Home Again

“Come on, I’ll drive you to the police station.” He slipped his arm around her waist and started to lead her from the house.

She slammed the door shut and let herself be carried away by him, helped along. But as they reached the garage, she knew it was wrong. She’d given away too many moments like this with Lina, let Francis shoulder too many of the painful times of her life. She had to stand up for herself and be as strong a parent as she was a doctor.

She stopped.

Francis turned to her. “Maddy?”

“I’ve got to do this alone, Francis. I’m her mother.”

He took a quick step backward. “I left the number in Portland on your voice mail.”

She moved toward him, gently tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “I’ll call you tonight and let you know how it went.”

“Will you?” Still he didn’t look at her, and there was a strange tension in his voice.

She touched his cheek, forcing him to look at her. When their gazes met, she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes, and it confused her. He looked hurt. “Francis?”

He stared at her for a heartbeat, then squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Lina came to see me today. I let her down.”

“Oh, Francis …” She tried to conjure a smile. “I let her down, Francis. Me.”

“No. You’re greedy as usual, my Maddy. But this time I’m taking some of the blame.”

She hesitated. “Maybe you should come with me, Francis….”

“No, she’s your daughter and you need to handle this. Besides, I’ve got to get on my way. Four married couples need the advice that only their celibate priest can offer.” He smiled wanly and shook his head at the irony.

She wanted to say more, but she didn’t know what it was he needed to hear, how she could make this moment what he wanted it to be. For the first time ever, he felt like a stranger to her. “Drive carefully,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

“Don’t I always?”

She shot a meaningful look at the dented side of

his Bug.

He gave her a quick grin. “I’m leaving before you start in on my driving. ’Bye.”

She watched as he folded into the dented old Volkswagen and drove away. The car sputtered down the narrow road, then turned the corner and disappeared. And she was alone again.

She stared down the empty street, sighing quietly. Francis, her Francis, who wore his heart on his sleeve and his soul in his eyes. Francis, who loved them all so much and only wanted to be a part of their lives. All he’d wanted was to help. She forgot sometimes how easily he could be hurt.

Regret sneaked up on her. Once again she’d made the wrong choice, said the wrong thing at the wrong time.

But she’d make up for it.

When Francis got home from this trip, she’d make up for hurting him today.

Juvenile Hall was a hive of activity. Harried-looking men and women crisscrossed the tile floor like ants, talking and gesturing among themselves. Brown vinyl chairs lined the walls, most empty, but some of them filled with adults who looked as nervous as Madelaine felt. In the center of it all, a white-haired woman sat at a huge desk, answering the phone and directing traffic with a nod of her head or a flick of her forefinger.

Madelaine felt acutely conspicuous as she crossed the busy lobby and walked up to the desk.

The heavily jowled woman peered up at her. “Hello.”

She had to raise her voice to be heard above the din. “I’m here to pick up my daughter. Lina Hillyard.”

The receptionist flipped through some paperwork. “Oh. Shoplifter. John Spencer is the social worker assigned to her case. You’ll find him in room 108, down the hall, second door on the right.”

Madelaine moved along the crowded hallway without making eye contact with anyone, her purse clutched tightly against her side. By the time she reached room 108, she had a terrible twisting ache in her stomach and she was afraid she was going to be sick.