Teresa wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thor, you don’t know how desperate I am. You’re playing with fire. One way or the other, I’m getting Eric. Don’t make it come to this.”
“Come to what?”
Teresa grabbed a handful of napkins from the counter and began drying her face. “I have a complete folder on you. Pictures, everything. But I won’t use them. All you have to do is give me Eric.”
“You have nothing anyone would be interested in, so don’t try to bluff. And don’t try to pit yourself against me because then the gloves will come off and it will really get ugly.”
Teresa’s hand shook as she picked up her cup and took a few sips of her tea. “I thought I knew you. I still can’t get over what you’re capable of—what you did.”
“What do you have, Teresa? A few pictures of me in the sack with someone? Well, just try to find those women. None of them will testify. I, on the other hand, can get as many men as I need to testify against you. So don’t go there, Teresa. Just don’t go there.”
Teresa leaned against the counter as if bracing herself so she wouldn’t fall. “I never thought I’d leave you, ever. But I couldn’t stay. You were killing me. But I knew I couldn’t leave, not without insurance. I’ve been collecting insurance, Thor.”
“You’re starting to bore me, Teresa.”
“I don’t think the newspapers will find me boring when I tell them about your connection with Three-Fingered Louie. Or how some of your clinics were funded by mob money.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Teresa. Even you can’t be that stupid. Louie values his privacy. He’ll not take your shenanigans lightly.”
“We’re talking about you now, Thor, about what’s going to happen when the good citizens of Brockston not only find out who’s been backing your clinics but what you’ve been doing there. They’re not going to like you selling baby parts.”
Thor laughed. “Where’s your proof?”
“I told you I prepared. I’ve been preparing for a long time. I’ve had a detective watching you for the last seven months. He’s followed your every move. Your every move.” Teresa’s eyes began filling again. “I never thought you’d be capable of it. Never. You’ve surprised even me.” Her voice broke and she grabbed another handful of napkins.
“What’s your bargaining chip? Come on. No more cat-and-mouse. Spit it out.” Thor wiped his hands on his slacks.
“The detective photographed you at the bus terminal, in that disguise. It took me a long time to figure that one out. But I did, Thor. I did.”
“What are you talking about?” Thor said in a near whisper.
“If you turn yourself in to the police, I’ll stand by you. I’ll stand by you every step of the way.”
“Why should I do that?”
“Because of those killings at your clinic. Oh, Thor. Why? I should turn you in myself, but I can’t face Eric and tell him that I was the one who sent his father to prison. But you…you can do it. Even now, it’s not too late. Please, Thor. Do the right thing.”
Thor lunged for his wife’s throat, but she ducked behind the counter. He was about to go after her when he realized the stupidity of that action with the police outside. Thor shook with rage, and it took him several seconds to gain control enough to speak.
“I’ll give you what you ask—alimony, child support, Eric. But you get nothing else. Not this house, not my business, not my investments, nothing, no part of them. Understand?”
Teresa had straightened from her crouched position behind the counter and now stood facing him. Her face was ashen and she flinched a little when he leaned over the counter to within inches of her face.
“Understand?” he growled again.
Teresa nodded.
“And don’t ever, ever threaten me again.”
“If I wasn’t such a coward, I’d turn you in. So help me, Thor, I’d turn you in.”
“And that’s where I have you. I’m not a coward. I’m not afraid to do what’s needed. So don’t get in my way, because if you do, so help me, so help me I’ll have you killed. And you know I can do it.”
Teresa surprised Thor by leaning closer to him. Her eyes were fear-filled but they were also hard, unflinching. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. In fact, you better hope that nothing happens to me. Because if it does…if I should die…then my lawyer has instructions to take the dossier I have on you to the Brockston Police Department. So pray, Thor. Pray for my continuing good health.”
“How do you spell supercalafragilisticexpealadocious?”
Maggie stood in her kitchen holding the phone and grinning from ear to ear.
“I can’t find it in the dictionary. You’d think that a great word like that would be in there, wouldn’t you?”
“You’d think so.”
“So I take it you don’t know how to spell it either?”
“Nope.”
“So when I write it in my next card, you won’t know if it’s spelled wrong or not?”
“You just sent me a card.”
“Did you like it?”
Maggie’s grin deepened as she looked at the card on the counter. On the front was a cute calico kitten peeking out of a sewing basket.
“Well, what did you think?”
Maggie opened it. “Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ve never seen anyone as cute as you.” She tried not to laugh. “Are you planning on doing a whole ‘roses are red’ series?”
“No, I’m branching out. Raising the standard. That’s why I wanted to know how to spell supercalafragilisticexpealadocious. I’m going to use that in my next composition. You’ll get it in a day or two, after I’ve really polished it.”
Maggie bit the inside of her lip trying to keep her laughter in. “Could you read me your rough draft?”
“Sure, if you don’t think that’ll spoil it for you. It’s a mini masterpiece. I’m really proud of this one. So here goes: ‘Supercalafragilisticexpealadocious is the perfect word to describe someone so precocious.’ Well, what do you think?”
“I think I love you.”
For what seemed an eternity, Becky listened to the crying baby and wondered why no one went to pick it up. Finally, she decided she must do something and began walking down the unfamiliar hall. Where am I? Timidly, she opened the first door, both hoping and dreading to find the crying child, but the room was empty. Sheer, cream-colored curtains fluttered like giant wings around open double French doors that led to a withered garden. She moved toward the opening, but stopped when the sound of crying floated in on the breeze. It seemed the crying was everywhere…or maybe more than one baby was crying. She felt confused, disoriented, and quickly left the room. Then she opened another door, then another, only to find the same: empty rooms. She ran down the hall, flipping doors open one right after the other. Where is that baby? Why doesn’t someone help? Doesn’t anyone care? She was frantic now, clawing, pushing at closed doors, flinging them open then running wildly to the next one. She couldn’t bear the crying anymore. Help! Please, someone help that baby!
Her hand throbbed. She could feel the pain move up her arm. It had to be from the banging, from pushing against all those doors. She rested against the wall, then closed her eyes. The crying was all around her now—in her ears, behind her eyes. She couldn’t get away from it. She even felt it in her chest, moving up from someplace deep. It burned as it went, burned and hurt as though something were being torn, something that had never been touched before but was now mauled and bloody.
When she opened her eyes, it took her a while to realize she was on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her right hand ached, and when she turned to examine it, she noticed her arm was sprawled across the top of her nightstand. She blinked and rolled her eyes. She was in her bed. How long had she been sleeping?
She remembered the crying baby. She felt the tears on her face, and only then did she realize that she was the one who had been crying.
10
MAGGIE SINGER LOOKED UP from her notepad the insta
nt she heard Lieutenant Tooley’s voice. She watched the familiar face light up in a smile and returned it with one of her own. She finished scribbling something on the pad, then tossed her pen on the desk.
“You come from good people, Maggie, especially your daddy. You know what I thought of him.”
Maggie nodded. “And?”
“Now look at you, how you turned out. Right smack dab in the middle of the ugliest controversy Brockston has seen in years. Leading a pack of hooligans.”
“Now, Tooley, you don’t really believe that?”
“I’m just telling you this for your own good, Maggie. Keep your people away from the Brockston clinic. Thor Emerson’s got a temporary restraining order against protesters, though Lord knows how he managed that. But in the wake of all that’s happened, sympathy’s running mighty high in his favor, and I figure the judge thought it was right and proper to cut him some slack.”
Maggie looked back at her notepad. “I guess the judge hasn’t heard about free speech.”
“I’m doing my best, and I promise I’ll continue doing everything I can to keep the lid on and to end this whole ugly mess. Nobody wants to see this cleared up more than I do.”
“I know.” Maggie noticed the fatigue on Tooley’s face, the strain in his voice. There were circles under his eyes, and Maggie wondered how many extra hours he had spent trying to locate Canon or coordinating the nationwide manhunt. “I know how hard you’ve been working.”
“But if you keep this up, somebody’s going to get a busted head.”
“Tooley, I’m not doing anything.”
“No, but your people are. You don’t want to see them get hurt now, do you?”
“They’re volunteers. They don’t answer to me, they answer to a higher authority.”
Lieutenant Tooley rolled his eyes. “This has got nothing to do with religion. This has to do with the law. You listen up and get your people in line. You hear? I’ve already had to haul in three of them. I don’t want to drag in any more, but I will. You understand? No one’s above the law. If someone breaks it, I gotta act. Simple as that.”
Maggie smiled at her old friend, then saluted him, just like she used to when she was a child. “Yes, sir.”
“Stop that, now. It galls me that I gotta come over here and lecture you about law and order. You, in the midst of this hornet’s nest. Your daddy must be turning in his grave. Can’t imagine what he’d say.”
“Can’t you?” Maggie’s eyes twinkled.
“No. And don’t go telling me that he’d approve, because I’m not buying.”
Maggie rose from her chair. “Tooley, you know perfectly well that Dad would’ve backed me all the way. He always insisted I follow my conscience. It only saddens me that a lot of good people haven’t followed theirs.”
Tooley reddened, making his round, soft face look almost like a plum. “Now, don’t you go putting this on anyone else, like it was their fault. The law’s the law. Abortion is legal and that’s that. You want to change things, you do it through the courts, not in the streets.”
Maggie walked around her desk and gave Tooley a hug. “It’s God who’s going to do the changing, one heart at a time.”
Maggie heard a sharp tap on her wall and looked up to see Agnes leaning against the door frame. Her face was pinched and she kept looking over her shoulder as though expecting something unpleasant to happen any minute.
“You have visitors. That man…the one who was here about a week ago, Mr. Taylor…he’s back, this time with his family.” Agnes looked behind her once more, then tiptoed to Maggie’s desk. “They all look so…so despondent. Can you see them? I know they don’t have an appointment or anything, but do you think you can squeeze them in?”
Maggie looked at the mound of paperwork on her desk. She was already half a week behind. She had over thirty intake forms to process, not to mention the stack of permanent records she needed to enter into her database. Then she looked at Agnes’s face and sighed.
“Take them to the kitchen, and I’ll be right there.”
Agnes squeezed out a frail smile, then disappeared.
Moments later, Maggie carried her empty coffee cup into the small kitchen and found the family of three sitting quietly, nervously around the table. The room was heavy with sorrow. It exuded from the three and pierced Maggie’s heart. It was a gift from God, this ability to feel the anguish of others, although at times Maggie felt hard-pressed to call it a “gift.” But she knew it was from God, His equipping, His provision so she could do the work she had to do.
“Good to see you, Mr. Taylor,” Maggie said.
The large man rose and extended his hand, then introduced his wife and daughter.
After the introductions, Maggie turned to the coffee-maker on the counter and began rinsing out the old grinds. “Coffee, anyone?”
No one answered, so Maggie simply pulled out three clean cups from one of the cabinets and began preparing coffee for them all. She didn’t speak while the coffee brewed, but tried to let the family get used to the room, the smells, the fact that they were here in a place they didn’t want to be.
She filled a creamer with fresh milk and put it and a sugar bowl and some spoons in the middle of the table. Then she filled the cups and placed one in front of each of them. Finally, she poured her own coffee and brought it, steaming, to the table. Throughout the silence, she had been praying. Already she knew God was calling her to press hard.
“Your father told me you had an abortion, Becky,” Maggie said, sliding onto her chair. “How do you feel about that?”
The teen absently began twirling strands of long black hair around her finger and said nothing. Maggie glanced at the parents.
“Don’t you think you should tell her about your organization first? Ease her into—”
“My question was directed to your daughter, Mr. Taylor. Please let her answer.”
All eyes were on Becky, and she hunched so low in her chair, Maggie was afraid she’d slide right onto the floor.
“I’d like to hear about it,” Maggie said, her voice calm. “Take your time, but it’s important I know how you feel.”
Becky began to cry. Tears streamed from her brown eyes, eyes soft and crushed, the color of peat. Her shoulders heaved as sobs erupted from deep inside. She couldn’t speak. The mother rose quickly to cradle her daughter in her arms. The father stayed seated, glaring at Maggie.
“You were supposed to help. You’re only making her worse.”
Maggie put up her hand to silence the father but her eyes never left the young girl. “Let her cry. When she’s ready, she’ll speak.”
For almost half an hour Maggie sat quietly watching Becky sob into her mother’s arms. She wondered if this was the first time the daughter had allowed her parents to see her anguish and decided by the look of concern on the father’s face that it was. When it looked as though Becky was all cried out, Maggie reached across the table and took her hand. For several minutes, Maggie gently held it, crying inside as she watched the young face streaked with unbearable pain.
“You have lost a child and you are in mourning,” Maggie said softly, squeezing the young girl’s hand. “Your grief is a good sign, a healthy sign.”
Becky looked up, surprise on her face. “It is? I…I thought I was going insane. I thought I was losing.” Fresh tears splashed onto the table. “My friends told me I was acting stupid. Making too much of it.” She glanced at her father timidly. “Nobody understands how I feel…how I’ve been feeling these past weeks.” Then she looked at Maggie. For the first time, a faint ray of hope shone on her face. “I’m not going crazy?”
“No.” Maggie smiled. She felt Becky’s fingers slowly curl around her own. “Believe it or not, you’re beginning to heal. Your grief tells me you’re facing some harsh realities—or trying to—instead of pretending they don’t exist. A lot of women in your position will do that—pretend—then years down the road something will happen to trigger deeply buried emotions.”
“Will I…will I ever get better? Will it ever stop hurting?”
Maggie nodded, ignoring the exasperation on the father’s face and the look of helplessness on the mother’s. “It will get better, but not before it gets worse. There are some hard times ahead. Some tough issues you’ll have to face, to deal with. Are you up for that?”
The father jumped to his feet. “Now wait a minute. Becky has been through enough. You said you could help her. I don’t see how making her feel worse could possibly solve anything.”
“You’ll need courage, Becky. Can you do it?”
Becky’s lower lip trembled and fresh tears welled up in her eyes, but her fingers firmly gripped Maggie’s. “I don’t know. It hurts so bad now. I don’t know if I could stand any more.”
Jim Taylor began pulling Becky’s chair, trying to make his daughter rise. “Come on, that’s enough. I’m taking you home. You had your chance, lady, and you blew it. I’m not letting you mess with my daughter’s head.”
Maggie tightened her grip on Becky’s hand. She could sense a spiritual battle being waged. “Tell me how you feel about your abortion.”
Becky’s fingers went limp, and for a second she rose slightly as though to go, then sat down and just stared into Maggie’s eyes. “It was horrible…” Her voice splintered and she dropped her head to her chest. “I think I heard my baby scream. I know that’s ridiculous…but I did…from deep inside…I heard my baby.”
For the first time, Maggie could see tears in Jim Taylor’s eyes, and without another word, he moved from behind Becky’s chair to the empty chair next to his wife. Maggie watched as he put his arm around his wife and they both cried. Then Maggie turned back to Becky. “It’s not ridiculous. Only once before have I heard of this happening, but it’s not ridiculous. When a woman becomes pregnant her body and mind begin to bond with that child. One of the deepest, strongest instincts a woman has is the maternal instinct.”
“I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to!” Becky began sobbing again.
“Do what?” Maggie said, her voice calm, tender.
Tears in a Bottle Page 15
