Now, after going nonstop through lunch, she finally had a moment to read it for herself.
“Okay, where is it?” she muttered as she pulled the paper out of its plastic sleeve and spread it on the table. Kathy was a fan of “Maggie’s Mind” and figured that if the columnist had taken on the department there was probably some merit to her argument. She opened the paper and saw the headline at the top right side of the front page: “Maggie’s Mind: The Real Abuse of Abused Children.” Kathy studied the columnist’s picture that accompanied the article and was struck by a familiar thought. Something about the reporter’s eyes was more than a little familiar.
She dismissed the idea and delved into the article, immediately swept up by the picture Maggie painted. Children shuffled from one home to another, experiencing enough trauma to destroy their psyches and change them forever into societal misfits. Maggie’s view was simple: Social Services was a system desperately understaffed and far too quick to place kids back in a dangerous environment because of some noble idea that children are better off with their birth parents.
Kathy closed her eyes and pictured the children she’d seen pass through the system in just that manner. Maggie was right. Many times the department’s good intentions to keep children with their biological families only made matters worse. And there was nothing anyone at Social Services could do to prevent it from happening again, not until laws governing parental rights were changed.
Kathy could see why the column upset the staff at the department, but she silently applauded Maggie for having the courage to take on a federal agency and illuminate an issue that was every bit as troubling as the columnist had described it.
Of course there was the other problem with the system—one Kathy was sure Maggie would inevitably tackle in future columns: the lack of quality foster homes. Sometimes, it seemed, the need for foster homes throughout the state was so great only a cursory safety check was done on the applicants. Motives certainly could not be checked, and since Social Services provided foster parents with a stipend to provide for the child’s food and clothing, there would always be those who provided substandard care as a way to make money.
She thought of her appointment later that night—pictured the lonely little girl—and her eyes burned with the beginning of tears. Amanda Joy Brownell. The child had been in the system so long she had only a very slim chance of ever being adopted. Foster care was also difficult. The better foster homes tended to take young children; not seven-year-old girls with a history of removals.
It isn’t her fault, Lord. Kathy hung her head as two tears splashed onto the newsprint and worked their way into the layers of paper beneath. Kathy remembered the day she was called to the hospital to talk with the girl’s biological mother, a wide-eyed twenty-three-year-old who had been convinced that being a single mom would ruin her life. At least before the delivery. But that day at the hospital the young mother had broken down and wept, so distraught over giving up her baby that Kathy had asked her to reconsider. Instead the girl had been adamant, repeating over and over that giving up the baby was something she had to do.
Kathy stared out her window across the tree-lined parking lot. The sky was slate gray, and most of the leaves had fallen from the maples. Thanksgiving was coming, and Christmas. Another year gone by, and still Amanda Joy had no place to call home. The situation—like so many others Kathy worked with—was enough to break her heart.
Where’s her birth mother today, Lord? Kathy released a slow breath and wondered like she had a dozen times before about the girl’s young mother. Did she regret her choice to give the baby up for adoption? Kathy still remembered her hesitation as she’d signed the paperwork that day at the hospital, and again as she took the newborn girl from the trembling arms of her mother and whisked her into the waiting arms of Stan and Tammy Brownell. Most babies were placed through private adoption agencies housed in decorated suites on the fifteenth floor of a corporate high-rise in downtown Cleveland. Kathy remembered thinking it unusual that the young mother chose to come to Cincinnati’s Social Services Department to give the baby up.
At first Kathy had been happy for the Brownells—a couple without the means to adopt privately but with a great desire to have a child. Her opinion changed after she met with them. The couple seemed so serious and somber … Kathy had a very real feeling that although their home study was complete, the placement wasn’t right for the baby girl. Either way—as with most of her cases—there was nothing Kathy could do but pray about the situation.
She hadn’t expected to see the little girl again.
Kathy cringed like she always did when she thought of the accident, the frozen tree limb that had fallen on the Brownells’ car, killing them both instantly. Since the Brownells had no extended family, Amanda Joy was made a ward of the court and again Kathy was called in to help. She had met the child at her kindergarten class that day and escorted her to the office, where together with the school counselor they revealed the awful news.
Amanda’s reaction had confirmed Kathy’s fears from years earlier. The child had stared at her nailbitten fingers and scuffled her feet nervously. “Will I still be living at their house?”
Kathy had been confused. “Whose house, honey?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Brownell’s.” The girl’s eyes were dry.
The words had hung in the air a few moments. “You mean your house, your mom and dad’s house?”
Amanda shook her head. “I’m not allowed to call them Mom and Dad. They said it wasn’t formal.”
Looking back Kathy wasn’t sure which realization hurt more, the fact that Amanda Joy was once again without parents or the fact that she’d been little more than a favorite guest in her home for all of her five years. Since then Amanda had spoken kindly of the Brownells, so Kathy knew they had not been harmful in any way. They just hadn’t given her the love and acceptance a child deserves.
Kathy noticed a squirrel scurrying down the trunk of a tree just outside the office window. Even he has a home, Lord …
Her eyes welled up again. The Brownells were better than anything she’s been dealt since then. Wed take her in a minute if we could, God. You know that. She and Bill had brainstormed several times ideas for buying a bigger house. They knew no judge in the county would award them another child until they had more room. They’d already petitioned for an exception, and been denied. Dear God there has to be someone for her … somewhere out there. Please … Another tear fell. She’s a good girl, Lord but every month, every year that goes by … it’ll take a miracle to find her a family now.
Amanda had been shy before the death of her adoptive parents. Now she had slight learning disabilities and trouble attaching to people. When she was scared or anxious she stuttered, so in addition to weekly counseling and special education
courses, the child was mandated to receive speech therapy.
Kathy closed her eyes and loosed two more tears. It wasn’t fair. The child’s file was full of “problem areas,” tarnished judgments that in all likelihood would scare off potential adoptive parents and send them hurrying to private agencies for younger children without the baggage Amanda carried.
She wiped her tears and gazed out the dining room window once more. I’m not a miracle worker, God. But You are. Please … please help me find someone who’ll give her a home.
Then because she knew too well the departments statistics, she added one more thing. And hurry Lord. She thought of the children who started out sweet and anxious for love only to become jaded and antisocial after too many transfers to different foster homes, too many years waiting for a family that never came. Despite her file, Amanda Joy was not yet one of those. But she could be if something didn’t change soon.
Kathy sighed softly and folded up the newspaper. Yes, God would have to speed things up if He was going to work a miracle this time. The child needed a home and parents who loved her, and she needed it now.
Before it was too late.
6
Ben Stovall stared out the window of his fourth-story office and wondered exactly when his life had started falling apart.
Days like this it was difficult to concentrate on establishing motives or gathering depositions. A death penalty case couldn’t have mattered less to him now that it seemed clear his marriage was crumbling. And no matter how long or hard he thought about it, he couldn’t come up with a single reason why.
Everything about his life with Maggie had seemed literally plucked from a storybook. They were married young, both strong believers bent on putting God first in their relationship. And though there hadn’t been any children, Ben believed there would be one day. Whenever God deemed it right. And if not, then he believed it was because the Lord had a different plan. Adoption, maybe. Or more years of foster children.
Ben loved the idea of affecting the lives of a different set of children every year or so. Besides, things were going well at work and he figured the coming spring might be a great time to initiate a private adoption. Live right and experience the rewards. That had always been his motto.
For that reason, Ben knew there’d be children one day. After all, he and Maggie had done everything right in their relationship. They had been pure when they came together on their wedding night and had remained faithful to each other since. They tithed at church, prayed daily, and read their Bibles—usually cover to cover in any given year.
Ben thought about that for a moment. Well, maybe not daily. But for the most part he and Maggie lived a godly life. Even at work they did whatever they could to please the Lord, and He had always rewarded their efforts. After all, blessings didn’t come any bigger than Maggie having her own column. Not in the newspaper business, anyway.
Between her job and his, they pulled in a steady six-figure salary, and because they were in their early thirties they had plenty of time for children.
Outside his window a sparrow appeared from nowhere and began attacking a much larger crow. Probably protecting his nest. Ben watched them for a few minutes, thinking.
What was it Maggie had said? “You don’t know me … you never have.” He could see her face, the way it was cloaked in discouragement, as though she were holding back a very deep, dark secret. What did she mean he didn’t know her? Of course he knew her.
Didn’t he?
Now, alone in his office, he wasn’t so sure.
He remembered the first time he saw Maggie, when their churches had joined a handful of others in Cleveland for a statewide prayer rally. The event had lasted all weekend and had included numerous activities. It was during the tug-of-war competition, when his church’s college group was about to beat the group on the other end of the rope, that Ben spotted her.
She was without a doubt the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. He would never forget the way she’d made him feel that day, all tingly inside as if something magical had happened. Both hands securely on his team’s end of the rope, Ben had leaned to the side for a better view of her. In the process, the rope slipped and he fell to the ground. He could still close his eyes and see Maggie grinning at him as she and her team doubled their efforts and won the event before Ben could get up.
His attraction for her increased daily after that, despite the fact that he was dating someone else at the time. Ben sighed. Those first years for he and Maggie were rough. They wrote and talked on the phone, and in his heart he knew there was no one else he could spend the rest of his life with. But the girl he was dating came from a family that his parents had known all their lives. There was no easy way to break things off—especially after the accident.
If I could do one thing over again …
Ben let the thought hang there. When he had been unable to end things with his girlfriend, he and Maggie agreed to go on with their separate lives. Of course after only eighteen months apart, they had found each other again and began dating exclusively. But somehow Maggie had seemed different than before, older than her years, less willing to share …
He frowned. Was it possible she could have held that time against him? Harbored anger because he had chosen another girl for that period in his life?
Ben shook his head. Ridiculous. Whatever was happening to Maggie now it was a phase, nothing more. All that had ever mattered was how he felt about her when they found each other again. How he’d felt about her ever since. If he could do anything over again he would have broken things off with the other girl immediately. Maggie had to know that. But he’d been so young, so confused. After the accident it seemed that staying with his old girlfriend was the right thing to do.
Ben turned his attention toward the work on his desk. Impossible. Whatever was troubling Maggie couldn’t be rooted in something that had happened so long ago.
Still, as he set about dealing with the tasks at hand, trying to put Maggie’s hurtful words out of his heart and head, Ben was troubled by one very serious suspicion: What if …
What if, despite living a pure life and being devoted to God, Maggie had turned into someone else, someone who had hidden her real feelings from him for months or years. Ben hated himself for even entertaining the thought, but it was possible that Maggie was right. Maybe she was pretending around him. And maybe somehow, no matter how much he had always loved her, Maggie had changed, become someone Ben didn’t even know.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was four o’clock. One more hour and he would wrap things up. He picked up the telephone receiver and dialed a number he’d long since memorized. “Hi, this is Ben Stovall.”
A woman answered on the third ring. “Hello, Ben.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “What can I help you with today?”
He grinned, sure this was the answer he was looking for. “I need a dozen long-stemmed red roses for this evening.”
“Very good, and a white ribbon like usual?”
“Yes, like usual.”
Ben felt better when he hung up the receiver. Maggie was wrong; of course he knew her. She was his soul mate, his best friend. And whatever was troubling her yesterday, why it was nothing that couldn’t be made better with a bouquet of flowers. She loved red roses, especially when there wasn’t any special occasion.
“It’s a celebration of our love,” Ben liked to tell her. And it was. She was the perfect woman, handpicked for him by God above. He loved her more than life itself.
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 had 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 …
A Kingsbury Collection Page 39
