Bringing Maddie Home(13)
Author: Janice Kay Johnson

The turn signal was on. Click, click, click. Dad was tapping the steering wheel impatiently, too. She slouched in the front seat beside him, wishing Felix was coming, too. Hanging around the resort all day alone would be boring, but better than staying home. Mom had wanted to take her back-to-school shopping. Maddie hated shopping. Mom always picked out clothes she liked. She didn’t even listen when Maddie tried to tell her what she liked. Suddenly sulky, she thought, I’ll never be pretty anyway, never. So why does she bother?

Oh, well. Once they reached the resort, Dad wouldn’t pay any attention to her. She could feed the chipmunks—she liked doing that. She’d dangle her feet in the lake and lie on her stomach on the slab of rock and watch the silver flash of the minnows as they darted in the clear water. She’d brought a couple of books, too. Sitting in the sun and reading made her happy….

A car horn startled her back to the present. The light had changed to green and she shook herself and started forward cautiously. This time she drove straight to the Newberry Inn and parked, although she made no immediate move to get out.

She was breathing hard. This was like being schizophrenic or having multiple personalities. No, worse, like having someone else crawl under her skin. She wanted to remember, but she didn’t want to sink into memories so powerful she was there and not here. And they weren’t even helpful! They all seemed to be these dumb, random moments when nothing important was happening. Along with this most recent memory came the knowledge that she’d often gone to work with her father during the summer. Mostly, she’d liked going, because otherwise her mother would organize her. Sign her up for activities at the park or the seasonal swim team or—one horrible summer—ballet. Her parents just wouldn’t give up. They couldn’t understand how she could be so klutzy instead of athletic like her brother.

Nell gripped the steering wheel and thought, I’m just not. Disconcerted, she didn’t even know if that thought was hers, or Maddie’s.

And to think she’d been envious when the friends in her book club reminisced about playing the clarinet in fifth grade or having to wear the world’s ugliest saddle shoes for two whole years to correct flat arches. Or a first kiss to cement a relationship started when his friends told her friends he liked her and she said he could be her boyfriend because he was the fourth cutest boy in the class so why not. Nell didn’t have those kinds of memories. I’m not a whole person, she used to think. I must have been normal once, before…whatever it was that happened. Maybe I played the clarinet, too, or the flute. There might have been a first kiss, in fifth or sixth grade. Except adult Nell looked at her still slight body and plain brown hair and the sprinkle of freckles and doubted any of the boys in fifth or sixth grade had thought of her that way.

Although later, there had been men who wanted a girl who looked even younger than she really was.

She didn’t let herself linger on those memories.

Talking and laughing, two women passed in front of her car on the way to the inn, and Nell looked at her watch. Twelve-thirty. Her mother was probably waiting for her.

This was what she was here for, she reminded herself.

So don’t be a wuss. Get on with it.

Feeling unexpectedly shaky, she got out, locked the car and followed the women to the front entrance.

* * *

AS HE WAITED for the garage door to lift so he could drive in, Colin smiled at the sight of the lights already on in the house.

Crossing the yard a minute later, Colin realized ruefully how unfamiliar this sense of anticipation was. Maybe he’d been an idiot to let memories of his own screwed-up family keep him from ever seriously considering marriage or starting a family of his own. Life was damn lonely without.

Yeah, but how could he asked a woman to marry him when he didn’t even want to hold hands with her?

The memory of Nell’s small hand in his slid under his guard, disturbing him. As did the thought that he wouldn’t have her here now, if he had a wife.

The frown slid away as soon as he turned the key in the lock. At least she’d been smart enough to lock the door after letting herself in.

“It’s me,” he called, and Nell appeared immediately.

“Dinner will be ready as soon as I cook the spaghetti. I didn’t want it to get mushy if you were held up.”

He smiled, taking in her appearance. She’d dressed up a little for her day, in slacks and a sort of modern-day version of a twinset. She’d shed her shoes now, though, and was padding around his house in stocking feet. Cute socks—striped purple and school-bus-yellow. Interesting that when her clothing choices were subdued, she’d choose something so loud for the garments she expected to remain unseen. That thought made Colin wonder what her bra and panties looked like.

A stirring of arousal had him trying to block that particular speculation.

“How was your day?” she asked, then wrinkled her nose. “That sounds Stepford-wife, doesn’t it? Sorry.”

“I like that you asked,” he said, tugging at the knot on his tie. “And my day was routine. Let me change clothes.”

Once he was more comfortable in jeans and a sweatshirt, he followed the sound of running water to the kitchen.

“Smells good.”

“I’m best at Italian. I hope you like it.”

“Love it. Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head, then changed her mind. “I haven’t looked for place mats yet, or whatever you use.”

“I’ll set the table.” He didn’t tell her he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a place mat from the drawer in the buffet. He ate at the breakfast bar, rarely lingering. He did cook for himself, unlike when he was younger and more likely to grab a bite on the way home, but he didn’t make a production out of the dining part. Why bother, when he was alone?

Steam rose from the stockpot on the stove, and Nell measured out spaghetti and let it slide into the boiling water. Then she stirred the sauce bubbling beside it, tasted a small sample and said, “Yum.”

His stomach grumbled.

“I’m amazed at how much the town has grown,” Nell commented, clearly feeling the need to make conversation. “My memory is good enough to know it didn’t look like this when I left.”

“No. I’ve been here while the growth happened, and still have moments of disbelief.”

“Is it all because of the new Nordic Center?”

“That was a catalyst, but the tourist industry in this entire region of central Oregon is booming. We’re getting a lot of retirees, too. Good medical care, clean air, plenty of recreational and cultural opportunities. Bend and Sun River have gotten so expensive, newcomers started looking to towns like La Pine and Angel Butte, up north to Redmond. The skiers still have reasonable access to Mount Bachelor, but they can live a little cheaper and with less crowding.”

“If you say so.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll concede Angel Butte doesn’t look like Seattle or the suburbs yet, although there’s more resemblance than there used to be.” She turned off one burner. “Do you want to dish up at the stove, or should I use serving bowls?”

“We can dish up here. Let’s save on the washing up.”

She grinned impishly at him. “Is that because I’m the cook and therefore you’re the washer-upper?”

Wow. An emotion he hardly understood slammed him, leaving him unable to give her a light answer. This was the first time he’d seen her face relaxed, her eyes alight with humor. Was this what she’d been like before, with a few words, he’d threatened the life she so carefully built?

I know you.

He had been so damn happy to find her, he hadn’t let her obvious fear and resistance stop him.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, and he realized her smile had vanished and she was staring at him with wide-eyed alarm.

“Nothing.” Self-recrimination came a little late, didn’t it? And he still didn’t know whether she was better off recovering her past. “I’m sorry. It was, uh, the way you were smiling. I haven’t seen you do a lot of that.”

Her eyes searched his. “You haven’t seen me at my best.”

He remembered the snippet captured by the television camera, when she’d spoken so softly with that pathetically young and very pregnant teenager, then hugged her so gently.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He cleared his throat. “Just…not happy, I guess. That’s what hit me. Maybe you were before I blew your safe little world out of the water.”

“The first day, that’s what I thought… Oh!” she exclaimed, turning to the stove. She mumbled to herself in obvious exasperation as she snatched the heavy pan off the burner.

Once they’d dished up and sat down, he got her talking about her day. The nuances of her voice were familiar, but now he could watch the flickers of expression on her face, too. During their phone calls he’d craved the sight of her.

She told him about the two teachers she’d managed to talk to, one of whom she didn’t remember at all and who she thought remembered her only because of the publicity surrounding her disappearance. Her face softened when she talked about the other teacher, though, a Mrs. Chisholm.

“She was the best. Even I hadn’t managed to forget her,” she said with a little laugh. “We hugged, and she had tears in her eyes.”

“Hey…” Fork halfway to his mouth, he paused. “I had a Mrs. Chisholm for freshman English. Big, strong woman?”

“That’s her.”

“Oh, God. Romeo and Juliet.”

She giggled. Solemn Nell Smith giggled. “Did she make you read Romeo?”

“Mercutio. Turns out he was a mumbler.”

Her face was still bright with laughter. “That fulsome language scared you, did it?”

“I felt like an idiot. Unfortunately, everyone else did, too. Had to be the worst Shakespeare read-aloud ever.”

“I know what you mean. But when she read Shakespeare or anything else…”

“Yeah, she had a voice, didn’t she?” His a**hole father had met her during a rare showing at a parent-teacher conference, and on his way home he’d suggested she could have made big bucks working for a sex hotline. Colin remembered cringing. Mrs. Chisholm and sex, in the same sentence? Of course, after that he couldn’t get it out of his head and a couple of times had closed his eyes and tried to imagine while she read aloud. His conclusion was that he would never, no matter how desperate, call one of those numbers. The sexy voice on the other end could be from an eighty-year-old grandmother. Or—God—Mrs. Chisholm.

After a minute, he asked Nell how lunch with her mother had gone and saw her expression shut down.

“It was…fine.” She scowled. “No, weird is a better word. I’ve had friendlier get-togethers with parents who were mad we’d taken their kid into SafeHold. She was so distant. And I kept thinking she must know other people having lunch at the inn. I was braced for her to introduce me around and what the reaction would be. But we sat by a window, out of the way, and she didn’t say anything to anybody. I got to wondering whether she’d requested the table in advance so she didn’t have to introduce me.”

She was trying to hide the hurt, but not completely succeeding. As if fear and pain stripped her of some layers, she always looked younger at moments like this. More like the Maddie whose picture had been on his bulletin board for so many years, he couldn’t help thinking. Maddie meant nothing good to Nell Smith. The understanding made him feel guiltier than ever.

Colin didn’t blame her for hurting at her mother’s coolness, either. His father was abusive, his mother walked out on him, but at least there’d been emotion in his house. Good, hideous, everything in between. Then, he’d thought anything would be better. Now, he wasn’t so sure, not when he saw Nell’s face so pale that the freckles stood out in sharp relief.

To think how much sympathy he’d wasted on the Dubeaus, terrified for their daughter, mourning her—or so he’d thought.

“Back then,” he said slowly, “I noticed your mother always hung back at public appearances. I thought she was in shock and trying hard not to break down where she could be seen. I respected her dignity.”

“And now you wonder if she was feeling anything at all.”

“I guess that is what I’m wondering.”

Nell twirled spaghetti with great concentration but didn’t lift it to her mouth. “I had this really vivid memory today,” she said haltingly. “Nothing important, but I knew in it that I was a disappointment to my parents, and especially my mother. Not pretty enough, not athletic or graceful. I was relieved that I was going to the resort to hang out all day partly because it got me away from Mom.”

“I’m sorry,” he said gently.

She bent her head. “I am, too.”

He made sure the conversation was more general until they finished eating, but when she stood and said she would put the coffee on, he shook his head.

“There’s something we need to talk about first.”

She sank back into her chair, her eyes locked on his. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll like it,” he admitted. “It occurred to me today that rumors are going to start spreading like wildfire. You’ll run into people you’ve completely forgotten but who recognize you. Let’s head off the necessity of you having to explain yourself over and over by holding a press conference.”

She gaped.

“We’ll bring your parents in on it. We have a daily newspaper, Bend does, of course, and La Pine has a weekly. A stringer for the Oregonian will show up. Local TV news. Let’s get it over with in a controlled venue.” Seeing her horror, he wished he could shield her from all of this. And by God he wished her parents had fallen on her with tears and joy. “You can’t stay incognito anymore, Nell,” he said, regret sounding in his voice.