Cindy's Prince

by Bush, Christine

  The cast was shorter now, stopping right beneath her knee, so her leg could bend and she could sit more comfortably in the chair. But that wasn’t the only difference. He stared. Her face was calm and smiling, cheeks fuller, body sitting straighter. She glowed.

  She saw him. “Papa Bear,” she yelled out, practically bouncing out of her chair. “It’s me, Mary Beth. Do you remember me?”

  Her foster mother grinned in recognition and pushed her to their corner of the room.

  Prince stood quickly and gave her mom his chair, squatting down beside Mary Beth, so he was at face level. He balanced Hannah on his knee. “Remember you? Are you kidding? There never was a bear so brave! Or a girl so beautiful.”

  Mary Beth giggled and slapped his extended hand in a “high five.”

  With question in his gaze, he looked at her foster mother.

  “We’re doing just great. She’s going to be staying with me for a very long while, I hope.”

  “And I’m going to school now, you know? I might get to be in a play in my class too.”

  “That’s good. Real good.” He tussled her hair, and wondered why his throat felt like he had swallowed a baseball.

  ****

  That’s how Cindy saw him when she emerged from the doctor’s treatment room. He squatted on the floor in front of Mary Beth’s wheelchair, Hannah bouncing on his knee, with giggles all around. Deep in her stomach, a warm glow began, and grew.

  Brave Morgan stood beside her, clutching her hand, and holding out two lollipops. His pant leg was torn below the knee, and the big white bandage showed through.

  Morgan had seen Prince too. He turned to the receptionist and addressed her with certainty. “I’m going to need one more lollipop, Kari. My friend Mr. Prince is here too.”

  “Absolutely,” she said seriously, handing him one. “It’s important to take care of your friends. Here’s a red one. He looks like a real red lollipop kind of guy.”

  Cindy approached them. “Thanks for the car, Prince, and thanks for being here. We’re okay. I was really shook up. He got twelve stitches.” She handed him the keys to his Aston Martin.

  “That’s quite a gash. Hey, Morgan, you’re a brave kid,” he said seriously.

  “I know,” said Morgan, speaking proudly around his lollipop.

  They left the clinic and were standing on the street. “I’m sorry to have taken you so much out of your way. Your car is right around the corner. We won’t all fit. We’re only a few blocks from here, so we’ll walk.”

  “The heck you will,” Prince said in a low even voice.

  A cab pulled up to the corner and the cabbie grunted, “You the guy who called for a cab?”

  Prince nodded, opened the back door, waving Cindy, the babysitter and the kids into the back seat. He gave the cabbie the address, and handed him several bills. “Drive extra slowly. The boy’s been hurt. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Cindy climbed in, looking grateful, not arguing with him for once.

  “I’ll see you at your house,” Prince said in a reassuring voice as he shut the door. He watched the cab pull away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She was grateful, really. She appreciated the fact he had stepped right in and taken over the story telling, while the fear of Morgan’s injury had turned her insides to sludge. Cindy was rather obsessive about her job and her responsibility to the kids, so the fact she had even been confident leaving him there was a surprise. But she had.

  Sitting back in the cab, snuggling the two much-loved bundles close, she heaved a deep sigh, grateful, too, the fall had produced only stitches, bumps and bruises. Her heart swelled at the thought. He was okay. She couldn’t love these two children more if she had birthed them herself.

  Exhaustion permeated her every pore. The worry had sucked the energy right out of her. And Morgan didn’t need a several block walk on his newly stitched leg. They were not at their best, for sure. Hence she had agreed to the cab. Again, with gratitude. Prince had this way of making her feel glad he was around, no matter how many times she sent him away.

  She didn’t like the thought. Cindy relished her independence, her self sufficiency. She didn’t want to need anybody. Especially a man like Prince. She had seen women succumb to the appealing charm of a man like Prince Highfield, only to live to regret it. Thinking of George, she sighed out loud. She had been one of them.

  But Prince is not George, a little voice inside whispered inside her head.

  After dropping off the babysitter at her door, the cab pulled up to Cindy’s house, and she guided the two small children up the front steps to the door. With a glance, she saw Prince was in the process of parking halfway down the block.

  Cindy squeezed her eyes shut for a second before she stuck the key in the door lock. What was it about her that could rejoice at the thought he was here, and be repelled by that thought at the same time? She didn’t need him. Wouldn’t need him. But the truth was, she was glad he was here.

  After she pushed open the door, she was even more than glad. She froze at the sight before her.

  “Boy, this place is a mess!” Morgan’s high-pitched voice squealed as he stuck his head in the door beside her.

  Instinctively, Cindy pushed him back behind her for safety, along with Hannah. Someone had broken into her house. Was the burglar still there?

  Furniture was upended, bookcases emptied, drawers were dumped. The floor was littered from wall to wall. In panic, she listened, trying to identify any foreign sound. There was only silence.

  Her own shocked breathing was the only sound piercing the quiet. Then she heard the sounds of Prince’s steps as he moved along the sidewalk toward them, his pace quickening.

  “What’s happened, Cindy?” Prince’s voice was concerned, as he mounted the steps, peering over her shoulder, taking in the chaos. “Stand back. Let me check. I’m sure whoever did this is long gone, but it’s better to be safe.”

  She stayed put, clutching the children, and entered the room a few minutes later when he called her. Who had done this? And why?

  Was it random? Vandals making trouble? A burglary? A quick inventory showed her nothing valuable had been taken. An easy deduction that, she figured, been mostly because there had been very little of value to take.

  Fingers of fear started to clutch at her heart, memories of those old, scary days, when Jimmy had been in trouble, when he had left town, when his cohorts from a darker world had harassed her, and terrorized her. Time, and her desperate move, had stopped the threats and contacts. And Jimmy’s sad death had seemed to put an end to the painful saga.

  But maybe not. The tension was rising, the seeds of a brute of a headache starting in her forehead.

  “They were looking for something. Nothing’s really wrecked, everything’s just emptied and searched.” Prince looked thoughtful, his brow furrowed. “We need to call the police.”

  Cindy sat quickly on the couch, her legs resembling Jell-O, all of a sudden. Do the next right thing. She popped open her cell phone and dialed 911.

  The police arrived promptly, as city police standards go, and the report was filed. With nothing obvious missing, there was not much they could do, except promise they would keep the house under surveillance with extra patrol sweeps of the neighborhood. The promise didn’t give her much of a feeling of security. But there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  After calming the kids down with reassurances that didn’t ring true even in her own mind, she did a quick straightening of their room, which had seen the least amount of upheaval, and then tucked them in for a nap.

  Then she attacked the rest of the house. Working silently by her side, Prince helped without complaint, righting furniture, stacking books, sorting knick knacks. Some had been broken in the vandalism, some could be set back in place. She figured his mind raced with things he could say, and she really appreciated his ability to be quiet as she worked her way through the mess.

  When Cindy got to her own bedroom, much as she trie
d to control her emotions, she couldn’t stop the pained sigh rushing through her lips. She ignored the overturned mattresses and dumped drawers, and headed right for her desk area. Her laptop computer lay smashed on the floor. Papers were strewn everywhere. Dropping to her knees, her vision blurred as she saw the destroyed pages of her manuscripts, the torn folders containing her carefully crafted stories, her notes and samples of illustrations for her children’s stories. Dislodged from the nearby dresser top when the drawers had been tossed, a bottle of lotion had been dumped and seeped through the pile.

  She knelt in the midst of the mess, aware her fingers shook as she tried to explore the damage, aware tears traveled down her cheeks, aware of the volcanic mixture of sadness, rage, loss, and desperation roaring inside.

  Who had done this? And why? So many of her illustrations had been the originals, so much had been handwritten notes. And her computer back-up was practically nonexistent. How would she ever replace it again? With no answers to channel the feelings, the emotions erupted. Her defenses failed her. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t control herself and started to cry.

  ****

  Prince watched her. Viewing the destruction had been hard when they had arrived at the house. He had found it even harder to stand by and help her right things, instinctively keeping silent even when his thoughts had been hollering inside his head. What the heck was going on here?

  Part of him was so impressed by her stoicism, her direct and forceful way of getting the kids settled, then diving in to fix the problem. That quiet strength had been something to see, even though he knew she had to be blown away by what had happened.

  He knew a little about her past to know the event had to be tied to her deceased brother-in-law, but not enough to fit the pieces together. So he had watched. And helped. But then they came to the bedroom, and the papers on the floor.

  He spotted the quiver in her jaw, seen first the tears on her cheeks, and then the shaking of her shoulders as her fingers touched the destruction. Her reaction was as if something sacred, something dear, had been attacked and annihilated. Her writing. Her pictures. The children’s stories she had explained to him that day in the car. Her dreams. Her visions. His stomach twisted at the thought, at the witnessing of her pain. In that moment, he knew how much her writing had meant to her. He saw the intensity of her loss. It ripped him up to watch.

  She cried only for a minute. By the time he crossed the room, she’d sprung back into action.

  Prince watched as she gathered the soggy, ripped pages into a bundle, stashing them into a green plastic trash bag with a ferocious sense of finality. The computer followed. She tied the top of the last large bag into a knot, and stood, brushing hands over her tear-stained cheeks.

  Cindy turned then, and looked at him, and he met her gaze solidly in the silence. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he opened his arms. He knew she was strong. He knew she valued her independence and control. But he also knew at that moment, he loved this woman. He could sense she hurt deep inside, and he wanted to comfort her more than anything else in the world.

  Without breaking the electric connection between them, she stepped toward him, coming into his arms, allowing him to envelop her.

  Her head came only to his chin, and he nestled her, smelling the sweet, fruity smell of her hair. He was aware of the soft beat of her heart against his chest, and the pounding beat of his own. Prince was grateful for the quiet moment of togetherness, her willingness to accept his love. And he was aware it was a fleeting moment. Because he also knew her independent streak would be back. And when it reappeared, she’d be too proud to accept his help.

  Boy, were they in for a fight.

  They finished the cleanup, for the most part. After a while, the four trash bags piled at the front door were the only indication of the vandalism that had occurred. The kids nestled together in the big easy chair, mesmerized by some sort of big red dog on the TV. For all the day had brought, they looked amazingly calm. The white bandage on Morgan’s knee stood out like a flag, but other than that, the little duo looked fine.

  For all he didn’t know about kids, they sure were resilient. And impressive. A very short while ago, he would have sworn he hated kids, or at the very least found them a nuisance. But today? It was scary how much he cared about what happened to these kids.

  Cindy protested at his suggestion she and Morgan and Hannah come to his house for the night, to let things settle down. He had not been surprised. He had seen her single-minded determination, putting the pieces of her home back together. There was no way she was going to cave and leave.

  “It’s over,” she said. “We’re just going to have a nice, normal, quiet night here.”

  Her voice was strong, even though he could hear the fatigue underneath. It had been a hard day for her. He would pick his battles. He wouldn’t fight on this point.

  So when the moment came to end the day, Prince agreeably welcomed a hug from the kids, which felt shockingly good. That experience was followed by a hug from their enticing, yet frustrating, Aunt Cindy. That also felt great. He agreed to leave them. If she was surprised he gave up so quickly, she didn’t show it. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, keeping emotion out of his voice. “And I’ll take these trash bags for you.”

  “Thanks. Prince, I really appreciate your help with this.”

  She had found her balance again and he was glad to see it.

  “And we really are going to be fine. Don’t worry,” she said as she shut the door behind him.

  Reassurance at hearing it lock and with determination, he hauled the four bags of trash down the steps, hesitating at the sidewalk. Then he carried them to his Aston Martin, and dropped them inside. They totally filled the car.

  Trash in his Aston. Was he out of his mind?

  “Don’t worry,” she had said.

  In truth, he would do nothing but worry. The feeling was a given. He started the car, flicking a button to get a phone line. “Highfield Enterprises,” he said for voice activation. “This is Princeton Highfield,” he said to the receptionist who answered the phone. “Put me through to the Security Office.”

  He hadn’t fought with Cindy. He understood her need to keep control over her life. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. Her resolve didn’t mean she didn’t need help. The reason for the break-in wasn’t clear. Prince wasn’t going to have it happen again.

  Within minutes, he had arranged for Highfield security guards to watch the house. And then he and his trash-filled Aston Martin headed home.

  ****

  Long after the kids had gone to sleep, Cindy sat wrapped in a blanket, slippered feet pulled tightly beneath her, staring at an infomercial on TV. What show had she been watching? Something about cleaning hardwood floors. She didn’t have any hardwood floors. Did people really order these products? Why was she watching? She had no idea. She had allowed herself a few minutes to feel the emotions stirred up by the day.

  Fear had filled her with Morgan’s injury, followed by the feeling of violation at the search and vandalism in her home. Her sense of security and well being had been momentarily smashed. Her main dream of having a happy and safe home for her niece and nephew had been challenged. Again. Years ago, Cindy had faced the same fears, right after Jimmy’s death. She had packed up their lives practically overnight, and had begun anew. She had done it once, and if she had to, she’d do it again. She’d do anything to keep these kids safe.

  A little shiver of warmth rushed down her spine as she realized a difference in today’s events. Today, she’d had Prince by her side. He’d helped her when she’d needed it, and then he had let her be alone when she needed that. Cindy was grateful for that.

  Life would go on. She would muster the courage to face whatever had to be faced.

  Even upstairs.

  Her sigh was audible, even though there was no one else there to hear it. The time had come to face the other big loss in her life. Cindy climbed the stairs, still wrapped i
n her blanket, stepped softly into her room, and sat down sadly in her desk chair.

  On so many occasions in the past, she would automatically chide herself for the condition of her desk. She should sort the papers. She should refile the files. She should back up the computer. She should, at least dust.

  Not today. The clean, blank surface of the desk stared back up at her. No papers. No computer. No files. No dust. They were destroyed. Her work was gone. The thought was like a knife in her heart.

  Who would understand the importance of her stories? The carefully crafted little dialogues, the intricate little pen and ink drawings of her characters and layouts of her book pages were a part of her very spirit.

  This creative work was like a magical dream, a secret well of delight and hope.

  Someday, I’ll have my stories published. Someday, children in libraries will love these stories that I pen for them, just like all the brilliant ones I’ve been able to read to them. Someday.

  Had someone taken away her someday? Cindy thought of the broken computer, the soggy clumps of ripped and ruined paper, turned to trash. Unchecked, tears ran down her cheeks, as her hands caressed the empty desk surface. Cindy let them fall, sobbing in the night for the lost dreams.

  When the tears were gone, she took in a big breath, and straightened her shoulders. Her work had come from her heart and her brain, and it would again.

  Cindy looked around the now-stark bedroom, reliving the moment when she had first looked in the door at the destruction. Those images were fried on her brain, the loss so painful it had hit her like a sword cutting her to the bone.

  And yet, through that desolation, she had the strength of the man beside her, his broad shoulders quietly assisting her. Prince had gathered the remains of her work with a kind of steadfast persistence. He may not have known exactly why her work had been so important to her, but he had certainly picked up on the fact the loss had been a big one. He had cared. And he had supported her. That had sure helped.