The Tiger in the House

by Jacqueline Sheehan

  “He told me that he understood addictions,” she said, leaning against the wall, hands pressed flat on the wallboard to support her. Her mind spun full tilt, trying to reckon with what Ben said.

  Ben tapped one foot. “He understands them perfectly, that’s what I’m saying. He’s perpetuating them. And there’s got to be a reason. I don’t want him anywhere near Delia, or you.”

  “What are you going to do?” She was frozen, her insides thickening like cement. Where was Delia?

  “I’m calling the Maine Drug Enforcement Agency. We’ll let them take care of this.”

  “I’ve got to tell Delia,” she said, and then paused. She was no fool. “Ben, where’s the bottle of oxy that Tyler gave you? And the scrip?”

  He smiled. “I’m always proud of you, J Bird. You don’t miss a beat.” He pointed to a plastic bag on the far side of his desk. “It’s evidence. Michelle knows it’s here, believe me.” Ben stood up. “I don’t have much self-esteem left right now, and I’m going to have to work hard to win back trust from the people I love, but I want you to know I still have your back. I would never let your parents down.”

  He opened the door. Michelle waited in the hallway. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  He took his wife’s hand, the way J Bird’s father used to hold her mother’s hand, as if she tethered him to earth.

  “You’re leaving right now?” asked J Bird.

  Ben closed his office door, as if sealing up a part of his life that he may or may not be able to return to. “My doctor found a treatment center with an opening and he said I shouldn’t wait.”

  For the first time in her life, it was Ben who was leaving, not J Bird, not Delia. He was the one who was going to need every bit of their help.

  Ben said, “Walk out with us, would you? I have a dignity deficit today, and I need you two to bolster me up for this walk through the clinic.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulder. “I’m counting on a special discount at the café when I come home from treatment.”

  * * *

  J Bird watched them drive off. The entire staff of the clinic was at the front window. Jill was crying. Ben was still J Bird’s hero.

  At times like this, she yearned to bake. If the gas was hooked up to the new stove at the café, she could give it the inaugural test run. She’d run home and pick up Baxter and take him to the beach later.

  J Bird pictured Tyler at the hospital, handing out pain meds, feeding addictions like ducks at a pond. What was wrong with him? She wanted to go toe-to-toe with him, to have him explain what was going on. Should she say something to him? She wanted to hear this from Tyler, but she couldn’t. Baking. Just do what she knew to do. She only wished that she’d never said anything to him about Delia. If Tyler was unstable or in trouble, how would he respond to a rejection from Delia?

  She’d let Delia have her fantastic moment with Hayley and break the news to her later.

  CHAPTER 52

  Erica left Delia and Mike in the house while she drove to school to pick Hayley up. For a foster mom, these next moments would be mixed with the bittersweet knowledge of Hayley moving on, reuniting with her mother. Delia had seen foster parents negotiate this path hundreds of times, and she still didn’t fully comprehend how they bore the pain with the hope. Erica had to be a fully compassionate foster mother, yet let Hayley go.

  The Maine DEA guy, Dustin, asked Mike if he was going to be there for at least a half hour, because he needed to pick up a book that his wife ordered over at the mall.

  “I’ve got it covered,” Mike said.

  While they waited in the living room, seated near the coffee table where Hayley first drew the naughty place, Mike told Delia as much as he could about the case. Louie hopped on the couch and sat next to Delia as if he wanted to hear the details also.

  Mike stretched out his long legs, then reconsidered and pulled his feet in closer to the couch. “The state police have already interviewed Claire once today. Her name is Claire Higgins and her husband, Joshua, is a pharmacist in Nashville. Claire said she knew nothing about her husband’s activities, only that he had worked longer and longer hours. She gave them all of her husband’s information. Social Security number, password to the home computer, work address. Claire has had a hard time taking all of this in, that her husband was somehow involved. As of three hours ago, he was in custody.”

  She found the sweet spot along Louie’s jaw and ran the edge of her hand along it. “Do you believe that she was the victim, kidnapped with Hayley, or do you think she was part of the drug business?” She had to ask. It was still her job to keep Hayley safe.

  “They’re interrogating her husband right now. If there is a shred of him left that isn’t destroyed, and if Claire was in the dark about his connection with the heroin trade, then he can do the last best thing for his family by telling the truth. I’m expecting a call from those guys later today.”

  Delia’s cell phone rang. It was a Connecticut number. She tapped on immediately. “This is Claire Higgins. Is this Delia?”

  How strange to finally hear the voice of someone who had been the target of their search for weeks. “This is Delia. You can’t imagine how good it is to hear your voice. You must be feeling a lot better than when I saw you last night.”

  “The best that I’ve been in three weeks, since Ray took Hayley from me. And then the best since March. Is Hayley there? I mean, thank you, Delia. Thank you.” Her voice sounded unused, as if the words scraped her throat.

  “She’ll be coming back from kindergarten soon. Do you have access to Skype? Hayley is going to need to see you. We’re going to tell her that you’ve been found as soon as she gets home, but believe me, she wants to see you.”

  “You’re on speaker phone here. One of the nurses said she’ll help me Skype later. Is Hayley okay? Was she hurt in any way? I’m only learning bits of things from the police now.”

  “She was never injured. I promise. And she never gave up on finding you. She motivated a small army of us to find you. Please try to rest until we can set up the Skype.”

  As she signed off, Mike said, “Thank you. Delaying the call with Hayley will give the cops from Tennessee a chance to verify what she’s saying. I’m going to feel a lot better about all this after we hear from them.”

  Thirty minutes later, Louie stood up, hopped off the couch, and headed for the front door. Delia heard the sound of a car, then two doors closing, and then the sound of Erica’s key in the lock.

  Hayley, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt with a snowy owl on the front, dropped her small school pack and knelt next to Louie. “You missed me today, didn’t you, Louie? I’m home now.”

  Erica bit down on her lower lip and looked away. “Let’s invite our guests for a snack,” she said, her voice cracking into shards. Anyone could hear the way Hayley said home, could see the ease with which she snuggled into Louie. And anyone could see the chasm ahead when Hayley left.

  Mike’s phone rang. He answered it, smiled, and gave Delia the thumbs-up sign. Claire was cleared with the police.

  “Hi, Hayley. I see that Louie comes before all of us,” said Delia, smiling, watching this dream unfold. “Come in the living room with me and Detective Mike. We have very good news for you.” Anything she said was going to sound trite, not enough for the moment. Delia flipped open her laptop on the coffee table. “We found your mommy. Just like you said, she was in the bacca barn. She didn’t have much food in the barn, which meant she had to go to a hospital so the doctors could give her lots of food and water. But today she is much better, and she’s going to Skype with you. Are you ready?”

  Five-year-olds have only the slimmest film covering their emotions, their hopes and agonies. Whatever ephemeral mask Hayley had constructed to get through her day peeled off. “Mommy? You found my mommy?” Louie was unceremoniously abandoned as she stood up.

  Mike sniffed behind Delia and without looking, she reached one hand back to him.

  “A lady who was out walking her dog fou
nd your mommy. She is going to call us back in a few minutes when a nurse brings her a laptop. Let’s get you all set up over here so you can see your mommy.”

  Mike put the laptop on the coffee table and pushed it away from the couch so that Hayley could sit on the floor right in front of the table with her back against the lower part of the couch. Louie hopped on the back edge of the couch to see what all the fuss was about.

  The familiar chimes of Skype announced the incoming call. Mike leaned over and answered the call request. Claire must have put her laptop on the table that swung over the bed. She had pulled her hair back and scrubbed her face. Her skin was pulled as tight as a drum. But she was smiling and someone had given her lipstick.

  They both spoke at once. “Mommy!” “Hayley, are you okay?”

  The child put both her hands on the laptop screen as if to touch either side of Claire’s face. “Oh, sweetie,” said Claire, and she touched her fingertips to her screen. She laughed and said, “If we put our hands all over the screen, we won’t be able to see each other.”

  Erica had to leave the room, crying. Who would not love this determined child who had crossed over a demarcation zone with the foster mom, sliding along the chambers of her heart? Delia heard water running in the kitchen and she pictured Erica splashing water on her face.

  Hayley and her mother spoke softly to each other. Delia and Mike stepped toward the large window that faced the street, close enough to hear the conversation but far enough away to give the mother and daughter the illusion of privacy.

  Hayley said into the monitor, “Mommy, can you see Louie the cat? He likes to sleep on my bed.”

  Mike spoke softly with Delia. “She’ll be able to come to Portland tomorrow. The state police are interviewing her again later today at the hospital.”

  From across the room, Claire’s voice asked, “Is Delia there?” Delia squeezed in next to Hayley. “I’m here, Claire. Hayley has so much to tell you that I didn’t want to take up any of your time.” She sat so close to Hayley that their ears rubbed together. Her heart swelled at the warm touch of the child.

  “I’m going to be released tomorrow. The state police will drive me to South Portland,” she said.

  Erica walked in on the last few sentences, a plate of sliced apples in one hand. She slid the plate along the coffee table and squeezed in on the other side of Hayley. “Hi, Claire, I’m Erica, resident foster mom and the biggest Hayley fan. Will you please stay with us when you come to Portland? I don’t know what your plans are after that, but I’d feel terrible if you two had to go to a hotel.”

  No one could ever doubt this woman as a foster parent. She was going to make the transition easier for Hayley.

  Claire looked too exhausted to refuse. “Thank you. It’s going to take time to get our life back in order, and being able to thank you in person for keeping Hayley is one way for me to start.”

  Details were worked out: street address, arrival times. As they got ready to say good-bye, Hayley said, “Did you hear our song?”

  “What song, sweetie?”

  Mike left the room as his phone rang again.

  Delia and Erica looked at each other, momentarily puzzled. “Oh, that song,” said Delia as she remembered the canine/human howling on the deck. “Um, we might have to do a repeat performance for your mommy when she gets here. I’ll bring my dog, Baxter.” Delia could picture Baxter stealing the show, the way he did when he entered a room. But his singing was a showstopper.

  This was what it felt like when everything went right, when a child was reunited with a parent, a perfectly good parent. This was the end, how her days with Foster Services would end: a few more days of paperwork, the compulsory surprise going away party with Ira still giving her the stink eye about leaving, but the horizon opened before her as it never had before. The feeling was remarkable.

  What awaited her was bread, glorious bread. And once the café gained its own rhythm, she’d make lemon pasta once a week. She might even try to learn the fancy stuff like chocolate éclairs from J Bird.

  They stayed until Dustin returned from his mission at the bookstore. As they were leaving, Erica said, “I almost forgot. Your doctor friend stopped by first thing this morning and said he would help us any way that he could. We haven’t ever had a home visit from a doctor before. Thanks for the personal touch.”

  “What doctor friend?” said Delia.

  “Dr. Greene. The one with California surfer good looks.”

  The bottom began to fall out of Delia’s stomach. She was falling through space, ejected from a plane without a parachute. Foster Services would never send a doctor to a home without notifying the family first. “The location of your house is confidential. What did he say? Did he have contact with Hayley?”

  Erica caught the change in atmosphere. “What’s wrong? He showed us his identification and everything. He even showed his hospital ID to my resident cop.”

  Delia put up her hand in the stop pose. She tapped into her phone. “Ira? Did you send a doctor to Erica’s house? Okay, I didn’t think so. We’ll figure it out here. Yes, Mike is here. And the cop from MDEA.”

  Erica’s body contracted. She put her hand on the doorframe. “What’s going on? We were on our way out when he came by. I mean, he was so nice. He told me to bring Hayley to the hospital and he’d update her vaccinations. He said we wouldn’t need an appointment; just walk in and ask for him in the ER.”

  Mike hadn’t moved, except for his eyes flicking back and forth between Erica and Delia. “Did you give him this address?”

  “No! Wait; he might have overheard a conversation I had with Ira, but I’m sure that I only mentioned the neighborhood, not the exact address,” she said. She thought back to the day on the beach with Tyler, the excitement of seeing him again.

  “Then why would he come here? And who is he? Do you know him?”

  She put her hand on Mike’s arm. “Let’s go outside. Erica, no one has your address except Foster Services and the police. We will always let you know if we are coming over. And do not take Hayley to the hospital. Okay?”

  Mike stepped inside and spoke with Dustin, who put down his wife’s book and began to check all the doors.

  Delia and Mike opened the doors to his car. “Please tell me this isn’t the old boyfriend,” he said, starting the car.

  She snapped her seatbelt into place. “His name is Tyler, and yes, this is the old boyfriend.”

  “Why didn’t I ask you before? I didn’t want to seem like an overbearing cop, poking around in your private business. I need all of his information right now: cell, address, anything else that you have.” Mike backed out of the driveway. “I’m taking you home and then I’m going to the hospital. Time to have a conversation with him.”

  Delia bent her head down and rubbed her temples. A giant headache was blooming. The doctor in Tennessee had warned her about this. “This makes no sense to me. Why would Tyler violate confidentiality like this? Does this have something to do with me?”

  They drove through the old downtown of South Portland.

  When Mike didn’t answer her immediately, she said, “What are you thinking? Your brain is boiling away, I can feel it.”

  He took a big breath and exhaled. “The drug enforcement guys told me they were exploring a link with the hospital, that one of their informants said there was doctor who would give pain meds out as long as you said your pinky finger hurt. If that someone is Tyler, then we’ve got a very big problem.”

  Delia looked at the clock on his dashboard. Four thirty, just when traffic started to thicken up.

  CHAPTER 53

  Mike and Delia entered the traffic across the Casco Bay Bridge, and Portland spanned in front of them.

  The sirens came from Portland. Red and white fire trucks screamed in the city. Cars pulled over to the right to let them pass. She turned around and caught the glimpse of fire trucks from the South Portland side.

  The skin along the back of her neck prickled in alarm. The
reptilian part of her brain went on wordless alert, its tongue flicking the air for signs.

  Mike’s phone rang. “What?” He looked Delia. “Jesus. How bad is it? Are you sure? Have you checked inside? Yeah, I’m on the bridge. I’ll turn around as soon as we cross over.”

  Delia gripped his arm. “What is it? Is it Hayley? Do not tell me it’s Hayley.”

  Mike accelerated, pushed his spine into the back of the seat, and took a U-turn as soon as they hit the Portland side.

  “It’s J Bird Café. It’s engulfed.”

  Delia plummeted from an amazing height, her ancient brain squealing like a raptor, all of her senses taking on a dizzying magnification.

  Mike’s skin poured out a mixture of fresh soap, the remnants of J Bird’s muffins, adrenaline, metallic testosterone, all awash in the lush scent of his hair. A leftover sandwich sent a tendril of mayo and roast beef from the confines of a foil package in the backseat.

  Time turned into a thick custard, and even as she turned her head to the left to look at the logjam of cars leaving South Portland, she spotted him, as if there were no one else to see. As if all the other drivers were puppets, wooden-jawed, mothers with kids strapped into booster seats, men in pickup trucks with red-flagged two-by-fours slanting out of the truck beds. The carpenter from The Phoenix House.

  This couldn’t be possible.

  Did an unsuccessful attempt at murder create a horrific bond between two people? He had pressed his body against hers, licked her neck. She had smelled the soap he used, the aftershave. He saw Delia and filtered out every other car on the bridge. His young, dark eyes looked first at her, then Mike, then he scanned ahead, seeming to calculate how to get around the traffic on the bridge, how to leap over the solid traffic jam so that he could go north, go south, disappear into the dark abyss of western Maine, or slip through to Canada. He’d been in South Portland. Hayley!