The Choice (31 page)

“Don’t be like that.” Sam scooped her up in his arms and lifted her with a speed that had Marcie’s mouth falling open.

“Put me down. I don’t need your help. I don’t want it. I can do this myself.” Damn, it felt so good to be in his arms, but she was still mad and wanted to wallow a bit longer, ignore him and give him the cold shoulder. So she hit his arm, anywhere to inflict the same hurt. Then burst into tears, because her heart wasn’t in it.

“Put her down, now!” She didn’t see Richard race down from the porch. But she saw a madman, who appeared wound so tight he itched to take something on.

“Back off Richard, this doesn’t concern you.”

But Richard didn’t, instead he jabbed a finger at Sam, into the crest of the sea lions pasted on Sam’s dark blue shirtfront. Marcie flinched from the fury erupting from every part of Richard.

“Well actually, yes it does; put her down now.” He stepped in closer, provoking Sam the way a man does, when he’s searching for a fight. Marcie reached out and touched Richard’s shoulder. For a moment, she thought he’d knock her hand away. She could feel the ire vibrating inside him. He was beyond reason, and Sam acted like a possessive child, refusing to let her down. In fact, his steel arms, one clamped under her knees, the other around her back, held her like a vice. She looked from Richard to Sam, fully aware she was caught in the middle. What bled from their eyes was truly barbaric—two overtired, irritable alpha males, fighting over a woman; establishing turf rules, neither willing to back down.

“Hey!” Jesse yelled from the back door as he started toward them. His jacket long gone; his bulky black shirt hung over his baggy blue jeans. Who knew such a large man could move so fast? ,. Maggie and Diane dressed just as casually, were right behind Jesse running into the middle of the ruckus, trying to pull the two venting men apart. And that’s when things really came unglued. Richard was so wrapped up in his anger that when Maggie grabbed his arm to pull him back, he shook her off, and she stumbled back a few steps, losing her footing.

“Hey, hey, guys knock it off!” Diane yelled as she caught Maggie before she landed in the dirt. Jesse stepped between Richard and Sam just as Sam set Marcie down to lunge at Richard. Jesse butted Sam back with his shoulder and then placed the flat of his hand on each of their chests. Although they jostled him and reached around to grab at each other’s shirt, Jesse’s large arms flexed as he stood his ground.

A wretched high-pitched scream stopped everyone cold. Eight-year-old Ryley, jean clad, wearing scuffed up sneakers and a Sponge Bob T-shirt stood on the top step holding five-year-old Lily’s hand. His sister Lily was a tiny girl with dark springy curls, barefoot, wearing a simple yellow cotton dress. But when Marcie looked closer, Ryley held Lily’s limp hand while she stared vacantly into space. Then she shrieked again, this time louder, and Maggie ran to her, stumbling in the dirt before she reached the steps.

Ryley, at first glance, appeared a typical little boy. But typical nine-year-old boys, didn’t hold on to fear and freeze on the stairs when their dad lost it. They didn’t hold worry in their innocent eyes. And even when he dropped his sister’s hand because his mother took charge of his helpless sister by picking her up and carrying her inside the house, kicking and screaming, Ryley, for one split moment, appeared lost.

A film of tears glossed over Ryley’s fragile sky blue eyes. He raced down the steps and launched himself at Richard. Richard’s face tinged pink. He kneeled down and clutched a very scared and shaken little boy. His eyes shuttered closed, in a way a man does, when he’s appalled by what he’s done.

“Dad, you scared me.” Ryley couldn’t hold back the high-pitched sob.

“I’m sorry.” All the hardness in Richard’s voice had dissolved.

Marcie gazed up at Sam. She stood with all her weight on her uninjured foot beside him, leaning against the SUV. All her physical aches pushed aside as she drowned in the aftermath of her part in this shameful and childish exhibit.

Sam had the most amazing focus. He planted his hands on his hips and watched Maggie and her child, through the screen door, as if really seeing this deeply caring woman for the first time. Not even the breeze that kicked up, fluttering his short sleeves distracted him. When he glanced over at Marcie, the quiet sympathy filling his warm blue eyes became an unasked question. One he didn’t need to voice.

“Lily has autism. She would’ve picked up all of our emotions. And she reacted the only way she could.” Marcie listened to the muffled screams of the tiny child echo deep inside the house. What Marcie knew about Lily, something Richard and Maggie didn’t, is their child lived on both sides—the spirit and the physical world, stuck, in a void that mixed as well as oil and water. Marcie, at times, could see past the veil. But Lily had no veil and struggled to fit in her physical body. Which was why she reacted so violently to touch, sound and emotions. A simple pair of wool socks, touching her skin could throw her into hysterics, as could the doorbell, the smoke alarm and two angry men out of control.

Jesse stood between Sam and Richard.

Diane’s chest heaved, as if she’d sprinted up the driveway. Her short-cropped hair still stuck up on one side. “Richard, Sam, Marcie, we’ve got some things to go over. Hey Ryley, do us a favor, go tell your mom we’ll order dinner in, and you get to decide what.” Diane ruffled Ryley’s short dark hair, as he wiped his tear-stained eyes while clutching his father’s large, working man’s hand.

Richard in a playful, lighthearted way stood up. Dirt caked his pants, as he winced, covering his hand over his heart. “I vote Chinese, not pizza.”

“Dad, I want pizza.” A now composed Ryley took off toward the house, but stopped at the door and turned to his dad. With big eyes and a slight shake in his voice, he asked, “You’re not going to fight again are you?”

“No bud, no one’s going to fight. I promise we’re going to stay out here and talk real nice. You can go on the computer in my study and play the new game you’re so hot about.”

“Mystic Warriors!” He jumped. Throwing his arms up in victory and then yanked open the screen door, letting it bounce off the dark cedar as he raced inside.

“Let’s talk down by the willow, we’ll be far enough away so the kids won’t overhear. Marcie, can I help you?” All Richard’s pent up fury zapped away liked a popped balloon when he saw what it did to his kid.

“Thanks Richard, but I have crutches. I can hobble along.”

Sam must’ve taken that as his cue and produced a pair of crutches from the back of the SUV. This time he kept a respectful distance as he handed them to Marcie. He wouldn’t look at her, and Marcie couldn’t shake the awkward ache adding a few more inches to the gulf between them.

Jesse held out his muscular arms the way a padded down football player does and walked between Sam and Richard. Smart man, he didn’t trust this shaky truce, even though it was for the children’s benefit.

They wandered to the freshly stained picnic table and four patio chairs, nestled beside a huge weeping willow tree, a safe distance from the front of the house.

Marcie let out an ungraceful moan as she sat in one of the blue plastic chairs. Sam slid a second chair in front of her, so she could elevate her leg. “Thank you.”

They were polite strangers, which she didn’t much care for.

Her foot throbbed and tingled, leaving her groggy and not as clear-headed as she’d like to be. But lucid enough to see stress and anguish lining Richard’s face, the same as reflected on Diane’s face. Jesse looked pissed, as he dropped into the chair beside Marcie.

Sam spoke from behind her. “What’s going on?”

“When Maggie took the first load of marijuana to Sandra’s house. Sandra emptied the duffle bags around the two handicapped boys, hanging the bud to dry in the same room the boys slept. They inhaled the odor all night. Marcie, we understand you planned to call the sheriff after Sandra had all the marijuana.”

Marcie shut her eyes as she remembered those helpless teens. “I screwed up, and those poor kids are going to suffer because I didn’t finish.”

Sam pressed a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“It was a good idea, Marcie. And you were right. She has a contract for respite care with the Department of Social and Health Services. Getting caught with all that marijuana, would’ve brought charges of trafficking.” Diane perched on the bench seat of the picnic table across from Marcie. Richard lounged in the remaining chair beside Diane.

Diane clasped her hands and dangled them between her legs as she leaned forward. “I called a friend of mine who’s a social worker to see if she could pull those kids out of there. Fortunately, she didn’t have to. They went home this morning. Apparently, she had them for the last couple of days. My friend checked on the type of contract Sandra has. It’s not a group home contract. But when she has a suitable house large enough, she will. In the meantime she’ll be doing respite care for severely disabled teens and mentally challenged adults. She’s making good money.”

“How could a drug dealer get a contract?” Jesse asked the question they were all thinking.

Diane shrugged out of her dark jacket. It was warmer out of the breeze. “Well, no one knows about her sideline. She has a university background as a child and youth care worker as well as a physiotherapy degree. She’s worked for the state and local hospitals for many years caring for the severely disabled. They see a different side of her. A respectable side doing work very few want to. She’s smart. She can go virtually undetected as a grower and dealer. The authorities won’t believe us, and my friend got her hand slapped from digging too much. The program manager’s a friend of Sandra’s. Several state employees speak highly of her skill as a care worker. What I’m going to tell you guys stays between us until I can figure out what to do. The state agency doesn’t want to push too hard to know what she’s doing because they’ll look bad.”

“So how much money does Sandra get paid for looking after these kids?” Sam never left his spot behind Marcie.

Diane’s face tinged pink. “$7,000 per kid per month.” She ground her jaw as she spoke.

“Holy shit, what the hell’s wrong with DSHS? Aren’t they supposed to be protecting the special needs?” Sam really was out of the loop.

“Sam. Our kids are just a number. The government people don’t give a crap about what happens to them.” Richard’s deep voice dripped with sarcasm while he squeezed the arms of the chair to the point Marcie wondered if they’d snap off.

“Richard, that’s not fair. Most social workers do care, a lot. But their hands are tied. They’re told what to do, what to say and when to look the other way. This government gives contracts to friends and abuses power. It’s severely flawed. If there’s a problem, they hide it. But I promise you, I won’t let this go. We’ll expose what she’s doing, but we need to stay smart.”

“So when does that happen, Diane? Is that before or after one of those kids gets hurt or maybe dies?” Richard’s temper smoldered in his eyes.

Sam wiped his hand over his face. “Wait, I still don’t understand. I get the part where she’s friends with this manager. But I thought the application process was strict. There are safety issues, right? What about the background check? Isn’t the social worker supposed to talk to the neighbors? And how would the state even go along with having the disabled stuffed way out in the middle of nowhere, cut off from the rest of the world?”

“Sam, social workers initiate referrals to a program manager who issues the contract. The program manager is apparently very supportive of Sandra, and according to my friend, has personally visited the property and met with Dan as the property owner. Your questions would be valid, if we were dealing with logical people. But you need to know there’s an arrangement between, Dan, Sandra and the program manager.”

“I’d like to know if maybe this program manager isn’t, in fact, involved in the grow ops with Sandra. It’d make sense. Most of her friends work for DSHS. She has tons of out of control parties, and her friends are always there. When Sandra harvested the first grow show in one of the houses on Dan’s property, she used the state handicap van to transport the weed, one of her co-workers helped.” Marcie spoke so calmly, caging the rage bubbling inside at this injustice.

“Oh my God. Marcie, are you serious?” Diane, who had remained so controlled and cool, now paced in front of her.

“Marcie folded her hands in prayer, immersed deep in thought.

“What I’d like to know is how you, Richard, could even consider being a partner with Dan, who’s involved with the likes of Sandra. You have a special needs kid. You make absolutely no sense.” Jesse stretched out his legs and crossed his arms, hammering Richard with his coal dark gaze.

Richard vented a disgusted laugh. “I went into partnership with Dan long before Sandra came on the scene. I’ve known Dan a good many years. We worked construction together before I met Maggie. I knew he smoked marijuana, grew his own, big deal. Lots of people do. Doesn’t make them drug dealers. Dan had a good idea with this land when we bought it together. The real estate market was good then too. We’d provide affordable housing while creating our own little nest egg. These big grow shows of his started after.”

“Sandra comes from a totally dysfunctional family in Port Angeles, but she never used to be this bad. I know she had some trouble a few years back. Was raped, but then she hung around a really bad crowd. Can’t say it was any surprise after Dan told me. I suppose that’s part of what changed her. Still don’t understand this need of hers to look after special needs kids.”