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Mrs. Landon had been more than happy to keep Michael occupied while she cleaned her bungalow, and in fact had entertained her son while Maggie slipped uptown to her bank.
She’d quietly emptied her account and kept her eyes to the ground. She didn’t want to talk to anyone and had nearly made a clean getaway until she literally ran into Mrs. Lancaster, the pastor’s wife.
The woman had gently clutched her hands. There’d been a certain calmness that flowed from Mrs. Lancaster into Maggie’s body, an energy that soothed Maggie’s tired and scarred soul.
The two of them had stood for several minutes on the sidewalk, Maggie in her work clothes and Mrs. Lancaster in the rubber boots she loved so and a dress that was green and red, just like a Christmas tree. When Mrs. Lancaster had finally spoken, it was anticlimactic. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, Maggie?”
Maggie had suddenly been filled with fear of the unknown, a terrifying, soul-wrenching fear. She had no idea where she was going. None. Could she do it again? Did she have the strength to take Michael and run? She’d shaken her head and yanked her hand from Mrs. Lancaster’s grasp.
“I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.” Which of course was an understatement of epic proportions. Maggie Grace O’Rourke was exhausted. She’d hopped on the Cain Black Express, and it ran full tilt. Now that the damn thing had derailed, she was lost.
The pastor’s wife had smiled and spoken, her words soothing, her tone gentle. “You’re not lost, child. The day you set foot into Crystal Lake is the day you found your way home.” She’d winked, like the mind reader she was. “Remember that.”
“Mom? Are you all right? You’ve got that weird look on your face. The one where your eyes get all crinkly.”
Michael’s voice penetrated her thoughts, and Maggie gave herself a mental shakedown. She needed to keep focused. Be sharp.
“I’m fine, Michael, and no, I don’t think we’ll be seeing Cain tonight. He’s pretty busy preparing for the football game tomorrow and the concert.” She gave him a smile, a horrible, fake thing that slowly faded as Michael’s dark eyes stared back at her.
He didn’t believe a word she’d said.
He picked at the veggies on his plate. Carrots. Usually his favorite. “Did you and Cain have a fight?”
Maggie pushed her plate away. She couldn’t pretend to eat, any more than she could pretend that things were okay. “Cain and I…” she began and stopped. What the hell was she going to say to her son? She needed to say something, to prepare him, because there was a very good possibility that he’d be exposed to the nastiness of the trash magazine in the morning.
“Did you have a fight because of the pictures?”
Maggie stared at her son in shock. How in the hell did he know about them? He’d been with her all day. Lauren had been home when they arrived to clean her house, but she was positive Lauren Black would never discuss something like that with Michael.
“What pictures are you talking about?” Her mouth felt like it was filled with sawdust, and she barely got the words out.
Michael rose from the table and disappeared into the living room. He came back a few seconds later, Hollywood Scene clutched between his fingers. He carefully placed it on the table in front of Maggie and moved closer to her.
She stared down at the offending piece of garbage and barely held back the rage that was inside. She itched to tear the damn thing to pieces but held off. She couldn’t lose it in front of Michael. She just couldn’t.
She turned to him, her fingers lifting his chin so that she could stare into his eyes. The huge balls of liquid blue shimmered, and she saw the questions, the confusion, in their depths. “Where did you get that, Michael?”
His mouth twitched, and he shuffled his feet as his eyes dropped. “Don’t be mad,” he whispered.
“Honey, why would I be mad? Just tell Mommy the truth, all right?”
She was scared, imagining all sorts of crazy things, different ways he could have gotten his hands on a copy. A stranger handing it to him on the bus when she wasn’t looking. Someone leaving it on their porch. A prank by one of his friends.
“I saw it in your purse.”
“What?”
“It was sticking out, and I thought it was a comic, and then I saw Cain on the cover.”
Maggie groaned. She’d tossed her bag as soon as she let herself into the house the night before. And there it had stayed until Michael found it.
His fingers kneaded the edge of the table nervously.
“It’s okay, Michael. You did nothing wrong, honey. It was my fault for leaving it like that. Did you…did you look inside?”
Maggie held her breath, felt the stab of pain that rushed across her chest as if she’d been laced with a whip. The thought of Michael seeing that center shot made her ill.
He shook his head. “No. I just looked at the cover and knew it wasn’t a comic, and then I stuffed it in the book rack.”
