Forget about it, Maggie. Think about something else.
Images shot through her mind—the blond girl, the onions in her shopping cart, the policeman—as Maggie pulled into the school parking lot, she was horrifyingly aware that the sense of approaching doom was worse. It clawed at her with every step, making it nearly impossible for her to breathe as she found her way inside the school, comforted the crying twin boys, and led them back to the car.
When they were buckled in, Maggie rested her head on the steering wheel and began to cry, too. At first the sobs were muffled, but within a few minutes she was wailing, terrified by the despair that seemed to be sucking the life from her.
Where am I? Why am I weeping in the school parking lot and why can’t I think clearly?
“Mrs. Stovall, what’s wrong?” It was Casey and he’d stopped his own crying.
Oh no…I’ve scared him.
She straightened in her seat and quickly wiped her eyes. The child’s question cleared the fog and brought everything into focus again. She was crying because she’d been so busy looking for a little girl that didn’t exist she’d forgotten her foster boys at the bus stop. She was crying because thirty minutes ago she’d been on the verge of being arrested and losing everything she had ever worked for over the past seven years.
And she couldn’t think clearly because she was going crazy What other explanation could there be?
“I’m fine, honey.” Her voice was still trembling, but she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a relieved look cross the twins’ faces. They believe me. Good. Now we can go home and have a normal night.
Maggie pulled out of the parking lot and headed east toward their neighborhood, fighting off another bout of tears. Normal? It had been months since she had felt anything close to normal. Most likely, she’d spend the evening barely tolerating her husband’s probing glances and tidying a house that never seemed to be clean. Then she would stumble into bed and lie awake under the watchful eyes of whatever demons had taken up residence in her home.
The thought of it made her want to turn around and drive west, maybe until she reached California or the ocean: Maybe drive the car into the ocean until it swallowed her up—along with whatever was trying to destroy her. However far it took to get away from it all. The tears came again, and though Maggie willed herself to drive home, forced herself to battle the desperation, she couldn’t still the one thought screaming through her mind…
Maybe it really was time to check herself into a mental hospital.
Seven
MAGGIE REMAINED AN EMOTIONAL HURRICANE THROUGH A LONG night of ignoring Ben and his roses and on into the next morning as she tapped out a column decrying the standards in many foster homes. She could barely concentrate for the voices waging war in her head.
She focused on the computer screen and the task at hand. Come on, Maggie. You can do this. She began typing.
Something is terribly wrong with our system when we place the abused children of our state in homes where, at least on occasion, they’ll be abused again. What type of safety net is that for a child who’s falling through the cracks? The time has come to toughen the standard by which we judge people worthy of taking in foster children.
Her fingers refused to move, and she pictured the boys, alone and scared at the bus stop.
Hypocrite. Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite. You’re the worst foster mother of all. Leaving those boys out at the bus stop while you…
“Lots of good feedback on the Social Services column, Mag.” Ron Kendall leaned against her desk so he could face her. “This the final one in the series?”
Maggie gulped. She was having trouble understanding him. Something about Social Services and a series. “Yeah…it’s a series, Ron.”
His face reflected his confusion.
What? Why’s he looking like that? What did I say? Everything about who she was seemed to be disconnecting. As if nothing she was thinking or hearing or doing made any sense at all.
Ron frowned. “Hey, Mag, you feeling all right?”
The way his eyes narrowed told Maggie he was genuinely concerned, and she felt a rush of panic. If Ron was worried, then maybe she really was losing her mind; maybe it wasn’t only a couple of bad days or the fallout from having forgotten her foster boys and nearly having been arrested the day before. “I…I feel fine, if that’s what you mean.” Maggie stared back at the computer screen, hoping Ron would get the hint and leave her alone. She had just thirty minutes before deadline.
“Okay” Ron angled his head and waited until he had her attention again. “You just haven’t seemed like yourself lately.” He chewed on his lip and gazed at the ceiling, and she had the strong sense he was searching for the right words to say. “I’m here for you, Maggie. That’s all. If something’s wrong let me know, okay?”
She forced a smile. “Thanks, Ron. I’m fine. Really.”
He walked away, and she stared at her column. Everyone knows. It might as well be written on my forehead: “Maggie Stovall is going crazy.”
Over the next fifteen minutes she finished her column and for the first time since working for a newspaper, she didn’t bother to read it through again. Instead she filed it, pulled her things together, and headed home.
It was time to get to the bus stop. She would not forget again.
Five after three.
That’s when the bus arrived. Five minutes after three. 3:05 P.M. 3:05 in the afternoon.
The number sounded in her mind like the words to an unforgettable song: 3:05, 3:05, 3:05. The boys’ bus comes at 3:05.
Maggie had rushed through every activity since early that morning, everything from getting dressed to writing her column. She would not be late this time.
It was 1:45 when Maggie shut the door of her home behind her and set out on the five-minute walk to the bus stop.
The walk involved crossing a very busy street, one that gave mothers nightmares about children getting knocked under the wheels of a speeding car or being struck by a menacing tractor-trailer. The twins—like other foster children Maggie and Ben had cared for—were absolutely forbidden to cross it alone.
Maggie moved quickly doing her best to ignore the haunting feeling that something was chasing her, closing in on her. When she arrived at the stop she checked her watch again: 1:50. Her shoulders eased downward, and she allowed herself to exhale. She didn’t mind the wait; her feet could take it. They would have to. She could never be like those foster parents she’d written about earlier, the type who gave a child more trouble, more pain and heartbreak. More insecurity No, Maggie would never do that again. Even if she had to stand in place for an hour or more, she would be there when the boys got off the bus.
The temperature was dropping, and a cloud layer had taken its position in the sky above her. Maggie couldn’t help herself. She kept looking over her shoulder, sure someone was there, waiting with a hunting knife poised above her head.
Help me, God. Clear my mind so I can think again. Please.
She rocked back and forth…back and forth, licking her lips nervously as the minutes trickled by…3:05, 3:05, 3:05. It became a rhythm that surrounded her, kept her company.
At one point she thought she saw the bus and she straightened. Yes, it was the bus all right. But…
Maggie inhaled sharply. Every face beyond the bus driver’s was that of the little girl! Ten or twenty girls with curly blond hair filled the bus, and Maggie didn’t know whether to run away or flag the vehicle down before it could get away. She moved further into the road, her eyes locked onto the busload of little blond—
The sound of a blaring car horn jarred her from her thoughts, and she reeled backwards, tripping over the curb and falling onto the sidewalk behind her. Her head smacked the concrete, and for a moment she lay there unmoving. She heard a car slow down and someone shout, “Hey, lady, you all right?”
Instantly she sat up and was assaulted by the urge to vomit. She waved weakly at the man in the car and smiled. “I’
m fine.”
He looked doubtful but drove off anyway. When he was out of sight, Maggie ran her hand over the bump that was forming on the back of her head; something warm and wet met her probing fingers. Dear God, help me! I’m bleeding…
How far out in the road had she been when the car honked at her? She had thought it was a bus full of little girls, blond girls…all with the same face…
Where had the speeding car come from, anyway? There ought to be a law against driving so fast on a residential street! It was downright dangerous. Maggie fixed her hair over the wound so that the blood wouldn’t drip onto her white jacket. Did she need stitches, or would her hair be enough to stop the bleeding?
While she was trying to decide if her headache was from the fall or the anxiety that consumed her, the bus pulled up. Immediately Maggie saw the shocked look on the face of the bus driver and she realized she was still sprawled on the sidewalk. The driver opened the door and shouted above the sound of the engine. “Mrs. Stovall? You okay?”
She was on her feet, brushing off her jeans and fixing her hair again so that the driver couldn’t see any signs of blood. “Fine. I tripped.”
His expression grew slightly less concerned. “I was afraid you’d been hit by a car.”
The children were making their way out of the bus, and Maggie choked out a laugh. “No…nothing like that. Weak ankles. Happens all the time.”
How long have I been rambling? Five minutes? Ten? Where are the little girls who were on the bus a few minutes ago? Or was that a different bus?
The bus driver was still staring at her.
“I’m okay, really. Just clumsy, I guess. Don’t know why I wasn’t more care—”
Cameron and Casey appeared at the top of the stairs. Thank, God… The boys were all right and she was there, on time. They made their way to her. “Mrs. Stovall!” Their voices rang as one as they ran the remaining few feet and threw their arms around her.
“We were scared you might not be here.” Cameron flung his backpack over his shoulder and grinned at her.
“I told him you’d come.” Casey cast her a confident smile. “You never missed us before.”
Maggie put her arms around the boys and hugged them close. If only they were my own children…
You don’t deserve children of your own. Not after what you—
“Boys, let’s go home and have some hot chocolate. Sound good?” She forced herself to be clear minded. If the darkness wanted to hound her it would have to take a backseat. This was her time with the boys, and there was no room for delusional voices. She’d waited all day to hold the twins in her arms and reassure them that she would never, never again forget them.
The bus pulled away, and Maggie looked at the boys with a frown. What are they doing? Why aren’t they sitting down? Maybe they wanted to talk first, before she made them their snack. She plopped herself down and sat cross-legged on the hard surface. “Come on, sit down at the table. I want to hear about your day.”
The boys stared at her, an odd fear and uncertainty clouding their eyes.
“What?” Maggie felt a stabbing sense of terror. Had they seen her bloody head? Her fingers poked at her hair once more, and she made a mental note to turn up the heater. The house had never felt so drafty. “Come on, boys, sit down. I’ll get your snack as soon as you tell me about your day.”
Other children who had been let off at the stop had already walked home, and Casey and Cameron looked at each other. “Mrs. Stovall, why are we gonna sit here in the middle of the sidewalk?”
Maggie’s eyes widened, and she shot furtive glances about her surroundings. What am I doing? Cameron was right. A moment ago she had been certain she was back home at the dining room table. She hadn’t heard the passing traffic or realized that she was sitting cross-legged on the cold cement.
I’m crazy, God. What’s wrong with me?
She said nothing, only rose slowly and took the boys’ hands in hers. She was suddenly so tired she didn’t know if she could make it across the street.
Just go, Maggie. The boys are hungry. Squaring her shoulders and tightening her grip on the boys’ hands, she stepped off the curb.
It was Casey’s screams that caught her attention first, and then the horrifying realization that they were in the middle of the road, with cars coming at them from every angle. Seeing no way out, Maggie clutched the boys to herself and shielded them with her arms.
The sound of the crash was so deafening Maggie was certain they were all going to die. Please, God, take me but not the boys…
And in that moment—believing her death was imminent and knowing she wouldn’t have to battle the demons another day—Maggie finally felt at peace.
The blow never came.
Maggie didn’t know how much time passed before she realized it, how long it had been since the screams of brakes and grinding metal and breaking glass all came to a stop. She just knew, for whatever reason, it was strangely silent around her.
Was this death? This silence and stillness?
She opened her eyes. She and the boys were fine, but two cars had collided head on—Maggie guessed in an effort to avoid hitting them. From where she stood, frozen in place, she could see that both vehicles’ airbags had inflated.
Let them be okay, God. I didn’t mean to…
There was a wailing coming from the wreckage, and Maggie wondered which car contained people who were crying. Then she looked down and saw that it was Cameron and Casey. The boys were shaking badly, crying and clinging to her in desperate fear.
My God, what have I done? I could have killed us all! What’s wrong with me?
She knelt between the boys and stroked their backs, keeping her eyes trained on the damaged vehicles and the host of people running toward them to help. “I’m sorry…” She whispered the words over and over until in the distance she heard sirens, then not long afterward, a man’s voice behind her.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Boe. You and the boys all right?”
Maggie looked over her shoulder and saw a policeman. “It was…it was an accident.”
The man’s face was filled with kindness. “We know that, ma’am. There were several witnesses who saw it happen. Looked like you and the boys were talking and accidentally walked into traffic.”
Maggie’s entire body was vibrating and she thought for a moment she might be sick. No, not here. She swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”
The officer came closer and put his hand on the top of her head, moving it so he could get a better look. “You’re bleeding.”
At this news another flash of fear tore across the twins’ still-stricken faces, and Maggie tightened her grip on them. “It’s okay, boys.” She turned to the officer once more. “I banged my head earlier. Twisted my ankle and took a fall.”
A knowing look filled the officer’s eyes. “Ma’am, I think you might have a concussion. Could be why you walked into traffic.”
Maggie ignored him and stared at the broken vehicles. “Are the people…is everyone okay?”
The officer nodded. “Only one person in each car. Both had airbags, so it looks like they’ll be fine.” He ran his finger over her skull and around the tender area, making her wince slightly. “Right now we need to take care of you.”
Officer Derek Boe stayed with the woman until paramedics lifted her onto a stretcher. He’d worked accident scenes for more than ten years and he knew a concussion when he saw one. Whatever else might be wrong with the woman’s ankle, one thing was sure: Her brains had been scrambled in the fall.
She had the dress and demeanor of a gentle suburban housewife, but when he ordered paramedics to load her on the stretcher, she was almost combative.
“No! Let me go! I’m okay, really, I don’t want to go to the hospital. The boys need a snack…hot chocolate…”
The officer took the boys’ hands in his and directed his words at the woman. “Now, don’t worry about a thing. The boys and I will be right behind you. We’ll just get you in
and have you checked out, then you can go home and have hot chocolate, okay?”
The woman shook her head and for a moment she looked like some of the drug overdose victims they found on the streets of downtown Cleveland. Wide-eyed and frantic, shaking from head to toe. Almost crazed. “Ma’am, you need to relax. Everything’s going to be fine. We just want to get you checked out.”
The paramedics were ready to roll when the officer realized he didn’t have her name. “Ma’am.” He raised his voice so she could hear him above the commotion and traffic. “Could you tell us your name?”
The woman stopped shaking and stared at him blankly without blinking. “My name?”
Seconds passed, and Officer Boe tried to conceal his concern as one of the paramedics jotted something down on his notepad. “Never mind, ma’am. Well get it later.”
Loss of memory was further proof of a concussion.
“It’s Mrs. Stovall.” One of the twin boys tugged on Derek’s arm so he would be heard. “Her name’s Mrs. Stovall.”
The officer looked down at the boy. “But I thought she was your mom?”
The woman tried to sit up, but the paramedics eased her back down. “I’m…I’m their foster mother,” she managed.
The officer sighed. That would complicate things. Whenever victims in an accident were wards of the state, the Social Services department had to be notified. He looked back to the woman. “What’s your first name, Mrs. Stovall?”
Again the woman hesitated. And then as if someone flicked on a light switch in her brain, she said, “Maggie. Maggie Stovall.”
She rattled off her phone number, and Officer Boe wrote it down quickly as the paramedics whisked her into the ambulance. “Wait!” she screamed. “I don’t want to go to the hospital. What about the boys? Wait! Isn’t anyone listening to me? Isn’t anyone—”
Her voice echoed in the roadway as they slammed the doors shut and sped off.