Inevitable Sentences Read online

  Adrian was a contradiction. She exuded confidence and a take-charge attitude within the security of the lighthouse. Yet she lacked that strength with her husband, a police officer on an elite Emergency Support Team (SWAT). Celeste learned from Adrian that just because someone’s husband was a policeman didn’t mean he was perfect. The more his fellow officers had covered up his abusive personal life, the more it undermined Adrian’s ability to trust in and deal with the world. She still jumped at every unexpected sound, as though her husband might crash through the door. Celeste knew he would be quite capable of doing it.

  Fortunately, Adrian had met a woman now making it on her own who had once lived at Big Bay. The woman had encouraged Adrian to go to the lighthouse, and Adrian had gained the courage to leave her husband in southeast Michigan to start over in the Upper Peninsula. But Celeste was sure her husband would use every police resource at his disposal to locate his family. How long would Adrian’s luck hold out? How long would any of their luck hold out?

  Lorraine, the third woman living in the lighthouse, entertained the children who, except for the two on the rug creating a monster building, appeared too frightened by the storm to speak or move. Lorraine was almost as timid as the children. She rarely uttered a word. Her parents had sold her to her husband when she was sixteen for money to buy cocaine. Only twenty-two, Lorraine had two children, a three-year-old boy and a five-year-old girl. Celeste could only imagine how useful Lorraine’s timidity was for her dominating and aggressive husband. Celeste also saw something else in her—a distrust so overwhelming it often turned her against the very people trying to help her. Celeste couldn’t really blame her for being suspicious of others’ intentions. However, sometimes Lorraine also seemed selfish, which had no apparent explanation.

  Celeste had to fight her doubts that Lorraine would make it. The young woman’s attitude and extreme lack of self-confidence could be her downfall. Celeste had seen it before. Women like Lorraine returned to their abusers because they lacked the stamina to live on their own and because they believed the abuse was what they deserved.

  QUIET CHATTER AND GENTLE teasing filled the warm house as each woman pursued her evening task. Let the storm rage outside; they all seemed to have decided that inside they were safe.

  “Make sure those lumps are whipped out of those potatoes,” Adrian said when she peered into the kitchen.

  “You know lumps are the sign of real mashed spuds,” Marcy shot back and the two women laughed.

  While Adrian tended to the lanterns and flashlights, she sang a Thanksgiving hymn in her rich mezzo-soprano voice: “Come, ye thankful people, come, raise the song of harvest home; all is safely gathered in, ere the winter storm begin …”

  Celeste paused from mixing the meat loaf ingredients. Perhaps Adrian should have been a singer. Would that have made a difference in the partner she chose? She doubted it. At the moment Adrian still believed what her husband had told her: she was useless and could never make it on her own without him. She didn’t see herself as a talented or worthwhile person. Celeste intended to help Adrian change the image she had of herself.

  Celeste spooned the meat mixture into two large loaf pans and placed them in the oven. She turned the timer to one hour. “That’s done.”

  Lorraine left the children and began setting the table. She hummed along with the hymn. Adrian finished her task and carried Matt while the other children queued up. She led the line of children like a mother duck and her ducklings to the bathroom to wash up. For the moment, their world was filled with peace and love. The only flaw in the scene for Celeste was the storm. When the weather raged like this, she could almost touch the darkness beyond the sturdy walls.

  Chapter Two

  ANOTHER BLOW

  SILHOUETTES OF THE BARREN tree limbs flashed across the kitchen wall as a vehicle pulled into the drive. Celeste and Marcy stopped their dinner preparations and peered out the window.

  “Who can that be?” Marcy asked.

  “I’m not sure. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” Although concerned about the sudden intrusion, Celeste didn’t let it show. She wiped her hands on her apron and went to the door. She hesitated before she cracked it wide enough to get a better look at the visitor.

  The SUV belonged to Priscilla Madden, the prison psychologist and volunteer counselor at the lighthouse. Celeste’s jaw tightened. Priscilla hadn’t been expected that evening.

  Priscilla bolted from the driver’s door and rushed around the car. At the sight of Priscilla’s obvious concern for whomever was in the front seat, Celeste grabbed her parka and ran to help.

  When Celeste reached the car, Priscilla was bending over the passenger. As she stood she lifted a baby and turned to Celeste. “Hello,” she said in a not so joyful voice and handed the baby to Celeste. “Sorry to do this to you without notice. But it is truly an emergency. I’ll explain when I get inside.”

  Priscilla turned to the woman in the front seat, whose face was frozen in terror. “Come on, Tomika. You’re safe now.”

  Tomika didn’t move.

  Priscilla grabbed hold of Tomika’s arm and gently tugged her.

  Tomika pulled back. “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “No one here will harm you. Give it a try.” Priscilla again took Tomika’s arm.

  “Where’s Gemma? Where’s my baby?” Tomika finally turned in her seat.

  “She’s right here with Celeste, the woman I told you about.” Priscilla stood slightly to one side to let Tomika see them. “Celeste will take care of you and Gemma.”

  “What about you?” Tomika shrieked. “Where will you be?”

  “I’ll be back. I come here almost every day.” Priscilla paused and offered her hand. “Let’s get you and Gemma inside where it’s warm and safe. Do you remember what I told you about the lighthouse?”

  “Yes,” Tomika murmured. She glanced at Priscilla, then Celeste, and finally at the lighthouse. She lifted one leg out and placed a foot on the ground, then hesitated. Gemma started crying. Tomika stood, supporting herself against Priscilla, whose six-foot frame towered over the young woman. Tomika reached her arms out for the baby.

  “Why don’t we get you inside and settled into a comfortable chair? Then you can take Gemma,” Celeste said gently. She hadn’t wanted to overwhelm Tomika or scare her more by being too welcoming.

  “Okay,” Tomika mumbled her agreement.

  Celeste smiled. “Let me get this little one safe inside, shall I?”

  Tomika nodded, her eyes not leaving the baby.

  Tucking the baby under her jacket, Celeste said, “There. See?” She turned and ran for cover.

  Priscilla wrapped Tomika, who wore only a lightweight jacket, inside her own coat to stave off the bracing wind. She nearly carried the slight, fragile woman to the house.

  By the time the entourage reached the kitchen, the other three women and the children had assembled to look out the window.

  Adrian reached to take the baby gently in her arms, making soft cooing noises to the worried child. Priscilla escorted Tomika to the wingback chair closest to the fire. Celeste turned to Lorraine and said, “Get some warm clothes for her, please.”

  “Why do I have to be the gofer all the time?”

  Adrian flashed Lorraine a hard stare. “You don’t do any more than the rest of us. Do as Celeste said.” She looked down at the whimpering bundle she held. “Hush, hush. You’re safe.”

  Tomika sat in the chair and drew her legs under her. She curled into the cushions, hugging her knees to her chest. She said nothing, but her eyes darted from one person to another, over and over. Finally they settled on the fire.

  Celeste noticed that Lorraine still hadn’t moved. Instead, she was glaring at Tomika. Celeste studied her for a moment. Was it that Lorraine didn’t want another person in the house, or was it because Tomika was African American? “Lorraine, did you hear what I asked?”

  Lorraine jerked her head toward Celeste, as sullen as a teenager. “Yes, I heard y
ou,” she spat and stomped off to get the clothes.

  “What’s up with her?” Adrian asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Celeste shrugged. “Perhaps she’s afraid that anyone new could bring someone searching for one of us.”

  Adrian looked in the direction Lorraine had gone. “Yeah. And that’s a fear for all of us, right?” She was bouncing Gemma lightly as she spoke.

  “Right.”

  “Where does Lorraine get off?” Adrian pressed.

  Celeste smiled warmly at Adrian. “I appreciate your support, Adrian. Nevertheless, you don’t need to worry about me, you know. I’ve handled tougher cases than Lorraine.”

  Adrian’s eyes twinkled. “I bet you have.”

  The baby began to cry. Tomika bolted up and ran to her. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

  Celeste circled an arm around Tomika. “Gemma’s fine. She’s probably hungry. Let’s get you back by that fire. We’ll get Gemma settled.”

  Priscilla dragged out a cradle that was usually stored near the bookcases, and placed it by the fire. “Gemma needs to be changed and put into warmer clothes. Then we need to get her some formula.”

  From a nearby chest, Celeste pulled out diapers and baby clothes. “Even though these might be too big, they’ll do until we buy others.” She handed them to Priscilla. “We’ll give her a bath tomorrow when things calm down.” She turned to Adrian. “Will you and Marcy finish the dinner preparations, please, while I speak to Priscilla about Tomika?”

  Celeste checked the young woman. Although Tomika never took her eyes off Gemma, she seemed to realize she was in safe hands. “And would you get a bottle for the baby?”

  “Sure.” Adrian laid Gemma in the cradle still wrapped in the tattered blanket she had arrived in and went with Marcy to the kitchen.

  Priscilla removed the blanket and swiftly changed Gemma. “Well,” she said, straightening from her task, “at least she’s dry and warm.” She laid a hand on Gemma’s stomach. “You’ll soon have this filled, too.”

  “What do you know about Tomika?” Celeste asked.

  Before she could answer, Lorraine returned with a sweater, socks, and sweatpants. “I think these will fit.”

  “Thank you, Lorraine. Will you help Tomika change? When you’re through, see if she’d like to use the bathroom.” Maybe Lorraine’s involvement with Tomika would diminish whatever concern she had for the newcomer.

  Lorraine didn’t argue this time. Instead, she knelt next to Tomika and gently helped remove her shoes. Celeste shook her head at Lorraine. She was such a puzzle.

  Celeste and Priscilla huddled in the area closest to the bookcases on the other side of the room to be out of Lorraine and Tomika’s hearing range. As Priscilla’s tale unfolded about how she had come upon Tomika, Celeste could only marvel about that wild card in life: chance.

  TOMIKA HAD TURNED TWENTY the day before. Gemma had only been born three months ago. Tonight, Tomika had escaped from her boyfriend, who was nearly twice her age. He was so drunk, he passed out on the living room floor before he could lock Tomika up for the night like he usually did. She knew it would be her only chance to get out so she grabbed a jacket, wrapped Gemma in a blanket, and ran from the house. She ran and ran.

  By some miracle Priscilla was in Lansing for a meeting, driving the same road on which Tomika had fled, and spotted the desperate woman, who had no idea where she was going or in what direction she was headed. Tomika jumped into the car with little persuasion.

  Once inside, she collapsed in hysteria and poured out a horrific tale to Priscilla. For the past two years she’d been held like a hostage in a farmhouse with no neighbors for two miles and no phone, except Herman’s cell. She was never allowed out of the house unless her boyfriend was with her. She had no friends and no family to speak of. Her only sibling, Danny, was in prison, and her parents had died in a car accident two years earlier.

  While Tomika talked, Priscilla changed course, driving the rest of the night to the lighthouse. Thank heavens the weather hadn’t turned bad until she crossed over the Mackinaw Bridge. Other than the clothes Tomika and Gemma wore, the jacket and blanket were the only items they had escaped with.

  “I knew you’d have clothes for Tomika.” Priscilla smiled. “You always do. Look at Marcy.” Priscilla nodded at Marcy as she flitted back and forth in the kitchen busy with dinner. “She’s wearing one of the linen outfits from your past life—a befitting hand-me-down.”

  Celeste glanced at Marcy. “She looks better in them.”

  Priscilla continued Tomika’s story. She had met her boyfriend when she worked at Hooters in Lansing. She was attending Lansing Community College and had the full intention of saving enough money to go to Michigan State and major in pre-med. Instead, Herman swept her off her feet, promising to pay her tuition if she moved in with him. She agreed, but he never kept his promise. At present, she’d settle for a nursing degree, if she ever got the opportunity.

  “When Tomika finished rattling off her history,” Priscilla finished the saga, “she fell into a coma-like state for the rest of the drive here. She didn’t say one more word except what you heard when she got out of the car.” Priscilla let out a loud sigh. She looked exhausted.

  Celeste counted her blessings. Marcus had never hurt either her or Pilar, and he let them have their independence, to a degree. He settled on ignoring or belittling them. Women weren’t worth much to him, except for sexual pleasures, or to be displayed at the Gross Pointe Country Club.

  “Priscilla, will you stay for dinner?” Celeste asked. “And maybe even for the night?”

  “No. Not tonight.” Priscilla started for the door. “I’ve got to be at the prison early tomorrow. There never seems to be rest for a psychologist at Hawk Haven. Plus, I also promised Lizzie Chat-field I’d have dinner with her after her shift, which means I won’t be here tomorrow either.” She sighed again. “I know I’ve been Lizzie’s best friend since grade school, but”—Priscilla frowned—“I’m getting tired of helping her sort out all her bad love affairs. I’m sure our dinner conversation will focus on her latest tragic, soap-opera-style relationship.” Priscilla buttoned her trench coat. “I’ll be by day after tomorrow,” she added as she opened the door. “Sorry to leave so abruptly with a new arrival. Will you have enough help?”

  “Yes. The two volunteer students will be here. You know them—Beth and Kip.” Celeste was grateful for their help. “And, of course Adrian, who has been a godsend. As you know, she’s become my right hand.”

  “Good. They’ve all been a great help.” Her expression showed her relief.

  “Yes, except the students graduate this spring. I’ll have to find replacements.” Celeste looked toward the kitchen. “I’m hoping I can persuade Adrian to stay on here as my assistant.”

  “Great idea for both of you.” Priscilla’s smile was wide but tired. “I believe she’s up to the job. You have to convince her that she has both the strength and intelligence to handle the task.”

  “Yes, I know. Although I doubt I’ll be the one to show her the light. I think she’ll find that on her own.” Celeste glanced at the snow, coming down hard, and frowned at the worsening weather. “Be careful driving,” she cautioned. “Those roads are probably slick.”

  “I’ll be all right. You forget that I was raised up here, and I’m used to these conditions.”

  Celeste hugged Priscilla. Although she was five-foot-eight herself, she felt dwarfed by Priscilla. “Thanks for all you do for us here,” Celeste said. “I know it’s hard.”

  Priscilla shrugged, then pecked Celeste’s cheek and headed for her car.

  As Celeste watched her get into her SUV, she remembered the first time she had met Priscilla. It was shortly after buying the lighthouse. Max introduced them. He had known Priscilla’s parents for twenty years, and Priscilla’s physician father had only died a year before. Her mother, a retired teacher, lived in Florida.

  Celeste had immediately liked the soft-spoken psychologist who was a yea
r younger than Pilar would have been. Yet, much as she was drawn to the woman, Celeste was also taken aback to discover a prejudice within herself—she expected a woman built on Priscilla’s grand scale (six feet tall and plump) to present a more boisterous, intrusive presence. The only loud part of Priscilla, however, was her outrageously red hair that circled her face in curls and was always pleasantly out of control. Her voice was quiet and her smile charmed with dimples. Her eyes—stunning jade—did most of the talking. Soon into the friendship Celeste realized that Priscilla moved with a ballerina’s grace. She counted Priscilla as one of her dearest friends.

  Priscilla became employed at Hawk Haven shortly after Pilar’s murder when the male psychologist left suddenly. It was rumored he had had a breakdown. Despite the rumor, Priscilla was up to the job. She confessed she liked it. She had also survived an abusive marriage herself, and had volunteered her counseling services to the harbored women ever since Celeste opened the safe house. No one could possibly help the women any better than a psychologist who had been through the same thing. The women listened to her because she’d been down the same horrible road they had and had made it.

  Priscilla had met her husband, Dwayne, when they were both in graduate school at Berkeley. She never shared a great deal about that relationship with Celeste, except that as a couple they dabbled in “social drugs,” as Priscilla called it. “Who didn’t?” she had asked. But Dwayne went too far and became an addict. With addiction came abuse.

  Celeste believed Priscilla guarded her history in an effort to forget her past. Weren’t they all trying to get on with their lives? Fortunately for all of them, Dwayne was serving twenty-five years to life in a California prison for an armed robbery and murder.