From the Heart: Romance, Mystery and Suspense a collection for everyone (29 page)

Chapter Ten

“I’m sorry, Maggie. I’ll not renew this prescription.”

If he’d sucker punched her, it would’ve been kinder. She felt her face heat, and her back broke out in a cold sweat. A lock of hair dangled in her face, she scooped it back, feeling tangles in her windblown hair. She must look a wreck. She’d tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep, and at this moment, as she sat stooped in the plastic chair shoved in a corner of the doctor’s sterile examination room, she felt old and haggard. It wasn’t the pills—it couldn’t be. This was Richard’s fault and his emotional roller coaster. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?

“I don’t understand. You prescribed these for me.” She knew her face had to be two shades of red.

“Maggie, I suspect you may be having withdrawals. That’s why you’re not sleeping. I told you when I prescribed these, they were temporary to get you through a bad time and help you cope with an unbearable situation.”

Dr. Martin’s aging round face resembled an inscrutable poker face. Gone were the kind eyes and gentle caring bedside manner. And she realized this was the first time he didn’t ask, “So how are you really doing, Maggie?” Leaning against the door with his arms crossed, this short hefty man darted his eyes across the room, he seemed to look everywhere, just not at her. He pulled out a pen shoved in the pocket of his long white doctor’s coat and bent over his desk, scribbling something in her file.

“It was Richard wasn’t it? He called you. Didn’t he?”

Dr. Martin let out a heavy sigh and clicked his pen, popping it back in his coat pocket before facing her, and this time staring at her with a hardness she’d never seen before.

“Maggie, look at you. If I’d known you were going to abuse those pills, I never would have prescribed them.”

“What?” She gripped the edge of her chair.

He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. She ripped it from his hands and stared at the unusually neat handwriting with a name, Dr. Sheila Murphy, and phone number. Maggie blinked and gazed up at him.

“Call her and make an appointment. She’s a psychologist, and she can help you.” He wasn’t looking at her again. “Okay. I think that’s all.” He gripped the door handle, opened the door, and paused. His cheeks colored a bright pink when he glanced at her, and for a second she was positive she saw something—pity or regret—before he left, closing the door to the examination room behind him.

Maggie opened her mouth, took a deep breath, and stood on shaky legs. She couldn’t bear to walk out into the crowded waiting room, past the reception area—past his nurses, because they’d know what he’d said, and she knew they’d think her an awful person. Was there a back door? She wanted to find a way to slink out of here unseen, go home and hide. Even though the
doctor
was the liar, not her. He made her feel as if she was someone of no importance. He’d never, not once, told her to be careful with those pills. In fact, he was the one who pushed them on her. She remembered now, she didn’t want to take them. He told her she needed to, because her health was more important. She clenched her fists. Damn him to hell. She wanted to make him tell the truth, share the blame.

She swiped at the tears streaming down her cheek, tucked her purse under her arm, and hurried out past the nurse whose eyes widened before looking away. Maggie scooted out the door of the clinic, and reached in her purse for her keys before stopping in the middle of the gravel lot. She blinked and gazed at the half dozen cars parked. Hers wasn’t there.

“What are you doing? You took the bus. Remember?” She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. Her car was the broken heap in her driveway. She started walking to the bus stop around the corner. She dug in her purse for the change she needed when her fingers touched the piece of rose quartz she had tucked in the bottom. She pulled it out and clutched the treasured gift. “Why didn’t I think of that sooner?” Maggie smiled for the first time in days when she realized who she needed to see.

Chapter Eleven

Maggie spent the last of her spare cash on a cab to catch the two forty-five ferry over to Las Seta. She’d loved this crossing. At one time she’d loved a lot of things.

There were half a dozen people on the passenger-only ferry as it docked. Sam, a southern gentleman, tall, fit, and extremely handsome in his worn blue jeans and jean jacket, and one of the most caring men she’d ever met, was waiting.

Sam grabbed her hand as she climbed over the side of the small boat, and before she could pull back and step away, Sam pulled her close and hugged her. “Maggie. It’s good to see ya.”

The southern drawl remained the same thick musical lilt filling her with some measure of comfort. He didn’t question her. But when he pulled back, he gazed at her with soft blue eyes that reached inside her heart. Maybe he knew why she was really here.

“Marcie’s bathing the baby. I will be your chauffeur, m’lady” He secured his arm around her shoulders and led her up to his black jeep—the one he moved to this reclusive island on the barge. Sam’s jeep was most likely the only licensed vehicle on the island.

She wondered how he liked living off the grid on this island with no utilities, no modern conveniences. Love did strange things to people, and she knew Marcie would never live anywhere else except her granny’s cabin.

They’d come a long way from when Sam first met Marcie, when she was attacked and robbed in the New Orleans airport. Then while she was recovering from a head injury, Marcie, Sam, Maggie, Richard, and Diane came together, unlikely friends, to battle and outwit a cowardly predator and a threat to each of them. Dan McKenzie, Richard’s business partner, and at the time, Marcie’s lover. A man of deception—a man who preyed on the weak and vulnerable. God, how she hated him.

Maggie didn’t want to speak; she’d always hated small talk. Maybe that’s why Sam was so quiet. They bumped along over the rutted dirt road, thick trees surrounded each side of the road as they made their way inward to the west side, an isolated part of the island, to Marcie’s granny’s cabin.

Sam cleared his throat when he pulled down the long dirt driveway. The bushes scraped the side of the jeep. “You’ve no idea how surprised Marcie and I were to hear from you. Are you going to stay for a bit?” He parked in front of the cabin.

“No, I need to get back tonight, so I can only stay a few hours. I need to be on the last ferry.”

He didn’t reply, only nodded before climbing out of the Jeep. Wisps of smoke rose from the chimney. She followed him up the brand new wood steps and inside the quaint log cottage.

Marcie was sitting in an old rocker by the wood stove, humming a lullaby to her five-month-old baby girl. Kyla cooed and giggled as she reached up with tiny fingers to touch her mother’s lips. Maggie wiped her feet on the mat and stared at the boots and shoes crammed on the wood shoe rack by the door, to try and steady the unsettled confusion filling her. Sam gently gripped Maggie’s upper arms and then skirted around her. Maggie didn’t move, but she glanced at the door when the thought to bolt and make her own way back to the ferry appealed to her so strongly it frightened her.

“Maggie, how are you?” Marcie rose from the rocking chair and handed Kyla to Sam. Marcie didn’t hesitate as she strode in her long dark skirt to Maggie and hugged her in a way that made her want to weep. “Can you stay for dinner?”

Marcie stepped back holding both of her hands. Maggie didn’t answer. She couldn’t because Marcie was watching her as if she could read her every secret and knew why she was really here.

“You’re shaking. What’s going on? Come sit.” Marcie spoke so kindly. She didn’t deserve this welcome. Not from Marcie. Not after the cruel words she shouted at Marcie the day of the funeral,
you don’t deserve a child after what you brought into our lives
.

Sam stood in the kitchen, as still as a man could holding a baby, and stared at her as if he too knew what was really going on.

Maggie wanted to cry, and her face heated with shame. She pulled her hands free from Marcie and shoved them in the pockets of her down coat. When she glanced up, she didn’t miss the uneasy look that passed between Sam and Marcie. She fisted her hands to stop the trembling. Her heart was hammering so hard she wondered if they could hear.

“I’ll get you some tea. Maggie come and sit here.” Marcie pulled out the kitchen chair and patted the back.

“I’m okay… I don’t need any tea.”

“My granny used to say there’s nothing better to soothe away your worries than a steamy cup of tea.” Marcie filled a teapot from the black kettle on the wood stove. She reached for two mugs on the narrow shelf by the sink and placed them on the kitchen table. She poured the hot tea and placed a mug in front of Maggie, scooting a chair up beside her.

The wood stove heated the kitchen, and love filled this cabin. But it did little to alleviate her overwhelming emptiness. She placed her hands on the table, but couldn’t bring herself to touch the hot mug.

“It’s so good to see you, Maggie. I was just saying to Sam the other day how much I miss you guys. When you called and said you were coming, well… I’m happy to hear from you, but Maggie…” She stopped.

A few seconds of silence passed before Maggie realized Marcie wasn’t talking. She glanced at Marcie, and when she saw her brows furrowed and how her light blue eyes took on a seriousness she’d not seen before, she wondered if they’d ask her to leave.

“We’re worried about you.” Sam rubbed his daughters back and stood behind Marcie.

Something squeezed her chest, making it hard to breathe, and her sound reasoning slipped away, and she wanted to scream. They were judging her. She could feel their disdain. She scraped her chair back and stood. “Richard called you, didn’t he?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from blurting out.

Marcie started to say something, stopped, and glanced at Sam.

“Maggie, you’re in trouble. I don’t know what you came looking for. But what you’re going to get is help.” Sam placed Kyla in Marcie’s arms, his hand lingering on her shoulder for just a bit, before stepping around the table toward Maggie. As he moved, the way he watched the mother of his child had Maggie envying Marcie for what she had with Sam. He was a good man. He touched Maggie’s arm as if she was wild horse ready to spook. “Maggie--”

She heard footsteps clambering up the steps. Someone knocked, the door opened, and Richard stepped in. His steel blue gaze latched onto Maggie, and she knew without a doubt, the shaky tower she’d constructed around her heart had just crumbled.

Chapter Twelve

“You called him. How could you do that to me?”

Marcie flushed and rested a sleeping Kyla against her shoulder. “Maggie sit back down, you need some help. Look at you, you’re shaking. Your forehead’s covered with beads of sweat. I bet right now your muscles ache. You haven’t eaten anything have you? You’re nauseous right? Your eyes…” Marcie eased back her chair and stood up beside Sam.

Maggie clutched at her chest through her bulky coat and stepped back until she bumped into the small framed archway that lead into the front room. She needed to get out of here. But Richard blocked the only exit. The way they were watching her was freaking her out. So she shut her eyes. Her ears were buzzing.

“Maggie,” Richard called out to her.

She opened her eyes, but her vision blurred from tears she didn’t even know she’d shed. She staggered when the room swayed, and her heart thumped harder against her ribs.

“Maggie, you’re not getting any more of those damn pills or anything else. You were taking them more than what you told me. Every day. Weren’t you?” Richard sounded so angry.

She covered her face, unable to speak past the dryness in her throat. She couldn’t fight him anymore. “Please don’t take Ryley away from me,” she begged and let her arms fall to her side. She didn’t have the energy to fight. Her skin felt so irritated, she rubbed her arm, and the nausea and sweating worsened. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets hoping she had an Ativan stashed, even though she’d searched every pocket and purse twice already. She hoped to find a sleeping pill, too. She needed one to take her out of this world to a dreamless void of non-existence. To erase the pain she still refused to face.

Richard stepped in front of her, blocking Sam and Marcie, and pulled her into his arms. Just like yesterday, but this time, they just stood together while he rubbed her back, and then her arms, in slow even circles up and down. This time when she leaned into him, something cracked the shaky layer around her heart as a whimper escaped, and she crammed her fist in her mouth to stifle her sob.

She clutched his shirt. “Richard I hurt… I’m so tired. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t fight you.”

“Shhh baby, I’ll get you through this.”

“Damn you, why are you doing this to me? Please just give me something to make this hurt stop.”

Unable to keep up the charade, Maggie sobbed and held onto Richard, and for the first time in a very long time, realized she wouldn’t be alone.

Chapter Thirteen

The late morning sun streamed through the cathedral window on this unusually warm winter day. Maggie sat cross-legged on the cushioned window seat in the sunroom Richard built as an addition onto their house. Maggie sighed as she stared out at the acres of thick forest and the Mount Olympus part of Olympic National Park.

Maggie couldn’t remember ever being so tired. She shut her eyes as she leaned against the stack of fluffy pillows. After bringing her home, after a rough first night at Sam and Marcie’s, it had been a week of night sweats, insomnia, vomiting, and cramping muscles—and Richard never left her side. She’d begged them, each one of them, for something to ease her ache. But each had been unbending as they got her through that hellish first night. Sam boiled her water to drink and explained the details of how she was dependent physically and psychologically on these drugs. And he told her over and over she needed to understand what her body was physically going through. And why the brain receptors become less sensitive to the drugs’ effects, and soon she needed more and more for the same effect. How her quality of sleep was reduced, and why the next day she’d experience drowsiness and cognitive slowing, like a hangover, which is even worse than sleep deprivation. Marcie rubbed her back and reminded her she’d be okay. She was strong, and she’d get through this. But it was Richard who never left; and sometimes he yelled. He was adamant, a steel wall of support, cutting through her foggy reasoning until she let go and leaned on him.

The next morning, Sam and Richard returned on the ferry, taking her home to the Gardiner acreage. Richard held her outside on the deck of the passenger ferry as she vomited over the side of the small ferry at least a half dozen times. Ryley had stayed overnight at a friend’s. Sam gathered a few of Ryley’s belongings and hopped on the first ferry back to Las Seta with Ryley. Diane picked up Daisy from Maggie’s house in town.

Maggie never would have believed she was addicted to a couple of simple medications many people take every day. But the withdrawals the second day—
wow
—she trembled just thinking back. Remembering so clearly in her delirium, she begged Richard to give her something, anything, to stop her insides from burning, aching. Her nausea had her hanging over the toilet and sleeping on the cool tile floor to relieve the pressure in her head that was so bad she’d swore her head would explode from the unrelenting pounding. And the shakes that racked her body. Richard remained firm as he held her, and swore to her at least a dozen times if he could get away with it, he’d kill the doctor for giving her the pills in the first place. Richard cleaned her up, bathed her, and rubbed her back while she cried and begged. After three days, the worst was behind her, leaving her so empty and sapped she only wanted to sleep.

Now after a miserable week, Richard had dared to leave her side. Maggie watched him through the window as he paced back and forth in front of the barn, talking on his cell phone. After what they’d survived, it was hard to believe how he’d become her rock—in a way she’d never expected. Even after all the horrible hateful words of blame she spewed like venom, which shamed her now as she did her damnedest to avoid thinking and reliving.

Richard glanced up as he spoke on his cell phone and watched her as if he expected her to leave. She’d given him good reason, after all, wasn’t it the second night she’d snuck out? Barefoot with no coat, she’d taken his truck keys and had started the engine before he ripped open the driver’s door and yanked the keys from the ignition, pulling her from the truck, kicking and screaming, as he carried her back in the house. She knew he was tired, and he started hiding the keys. He installed deadbolts on both doors, the kind that need a key to open, and he hid those keys too.

But as she leaned back into the plump pillow of the window seat, she dozed and wondered when Richard had changed. There was something solid and older about him. Some wisdom and a nurturing side that never existed before.

When she opened her eyes, Maggie sat straight up. Richard appeared upset and yelled at whoever was on the phone. Then he shoved his cell phone in his pocket and raised a fist in the air. He stomped toward the woodshed and scooped up an armload of wood.

The screen door hinges squeaked, and Richard’s heavy footsteps creaked on the oak floor. Maggie listened to him fill the wood box, stuff more wood in the wood stove and close it up. Maggie gazed at her fluffy pink slippers just as she felt him appear in the archway. She looked up into those magnetic blue eyes and saw the familiar concern as he watched over her.

“I need to run into town, I won’t be long. Do you think you’ll be okay until I get back?” He hesitated as if holding his breath. Either he’d trust her or lock her in.

“I’m good.”

“Okay…” He hesitated again. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the day old beard, and his shaggy hair was a little more mussed than usual.

“Richard, is everything okay?” She slid around and started to get up. To go to him, but he shook his head.

“Don’t get up, Mags. Stay comfortable.”

“Richard, is something going on? I saw you out there on the phone. You look upset. And I know you’re tired.”

He flicked his fingers through his hair, spiking it up. He let out a heavy sigh and appeared impatient.

“Maggie, I got to go. I’ll call Diane and ask her to come over.”
Well I guess he doesn’t trust me after all.

“No, Richard. I don’t need Diane to come and babysit me. Please don’t call her.” This time she did get up and walked straight toward him. She touched his arm, and she could feel him tighten. Maybe he’d had enough of her problems. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on? I can feel it. I know I put you,
everyone
, through a lot. Is this about me? Do you want me to leave?”

“Maggie, you’re not leaving. Stop reading something into nothing. And stop asking questions. I don’t want to get into it now. I’ve got a lot on my plate,” he snapped, closing his eyes for a second as he let out another heavy sigh.

Why is he shutting me out?

“Richard, please.” She shook his arm gently. This time his face softened, and the way he watched her let her know love still lived there, but it was tinged by a lifetime of hurt and pain.

He cupped her cheek, caressing the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. “I won’t be long Maggie, stay in the house. Will you promise me?”

“I won’t leave.” She placed her hand over his, the one touching her face. A second later he pulled away and left. Maggie stayed where she was as she listened to the door close and realized Richard paused a few seconds before hurrying down the stairs. She let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. He didn’t lock the door. Trust was a shaky thing to rebuild.

Maggie wandered into the kitchen, leaned against the kitchen sink, looked through the window, and watched as Richard drove his truck a little faster than usual down the long gravel driveway. Where was he going? Was he meeting someone? Would he tell her when he returned? She hoped so.

She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Even though she wore a heavy sweatshirt, she had a hard time staying warm. She grabbed her bulky sweater off the hook by the door and pulled it on as she wandered back into her sunny sanctuary, this time curling up in an overstuffed chair and ottoman, shutting her eyes, and waiting for Richard’s return.