The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  She exhaled loudly in exasperation. “There are more appropriate times for when those silly social rules apply. Spooky isn’t a weather condition and getting mutilated by a serial killer isn’t an experience I’d like to have, shared or not.”

  “Touché,” I told her with a smirk as we continued to hobble about in our high heels. “You’re funny when you’re not so serious. No, actually, you’re funny too when you are serious.”

  “Oh, I’m quite serious, alright,” Layla said as we rounded an old, weathered picnic table. “I’m not sure whether I’m going to burst into tears or kick his butt when I see him.”

  Despite the really spooky feeling creeping up the back of my neck as we marched our way through prickly, overgrown grass that kept catching on our skirts and poking our feet through our shoes, I smiled.

  Layla hardly cared that her dress was zigzagging with runs, or that her Jimmy Choos were getting abraded by the rugged earth, or that she was going to resemble a diaper rash from the hives and insect bites we might be sporting once we were out of these woods.

  She wanted to get to Riley and that was all she gave a damn about.

  There was hope.

  A mother who didn’t care one whit about her son didn’t worry this much.

  I didn’t have to be a mother to know this. I was already the child of one who was the exact opposite.

  Just as I was about to make more small talk (was it my fault my topics weren’t the usual kind?), we heard a riot of voices, a telltale melody blended from a mix of cheers, sneers, catcalls, and purely male grunts.

  “I see them,” I said, pointing to a dip in the sloped schoolyard, to a small amphitheater just past the old playground. “Down there!”

  It wasn’t easy to see what exactly was going on but as we got closer, the small group of five or six boys came to view.

  Some of them were scattered around, hooting and cheering on what appeared to be some kind of wrestling match between two kids—it was either some kind of fistfight or they were trying to swap organs based on the chokehold they had of each other.

  “Riley!” Layla shouted about the same time I realized the smaller kid whose arm was being twisted behind him by a much bigger kid was none other than the sweet boy who gave me his favorite book not so long ago.

  Riley’s face was contorted in a mega-grimace, his skin flushed and sweaty all over as he tried to pummel his way free from the strong grip the bigger kid had on him.

  My heart lurched as my feet flew forward, eating up the distance that separated Riley from permanent dismemberment.

  “Hey, stop that!” I yelled at the bigger kid as Layla and I nearly literally fell over them. Even in more sturdy booties, high heels were not ideal for climbing down the few ragged levels of a concave amphitheater.

  The other boys had jumped to their feet at our not-so-graceful arrival, stepping closer to the pair locked in combat in the center of the small arena.

  “What are you doing here?” one of the boys asked accusingly. “No one’s allowed to be in here. It’s illegal.”

  “And I can see that has clearly stopped you,” I said with a snort, raising a brow at him, before turning to the big kid who still had Riley pinned. “You. The great Curtis, I assume?”

  The kid nodded.

  “Good. Now, let Riley go. It doesn’t look all that impressive, you know, when you’re beating up a kid half your size. It just makes you look like a buffoon wasting energy.”

  Curtis frowned at me but he didn’t release Riley who finally realized Layla and I were there and was frantically trying to free himself from his captor.

  “Let him go!” Layla screamed at him. She looked ready to jump at them but she and I were probably on the same wavelength that if we startled the lion who currently had Riley in his paws, the wild creature might twitch and crush the smaller boy.

  “He asked for fighting lessons,” the bigger kid said, ignoring the woman falling apart next to me. “I was just showing him how to fight and how it is to lose.”

  “You were showing him how to be a complete and total jackass,” I snapped, fighting to rein in my temper. This scene felt quite familiar, like an old but vivid memory from a lifetime ago. “For a time, you will continue to live your life thinking yourself king but one day, you’ll grow up and realize that your fists will never get you anywhere but a stint in prison, and your bullying talents to a very dark and lonely place where no one will even spare you a thought because everyone’s just plain happy to be rid of a giant pain in the ass they never quite liked or respected but couldn’t do much about.”

  Curtis blinked at me before slowly releasing Riley. Layla snatched him up into her arms without hesitation.

  “Who are you, lady?” Curtis asked.

  I smirked and planted my hands on my hips, imagining that I must look quite a sight with my fierce outfit in the moonlight, in the middle of a run-down arena, my dark, golden hair streaking wildly behind me. “The kind of girl you might one day wish would like you, but never would. You know why, Curtis? Because she’ll think you’re capable of nothing more than swinging your fists. It may seem quite a feat for you right now, being a kid, but trust me, it’s nothing special."

  I was probably wasting my breath preaching to a bunch of twelve-year-olds but what did I have to lose, really? Maybe something would stick, God knows.

  I swept a glance around us, pinning each boy with what I hoped was my most intimidating look. “Now, all of you, scram before I call the cops and have them haul your asses out of here.”

  “You’re trespassin’ too!” one of the other kids pointed out.

  I smiled. “And I’ll gladly explain to those dear cops the reason why we had to. Care to stick around and be named one of my excuses?”

  The kids glanced at each other like they didn’t know what to do with what I said but their eyes had definitely turned wary.

  Curtis stepped forward. “I didn’t hurt him nothin’, miss. I promise.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “This is the part where you try to convince people you didn't mean anything bad but no one would believe you because they're already too used to you stupidly throwing your weight around. Go home, Curtis. Take yourself and your gang out of here before I have to hand you over to the cops."

  He frowned but he cocked his head at the others and within seconds, the whole lot of them scurried away into the night.

  It wasn’t until they were fully gone that the breath rushed out of me.

  Weak in the knees, I turned to mother and son who were crouched in a hug. Layla was on her knees, her arms wrapped around the trembling frame of her son whose face was buried in the crook of her neck.

  “You, alright?” I asked, touching Riley’s shoulder.

  The boy lifted his face to look at me. His eyes were bright and glassy with tears and his skin was still a bit ruddy.

  “I didn’t need to be rescued,” he said, sounding quite put out. “I was doing fine.”

  Right. I forgot that most males suffered this ridiculous affliction referred to as their ego, no matter their age.

  “If you think you’re going to get a standing ovation from us for that display of sheer idiocy, then you’re a fool,” I told him with a snort. “It doesn’t matter how well you were doing, Riley, when you’re doing something you shouldn’t have done in the first place. There’s no excuse, trust me. Do you think we award criminals for breaking the law way better than their less talented counterparts? Oh, wait we do. We give them a longer stay in prison or in some parts of the country, the most coveted prize of all—the death penalty.”

  He glared at me a little, for about as long as his brain took to function again from having been rattled around, and then finally sighed.

  “I’m okay,” he said quietly. “He couldn’t make me cry, no matter what he did. I wasn’t going to let him win.”

  Layla released him so she could look into his face. “What were you thinking picking a fight with those boys?”

  Riley’s chin tip
ped up stubbornly. “I did ask Curtis to teach me to fight. I thought if I knew how, I could... I...” His voice trailed off, his eyes cast down as his lower lip quivered slightly. “If I knew how, I could protect you... from him.”

  My heart broke, bits and pieces of it lodged up in my air passage because I was suddenly having trouble breathing.

  Layla seemed to be suffering from the same condition because she started choking out in sobs, her blue eyes filled with tears.

  “He hurts you whenever he’s angry and he gets angry when you see me,” the boy kept going, his voice gaining strength and volume as he continued, even as his own eyes, a perfect match of his mother’s, started glossing with fresh tears. “But I don’t want you to stop visiting me so if I could f-fight him, then you may not have to. B-but if I can’t, then I... I have to s-stop spending time with you... B-because I don’t want you h-hurt anymore.”

  Oh, Riley. If only it were that easy to slay the dragon and free your queen mother.

  “Sweetie, he won’t hurt me anymore,” Layla said, brushing the hair off Riley’s sweat-damp forehead. “I won’t let him, I promise.”

  I bit my lower lip to stop myself from bursting into tears as well.

  “I want to make him pay,” Riley added, angrily dashing back the tears that rolled down his cheeks. “I want to make him pay for all those times he hurt you. I’m going to make him very sorry.”

  I put a hand on the boy’s shoulder again to draw his attention. “You don’t have to go as far as retaliate, Riley. If you do, you might become someone else—someone you won’t like but will have to live with. Then he wins."

  Riley blinked up at me, his blue eyes clear and sharp. I prayed to God that he somehow understood me because it would be such a waste of life if his anger drove him to be exactly like the man he loathed.

  I couldn’t remember how long we stayed there, but eventually we went back the way we came and got into the taxi where a very irritated driver still waited.

  The boy, exhausted especially having only recovered from a bad cold a couple days ago, promptly fell asleep as soon as we got into the cab.

  Layla didn’t want Riley to leave her side quite yet and since Danny was going to be working throughout the night, she told me to drop them off at a hotel.

  “Well, we might have to stop by a bank machine and see if I can withdraw some money first before Don freezes all my accounts,” she said after I gave her a sidelong glance.

  “How about you stay at my old house?” I suggested. “It’ll take a while before Don will even think of tracking you down there, of all places. The house is in good shape as we have it cleaned regularly. We’ll stop by a convenience store for some essentials but I’ll come by tomorrow to bring you groceries and other things you might need. I’ll provide you with some money until you can figure your way out of this.”

  Layla met my eyes with her own, wide-eyed gaze. “I’m really going to do it, aren’t I?”

  She was talking about finally escaping Don, and from the look she had, it seemed to frighten and excite her at the same time.

  I smiled. “It’s been long overdue.”

  Her own smile wavered a little. “He’s going to hunt down Danny and demand our whereabouts.”

  “I’ll arrange for Danny to stay with you at my place,” I told her. “I’ll call him and give him directions so he can head straight there after work.”

  “Do you think he’s going to listen to you?” Layla asked uncertainly.

  “Where have you been all this time, Layla?” I teased. “You, of all people, should know just how persuasive I can be if I put my mind to it.”

  She laughed. “Oh, I know just how relentless you can be.” Her expression grew serious again. “Don’s going to approach you too, you know? To say that he’s not thrilled with you after what you did to him tonight is an understatement. Besides, he knows you’ll know where to find us.”

  I tipped my chin up stubbornly. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll try. I just have to make sure he’s very aware that I have no qualms about pressing assault charges against him for what he did to me earlier. And that while doing so, I might just divulge some additional details that won’t put him in such a positive light.”

  Layla surprised me by reaching out to squeeze my hand. “I’ll approach my Dad for help. I want to get out of this with as little scandal as possible, but if you absolutely have to, tell the truth. You’re not going to be another casualty of my cowardice.”

  I smiled and squeezed her hand back. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been too long a survivor. Don LeClaire isn’t taking me down.”

  After a quick run to a convenience store, we directed the cab to my old house.

  My bedroom was tidy and there were fresh sheets and towels in the linen closet. I supplied Layla with some of my older clothes that I’d left behind, prepared for the criticism they were surely going to earn but all she said was thank you.

  I called Danny, explained in a brief but hopefully coherent manner how things have changed, and he agreed to my plans. He said he was going to quit this job that morning because Don knew about it after a surprise visit from him a couple months ago. Layla agreed it was a good idea and Danny said he was going to find another job much closer to my old house.

  “Will you be okay here for a little bit?” I asked Layla just as I shrugged my jacket back on to leave. “You should be able to call your Dad. We bought enough minutes for you to have a heart-to-heart.”

  Layla glanced at the prepaid phone we’d gotten her earlier and nodded. “I’ll call him. It’s not a conversation I look forward to but I have hope that my father will see me through.”

  “If he doesn’t, Brandon and I can always help you,” I assured her, because I knew of just how badly family could let you down on occasion, firmly clapping her on the shoulder. “It may surprise you but we can scheme.”

  After ensuring that mother and son could survive the night, and cleaning up evidence of our misadventures from my appearance (as best as I could manage anyway), I hopped back into the cab and directed him to return to the party.

  We’d been gone about two hours and the party would be dwindling down by now, if Brandon’s text messages to me asking where the hell I was were anything to go by, but I had to show my face somehow.

  “Thank you, sir, for putting up with us all night,” I told the cab driver with a smile as he stared at his credit card machine, his mouth hanging open, after I tipped him a thousand dollars on top of the already-ridiculous fare he charged me. “Go home to your wife and kids and enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  I carefully snuck my way back to the party, snagging one of the women I recognized as part of the event-planning team the Championettes hired for all their events, and asking her if Don LeClaire was still in attendance. When she said he’d left a while ago, I flashed her a sunny smile and continued on my way more confidently this time.

  I spotted Brandon talking with a small group that included Nicole and Francis (with my husband wedged right between them) but I first got harangued by a couple of the Society’s board members for ‘disappearing and abandoning my hostess duties’.

  I grinned and bore it (because it was quicker and less painful that way) before making my escape.

  When Brandon saw me making my way to him, he strode away from his group, meeting me halfway.

  The exhaustion of the night flooded into me as I nearly collapsed in his arms as they came around me. I didn’t really care that we were standing in the middle of the beautiful courtyard, still surrounded by a thinning crowd of mixed artists and art enthusiasts.

  Even though flashes of my past streaked through reality tonight, from Don’s abuse to those punks we scared off the schoolyard, Brandon’s embrace reminded me that my life was now very different.

  I’m safe and loved and cherished. My life now couldn’t be any more different from what it used to be.

  It was something that would take a while to feel completely natural to me but repeating the mantra in
my head didn’t hurt.

  “Everything alright, babe?” Brandon asked softly, cupping my chin so he could look at my face. “You seem a little... fragile.”

  A small laugh bubbled out of me.

  If Brandon had any idea just how efficiently I hurt Don LeClaire in a couple of different places or how I’d boldly told off those boys in the schoolyard, he wouldn’t think me fragile at all.

  “I’m fine, Brand,” I told him, slipping my arms around his neck. “Just a bit tired. It’s been a long night.”

  He glanced around the party. “Where’s Layla?”

  “She called it a night earlier,” I answered as I unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. “She was tired.”

  Brandon raised a brow at me. “Just like you are. All this from hunting down your liquor permit, huh?”

  I flushed, feeling a pang of guilt. “That and other things. I had to move Riley and Danny to my house tonight, Brand. They had nowhere to go.”

  It wasn’t a direct lie but it omitted the connection between Layla and the uncle and nephew.

  “Are they okay?” Brandon asked, his brows creasing in concern.

  “Yeah. I had to get them a few necessities but they should be okay,” I told him. “I’ll make arrangements to provide them with some groceries tomorrow. I hope that’s okay.”

  “As much as I’d like to sometimes spank you silly for always putting people ahead of yourself first, I will never get in the way of your generosity, Charlotte,” Brandon said, brushing a lock of my hair off my face. “It’s one of the things I love the most about you.”

  I beamed at him. “Thanks, Brand.”

  “On one condition,” he added, holding a finger up at me.

  “What condition?”

  “That you’re not going to let yourself get hurt in the process,” he said, his arm around my waist tightening. “I love your generosity but it’s just a part of you, Charlotte. If you forget that condition, I will spank you silly.”