Authors: Terri Reid
Mary grabbed another Diet Pepsi from the little refrigerator
in her office and glanced at the clock; it was only nine thirty.
It’s going to be a very long day.
Sitting back down at her desk, she opened the file Celia had
left for her and started reading through all of the case files. “Hey, you got
another one of those?” a female voice asked.
Mary looked up and was surprised to see Tracey Bresnahan,
the writer turned spy, standing inside her office. “How did you…” Mary began,
looking up at the small bell over her front door.
“Trick of the trade,” Tracey interrupted with a smile. “So,
how’s married life?”
Getting up and pulling another soda out of the refrigerator,
Mary gave herself a moment to school her thoughts. It wouldn’t do to give too
much of their private life away to Tracey and the organization she worked with.
“Married life is great,” Mary finally replied, handing Tracey the drink.
“Although I have to admit, it’s tough getting back to reality once you’ve been
on an extended honeymoon.”
Sitting down in the chair on the other side of the desk,
Tracey leaned back, took a sip of the Diet Pepsi and sighed. “I remember my
honeymoon,” she said. “We went camping. It was not nearly as romantic or
comfortable as a castle in Scotland.”
So, we are going to
chit chat for a while
, Mary thought.
Okay,
I can play that game.
“It was wonderful,” Mary said. “I could get used to living
in the lap of luxury.”
Tracey placed the can on a coaster on the desk and met
Mary’s eyes. “I understand that someone from the agency met with you when you
were there,” she said.
So
much for chit chat
.
“Yes, we went into town and met him at a local pub,” Mary
said. “It was quite an interesting meeting.”
Chuckling, Tracey nodded. “More interesting for him because
of all the notoriety you two had garnered.”
Shrugging, Mary bit back a smile. “Well, I had no idea that
Headless Hannah had been such a celebrity in the area. She was a lovely woman,
once you got to know her, and deserved her rest.”
“Yes, and the staff and most of the countryside considered
you a hero for helping her get that rest,” Tracey replied.
“Well,” Mary did allow herself to smile, “I suppose it would
be a little disconcerting to have a woman walk into your bedroom at night
carrying her head on a platter.”
Shaking her head, Tracey picked up her soda once
again,
she lifted it as a toast in Mary’s direction. “Well,
here’s to you for not only getting rid of a celebrated ghost, but for knocking
the socks off the London office.”
“I knocked their socks off?” she replied, pleased with
herself
.
“Yes, and that’s why I’m here,” Tracey said.
Send me back to
Scotland,
Mary pleaded silently,
Until
Clarissa is sixteen years old.
“Something wrong?”
Tracey asked,
cocking her head slightly, trying to read Mary’s face.
“No, I’m just adjusting to having a husband, an eight-year-old
daughter and a business,” she answered. “It’s a little challenging.”
“I should say so,” Tracey agreed, “which is why I think
you’ll be pleased with the agency’s decision.”
“And that is?”
“The agency wants you and Bradley to maintain your covers,”
she said, “Especially while you are raising children.
You aren’t going to be field agents
yet,
only consultants, but they can call you into service
under certain extenuating circumstances.”
“And that means?” Mary asked.
Tracey smiled. “That means you’re stuck in Freeport at least
until Clarissa is an older teen and capable of taking care of herself.”
“Wait,” Mary said. “Not that I’m not appreciative of their
sensibilities, but I don’t get this.”
“The agency is interested in you and Bradley as a unique
husband and wife team,” she said. “They have noted how well you work
together.
They have also found, however,
when there are small children at home, agents in the field make mistakes
because they are worried about what’s going on at home, rather than the
objective. They would rather use you both, as the need warrants, as
consultants, then wait for a few years and use you both as field agents.”
“So, when Clarissa is a teenager, they will start using us as
field operatives?” Mary asked.
Tracey nodded. “Well, unless you have additional children
and then they would wait until the youngest is old enough to be independent.”
“The likelihood of me getting pregnant is somewhere between
slim and none,” Mary said.
“Okay then, you’ll be qualified for field work in eight
years or so,” Tracey said. “But I have a feeling we’ll be using you for
consulting much sooner than that.”
Standing, Tracey leaned over the table and extended her
hand. Mary stood and shook Tracey’s hand. “Thanks for stopping by,” Mary said.
“I’m really looking forward to working with you,” Tracey
said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Once Tracey had left her office, Mary sat back in her chair
and closed her eyes. She could really use a nap. She had tossed and turned all
night, concerned about Clarissa’s behavior, and when she had finally fallen
asleep she found herself dreaming the same dream from the night before,
searching for the lost child.
“I am just losing it,” she murmured.
Smiling briefly, she remembered waking up and curling into
Bradley’s embrace.
He had held her as
she told him about the dream and then he kissed her in a way that woke up every
single cell in her body. They had just begun making up for their missed
opportunities the night before when Clarissa yelled for him.
Mary sighed and took another sip of soda.
She is an eight-year-old child
, she told
herself.
She is not doing this on
purpose. She is a little confused and is just trying to figure things out.
That’s all.
“It was so great last night,” Clarissa laughed as she pushed
herself higher on the swing. “I told Bradley that Mary hated me and she made me
eat food so I would be sick.”
“What did she make you eat?” Maggie asked, swinging next to
her.
“Macaroni and cheese,” Clarissa replied.
“But that’s your favorite, why did it make you sick?”
“It didn’t really make me sick,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I just told him that, so he would hate her.”
“But he loves her,” Maggie said.
She shook her head. “No, he doesn’t,” she argued, her
stomach tightening as she argued. “He just wanted a mother for me, so he
married her.
Just like
in Cinderella.”
Maggie stopped her swing and turned to Clarissa. “No, he
wanted to marry her even before he knew about you.”
“Well, now he loves me better,” she said angrily.
“And since I’m just a little girl and she’s a grown up, he needs to
take care of me, not her.”
“Why can’t he take care of both of you?”
Clarissa stopped her swung, jumped out of it and faced her
friend. “Don’t you get it?” she asked. “If they get divorced, then Bradley will
need me.
He won’t have any other
children.
He won’t have a wife.
It will just be me and my dad.”
“That’s never going to work,” Maggie said.
“Sure it will,” Clarissa argued. “Last night I made him stay
in my room and read to me until he fell asleep in the chair.
He left Mary sitting downstairs waiting for
him. She was going to make a special dinner and everything and instead, he was
with me.”
“So, that’s only one time.”
“And then, this morning, I waited outside their door until I
heard them talking,” she said. “Then I went back to my room and screamed for
him, like I was having a bad dream.
He
came running in right away and I made him stay with me until it was time to get
ready to go to school.”
“That was mean,” Maggie said. “Mary’s not being mean to you,
but you’re being mean to her.”
Clarissa folded her arms across her chest and shook her
head. “I’m not being mean,” she said. “I’m working out a plan.
My plan.”
Maggie slipped from the swing and walked over to her friend.
“I think it’s a bad plan. I think it’s a mean plan. Mary helped find you, Mary
helped your mother.
The bad man would
have you if Mary hadn’t done everything she did,” Maggie yelled.
“I don’t believe you,” Clarissa said.
“You know I’m right,” Maggie insisted. “You know Mary is
trying hard to be a good mother.”
Clarissa pressed her lips close together and shook her head.
“You don’t understand,” she finally said.
“Understand what?”
“If Mary and Bradley stay married, then they have each other,”
she explained. “They don’t need me.”
“Course they don’t need you,” Maggie said. “They want you.”
“No,” Clarissa replied, tears filling her eyes. “Maybe your
family wants you. But only my ’
doptive
parents wanted
me. I’m just an obligation.”
“No, Clarissa, you
have it all wrong,” Maggie said, “Mary and Bradley want you.”
“Until they have kids of their own,” she argued. “Then they
won’t need me anymore. So, I’m not going to let that happen.”
She started to turn, but Maggie stopped her by putting a hand
on her shoulder. “I can’t help you hurt Mary. She’s my friend.”
“That’s fine,” Clarissa snapped back. “I’ll just do it on my
own.”
A light tap on her office door had Mary glancing up from her
computer screen and looking over to see Celia entering the room. “Hi,” Mary
said with a hesitant smile. “How are you doing?”
Celia sat down across from Mary and took a deep breath. “I
had a pretty bad night,” she confessed. “But I finally realized that it was far
better to know than it was to only guess.”
Mary sat back and looked at her new friend.
Her face was still pale and there were dark
shadows beneath her eyes.
Although she
was bravely trying to smile, Mary could see the tremor on her lips and the
tight grasp she had on the handle of her briefcase. She was definitely a woman
close to the edge.
“You know, you don’t have to be brave,” Mary finally said.
“There is nothing wrong with showing your emotions. As a matter of fact, it’s
healthier to let them out.”
Shaking her head, Celia gripped her briefcase tighter. “I’m
afraid,” she said softly. “I’m afraid that if I start to cry, I will never be
able to stop.”
“I really do understand that feeling,” Mary said, as an idea
came to her.
Glancing at her watch, she stood up and smiled at Celia. “Bradley
and I didn’t have a chance to talk about the case last night, so we have a
meeting scheduled here in about an hour. But, in the meantime, I have an idea
that might help you feel better. Let’s go visit an old friend of mine.”
After locking up the office, Mary guided Celia down the
street and around the block to an old abandoned building
on Spring Street. The building was a large brownstone
with a heavy front door made of glass.
“Where
are we?” Celia asked. “It looks like it’s closed down.”
Mary
smiled. “Well, normally it is,” she said. “But I have a feeling that my good
friend Ernie will open up for us.”
She
walked to the entrance, wiping away the dirt on the window.
Celia
followed close behind her and peered over her shoulder to read the faded white
letters on the door:
Ernie’s Gymnasium
and Pugilism Training.
“Can
I just ask what we’re doing?”
Mary
looked over her shoulder to Celia. “We’re going the distance.”
Turning
back to the door, Mary knocked lightly. “Hey Ernie, I have a friend who could
use a round or two,” she said.
“Really,
Mary, I don’t think we should be drinking this early in the morning,” Celia
inserted.
Mary
listened for the lock on the other side to click and pushed the door open
before she looked over her shoulder. “The only thing we’ll be drinking in here
is water,” she said, entering the dark building.
Celia
followed closely behind her. “I’m beginning to agree with some of those
not-so-nice comments about you on the Internet,” she said quietly, as she
peered into the darkness.
“No,
you don’t,” Mary replied confidently. “Because if you really thought I was
nuts, you’d be really nice to me. And that last comment was nearly rude.”
In
spite of herself, Celia smiled as she held on to the back of Mary’s coat.
Reaching
inside her pocket, Mary pulled out a small flashlight. The scent of dried wood,
aging leather and dust was as strong as it had been the first time she’s been
there. Dust motes floated all around her, highlighted in the beams of morning
light that slipped through the planking on the tall side windows. But this
time, she knew where she was going. Walking over to a large gray box in another
corner of the room, Mary wiped the spider webs off the front and pulled the
metal switch down. The fluorescent bulbs in the hanging ceiling fixtures slowly
fluttered to life. They started at the far end of the room and slowly each area
of the gym was filled with light.
“Hey,
sister, how’ve you been?” Ernie asked
,
appearing in
the middle of the boxing ring situated in the middle of the room. “And who’s
the doll you’ve get with you?”
Mary
grinned as the ghost materialized before her. She hadn’t seen him since Linda’s
wedding, but she had hoped he was still around. His greying hair was still
styled in a crew cut and the face below was wide, with a strong and stubborn
jaw. His nose looked like it had been broken a number of times and his broad
grin advertised the wide gap between his upper teeth. She winked slyly at him,
not letting Celia know there was someone else in the room with them.
“Celia,
my friend Ernie owns this place,” Mary explained. “He helped me through the
tough times by training me. I thought it might do you some good to punch
something, really hard.”
“You
ain’t
gonna
tell her I’m here,”
Ernie teased. “Are you?”
“Not
yet,” Mary whispered.
“What
did you say?” Celia asked.
“I
said, not yet,” she repeated. “You can’t punch anything until you put the
gloves on.”
She
led Celia to a corner of the room where a large, brown, leather punching bag
hung from a beam. Next to it, a series of smaller bags were suspended at head
level.
The leather was old and worn, but
the bag was still intact. Celia ran a hand over it. “Will it hold up to a good
punch?” she asked.
Ernie
laughed. “Tell her to give it all she’s got.”
Mary
picked up a pair of old boxing gloves and handed them to Celia. “Give it all
you’ve got,” she repeated.
Slipping
the gloves on, Celia hesitantly punched the bag.
“She
throws a punch like a girl,” Ernie complained. “Show her how to do it right.”
Mary
picked up a pair of gloves for herself and stood next to Celia. “Okay, let me
show you the right way to throw a punch,” she said. “And then I’m going to
stand back and let you give it hell.”
Nearly
an hour later, the bag still gently swaying in the air, Celia stepped back,
pushed her hair back in place with her gloved hands and turned back to Mary. “I
do feel much better,” she panted.
“She’s
got some potential,” Ernie added, walking around her slowly. “She’s got looks
and she’s tough. She ought to consider roller-derby.”
Biting
back a snort, Mary helped Celia unlace her gloves. “Just let me know if you
want to come back,” she said. “I have a feeling Ernie wouldn’t mind in the
least.”