“Ewww!” said Hannah, literal as always.
“I know… not pretty,” Debbie agreed.
Hannah showered and pulled on the Wizards of Waverly Place pajamas that Debbie had bought. She brushed her teeth and then Debbie brushed and braided her hair. Hannah climbed into bed, lay on her side, and granted her a weak smile. Debbie pulled the blanket over Hannah and tucked it in.
“Want TV?” Debbie asked.
“Nah.”
Debbie dragged the chair to the bedside and sat down. She leaned over and crossed her arms on the mattress.
“Tomorrow is when they decide what to do with me, right?” Hannah asked.
“You make it sound like you’re a leaky roof when you say it that way,” Debbie said.
“Are you going to try to get it so I can live with you?” Hannah asked.
“I promise you that I will try my best.”
Hannah blinked, trying to ward off her drowsiness. “Debbie?”
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what, honey?”
“That I might not get to live with you,” said Hannah. She thought for a while. “Would it make you sad, too… if I can’t live with you?”
“Very much so, but I’m your caseworker so I would still come and see you. I mean that with all of my heart.”
“I wish I was a leaky roof. That way I could stay at your house, and you could keep me if you want.”
“I want,” Debbie said, and kissed Hannah on the tip of the nose to disguise her loss of words.
“Why are you crying?” Hannah asked.
“Because,” Debbie said, “sometimes you see something so amazingly beautiful it steals your breath and brings tears to your eyes.”
“Really? What did you see?”
“You,” said Debbie.
Thursday
July 1, 2010
Chapter 29
Debbie stood at the doorway watching Hannah sleep, taken by her peacefulness and innocence. She was lying on her back, her head turned slightly toward Debbie. Her pouted bottom lip was dark and glistening with moisture, looking as if she’d nervously chewed it swollen.
Essie appeared beside Debbie carrying a Tupperware container. “I woke early so I baked Blueberry Surprise muffins.” She lifted the corner of the container, exposing muffin heads the size of grapefruits.
“Aye, those are freakin’ huge!” Debbie said, astounded.
“I heard the Scottish in you just then,” Essie laughed.
“Yeah, it happens when I’m near good food,” Debbie said.
Essie opened the shades. The brilliant sunrise transformed the white walls to a cheery tangerine.
“You look fantastic!” Essie said.
“Thank you,” Debbie replied. “Meeting attire.”
Debbie’s dress was forest green, chic, and form fitting. It went mid-calf, stylishly revealing pale yet shapely legs. Kenny had bought it for her, paying what Debbie thought was an exorbitant amount. It wasn’t Erdem or Michael Kors, but it was in the upper four-hundred-dollar window and far more than Debbie would have ever paid. She hadn’t worn it since “The Kenny Years”, mostly because it—though classily so—accentuated her figure… something she avoided.
“Honey, with that body, you should make dresses your standard,” Essie said. “Those legs should be in magazines. You’re a goddess.”
“Thanks,” Debbie said, blushing and wanting to hide herself. Compliments made her uncomfortable and she received them clumsily. They seemed to refer to someone she didn’t know, like the woman Debbie had seen in the mirror at home. The woman on the far side of the mirror looked stunning and confident, while the woman on Debbie’s side felt awkward and constricted by the dress. The light makeup and glaze of the lipstick she had chosen felt alien. It was a battle not to remove it before leaving the house.
Essie pulled a few plastic plates from her carry bag and set them on the over-bed table. She set one of the colossal muffins on it and handed it to Debbie.
“Bon appétit.”
“I’ll have to diet for a week,” Debbie said. “How many grams of fat are in one of these babies?”
“You call them fat grams, I call them flavor crystals. Anyhow, if they’re made with love, they aren’t fattening.”
“Is that so?” Debbie asked.
“Well, if it is, no one told my husband,” said Essie. She placed the largest of the muffins on the over-bed table and maneuvered it before Hannah.
“Wait!” Debbie whispered. She found the proper button on the touchpad, and pressed it. Hannah’s bed started rising to a sitting position. Halfway up, Hannah wearily opened her eyes, which became huge upon seeing the muffin. Wordlessly, she leaned forward and sank her teeth into the regal-sized pastry.
“Thought we’d help you with breakfast,” Debbie said, and bit into her muffin.
“Yemf I Wanmff mnnk,” Hannah responded. She swallowed and wiped her mouth on her pajama sleeve. “It’s a monster muffin. Got milk?”
Intent on scoring some milk from the ward kitchenette, Debbie nearly plowed into Phil Davenport. “Nmiilnk,” she explained, spraying him with muffin crumbs. She slapped a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter.
Phil watched her shuffle down the hallway, a rare smirk on his face. Debbie returned with four eight-ounce cartons and handed them out. Phil was sitting in a metal folding chair, tearing into his own muffin with boyish glee.
“YUM!” Hannah suddenly blurted.
“Ahhh! The surprise center,” said Essie. “Blueberry crisp crumble.”
Hannah continued eating, stopping only when her plate was empty. She thumbed the few remaining crumbs into her mouth and then realized she had an audience. “What?” she asked of the three bemused faces watching her.
“You’re a gastric wonder,” said Debbie.
“I don’t fart,” Hannah said defensively. “Not that much!”
“Your appetite,” Debbie said.
Phil put his remaining muffin on the windowsill, got up and closed the door, and then sat back down. Debbie, Hannah, and Essie watched him pensively as he leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. He shook his head and sat straight up. Debbie drummed her hand apprehensively on her lap.
“Alright. I put this off long enough,” he said. “As you can imagine, I—and the Kearney Police Department—have questions. I suppose others will too in time.” He looked at Debbie and Hannah, gave a flustered huff, and again shook his head. “I don’t know how sensitive the subject matter is.” He motioned towards Hannah with a slight nod.
“I know they found Anna in our secret space,” Hannah said.
“Use discretion,” Essie said.
He mentally contemplated his words and then said, “Okay, Hannah… about this secret place. I heard that your mother made the cinderblock room. I also heard that she built it to protect you and Anna. Can you tell me what or who she was protecting you from?”
“Bad people,” Hannah said. “But mostly Travis, I think. Mom knew there would be dangerous things.”
Phil turned to Debbie and sputtered, “Why would she… if she knew that danger was eminent, why the heck…?”
Essie cleared her throat and Phil composed himself and started again. “The secret place was very well made—professional quality. It was built on a concrete foundation and it fit perfectly between the floor struts, which she cut and reinforced to support the hole in the floor. Your mom was very talented and very concerned about your and Anna’s safety. That closet fooled everyone.”
Hannah gave him an appeasing smile.
“What I don’t get,” Phil continued. “Is how did she do all that work with the cement mixing, bricklaying, and woodcutting, without Travis knowing?”
“She built it before she knew Travis,” Hannah said.
“Why? Was there someone else she needed to protect you and Anna from?”
Hannah shrugged. “She made it so we always had a safe place to go when we…” Hannah paused, unsure how to
explain it. “Mom said we needed the secret place because we are special.”
“How do you mean special?” Phil asked.
Hannah looked at her table and then flashed a quick, uneasy glance Debbie’s way, which Phil surely caught. She suddenly perked up and said with a charming tilt of her head. “Well, just look at us!”
Phil smiled as Debbie and Essie shared a laugh.
“I knew I wasn’t going to get far here,” Phil said without animosity. “Let’s change tracks. When I spoke with Kearney Police about the house in Elm Creek, they were a little mystified by something. There were signs of movement in the dirt under the house… very recent movement.” He pointedly gazed at Debbie.
“Animals?” Debbie offered.
“Yeah, two animals that wear sneakers and have elbows, hands, and knees,” the detective said. “The marks appear to be made by an eight- or nine-year-old child and a woman or small man. They also found a nearly perfect shoeprint, so perfect they said they could figure the size and make if necessary.”
“What’s odd about that?” Debbie asked.
“Where they found the footprint. It was on the inside of the door for the crawlspace under the house,” Phil said with a shrewd smile. “They’re trying to figure out how the door had been kicked outward when it was boarded shut from the outside, yet there was no evidence of entry through the cinderblock enclosure, which is the only other way someone could have entered.”
That hadn’t even crossed Debbie’s mind. Some thief I’d make, she thought scathingly. “That’s weird,” she said.
“Indeed it is,” Phil agreed. “Whoever was crawling around under the house also opened the cast-iron door to the cinderblock enclosure, because her prints were in the soil there as well. Fortunately they don’t feel it’s pertinent to Anna’s…” he paused, choosing his words, “circumstances… especially considering her state. It’s a very curious series of events. Whoever this possible woman and child are, you’d think they just appeared under the house like magic.”
Debbie felt the heat of his words and she felt that he was toying with her. What point was he trying to make? Hannah and Essie remained silent, and it seemed she and Phil had come to an impasse, but Phil said, “Your feet look to be about a size eight. You wouldn’t have a pair of tennis shoes, would you?”
“I do,” Debbie said. “Why would that matter?”
“It doesn’t. Just ironic that the shoe prints under the house happen to be tennis shoes, about size eight,” Phil said.
Debbie held the detective’s gaze as steadily as possible. “Well, it’s a good thing Hannah and I were here yesterday.”
“True enough. I know you were here yesterday,” Phil said. “In fact, I saw all three of you in Riverside Park, but I must have been tired, because I swear I saw things happen down on that boat ramp that I never would have dreamed possible.”
Wary yet intrigued, Essie studied the detective. Debbie, in a near panic, started trying to convince Phil of Hannah’s need for protection. Phil held up both hands to stem the barrage of Debbie’s words.
“Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba! Don’t say another thing. I don’t understand it, nor do I want to,” Phil said. “I really, really don’t want to know. In fact, it’d be best if you never said another word about it… to anyone. I’ll do my part, but if you want to protect this amazing little lady, you should, as Essie says, use a lot of discretion and be more conscientious. I don’t know what would ensue if this came to light, but I’d rather have no part of it.”
Essie repeated her belief that Hannah would be safe due to implausible deniability.
“Don’t depend on plausible deniability or implausible deniability, that’s poop philosophy. It’s not corrupt government or clandestine Orwellian research labs I’m talking about, that’s big-screen hyperbole… for the most part. It’s the unbalanced ones like the uber-fundamentalists and the crackpots who might see this as divine and prophetic or the corrupt and greedy who might see this as a windfall. Don’t underestimate the wickedness of your fellow man… he’s always stooping to new lows.”
The relief Debbie felt could have deflated a dirigible, but the importance and validity of Phil’s words were just as significant. She nodded her agreement.
“Yesterday could have been devastating,” Phil said. “Hopefully I was the only witness other than Doctor Hiller.” He looked at Hannah again. Changing the subject, Davenport asked, “DFC make a decision?”
“The meeting’s today at five,” Debbie said. “I’ve applied to be Hannah’s foster mother.”
“Good… good. That would be best,” said Phil. “If I can help that to happen, I will.” He rose, walked to Hannah’s bed, and knelt beside it. He took her hand in his and said, “I’m very, very sorry about your sister and your mother, and that you had to live through such tragedy. You are a beautiful, brave, and vibrant young lady, and you deserve a good and normal life from now on. Do you understand?”
Hannah nodded.
“When I leave this room,” Phil said. “All that we’ve talked about disappears. Hannah once again becomes a magnificent little girl with an amazing survival story… nothing more.” He looked at Hannah. “Next time you see me, I’m just Phil or Mr. D. Deal?”
Hannah nodded and to everyone’s surprise—especially Phil’s—Hannah gave the detective a long, earnest hug.
“I promise,” she said, and Debbie knew that a promise coming from Hannah’s mouth was ironclad.
“You too,” Phil said to Debbie. He took his half-finished muffin from the windowsill and said to Essie, “You should open a muffin shop. These are too good not to be therapeutic.” Detective Phil Davenport opened the door, winked, and left the room.
The room nearly inflated from the collective release of breath that ensued, followed by a long silence.
“Do you think he’s sincere?” Debbie asked.
“I think so,” said Essie. “Hannah seems to think so.”
“He’s right,” said Debbie.
“Yes,” agreed Essie.
“One meeting down… two to go,” said Debbie.
“Today’s going to be a long day,” Essie said.
“All days are twenty-four hours,” said Hannah.
“I stand corrected,” said Essie. “How are you feeling about the next meeting?”
Debbie turned from Hannah’s line of sight and mouthed, “Terrified.”
Chapter 30
Debbie and Brandon agreed to meet at The Grill Next Door, a friendly and well-received pub that offered a decent food selection, but was renowned for its thirty-six varieties of beer on tap. Debbie felt nauseous with anxiety when she and Essie arrived. She ordered a spinach salad and a cranberry spritzer, not her usual fare of bleu cheese-stuffed Angus burger, fries, and a Sierra pale ale.
Brandon and his daughter seemed to ignite the room upon entering, first with their smiles and hair, and then with their kindliness. Both greeted Debbie and Essie with hugs.
Debbie was astounded by their similarities, not just to each other, but Brandon’s to Conan O’Brien and Stephanie’s to Debbie herself.
“You look more like me when I was young than I did,” Debbie said to Stephanie.
Stephanie recognized the wordplay and replied, “Awesome! That means I’ll be hot, too!”
“Told you,” Essie said to Debbie.
On the rare occasions when she would dress up to appease Kenny by wearing a pretty dress and applying some makeup, she would morph into something elegant and even sensual, but to be described as gorgeous, hot, or sexy made her feel extremely vulnerable and exposed, and it scared the shit out of her. Kenny had tried doggedly to change her perspective, tactlessly mistaking insensitivity for encouragement by describing Debbie’s clothing style as frumpy or unbecoming, and saying her aversion to makeup made her dowdy and colorless. To be regarded as pretty always brought her to a place of shame. She tugged at the hem of her dress and sat down.
Brandon and Stephanie quickly defused Debbie and Essie with their wit and easy
manner, telling lighthearted tales of their life in Lakewood and surprisingly sparking a few memories for Debbie. Brandon spoke of many of his cases that were heartbreaking, yet ultimately had positive outcomes.
They left for Essie’s office in good spirits, but a blanket of circumspection slowly embraced Debbie.
“I’m scared,” she said, the words slipping out before she could bite them back.
Essie gave Debbie’s leg a comforting pat. “Of course you are. It’s a natural and healthy reaction when facing the unknown.”
“It has to be bad if Brandon insisted on coming here all the way from Cleveland.”
“He had already planned to travel this way,” said Essie.
“Not really. It’s a two-hundred-mile diversion. It’s going to be bad,” Debbie repeated gravely.
“Maybe,” Essie said. “But you’re a lovely, smart, and compassionate woman whose wonderful essence has not been compromised by whatever happened all those years ago and all those miles away. No matter what you hear, you can handle it because you’ve already defeated it and risen above it.”
They drove in silence until they reached the office. Before they got out of the car, Essie hugged Debbie and said, “Chin up and stay strong, beautiful girl.”
Essie’s words were similar to those Debbie had used with Hannah and Anna. That she had become fond of Essie was no surprise, but the desire to latch onto the maternal figure Essie represented was. Mother was a void never filled, and even at thirty, Debbie was in a place not unlike Hannah. Comforted by Essie’s compassion, Debbie got out of the car.
Inside the office, Essie led Stephanie to a small break room and showed her a cabinet with a nice offering of healthy snacks and a small refrigerator with a variety of juices. Stephanie pointed to a Keurig coffee machine and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“K-cups are in the top left cupboard,” Essie said.
Stephanie raised the same eyebrow to a computer station in the corner. Essie gave her thumbs up and said, “Username, Freud. Password, Jung with a jay.”
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