Refuge of the Heart, page 19
“Hakuna Matata.”
“Excuse me?” Mitch raised an eyebrow to the middle-aged man across from him.
“From The Lion King. The ‘no worries’ philosophy. Problem free. But life isn’t that way.”
“Of course not.” Mitch agreed. “I understand that in my line of work, but I don’t know how to ease the pain if I have no clue what the pain is.”
“And you know I cannot betray Lena’s confidence by sharing information with you.” The priest met Mitch’s eye directly, and for a kindly man, Mitch recognized the iron within. He acquiesced, reluctant.
But then Father Dominic leaned forward. “I can talk to her. Maintaining silence in a war zone is an understandable defense mechanism. And if reticence has helped her this far, I can’t fault it, but I think she needs to move on as well. I’ll talk to her.”
“That’s all I can ask.” Reaching out his hand, Mitch stood.
The pastor grabbed the offered hand in a firm, quick shake. “I can’t make any promises, Mitch. She’s stubborn.”
“That part I’ve noticed.” Mitch offset the dry words with a wry smile. He inclined his head to the minister. “I kind of like that about her.”
The priest laughed. “A good woman is always a bit of a challenge.”
“Is that in the Bible?”
“It should be.” The priest walked him to the door, then extended his hand. “I’m offering no guarantees.”
Mitch accepted the handshake and nodded.
“It pleases Mariel and me to see Lena happy. We’ve prayed for that very thing. But one must be especially gentle when a fragile soul is put into their keeping. And Magdalena is a fragile soul, Mitch. And worthy of the greatest care.”
“I understand.”
The priest’s gaze said maybe he did and maybe he didn’t, but he said no more and Mitch retraced his steps to the SUV knowing no more than he had when he arrived.
The next morning, Mitch called his office assistant into the room. “Nancy, I need your help. I want to spend some time volunteering in the needier sections, but I don’t want it to look gratuitous. I’d prefer anonymous, if possible. Just a guy, looking to help. Can you track down some low-profile places in need of volunteers?”
A little smile took over the corner of her mouth. “I’d be glad to. I should have a list ready for you by this afternoon. Once you’ve decided what you’d like to do, would you like me to call ahead? Forewarn them?”
He shook his head. “Naw. I just want to walk in the door, peel off my coat, and get my hands dirty.”
She rose from her seat, and started for the door. Almost there, she turned. “Boss?”
Mitch looked up. “Yes?”
“I don’t know what’s going on with you exactly, but I want you to know I like it.”
He’d add this to the growing pile of mixed reactions he’d encountered lately. “Thanks, Nance. Your opinion means a lot to me.”
Her chin rose. Her smile deepened. She walked from his office with a measured grace to her step.
The following evening Mitch walked into the kitchen of a downtown homeless shelter. Following directions, he mixed, ladled, stewed, and cleaned, all under the steely eye of a staff sergeant-type woman named Mrs. Reedy, who barked orders using minimal words. He nodded, worked, and basically did as he was told until closing time for the kitchen. Then he walked to his car, grateful and tired.
“You. Sanderson.”
Surprised, he turned. “Mrs. Reedy?”
“You did all right.” She stuck out a hand. He took it but had to fight the urge to salute.
“How did you know who I was?”
“Electing suits is part of my civic responsibility. Besides that, your department handled my niece’s case a few years back. Did a fine job, too.”
“Who was your niece?”
“Camilla Regis.” She said the name proudly. Bells and whistles went off in Mitch’s head.
“Seventeen years old. Assaulted by a friend’s father at their summer home while the friend worked a shift at an ice cream stand. That little girl went through a horrific time. How is she?”
Mrs. Reedy shrugged. “Better. Not perfect. But she’s a tough one. She’s in her last year of college, and works at a rape crisis center one night a week, handling calls. She always said that if you guys hadn’t put him away, she might have killed him.” Mitch read the thoughtful look in the older woman’s eye. “A part of me thinks she means it.”
“She was brutalized,” Mitch said with feeling, remembering the sight of the willowy brunette, a local varsity cheerleader and captain of the school’s Olympics of the Mind team. Beauty and brilliance. A perfect countenance ruined by a man whose lust for young women pushed him to commit a crime of horror. He was now doing twenty to life and wouldn’t see the light of day ever, if Mitch could help it.
“Well, your people did a great job for her. Took care of her while she testified. Then followed up afterward.”
“We did?” Mitch asked, surprised.
“Yes.” She gave him a puzzled look. “Your office assistant called several times that first year. Said it was your policy to do follow-up on victims to ensure their well-being. That meant a lot to my family. We weren’t just a check in the political ‘Win’ column, you know?”
He hadn’t known, but he did now. “Thank you, Mrs. Reedy. I’ll be back next week. Can we, uh...” He paused, then shrugged. “Keep my identity between us?”
She almost smiled. Her eyes lightened and her mouth started to curve. “Consider it done, Sanderson.”
He climbed into his car, pleased and humbled. So, Nancy had initiated a follow-up campaign, did she? That took some doing, to fit those follow-ups into her already busy schedule. And another reality hit.
Now he understood her words considering Jeannine Dailey. She must have done follow-up calls to the abused woman, showing her the grace of outreach. Jeannine’s choices weren’t reflective of Camilla’s. Different age? Different setting? Or was it timing, the horror of one-time abuse versus ongoing?
He didn’t know, but he realized that Nancy should receive some form of recognition for going above and beyond.
She was a great manager. She delegated well. And when Nancy wanted something done, it got done. He had no trouble understanding that her presence in the D.A.’s office was invaluable.
Seeing the lights of a Wegmans grocery store gleaming through sifting snow, he pulled into the lot, parked and strode in. When he emerged with chocolates and a floral arrangement, he felt like he was putting another important foot forward.
Once home, he called Lena. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Glancing at the clock, he saw it was almost ten.
“No, I was studying and I find the body has too many parts for this late hour. How was your day? You worked very late, yes?”
He decided not to explain. It was work, in a way. And pleasure. He wasn’t doing it to impress her, but to heighten his awareness, his level of understanding. Out loud he said, “Yes. Just got home.”
“That is a long day, Mitchell. Was it good?”
“Not as good as when I see you. Can I stop by tomorrow night? We need to discuss shopping plans for Christmas. If you’ll consider shopping with me, of course. I promise to keep it under control and listen to advice.”
“Sister has offered to keep Anna on Friday evening if you would like to shop then. My tests will be complete, as well.”
“We can celebrate,” he declared. “We’ll shop and get a nice dinner some place. I can show you off.”
“Show me off?”
“It means to let everyone know you’re with me. That we’re together.”
“But…” Question dragged her tone. “They would know this by seeing us, yes?”
“It shows we’re a couple. Dating. I would be proud to have people see us as a couple, Lena.”
“Oh.” A different note marked her voice. “You are proud to be with me?”
“Very. Does that bother you?”
“No,” she answered quickly. A little too quickly, but then she went on, “It makes me shy that you think so much of me.”
“Better get used to it. I’m not a man who gives up easily.”
“I like that, I think.”
He grinned. “Good. I was hoping you would. But back to my first question. Can I see you tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow evening is a concert that is put on at school. Anna and I must be there by six-forty-five for her performance. She is a gumdrop.”
A gumdrop. Mitch laughed. “Then I’ll swing by for you. We can go to the concert together. Okay?”
“That would be very special for us.”
For him, too, but work intervened.
He called her mid-afternoon the next day. No answer. And of course, seven-dollar discount phones didn’t have the advantage of an answering machine or voicemail. He tried again, just before five. Same result.
He had to meet with the prosecuting team on the Halstead case. There was no putting it off. Glancing at the timepiece on his wrist, he bit back a sigh. Could he get out in time for Anna’s performance? At this moment, the prospect looked doubtful.
Setting his watch, it dinged at five-forty. He stepped away from the table, ignored the curious looks, and hit the first number on his speed dial. This time she answered.
“Lena, I’ve hit a snag, I’m in a meeting that’s going late. I may not make it in time to pick you girls up. Can you drive Anna to the concert and I’ll meet you there if I can?”
“Of course,” Lena assured him. “Your meeting is very important?”
“Yes. Otherwise, we’d have it tomorrow. Too much work before Christmas, you know?”
“It is the same for me.” Her tone commiserated.
Her work ethic amazed him. The amount she was willing to pack into a twenty-four hour day would stagger most people. “I’ll see you soon. Can we get ice cream afterwards?”
“Oh, I love ice cream. Anna as well. Yes, that would be so nice.”
His smile deepened at her excitement. His heart did a stutter-step that felt good. “I’ll be there as quick as I can.” Hanging up the phone, he turned to the knowing faces of three intelligent coworkers. He grimaced. “Not a word.”
“Of course not, sir.” McGuire kept her face composed but her eyes twinkled. She made a show of looking at her watch. “Forty-five minutes, guys. The boss has a date.”
Mitch eyed them, harassed, then eased into a grin. “Yes, he does.”
He strode to her door Friday night, a man with a mission. Leaning on the bell, he noted that the patrolman was parked just down the road once again. God Bless Milliken, he thought. Standing there, his collar pulled up against the snow, he thought of how nice last evening had been.
The concert had been typical for kindergarten. Adorable with comic relief in the expected missteps. Anna had been a great gumdrop, singing and dancing her way through the presentation. Then ice cream sundaes to top off the evening. He’d felt like a father, watching Anna. Her excitement, her joy, the carefully polite manners instilled by her big sister. He liked the feeling.
Stepping back, into the light, he glanced at his watch, then looked at Lena’s door. No sounds emitted. He leaned on the bell once more, just as her car pulled up out front. He walked down the sidewalk to meet her, amazed that the sight of her stirred such feelings. She climbed out of the car, laughing, her hands waving.
“I am sorry to be late. Traffic was not good, and I had to get Anna to Ridgedale after work. There is an accident on the west-bound bridge and I wait and wait, all the while looking at my watch thinking of you in the cold.”
Her eyes danced, and her smile was bright. On impulse, he hoisted her, spinning her around, hearing her shriek and laugh. “Mitchell! Put me down. It is outdoors and there is snow on my head.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.” A deep voice startled Mitch out of his fun. He paused with Lena still off the ground, then lowered her slowly as he met the officer’s eye.
“Evening, officer.” Mitch kept his tone deferential. His look even. He nodded to Lena, then looked back at the man in uniform. “We were just playing,” he offered in explanation. “My girlfriend and I. Saying hello.” Mitch wasn’t sure whether to laugh or hide in a ditch. He was pretty certain that neither would impress nor defuse the thirty-something officer eyeing him. The officer raised his flashlight slowly, letting the beam outline Lena.
She was scared. Her face had paled. Her mouth hung open, eyes wide. Her breathing sounded harsh. Mechanical. Mitch rubbed her arms. “Hey. Lena. It’s all right. He’s one of the good guys.” Turning, Mitch saw the officer’s eyes narrow just before they swung to him. They narrowed more.
“Aren’t you...?”
Mitchell nodded. “Mitch Sanderson, the district attorney.” This time it was the officer who paled.
“Oh, listen, I had no idea,” the patrolman apologized. His glance went from Lena to Mitch once more, then back again. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Miss.”
“Your name, officer?” Mitch pulled the man’s attention back to him.
“Jefferson, sir. Gordon C. Jefferson.”
Mitch stuck out the hand that wasn’t holding Lena. “Thank you, Officer Jefferson. You were doing your job. That’s exactly why you guys are maintaining a presence in the neighborhood. Miss Serida has already been victimized once. We don’t want it happening again.”
“No, sir.” The officer accepted the hand Mitch offered. “I didn’t realize it was you, sir.”
Mitch grinned. “I’m lucky enough to be a regular visitor.” He pulled Lena in with his free hand, then smiled down at her, glad to see normal color returning to her gaze, her cheeks. He turned her toward the house. “Thanks again, Officer.”
“My pleasure, sir. Good night, Miss.”
Lena nodded to him, started to turn, then swung back. She stuck out her own hand as Mitch watched in surprise. “I thank you, officer, for watching out for me. Life can be dangerous, yes?”
He nodded down at her, then smiled and accepted her hand. “At times. But you look like you have a pretty safe escort there, Miss Serida.”
Her eyes met Mitch’s. “He is very good to me.”
The officer’s smile deepened. “As it should be, Miss. Good night.”
Turning, Mitchell tugged her toward the door, but she surprised him by stopping outright. “We are shopping, yes?”
He nodded.
“Then why must we go to the house?” Her glance went from him to the door.
“You don’t need anything?” he asked, trying to remember the last woman he knew who didn’t have a complete routine to go through before she’d step foot into the mall.
Lena shook her head. “No. I have my money here.” She patted her purse. “I am ready if you are.”
A breath of fresh air in her simplicity.
Simple Christmas.
She’d used that term before. He was just now beginning to understand the meaning. For God gave his only begotten son—
Mitch had never known want or need, and holidays were extravagant affairs in his family.
No more. He would heed Lena’s advice and work harder to keep the day holy, as God intended, the grace of a child born to the poor.
He climbed into the SUV, determined to rein in his past to embrace a more Christian future. A future worthy of Lena’s love.
Chapter Sixteen
“We did all right, I think,” Mitch noted as they criss-crossed the mall back toward the car nearly two hours later. “A coat, two dresses and two outfits. With warm socks and stockings. That wasn’t too extravagant, was it?”
His gifts weren’t too extravagant. They were kindly and thoughtful and good. “Anna is blessed by your gentle heart.”
“Good.” He shifted a bag and caught her arm to stop her. “Look up.”
“What is this?” Head tipped, she eyed the hanging ball of greenery, skeptical.
“If you catch a girl under the mistletoe, you get to kiss her.”
“This is not real.”
“Oh, it’s real enough, Magdalena.” His lips touched hers lightly. Just enough to make her wish for more. Long for more. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Mitch.”
“Shall we eat here or somewhere else?”
“I believe this is depending on what you want to eat.”
“Steak.”
“You are so American,” she chided as they crossed the parking lot. “American men want good steak.”
“American men are very smart.”
She ticked off her fingers as he held the door of the SUV open. “Heart disease, clogged arteries, high cholesterol. There are many reasons to eat other things. Like soy.”
His look of disdain showed his feelings on that. “Not enough reasons in this world,” he muttered, shutting her door. He climbed in his side, then turned. “You get soy. Or bean curd. Sprouts. Whatever. Maybe they’ll have some dandelions shipped in from the Deep South. But let’s see who’s happier in an hour.”
“I will be happy simply by being together,” she announced. “Regardless of food.”
His smile deepened to a grin. “That’s my girl.”
They shared a deep-fried onion as they waited for dinner. Mitch laughed at the expression she made, sampling the treat for the first time. “This is truly a humble onion?”
“I didn’t know it personally.” He made a face. “Aren’t most onions humble?”
“I believe I should say ordinary instead. That would be more sensible.”
“Yes. It was just a simple onion until they dipped it and fried it.”
“It is very good to eat. But not for my arteries, I am sure.”
Mitch swept his eyes down, then up. “Your arteries look fine to me, Lena.”
