Authors: Sharon Buchbinder
“What brings you to Lake Placid?”
She raised her hands and gestured to the walls of the small room. “We’re standing in a world-renowned spa. I’m a woman. You do the math.” She knew she was being a smart-ass. She couldn’t help it. Inane questions always annoyed her.
“Were you under the influence of any substances?”
She shook her index finger at him. “I had
one
scotch and
one
sleeping pill—over eight hours before I arrived here. I know what I saw,” she paused. “As soon as I got here, I told Louise I didn’t like the way that creep had touched
Erin in the van. She refused to listen.”
“Okay. Go on.” He stared straight into her eyes, giving her an even stronger impression of being inspected. She stared right back at him, silently dared him to
blink.
“If this nurse was so concerned about her employee, why’d she call her boss
before
she gave Bob first aid?”
“Louise Carson says you were drunk and combative.”
“Bullshit!”
“She also says Erin’s a person of interest in an ongoing murder investigation. Father stashed her here to protect her. Maybe she’s just pretending to be mentally ill to avoid jail time?”
Sandra fought back the urge to punch him right on his way-too-perfect-for-a-real-man nose. “Are you out of your mind?
Look
at her.”
Harrington studied Erin for a moment, as did Sandra.
Boney hands. Torn, bitten cuticles. Dirt under her nails. Hadn’t anyone bathed the child after they dragged her out from under the house? By this time Erin was rocking side to side, shifting from one foot to the other. A sweater and jeans bagged on her too thin body. Sandra had to wonder whose clothes she was wearing. Her dead mother's, perhaps? She shuddered at the thought.
“Look at her face.” She tilted Erin’s head in the Chief’s direction, so he could have a better look at her empty eyes and vacant expression. “Some might argue she acted in self-defense against a sexual predator. Others might conclude she’s suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, secondary to witnessing her mother’s murder. The fact that this Bob person went after a vulnerable,
mute
girl in full view of a witness is disgusting. And, re-victimizing the victim by suggesting she's feigning her symptoms to avoid prosecution is
doubly
disgusting, Chief Harrington.”
He gave her a long, assessing look.
Sandra stared right back, locking on those unsettling blue eyes, waiting to see who blinked first. Butterflies ice-skated in her stomach. Warmth rushed up her neck. Her knees started to knock.
Whoa!
The last time she’d felt this way had been in 1980—here, at the Olympics.
He sighed before glancing around the tiny room. “Are you a lawyer, Ms. Blake?”
“Paralegal. And a CASA volunteer.”
He nodded. “How long have you’ve been a CASA?”
“About ten years.” Starting two months after the doctor told me I’d never be able to carry a baby to term, she thought. “It’s not a hobby; it’s a calling. I’ve worked with hundreds of kids who have witnessed brutal crimes against family members.” She tipped her head towards Erin. “Just like her.”
“Interesting.”
Afraid her knees might buckle under the weight of his attention, she
sank to the sofa. Erin floated down alongside her.
Harrington made a few more notes and snapped his notebook shut. “We’ll be in touch.”
He turned on the heel of his cowboy boot, and strode away in a slightly bowed stance, as if he’d just gotten off a horse, taking the two uniforms with him.
Louise entered the waiting room, reversing Sandra’s good mood. “Time to get you to bed, Erin.”
Putting a Vulcan grip on Sandra's arm, the girl shrank behind her. “Tell you what, Louise. Why don’t you show me where we’re going? Looks like she
and I are joined at the hip.”
~*~
Sandra had to admit that the ambiance of her suite in Cottage A, decorated in soothing shades of aqua-blue and greens, was relaxing. An in-room snack bar offered bottled water, juices, organic fruit and cookies and Swiss chocolate. A young woman in a turquoise one-piece ski uniform and matching hat delivered breakfast on a white tray. The smells of piping hot bread, chocolate, and rich, dark coffee provided a perfect wake up call for Sandra’s taste buds.
Sated on croissants and coffee, she shrugged into a thick, white terry-cloth robe and wandered across the hall to check on Erin.
Still sleeping.
When awake, if Sandra stepped out of her sight for more than a few seconds, Erin would become agitated, rocking and grunting.
After my shower, I’ll try to coax her to eat some breakfast.
Maybe she’ll like the pastry. The poor kid didn’t touch her dinner last night.
Louise whispered in Sandra’s ear, startling her out of her reverie. “We’ll have to sedate her to keep her calm, so you can begin your deluxe treatment regimen,” Louise said. “That’s what you’re paying for.”
Sandra closed Erin’s door, and motioned to Louise to step into her suite. “Who’s paying for Erin? What’s she really doing here?”
The nurse picked a piece of lint off her slacks, avoiding eye contact. “That’s none of your concern.”
“How on earth will a seaweed wrap help this child?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bright red spots rose on Louise’s cheeks. “The psychiatrist will be up later this week to conduct an assessment.
”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Sandra’s voice, laden with anger and disbelief, rose to a near shriek. “This kid’s been doubly traumatized, and she needs an emergency psych evaluation. What kind of operation are you running here?”
“We’re a fully licensed mental health and substance abuse treatment center—as well as a MediSpa. Erin will receive psychotropic medications, electro-convulsive therapy—whatever she needs—when her
own
psychiatrist sees her, someone with whom she has a therapeutic relationship.”
“Shock therapy? That’s barbaric! I can’t believe anyone does that anymore.”
Louise’s beady black eyes glared at Sandra. “It’s an excellent treatment for depression.”
Appalled at the prospect of someone passing electricity through anyone's brain, Sandra snapped, “It’s a great way to get brain damage and memory loss!”
Crossing her arms over her breasts, Louise's lips thinned. “Since you’re not a physician, Ms. Blake, your opinion isn’t relevant. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll give Erin her medication, so you can get some time for your own
much
needed therapy.”
Sandra followed the nurse across the hall, and watched her remove a zip lock bag containing a pre-filled syringe from the pocket of her turquoise smock. As Louise approached the bedside, Erin woke up and began to wail, eyes wild with fear.
“For God’s sake, woman, let me by!” Sandra pushed Louise aside. Erin threw her arms around Sandra’s neck and howled. She loved kids, but hadn’t signed up for a baby-sitting job. It looked as if she’d unwittingly become Erin’s surrogate mother.
She pointed at the syringe. “What is it?”
“Just a little sedative to calm her down,” Louise retorted in a brisk, no-nonsense tone of voice. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Let me see it.” She reached for the medication. “Now, or you’ll have to get past me first.”
Louise shrugged and handed her the medication.
“Vistaril?” Sandra recognized the mild anti-anxiety drug from her post-partum depression days, when she’d been so agitated she thought she’d jump out a window. “Don’t you have this in pill form?”
“This is the route the doctor prescribed." Sandra could have sworn the nurse was smirking.
Holding the quaking girl, Sandra said, “Hang on to me, honey. This will be over in a moment.”
Torn between remaining with the teenager and going to her scheduled appointment, Sandra stayed at Erin’s side until she fell back to sleep.
~* ~
Louise offered to call the van to drive her to her appointment, but thinking a walk in the fresh air would do her good, Sandra declined. A slow-moving maintenance worker was shoveling a footpath through the snow-covered walkway, but didn’t seem to be getting very far. As she stood on the curb, eyeing the pavement with trepidation, a police SUV pulled up alongside.
“Ms. Blake?” Chief Harrington beckoned to her. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
“I’m already late for appointment. I’m supposed to be at Cottage D right now.”
“That’s over a mile from here. Hop in.”
Sandra debated for a tenth of a second, thought about how cold she was, and slid into the warmth of the car. She turned sideways to face Harrington, and noticed a zigzag scar along his strong jaw line.
“What can I do for you?”
Rather than detracting from his good looks, the scar added to his rugged appeal. A sudden urge to reach over and trace the path of its smooth whiteness nearly overcame her. Instead, she unbuttoned the top of her coat, pulled off her knit hat, and brushed strands of hair out of her eyes.
What was wrong with her? She felt like a high school cheerleader with a major crush on the star quarterback.
“You were right," he said. "Bob is a registered sex offender.”
She allowed herself to gloat—just a little. “I’d say ‘I told you so,’ but I’m too busy trying to understand why they hired a creep like that.”
“Seems Louise Carson was short-handed, in a rush to fill the position, and skipped the criminal background check,” he said. “Which explains why she called her boss before giving Bob first aid.”
“Told you so. Sorry. I
could
help that, but decided not to."
Harrington smirked.
She was a sucker for men with dimples. A tingling sensation emanated from a region of her anatomy that hadn’t been excited in years. Her inner cheerleader shouted:
“Not dead yet!”
Her rational, sane self said:
Sit down and shut up!
“Erin’s not off the hook. Detectives are coming up from Long Island tomorrow with her father. Any chance you’d be willing to sit in on the interview with her? With your background as a CASA, you’re the perfect choice to be her advocate, help her feel safe. I bet you’re a pit bull when it comes to advocating for your kids, beating people up until you get what the child needs.”
Sandra stared at him, shocked by his laser accurate assessment of her personality and work style
.
“Who have you been talking to?”
He gave nothing up. “Consider it a good deed and say yes.”
“Hmmm.” She took a moment to consider. “That would mean you’d be indebted to me, right? I might need a favor from the local PD, just in case I punch Louise Carson in the face the next time she talks down to me.”
Harrington laughed. “Getting an assault charge dropped might be beyond the scope of my duties. How about dinner instead?”
Her stomach flip-flopped while her inner cheerleader performed an intricate tuck and roll.
“Why, Chief, for all you know, I could be a serial killer.”
“I’ll be sure to carry my sidearm. Here’s your stop. Watch your step.”
A tall, handsome, and funny guy had just asked her out for dinner. Lake Placid was suddenly looking better and better.
~*~
A wall of framed diplomas attested to Allison, ‘call me Allie’, Johnson’s education in counseling.
“After what you've told me, and based on today’s battery of tests," Allie said, “my professional assessment is that you need extensive talk-based therapy and good, old-fashioned pampering. Lucky you saw our ad and called. Tell me about you and Jim.”
Allie was half Sandra’s age. Would she understand why she’d put up with his
wanderlust
for so many years when Sandra wasn’t sure she understood it herself?
“If it was just about sex, I could have dealt with it. He’s had plenty of affairs. After a month or so, he’d get tired of his latest fling and come back to me. But this woman is different. He’s been with her almost six months. And now I know why: she’s pregnant.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Depressed and humiliated. Like I let us both down. He’s ten years older than me and wanted children. I wanted to be a mother, but I’ve had four miscarriages. I can’t carry a baby to term. Seeing her
so
pregnant with
his child
—well, it was the final straw. He’s gone for good. For the past ten years, I’ve deluded myself that we had a good marriage. I guess you could say I’ve bottomed out.”
Allie nodded. “Understandable. But, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?”
The question caught Sandra off-guard. “I hadn’t even thought past this afternoon’s manicure and pedicure.”
“Can you consider this a time to regroup and work on a plan?” Allie tapped a pen against her milk chocolate-colored cheek. “Today’s Wednesday. Let’s get together again on Monday. Is that okay? You’ll have time to get a massage, maybe a seaweed wrap and facial. The plastic surgeon comes on Fridays to do Botox injections and implant assessments. I see Louise made an appointment for you.”