By Anne Rothman-Hicks and Kenneth Hicks
Mainstream
-- 326 pages
Cover
art by Kenneth Hicks
Blurb:
The
girl sat still for a few seconds. Kate
could hear the sound of the fruit juice being drained through the straw, and
the girl’s chest heaved once inside the curl of Kate’s
arm. Then, quick as a young frisky cub, she spun and threw her arms around Kate’s neck. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and
her face was contorted with the effort not to cry. She nuzzled awkwardly
against Kate and kissed her over and
over with little pecks that covered her forehead and eyes and chin.
“I
love you, Katy,” she said in her
high-pitched voice. “I love you so much.”
Excerpt:
From the instant Mrs. Morley
answered, Kate knew something was
wrong.
“No, no,” Mrs.
Morley insisted. “Not at all. Jenny’s just fine. Enjoy your weekend.”
In the background, Kate
could hear Jenny. First the child
asked who was on the phone, and then she called out for Kate
to come back.
“Hush now,” Mrs. Morley
said. “Hush.”
“Let me speak to her,” Kate
said.
Mrs. Morley held the phone up to Jenny’s
mouth and ear, but the girl did not say what was causing her to cry. She simply
kept repeating her plea for Kate to
come home. “I miss you. I miss you.”
“You see,” Mrs.
Morley said. “She’s just being a
little girl. You stay right where you are.”
“But Mrs.
Morley…”
“I know what I’m saying here, my dear,” she replied.
“She’s been okay all day and now we’re getting ready for bedtime and a story
and she misses you. That’s all. You just enjoy yourself there and we’ll see you
tomorrow, regular time. Everything is fine.”
The line went dead with Kate
still holding the receiver. Roger had
to remind her twice that they needed to leave or they would risk losing their
dinner reservations.
“Of course,” she said. “Let’s go.”
During dinner, Kate held his hand across the table and
smiled when he joked about the maitre d’ and the waiter who both hovered
nearby, grieving as she picked at her food and barely sipped the wine. (“You’re
going to ruin their evening,” Roger said.)
Over dessert, he told her a story of when he was a
child and his mother went away, leaving him with his older brother and his
father, and he’d cried his eyes out before going to bed. She agreed that such a
reaction was normal for a kid and spent the next few minutes lost in thought,
until Roger asked if she wanted to go
back to New York.
He was hoping she would say ‘no, certainly not.’ It was a three-hour drive,
after all, assuming little traffic. The little angel would be asleep when they
arrived. Whatever had been troubling her would be a distant memory.
Kate treated his suggestion as the greatest idea since midday breaks from
the sun.
“Do you mean it, Roger?”
she asked. “I don’t want to ruin our weekend.”
She leaned forward across the elegantly set table. An
embroidered linen napkin was crushed between her hands. Her expression was
filled with such trust that he found he had to lie.
“Of course I mean it,” he said. “Let’s get out of
here.”
He hid his anger along the drive back. An oldies
station filled the conversational gaps. He reminded himself that he loved Kate, that the past twenty-four hours were better than a week with anyone else, that this
disruption of their lives was not forever—Jenny
would be gone soon enough.
He reminded himself to act like a grown-up!
Disappointments are a part of life. This is important to Kate.
And as they pulled through the mid-town tunnel onto the soil of Manhattan, when she
grabbed his hand and held it to her lips and her cheek, caressing it with her
singular sensuality, and she thanked him again and told him how much she
appreciated this act, he was able to reply with equanimity, at least on the
surface.
“No big deal, Kate.
Really. It’s okay.”
The building was quiet as they entered and climbed the
stairs. Mrs. Morley had agreed to stay in Kate’s apartment for the two nights involved. Food
that Jenny liked was in the
refrigerator. Jenny could sleep in her
own bed.
As Kate
turned the key in the door, she began to feel that she had been too impulsive.
She tapped lightly at the door as she swung it open. To her relief, Mrs. Morley
was sitting up still. She rose to greet Kate,
a frown of disapproval on her face.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said.
But less than a minute after they arrived, the bedroom
door flew open and a bare-footed child was racing across the room into Kate’s outstretched arms. Jenny
held her tight without speaking, her little body heaving visibly and small
muffled sobs escaping against Kate’s
breast.
“You came back!” she said, as though a miracle had
occurred.
“Silly, I told you I would.” With her free hand, she
stroked the child’s head. It was only when Jenny
stepped away slightly that Kate saw
the ugly purple bruise rising on her right cheek.
Kate stared at Mrs.
Morley. The old woman was still in
her chair. She wiped her hands on her apron over and over.
Kate eased Jenny away so that she
could examine the bruise. When the girl winced at Kate’s
hand touching her left shoulder, Kate
unbuttoned her pajamas. Here was a second bruise, larger and uglier than the first. It appeared to hurt just to move
the arm.
Roger stepped toward the child.
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