“Fine, and I don’t need a babysitter.” I stood up and folded my arms in front of me.
“I know you don’t.” A knock at the back door, was followed by a familiar “Hello.”
“Hey, Cole,” Seth said, putting his books away.
“How are you, Maggie?”
“I don’t need a babysitter.” He laughed. I was glad he found it humorous.
“I’m not here to babysit you, I want to give you a quick check up and remove the bandages from your hands. I also need to talk to you about some things.”
And it was the perfect excuse for Seth not to leave me alone in case I had another melt down.
Seth made his goodbyes as Cole pulled out a stethoscope from his little black bag. He gave me a quick once over, asked a few embarrassing questions aimed at my mental state, and removed the gauze bandages from my hands, replacing them with a few less-noticeable bandages, before giving me a clean bill of health. I was tucking in my shirt when I noticed a bandage on his index finger that wasn’t there last night.
“What did you do?” I asked, pointing to the bandage.
“I shut my finger in the car door this morning and lost part of the nail,” he shrugged. I winced. “Doesn’t hurt,” he assured me.
“Maggie, I’d like to talk to you about something. First, if I cross any lines here, I apologize. Some things you said the other night have haunted me these past few days, and I only want to help.”
“I thought you said my breakdown was mostly from lack of sleep.”
“I believe it was, but I also believe there are some other factors that played a part in it, such as the years of emotional abuse you’ve suffered.” He put his ice-cold stethoscope back into the bag and pulled out some pamphlets, handing me one.
“Maggie, living with an addict of any kind is seldom easy, and it’s not uncommon for someone to become co-dependent.”
Co-dependent, I was familiar with the term having learned about it once in my tenth grade health class. I browsed through the pamphlet, realizing that while I didn’t have all the signs listed, I certainly had some, like: minimizing, or denying true feelings, perceiving yourself as unlovable, judging yourself too harshly, or as never good enough, and untrusting. Okay, so maybe I was a little co-dependent.
“I’ve seen people suffer their entire lives in silence,” Cole said. “And I’ve seen others turn to the very addictions that caused the co-dependency in the first place to try and deal with their problems.”
“Have you heard of Al-Anon?” I nodded my head. “Then you know that it’s a support group for families, relatives and friends of those whose lives have been affected by someone else’s drinking problem. There’s also a group called Ala-teen, which is basically the same thing, only it’s geared toward teenagers. I'm not sure which you might be interested in so here are some brochures for both.”
Okay, total humiliation.
“Maggie, I don’t want you to go through life believing your mother didn’t love you. She did, very much, her addiction masked who she really was. There was nothing you could have done to change her, only she could have done that. I feel these support groups will help you come to terms with your mother, and they’ll help you wrap your mind around what happened to you while growing up. You’re not to blame for her problem.”
“So if I go to these meetings, I won’t freak out again?” I asked, trying to believe he didn’t think I was a complete nut.
“I don’t think you’re going to, freak out again, as you put it. You were exhausted and had just buried your mother, add to that everything else you’ve been through the past couple months,” he said, “a lot happened in a very short period of time. I’m hoping you and Seth will talk about this and get started right away. There are meetings almost every night at the hospital, and I think they’ll be a tremendous help.”
I studied him for a moment. “You’re afraid I’m going to transfer my co-dependence onto Seth, aren’t you?”
“It’s a learned pattern, it wouldn’t surprise me if you did.”
He was probably right, I didn’t want to be this way anymore. It was draining, unfulfilling, and clearly not healthy. I needed to heal myself, and this sounded like the best way for me to do it.
“Thanks, Cole.”
“You’re welcome. Now, Seth has a basketball standard just sitting in the driveway, begging to be knocked around. How about we shoot some hoops?”
“I stink at basketball.”
“Good, so do I. Seth and Booker beat me every time. We’ll be the perfect match up,” he grinned.
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll get my shoes on and meet you outside.”
He wasn’t kidding about his lack of skill on the court. I won both games by a fairly decent margin. It felt good to be outside running around soaking in the warm spring sunshine. Winter had lasted entirely too long. Seth pulled up as I made my one and only three point shot.
“That’s my girl.” He scooped me up onto his shoulders, and we made a victory lap around the driveway. Cole’s cell phone went off and he quickly excused himself, probably glad he didn’t have to play against Seth.
“How badly did he lose?” Seth asked, lowering me to the ground.
“Ten points the first game, and twelve the second, he’s really terrible.”
“You’d never guess he’s an incredible salsa dancer, he’s even better than Booker.”
“Salsa dancer? He has two left feet on the basketball court. He tripped over them at least a dozen times.”
“I know, it’s bizarre.”
Now all the bandages I’d seen on him over the past months finally made sense.
***
By Monday morning, apprehension was my constant companion. I was worried about what the rumor mill Melody had spread around about me, and tensions were still high as the manhunt for Alan continued. The search warrant was a bust, Alan had moved out of his apartment, and there were no leads as to where he’d gone.
Booker arranged for Wilbur, a huge transfer student, aka undercover MET agent roughly the size of a small town, to escort me to all the classes Seth and I didn’t share. Book thought it would be less conspicuous to have “Willy” hanging around me than to suddenly have Seth in all my classes. Any time anyone came near me, the town of Willy would close ranks. How that was less conspicuous was beyond me.
It felt good to have my life back in some type of order. Several kids offered their condolences on the death of my mother, and two invited me to go with them to their Ala-teen meetings. Knowing my mother wasn’t the only parent in the world who had a drinking problem gave me comfort.
“Hello, beautiful, may I escort you to lunch?” Seth came to rescue me from my personal brute squad of one.
“Why, yes, I’d be delighted,” I smiled. “Thanks, I’ll see you later,” I said to Willy. He grunted and left. “He’s not very…”
“Bright?” I giggled at Seth’s choice of word. “It’s good to see you laugh again, Maggie.”
He bought cafeteria food for our lunch, a first for him, although he picked and grumbled at the entire meal.
“You should know Zack’s parents reported him as a runaway. Booker’s trying to convince the police department to treat it as a missing persons. Since he’s nineteen, they won’t do much if he is a runaway, whereas a missing persons report will generate a search. Did you know he flunked the second grade?” Seth took great pleasure in that little fact. “Booker is supposed to be here today to question some of Zack’s friends.” He took a bite of his pizza and groaned.
“Hey, Seth, I’ve missed you the past few weeks, how have you been?” Hillary strutted up to our table and flashed him a flirty smile.
“Maggie and I have been just fine. Thanks for asking, Hillary.” He smiled back politely.
“Oh, hello, Maggie. I didn’t notice you there.” Direct slam.
“Seth Prescott, correct?” Booker appeared out of nowhere, in full uniform with a notepad in his hand. There was no mistaking it, Booker was an exception
ally good-looking man, but there was just something plain hot about him in his MET uniform.
“Captain Gatto, how are you?” The two men politely shook hands.
“And, of course, how can I forget this lovely beauty.” He took my hand in his and kissed it. “Maggie, how are you? You get lovelier every time I see you.” I threw him a huge grin. “Seth, you are a lucky man,” he said, winking at me. Hillary was going nuts, just as Booker had intended. “I’d like to talk to you two about Zackary Finkle, if I may.”
“Hello, Captain Gatto, do you remember me? I certainly remember you. I just love a man in a uniform, by the way.” Hillary practically purred as she wrapped her arms around his and snuggled up to him. She flashed her perfect smile and batted her perfect blue eyes. I couldn’t believe she’d flirt with such boldness.
“Ah, no, sorry young lady, have we met?” He made an unpleasant face and pulled his arm out of her grip. I made a mental note never to get on Booker’s bad side; he was absolutely vicious. I was loving it!
“Yes, that night at the Winter Festival, remember? Seth and his big strong muscles smashed all those mirrors in the Funhouse.” She kept feeding him details to try to trigger his memory, and he kept playing stupid. At last, he threw her a bone.
“Wait, maybe I do remember you. You were with Zackary Finkle correct?” She nodded, her face smug with an expression of, 'Naturally, he’d remember me.'
“Suzy, right?” Her mouth dropped. “Ah, no, huh? Is it Nancy?” She turned and stomped out of the cafeteria. All three of us exploded in laughter as soon as she cleared the door.
“A silly, 17 year-old girl, flirting with a 28 year-old, albeit undeniably handsome, man,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. He murmured something to Seth about her being a stuck-up, snotty little thing that needed to be knocked down a few pegs. I giggled.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he said with a crooked grin.
“Have you found any leads on Zack?” Seth asked.
“No, it’s as if he’s fallen off the face of the planet.” Booker sat down at the table, pulling a face after biting into Seth’s pizza.
“Do you think he’s still alive?” I asked the question they were both thinking but were afraid to voice in front of me. Seth looked at me cautiously. I glared back.
“He could be dead, I suppose,” Seth admitted. “At the same time, Dreser’s MO tends to be sloppy. If Zack were dead, we should have found the body by now.”
“Probably carved up into a million little pieces,” Booker said, taking a sip of Seth’s Diet Pepsi. Now it was Seth’s turn to glare.
“What?” Booker asked innocently.
“He’s afraid I’m going to melt,” I said wryly.
“Oh, sorry.” Booker mindlessly began adjusting his shirt in an effort to avoid my eyes.
“I wish you both would forget about my little episode. I’m fine, stop shielding me.”
“I better go and question a few of his ex-teammates. I’ll drop by the house to let you know what I find out.” Hillary came back in as he walked away from our table.
“Hey, Mildred, can I speak to you for a minute?” Booker shouted across the room.
“Hillary! My name is Hillary,” she said, fuming.
“Oh, well, whatever.” Booker turned and grinned at us.
“He must have a death wish,” I whispered while heading to Culinary class.
Mrs. Gianchi pulled me aside before class began and offered her condolences. “Maggie, did you know I taught your mother in Home Economics when she was in high school? You have her eyes,” she said softly. “I remember she had thick brown hair that was never out of place, and she was incredibly fun to be around. She truly knew how to shine. She dropped out of school after becoming pregnant with you.”
“She mentioned a Mrs. Gianchi once in a letter to me. Did you offer to take care of me while she went to Rehab when I was a child?”
“Yes, my parents were both alcoholics, but though a lot of hard work they were able to overcome it. I volunteer as an outpatient counselor for recovering addicts and their families.
“I really tried to help your mother, Maggie. Eventually she shut me out of her life completely. I was sad to hear she died.” She gave me her cell phone number and told me to call her day or night if I ever need to talk to someone.
Once we were home, I dumped out my small mountain of homework onto the table. There was several hours’ worth, including my favorite, Calculus. Booker and Seth sat at the table talking strategy the entire time. My nose was stuffed into my Calculus book; my ears, however, were glued to their conversation.
After a couple of hours, Booker stood up, stretched, not unlike a cat, and poured himself a glass of milk. “Homework! Am I glad I don’t have a baby face.” He playfully pinched Seth’s cheek. “I’d hate going to high school again. How’s gym class, kid?”
“I like high school,” he said defensively. “Did you get any new information from your new girlfriend?”
“Who?”
“Hillary.”
Booker laughed. “She thinks you two are destined for each other.”
“Still delusional.”
“She saw Zack near the mall talking to a badly dressed man the day before he confronted Maggie at school.”
“Do you think they were trying to recruit him into selling drugs?” Seth questioned. I pulled my head up, no longer interested in my Calculus homework, not that it was ever of any interest to me.
“I don’t know, maybe he’s picked up a little drug habit,” Booker offered.
“Could be. If he has I pity the little fool.”
Booker nodded and set his glass in the sink before grabbing an Oreo from the cookie jar. “Well, kids, I have to go, have fun doing your homework.” He reached over and messed up my hair.
“You are annoying.”
“And you are fun to tease, Magpie.” He hooked my pinky around his and gave it a slight squeeze before he left. Seth walked him to the car while I cleared away my books, my brain was done for the night.
“Are you going to tell me what all this pinky business is between you and Book?” Seth asked as he came back inside.
“Seth, you’re overreacting.”
“That’s what Book said except he is a much better liar than you. I could kiss it out of you,” he threatened, as if that were really a threat.
I wrapped myself around him, “You could, if there was something going on with our pinkies.” I quickly turned my head away and sneezed, twice.
“I thought you were getting a cold. No kissing, you need sleep.”
“Hey, I want a kiss. Don’t tell me the big ol’ undercover agent is afraid of a little cold?” I taunted while he led me upstairs.
“This undercover agent never gets sick.” He swept me up into his arms.
“Never?”
“Well, seldom,” he said.
Seth gave me a kiss, on the top of my head while I tucked the blanket up under my chin. “Good night. I will always love you, cold, or no cold.”
“Good night, chicken.”
36
By Saturday, my body had lost the battle, and I was in the thick of a nasty head cold, which was rapidly progressing into my chest. Outside, the rain, originally forecast as a spring shower, was pouring down relentlessly. Spring shower my eye, it was more like a rabid hurricane. I drew the quilt over my head and curled down into the mattress.
“Stay in bed, I’ll try and hurry my Lunch Swap deliveries.” I peeked out from under the quilt to watch Seth set a glass of orange juice on the bedside table next to my Nyquil.
“How can it be warm and sunny one day, then freezing cold and rainy the next?” I sniffled.
“Welcome to spring in Upstate New York.” He felt my forehead. “I’ve coerced Booker into going with me after he finishes some paperwork. We're meeting up at Miss Ethel’s place.” We both laughed. A healthy dose of Miss Ethel would be good for Booker.
“I don’t think he will be nearly as fun to cuddle wi
th.” He nodded in agreement. “You’re leaving me here alone without a babysitter?”
“Keep it up, beautiful, and you’ll be wearing this orange juice,” he said before sneezing.
“Hmm, I thought you didn’t get sick.”
“I’m fine.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small red cell phone. “I bought you a new phone. Keep it on you at all times, even if you decide to take a bubble bath,” he said, toying with me.
“Ah, the cell phone is my new babysitter.” I placed my hand on his forehead to check for a fever.
“Stop worrying, Maggie.”
“I’m not worried, I’m concerned?”
“Do you remember where I hid my gun?” he questioned, adjusting his Lunch Swap shirt.
I thought to ask him if I looked thick before deciding sarcasm probably wasn't the politest way to handle this since he was trying to protect me. “In the kitchen cabinet next to the stove,” I said, smiling angelically. Okay, maybe I was a little sarcastic. He ruffled my hair in response. Why do these guys insist on doing that?
“I wish we could have practiced shooting a bit more.” The few times we had gone didn’t seem to help my aim much. Yesterday, I only managed to hit the target three out of twenty-four times. My stomach tightened at the thought.
“Hurry back and please, be careful,” I said as he left.
Still freezing cold, I slumped back down under the blankets, tightening them around me, but my efforts were in vain, my body wouldn’t warm up. “Burrrr, I’ll bet he forgot to turn the heat up again.” I slipped on some socks and began hunting down one of Seth’s sweatshirts, I wanted feel him around me even if it was only his scent.
It sat conveniently waiting for me on his bedpost, and since he had worn it only yesterday, it would still be rich with his incredible smell. I inhaled deeply, or tried to, and ended up coughing instead. Stupid cold!
Slipping the oversized shirt on and dropping the cell phone into the huge front pocket, I imagined him in the shirt since I could barely smell him on it thanks to my stuffy nose.
A clash of thunder cut through the air interrupting my daydream. The rain was coming down in vertical sheets, with bolts of lightning rending across the sky. Now I was grateful for my cold because I certainly didn’t want to be out in the craziness.
Unlovable Page 33
