Inevitable Sentences (3 page)

The baby began to cry. Tomika bolted up and ran to her. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

Celeste circled an arm around Tomika. “Gemma’s fine. She’s probably hungry. Let’s get you back by that fire. We’ll get Gemma settled.”

Priscilla dragged out a cradle that was usually stored near the bookcases, and placed it by the fire. “Gemma needs to be changed and put into warmer clothes. Then we need to get her some formula.”

From a nearby chest, Celeste pulled out diapers and baby clothes. “Even though these might be too big, they’ll do until we buy others.” She handed them to Priscilla. “We’ll give her a bath tomorrow when things calm down.” She turned to Adrian. “Will you and Marcy finish the dinner preparations, please, while I speak to Priscilla about Tomika?”

Celeste checked the young woman. Although Tomika never took her eyes off Gemma, she seemed to realize she was in safe hands. “And would you get a bottle for the baby?”

“Sure.” Adrian laid Gemma in the cradle still wrapped in the tattered blanket she had arrived in and went with Marcy to the kitchen.

Priscilla removed the blanket and swiftly changed Gemma. “Well,” she said, straightening from her task, “at least she’s dry and warm.” She laid a hand on Gemma’s stomach. “You’ll soon have this filled, too.”

“What do you know about Tomika?” Celeste asked.

Before she could answer, Lorraine returned with a sweater, socks, and sweatpants. “I think these will fit.”

“Thank you, Lorraine. Will you help Tomika change? When you’re through, see if she’d like to use the bathroom.” Maybe Lorraine’s involvement with Tomika would diminish whatever concern she had for the newcomer.

Lorraine didn’t argue this time. Instead, she knelt next to Tomika and gently helped remove her shoes. Celeste shook her head at Lorraine. She was such a puzzle.

Celeste and Priscilla huddled in the area closest to the bookcases on the other side of the room to be out of Lorraine and Tomika’s hearing range. As Priscilla’s tale unfolded about how she had come upon Tomika, Celeste could only marvel about that wild card in life: chance.

T
OMIKA HAD TURNED TWENTY
the day before. Gemma had only been born three months ago. Tonight, Tomika had escaped from her boyfriend, who was nearly twice her age. He was so drunk, he passed out on the living room floor before he could lock Tomika up for the night like he usually did. She knew it would be her only chance to get out so she grabbed a jacket, wrapped Gemma in a blanket, and ran from the house. She ran and ran.

By some miracle Priscilla was in Lansing for a meeting, driving the same road on which Tomika had fled, and spotted the desperate woman, who had no idea where she was going or in what direction she was headed. Tomika jumped into the car with little persuasion.

Once inside, she collapsed in hysteria and poured out a horrific tale to Priscilla. For the past two years she’d been held like a hostage in a farmhouse with no neighbors for two miles and no phone, except Herman’s cell. She was never allowed out of the house unless her boyfriend was with her. She had no friends and no family to speak of. Her only sibling, Danny, was in prison, and her parents had died in a car accident two years earlier.

While Tomika talked, Priscilla changed course, driving the rest of the night to the lighthouse. Thank heavens the weather hadn’t turned bad until she crossed over the Mackinaw Bridge. Other than the clothes Tomika and Gemma wore, the jacket and blanket were the only items they had escaped with.

“I knew you’d have clothes for Tomika.” Priscilla smiled. “You always do. Look at Marcy.” Priscilla nodded at Marcy as she flitted back and forth in the kitchen busy with dinner. “She’s wearing one of the linen outfits from your past life—a befitting hand-me-down.”

Celeste glanced at Marcy. “She looks better in them.”

Priscilla continued Tomika’s story. She had met her boyfriend when she worked at Hooters in Lansing. She was attending Lansing Community College and had the full intention of saving enough money to go to Michigan State and major in pre-med. Instead, Herman swept her off her feet, promising to pay her tuition if she moved in with him. She agreed, but he never kept his promise. At present, she’d settle for a nursing degree, if she ever got the opportunity.

“When Tomika finished rattling off her history,” Priscilla finished the saga, “she fell into a coma-like state for the rest of the drive here. She didn’t say one more word except what you heard when she got out of the car.” Priscilla let out a loud sigh. She looked exhausted.

Celeste counted her blessings. Marcus had never hurt either her or Pilar, and he let them have their independence, to a degree. He settled on ignoring or belittling them. Women weren’t worth much to him, except for sexual pleasures, or to be displayed at the Gross Pointe Country Club.

“Priscilla, will you stay for dinner?” Celeste asked. “And maybe even for the night?”

“No. Not tonight.” Priscilla started for the door. “I’ve got to be at the prison early tomorrow. There never seems to be rest for a psychologist at Hawk Haven. Plus, I also promised Lizzie Chat-field I’d have dinner with her after her shift, which means I won’t be here tomorrow either.” She sighed again. “I know I’ve been Lizzie’s best friend since grade school, but”—Priscilla frowned—“I’m getting tired of helping her sort out all her bad love affairs. I’m sure our dinner conversation will focus on her latest tragic, soap-opera-style relationship.” Priscilla buttoned her trench coat. “I’ll be by day after tomorrow,” she added as she opened the door. “Sorry to leave so abruptly with a new arrival. Will you have enough help?”

“Yes. The two volunteer students will be here. You know them—Beth and Kip.” Celeste was grateful for their help. “And, of course Adrian, who has been a godsend. As you know, she’s become my right hand.”

“Good. They’ve all been a great help.” Her expression showed her relief.

“Yes, except the students graduate this spring. I’ll have to find replacements.” Celeste looked toward the kitchen. “I’m hoping I can persuade Adrian to stay on here as my assistant.”

“Great idea for both of you.” Priscilla’s smile was wide but tired. “I believe she’s up to the job. You have to convince her that she has both the strength and intelligence to handle the task.”

“Yes, I know. Although I doubt I’ll be the one to show her the light. I think she’ll find that on her own.” Celeste glanced at the snow, coming down hard, and frowned at the worsening weather. “Be careful driving,” she cautioned. “Those roads are probably slick.”

“I’ll be all right. You forget that I was raised up here, and I’m used to these conditions.”

Celeste hugged Priscilla. Although she was five-foot-eight herself, she felt dwarfed by Priscilla. “Thanks for all you do for us here,” Celeste said. “I know it’s hard.”

Priscilla shrugged, then pecked Celeste’s cheek and headed for her car.

As Celeste watched her get into her SUV, she remembered the first time she had met Priscilla. It was shortly after buying the lighthouse. Max introduced them. He had known Priscilla’s parents for twenty years, and Priscilla’s physician father had only died a year before. Her mother, a retired teacher, lived in Florida.

Celeste had immediately liked the soft-spoken psychologist who was a year younger than Pilar would have been. Yet, much as she was drawn to the woman, Celeste was also taken aback to discover a prejudice within herself—she expected a woman built on Priscilla’s grand scale (six feet tall and plump) to present a more boisterous, intrusive presence. The only loud part of Priscilla, however, was her outrageously red hair that circled her face in curls and was always pleasantly out of control. Her voice was quiet and her smile charmed with dimples. Her eyes—stunning jade—did most of the talking. Soon into the friendship Celeste realized that Priscilla moved with a ballerina’s grace. She counted Priscilla as one of her dearest friends.

Priscilla became employed at Hawk Haven shortly after Pilar’s murder when the male psychologist left suddenly. It was rumored he had had a breakdown. Despite the rumor, Priscilla was up to the job. She confessed she liked it. She had also survived an abusive marriage herself, and had volunteered her counseling services to the harbored women ever since Celeste opened the safe house. No one could possibly help the women any better than a psychologist who had been through the same thing. The women listened to her because she’d been down the same horrible road they had and had made it.

Priscilla had met her husband, Dwayne, when they were both in graduate school at Berkeley. She never shared a great deal about that relationship with Celeste, except that as a couple they dabbled in “social drugs,” as Priscilla called it. “Who didn’t?” she had asked. But Dwayne went too far and became an addict. With addiction came abuse.

Celeste believed Priscilla guarded her history in an effort to forget her past. Weren’t they all trying to get on with their lives? Fortunately for all of them, Dwayne was serving twenty-five years to life in a California prison for an armed robbery and murder.

Still, Celeste felt Priscilla was hiding more than she let on. She concealed herself in layers of skirts, shirts, and oversized jumpers, which made her appear even larger than she was. Her attire was the opposite of Celeste’s casual, carefully chosen outfits that complimented her natural shape and coloring. Celeste still pressed her jeans, a longtime practice that had been too hard for her to give up. She shook her head. Some old habits died bit by bit, not all at once.

Still, as large as Priscilla was and dressed the way she was, Celeste saw only beauty and grace. She wished Priscilla could see herself that way too. Celeste didn’t believe Priscilla chose her wardrobe for comfort. Rather, she believed Priscilla was afraid to show any part of herself, whether physical or emotional.

Priscilla had become such an asset. From the shelter’s beginnings, Celeste had thought it would be difficult to find a paid psychologist or social worker to counsel the women in such a remote area. Then along came Priscilla and the problem was solved.

W
HEN PRISCILLA’S CAR DISAPPEARED
into the forested darkness, Celeste closed the door and walked through the kitchen. “You two seem to have everything under control in here,” she said to Adrian and Marcy. “It smells wonderful.” Adrian had proved to be a natural cook.

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Adrian said. “I hope you’re still hungry.”

Celeste wasn’t sure how much she could get down, although she knew she had to eat, if only to set an example for everyone else. She had to be the one to reassure the household everything would move forward as usual, no matter the interruption. She nodded to Adrian and checked Gemma, asleep in the cradle. The baby’s cheeks had taken on a satisfying blush, and she was breathing lightly, clearly at ease.

“I fed her a bottle,” Lorraine said, as though offering Celeste an apology.

“Good. She looks quite content.” Celeste turned to Tomika. “How’s mama?” Tomika didn’t answer. She did glance in Celeste’s direction, but still seemed dazed. Celeste couldn’t tell if her question had even registered. She retrieved a knitted throw from one of the couches and laid it over Tomika’s lap. “Are you warm enough, dear?”

Tomika raised her head slightly, but still didn’t respond.

“Well.” Celeste straightened. “Perhaps you’ll eat a little something.”

No sooner had Celeste said that than Adrian announced, “Dinner is ready and on the table.”

Within minutes everyone was seated, including Tomika. Somehow Lorraine had persuaded her to join them. Perhaps Lorraine no longer felt threatened. Perhaps she felt she saw someone in more need of help than herself at the moment. Celeste was encouraged seeing a caring attitude come from Lorraine.

Other than the children’s usual chatter, the only other sounds were forks scraping the plates and the occasional request for a platter of food to be passed. Celeste and the women ate in silence, no doubt each remembering her first night at the lighthouse and contemplating how Tomika and Gemma would affect their lives.

M
AX
W
HITEFEATHER CLICKED OFF
the TV and slammed the remote on the table near his bed.

The nurse jumped. “Aren’t we a little cranky this evening?” She strutted to his bedside with authority. Her ultra-white, Mary-Jane-style running shoes squeaked with each step.

“I’m not sure how you’re feeling, Ms. Hooper,” Max snarled, “but I can tell you that I’m bored to death lying around in this place. Seems I’ve left one prison only to be confined in another.” He lifted the arm that was tethered to an IV as he focused on the machines that continuously monitored his heart, lungs, and every other body system. The constant bleep, bleep, bleep drove him crazy.

At least that sound meant he was still alive.

“You haven’t been here that long, Mr. Whitefeather,” Ms. Hooper scolded.

“Four days. I know because all those tubes inserted in my chest for draining were removed today.” Max smiled proudly as he pointed to his chest. “At least that blasted machine is finally quiet.”

“Plus,” Hooper continued, admonishing him as only she could, with her expressive, unusually large hazel eyes narrowed in disapproval. “You had several visitors to keep you busy today—your son and his wife, that deputy warden, and your secretary.” With each name she opened her fist one more finger.

If it weren’t for Hooper’s cute freckles, Max might have been intimidated by her no-nonsense, larger-than-life confidence. “My former secretary,” Max corrected. “How can we forget the other company—the doctor, who is younger than my son, a parade of nurses’ aides, the physiotherapist, and …” He grimaced and shook his head. “What difference does it make who was here?”

“Besides, Mister Whitefeather,” Hooper said, ignoring his comments, “the only sentence you face is to live a healthy lifestyle, which means no stress and no return visits to Marquette General—if we can get you out of here in the first place.” Hooper put her hands on her hips—a defiant gesture that contrasted with her bright pink floral scrub shirt and solid pink pants. “You weren’t home a month after your last visit when an ambulance dragged you back here. You must be collecting those stents. You have more than anyone I know. And now the valve replacement.”