Unlikely Allies

by C. C. Koen

  Dr. Sullivan’s sharp-witted inspection flicked to Maggie. “You’re both what he needs. Why didn’t I see it earlier? My intuition is slipping.”

  Oh, no, Maggie wouldn’t agree. The woman had a good grasp and read on people.

  “Look, Mama.” Both hands were over Cece’s head as she showcased six dead beetles, some squished with gut juice oozing on the Kleenex.

  Yuck.

  “A gift for ya, Mama.”

  Oh, wonderful.

  Kat crouched next to Cece, both beaming up at her. “Say thank you, Mags.”

  Dr. Sullivan took a step closer to Cece and Kat like she’d chosen a side, her lower lip pinched between her teeth.

  All righty then, on the outside again. Using her fingertips and thumb, Maggie picked up two corners of the Kleenex and pulled them toward the center, clasping the corpses inside so she didn’t have to look at them anymore. Ugh, she hated insects of any kind. Kat no doubt egged Cece on, daring her to bring them to her mama. They were partners in crime many times before, so she didn’t doubt it one bit. She bent over, kissing Cece on the head. “Thank you, sweetie. Kitty loves mud pies. You should go out back and make her one.”

  “Yeah.” Cece ran inside, slamming the door and screaming “mud kitties” over and over, then another loud bang came as the back screen shut.

  That spring really needed to be fixed.

  “Well, I better get going before your daughter decides to bring me some.” Dr. Sullivan shook her hand, then Kat’s. “You have my contact information. I recommend counseling for all of you. It’s better to deal with traumatic events head on than bury them. It’ll just make it harder to overcome and put behind you.” While going down the porch steps, she glanced over her shoulder. “If CYS comes by, give them a card I left on the table. I can talk to them if you like. Give them my professional opinion.”

  Beating Maggie to the punch, Kat leaned over the railing, a white-knuckled grip on the post. “Which is?”

  A clump of her sister’s shirt clutched in her hand, Maggie hoped the fabric would break her fall if she collapsed after the doctor’s account.

  “Miss Cecily Bryna Tyson is living in a safe home, with a devoted, compassionate aunt, and an affectionate, dedicated mother, who both provide a supportive, loving environment.” With a wave over her shoulder, the doctor got in a Dodge Dart and drove away.

  “Kitty, I got ya a pie.”

  Both of them spun around to the door and thank goodness Dr. Sullivan had left already. Covered in mud, head to toe, there wasn’t a piece of skin showing. Cece’s T-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes were coated in grimy gook. How in the heck did Cece manage that mess in such a short time?

  “I useded a hose,” Cece announced, her white teeth, orange eyelashes, and green eyes the only shining, untouched spots.

  Groaning, Maggie became sick to her stomach as Cece tracked muck-coated footprints along the floorboards, carrying a clump of soaked dirt piled up like elephant dung in her outstretched hands.

  “Give that to your mama. I gotta pick up Matt.” Dangling a set of keys in her fingers, Kat shook them over her head while jogging to the SUV, laughing at the quick escape.

  “Here, Mama.” Cece pushed the gooey mess up to her face. Little squishing hands forced clump after clump over the sides, plopping onto Maggie’s flip-flops and toes.

  Great, just great.

  The sight should’ve infuriated her, but after what they survived, Maggie couldn’t bring herself to take a minute for granted or get upset over the little stuff anymore. So . . .

  Maggie slapped her hands down onto the icky, lumpy sludge and with a wild hair, screamed, “You’re it.” Then skipped around to the side of the house.

  Her daughter’s jubilant giggling filled her with pure joy as Cece chased her into the backyard, shouting, “I gonna get ya.”

  The hose still gushing water on full blast, a mush pit swamped the entire mulch pile along the rear fence, at least ten foot wide and growing. As soon as Maggie turned off the spigot, Cece tackled her from behind, and both of them fell into the muck.

  “Ya it.”

  Scooping her daughter into a hug, she held Cece tight and rolled back and forth, delirious and beyond grateful for the precious gift in her arms. No matter how messy things got, Cece had always been the best part of her. She’d never take her blessings for granted again.

  Ever.

  “THREE WITH THE WORKS, TWO bags of chips, and a couple bottles of sweet tea.” Rick dropped a fifty on the stainless steel cart and waited for his dinner.

  “Max, look what I got.” Cece plowed into the backs of his legs, a square slip stuck between her pinched fingers and waved over her head. Kat pulled up from the rear. He looked over her shoulder but didn’t see anyone else. Disappointment packed a swift and miserable punch at the lost opportunity to catch a glimpse of Maggie. But when Cece gathered him in an embrace, her arms wrapped around his neck, and gave him a lip-smacking kiss, it helped lift his spirits a whole hell of a lot.

  “Hi, sweet pea. How you doin’?”

  “Look.” Cece hung on to his shoulder with one hand; the other whipped around, displaying a gold star sticker. “I gotta prize. I cleaned up first.”

  “Mm hmm, I’m not surprised. You’re a very good girl.”

  “Ya get me a dog?”

  At first he thought she meant a real one, then Kat came up beside him and placed an order too. “Give me four wienies. Two bare, no bun, the others, slather me up with everything you got, sweet cheeks.”

  The teenage boy behind the hot dog cart blushed, and like most hormone-fueled youngsters his age, scanned Kat’s photogenic face and ogled her almost non-existent chest, exposed by her propped open Westlake Security jersey.

  “Stone, how you hangin’?” Kat announced, causing the boy to choke on saliva that no doubt pooled in his mouth the minute she flirted with him, and had the kid coughing spit into his fist. “You’re gonna put new gloves on after that lung hacking jack off, right?”

  Jeez, Rick smashed his lips between his teeth, barely holding back his own gut-busting chuckles. This chick cracked him the hell up. It amazed him how opposite Kat and Maggie were. Maggie would swallow her tongue if a lewd thought even tainted it. As hot as Maggie was, he predicted, though, from the tempting, suggestive quotes on her sweatshirts, aprons, and other clothing, she had a spicy side simmering below the surface. Which just made him want her all the more. She would have to let it go somewhere, and he guessed she’d do that in bed, setting her wild, natural curly hair free in a place her daughter could never see. Damn, he didn’t need to be thinking about that with Cece bouncing in his arms.

  “Put the sticky on, Max.”

  He peeled the gold star off the waxy slip. About to place it on Cece’s arm, she shouted, “No, on you.” She snatched it from his hand and stuck it on his cheek, her fingers running over it, making sure it would stay on. “Good boy.”

  Kat’s boisterous laughter and slaps on his back confirmed she agreed, but then she added a racy suggestion. “Hmm, I wonder what else would look good rubbed on you.”

  He narrowed a warning glare at her, jerking his chin toward Cece.

  “Orders up.”

  Grateful for the reprieve, but not ready to relinquish Cece to her out-of-control aunt, he formulated a proposal of his own. “You guys headed home, right?”

  “Yeppers,” Cece answered for her aunt, who’d been too busy winking at the teen and blowing him a kiss as she removed the bag from his hand.

  While they walked side by side and closer to the curb, his prize possession in his arms, he asked, “Would you mind if I brought Cece home later?”

  Kat’s stride halted. His muscles bunched, tensing and growing more impatient throughout her prolonged and silent examination. “And why would I let you do that?”

  He couldn’t resist shooting her a charming smile and added a lot of sugary sweetness to his quip. “Because I’m a good boy.”

  Cece giggled as she smashed his cheeks
between her hands. Her proud green eyes looked at him like he’d used the right password. It gave him a brief flash into her future and jolted him back a few steps. Her allure and mesmerizing charm blinked at him and red-orange lashes batted, just like he imagined she would aim at little boys and young men. The poor schmucks would drop to their knees, ready to give her anything she conjured up in her wildest dreams. Irresistible, and exactly what Maggie had done to him the moment they met. The males in Cece’s future didn’t stand a chance.

  “What’d you have in mind, my man?” Kat brought him into the present. His aim focused on her, determined to get what he wanted.

  “I don’t know yet.” He glanced at Cece. “What would you like to do, sweet pea? You pick.”

  “Dance.” Cece shouted again, clapping her hands.

  Confused, he quirked an eyebrow at Kat, hoping she’d clue him in.

  “She wants ballet lessons.”

  “Yeah.” Cece threw her hands over her head, and twisted side to side. Her legs dangled and smacked him in the knees like she’d already taken center stage and had become the prima ballerina. The only thing holding her back, his grip tightening with each of her jerky movements, afraid he’d drop her.

  The pride Kat had for her niece in training was evident in her softening gaze as she observed Cece fling around in his arms.

  “Is there somewhere I could take her for that?”

  No sooner had he finished asking, Kat’s demeanor contorted into a glare. Her stance shifted as she probed, tested. “You’d do that? Tonight? Right now?” While she questioned him, her brown eyes heated, challenged, as if he might have been lying or tricking her. A fist formed at her waist. After the experiences Kat and Maggie had with Jake, not to mention Cece’s, he wasn’t surprised, nor had he been offended.

  “I don’t make offers I don’t plan on following through with. If I say something, I mean it.”

  Cece kept watch, bobbing her head between Kat and him, bouncing with anticipation, as if all her dreams hinged on her aunt’s response.

  On guard and still in a state of disbelief, Kat’s voice cracked with emotion as she quizzed again. “She needs tights, leg warmers, and a leotard. Sansha’s dancewear is at Eighth and Fifty-Third.” Her arms crossed, and she scanned him head to toe, assessing whether he could handle the job.

  Consumed by billion-dollar accounts and haggling on a daily basis, he wanted to take her aside and school her on the ins and outs of CEO life. If she thought he’d be intimidated by girly shopping, she needed a lesson or two, since he’d been doing such things from the time Matt’s girls were born. Anyway, he didn’t want to get into that explanation now.

  Cece’s patience had been pushed to the brink after their silent standoff, and the little imp choreographed her finale well. She dropped her head on his shoulder and aimed at her aunt a cute-as-a-kitten gaze and a pouty whimper. “Pwease.” Without a doubt Cece knew he wasn’t the person who had to be sold on the idea. From the minute they met, he had been twisted around her little finger. Kat, the tougher nut to crack, required convincing.

  If the warning Kat whispered in his ear before agreeing was any indication of her menacing promise, he didn’t need to be told twice that she meant the threat. “A man is nothing without his prized jewels. There won’t be anything left if something happens to her. You get me, Stone?”

  Then she gave her niece a big smooch, patted him a little too hard on his gold-starred cheek, and after she tucked Cece’s foil-wrapped hot dogs in his bag said, “No later than ten or an Amber Alert is gonna be the least of your worries. Have fun, guys.” Her sinister howl followed her across the street to the parking garage.

  He hugged Cece and then set her on her feet, securing her hand in his. “First, we eat. Then we shop. Last, we check my phone and find a place to sign you up for dance.” His gate matched her short stride, ambling down the sidewalk toward the lobby of his office building to have dinner. It wasn’t the most ideal place, but it would serve the purpose.

  Cece tugged on his hand and came to a stop. Busy New Yorkers dashed around them while they blocked the center of the walkway. “I gotta ask ya somefin.” He crouched down, prepared for the worst, thinking she might have doubts about spending time with him. Almost crawling into his lap, she moved in between his legs and pressed her mouth to his ear. “Will ya be my dada?”

  His control shattered—he wrapped his arms around her and held on for dear life. His face buried in the crook of her neck, it came as trickles from the corner of his eyes, then tears streamed when flashes of his future hit him head on and obliterated him.

  He wanted Cece, Maggie, a forever in their embrace, at their side.

  Over blaring horns, people shouting for taxis in a rush to get home, he heard, as if his dad had whispered in his ear, “Don’t give up, Max.” He had no clue if the message was his father’s spirit or Cece’s soothing murmurs. Either way, he believed in him and her. A calm came over him and helped him gain control. Regardless of who provided the encouragement, he intended to follow the best advice he’d been given in thirteen years.

  The discharge papers were issued. Rick picked up his grandfather from the hospital after a two-week stay and drove him home. The stubborn old coot refused to inconvenience his grandson and live with him while he regained his strength.

  Rick shuffled behind him into the living room, his open hand pressed to Grandfather’s lower back, ready to grab hold in case he tripped on the oriental rug on his way to the power recliner. It had become Grandfather’s preferred spot to read the Wall Street Journal, James Patterson novels, and solve crossword puzzles.

  “Thank you for picking me up. You didn’t have to take off. I could’ve called a taxi.”

  Rick rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to comment on that ridiculous statement. Not a chance in hell he’d have the old man jostled around in an uncomfortable cab that whipped in and out of traffic, horns blaring when cars and people didn’t move out of its path fast enough. “If you didn’t bitch at Mom about cancelling flights again, insisting she get off her ass and go sell some books, she would’ve been here too.”

  As soon as Grandfather sat down, he depressed a button on the remote and the leg rest climbed higher. He sighed in relief, and the wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth relaxed. “It’s so nice to be home.” The tuckered out seventy-two-year-old closed his eyes and settled in for a nap. “Men grumble, women nag,” a testament Grandfather made over a jostled snore and a quick glance in Rick’s direction after he sprawled out along the matching plaid couch. Prepared to tend to Grandfather’s needs for as long as it would take, he got comfortable too.

  Rick propped an arm behind a throw pillow and observed the mighty and powerful man who intimidated most. The debilitating health scare knocked his grandfather down a few pegs and resulted in a deteriorated version he didn’t recognize: slumped frame, the normal pink blush drained from his taut cheekbones, and his usual clenched jawline sagged and drooped into a double chin.

  A nurse started tomorrow, scheduled a few hours each day throughout the convalescing until Grandfather regained his strength and could manage on his own. It gave Rick peace of mind knowing he’d have support. The old fart insisted his grandson not miss any more work, yapping Rick’s ear off the entire drive about being a role model for employees and not playing hooky. It didn’t matter that in the decade plus he’d worked there he hadn’t taken a vacation, and in most instances, didn’t finish reviewing files, researching, and preparing contracts until midnight. The diehard retiree never let up and wouldn’t change. No matter how often he wished it.

  As he started to doze off too, his cell rang. He didn’t bother to look at it, just pushed the talk button he could locate blind, and propped it on his ear. “Stone,” he mumbled from his looming REM, numb state.

  “Max, I gotta tell ya somefin.” The booming, cheery command snapped him to attention and in an upright position.

  “What’s the matter, sweet pea?”

  “What ya
doin’?”

  The out of the blue call and question gave him pause. His fuzzy, half-asleep brain not caught up yet. “Uh, um . . .” he swallowed a yawn and asked, “Where are you?”

  “Home.”

  He glanced at his watch—one in the afternoon. “Why aren’t you at school?” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp and getting antsier as he listened to her steady breathing and non-answer.

  “I gotta tummy ache.”

  All wound up by the news, he bolted off the cushion, pacing to the windows and sofa while he probed for more details. “Did you eat? Do you have a temperature? Is your mother there?”

  Her giggles, which produced an instant smile from him under normal conditions, got replaced with worry and a frown that stretched his nerves to the brink. He pressed the phone harder against his ear as if he could be transported through it and hold her close, wiping away the pain.

  “Mama’s here. I okay.”

  Well if Cece had been, there wouldn’t be a reason for her to not go to school, and Maggie wouldn’t have taken off. “How long have you been sick?” Since her emergency surgery, he couldn’t help panicking. “Where does it hurt? Did you go to the doctor?”

  He heard a banging sound and a few seconds later Maggie muttered, “Get in here, young lady. If you’re too sick to go to school, you’re not well enough to play. Move it inside, right now.” A shuffling, rustling movement, then momma bear’s growls got louder. “Is that my phone? Who are you talking to? Give me that.”

  Rambunctious giggles, more scuffles, and rapid panting as if Cece were running. “Ya it.”

  “You’re in big trouble, missy. I am not playing with you, I mean it. You have three seconds . . . one . . . two . . .”

  Another slam and scramble and Cece’s huffing and drawn out, “Maaax,” and a click. Disconnected.

  What the hell was going on?

  Less than twelve hours ago he dropped Cece off, a half hour after her third ballet lesson, and she’d been fine then. It hadn’t taken longer than several taps on his cell phone, and the time it took to skim a few of the five-star reviews, to choose Madame Rousseau’s dance studio. No more than four foot five on an exaggerated day, the commanding spitfire, owner, and instructor welcomed them with open arms.