Masquerade (22 page)

Celeste lowered to the floor and stroked a kitten’s head. Such a fragile little thing, so dependent.

Lily wiggled one of the kitty’s ears; then she wiggled her  own and made a funny face.  “We have dog.”

She grinned at Celeste. “Locked herself in bathroom.”

“Oh? Wonder how that happened.”

“Her feet—bi..i..i..i..i..i.g.” Lily stretched her arms wide. “She push lock with her nose.” Giggling, her shoulders jumped to her ears. Eyes wide, honey-colored brows raised, she covered her mouth with her hand.

              Celeste wrapped her arm around the child and squeezed. “Let’s go inside and wait for your . . . uh, Sonny. Okay?”

              The child’s expression changed to a scowl. “Wha ‘bout kitties?”

              “Their mommy will take care of them.” Hopefully. She pushed to her feet and held out her hand.

              A twinkle in her eye, Lily pointed to Celeste’s back. “Biggy ride.”

              Celeste frowned, then chuckled. This little one had been well cared for, right down to tiny touches like piggy-back rides. She stooped and helped Lily hop on, then gripped her legs and skipped to the house. Lily’s laughter rang through the neighborhood. Breathless, from both the exercise and the giggling, Celeste shrugged Lily off onto a kitchen chair. Nice workout for both body and spirit. When had she felt this good?

              She refilled Lily’s cup with water, something she suspected Sonya would appreciate since supper time was close. After the child downed the cool liquid, she reached for a red crayon. Clutched in her fist, she drew a shaky arc on a piece of paper Celeste taped on the table so that it wouldn’t slide around. She layered the arc with orange, yellow,  green,  light blue,  dark blue, and violet, all in per-

fect sequence.

“Seven,” Lily said, “just like me. The berfect number, Sonny and Sam say.”

“
P-
erfect, Lily.
P
.” Celeste formed the “p” sound with her mouth and Lily puckered her lips. “Good, Lily, good.” She ruffled the child’s hair, turned toward the sink full of dirty dishes. A yellow kitchen towel hid the mess from view. In spite of her innate need for order and cleanliness, she’d allowed the dishes to grow. Hardly worth washing one or two plates at a time when she lived alone.

She whipped the terry cloth towel from the stack, ran hot water in the sink, and added dish detergent. As the water rose, so did the bubbles. Shiny bubbles, full of rainbow color. She smiled as she washed a plate and listened to Lily rub a crayon over her paper. With all the child’s imperfections, she really was a perfectly beautiful little girl, full of life and potential.

Tires on gravel drew her attention to the window as she placed the last plate in the dish drainer. “Sonny’s here, Lily. Let’s clean up.”

Celeste held the box while Lily stuck each crayon back in place.

The child held up her drawing. Underneath the rainbow, Lily had drawn a house and three stick figures. “For you, Teacher Tater.”

“Well, thank you. I know just where to put this.” Celeste moved over to the refrigerator and placed a heart-shaped magnet on the edge of the picture. She stepped back,  her  smile  warming  her  own heart.  “There.  Very

nice.”

A rap on the back door. Celeste hurried to answer. Her breath caught in her chest when she saw the person standing on the stoop. No one she knew. Door ajar, she retreated into the utility room as Lily hobbled toward the threshold. “Lily, wait!” She lunged toward the child, but precious Golden Girl was already standing outside with the strange man.

Jacket shielding his neck from the early spring breeze, the man took Lily by the arm.

In an instant, Celeste grabbed a broom from beside the water heater and charged toward the intruder. “Who are you, and what do you want with us?”

The man’s eyes flared in a moment of fear, then softened as a grin tugged at his lips, tiny lines at the corners. With one arm, he hugged a wild-eyed Lily to his side, extended his other hand toward Celeste. “Hi, I’m Sam Miller. And I’d feel a lot better if you put that broom down.”

Her grip loosened on the handle, and she lowered the broom to the floor. If she could dig a hole in the hardwood and disappear, she would. At a loss for words, she clutched the broom and stared at the man. Her arms and legs felt weak as water. After a few moments of silence, she tossed the thing in the corner. She forced a smile and shook his hand. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. I…I…thought Sonny—”

“No problem.” He looked down at Lily, his bushy brow covering his eyes. “Except I think you scared your student here half to death.  She’s shaking.”  Wiry wisps of

graying hair around his ears wriggled when he talked.

Celeste rubbed her forehead, knelt in front of the child. She took Lily’s hand. “I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you. Teacher Tater thought she was protecting you.”

Golden Girl touched Celeste’s cheek. “Sam not hurt me. He good to me.”

Her gaze floated to the man’s kind face. “Yes, I can see that.” She pushed to her feet and addressed Sam. “Please, accept my apology again. I live alone, you see, and I suppose you know there’s been a mad man on the loose. Guess I’m a bit jumpy.”

He produced a laugh that seemed to come from some place deep within his chest.

“Well, okay, a lot jumpy.” She took a deep breath, exhaled.

“You needn’t concern yourself about that fellow anymore. Law enforcement apprehended him a few days ago. Read it in the paper.”

“That’s a relief.” One less worry she’d have to deal with. But who was that creep in the park? She folded her hands and studied Golden Girl.

Oh! Lily had bolted out the door without her hat and jacket. Perhaps that explained her shivers. She pulled the items from the rack by the door and helped Golden Girl shrug into her coat, while Sam scrunched the hat over her curls.

“Sonya’s waiting for us at home. We’ve been playing musical van today. One of my temp jobs is cleaning offices, which I typically do on Saturday after-

noon. So it worked out perfectly to pick up Lily after I finished.”

“No explanation needed, Mr. Miller. But thank you. And nice to finally meet you.”

“Yes, you, too. My wife speaks highly of you and your work with Lily. I’m as involved as I can be, what with multiple jobs and all right now, but I love this little girl like she was my own.” He rubbed Lily’s arm, flicked his bulbous nose set in a round face.

Clearly not a handsome man, but nonetheless, a kind one. And in reality, she’d rather have the latter.

“It shows, Mr. Miller, it certainly shows.”

They exchanged good-byes, and Celeste started to close the door, but not before noticing a strange car parked on the side of the street in front of her neighbor’s property. A shudder rippled down her spine. She hugged her arms to her chest, then quickly shut and locked the door.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I could kick myself. She’s going to hate me even more if she ever finds out what I’ve been doing.” Joe slumped in the driver’s seat of his beat-up Chevy and surveyed his and Celeste’s house. He was making things worse. He’d frightened Celeste at the park, and now here at her home where she should feel safe. He whacked his hand on the steering wheel, winced as needles of pain shot up his arm.

In their last session together, Hutchins had encouraged him to retrace his tracks, go home and reestablish connection with his wife.  So, he’d bought a car, moved back to Schreiber, and rented an apartment. The doctor hadn’t released him to return to work, but that would come, in time.

But he wasn’t even sure he wanted to go back to the metal factory. Maybe he’d change careers, get into something he really enjoyed—like landscaping.

A cynical laugh spewed from his lips. “Who am I kidding, Stan Man?” In his solitude, he’d taken to talking to his car. “No one in their right mind would hire me with this face.”

No  place felt like  home, not in  his condition.  Still,

catching a glimpse or two of Celeste had been like a breath of fresh air on a spring day. True, he’d taken a big chance leaving the roses on the stoop and stalking her at the park. But surely there was no way she would recognize him. Even his well-sculpted body had shriveled to nothing with lack of use and exercise. If anything, she’d be more convinced than ever he was Randall Laverty since the plastic surgeon had used Laverty’s driver’s license pic to reconstruct his face.

And volunteering somewhere? Right, Hutchins.

A scrawny boy holding a bat and softball walked past, gawked at the Chevy, then quickly turned his head when he noticed Joe glaring at him. He sprinted to the neighbor’s house and banged on the door. Seconds later, another boy emerged wearing a pitcher’s mitt. The first boy nodded toward the Chevy and whispered something in the other boy’s ear. They snickered, jumped off the porch, and strode down the street. 

“Kids!” Joe huffed, then studied the garden bed in front of his house. Spring approached. How he’d like to get his hands in the dirt, pull away the dead debris, making way for new life to emerge on the mums he’d planted in honor of his and Celeste’s fifth wedding anniversary. Put in new plants, work and watch until the garden grew into a beautiful thing. Grief sliced through his heart, and he lowered his head. So much potential with the landscape at his house, yet he’d never be able to release that potential.

You’re spinning your wheels.
Hutchins’ words surfaced in his mind.

“Yeah, Stan Man, I can agree with that.” The “stuck” feeling he carried felt worse than the physical pain he’d endured. Something had to give.

He reached for
The Schreiber Times
beside him and opened to the classifieds, scanning the job listings until his gaze fell on the header,
Mechanic Wanted.
Hiding under the hood of a car all day might suit him. He’d tuck that option away for future thought.

Folding the paper, he considered other alternatives. “I could join the circus, Stan Man.” He could hear the Ringmaster, see his hand sweep to the sawdust center. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The World’s Ugliest Man!” Then the children’s screams, laughter, finger-pointing, the horror etched on faces. “No, Stan Man. I like to travel, but the circus couldn’t pay me enough to subject myself to that kind of torment.”

He could return to Schreiber Metal Works. Probably the most logical move, but he wasn’t at all sure he could go back. The mere thought of returning to his old job with the potential for more costly accidents churned his stomach. His life had changed forever with one explosion. Celeste’s life had changed forever. Shaking his head, he turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb. No, most likely he’d never go back to Schreiber Metal Works.

But maybe he could follow Hutchins’ advice and start by volunteering some place. Test the waters. If he was going to live—and he was pretty sure he wanted to now, although he didn’t know exactly why, maybe just to keep an eye on his lovely bride—then he’d have to do 

something, somewhere.

An idea flashed into his mind as he neared the street leading to his apartment complex. The Brighton Center. Those misfits would welcome him. But what about Celeste? Would she recognize him? He glanced in the rearview mirror. How could she?

###

             
Celeste wrapped her sweater around her chest and walked to the garage. A steady mewing sound, more urgent than when she and Lily discovered the kittens, flowed from the back.

              She moved toward the noise. Dread cloaked her abdomen. No mother cat. She knelt and examined the hungry litter. Eyes closed, the kittens huddled together for comfort and warmth. The poor cat with life snuffed out on the road was most likely mother to these tiny fur balls.

She sighed. These kittens were babies without a mama, and she was a mama without a baby. Such injustice. An irreparable grief. Sudden emotion overwhelmed her, and her eyes flooded with tears. Nothing she could do for her own baby now, but at least she could care for these helpless creatures.

But first a trip to the grocery store. She’d pick up some milk. Upon her return, if mama cat hadn’t shown up yet, she’d take the kittens inside. She rushed back to the kitchen, checked the pantry and fridge for other items she might need, scribbled a list on a scrap of paper, and darted out the door.

Marsh Supermarket buzzed with activity as she stepped inside and retrieved a cart. She whizzed around several customers, nearly bumping into an elderly woman.
I hate shopping on Saturdays!
She typically dropped by the store on Tuesdays after work. But this was an emergency of sorts. Kittens required milk, after all.

She dug out her list from her jeans pocket while navigating the cart through the produce section. The wheels kept veering to the left, and whenever she tried to tug the unruly thing, they produced an irritating squeak. A desperate yank caused the cart to overshoot the center and lop over to the right.