Wishbone Read online

  “Excuse us for a moment,” Pam said, taking Violet by the hand and leading her away. We could only make out snatches of their conversation. “That’s not why Colleen left . . .”

  Jeff looked at me. “Everything okay?”

  I stared into a middle distance between me and them. “Sure. Foster kid. That’s why this isn’t what you thought.” I wasn’t sure what it was.

  Jeff nodded slowly. “If you say so.”

  I gave him a playful shove then changed the subject to my town’s turkey problem.

  They rejoined us, and Violet seemed suddenly fascinated by her shoes and quietly held Pam’s hand.

  Jeff led us outside to several large wire enclosures set along a path through woods. He pointed out hawks, eagles, owls, and other birds that lived on the farm because they couldn’t survive in the wild. Violet gazed at the animals with a serious face.

  Jeff finished, we said good-bye, and he gave me a hug, whispering, “Call me if you need to.” He waved and disappeared down the path.

  Violet studied a one-eyed great horned owl sitting on a tree branch. “I bet he misses his mommy.”

  “I suppose so, but he’s well cared for and wouldn’t be alive otherwise,” I said.

  Violet leaned against the rail fence. She dug her thumbnail into the wood. “Like me,” she said softly.

  A surge of adrenaline jittered my heart. Memories flickered. Of strangers who came to take me away from my mother, to live with other strangers, only to go back to her and be pulled again for reasons I was too young to understand. I thought they’d run out of foster homes when I was sent to a group home, that no one wanted me.

  Pam rubbed Violet’s shoulders. I didn’t know what to make of the look she gave me. Angry? Confused?

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

  Pam leaned down to give Violet a hug.

  I retreated down the path to a bench and watched Pam, kneeling beside Violet, talking to her. I held my head in my hands, gazing at the ground.

  “You’ll be safe here.”

  “Hello, Megan. This is your new room.”

  “I want my mommy.”

  “You’ll see her soon.”

  “Meggy!”

  “Can we see more animals?” Violet.

  “You all right?” Pam asked.

  I hadn’t heard them approach. I looked up. Violet jumped from root to rock along the path, anxious to move on. “Yeah, I’m fine. She okay?”

  “She bounces back quickly,” Pam said.

  This was a mistake. I could handle my memories if I maintained control. Volunteering at DSS had been my therapist’s idea. An hour a month helped ease my post-traumatic stress. There was no controlling Violet.

  I took a deep breath, pushing the memories down. It wasn’t her fault. “Well, then, I’ve got some foxes to show you,” I said to Violet, whose face lit up.

  AFTER WE ATE lunch, Violet’s behavior gradually deteriorated, as if the effort of being good proved exhausting and she couldn’t help but act out. She threw a handful of stones into the wild turkey cage, poked a stick through the fence at the fox, shouted “Wake up!” at the sleeping opossum in the underground viewing room. She even tried to climb into the pig pen.

  Each time, Pam called out, “That’s one.” Twice she got to three and made Violet sit on the ground with her back to us for five minutes.

  “It’s a constant struggle,” Pam admitted with a sigh while Violet ran through the farm’s apple orchard. “I sometimes forget to enjoy the good times. Like today.”

  “Why do you do it?” I asked.

  Pam’s gaze followed Violet slaloming among the trees. “Look at her. She’s a beautiful child. Pure potential. What kind of a future does she have with a mother who’s a drunk? I thought we could offer her something.”

  “We” being her and Colleen, I presumed.

  “But Lee’s gone now,” Pam continued, “and I can’t let Violet lose anyone else. She’s lost everyone she’s ever cared about.”

  Each comment Pam made, I had to tuck away for possible examination later. Had anyone ever pondered my potential? I hadn’t thought so. Not until Sylvie, at least, and Ed and Jean, but they came later, after the damage.

  “Do you love her?” I asked.

  Pam watched Violet scramble up an apple tree. “A lot of people don’t understand how you can love someone else’s child, but, yes, I do. I don’t know why. I don’t think she loves me. She says she does, but how could she?” Her eyes held a knowing sadness. “She still sees her mother, so she holds out hope. I can’t compete with that, but someday I’ll get through. Once all the legal nonsense is over.”

  After fifteen consecutive months in foster care, Pam said, the state would put Violet on an adoption track, even if her mother’s rights hadn’t been terminated. “It’s been ten months and her mother hasn’t been able to get it together. I think Violet would settle down if she knew this was permanent.”

  I mulled the word permanent. There had been no deadlines when I was in the system. I never knew permanence so I never settled down. I moved from home to home because no one could handle me for long. No one had the patience and techniques Pam had. No one had given me three chances. It was no, then a slap, or a belt, or a punch.

  “And if she can’t settle down?” I asked.

  She didn’t get to answer.

  “I’m stuck!” Violet called out.

  “Sure, now she asks for help,” Pam said, seeing Violet out of reach, high in a tree.

  I sprinted over. “Never fear, Meg is here!” I scampered up through the branches, not quite as nimbly as the small child had. “Climb on,” I said to Violet. She clung to my back like a baby monkey as I carefully made my way down to the ground.

  ON THE DRIVE back to Brookline, Pam asked about Jeff, how I’d met him. It had been such a long day, I had to stop and think, oh yeah, that was the point of this little sojourn. I should have gone alone and avoided this bad trip down memory lane.

  Violet had fallen asleep in the back. We talked softly. I gave her the short version of Jeff’s role in my life.

  As often happens on car trips, we were a lot quieter on the ride home. I didn’t bother to keep up the conversation and Pam didn’t either. I let my head fall back against the headrest and gazed at the trees zooming by. I thought about Violet and what lay ahead for her.

  When we got back to Pam’s, she invited me to stay for dinner. “It’ll just be macaroni and cheese with hotdogs, but it’s the least I can do.”

  Why I didn’t say no, I couldn’t fathom, except it seemed harmless enough and I was starving.

  Pam offered me a glass of wine, which I accepted, with silent apologies to Chaz, so that I’d have something to hold while I stood out of the way and watched what passed for domestic bliss in this house. Pam moved around the small kitchen like a cook on a boat, everything within reach. She passed plates and silverware to Violet, who carried them into the dining room, taking serious pride in her responsibility.

  Over dinner, I learned Pam was a freelance graphic designer, not the leisurely stay-at-home mom I’d assumed. She worked from home while Violet was in school. The house had been her parents’, where she’d grown up, so was paid for, “except the taxes,” she lamented.

  She asked where I lived, and while I skipped the details of my miniscule apartment, I added that with the Arnold Arboretum and Jamaica Pond within walking distance, it felt like I lived on an estate.

  “What’s a arber-eatum?” Violet asked.

  “Arbor means tree,” I said, “so it’s a big park with lots of trees.”

  “You’ve been there, honey,” Pam said. “It’s where you ride your bike.”

  Her face lit up. “Oh, the park!”

  Pam looked at me. “Why does anyone bother with fancy names? All we need to know is park, playground, school, yard.”

  “And room,” Violet added, in a kid’s version of an adult voice. “Violet, go to your room.”

  Pam gave her a pointed look, one that said, exactly, if you don’t stay on your side of the line. “If you’re finished, you can go watch a movie.”

  Violet’s face registered a combination of shock and joy. “Really?”

  “Really. But just one.”

  She shot out of her seat.

  “Take your plate,” Pam called after her.

  Violet ran back, snatched it, and disappeared into the kitchen. A tension I hadn’t been aware of eased, like another strong wind subsiding. Did Pam feel it too?

  She raised the wine bottle to me, offering a refill. I declined. She poured a small amount in her glass. “I saw Evan the other day.” I gave her a blank look. She tipped her head toward the front window. “Across the street.”

  My turkey murderer.

  “He apologized about the turkey, that Violet had to see it. I asked him how he knew, and he said you told him. I’m kind of shocked he actually killed it.”

  “He didn’t realize it died after he hit it—ran off like a chicken with its head cut off. Still, he was clueless why it wasn’t okay, so I told him a kid found it. Was that all right?”

  “Sure. It’s funny, I didn’t think of it as something that might traumatize her. It was just an annoyance. But the way he put it, that she’s just a little kid.” She paused and took a sip of wine. “Sometimes I need to be reminded of that, I guess.”

  “She is and she isn’t.”

  Pam looked puzzled then relaxed and nodded slowly, perhaps realizing I might understand Violet in a way she never would. In that moment a flood of questions and answers surfaced simultaneously. How different was Pam from any of the foster mothers I’d had? Light years, it seemed. What might have been? What might it be for Violet?

  I looked around at the fine woodwork, a stained
glass window, and hardwood floors. A home. “She’s lucky.”

  Our eyes met, and instead of looking away, unnerved, I found myself drawn in and comforted. I wasn’t seeking a conquest and wasn’t being asked to perform, and for once that was okay.

  After I helped clean up and readied to leave, Pam called Violet to say good-bye. She came grudgingly. Before she could bolt away, I found myself suggesting that maybe next weekend we could explore the arboretum. Pam smiled. Violet beamed.

  Chapter 4

  MONDAY MORNING I forced myself to focus on the real reason I’d gone out to Drumlin. Jeff’s main advice was, get people to stop feeding the turkeys and the birds would move on, so I settled down to write my column for the local paper and put together a PowerPoint presentation for my upcoming seminar on wildlife, my most popular topic. People were endlessly fascinated with wild animals in a sort of love-hate relationship. Loved watching them on Animal Planet doing all sorts of anthropomorphic antics, but hated it when they dared to enter their backyard.

  I finished writing about wild turkeys close to noon, and after lunch I had an appointment to meet the new vet Doc Paulson had mentioned.

  Twice in the past week, I’d driven past Dr. Sam’s clinic but hadn’t had time to stop in, so I’d called to make an appointment. As I parked in front of the house, I held out a small hope that here might lie my post-Paulson salvation.

  It was a nice Victorian, complete with a round turret and wide porch. It just needed a coat of paint and some carpentry to resume its former glory as a painted lady. A little bell jangled as I entered a foyer. Another door led to the waiting area. Stickers on the window showed Dr. Sam belonged to the Better Business Bureau and, judging from the rainbow, was either a lesbian or an ally. Interesting.

  From the counter straight ahead, a young woman looked up and smiled. Her dark hair was short, with a ragged cut and a streak of pink. As I approached I could see dents where she wore piercings in her nose and eyebrow, though not at work apparently. I could picture her in a punk band.

  “You must be Officer Myers,” she said brightly.

  “At your service, ma’am.” I removed my cap.

  She stood and reached out her hand. “I’m Janet.”

  I shook her hand, impressed by her professionalism. “Nice to meet you.”

  “She’ll be right with you,” Janet said. She motioned to a bench against the wall. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” I sat. She went back to typing on a lovely, modern computer.

  Behind me, photos of dogs and cats lined the wall. Brochures about spaying and neutering, heartworm, and treatments for other assorted ailments filled the counter. The hardwood floor, scuffed but clean, harked back to its former life as the parlor in a private residence. Tall windows looked out onto a driveway and a Subaru wagon. Everything appeared neat and professional.

  As I picked up a copy of a cat magazine, the door to an exam room opened and heavy panting and the clicking slide of nails caught my attention. An enormous great Dane was hauling a small woman out of the room. He aimed straight for the exit and the woman struggled to get him to stop long enough so she could pay.

  The corner of my eye caught a white coat. Dr. Sam, I presumed, stood in the doorway. About my height and age, she had thick black hair pulled into a ponytail. Her dark eyes and pale skin made for a dramatic contrast. She crossed her arms and smiled as she leaned against the door frame, watching the woman negotiate her way to the counter. Then her eyes met mine and she stared for a long moment, her expression flattening. She didn’t say anything and Janet was engrossed in the commotion of the woman paying. Unsure what to do, I stood.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” Dr. Sam said. Then she vanished back into the exam room.

  I sat down. The woman and the dog/horse left and the room became quiet. Minutes ticked by.

  Dr. Sam reappeared in the doorway. “Officer Myers?”

  She didn’t come into the waiting area, so I went to her. I extended my hand, and she took it with a firm, brief grip. Her brown eyes were dark and intense. She led me through the exam room and into an operating room with a metal table and overhead light. Then she took a right into a small office. She motioned me to a chair in front of a large wood desk. A quick glance around revealed a bookcase stuffed with textbooks, journals, and magazines. Above it hung a framed diploma. A laptop sat on the corner of her desk, a bigger computer on a table to the side.

  She stood behind her desk and moved piles of magazines and patient folders aside. Then she leaned on her hands and cleared her throat. “It’s Meg, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  She straightened. “We meet again.”

  I froze halfway lowered onto the chair. “Excuse me? Have we met before?” I sat on the edge of the seat and scrutinized her features, searching for something familiar.

  “Briefly,” she said. “I don’t expect you remember me. From what I hear, there’ve been a lot of women.”

  Oh, shit. I slid back into the chair. The blood drained from my face and extremities. Was Dr. Sam a one-night stand? I mentally shifted her from this bright room to Ezri’s dance floor. Remove the coat, undo the hair. Maybe. There’ve been a lot of attractive dark-haired women in my past. Good Christ.

  She sat and rocked her chair slowly. “I remember you, though until now I never connected you with the buttoned up police officer around town,” she said, not sounding angry. “You were very good.” She also didn’t sound pleased.

  “Look—I don’t know what you—I don’t think—”

  “You never told me your last name. I wasn’t sure you’d told me your real first name, but I guess you did. I’ll grant you that.” Her statement held a sad undertone.

  I sat there, speechless. Of course I’d considered I might run into a woman I’d met at Ezri. Once, in the produce section of my grocery store, a woman stared at me over the bananas for the longest time. But I never thought I might have to work with someone I’d slept with. So much for salvation.

  Sam’s jaw clenched then she blinked and her face softened. “Is that a problem?”

  Of course it is. I swallowed. “It doesn’t have to be, does it?”

  “No, I suppose not. We’re both adults. I just thought we should get that out of the way.”

  Right. Like it was nothing. Ha, ha. Funny coincidence.

  “So what can I do for you today?” she asked.

  She’d picked up a pen and tapped it against her palm. It occurred to me that I might need to duck if she decided to fling it at me.

  I quickly edited what I’d intended to say, how I’d hoped to sell her on the idea of working for the town, maybe providing holding space until the shelter came through. Toss all that out the window, Myers. I eased back and took a breath, realigning the façade.