A sequel to Abigail's Journey, and third in the Journey series.
                                                          Chapter one
As a survivor of abuse, Terry Davis is determined to make a difference in someone's life the way his best friend, John Johannes, had changed Terry's so many years ago on a school playground. Having seen John's daughter, Abigail, rescue Jake Murphy from Jake's tortured past, Terry is more intent than ever to offer a lifeline of his own to someone in desperate need. But it won't be easy.

Protective of Terry's wounds, John has tried to keep his friend from helping anyone too much, knowing from Terry's former experience as a volunteer hotline crisis counselor that Terry's nightmares would return. Then she arrived in all her painful helplessness-- Madison Crawford with the haunting gray eyes and secretive past, needing to be rescued while claiming to need no one. As Terry tries to help Madison and then becomes involved with her on a more personal level, John's concerns deepen for the dear friend he loves like a brother.

This may be Terry's journey, but Terry won't be making it alone.
                                                          
                                                                      Chapter two
"Hear, O LORD, when I cry with my voice: have mercy also upon me, and answer me."
~ Psalm 27:7 ~
tunned shock arrested Terry's breath, and for several long moments, he just sat there, the sound of that one wild scream still echoing in his brain. Could it be possible that a human had made that unearthly sound, let alone this slight woman who weighed nothing at all in his arms? Now quiet, and slumped against the seat, she showed no signs of life. Terry put out a hand, touched her shoulder to get a response.

"Hey, wake up." When she didn't move, Terry felt a swallow squeeze its way down his dry throat. Please, God, let her be alive. Don't let this woman die in my jeep. How will I ever explain this to Henry Peterson? Terry pictured the handcuffs circling his wrists, the pained look on Sheriff Peterson's face as Terry tried to explain what happened. "She took one look at me, screamed like a banshee, then keeled over in the seat. Honest."

Pushing back any rational fear for himself, Terry lifted an ice-cold hand, rubbed the unresponsive fingers between his palms. "Ma'am? You need to wake up, and let me know how badly you're hurt."

A small groan eased Terry's apprehension. The hood fell back as she turned her head against the seat, allowing an unobstructed view of her face for the first time. The sight of her made Terry's breath catch. He questioned his eyes, wondering if he had plucked an angel unawares from the mud, and not a mortal like himself. Maybe that explained the unearthly cry. Rubbing his eyes, Terry looked at her again, trying to decide whether he was going crazy, or just in bewildered shock from the scream.

Faint silvery moonlight filtered through the clouds, lending a storybook air of wonderment to Terry's already dazed mind. He saw a slender face, delicate skin, even features that could of come straight from the pages of one of the triplets' much-beloved books of fairytale princesses. Maybe this was no angel at all, but a fairytale princess come to life. With that crown of blonde hair and cute little nose, maybe Terry had found Sleeping Beauty outside her castle walls.

Angel to princess, Terry sighed at his own nonsense. This is what came from reading one too many children's books to the girls.

Without warning, a pair of large, dramatic eyes blinked open. They stared at Terry in such profound horror, it startled him even more. He wondered if she saw something frightening over his shoulder, and turned only to find his own reflection in the window.

With a sharp gasp, Sleeping Beauty twisted in her seat. She tugged at the passenger door, and before Terry could stop her, it swung out into the downpour. She leaned through the opening, but lacking strength, tumbled onto the ground with a splash and a cry of pain. Terry burst from the driver's side, ran around to collect the woman who was behaving as though she'd lost her mind.

Maybe Sleeping Beauty was off her medication.

A frantic arm pushed away his hands when he stooped to lift her from off the ground.

Terry wiped the rain from his eyes, stayed crouched and watched in bewilderment as the woman moved to her knees, struggling to stand but unable to get upright.

"You're going to hurt yourself!" he shouted. "Let me get you back into the jeep, and I'll take you to a hospital."

"No." The word sounded definite, as though her mind was made up and no amount of talking could persuade her otherwise.

By now, Terry was shivering convulsively, having given his coat to the princess who knelt in the rain. She stared at the ground, her frame shaking with cold and something else Terry couldn't quite place.

With a stab of reality, Terry realized it was fear. She was afraid of him.

"Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself," he grinned, hoping it would encourage her to calm down. "My name's Terry Davis. I live nearby with my family, and I work with computers for a living. You can trust me."

The woman turned her head. The sarcasm in that glance was easy to recognize.

"Okay, so that's no reason to trust me, but I'm turning to ice as we speak. I need to get into the jeep, and so do you. How about it?"

She made no answer, just sank forward in a lifeless heap-- face-first, into a large puddle.

Before she drowned in two inches of rainwater, Terry lifted her back into the vehicle. This time, he made no effort to revive her. He snapped on her seat belt, started the engine, then turned up the heater to its highest setting. Maybe doctors frightened her, and that was why she refused to go to a hospital-- Terry didn't know-- he only knew that if he couldn't take her there, it would have to be a homeless shelter in Watertown. If he could find one with empty beds this late at night. A recovering drug addict had once told Terry that those places tended to fill up early, for if you didn't grab a cot before nightfall, you often weren't able to get one at all.

Still numb with disbelief, Terry turned the jeep around to head for his little-used apartment in Chaumont. He thought of taking Madison home to John and Izzy, but the thought of their kind but exasperated disapproval that he was "doing it again," prevented Terry from considering it any further. Besides, Terry had already put his dear friends through enough heartache, to last them a lifetime. No, Terry reasoned, he had gotten himself into this predicament, and he must get himself out.

An occasional moan from the passenger seat assured Terry that the woman still lived. Not that he felt anymore fear over her dying. Freezing and weak, and soaked through to her skin, she had too much fight left in her to be very hurt.

As for him... man, was he ever cold.

The three-mile drive into Chaumont couldn't go by fast enough for Terry. Getting off the main road, he navigated surface streets until coming to a wide, two story brick building. He parked, jumped from the jeep and ran to the shelter of the small porch above his apartment door. After shoving the key into the handle, Terry fumbled with the second lock. What a time to have remembered to put on the deadbolt! He shoved open the door, flipped on the light switch, then forced himself back into the rain to get the woman.

She moaned when he lifted her into his arms. He kicked the jeep door shut, then carried her into the apartment. The heat wasn't turned on, but it came as a welcome change from outside.

Through the small living room, around the half-bath, up the stairs to the second floor and straight ahead to the bathroom. He placed her, fully clothed, into the empty bathtub, turned on the overhead shower, twisting it to the warm position. She had done some thawing in the jeep, but her teeth rattled as liquid heat soaked her shoulder-length hair, his coat, and every stitch of clothing already sopping with rainwater.

Leaving her to the warm shower, Terry went to his bedroom, just down the short hall on the same floor, to change into dry clothes. He would have liked that shower, himself, but knew she needed it more.

He jerked clothes from the closet, dressed as quickly as he could. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a matching top from his dresser, he returned to the bathroom. Aside from her closed eyes, she was as he had left her. To his relief, the color had returned to her skin, giving her princess face a rosy glow of health.

"What's your name?" he asked.

She lowered her head, tucking her chin against her shoulder. Then the trembling returned.

Puzzled, Terry felt the spray of water from the shower. Still hot. Not too hot, but certainly comfortable. "Are you still cold? Here, put these on. You'll feel better when you're dry."

No response, not even when Terry placed the clothes near the bathtub and prepared to leave.

"No one is going to take advantage of you," he said, trying to assure her into relaxing a little. "You're safe here-- a whole lot safer than hitchhiking or sleeping out at the Old Mill Campground by yourself. You're welcome to stay the night, to use the phone and call your family, or a friend, to come and get you. If no one can, I'll give you money for bus fare so you won't have to hitchhike or place yourself in needless danger. In return, I ask you not to trash my apartment, or to take anything from it that doesn't belong to you. Except for the clothes by the bathtub. Those, you can keep. Fair enough?"

She remained silent.

"Nod your head, so I know you heard me."

A slight nod made him feel better.

"That's fine, then. Leave the wet clothes in the hall, and I'll put them in the wash." He swung the door shut, making sure he did it with enough noise to let the woman know he had gone.

"If I were in her shoes," Terry muttered as he trotted downstairs, "by myself, and with a stranger I didn't know, I'd probably be just as terrified as she is right now. It's understandable." Moving through to the end of the dining area, he turned right and entered the narrow kitchen. He filled a saucepan with water, placed it on the gas range, then twisted on the fire with a click-click. Even with dry clothes, the cold still clung to him, and he craved something warm in his belly to chase away the last of the chill.

He tore open two packets of sweetened cocoa powder, dumped them into two mugs. The cell phone in his hip pocket started singing the theme song to his favorite fly fishing show, "Bassin' the Weeds with Dennis." Not needing to check the number to know who was calling, Terry pulled out the phone, took a deep breath and answered the call.

"Hi, John."

"Hey, Terry. Is everything all right? When you didn't come home, I got concerned."

"No, I'm fine." Terry squeezed his eyes shut. He should have called John a long time ago; now the calmest person in the family was trying to hide the worry in his voice. "I'm just getting some things taken care of, but I should be home in an hour or two."

As hard as John must have been trying to conceal his concern, he couldn't mask a great sigh of relief. "And your friend from the road?"

"Is thawing out under a hot shower."

A long stretch of silence, then John sighed. Terry had mentioned a shower, and that could only mean one thing. The "friend from the road" was in Terry's apartment.

Sounds from upstairs had Terry looking up from the floor, where he had been staring holes in the brown kitchen linoleum. "Don't worry. I'll only have a houseguest for a day-- two at the most."

"It's your apartment, Terry." John blew out another sigh. "Just be careful, okay?"

A loud clatter sounded above Terry's head, followed by an odd scooting noise of something moving across bathroom tile.

"Terry?"

"Huh? Oh, right. I'll be careful. Tell Izzy not to worry. Bye!" After switching off the gas range, Terry hung up on John as he hurried through the dining area, on his way to the stairs. Taking two steps at a time, Terry made a beeline for the bathroom door.

"What's going on in there?" he called.

No answer.

"You'd better speak up, or I'm coming in!" When his warning met with more silence, Terry tried the door handle and found it had been locked from the inside. He ran downstairs, headed back to the kitchen to search through the junk drawer for keys to the inside doors. Locating the key ring beneath a bag of open rubber bands, he cocked an ear to the floor above him, but heard nothing. Frowning, Terry ran upstairs.

It was awfully quiet up there.

He jammed the key into the handle, threw open the door.

At first, his mind didn't accept what he saw. A small shelf with decorative bottles he'd once been given as a housewarming present were scattered over the bathroom floor. The wicker laundry hamper under the shelf had been moved into the bathtub, beneath the single frosted window high above the shower. It was a narrow opening, made even more inaccessible by the need to climb on something to even look out. But the woman had managed it, slid open the window, and popped the screen. All that remained of Terry's houseguest was a sopping wet pile of clothes.

Horror reeled through Terry as he bolted from the bathroom, headed downstairs to the front door.

That window was two stories off the ground.

His heart racing faster than his feet, Terry rounded the apartment building. And there he saw her, two stories up, clinging to the side of the wall, her feet precariously balanced on the narrow decorative ledge that ran the entire length of the building.

Terry nearly dropped in his tracks. He wanted to shout to her to stay still, that he'd get her down but to not move an inch or she might fall. Not wanting to frighten her into doing just that, Terry ran to the apartment complex shed where the gardener kept his tools. Reaching for his keys, Terry realized he didn't have them. He'd given them to Lauren.

"Please, God, don't let her fall!" Terry panted as he ran to Lauren Moore's apartment. He banged on the door, and after several moments, a middle-aged woman in a bathrobe finally appeared.

"Terry? What's wrong?" she asked, cinching the robe shut as her sleepy-eyed husband came to see who had interrupted their sleep.

"I need the keys to the shed!" Terry paused to catch his breath. "I can't explain now, Lauren, but I need those keys I gave you-- the ones to the tool shed."

Bewildered, Lauren went to get the keys while her husband, Ralph, yawned and scratched his head.

"It sure is cold out," Ralph said, first looking at the vapor trails huffing from Terry, and then at Terry. "Is something wrong?"

"Not unless I don't get those keys." Terry forced himself not to shout into the house to hurry Lauren. She scurried to the front door, handed Terry the keys in question.

"When you get a moment, Terry, I need to talk to you about Mr. O'Shaughnessy's kitchen sink--"

"Later," Terry said, already speeding back to the shed. He unlocked the door, lifted out the ladder, kept up the prayers as he carried the heavy object around to the back of the building.

Thank God, she was still on the ledge, and not a large splatter on the ground. Her knees trembled, her body hugged the wall in a fierce spread-eagle against brick and mortar. The blood drained from Terry's head as he propped the ladder against the wall, to her right. When she made no move to reach for the ladder, he began climbing just as footsteps sounded behind him.

"What on earth?" came Lauren's voice, followed by an equally amazed Ralph's, "That woman must be crazy!"

No more than I am, Terry thought with numb disbelief as he neared the woman. He slowed, not wanting to frighten her into letting go before it was safe.

"Ma'am?" He tried to keep his voice calm, not alarmed and panicked as his heart kept telling him he was. "Try to move toward me, but don't look down. Can you do that?"

The woman closed her eyes, but didn't move or answer.

"You can't stay up here much longer. Your legs are cramping, your muscles are tiring, and you're bone cold. Thank God, the rain stopped, or your feet would have slipped off this ledge long before now. You must reach for the ladder."

The woman gasped as her balance shifted on unsteady legs, and when Terry moved behind her to stop her from falling backwards, she nearly let go. Ralph shouted that she was about to fall, but the woman regained her balance without Terry's help. Her steady refusal to accept help, bothered Terry. Why hadn't she accepted his arm, and used it to regain her balance, rather than falling back against the wall? Why risk so much when all that was needed was a steadying shoulder? The question puzzled him, but he remained silent as she at last reached for the ladder.

"Is she all right, Terry?" Lauren came to him as soon as he touched ground, Lauren's eyes wide with alarm. "Who is she, and what was she doing up there?"

Not really knowing how to answer, Terry replied the best he could by not saying much. "She's fine, I think. Just a bit shaken up."

The woman reached the bottom of the ladder, put one bare foot on the ground, then the other, as though she were stepping onto the moon, and not planet Earth. Her shoulders hunched forward, she hugged herself with both arms, all the while edging away from the group.

Ralph pointed his chin in her direction. "What's with her?"

"She's had a hard day," Terry said, as the woman turned her back on them and began to walk away. "Thanks for the keys, Lauren. I'll lock up the ladder and return them later."

"Sure, Terry, but--" Lauren was unable to finish, for Terry had walked off in the same direction as the woman. Before Terry was out of earshot, he heard Lauren tell her husband in a loud whisper, "That's nice, he's finally seeing someone. Whatever their fight's about, I hope they smooth things over before Terry winds up old and alone."

Terry walked faster before he heard one syllable more. A familiar pained sadness welled in his heart, the same pain that visited every time someone made an assumption about his life, his inability to attract anyone, the inevitable scolding over why he hadn't gotten married yet. He would straighten out Lauren's misunderstanding later, make a few remarks about his houseguest to stop further speculation, but the comments still hurt. Why can't people just accept the fact I'm going to be single for the rest of my life? he thought. I wish they'd get over it, and leave me alone.

The woman slowed, and Terry did likewise. Her frame swayed, she sank to her knees and Terry knew she had to be exhausted. He glanced over his shoulder, saw the Moore's had gone back into their apartment. Thank God for small favors.

At a careful walk, he approached the woman wearing his sweatpants and top. She had fallen back and was sitting on her feet, her arms still hugging herself in a death grip. Vapor trailed from her nose, her mouth, and when Terry came around to face her, he saw her cheeks were glowing bright pink from the cold.

"You look tired." Terry controlled his voice, gauged the way she slunk back at his approach and measured his forcefulness to avoid further scaring the woman. "You haven't eaten since dinner. You're freezing cold, you don't have any shoes or socks on, and if you don't find some shelter soon, you're going to come down with something nasty."

"Just leave me alone." The helplessness in those handful of words struck Terry as nearing despair.

To avoid towering above her and seeming more threatening, Terry squatted, got down on her level. He observed the small nose, the downturned eyes fringed with long lashes, the soft brilliance of a peaches and cream complexion. If she didn't get out of the cold soon, that healthy glow would fade right along with her.

"What's your name?" Terry asked in a quiet voice. He waited for an answer, strained to hear when her lips moved.

"Madison."

"Do you have a last name to go with that?"

Her chin tucked against her shoulder, and she remained silent.

Okay, he thought, you don't have to answer that. He tried to determine her age, pegged her for about twenty-five but couldn't be certain. Some people didn't look their age, and maybe she was one of them.

"Are you in any trouble?" Terry asked, cocking his head to one side to see her face better. "Are the police looking for you? Are you a runaway? Maybe escaping an abusive husband? There's shelters for battered women, places you can go to be safe and not have to worry about your husband as much."

No recognition, no flicker of awareness in those downturned eyes and tightly pressed lips.

Terry looked at her, gave her a small smile. "Not even close? Or maybe closer than you want me to know?" He sighed at the continued silence. "Look, Madison, you need to get inside, get yourself warm, and get some sleep. I live three miles from here with my family, so you can have the entire apartment to yourself."

Her mouth moved, the words tumbling out in a barely audible whisper. "I'm hungry."

"You are?" Terry was surprised. "What about that hamburger I left? If you're hungry, why didn't you go back for the food I placed under the tree?"

A futile sigh passed her lips. "The rich dog ate it."

"Pardon?" Terry leaned closer to hear better. "Rich dog?"

She nodded. "The one with the fancy collar. He tore up the bag, ate the food and only left me a slice of tomato." Hurt sounded in her voice. "I'm so tired."

"Come back to the apartment, and I'll fix you something to eat. All you need is a good night's sleep, and then you can face life in the morning. Things always look better in the morning."

"Not my life, mister. Bad is always bad, and morning just means it starts all over again."

"After that bold maneuver on the wall?" Terry grinned, even though he felt like sitting down and crying. "I have a hunch you're a lot braver than you feel. Tired-hungry is speaking right now, not you."

Her mouth stretched into a weary frown. "I keep asking God for help, but it doesn't come. What if I can't hold out until He answers?"

Terry regarded her a moment before answering. "Are you a Christian?"

"Yes."

"If the answer doesn't come," Terry reasoned, "it either means 'no,' or He's going to answer you in some other way than you thought."

Panic touched her face. "I don't think I can hold out much longer."

Even though frustration nibbled at Terry like a starving mouse working through cheese, he refrained from tossing back any kind of a retort. She had prayed for help, and here he was, offering money and a free place to sleep until her family came. What more did she want?

"God promises us that His mercies are new every morning," Terry said, trying to encourage her as best he could. "All we have to do is hold out until morning. Come on, it's not that far away-- just," he paused, glanced at his watch, "two hours till sunup. You can hold out until then, can't you?"

A defeated look faced off into nowhere, avoiding his direct gaze. "I thought it would be easier than this," she whispered, her voice so thick with disappointment, Terry felt her burden settle onto him as well. He didn't know what she spoke of, only her situation in general. Things didn't look good, he had to admit it, but he sure wasn't going to admit it to someone already grasping for hope.

"You can't stop, Madison." Terry's voice firmed as he spoke. "It's not over, until God says it is. If you had wanted to end things, you would have given up before now. Come on. Get up, and start putting one foot in front of the other." He reached to help her up, but she jerked away. "Okay, I won't touch you. But you need to get up. Now."

The forcefulness paid off, for Madison wobbled to her feet, her frame looking small in his oversized clothes.

Hands jammed into his pockets, Terry kept a careful distance as Madison took one slow step after another. For the first time, he noticed a limp to her stride. Maybe she had gotten hurt on the ledge, he thought, then realized that same limp had been there the day before, when he had followed her a short distance at the Old Mill Campground. It wasn't a severe hobble, but a noticeable one, once you were aware of it.

An image of an abandoned puppy dropped into Terry's mind. He wondered if someone had dumped her in Three Mile Bay, then took off without her. Maybe she had no family to call, and no one to come help her.

* * * *

For a brief moment, Madison didn't know which door belonged to the place she had just come from. Then she saw the light splashing onto the tiny front step, the door standing open in the night air.

She shivered, came to a stop without setting a toe inside.

The man who had called himself Terry, stopped as well, a few feet behind her back. She hated the feel of him watching her, as though he were trying to feel her out with just his eyes.

The way she saw it, there were only two options. Either go inside with this man, or stay out here and freeze to death.

What a choice.

With an audible sigh, Terry passed her without saying a word. She lurched to one side to give him plenty of room, then leaned through the doorway to see where he went. Terry moved down the length of the narrow apartment, turned right into a room she couldn't see.

Cold wind battered her body, sending her into enemy territory before she was ready. Once inside, she closed the door without making a sound to give away her presence.

She stood there, shivering on thick, gray, wall-to-wall carpet with no place to go. Tidy furniture and lightly textured white walls gave the apartment a classy atmosphere that made her feel out of place. A black leather couch faced a polished TV cabinet, while a matching chair sat next to a solid wood coffee table. Bookshelves lined the wall, along with silver photo frames crowded with people that were no doubt Terry's family. This guy must have money, she thought. He said he doesn't even live here, and it's this nice.

The thought didn't impress her very much. She didn't even bother to satisfy her curiosity by getting a closer look at the photos on the wall. She needed to get somewhere safe, away from HIM.

Then she saw the stairs. Madison calculated how quickly she could get up them, find a room, and lock the door. Terry was in the back. He couldn't run fast enough to catch her-- not if she was faster.

Her heart pounded as she bolted up the stairs. At the top, she passed the bathroom, fearful that when Terry needed to use the toilet, she would have to face him again. Instead, she rounded the banister, and went to the first door she saw.

It swung open with a small sigh, the hinges moaning like some stupid horror movie she'd once been gullible enough to sit through. It was dark in there, like a yawning chasm, ready to swallow her whole. The sound of a pan rattling downstairs forced her inside. She locked the handle, then collapsed against the door in a fit of weary relief.

Safe. Unless Terry had a key, or could knock down the door like they did on those cop shows. The thought made Madison weak.

God, don't let him get me, she prayed before closing her eyes. Exhausted, she fell asleep before squeezing out an "Amen."

* * * *

Worry nudged itself into Terry's mind as he stood at the kitchen stove, heating the last can of food left in the apartment. He normally didn't stay here, so the cupboards were bare.

A familiar feeling haunted him, as though he had just seen himself in someone else, or even worse, saw something in that person that reminded him of a dear friend he knew. Really, several friends. How many times had he met with any one of those telltale behaviors-- avoidance of eye contact, over-vigilance in maintaining distance from others, distrust to the point of madness, pain that went deeper than mere physical suffering? To Terry's way of thinking, every wounded heart reacted differently to physical or mental abuse, but to a small degree, they all shared at least some of those behaviors. Maybe not everyone, Terry admitted, pouring the pan of hot soup into a bowl, but enough so to make him a fairly decent guesser.

He had heard the door slam above him, off to his back, and Terry guessed that she had decided not to hide in the bathroom. Otherwise, the slam would have been directly over his head.

Maybe I'm thinking too much, he frowned. I've spent too much time with abuse, and now every person I see has to fit my profile.

But she is hiding up there. I may be naive, but I'm not an imbecile. Don't fight that, he warned. So he was a pushover for a person in need. John had said that was a good thing. Of course, Terry recalled, placing a spoon into Madison's bowl, John had also warned to "look before you leap."

I haven't made any leaps, and I don't intend to, Terry reasoned as he climbed the stairs with the bowl of hot chicken soup in one hand, a lukewarm mug of cocoa in the other. This houseguest was only staying for a day-- two at the most-- just as he had told John, and then Madison would be on her way. Out of Terry's life, and no longer Terry's problem.

The bathroom door stood open, confirming Terry's guess. He looked down the short hall, saw his bedroom door was also open. She wouldn't hide in the linen closet, so that left... He tried the door to the storage room, which was actually a second bedroom crammed with bookshelves, filing cabinets, fishing gear, and no bed.

No surprise when he found the door had been locked.

Okay, he thought, I'll just place the bowl and mug outside the door, and when she's ready, she'll eat.

Movement from inside announced she was still alive, and probably now smelling the food. He stepped inside the bathroom, wanting to close that window and get all those soaking wet clothes into a washing machine before mildew ruined his favorite coat.

He heard the storage door creak open, watched from the bathroom as it inched wider until a hand pulled first the mug, then the bowl inside.

"That's chicken soup," he said, as the door quickly slammed shut. "I hope you like it." Maybe it was something I said, Terry thought with a rueful chuckle.

Instead of visiting the community laundry for the apartment complex, Terry stuffed the clothes into a trash bag, to take with him and clean at home. He paused before heading downstairs, stared at the locked room where the woman ate hot soup and drank lukewarm cocoa.

"I'm leaving," he called. "There's no more food in the kitchen, but I'll bring some over later today."

No response-- not that he really expected any. He understood Madison was only there because she had no other choice.

Wishing he could get on the phone at that very moment to contact her family, Terry moved down the stairs with his and Madison's wet clothes. Get her to call home, give her bus fare and enough money to keep her safe during her trip, and then Terry could go back to normal.

Now all he had to do was face his family.

God help him, how he loved those people! Every single blessed one of them! But, oh, could they ever worry. Because they cared, they would pray at all hours, call at inconvenient times to make sure he was all right, and offer to go with him in the middle of a storm-tossed night to help a stranger.

Terry glanced at his watch after locking the front door. A full hour before sunup on a Sunday morning meant John and Izzy would still be asleep-- that is, if John had managed to keep his eyes shut and not think too much.

What had Terry told Madison? God's mercies are new every morning. He thought over those words, the meaning of that promise as he went to his jeep. Quite a promise-- new mercies for a new day. We need them, Lord, he prayed as he climbed into the jeep, tossed the bag onto the passenger seat where Madison had passed out a few short hours before. The memory of her terror drew a dark shadow across Terry's heart. People didn't behave that way unless they were either stark raving lunatics, or their past had taught them what to expect. In Madison's eyes, her fear was valid, and that thought disturbed Terry to his core.

His scars recognized hers, a survivor sensing the presence of another like himself. But she's not me, he cautioned. Compared to her, I'm almost normal.

Turning the key in the ignition, Terry leaned back in the seat to let the engine warm. "Give us new mercies, Lord," he said, letting the words spill from his heart out loud, "give us new mercies, before this world tears itself apart."

"This I [Terry] recall to my mind, therefore have I hope. It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is Thy faithfulness."
~ Lamentations 3:21-23 ~ 

Chapter Three
Mr. Nice Guy

"Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven... Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy."
~ Matthew 5:3, 7 ~ ven before he opened the front door, something in the pit of Terry's stomach knew what to expect. The likelihood of being able to sneak into the house undetected, was next to nil, greater still when you mixed in a worried family.

Not that Terry tried to sneak, of course. He just didn't see why he should disturb anyone's Sunday morning sleep-in for no good reason.

He edged the front door open, then a little more, until a figure lying on the couch came into view. The click of locks had already woke the sleeping man, and as Terry came inside, John sat up and rubbed the bleariness from his eyes.

"I was hoping no one would wait up for me," Terry said with a rueful chuckle. He placed the trash bag on the floor, tugged the door closed.

"Yeah, well," John stood up in a stretching yawn, "I couldn't get any sleep."

"You didn't look like you were having any trouble, a moment ago."

John gave a half shrug. "I took a nap. What's in the bag?"

"Laundry," Terry said, pointing his chin to the bulging trash bag. "With all that rain last night, everything got soaked."

"Hmmm." John made no other response, his stare directed at the floor and not at Terry. "Everything go all right? Or would you prefer I not ask?"

"You can ask," Terry said with a lightheartedness he didn't quite feel.

John's gray-eyed stare moved from the floor to Terry. "Then did everything go all right?"

"Well," Terry rubbed his neck, trying to buy time so he could figure out the best honest answer possible. Escaping from a bathroom window two stories off the ground didn't exactly make it easy for Terry to shrug out a "Sure, everything's fine."

"I guess things could have gone better," Terry said at last.

The hesitance in Terry's answer, the length of time it took before he replied, caused a wary smile to crease John's mouth. "A cautious answer to a cautious question. I hope you're not holding back, simply because you're afraid of what I'll say."

"Not exactly you..." Terry slanted a look down the hall.

Wearing a dark red robe, and fuzzy blue slippers the girls had given her for mother's day earlier that year, Izumi came into the living room with Ruthie in tow.

"He's back," John said with a smile.

"So I see." Izumi looked Terry over, saw the bag and lifted her brows in an unspoken question.

"Oh, that's laundry," John said.

Though Terry appreciated his friend's attempt to shield him, Terry understood the inevitable next question. "Izzy, this time I'm being more careful. I give you my word."

"You've said that, before."

"This time is different."

"How is it different? Does this houseguest need money, a place to stay until who knows when, and emotional support until you're the one having nightmares?"

John blew out a heavy sigh. "Little Dove, Terry is doing what he feels is right."

Despite having heard John's loving pet name for her, Izumi pinned her husband with a solid stare. "Terry is setting himself up to get hurt again, and I seem to be the only one here who sees it coming."

"It's only going to be for a day or two," Terry said, venturing to put in a few words in his own defense.

"And," John added in a show of support, "this houseguest isn't from the crisis hotline. Relax, Little Dove. Everything is under control."

Izumi gave John a disbelieving look. "I'm not the one who slept on the sofa until Terry came home."

"Well, you're the one who kept talking about what could go wrong, and how could I let him leave without me..." John threw up his hands. "Let's face it, we were both concerned about him."

Izumi patted Ruthie down the hall, then turned to face her husband. "It's going to happen again."

"You don't know that."

Izumi sighed.

"Honey, I don't know what you want from me. Do you want me to lock Terry in his room? Is that what you want?"

For a long moment, Izumi looked as though she were considering the possibility.

"He's a grown man, Izumi. I won't do it."

The back and forth between John and Izumi filled Terry with regret. He hated to see his good friends struggle through disagreement because of him, more so, when a similar conversation had taken place a few months ago concerning a different houseguest. One regrettable but necessary eviction and a restraining order later, Terry still received the occasional call from the survivor of abuse Terry had met on the hotline. Victor. He had been molested as a child, turned to drugs as a teenager to drown out the pain, and now all Victor could see was his own suffering, his own needs. Everyone else didn't matter, not even the man who had gone out of his way to help.

Maybe Izumi had a point...

Then the slight image of Madison came before Terry. The discouraged gray eyes that were unable to meet his, the trembling he guessed wasn't related to the cold, the absolute and complete helplessness of the pain he could only sense lay beneath the surface. They meant big problems for Madison, no question about it, but why should that matter to him? He hefted the bag off the floor, weighed the consequences of his decision.

"Izzy, I have to do this."

"It's his decision to make, Izumi."

Outnumbered two to one, Izumi shook her head in quiet protest.

"If I get the flashbacks again," Terry said in a solemn voice, "I promise, I'll move out until I'm back to normal."

"You'll do no such thing." Izumi leveled Terry a look full of tender reproach. "You are family. Happy or hurt, you belong with us. I only wish you'd let your family take better care of you."

"I'll be careful, Izzy. I promise."

"You said that the last time."

"This time he means it," John said with a grin.

Terry sighed. "I also meant it the last time."

Head bowed in a moment of thought, Izumi looked at Terry. Even through her frustrated concern, Terry could see a great deal of compassion. "Take care of yourself, Terry. Over the years, you've not only been John's brother, but mine as well."

Izumi's words touched him, and he stooped to accept her offered hug.

"Be on your guard, Terry. Don't let anyone take advantage of your good nature."

"I won't, Izzy."

An unconvinced sigh escaped from Izumi, but she tried to believe him. Terry knew she tried, for after their talk, she took the bag of wet clothes from Terry, and offered to do the laundry for him.

Surprised but grateful, Terry thanked Izumi.

When she disappeared out the kitchen door on her way to the laundry room beside the house, John appraised the situation with a cautious but satisfied nod. "I think we won. Don't worry, Terry. She'll come around."

The kind but unrealistic statement brought a smile to Terry's mouth. Not even John considered Terry's most recent needy person a good idea, and they had yet to meet her.

Several poached eggs sat in a frying pan, sizzling and filling the kitchen with aroma by the time Izumi returned from the laundry room. She went to the table where her coffee waited, and seemed to enjoy letting the men be the ones to stand over the stove for a change.

"Your friend needs to lose weight," Izumi said, wrapping her fingers around the mug. "From the man's clothes, I'd say he's about sixty pounds overweight."

"Who?" Terry paused as he lifted plates from the cupboard.

"Your houseguest," Izumi said with a smile. "The guy you're trying to help. He needs to lose weight."

For a moment, Terry puzzled, then remembered Madison's clothes. "My houseguest isn't exactly a he."

Now John paused, his attention full on Terry. "Then what is he... exactly?"

"A she."

"A woman?" John's eyes went big with alarm. "Terry, are you trying to tell me you went to the Old Mill Campground last night, and took a woman you found there, to your apartment in Chaumont?"

"Yeah. So?"

"That's taking a big risk, isn't it?"

Frowning, Terry pulled out more plates. "I don't see how it's such a big difference from my last houseguest."

"But he was a man."

"So?"

"Terry, what happens if this woman suddenly decides she can get more from you by claiming you kidnapped her, or assaulted her? It would be your word against hers."

Puzzled, Terry shrugged. "Why would she do that?"

"It's called extortion," John said, his voice hardening. "You're really putting your neck on the line with this one."

"Madison wouldn't do that," Terry shook his head, his mind rebelling at the thought of the helpless woman being somehow mercenary. "She's too lost, too..." he searched for a better word, "too damaged to do anything but hide in my storage room."

The mug settled on the table, and Izumi's eyes widened like her husband's. "She's hiding? From whom?"

"Me, I suppose," Terry said with a shrug.

Izumi gave him a searching stare. "And why is she hiding from the man who saved her?"

"I don't know-- at least, not for certain."

"What do you know for certain?"

"Not much. But I do know she needs help."

"If she's hiding from you, then, yes, she definitely needs help." The worried frown returned to Izumi's face, and when Terry looked to John, he found the same expression on his.

"How soon is this Madison character leaving?" John asked.

"I hope to have her out of my apartment in a day or two."

"Is there anywhere else you can take her in the meantime? A homeless shelter-- anywhere that isn't your apartment?"

Terry focused on the multi-colored plates in his hands. "I don't think they'd take her."

"Why not?" The concern rising in John's voice worried Terry into momentary silence.

"Madison has problems."

"What kind of problems?"

"I'm not sure." Terry sucked in a deep breath, waited a beat to gather his courage. "She seems to be afraid of people-- men in particular, and she acts strange-- too strange for most homeless shelters to probably take her. Even for them."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Izumi asked.

"It means," John said, folding his arms, "that Madison is a few tacos short of a combination platter."

"What?"

"She's crazy." John turned to Terry. "Or am I wrong?"

"I don't think she's crazy. Just very, very hurt on the inside."

A groan slipped from Izumi. "I thought you said she wasn't from the crisis hotline."

"She isn't."

A silent exchange passed between husband and wife. It seemed Terry didn't need a hotline to find these hurt people. They could find him just fine without one. The thought remained unsaid by John and Izumi, but Terry felt it in the impact of their silence.

Without a word, John turned back to the stove and the poached eggs. Izumi picked up her mug, closed her eyes in what Terry guessed to be a quiet prayer, then took a deep breath.

"I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, Terry." Izumi touched the mug to her lips, then put the cup on the table without drinking. "For your sake, I pray Madison won't exploit the fact you're putting yourself at so much risk. What did John call you this morning? Mr. Nice Guy-- it fits you to a T."

A sympathetic smile creased John's face, but for once, John offered no encouragement. Terry knew, without question, they would stand by him come what may. He didn't take that fact for granted, but knew it in his heart. Their reluctance to deepen the debate proved it, as did Izumi's offer to go with Terry later that day, and help Madison contact her family.

* * * *

Fear snaked through Madison's veins like icy water, making the trembling even worse. It had found her. The monster lay coiled beneath the mattress, ready to be unleashed. It came to her now, even though she refused to look over the side of the bed, refused even to stare at the ceiling. Squeezing her eyes shut didn't help, and didn't make the monster go away. It smothered her, made her lungs burn, made her heart hammer against her ribs until they cracked.

A low moan broke through her consciousness, followed by the very real sensation of pain. It radiated from her side, the anguish both familiar and calming. I'm dreaming, she thought with renewed hope. This pain is real. She willed her eyes to open, daring the monster to either appear before her or prove itself only a nightmare.

Was she awake yet? Madison blinked, her eyes focusing on a metal drawer, some sort of green filing cabinet with a logo on the front. She pulled herself upright, winced when she felt the searing pain in her hip. Sleeping on the hard floor made things worse, but at least she wasn't on a bed.

When had the sun come up? She squinted against the light filtering through the vertical blinds over the windows. It took effort to remember the night before, the rain, the man who had brought her to this place.

The stiffness in her hip protested as she stood up. She crossed the floor, pulled the door open, and seeing no one, eased her way to the bathroom with a low moan that matched each step.

The novelty of being somewhere new, someplace different than what she had known, occurred to her as something of a miracle. She was here, and not in the other place, the other life. Madison celebrated this fact, the ordinary things that made the moment real. The fire in her hip, the cold bathroom tiles chilling her bare feet-- even the sharpness of hunger added to the certainty that she was not trapped in an unreachable dream. This was real.

After using the bathroom, Madison lingered at the top of the stairs. She waited, listened for some noise that might warn her of the man's presence. What was his name? Rubbing her forehead, it came to her. Terry-- that was it. He said she would have the apartment to herself, because he didn't live here. Who paid for a nice place like this, and didn't use it? The thought worried her, and the fear came that maybe this man who promised food and safety was nothing but trouble.

Her stomach rumbled at the thought of something to eat, and hunger prodded her downstairs to check the kitchen. Terry claimed there wasn't any food, but Madison had to see for herself. A search of the kitchen cupboards and the refrigerator proved him right.

Then another thought came to her, disturbing in all its possibilities. What if he never came at all? What if he never brought the food he promised? The memory of the dog ripping apart her meal, haunted Madison. The fear of being forgotten, tugged at her already ragged courage.

God, please don't forget me, she prayed in silence.

Going to the front door, Madison checked to see if she could get out, should the need arise. Just being able to touch the locks, to move them back and forth in their settings, made her feel more in control. Perhaps only a fool would stay to wait for a man to keep his word, but fear of cold and hunger stopped her from leaving.

Fatigued from too much thought and lack of food, Madison went back upstairs, one painful step at a time. She returned to her hiding place, remembering to again lock the door. God, don't let Terry forget me, she prayed.

When Madison woke the second time, the light in the room had changed. It was no longer morning, but later in the day. How late, she had no way of knowing, only that the emptiness in her stomach pleaded for something-- anything, but this gnawing hunger.

Her hip complained, but Madison got up from off the floor and forced herself to move until the pain lessened. She paused beside the door, sniffed the air in the hopes Terry had left the food in the hall like last time. When she smelled nothing, she cracked open the door. No sign of food, or Terry.

She should leave. Leave before Terry came back, if he ever intended to, and get far away from this place before something bad happened. The man owed her nothing, and since he wasn't going to bother keeping his word, she decided to go while the getting was good.

Madison stood there, trying to will herself to act on the decision. Maybe it would be better to die here, forgotten, with at least some shelter over her head, than to die out in the open.

But what if he came back, had not forgotten her food after all, but wanted to frighten her into payment for staying as long as she had? The thought terrified her into action. Even though Terry had taken her clothes in the excuse to launder them, she must leave without her things. Without even her socks and shoes. So convincingly did she persuade herself into going, the opening door downstairs almost went unnoticed.

"Madison?" Terry called from below. "Are you still here?"

The sound of his voice made her freeze with dread.

Footsteps moved up the carpeted stairs, the small creaks giving away Terry's presence.

Trapped, she backed from the door until a filing cabinet pressed against her shoulders.

"Madison? Are you still in there?"

Too afraid to speak, she remained silent.

"If the door's locked, she hasn't left," Terry told someone in the hall. "Unless, of course, she went out the window again."

"Went out the window?" a woman asked in amazement.

"Well, yeah," the pause in Terry's voice gave Madison the impression he struggled to find words, "she kind of panicked last night, and went out the bathroom window."

"The bathroom window. This bathroom? The one on the second floor?"

"Yeah."

"Terry, what if she had fallen?"

"Hey, I didn't push her out there. I got a ladder, and she climbed down without a scratch. She just needs twenty-four hours, Izzy-- forty-eight at the most-- and she's on a bus for home."

No response from the woman called Izzy.

"One day, we're going to be able to laugh at this situation."

"I seriously doubt it," Izzy said. "Well, what now? What if she doesn't come out?"

"Madison?" Terry sounded more frantic now. "Would you unlock the door? You need to call your family, let them know where you are and that you're all right. Madison?"

"Where's the key for this door?" Izzy asked.

"In the junk drawer, downstairs."

"You'd better go get it."

Alarm pulsed through Madison. She backed into the farthest corner, pulled a stack of cardboard boxes in front of her, then crouched against the floor. Stupid, she thought, I'm so stupid. Now it's too late to get out of here.

Footsteps came to the door, a key twisted in the lock. Someone came inside.

"Madison?" Terry moved through the room, and her breath caught when his face loomed over the stack of boxes.

His eyes met hers, and the half smile slipped from his face. His brow knit together in an odd look Madison couldn't understand. He acted as though he were in pain, but she couldn't understand why, for she was the one straining her sore hip, not him.

A heavy breath parted his lips. He turned away, held up a hand to the woman coming inside. "I'll be with you in a moment, Izzy. I found her." He rubbed his face, then turned back to Madison. "I'm going to start lunch. When you're ready, you can join us downstairs. All right?"

Madison couldn't answer.

Terry's mouth formed a straight, grim line. "I give you my word-- as a Christian before God-- I won't harm you in any way. Do you believe me?"

Crazy with hunger, Madison nodded "yes," but crouched even further behind the boxes.

The look on his face deepened.

"Come downstairs when you're able," Terry said in a quiet voice. He shut the door behind him, and when the woman called Izzy began to speak, her voice was cut off by Terry's. Footsteps creaked as they went downstairs.

Ignoring the painful hip, Madison remained where she was.

The lopsided smile Terry had given her before going, had put a tight lump in her throat. If she hadn't known it to be impossible, she would have thought him only seconds away from tears.

* * * *

"Terry, what's going on?" Izumi followed him into the kitchen where he set the bag of groceries they had brought from home, onto the counter.

Head bowed, Terry felt unable to give an answer. A gentle hand touched his arm, and he looked up to see Izumi's strained smile.

"Go sit down. I'll cook lunch."

"She's hurting, Izzy. I never saw anyone tremble so hard. And then when I spoke to her..." Terry steadied his voice. "When I asked Madison to trust me, she wet herself. I don't think she even noticed, she was so terrified."

"Two days, Terry. Then I'm going to do all I can to get her out of your apartment before she turns into another Victor."

"She's not like that, Izzy. She's different."

"She's different, all right." Izumi tied on the apron Terry kept in the cupboard beneath the gas range. "She hides like someone running from the police, and doesn't even come out to thank you for saving her life. Has she thanked you, yet?"

"No."

"See what I mean?"

Terry remained silent. "If you saw her, you'd understand."

"I don't pretend to understand all there is to know about pain, Terry, but I do understand what that pain can do to my family."

"I wonder what she's been through, to hide from us-- from me, that way."

"You've had enough nightmares," Izumi continued, sliding a pan of water over a burner. "What are we going to do if she doesn't come down to lunch?"

"She'll come." Terry knew it in his soul. "She's too hungry to stay away."

It occurred to Terry that they could leave Madison's meal outside her door, but he decided against it. It felt too much like a jailer feeding a prisoner, and if they were ever going to get Madison to call home, they would first have to get her to talk to them. That wasn't going to happen through a closed door.

Several minutes later, while Terry set a platter of hot spaghetti on the small table in the dining area beside the kitchen, Izumi took out her cell phone and called John. She and Terry had left church a few minutes early, so they could go home and get food to bring to Terry's apartment for lunch. Today, John would fend for himself in the kitchen-- a fact Izumi didn't necessarily like. By the time she got off the phone, however, Izumi seemed happier.

"It appears the girls are helping John make lunch," Izumi said, folding away her cell phone. "They're making quite a mess, but--"

The abrupt stop made Terry look up. He followed Izumi's gaze to the woman standing at the foot of the stairs. She wore a pair of Terry's old beat-up jeans, hiked about her thin waist and tied with what looked to be a length of nylon rope from the storage room. The oversized sweatshirt covered one hip, the other revealing the thick strand of rope that held the pants in place. His socks covered her feet, and her arms hugged herself in the familiar death-hug he had witnessed the night before.

"I--" Madison's voice quavered, "I'd like to thank you and your wife for letting me stay the night."

"Wife?" Izumi looked to Terry, an amused smile on her lips.

"You're very welcome, Madison, but Izumi isn't my wife. She belongs to my best friend." Terry tossed a wink at Izumi. "I like to think of her as an annoying little sister." He chuckled when Izumi laughed, for they both knew it wasn't far from the truth. "Hope you came hungry, because we have lots of spaghetti." When Terry turned his back to Madison, he smiled as he went into the kitchen for the garlic bread warming in the tiny oven. The aroma of that bread had gone straight to the storage room, coaxing Madison out of hiding and into a pair of faded blue jeans Terry had forgotten he owned. Tomato sauce with meatballs, parmesan, a fresh salad thrown together by Izumi, made it a meal too irresistible to pass up.

Terry hadn't had this much food in the place since... well, since Victor.

After pulling out Izumi's chair for her, Terry sat down and left Madison to fend for herself. He imagined she wouldn't appreciate the gesture, let alone remain in the room long enough to get some meat on that overly slender frame.

Terry watched Madison approach the table in quiet desperation. At first, she hung back, then took the seat closest to the living room and the staircase. Hands tucked under her legs, those wide gray eyes fastened on the food with a hunger that stunned even Izumi.

Suddenly, Terry felt bad about going to church, and not coming straight to the apartment with food. How long ago had she last eaten? From the way Madison kept avoiding their curious gaze, Terry guessed he wasn't going to get an answer to that question.

Terry said a prayer over the meal, then started passing food around the short table. As a guy, Terry figured to take more than Izumi, but his mouth fell open when Madison piled as much spaghetti on her plate as she could possibly manage.

"Don't make yourself sick," Terry said with a smile.

Madison ignored him, ladling on sauce and grabbing a slice of garlic bread before Terry could even unfold his napkin.

"So, Madison," Izumi gave one of her polite smiles, "what brings you into this part of New York?"

The eating stopped, then the chin tucked against her shoulder.

"It's okay," Terry told Madison, "we'll talk after lunch."

A large gulp slid down Madison's throat. She paused, then resumed her eating.

What Terry feared might happen, happened. Madison ate like a starving person who didn't know when, or if, she would ever see another meal. As a consequence, she overate to the point of rush-limping upstairs to vomit-- even though Terry tried to tell her the half bath on the bottom floor was closer.

Izumi followed after Madison, only to have the upstairs bathroom door slammed in her face.

When Izumi returned, she started clearing the plates from the table. "Calm down, Terry. She's had too much to eat, that's all."

"Did you see her limp?"

"I saw." Izumi let out a sigh. "You said I'd understand when I saw her, and you were right."

"She reminds you of someone we know, doesn't she?"

The cautious look in Izumi's eyes made Terry wish he hadn't said those words.

"She's been hurt in some terrible way, some point in her life. After this, I think that's obvious. But, Terry, Madison isn't Jake. Neither was Victor, or what's-his-name with the goatee--"

"Donald."

"Yes, Donald. Terry, you can't save everyone."

"I know that."

"Do you?" Izumi didn't look convinced. "I can't help feeling you're going to come out of this hurt. Somehow, some way, this isn't going to turn out well. Especially for you."

Pulling out his cell phone, Terry decided he needed to get Madison on her way before she proved Izumi right. It was too much to hope Madison would come down for anything besides food, and when Terry went upstairs and found the storage room locked, he realized his mistake. First the call, then the food, not the other way around.

"Madison," he knocked on the door. "I want you to let me in. Now."

It amazed Terry when she obeyed. She hunkered away from him, her nose pointed at the carpet.

"It's time for you to call your family, Madison. You can use my cell phone; I don't care if it's long distance, but I need you to call home." He held out the phone, but she didn't take it.

"I-- I don't have anyone to call," she said, her voice nearing a low whisper.

"No family?" Terry looked at her, and she shook her head, "no." "What about friends-- someone who could come get you? There's absolutely no one?"

By now, Izumi stood in the doorway, listening to every word. Terry glanced behind his back, saw the uneasy alarm in Izumi's face.

"Does this mean I have to leave now?" Madison's thin voice quaked as she spoke. Her eyes didn't seem able to lift to meet Terry's, but Terry heard the plea.

"You were hitchhiking when I first saw you-- where were you headed?"

A shoulder rose, dropped in an uncertain shrug.

"You had a destination, didn't you?"

The chin bobbed up in a look of understanding. "My destination was Three Mile Bay."

Terry felt his hopes rise. "Then you know someone in the area?"

Her head shook "no."

"Then why did you come here?"

Another shrug, followed by a cautious whisper Terry almost didn't hear. "It was as far as my money would take me."

"Are you running from someone?" Izumi asked over Terry's shoulder.

When Madison didn't reply, Terry repeated the question.

"There's no one to run from," Madison said in a flat voice. "I don't have a husband, and I don't have any children. I don't have a home, and I don't have any friends." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't have anyone but God."

Strange, thought Terry, to claim God was on your side when everything in your life pointed to destitution and pain. It intrigued Terry, made him hesitate when he felt sure Izumi wanted him to make a firm decision.

"Please, mister. I don't have anywhere else to go."

"I can't let you stay here indefinitely. You understand that, don't you?"

She nodded.

If Terry knew of a defense against the pitiful helplessness before him, self-preservation demanded that he use it now. But he had nothing, not even the alarm Izumi felt so needful.

"I suppose you can stay... for a few days." Terry felt Izumi's hot disappointment, but kept addressing Madison. "I don't know what to do about this yet, but for now, I think you should concentrate on regaining your strength. We'll talk about your future, later. Maybe you could find some sort of a job..." Terry turned to look at Izumi and saw the sigh coming.

"Do I have to do anything to stay?" The question slid Terry's attention back to Madison.

"What?"

Madison sucked in a breath, held it until her question came again. "Do I have to do anything to stay?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't trash my apartment."

"Besides that," Madison gulped. "Do I have to do anything special to stay here? Because if I do, I'd rather go back to the wild."

"That wasn't the wild, Madison. That was a campground."

"But..." she struggled to speak, and Terry had a hunch he knew what she meant.

"I don't expect any special favors in return."

The fear in Madison's face betrayed she thought he might force her to do just that.

With an exasperated groan, Izumi pushed past Terry, and looked at Madison with a flare of righteous indignation in her eyes. "Listen, Terry is one of the good guys. He wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone another human being. He's kind to a fault, and wouldn't accept payment if it was thrown in his face."

Terry smiled at the loyal defense. "Let me handle this, Izzy."

Shaking her head, Izumi returned to the bedroom door. "I wish John were here. Then again, he'd probably take your side. When you two band together like brothers, it takes dynamite to change your mind."

"Please, Izzy--"

"I won't stop you, Terry. You're old enough to make these decisions on your own. Sometimes, though, I wish I was your mom; I'd stand a better chance of protecting you"-- Izumi tossed a glance in Madison's direction-- "from problems like this one."

Evidently feeling the reproach of Izumi's statement, Madison ducked her head. "I can't pay you anything," Madison said in a quiet voice. "I have nothing."

With a sigh, Terry folded his arms, glanced at Izumi and saw the pity reflected on Izumi's face. "No one here is asking for payment, Madison. Find something useful to do with your life, and give back to society when you have the chance. Do that, and you'll pay me back with interest. Okay?"

The chin came up long enough for Terry to see the bewilderment on Madison's face. "I don't understand you."

"That makes two of us," Izumi sighed over Terry's shoulder. "I have to get back to John and the girls. It was nice to meet you, Madison."

Izumi's polite remark sounded just that-- polite-- but Terry appreciated it, all the same.

"I'll come with you, Izzy. I just have one more thing to settle here."

With a growing look of dread, Madison backed a few more steps from Terry.

He pointed to her arms. "Roll up your sleeves."

"Why?"

"I want to see if you have any track marks."

"I'm not a drug addict."

"Then roll up your sleeves."

Madison complied, then pulled off her socks to show there weren't any puncture marks between her toes. Whoever Madison was, she had been around drug users. Perhaps she wasn't a user herself-- Terry could believe that-- but she knew the usual places of injection.

"Okay, you can put my socks back on. If I ever catch you with drugs, you're out of this apartment. No arguments, no appeals. Got it?"

She nodded in understanding. "What about the landlord? Won't he mind me using your apartment?"

"You're talking to him," Izumi said with a smile. "Terry owns the building. She has a point, though, Terry. You'd better let Lauren know about your houseguest."

"Lauren Moore is the building superintendent," Terry said to Madison. "I'll talk to her before we leave." Terry turned to go, then remembered something. "My business card is on the refrigerator if you need to contact me. Oh, and Izzy did your laundry; it's in the bag by the sofa."

* * * *

For several minutes after Terry and Izumi left, the shock of actually having asked to stay, amazed Madison. Only a moment before his return, she had been planning her escape. Maybe the arrival of food had given her courage, or maybe it had been the presence of that oriental looking woman with the deep blue eyes. The wife of his best friend, Terry had said. The statement piqued Madison's curiosity. Their exchange had been familiar, like a brother and sister, and not like a man and woman who were unrelated to each other.

This Terry was an odd person. He might even be crazy. Odd or not, crazy or not, Madison had a roof over her head for at least the next few days.

As she headed downstairs, she noticed the stiffness in her hip felt better.

A quick inspection of the kitchen brought a further smile. There were leftovers in the refrigerator, soda pop and a bag of chips on the counter. Madison filled her plate, felt something stir within her that she thought had died in the cold of those first two nights in Three Mile Bay. She felt renewed hope for the future, a real chance at a new beginning. She'd get a job, find her own place to stay, and in the process, become normal.

More than anything, Madison wanted to be like everyone else. To be carefree, to live without that energetic monster in the shadows. No one else had a monster.

Now she wouldn't, either.

"And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in Thee."
~ Psalm 39:7 ~ 

Chapter Four
Clouds in September

"And of some have compassion, making a difference..."
~ Jude 22 ~ o his amusement on Monday morning, Terry awoke to three little girls all proclaiming that today they didn't have preschool. Of course, they hadn't had school all summer long, but the fact that tomorrow marked their first day back to Wee Ones Christian Preschool, made it a special occasion for the triplets. Never mind Labor Day, today they had no school.

Labor Day. In all the fuss over his new houseguest, Terry had quite forgotten about the Labor Day barbeque. After all the plans John and Terry made for the party, all the expectations of a relaxing time on the beach, Terry didn't feel like celebrating. Not after yesterday.

When Terry went into the kitchen for breakfast, John and Izumi didn't look in the mood for a party, either. They sipped coffee in silence, letting the girls have their day off without adding any rain clouds to their sunshine. No mention of Madison at the kitchen table, no talk of hurting people or the things Terry knew John and Izumi were thinking.

The dishes cleared away, John and Terry went outside to get the barbeque ready for that afternoon. Only when they were alone, did John bring up the subject of Madison.

"Are you going to see her this morning?" John asked, as he and Terry hauled a basin firepit onto the beach.

Though half fearing what John might say about him getting too involved in someone else's troubles, Terry answered anyway. "I was thinking about it."

John moved the firepit over a few inches, stepped back, wiped his hands against his jeans. "Mind if I come with you?"

"She might act weird."

"I stand warned." John hefted one side of the picnic table while Terry lifted the other. "For all this talk about Madison, I'd like to meet her, get my own opinion of who she is. Izumi said Madison was a broken heart, hiding in a broken body, and that I'd understand what she meant when I saw Madison for myself."

"Don't expect too much," Terry said as they lowered the picnic table closer to the firepit. "She hides a lot of the time, and I can't get her to open up about where she came from, the people she knew who might be interested in her welfare. She said she doesn't have anyone but God, and unless it's proven otherwise, I have to believe she's telling the truth."

John gave a thoughtful look. "No one but God? That's an odd thing to say."

"That's what I thought." Terry pulled a list from his back pocket. "Even though everything appears to have been going against Madison, she still has hope. I believe that says a lot about her."

"Careful, Terry." John slanted him a sidelong glance as Terry checked off firepit and picnic table from the to-do list. "She's a stranger, and as such, it's better to treat her with a great deal of caution. Agreed?"

"I don't think she's dangerous, John."

John gave a wry smile. "Izumi shares your opinion. Whatever happened at your apartment yesterday, Izumi has stopped being as insistent about Madison's hasty departure."

Terry couldn't help smiling. "You'll understand when you see Madison."

"So I keep hearing." John took the list from Terry, looked it over before handing it back. "Do we visit your apartment before, or after, the run to the grocery store for the wieners?"

* * * *

The absolute quiet of the apartment didn't bother Madison. What did bother her, however, was the visit from the woman called Lauren-- Terry's building superintendent and very pushy neighbor. The woman had rung the doorbell with such tenacity, Madison felt no choice but to open the door. From the front step, Lauren welcomed the newcomer to the complex, and when she couldn't gain entrance, kept talking nonstop. Terry had told her about one of his friends using the apartment, and as one of his closest friends, Lauren had rushed over to make Madison welcome. Terry mentioned something about leaving Madison alone, but Lauren dismissed it as nonsense. Of course she must come and make Madison welcome, and of course she must have Madison over to dinner sometime soon. The door narrowed several inches more, but Lauren had stuck it out and finally extracted a "maybe" from Madison.

What an insistent woman.

When the front step visitor left, Madison again locked the door and then closed the living room windows. If Madison hadn't been caught watching the woman looking through the window, she wouldn't have had to open the door in the first place.

Retreating to the room with the filing cabinets, Madison lay on the carpet, her knees tucked against her chest. No one could see her here.

Quiet settled around her, the only sounds small, off in the distance and unthreatening. She let out a breath, shut her eyes and wished for sleep. After two nights of shifting on the hard floor, getting comfortable was out of the question. So was the bedroom down the hall. But the sofa downstairs... sometimes, she imagined it called to her. Though her hip answered with every burning ache, she continued to ignore the conversation. Hidden behind the locked door and huddled beside boxes of who knew what, she felt safe.

A shudder passed through her heart when the doorbell sounded. Oh, no. Another visitor.

Hands pressed to her ears, she prayed the person at the door would go away. She had food. She had running water, and a place to keep out of the weather. Until she ran out of something, why couldn't everyone stay away?

A muffled knock sounded nearby. She lifted a hand, realized it came from the door to her hiding place.

With a swallow of tremoring resolve, she pushed herself upright. The visitor had to be you-know-who with the jeep and the lopsided grin.

"What do you want?" she asked, expecting Terry's voice to respond. When it did, she gave a dull sigh. Not that she wasn't grateful, but why couldn't God have sent a woman to save her life, instead of that man?

"I brought you some company," Terry said through the door. "I asked Izzy and her husband to come with me so we could have a visit. I even brought Izzy upstairs with me, so you'll feel better about opening this door."

Better to not respond, thought Madison, so she remained silent.

"Are you okay in there?" Terry asked.

"I'm all right." Madison struggled to sound convincing. She was fine. Just fine. He could go away now. Any second would do. Just walk away and leave her alone.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"No."

"I'd like to see you."

"Why?"

"You don't sound all right."

"I can't help how I sound. Please go."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Madison."

"Why not? You know where the door is."

A long stretch of silence. Maybe he left, she thought with growing hope. To her dismay, the voice came again, this time more insistent than before.

"I'm responsible for you. Open this door so I can see for myself that you're all right."

Getting to her feet, she made her way across the room.

"Madison?"

"I'm coming," she said, biting against the blaze raging in her hip. She unlocked the handle, pulled the door open.

She found Izzy and Terry waiting in the hall. Madison didn't pay much attention to the woman, her whole being focused on the man.

Unlike last time, Terry wasn't dressed in slacks, but a pair of blue jeans and a white pullover shirt with a fish on the front. Perpetually casual in slacks or jeans, Terry gave Madison the impression of someone who tried to enjoy life. His lopsided smile greeted her, but he didn't come inside until Madison had first moved away from the door.

Hands in his pockets, Terry surveyed the room, then her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I told you, I'm fine."

He nodded. "How's the hip?"

Madison lowered her eyes. It was none of his business how her hip felt. She would have told him so, but lacked the courage.

"Do you have enough to eat?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine."

Terry blew out a breath. "I don't suppose you'd tell me if you were in any pain?"

"No, I wouldn't." She risked a quick glance at Terry. The answer didn't please him, for his brow wrinkled in thought and his shoulders heaved with another sigh. The discouraged expression he wore made her almost feel sorry for him.

Terry gave a sad sort of smile. "Izzy's husband, John, is here. I was hoping you'd go downstairs and say 'hi.'"

Madison remained quiet.

Head bowed, Terry stared at the floor. "It would mean a lot to me if you did."

Reason argued with her that she owed Terry this request. Even so, she hesitated.

"Please, just for a few minutes." His quiet voice pulled at her.

"I can't."

"Why not?" He looked up, his brown eyes unnervingly gentle.

Madison gave a half shrug. "I can't."

Turning, Terry glanced at the woman behind him. Izzy remained in the hall, but her slight frown communicated displeasure to Madison.

Feeling trapped, Madison backed from the door. "Please, don't make me go downstairs. Please, Terry."

To Madison's surprise, Terry gave a heartfelt smile. "Finally, you've stopped calling me 'mister.'"

"Please--"

Terry held up a hand to stop the begging. "I won't make you do anything against your will. The person I wanted you to meet is a very good friend of mine, that's all. If you don't want to come downstairs, you don't have to."

Hugging herself, Madison gave up. "Okay. I'll come."

"You will?" Terry grinned, turned and nodded to Izzy. "She's coming."

Even though Madison didn't think Izzy still looked very pleased, Izzy smiled at Terry, then disappeared down the stairs.

Not one word passed between Terry and Madison as they descended the steps. He went several feet ahead of her, and she followed behind. He moved slow, as though understanding she couldn't go very fast. The unspoken thoughtfulness made Madison shrink even deeper inside herself. They stepped into the living room while someone opened the windows Madison had closed earlier that morning. Terry said something about his best friend-- a man named John Johannes-- and Madison barely heard the words. She kept her eyes on the gray carpet, intent on bracing herself against running away.

John said something polite, and after an awkward silence, Madison realized it was her turn.

"Hi," she said, then backed away to the dining area and the nearest chair.

The conversation that followed took place without Madison's participation. Izzy said a few words about a friend watching the girls, Terry made mention of it being a holiday, and John said nothing at all. After what must have been minutes later, Terry moved over to the dining area.

"I noticed the bed upstairs hasn't been slept in. I hope you're not sleeping on the sofa when you've got a perfectly good bedroom all to yourself."

Hands tucked beneath her, Madison watched her socked toes wiggle.

"You are sleeping on the sofa, aren't you?"

Why did God put five toes on each foot? Why not six or seven? Did it make a difference?

"Madison," Terry's voice rose, "tell me you haven't been sleeping on the floor."

Frowning, Madison looked up from her toes. Terry stood by the table, his mouth drawn into a thin grimace.

"Is that where you've been sleeping? On the floor in the storage room?"

"Please," she fought the tremor in her voice, "stop asking questions. What does it matter where I sleep?"

"It matters, if it's hurting your hip."

"It's my hip."

"Then you are in pain?"

An inadvertent sigh slipped from her lips. From the way Terry went into the kitchen, Madison guessed he had taken that as a "yes."

He came back with a white bottle, popped off the cap, dumped pills into his hand. He placed them on the table in front of her, then went back into the kitchen. When he returned, he brought a glass of water.

"Take them," he said, setting the glass beside the two pills. "It'll help with the pain."

"I never said I was hurting."

"You don't have to say it-- I can see for myself. Now take them."

She had no idea what they were, but swallowed the pills down without further struggle.

"That was ibuprofen," Terry said, as though having read her thoughts. "I'll put the bottle on the kitchen counter. When you're hurting, take more, but make sure you read the directions first. You can read, can't you?"

"Of course I can read," she said, her eyes narrowing on Terry. "I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were." Terry pressed his lips together, waited a few patient moments before continuing. "This is over-the-counter pain medication. It'll help you."

"I don't want help."

"Maybe you don't, but your pain does." Terry took the bottle and empty glass of water into the kitchen. When he came back, he passed through the living room, and went upstairs.

The other two visitors-- John and Izzy-- remained quiet. Madison didn't look in their direction, but sensed their unease. At least they didn't try to approach her. She felt grateful for that. It was all she could do to manage Terry, let alone two more strangers.

Before she had worked up more alarm at being left alone with the Johanneses, Terry came downstairs carrying a stack of blankets, a comforter and two fluffy pillows.

Izzy and John didn't say a word as Terry made a bed on the sofa. Terry placed the television remote on the coffee table, then returned to the dining area where Madison sat watching.

"From now on, you sleep on the sofa. There's a bedroom if you ever change your mind, but until then, you sleep on the sofa. Not the floor. Got it?"

Bewildered, Madison nodded her head. Who was this person, and why should he care if she was hurting?

"I brought more food," Terry said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "This time, it's healthier food, not the junk stuff we bought for Labor Day. I don't suppose you want to come to our picnic, do you? No? That's what I thought you'd say." Terry smiled, though the gesture looked distracted, as though he had a lot on his mind. "We'll leave you alone now. The next time I come, though, I want to see you on that sofa."

Again, Madison nodded without thinking. He seemed almost angry, but from the continued gentleness of him insisting she got some rest, she knew he couldn't be too angry.

When they left, she went to the kitchen to see what Terry had brought. Apples, bananas, an extravagance of fresh whole strawberries, and even a cantaloupe, sat on the countertop. The fridge held eggs, milk, cheese, yogurt, and in the freezer she found TV dinners of chicken, shrimp Alfredo, and even a frozen peach cobbler. All she had to do was pop them into the microwave. She looked about, easily located the microwave oven above the counter. Whole wheat bread and a carton of "Smart Eating" cookies sat beside the fruit.

So much food. It nearly caused Madison to pass out from giddiness. Instead of repeating her previous mistake of eating too much, too fast, she forced herself to reign in the excitement. She never possessed an over-fondness for food, but when someone is used to very little, this bounty seemed like a great deal.

Taking a small carton of berry yogurt from the refrigerator, she found a spoon in the silverware drawer, then headed for the stairs. As she passed the sofa, she slowed to a stop.

The blankets and pillows beckoned, and even though her head kept shouting to go upstairs, her body demanded cushions. Taking a deep breath, Madison moved to the sofa, sat down on the blankets, and realized for the first time since her arrival, how good it felt to rest on something soft. She saw the remote on the coffee table, clicked it on, then curled up in the blankets with her sweetened yogurt. Terry had said it was all right, and that made it all right for Madison. The relief of such immediate wants came with a rush of fatigue. The yogurt half eaten, she sank against the fluffy pillows and shut her eyes.

The memory of the locked front door made it possible for her to relax, and when she realized that the fire in her hip no longer raged, Madison's comfort was almost complete. Shifting onto her other side, she hid in the blankets and fell asleep.

* * * *

Fishing never appealed to John the way it did Terry, and when it came to fly fishing, Terry far outstripped John in enthusiasm. Fly fishing required practice, a lot of skill, and more practice-- all things John didn't mind doing, but not to simply catch fish. An ordinary fishing rod did John just fine, and as a consequence, he left all the fancy loops to Terry.

For almost as long as John could remember, his friend loved to stand at the shoreline with a fly rod, letting the line play over the water in a dance of graceful finesse John always admired. Presenting the fly to the fish took skill, an understanding of the factors that effected the all-important cast, such as wind and time of day. Terry knew his equipment, knew the fish, had a feel for the bay and the surroundings of Upstate New York. Unlike John, few things got in the way of Terry's fishing. On days where the wind wasn't too stiff, and the air not too cold, Terry would take his rod, walk down to the waterfront a short distance from the Johanneses' house, and fish his heart out.

That's what John called it-- fishing his heart out. Though John never asked, he sensed Terry used those hours of fly fishing to ease the sensitive parts of his life into something more manageable. The quiet rhythm of the cast, soothed Terry. John understood this, knew it without having to ask, so whenever Terry didn't go out to the shoreline with his fly rod, it always gave John a reason for quiet alarm.

On the afternoon of the Labor Day picnic, the opportunity looked perfect to do some serious fly fishing. Two of Terry's fly fishing buddies-- Dr. Gregory and Pat O'Shea-- took full advantage of the near perfect weather by adding smallmouth bass to the already full menu of barbecued chicken, roasted wieners, Boston baked beans, fruit salad, and potato chips. John was used to manning the firepit while Terry fished, but today, Terry didn't join the others. Instead, he remained by himself, sitting on the sand with his thoughts, away from everyone. When the triplets joined the men on the shore with their small fly rods, and Terry didn't even look up to watch, John felt an undercurrent of trouble wash against his soul.

Izumi sat at the picnic table with Agatha Hopkins, a longtime friend of Izumi's. From his station at the firepit, John overheard them discussing Terry.

"Except for those clouds in the distance, its a lovely day for a picnic," Agatha said, smiling at her husband as he strolled down the beach to watch the anglers ply their craft. "I notice Terry isn't fishing. Is he feeling well?"

Like a mother checking one of her children, John saw Izumi turn in Terry's direction. The picture of a usually upbeat man, sitting by himself while others had a good time, brought a frown to Izumi's lips; John saw her expression turn to one of worry, and understood what she felt.

The last time Terry declined to go fishing, Terry had been nearing his breakdown.

Excusing herself from Agatha, Izumi moved to the firepit and took John's apron from him. "I'll handle the cooking. Go sit with Terry."

Dispensing with the soothing assurances that Terry was fine, John accepted the offer in silence. He strolled to where Terry sat, took a seat next to him without explanation.

"Why aren't you fishing?" John asked, letting his arms rest on raised knees.

Terry shrugged. "I don't feel like it."

"I see." John watched a boat leave the bay, most likely, on its way for a pleasure cruise for the Thousand Islands. "You're getting in over your head-- you know that, don't you?"

Terry picked up a small pebble, flicked it toward the bay. "What did you think of her?"

"I only saw her once," John said, picking a smooth pebble for himself. "From the little I saw, I think you're in over your head."

Terry smiled. "Maybe I am."

"You've made up your mind to really help her, haven't you?" John pitched the pebble toward the water, grunted when it failed to match Terry's mark. "She's here to stay for more than just a few more days, and we both know it."

"You think I'm making a mistake?" Terry hurled another pebble, sighed when it only went as far as John's. "Do you think she'll turn into another Victor?"

John slanted a glance at Terry. "Do you?"

With a shake of his head, Terry chose another pebble. "I don't think there's a mean bone in Madison's body."

"Speaking of which," John gathered two pebbles at the same time, rolled them in the palm of his hand, "she's not that bad looking-- for someone who isn't Izumi, of course." He grinned when Terry tossed him a laughing smile. "You know I only have eyes for Izumi, but I'm warning you, Terry-- what Madison has, could get you into trouble."

Terry hurled the pebble, nearly missing the water. "I'm not doing this because she's pretty."

"I know you're not." John let the smooth stones drop from his hand. "I don't question your motives, only the wisdom in putting yourself in this position. She's the most helpless puppy dog I've ever seen, and knowing your big heart, you won't be careful about helping her too much."

Terry frowned.

"Just be careful, Terry. To the extent you help her, you will be responsible for her. That's a lot for anyone to take on, let alone you."

"She needs help, John."

"I know that. Just be careful."

A sigh parted Terry's lips. "Izzy keeps telling me the same thing, but I think I know what you're trying to say. Madison is pretty, and because I'm in a position of responsibility, I can never take advantage of any authority I might have. I won't, John. I think you already know I won't, but I appreciate the warning."

John took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any. "Izumi and I talked and prayed this over after we left your apartment. Neither of us think it's wise for you to be with Madison alone-- for your sake, as well as hers. Hold on, Terry, this isn't a no-vote of confidence. Izumi and I want to help."

"I don't understand."

"Whenever possible, bring Madison over to our house for extended visits; that way, you can help her, and we can help you."

"But I don't need any help."

"Careful, Terry, you're beginning to sound like the puppy."

The pebble-tossing forgotten, Terry shook his head. "This isn't just because you want to protect me. You're afraid I'm going to fall apart again."

"Are you?" John watched Terry's confident reply slip away before Terry uttered a sound. "I'm not trying to shake your confidence, only to offer more help with Madison. Don't do this alone-- not when you have us."

"So..." Terry squinted a bemused look at John, "Madison is going to be a family project?"

"More or less. You're first in line to help her, then Izumi and I come next."

"And all this, because--"

"Come on, Terry, don't make me get sentimental. Family sticks together. Nuff said."

"You and Izzy tried to help me with the others, but why is this one so different?"

John smiled. "None of your other needy people looked like Madison. Izumi thinks you need to be extra careful with this one, and I agree. And, unlike your other crusades, this one seems deserving of your help." John slapped Terry on the shoulder. "I'm hungry. How about some bass?"

* * * *

After John's talk with him, Terry felt able to enjoy the rest of the picnic. The triplets wanted to show Terry their casts, and even though they were pint-sized munchkins who didn't have much reach, those little girls did pretty well. Not as good as Abby, of course, but then, very few were as good as Terry's first pupil. He wished Abby were there to see her sisters fishing. She would have enjoyed watching them attempt casts, offering direction when needed. At heart, Abby was a teacher.

Before long, AJ would make their decision as to whether or not they would return to Three Mile Bay anytime soon in the future. All Terry had to do was wait, though he figured patience had never been one of his strong points.

As Terry ate bass at the picnic table, Dr. Gregory, the local veterinary and longstanding friend of the family, picked up a can of soda and turned to Terry with a shake of the head.

"John says you have a new houseguest."

"Yup. Her name is Madison."

"Is she staying long?"

"It depends." Terry accepted a wiener wrapped in a hot dog bun from John, and noticed John's amused smile as John returned to the firepit. "She needs time to get on her feet," Terry continued. "How long that will take, I don't know, I only know she needs help getting her life in order."

Curious, Dr. Gregory's brows raised in an unspoken question.

"I don't know what her problem is, but from what I can tell, she's not a drug addict or a prostitute. Just someone who needs a place to stay until she can get back on her feet."

"Is she from the hotline?"

The simple question depressed Terry, for it proved he had a track-record to overcome.

"No, she's not from the hotline. I found her hitchhiking, that's all."

Dr. Gregory nodded. "John said she has some problems."

Picking up the ketchup, Terry squeezed red goop over the roasted hot dog. Another houseguest with "problems," of course, meant the person was deeply troubled and probably needed psychiatric medication.

"She very well may have some issues to overcome, but she's not from the hotline."

Taking a bite from the wiener, Terry noticed the silent exchange of the guests around the picnic table.

"If there's anything I can do to help," Dr. Gregory smiled, "let me know."

A chuckle came from John's direction, and after a moment of thought, Terry caught on. The veterinarian who wanted to help the puppy. Terry smiled. Madison needed help all right, but not that kind.

However, it did give Terry an idea-- one worth considering in the future. For now, Madison had more pressing needs, and as soon as this picnic ended, and he had the chance, he needed to start addressing them. She would object, and he wouldn't force. She had already said "no" to it before, and Terry hoped she wouldn't continue to be so adamant. No fear of hospitals was worth the pain she was obviously in.

The conversation around the table made no more mention of Madison. Terry guessed they were uncomfortable talking about her, especially after Terry's previous failures. Aside from their best wishes, what were they supposed to say? "Hope you don't get hurt again?"

* * * *

When the doorbell sounded, Madison woke from her sleep. Her show had ended sometime ago, replaced by a courtroom drama that made her click off the television. The bell turned into a knock at the door, then a shadowed figure moved to the window and looked in. From the porch light, she could make out his face.

Terry. He had said he was coming back, but she assumed it to mean at a much later time. Not today, and certainly not this afternoon.

She pushed herself up from the sofa, took a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. The room felt cold, and she couldn't see very well as she went to the door. She glanced at the clock glowing in the television cabinet, saw the lateness of the hour and realized her mistake. The entire afternoon had slipped away while she napped.

"Madison?" Terry called from the other side of the door. "Would you let me in?"

Needing some time to think about it, she pulled the blanket closed.

"Madison, open this door."

She hurried to obey.

When Terry stepped inside, he took off his wet coat and hung it on the door handle. It was raining.

Fearing his anger, Madison retreated toward the stairs.

"Wait a moment," he called, "I want to talk to you. Why is it so dark in here? Have you been in the storage room, again?" He clicked on the light switch, illuminating the living room and part of the dining area. "Madison, come over here and sit down. I have something to discuss with you." A smile parted Terry's mouth when he noticed the rumpled blankets and pillows. "Good. You've been using the sofa. Get over here. I want to talk to you about something important."

Reluctant, but unable to do otherwise, she obeyed and took a seat on the sofa. To her relief, Terry grabbed a dining chair and placed it opposite from her on the other side of the coffee table. He sat down.

"Sorry, I forgot to bring Izzy along. I wanted to talk to you before it got too late, and she's busy putting the girls to bed. I'll only stay for a few minutes." He rubbed his hands together. "I've been doing some thinking. Tomorrow, I'd like for Izzy and myself to take you to the medical center in Watertown."

Madison shook her head. "I'm not going."

"I want you to choose a doctor to be your primary physician, and for you to make an appointment to get your hip looked at."

"No."

"Madison--"

"You can't make me go there."

"I know that, but I'd like you to at least consider it a little longer, before turning it down."

Madison waited for what she considered "a little longer," then shook her head, "no."

Terry sighed, leaned back in the chair. "What do you want out of life, Madison? What are your dreams, your goals? How are you going to make them reality, and what are you willing to do to get there?"

"That's none of your business."

"Maybe so, but I can't help you unless I have more information. To start with, a last name to go with Madison would be nice."

"It's Crawford. Madison Crawford."

"There, that didn't hurt, did it?" He smiled. "What do you want out of life, Madison Crawford?"

An avalanche of dreams and hopes tumbled into Madison, and for a long while, she had trouble picking out only a few. "I want a job," she said at last. "I want a place of my own, and I want a job."

"Good, that's good." Terry rubbed his hands together in a thoughtful manner. "Then you need to consider what you have to do to make that happen. First of all, you have to be in good physical shape, good enough to hold down a job."

"I can do it."

"I'm sure you can, but not in the condition your hip is in. You need to see a doctor."

Though the mere thought made her stomach turn upside down, she needed an answer to a longstanding question. Everything pointed to now being the time to ask.

"Would you promise not to tell?" Madison heard the quaver in her voice and ignored it.

"Tell what?"

"Not until you promise."

A flicker of understanding crossed Terry's face. "I promise."

Madison swallowed her pride long enough to get out the question. "Could someone get into trouble if the doctor saw things that weren't normal?"

The easy look in Terry's eyes faded away. "What do you mean?"

"If someone went to a doctor, and that doctor saw things that meant something bad had happened, could the person who went to the doctor get into trouble?"

Profound pain settled into Terry's expression. He asked nothing, sucked in a breath and stared at the carpet.

Panic tugged at Madison for having asked. Even so, she had to know the answer.

"Terry?"

"I'm not a doctor, Madison, and I'm no lawyer, so this isn't legal advice. Unless there's something specific the doctor is duty-bound by state law to report, I don't think they'll tell anyone what they saw."

"But what if it's really bad?"

"Doctors see a lot of people with all kinds of problems. I'm guessing they're hard to shock."

"But could I get into trouble?"

"Trouble for what? You haven't robbed a bank, have you? You're hurt, and the doctor is there to help you get better. They're not there to judge you, or make you feel ashamed for..." again, Terry paused. "They'll understand."

Dread made her pull the blanket even tighter. "They'll know. They'll know everything."

"Doctors can't always tell, just by looking. Unless something is drastically wrong, I'm guessing they won't know everything."

"But..." Madison quieted her protest. She wanted to ask more, but couldn't.

"Okay," Terry breathed, "let's take a hypothetical approach to the problem."

Uncertain what he meant, she remained silent.

"Let's say a woman was abused, and now needs to go to a doctor."

Shocked horror filled Madison, and she stiffened like a petrified board.

Terry's voice gentled even more. "This is hypothetical, remember? This woman who needs medical attention is afraid that if a doctor looks at her, the doctor will know this hypothetical woman's secret. I don't think a doctor can necessarily always tell, but let's say this particular doctor is really sharp, and has a hunch something bad happened. Our hypothetical woman should be protected by something called doctor-patient confidentiality. There can be exceptions to the rule, such as instances of suspected child abuse, and the exceptions will vary from state to state and from doctor to doctor. But in general, as far as I'm aware, this woman's problems should remain private. This isn't legal advice, but as far as I understand, this is the way things are supposed to work. It's why you need a primary physician, one who will establish a doctor-patient relationship with you, so you will be covered by that privilege. Do you understand?"

Confused at Terry's sudden change from the hypothetical woman to his use of "you," Madison didn't respond.

Understanding dawned in Terry's face and he backed off with an apologetic smile. "I don't think this hypothetical woman should worry about what her doctor will think. She needs to pay attention to her health, and maintain a safe environment so she can move on with her life."

Madison bit her lip until she tasted blood, the hurt steadying her nerves.

"Can you hear me, Madison?"

She nodded, "yes."

"Do you want me to take you into that medical center, tomorrow?"

"Yes, please."

With a look of heavy pain, Terry's eyes closed. "Dear, God..." he breathed the words, the remainder of the prayer fading into silence. The lids opened, and something very close to tears filled his brown eyes.

"Are you all right?" Madison asked. "Do you want the ibuprofen?"

He passed off her concern with a sad smile. "This Labor Day hasn't been very easy to get through."

"Maybe the next one will be better."

"Yes," he smiled, wiping the water from his cheeks, "maybe." He stood up, looked about the room until his voice steadied once more. "Izzy and I will come as soon as we can tomorrow morning, after the triplets start preschool, so Izzy can give you some clothes to try on before we take you into Watertown. Agatha Hopkins is about your height, and Izzy thinks you might be able to fit her clothes. Anyway, it'll give you something to wear besides my old sweats and jeans."

Becoming self-conscious, Madison felt grateful for the blanket covering her shabby appearance.

"Izzy will take you shopping later, but for now, our first priority is to set up an appointment with a doctor." Terry pulled car keys from his pants pocket. "Do you need anything before I go?"

Madison shook her head, "no."

"Okay, then. I'll see you tomorrow at nine." Terry strode to the door, grabbed his coat, and left without locking the apartment.

As Madison got up to put on the deadbolt, she noticed a low muffled sound coming from outside. Curious, she went to the window and peeked through the still open blinds.

There in the pouring rain, his coat not even zipped up, Terry leaned against his jeep. She studied the bowed head, the hand over the eyes, the shoulders that shook as though he had been holding something in until that moment. With a stab of reality, Madison felt the jarring sensation of knowing she had somehow caused him pain.

Terry was weeping.

His head moved to the side, and fearing she might be caught watching, she closed the blinds.

Numb, Madison went to the sofa, her eyes fastened on the front door. He was crying. The thought gave her a sharp twist inside. She pulled the comforter over her body, buried her face in the soft pillow and squeezed her eyes shut.

If she absolutely had to cry, no one but God must ever know.

"Be merciful unto me, O Lord: for I cry unto Thee daily."
~ Psalm 86:3 ~ 

Chapter Five
A Bleeding Heart

"Like as a father pitieth his children, so the LORD pitieth them that fear Him. For He knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust."
~ Psalm 103:13, 14 ~ t took Terry several minutes to get his grief under control. By the time he climbed into the jeep, his clothes were sopping wet and fast soaking the vehicle's upholstery. The thought came to him to be grateful the downpour hadn't spoiled their Labor Day barbeque, that at least everyone had a day on the beach before the rain started.

Terry tried to focus on that thought. God held back the rain until now. And Terry had held back his tears until leaving Madison.

Back to her.

Terry let out a low moan. Why did everything in his life have to come back to the pain? It seemed no matter what he did, life was bent on reminding him of what he tried so hard to forget. Madison's troubled gray eyes held seemingly terrible secrets, but Terry felt as though he shared in their quiet torment simply by being in her presence.

From her panicked reaction to the hypothetical woman, Terry knew his guess of abuse had been correct. What kind of abuse almost seemed irrelevant. Madison was a survivor. That was what mattered.

Focus on that, he thought, starting the jeep before the tears had a chance to come back. Remember God's grace, claim His precious promises, and keep moving forward.

I have to keep moving forward.

The renewed determination helped to staunch the fresh wave of grief threatening to overtake him.

I'm a mess, Terry thought. Thank God, John isn't here to see this. Or, for that matter, Izzy.

Every trace of grief must be wiped away before he could return home. Otherwise, Terry feared John's offer to help Madison might be taken back in a frenzy of trying to protect the wrong person. Madison needed the help, not Terry.

"Please, God, don't let me break down," Terry prayed as he turned the jeep onto the main road. "For her sake, make me strong."

* * * *

It didn't make sense to wait up for Terry after the triplets had been put to bed, although the thought had occurred to John to do just that. Wait on the sofa with a book, then doze off until Terry came home. The gesture would let the guy know someone had noticed he was gone. It would also make Terry feel like someone was watching over his shoulder every waking moment, and John didn't want to do that to his friend.

Rolling onto his side, John stared at the digital clock beside the bed. The time kept getting later, and still Terry had yet to come home.

Izumi's sigh broke through the silent darkness of the bedroom. "Why don't you call the apartment?" She leaned over to snap on the bedside lamp, turned to look at John. "Neither one of us are going to get a wink of sleep until we know he's all right."

John shook his head. "I'd feel like an intruder. He and Madison are probably talking, and Terry forgot about the time."

Another glance at the clock squeezed a distressed moan from John. "I think I liked it better when he was helping Victor. The man was a bloodsucking leach, but at least Terry didn't have the Madison factor to contend with." At the feel of Izumi's touch, John rolled onto his back, lifted an arm to let his wife come closer for some serious snuggling. "I wish I knew what God was thinking when He sent her to Three Mile Bay. With Terry searching for someone to save, it was only a matter of time before he found her. It was inevitable." John looked down at Izumi. "Not that I'm questioning God. He knows best-- obviously-- but I wish I had God's foreknowledge. It'd make getting to sleep easier."

"Why don't you call the apartment? Or Terry's cell phone?"

"I can't shadow the guy for the rest of his life, Little Dove. I am my brother's keeper, but even that has its limits. Do you really want me to call and ask if he's cried lately? We'd both feel like idiots. Besides, if Terry needs help, he'll let me know."

"Are you so sure about that?" Izumi tilted her head toward John. "If Terry was having a nervous breakdown at this very moment, would he burden you with that knowledge?"

Reaching out with a free hand, John grabbed the cell phone beside the clock. He would try Terry's cell, ask something work related, then mention in passing that he'd noticed Terry hadn't come home yet. It couldn't hurt.

The call rang only once before it answered.

"Hey, John. What's up?"

The strain in Terry's voice made John grip the phone.

"Hey, Terry. Listen-- about that Osaka contract-- did you send our recommendations to their office like they asked?"

"Sure did." Terry cleared his throat. "Everything should be set. Don't tell me you're worried."

"What, me? Nah. I was only checking. Say, when are you coming home? Izumi is getting concerned."

The statement prompted a jab in John's side.

"I'm home right now," Terry said with an ironic chuckle. "I'm sitting in the jeep in front of the house."

"Then why haven't you come in?"

"Because," a smile sounded in Terry's voice, "I just pulled up. Would you tell Izzy to stop worrying? And tell her Madison accepted our offer about the doctor. She'll be waiting for us tomorrow morning."

"Will do." John paused. "Everything all right?"

"I got caught in the rain again, but I'll live."

"See you in the morning then."

"Yeah, see you."

John waited, hung up when he heard Terry's dial tone. Had that exchange sounded like a struggling man? Knowing Terry as well as he did, John felt he knew the answer.

The front door in the living room opened, then shut with a quiet thud. Terry was home, but John remained in bed. Besides pray, what was John supposed to do? Go out there and make him talk? When Izumi made a motion to reach for her robe on the pretext of checking the girls, John pulled her back to bed.

"We can't always do the work of his guardian angel, Izumi. When he needs us, he knows we're here."

* * * *

Sleep was impossible, eating, out of the question. When nine o'clock neared, every car that pulled past the apartment sent Madison into a state of nervous anticipation. A dining chair beside one of the living room windows enabled her to keep watch for Terry's jeep without having to remain on her feet all morning. The engine of an approaching vehicle made her breath catch. She leaned forward, saw the car pull into view, then sank back. Another false alarm.

Maybe he wouldn't come. Maybe he had forgotten. The thought filled her with hope and anxiety at the same time. She wanted to talk to a doctor-- wanted it, but also feared it. What if she was even more messed up than she thought? What if it was too late to untangle the hurts into something treatable? Fingers locked around the edges of the chair, Madison tried to steady her fraying nerves.

After Terry had left last night, she thought of a hundred more questions to ask. In her current state, even the things he had said seemed jumbled together. Something about bringing clothes today, and coming at nine o'clock. The time read eight fifty. Ten more minutes to go.

How she needed to use the bathroom. If she got up, Madison feared she might miss Terry. He might knock, think she wasn't there and decide to go home.

When her bladder became urgent, she retreated to the half bath off the living room. Sure enough, as she washed her hands at the sink, the doorbell sounded.

"I'm coming," she called, knowing full well no one could hear her.

As she rushed out of the bathroom, the front door opened. Terry's head peered inside, and when he saw her, he flashed a brilliant smile. He must use whitening toothpaste, Madison thought as Terry stepped into the living room.

"Hope you're ready," Terry said, glancing at the sofa. "Izzy brought some clothes for you to try on. If they don't fit, we'll stop at a store before heading to the medical center. You're still using the sofa?"

Madison nodded, "yes."

"Good. Hey, Izzy," Terry stepped outside through the still open doorway, "do you need any help with that bag?" Madison didn't hear the reply, but when Terry remained where he was, Madison guessed Izzy didn't need help. "Looks like we've got a pleasant day for this," Terry said, car keys jingling in his hand. "Glad the rain is over-- at least for now. This is our wettest month, so I expect we're in for more of the same." He moved out of the way as Izzy came inside with a large bulging cloth bag.

A polite smile curved Izzy's mouth as she greeted Madison. "Good morning."

"Hi," Madison said in a low mumble.

Terry shut the door, then came toward Madison at the same time Izzy tried to hand her the bag. It was too much. Madison stumbled backward, then made a hasty retreat to a bookcase lining the wall. She gripped the shelf, let herself breathe again.

After a moment of silence, Terry slipped the car keys into his pocket. "Izzy, why don't you take Madison upstairs and see if any of those clothes fit?"

Uncertainty betrayed itself in Izzy's expression, but she gestured toward the staircase and Madison nodded, "yes." The women went up the steps, Madison following Izzy's lead into the bathroom.

Izzy sorted through the contents of the bag, picked out a denim skirt and white top, selected some undergarments, then handed them to Madison. "We don't have time to go through everything right now. Try those on and see how they fit."

When Izzy didn't leave the bathroom, Madison took the clothes into the storage room, and locked the door behind her before undressing. Five minutes later, she had on the new used clothing. With a hand pressed to her waist to keep the skirt from falling, she returned to the bathroom.

"Oh, my," Izzy said in obvious surprise. "That skirt is rather long on Agatha, but not on you. You're taller than I thought."

The statement didn't surprise Madison. To someone as petite as Izzy, Madison imagined the entire world must look tall.

"And that waist..." Izzy sighed. "Poor Agatha lost weight to get that slender, and you've got her beat by a mile. Let's see, I think there's a belt in the bag somewhere. Here it is. Put this on, then leave the shirt untucked to hide the gathers. I hope Agatha doesn't see these clothes on you. She isn't vain, but I'd hate to hurt her feelings."

Despite the uneasy openness Madison experienced with wearing a skirt, she forced herself to dress the way Izzy wanted. Izzy knew more, understood what it took to appear normal. Madison didn't.

The undergarments didn't fare much better. From the way they fit, Madison concluded that "poor Agatha" must carry all her remaining weight in her hips. Madison's chest felt constricted, her waist unprotected. Grateful for the belt, Madison put on ankle socks, then tried on the pair of brown canvas shoes Izzy found in the bag. Her narrow feet moved around in the shoes, but when the laces were tightened, they managed to stay on without falling off.

"There, that doesn't look too bad," Izzy said when Madison straightened. "You'll need to go shopping later, but at least you have something to wear for the time being." Izzy picked up her purse, put the strap over her shoulder and started for the door. "Terry is waiting, so we'd better get moving before the entire morning disappears."

When Madison descended the stairs, she heard Izzy call to Terry. He stood up from the black leather recliner beside the coffee table, put his hand into his pocket to dig out the keys, then paused when he saw Madison.

"If we have any time left after setting up the doctor's appointment," Izzy said as she headed toward the front door, "I'd like to take Madison shopping. Poor Agatha. It wouldn't be kind to let her see Madison in those clothes."

"What?" Terry came out of his trance, looked at Izzy. "What are you talking about?"

"Never mind what I'm talking about. I don't want you telling Agatha."

A puzzled expression furrowed Terry's brow, but after a moment of deliberation, he shrugged. Keys in hand, he followed after the women as they stepped outside. "First the medical center, then lunch," Terry said, turning to lock the apartment, "then I guess we'll go shopping. John doesn't know what he's missing."

Even though Izzy and Terry talked on the way into Watertown, Madison sat in the back seat and remained quiet.

The drive didn't last anywhere near as long as Madison expected. Much too soon, the jeep sat in the parking lot of an impressive three story building. Cars crowded the lot, a man in a motorized wheelchair passed by Madison's window. She tried to swallow, realized her mouth felt dry.

Terry climbed out of the jeep, circled the hood, then opened Izzy's door.

"Time to get out, Madison," Terry said with a coaxing smile. He opened Madison's door, and she willed herself to her feet. A cold breeze chilled her legs as they crossed the parking lot, went up some steps and passed through an automatic door.

Negotiating around an elderly couple, Izzy led the way to a reception area where they joined a short line cordoned off by fancy braided rope and metal poles. A man got in line behind Madison, causing her to shrink closer to Terry's back. Finding it easier to stare at shoes than faces, she kept her head down and her mouth closed.

A tug on her arm, and she looked up. They were already at the front of the line.

"She wants to know if you prefer a male or female doctor," Terry said, motioning to the desk where a woman sat with a computer.

"Female," came Madison's rapid answer.

The woman tapped at the keyboard, waited a moment for something to happen, then looked up at Madison. "The only one still accepting new patients is Dr. Anne Nelson. She's new to this center, and specializes in family medicine."

Madison blinked. She didn't understand.

"No one else is accepting new patients," the woman repeated with a hint of annoyance.

"Oh." Madison nodded. "Dr. Nelson is fine."

The woman tapped a mouse, then rattled off questions Madison couldn't answer. Phone number? Address? Terry moved forward and gave the needed information, then Madison heard,

"Do you have insurance?"

"No, she doesn't," Terry said, "but I'll pay her expenses."

Unsure what that might mean for Terry, Madison started to ask. Before she got out the words, he waved off the question as though it didn't matter.

"I need you to fill out some forms," the woman said, passing Madison a clipboard with paper and pen. "When you're done, bring them back to me."

Eyes fastened on a few of the questions on the topmost form, Madison nodded without listening. They wanted to know a lot.

"Let's sit over there," Terry said, leading Madison over to some padded chairs against the wall.

Taking a deep breath, Madison clicked the pen and began from the top of the first form. Address? Madison whispered to Terry, and Terry whispered the location of his apartment. Phone? Again, Terry relayed the information, then leaned back in his chair with his eyes carefully avoiding her paperwork. When she continued on to the more personal questions, she understood why he tried to give her privacy.

Some of the questions, while intrusive, were not too sensitive. Others were plain scary. When she came to "Pain during intercourse?" Madison hunched over the clipboard and circled, "Yes."

Please, God, don't let anyone see this, Madison prayed in silent desperation. Her pen shook when it came to the place on the form where it asked her to describe all of her symptoms, and when they had first appeared.

They only provided six lines.

* * * *

It took Madison over an hour to complete the paperwork the receptionist had given. A faster or more confident person could have done it in a fraction of the time-- though Terry didn't try to hurry Madison's progress. The strain on her face, the tremble of the clipboard, all betrayed the courage it took for her to sit there and answer those questions.

With a sigh, Madison stood up, stared at her handiwork, then looked to Terry for instructions.

"Go to the desk and give it to the woman."

"I"-- Madison bit her lip-- "I don't know if I gave the right answers."

"This isn't a test," he smiled. "Did you do the best you could?"

She nodded.

"Then take the forms to the desk."

Another sigh, then Madison went back to the line and waited her turn.

Izumi checked her watch. "When we're done here, we should take her to lunch before going shopping."

"Shopping?" Terry tried to remember their plans. He kept looking at the line, watching Madison to make sure everything went all right.

"She can't wear Agatha's clothes, Terry. The poor dear would be so embarrassed."

"Who? Madison?"

For a long moment, Izumi stared at Terry as though he had one ear missing. "It took her a long time to fill out those forms."

"Yes, it did." Neither one wanted to say it, though he figured they both had the same thoughts. Madison must have an interesting medical history-- or lack of one-- to have taken so long.

Minutes later, Madison reached the front of the line. For a seemingly long time, she stood at the desk, speaking and then waiting with the receptionist. When Madison looked to Terry with a plea in her eyes, he went to go help.

"Dr. Nelson can see me today." A dramatic gulp slid down Madison's throat. He could almost hear it.

"Great," Terry smiled. "What time?"

"Now."

Though Terry kept the thought to himself, it occurred to him that when Madison's paperwork had been forwarded up the chain of medical command, someone had decided her case merited prompt attention. He had no way of knowing how close this was to the truth, but from the renewed gentleness of the receptionist, Terry felt an uneasy certainty.

"Maybe we should come back tomorrow," Madison said, shifting from one foot to the other. From her movements, Terry guessed she was in pain.

"The doctor might not be available tomorrow. If they can see you now, it might be to your advantage to let them."

Her eyes darted to the floor, the desk, then back to the floor.

"Okay," she said with a hesitant nod. "I guess I should get it over with as soon as possible."

"That's the spirit. The sooner you start, the sooner it ends."

They moved to another waiting area, and once more, Madison sat in silence. Then a female nurse in bright medical scrubs appeared at a door.

"Madison?"

"That's you," Terry said, prompting Madison to get up.

As Terry watched the frightened woman disappear behind the door with the nurse, he said a quiet prayer. He hoped Madison stopped trembling long enough for the doctor to examine her.

* * * *

First Madison was weighed, then led to a room where her blood pressure and pulse were taken. She answered more questions.

The nurse smiled, promised the doctor would be with her shortly, then left the room. Alone, Madison waited on the examining table.

Nerves prevented her from thinking clear thoughts. She studied the white linoleum, tried to read the printouts tacked to a bulletin board about the importance of low cholesterol, then stared at the jar of tongue depressors on the counter.

A knock sounded on the door. The handle turned, an African American woman with a tapered haircut and a crisp white coat came inside. From the top of her head, to the tip of her patent leather shoes, she exuded an air of polished professionalism.

"I'm Dr. Anne Nelson." She stepped forward to shake Madison's hand. "How are you feeling today? Any pain?"

"Yes, in my hip."

The doctor gave a confident nod, reached for a clipboard and scribbled something with a pen.

Madison was asked to get up and move about the room, extend her hips, let the doctor see her range of motion.

I can do this, Madison thought. This isn't so bad.

Next, she was sent to a curtained dressing room and directed to change into a medical gown. Then came a large room with serious looking equipment and another table. A man wearing an odd apron asked her to get up on the table, and it took every ounce of Madison's courage not to cry.

The equipment took pictures of both hips, then the man sent her to the dressing room to exchange the gown for her clothes. Her fingers shook so badly, she nearly didn't get the belt on.

A nurse led her back to the examining room. This time, Madison had to cover herself with a white sheet, then take off her clothes below the waist.

Too frightened to disobey, she did as she was told.

The doctor returned, her face kind, but layered with a calm confidence that Madison couldn't help but admire. If only she could be as calm.

The results of the X-rays went over Madison's head like wind over the hood of a car. She struggled to understand, but kept nodding as the doctor talked.

The doctor and nurse put on latex gloves, then told Madison to lay back on the examining table, spread her legs beneath the privacy of the sheet, and place her feet in plastic stirrups.

As Madison complied, the tears began to fall.

* * * *

Unable to read the magazine in the waiting room, Terry folded his arms and tried to pass the time talking to Izumi. Some time later, a female nurse came to the door and searched the waiting area. Terry expected to hear another patient's name being called, but instead of speaking, the woman stood there and looked. When she saw him, her brows went up.

"Are you Terry?"

He stood. "Is something wrong with Madison?"

"She's asking for you," the nurse said with such kindness, Terry knew in the pit of his stomach that something was most definitely wrong.

Without a word, Terry followed the nurse through the door, down a short hall, then into a small room. A doctor stood beside the examining table-- Terry assumed it was Dr. Nelson-- her voice struggling to calm the distressed figure lying prostrate beneath a quaking white sheet.

The doctor looked up, and Terry saw the professionalism of the woman slip when she asked, (with hope in her voice), if he was Terry.

"That's me," he answered.

A familiar head appeared from under the white sheet, then a pair of terrified gray eyes.

"Madison? What's wrong?"

"I'll give you a moment in private," the doctor said, surprising Terry by turning to leave with the nurse. "When she's ready to continue, I'll be outside."

The door shut, and Terry found himself alone with a very frightened Madison.

The raised knees beneath the white sheet trembled. He glimpsed a pair of empty white stirrups, felt his stomach turn slightly sick. "They aren't hurting you, are they?"

"No." Her voice sounded little more than a whimper. Her eyes were red, and he knew she had been crying.

"What's wrong? Did they frighten you? Is that why you asked to see me?"

She looked undecided, then shook her head, "no."

"Then why?" he asked.

She gave a watery hiccup. "I was afraid you left."

"You mean, left without you?" Frowning, Terry shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm not leaving this building until you're ready to come with me."

"Promise?"

"You have my word."

"But what if you forget?"

"Madison"-- he blew out a sigh-- "I couldn't forget you if I tried."

"But what if you do?"

"I gave my word, what else do you want?" A thought came to him, and he retrieved the cell phone from his pocket. "I carry this thing with me everywhere I go. I'm never without it. Here," he said, and placed the phone on the sheet beside her, "hold on to that, and when you're ready to go home, you'll give it back to me. I wouldn't leave without my cell phone, would I?"

A hand crept from under the sheet, and took the phone.

"Are we good?"

She nodded.

"Okay then. I'll tell the doctor you're ready."

Fearing tears of his own, Terry didn't trust himself to look back at Madison before he left. He found the doctor close by, her face professional but very sympathetic. She said little by way of an explanation-- Terry understood to retain the confidentiality her patients relied upon-- but thanked him for his help.

When Terry returned to the waiting room, he felt drained of emotion.

"Is Madison all right?" Izumi asked in alarm.

"I think so," Terry said, dropping back into his chair. "She was scared I had left the building without her. She's calmer now."

"Left without her?" Izumi settled back with her purse. "It reminds me of something that happened last month with one of the girls. I went into the grocery store alone, and forgot Ruthie was sleeping in her booster seat in the back. I realized my mistake only minutes later, but by the time I got back to the car, she was crying so hard she couldn't speak. It was only ten minutes, but I still carry guilt."

Terry tried to smile, but stopped when it felt shaky. John was right, he thought to himself, I really am in over my head.

* * * *

Clutching the printouts the nurse had given her, Madison made her way slowly down the hall, paused to gain her bearings. Which door had she come through? Which one led to the waiting area? A nearby nurse must have recognized the confusion, for she nodded to the door on the right before disappearing into an office.

It hurt to walk, but Madison pushed open the door, breathed in relief when she saw Terry and Izzy waiting in some chairs.

Dropping his magazine onto a small table, Terry moved to his feet and came to Madison.

"I see you made it out alive," he said with a lopsided grin. When she made no response, he sobered. "Did they say you can go?"

Madison nodded.

"Okay, this way." He started toward yet another reception area and another woman with a computer. "You'll need to give her the paper the nurse filled out and handed to you," Terry said as they moved in front of the desk.

This time, there was no line.

The paper turned in, Madison stepped back as Terry pulled out his wallet. The receptionist said something-- a number in dollar amount-- and Terry handed the woman a credit card. He waited, then smiled as Izzy joined them at the desk.

"We're almost done here." Terry glanced at Madison. "Did they give you any prescriptions?"

It took a moment for Madison to locate the blue slip of paper between the printed sheets of instructions and medical explanations. She showed the slip to Terry, then tucked it back into the papers when she realized what the writing said.

Terry gave a good-natured shrug. "Don't worry, I didn't read it. What happened between you and your doctor will remain private." He slipped the credit card back into his wallet. "Let's get out of here. I'm starving."

* * * *

Even from his limited vantage behind the wheel, it didn't take much observation for Terry to notice Madison wasn't feeling well. His eyes kept darting to the rear view mirror, hoping the slumped rag doll in the back seat would recover some of the color missing from her cheeks.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, hoping to coax a relaxed answer from those pale lips.

She gave a thin smile.

"There's a good restaurant near here. They make excellent corned beef sandwiches. Very fancy, lots of vegetables."

Another glance in the mirror found his audience with her eyes closed.

"I don't think she's feeling well enough to go into a restaurant, Terry." Izumi peered around the seat, smiled at Madison with a kind concern Terry appreciated. "Are you going to be sick? Do you need Terry to pull over?"

"No, I'm fine," came the weak response.

"She needs something to calm her stomach, Terry." Izumi straightened in the seat, looked out the window and pointed to a fast-food restaurant. "Pull into the Hamburger Plaza drive-through, and we'll eat in the car. Some french fries and soda should make her feel better."

Terry hoped Izumi was right. Madison made no effort to ask for anything when it came time to place their order, but nodded weakly to anything Izumi suggested.

In the parking lot, a shady area beneath some trees afforded privacy as Terry parked the jeep. He got out, went to open Madison's door so the breeze might do her some good. She slumped against the seat, and when Terry started to unfasten her seat belt, she tried to pull away.

Fingers trembling, Madison undid the seat belt herself. She slid onto her side, hugged her knees to her chest and lay down on the short bench seat Terry had installed so he could haul the triplets around in their carriers and boosters.

"You don't look well," Terry said, taking off his jacket. He rolled the garment, placed it beneath her head for a pillow. "Have you eaten anything today? Anything at all?"

A sigh escaped her lips. "I wasn't hungry."

"You can't keep skipping meals, Madison." Terry passed the carton of fries, the small soda cup to her. "You'd better sit up to eat. I don't want you surviving the doctor's office and no breakfast, only to choke to death on fries."

"It hurts to sit," she mumbled, cramming a single french fry between her lips.

Terry frowned. "Is it because of the exam?"

"Yes."

"Did they give you anything for the pain?"

Madison nodded. "That's what the prescription was for."

"For pity's sake, why didn't you say something sooner? We could have gone to the pharmacy first."

"But you said you were starving."

"It was a figure of speech, Madison. I could have waited." Terry almost slammed the door shut as he left her to her fries and cold soda. Forget the pain-- make sure Terry gets his lunch on time.

He jumped behind the wheel, tugged the door shut and stared out the window in a fog of anger and self-reproach.

"Terry?" Izumi handed him a large hamburger in a wrapper. "Try to eat. She needs you to calm down."

Turning his eyes to the rear view mirror, Terry glimpsed Madison's frightened face staring back at him.

He accepted the hamburger, said a quiet prayer, then pulled back the wrapper to reveal a triple layered burger with lettuce and lots of cheese. Just the way he liked it.

"Madison." He nodded to her in the mirror.

She paused her timid nibbling of a french fry, and blinked at him.

He forced a grin. "You're forgetting something."

The reminder was met with complete bewilderment.

"My cell phone. I want it back."

The half smile as she pulled the phone from her skirt pocket, almost made Terry's day. She held it over his shoulder, and he accepted it without explanation to Izumi.

"After you're done with those fries, we're heading to the nearest pharmacy to get that prescription filled. Okay?"

Madison nodded, and resumed her nibbling.

* * * *

It would take an hour before the prescription at the MegaMart pharmacy would be ready. Terry wanted to tell the man behind the counter that Madison needed the medicine right now. Couldn't he see her limp? Terry hoped the prescription was to help her hip, but couldn't be sure. The exam had made it hurt to sit-- that was what Madison had said-- and the medicine was to help with that pain. But what about her hip?

"Do you need to sit down?" Terry asked, looking about for a store bench so she could rest.

Madison shook her head.

"Sorry"-- he sucked in a breath-- "I forgot. Sitting hurts." He hesitated. How he wanted to ask more.

"It's all right, Terry. My hip isn't too bad right now. The exam made the other things worse than usual, but the pain will go away."

Terry stiffened. Other things? The remark had been meant to make him feel better, but it held implications Madison probably at first didn't realize. She had more than one injury separate from her hip. And those injuries made it difficult to sit.

Regret and shame chased their way across her face. She had said too much-- Terry saw it in the downcast eyes, the tremble of her lip.

In an effort to distract Madison, Terry grabbed at the first suggestion within reach. "Since we have to wait for an hour, and we're at the MegaMart anyway, why don't we do our shopping here? How about it? Are you feeling well enough to pick out some clothes?"

When Madison accepted, Terry sensed it was more to change the subject and erase the memory of that one unguarded comment, than anything else.

Happy to get Madison out of her friend's ill-fitting hand-me-downs, Izumi led the way to the women's clothing section. After perusing the racks, she suggested some garments, handed them to Madison, then pointed out the dressing room.

It took a long time for Madison to emerge-- so long, Izumi went to see if she needed help. When Izumi returned, she explained in a hushed voice how Madison preferred baggy clothing. If the clothes showed her figure, they were immediately set aside. Madison would rather wear the men's clothing Terry had first seen her in, than choose something that actually fit.

"She has her reasons, Izzy."

The response made Izumi sigh. "I'm afraid she's going to come out of here with maternity clothes. Terry, there is something very wrong with her."

"I know."

"How much do you know?"

Terry paused before answering. "I can guess."

"She's been abused, hasn't she?"

"That's very probable."

"Oh, Terry." Izumi closed her eyes a moment. He could sense the warning to be careful coming, and breathed a sigh of gratitude when it didn't materialize.

Something else that didn't materialize-- Madison from the dressing room. Once more, Izumi went to go check, and once more, Izumi exchanged clothes with others from the racks.

By the time Madison emerged, she wore an oversized gray shirt and baggy jeans several sizes too big. Despite all her efforts, a young man moved past them, gave Madison an appraising grin that drove her to hide behind Terry.

"I think we've done enough shopping for one day," Izumi said, leading Madison to the dressing room to change back into her old clothes. "If those oversized shirts and jeans are what you want, then they'll have to do for now."

After going through the checkout, Terry led the way to the store pharmacy with Madison's shopping bags in hand. To his dismay, he noticed the limp in her gait seemed more pronounced than before. The stress of choosing new clothes had wilted her like a squashed flower being trampled on by yet more feet.

To make matters worse, when Madison received her prescription, Terry realized it was only a pain ointment, not some powerful drug meant to wipe out her other problem. Namely, her hip. Since the ointment required a prescription, Terry hoped it meant it was powerful enough to actually do some good.

Her hip was another matter, one he intended to ask about at a later time.

As Terry carried the shopping bags into the parking lot with Izumi, Madison began to lag farther and farther behind. He came to a stop, waited, then moved on more slowly.

The whimper that squeezed from Madison's lungs as she climbed into the back seat of the jeep, sent a pang of remorse into Terry. He had been the one to suggest they shop for clothes in the MegaMart, and now she was in worse pain than before.

Couldn't he do anything right?

He took Izumi aside and spoke in a hushed voice. "Would it be okay if I brought her to our house for dinner, tonight?"

"Terry, look at her. She needs rest."

"I'll make a comfortable place for her on the living room sofa. She'll get plenty of rest. Please, Izzy? I don't want her to be alone."

"Terry, your heart is bleeding all over the pavement."

He grinned.

"If she's coming," Izumi sighed, "I'd better set another plate for dinner. Please don't leave her unsupervised around the triplets, though. I don't know her well enough for that."

"Thanks, Izzy."

"I don't know why you're thanking me. You've been fighting sadness all day, and now you won't get a break until after dinner."

Though he wanted to refute Izumi's claim, Terry realized she was right. One look at the back seat, however, and Terry pushed aside his own feelings.

Home meant a safe place, a shelter from the hurts of others. He always found refuge with his family, and now Madison would, too.

"Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful unto me: for my soul trusteth in Thee: yea, in the shadow of Thy wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast."
~ Psalm 57:1 ~ 

Chapter Six
The Place Where Love Comes From

"Though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity [love], it profiteth me nothing."
~ 1 Corinthians 13:3 ~ he road looked familiar, as did the trees, the houses, that stretch of water growing bigger and bigger outside the rear window of the jeep. They recalled images she wished to forget. She had walked this road, on her way to nowhere, only to shudder against the wet cold and almost die. The memory of it caught in her throat, tasting like bile.

Why was she here? Why was Terry bringing her back to this place? Fear squeezed the air from her lungs. Wet stung her eyes. He was taking her back to the campground, to leave her where he had found her.

"Madison?" She looked into the mirror and saw Terry flick her a glance before returning his eyes to the road. "What's the matter? Please don't answer with a shrug. I can't hear a shrug. I heard a whimper back there, and I want to know if you're all right."

"I'm here."

"I know you're here." A smile sounded in Terry's voice. "That's not what I asked."

"Please"-- Madison forced down a dry swallow-- "where are we going?"

"We're going home. I told you that as we all left the MegaMart."

"But this isn't the way to the apartment."

"I meant, we're going to John and Izzy's home, the one they let me share with them. It'll only be for dinner, then I'll take you back to the apartment."

"Oh."

"That sounded shaky." The glance in the rear view mirror narrowed on her. He looked back at the road, let out a sigh. "As soon as we get home, you're putting on that painkilling ointment. You look like you've been put through the spin cycle on a washing machine."

Unspeakable relief flooded Madison. She wasn't going back to the wild.

The shimmer of the water no longer felt like an unforgiving glare pushing her from its view, though it still made her squint. She turned from the window, let her head rest against the glass. It bumped lightly when the tires began to crunch with the sound of gravel.

The jeep slowed to a stop in front of a wide white house. The front door opened, and the man Terry had introduced as John, stepped out with three cute little girls no taller than his waist. They tagged behind him like happy yellow ducklings following their parent to water. Madison knew, for she had once seen a nature show about waterfowl and their young.

"We're home," Terry said, unsnapping his seat belt.

Izzy opened the passenger door, a smile on her lips as John came to meet her.

"First day back to preschool, and everything went smooth," John said, planting a kiss on his wife's cheek. "No temper tantrums, no tears, just giggles and lots of finger painting." John lifted a girl, and she presented her mom with a paper covered in kiddie bright colors. It vaguely resembled a flower.

"Oh, my. It's beautiful, Lizzie. We'll put this up on the fridge."

The child beamed brightly at her mother's encouragement. Then the other two girls presented their gifts, equally unrecognizable masterpieces that had their mommy declaring the fridge was fast filling up with talented artists.

"I see we're having company." John said it to Izzy, though his look traveled to Madison.

Izzy put a hand on John's arm, leaned forward and whispered several somethings into his ear. It didn't take much to guess that Izzy was giving John the highlights of their outing.

A girl climbed into the jeep with a sheet of paper clasped in her right hand. Kneeling in the passenger seat her mother vacated, she peered into the back of the vehicle.

"Who's that?"

"Her name's Madison. She's going to have dinner with us." A relaxed look of parental pleasure crossed Terry's face as the girl continued to stare.

"Hi." The child blinked at Madison, a pearl white smile showing beneath a pair of large blue eyes and a fall of blonde hair. Those blue-blue eyes stared at her, waiting for a response.

Sucking in a breath, Madison pushed out a one word greeting. "Hi."

"My name's Debbie. I'm four years old and I go to preschool with my sisters."

"Oh." Madison didn't know what to say. Those eyes kept staring, as though expecting much more than she had to offer. "That's nice."

"Our favorite color is pink. What's yours?"

Madison looked to Terry for help, but he only smiled.

"I don't know."

"That's silly. Everyone knows their favorite."

A small tug on Debbie's shirt had the child looking at Terry. "We don't call our guests silly. If she doesn't know, then that's that."

"But, Uncle Terry--"

"Go help your mommy put the pictures on the fridge."

The child tossed him a bright smile, hopped out of the jeep and ran after her parents as they went inside.

"That was Debbie. She's precocious, as are the other two. I have to watch what I say around them, because they'll remember every word."

"They look alike."

Terry grinned hugely. "They're triplets. Not identical, but close enough to keep newcomers to Three Mile Bay guessing. Mix them up once in a while, and they'll love you for life." He stepped out of the jeep, circled the hood, came to Madison's door and opened it before she made up her mind to get out.

"Pass me your shopping bags. I'll snip the tags off, and get everything into the wash so you won't have to use the community laundry at the apartment. Come with me."

She obeyed without knowing why. Following Terry into the tidy white house snugged against trees and a stunning waterfront, she wondered why. That breathtaking view didn't hold the answer.

Because he said so. It was the only reason she could find.

Stepping through the front door, Madison found herself in a comfortably large room.

"Wait right here. I'll be back in a moment." Terry dropped the bags onto the living room carpet, then headed for another part of the house.

Feeling like the outsider she was, Madison slunk against a wall. The house had an upscale feel to it, like the owners had money but didn't like to flaunt it. Beneath the well-lived-in comfort, she saw an affluence that made her wonder who these people really were. As in Terry's apartment, the couch and recliner were of soft leather. Unlike Terry with his black and white decor, color hugged this room with hues of blues and browns. Yellow and green throw pillows sat on a chocolate sofa, powder blue curtains hung before a large bay window that filtered light onto blue-brown carpet. The carpet was new. She could tell, could almost smell the sharp scent of it peeking above the hungry aroma wafting through a door that probably led to the kitchen.

Izzy was fast. She already had something cooking.

A girl ran down a long hallway, darted through the living room with a flash of curiosity at Madison, then slowed to a stop. A large sheet of paper splashed with paint dangled from her hand.

"Who are you?" The question proved the girl couldn't be Debbie, despite the strong resemblance.

"I'm Madison. Which one are you?"

"Ruthie."

Though Madison wanted to say something further, her strength failed. Her knees buckled. She pressed a hand against the wall to keep the room from spinning.

The girl stared a few moments longer, then went in the direction of the aroma.

A second girl dashed through the room, this one not even noticing Madison, a stream of paper and bright colors fluttering behind her.

They were putting the pictures on the fridge.

"Hey! Wait for me!" John strode down the hall, paused when he saw Madison. "Go ahead and make yourself comfortable on the sofa. Terry will be with you in a moment."

Madison just stood there, braced against the wall, unable to speak.

With a sigh, John went into the kitchen where Madison could hear the clamors of children mixed with the sounds of pots and pans. Someone turned on a faucet, she heard the splashing water, then the clatter of something falling.

A child laughed, followed by John's hearty chuckle. From the sound of it, a mess had been made, though no one seemed too upset.

"What's going on in there?" Terry asked, striding into the living room with a large comforter in his arms. He didn't seem to expect an answer, but went about unfurling the blanket on the sofa. He gave her a sidelong glance. "If you think I'm going to let you stand, huddled against the wall like that all evening, you don't know me very well." He straightened, looked at the sofa as though he'd just done something brilliant. "There. All ready. But first things first." He pointed his chin down the hall. "First door on your right, through the office, there's a bathroom."

"I don't have to go."

"Yes, you do. You have to put on that medicine. Have you read the directions yet?"

She shook her head.

"Then you'd better sit down and start reading." He nodded to the sofa. "Go on. It's all for you."

"No thanks. I'd rather stand."

"You won't be standing for long, not the way you're bowed over, ready to collapse. Get over here, and sit down."

The force of his words had their effect. She obeyed.

When she tucked the printouts from the doctor's office beneath the comforter, the curiosity on Terry's face was obvious. He didn't ask what they said, though she knew he wanted to.

The small writing on the instructions that came with the ointment made Madison's eyes hurt. There were possible side effects-- none of them very likely. But still. The knowing it might, put a tight knot in her stomach.

Shouldered against the doorway that led to the kitchen, Terry waited and studied the carpet in silence. She stole a glance at him every few minutes, wondering when he might leave. He didn't budge, just stood there with his arms folded, his face thoughtful. When she spoke, he looked up with a ready smile.

"The bathroom?"

"First door on the right," he said, pointing down the hall. "Don't pay attention to the mess in the office. John and I haven't cleaned up in awhile."

A little girl came behind Terry, tugged at his hand with a plea to come see the fridge.

"Okay, Debbie. Just a moment." He looked at Madison. "Please don't wait much longer before you use that ointment. It's hard seeing you in so much pain."

"It's my pain."

His mouth opened, then closed without comment. When his back turned into the kitchen, Madison heard his voice turn playful. "Hey, we've got quite an art gallery going here! Looks like Jake isn't the only artist in the family."

It took effort to stand, move toward the hallway when her knees wanted to buckle. The unforgiving stress wore at her, made her hand shake as she pushed open the first door on the right.

So this was Terry's office. The one he and John shared. They worked from home? How lucky was that? Blessed was more like it, she thought, glancing around a room with heavy executive desks, plush leather chairs and filing cabinets of dark rich wood. A dartboard hung on the opposite wall, the pocked drywall evidence of someone's many misses. A basketball rested on a stack of folders on the floor. Laptops sat on the desks, one of them open and showing an aquarium screensaver. A shiny briefcase stood open beside one of the chairs, papers stuffed into its open jaws.

Tucked into all this was a metal rack loaded down with free weights. Large, intimidatingly solid, and after Madison stepped forward to look at the writing on some of the discs, as heavy as forty-five pounds. These guys did some serious workouts, she decided, taking in the elliptical bike and treadmill squeezed between the filing cabinets. A damp towel hung from the bike, evidence of its being used recently.

John. He probably did a workout while Terry and Izzy were away.

Did Terry use those forty-five pounders? She recalled the muscles beneath Terry's shirt when he lifted her in the rain, and concluded that he did. Dread made her shudder. Why did men have to become stronger? Weren't they strong enough?

The sound of footsteps in the hall forced Madison to locate the bathroom. She ducked inside, pulled the door shut behind her as someone entered the office.

The handle had a lock, and she used it.

Whoever it was, didn't say anything, and after several moments, Madison turned to her medicine. How she hoped it would take the edge off the pain.

* * * *

No sounds came from the bathroom, not even the splash of running water in the sink. Could he usually hear the faucet when it was on? Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure. Crossing his ankles, he leaned back in the swivel chair and made a mental note to check later.

"There you are." John poked his head through the office door, grinned. "Dinner's almost ready. Where's you-know-who? I didn't see her on the sofa."

Terry inclined his head toward the bathroom. "Do we usually hear the sink running from here?"

"I don't know. Never thought to notice." John moved to Terry's work desk, folded his arms and took a deep breath. "What did the doctor have to say about the hip?"

"I don't know." Terry puffed out a sigh. "I guess she's all right. If it was really bad, wouldn't the doctor have given a prescription?"

"I guess."

Eyes fixed on the closed bathroom door, Terry shook his head. "All this not knowing is getting to me."

"Why don't you ask? It beats guessing."

The door cracked open. Like a mouse skirting danger by clinging to the walls, Madison made her way around John and Terry.

"Did it go all right?" Terry asked.

Without answering, she headed back to the living room.

John lightly punched Terry's arm. "She's not much for words, is she?"

Getting to his feet, Terry moved into the living room where he found Madison lingering by the front door. Her hand rested on the doorknob, her face a picture of indecision.

"You haven't eaten dinner yet."

"I'm not hungry."

"If you want me to take you back to the apartment, I will. Say the word, and we're gone. Before you leave though, I'd like you to get comfortable on the sofa so I can bring you some of Izzy's homemade dinner. What do you say? You need to eat."

The hand dropped from the doorknob.

"I know you're tired. Just hang on a little longer, and you'll start feeling better."

A mild scowl creased her mouth. "You can't promise that."

"Prove me wrong. Let me get you some food."

A sigh slipped from Madison. Her feet moved as though they weighed several pounds each, her slight frame tremored even though Terry knew she had to be exhausted. The way she eased herself onto the sofa had him grimacing.

"How's the pain? Let up any?"

She gave a weak shrug. "In places."

"How about your hip?"

"It still hurts."

"What did the doctor say was wrong?"

Sinking beneath the comforter, Madison looked like a small child snuggling to escape her troubles. She tucked her legs beneath her, rested her head against the back of the sofa. And closed her eyes.

Frustration nipped at Terry. He pushed into the kitchen, pulled the ibuprofen from the cupboard while Izzy watched.

"She won't tell me what's wrong. How can I make it better, if she won't tell me what's wrong? That's some doctor. She let Madison leave without anything for the pain." Terry dumped two pills into his hand as Debbie scooted past him with an armful of plastic plates. He was about to question the wisdom of the entire medical profession, when Ruthie got under foot on her way to the table with two handfuls of silverware. "Sorry." He maneuvered around the triplets, carrying his ibuprofen and frustration into the living room.

John met him coming down the hall. "Dinner ready yet?"

"I don't know. I guess. The girls are setting the table." Terry moved to the sofa, was about to hand Madison the bottled water and painkillers, when he noticed the slight rise and fall of her blanket.

Too late. She was fast asleep.

It wouldn't do any good to wake her, only to feed her ibuprofen. Terry set the water and the pills on the small end table beside the sofa. Then he saw them. The printouts Madison had received at the doctor's office, staring up at him from an edge of the blanket.

Temptation pushed hard at Terry. He wanted to take a small peek, to see what he was dealing with, how to help Madison, how to make her feel better. Surely, it would be all right.

A voice deep inside Terry sounded a warning. He knew it would violate trust. He had given his word. If Madison wanted to take her secrets to the grave, it was her decision. Not his. Her life wasn't in danger by keeping these things from him, and a doctor had examined her. She was in good hands.

He backed away, but not before tucking the papers beneath the blanket so they couldn't taunt him.

At least she wasn't in pain in her sleep.

* * * *

The girls were hungry, and John didn't see any reason to wait. He led the family in prayer over the food, then helped serve the children while his ears trained on the living room.

"Daddy?" Ruthie munched on a baby carrot, her eyes troubled in thought. "Why doesn't Uncle Terry want dinner? Isn't he hungry?" Two more sets of blue eyes looked to John for an answer, two more little girls worried about their Uncle Terry.

"Everything is all right. He has a lot on his mind right now, that's all. Mommy is keeping his food warm in the oven. He'll eat later."

"But why doesn't he eat now?" This time, Lizzie was asking the question. "Is Uncle Terry going to be sick again?"

He wasn't sick the last time, John thought with a sharp pang to his heart. How do you explain a weeping man to four-year-olds? And to do it without frightening them? Almost impossible.

"Daddy? What's wrong with Uncle Terry?"

"What's wrong?" Debbie and Ruthie chimed in.

As John prayed for wisdom, he saw Izumi's pained face and knew she was doing the same.

"Do you remember, the last time Uncle Terry didn't feel well, I said it was because his heart was hurting? It isn't the heart that pumps blood that hurts, but the heart in here"-- John touched his chest-- "the place where we feel things for each other. The place where love comes from. Your uncle knows what it's like to hurt inside, so when he sees someone else hurting, that place inside of him, hurts as well."

The girls exchanged looks among themselves, a silent form of communication between triplets that only they understood.

"Your Uncle Terry has a very big heart. Bigger than the Grand Canyon-- it's that big. And when he sees someone who needs help, his heart fills up so much he forgets his own needs." John looked from daughter to daughter to daughter, their somber faces a testament of love. "It's our job to take care of Uncle Terry. He's going to need lots and lots of hugs, and as many smiles and cuddles as we can give. Okay?"

Debbie sighed. "Daddy? Can I bring Uncle Terry his dinner?"

"I want to bring his grape juice!" Ruthie sat up straight. "Please, Daddy?"

Eager to do her part, Lizzie slid from the chair, gathered Terry's untouched fork and napkin and proceeded to take them into the living room.

With a nod of assent, Izumi retrieved one of the plates warming in the oven, made sure it wouldn't burn any little fingers, then gave it to Debbie.

A glass brimming with grape juice was pressed between Ruthie's small hands. After a promise to be very careful, she balanced her way into the living room while John held his breath.

"She spills that, you'll never get it off the carpet."

"This is good for them, John. They need to do something for their uncle."

John stood. "Give me the other plate. Madison needs to eat, and if she doesn't, I have a feeling neither will Terry."

* * * *

He only intended to stay for a few minutes, to keep watch over her sleep until he felt better about going into the kitchen for dinner. Then those sleeping lids flickered, the hands clenched, and those awful sounds struggled up from somewhere deep inside Madison. A soft writhing moan, hushed with fear, yet too painful to be absolutely quiet.

Grief tore at him. It didn't matter if he frightened her, she had to stop. She had to come out of that dream, whatever it was, and rejoin the living. Those sounds came from the grave, unearthly smothered wails that Terry doubted anyone in the house could hear but him.

If he hadn't been sitting in the overstuffed recliner, guarding her sleep, he would never have heard.

His hand trembled when he touched her arm.

Instead of waking, Madison turned beneath the comforter. Her body jerked at his touch, but mercifully, the keening stopped.

Thank God, it stopped.

Terry gripped his hands together to keep from shaking. He dropped into the recliner, bowed his head and prayed in silence.

He couldn't do this. He wasn't Abby, and Madison sure wasn't Jake. Please, God, not nightmares. Not flashbacks. Not her.

Not Madison.

The patter of feet had him looking up. Lizzie stood before him, a fork in one hand, a crumpled napkin in the other.

"What's this?" he asked in surprise.

"It's time to eat." Lizzie spoke with an air of self-importance. She handed him the fork, unfolded the napkin and tucked it beneath his chin. "Daddy says we have to take care of you."

"I appreciate the thought," he hushed his voice to coax Lizzie to do the same, "but I'm not very hungry right now."

Just then, Debbie entered the living room with a plate of leftover meatloaf. After her came Ruthie, balancing a precarious glass of carpet-staining juice in her little hands.

"I'll take that." Terry reached for the glass, puffed out a sigh of relief when it didn't spill. He set it on the end table, just as John came into the room with another plate.

"Why is she sleeping?" Debbie asked, staring at the woman on the sofa. "It's not time for bed yet. See? The clock doesn't say eight."

"Maybe she's sick." Ruthie joined her sister and they both stared at Madison. "Yup, definitely sick."

"Please, keep your voices down." Terry shifted the plate onto his knee, bent to pick up the fallen fork. "Madison is sleeping. She's had a busy day."

"So have I," Lizzie said, folding her small arms, "but I'm not sleeping before I have to."

"Hush-- you heard your uncle." John held a plate Terry suspected was for Madison. "Go back to the kitchen and finish your food. I'm sure Uncle Terry is glad you brought him his dinner."

"Yes," Terry smiled, careful to keep his voice to a near whisper, "I appreciate the meatloaf. Thanks."

The triplets flashed him a smile, then went back to the kitchen debating on whether or not the woman on the sofa was dying.

"She's not dying," Izumi said from the kitchen, her voice hushed but not so hushed Terry couldn't overhear. "Her name is Madison, and I'll thank you three not to wake her before she's ready."

John smiled, kept holding the plate and looking embarrassed. "We didn't know she was asleep," he said in a whisper.

"It's okay. I'm awake."

The men looked over at the sofa. Madison blinked back at them, her hands gripping the edge of the blanket.

"Since you're awake," John stepped forward to give her the plate, "you can have this. It's meatloaf, and it's leftover from... Wow. I don't know how long that's been in the freezer. Izumi cooks something, and if there's any leftovers, it sometimes gets shoved into the freezer until we get desperate." He shrugged. "I guess we got desperate. Save room for dessert. I hear there's pie and ice cream later."

John returned to the kitchen.

Terry pulled away the napkin under his chin. Those sweet munchkins. He had tried to tell them he wasn't hungry, but how could he turn away all that loving helpfulness? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Madison pray, pick up her fork and try a bite. She tried another, then another, until she was eating without pause.

Good idea, John, Terry thought, starting in on his own plate of meatloaf. Getting the girls to bring him his dinner, and then John following up with a second plate, so they could coax Madison into eating.

Brilliant. He wished he had thought of it, himself.

* * * *

After dinner, the triplets came to say good night to Terry, stare at Madison, then scoot off to bed under protest. They had a nap during preschool that day, and were a little more wide-awake than usual. It was Izzy's approach to let them get good and tired, so by the end of the day, they would fall into bed, and not be ordered into it.

Tonight, they needed to be ordered.

From the recliner, Terry saw John picking up a discarded doll in the hallway. Madison sat tucked on the sofa with the comforter, her new clothes laundered and folded into grocery bags.

Pushing up from the recliner, Terry walked down the hall, looked at the doll in John's hand. "They sure are growing up fast. I remember when we brought them home from the hospital, just little dolls, themselves. Remember Abby? How she kept crying and we had to drive her around late at night, until she fell asleep? Those were the days."

John smiled dryly. "They sure were. Insomnia and poopy diapers. Can't beat that." He rubbed the back of his head, tossed a glance down the hall. Though John said nothing, Terry knew his friend wondered when Madison would go home.

All evening long, Terry postponed the inevitable. After dinner, Madison had fallen asleep for an hour, giving him a handy excuse for why they weren't leaving. Then a show came on television, and Terry decided to wait until it was over so they could see the end. Now it was bedtime for the triplets, and John and Izzy were making noises about turning in for the night.

Through it all, Madison remained snugged in the blanket, silent and watchful of all that went on around her. She offered no conversation, her passive eyes reflecting someone who lacked emotional energy. She had spent it all.

"Terry?" John's voice rose in growing alarm. "You are planning to take her back to the apartment, aren't you? She's welcome here, but shouldn't she leave for the night?"

The perception of his friend startled Terry, for Terry had been considering the question all evening long. "Why does she have to leave? She's not causing any trouble. She could sleep on our sofa, use the office bathroom--"

"Terry," John placed a hand on his shoulder, "it's not Madison I'm thinking of, it's you. You need to get away from all that sadness, and give yourself a breather."

"I'm fine. It's not me I'm worried about, it's her."

"Spoken like the person I know and admire." John shook his head, sighed deeply. "I don't know, Terry. I think it'd be best if she went home."

For a moment, Terry toyed with the idea of telling John about Madison's bad dreams. He didn't know if they were flashbacks, and in a way, he hated to speak in case John might think him slightly off his rocker. Someone has a nightmare, and automatically it means they're having flashbacks of abuse. It could just be a bad dream.

"Terry?" John's concerned voice broke through. "Are you all right? You've been awfully quiet tonight."

"Sorry. I was just thinking." Terry looked down the hall, not seeing anything but the image in his mind.

A limping puppy.

Well now. If he didn't get a hold of his emotions fast, and start thinking more rationally, the tears would come and he might lose all opportunity to help Madison. He would be of no good to her shattered.

"I guess you're right"-- he managed a smile at John-- "I need a break. Please try not to worry, I'll take her home."

John gave a long, thoughtful pause. "If you think it's necessary for her to stay the night, she can stay. Izumi and I are around, so it's not like there aren't any chaperons."

The very idea of John being a chaperon, gave Terry a twinge of bittersweet amusement. Terry had never had a girlfriend, or anyone who even came close to that special title. Even now, it didn't count. Madison was just someone who desperately needed help, and happened to be a woman.

"Thanks for the offer," Terry nodded to John, unable to bring a smile to his mouth though he tried hard, "I'll take her home."

Another long pause from John. His eyes narrowed. "If you were in over your head, would you tell me?"

"John--"

"You'd tell me? Right?"

A slow breath moved through Terry's lungs. "I'll admit the water is lapping at my chin right now, but I'll be all right. Every time I think I'm about to sink and touch bottom, I keep treading water."

"And if that water gets choppy?"

Terry forced an easy shrug. "It won't happen, but if I need help, I'll ask."

"That sounds like a non-answer." John straightened as Izzy emerged from the triplets' bedroom. "You'll ask me, or someone else?"

Terry let loose with a wide grin. "Someone else, if I can help it."

"Just as long as you ask someone," John continued. "I prefer it to be me, but ask. Don't drown and no one not know."

"We're just having another brother-to-brother talk," Terry said to Izzy. "Someone we both know and love is getting in over his head again, but"-- Terry gave John a hearty slap on the shoulder-- "I don't mind jumping in to save a buddy. He needs a lot of taking care of, this guy. Always needs something, but what's family for, right?"

"Very funny."

"Anytime, John."

Izzy folded her arms. "Does anyone care to tell me what's going on?"

Cracking a smile, John shook his head. "I'll explain later. Say goodbye to our knight in shining armor. He has to return his lady fair, then go fight some windmills."

"Funny." Terry nodded to John. "Very funny."

The sparring match had put a smile on Terry's face that stayed. He turned to leave, saw John grin at him. They were brothers. In every sense of the word but birthright.

The thought steadied Terry as he went into the living room to collect Madison for the drive back to Chaumont. He had solid ground beneath his feet, a foundation on which to face the world and everything in it.

As Terry watched Madison struggle off the sofa, he was reminded how very blessed he was. Resolve strengthened his heart. That blessing would not end with him. He would pass it on to someone else, or die trying.

"Freely ye have received, freely give."
~ Matthew 10:8 ~ 

Chapter Seven
Fighting the Dragon

"Thou God seest me..."
~ Genesis 16:13 ~ he darkness sat heavy. It pressed against her body, cutting off the very air she breathed. Rope bit into her flesh with an eagerness that made every writhing moment seem like the last. She clawed, twisted to get free, but the rope held fast around her neck.

Death gazed with longing, and oh, how she wanted to follow. Just a few more breathless seconds and it would all go away. There would be peace.

The rope relaxed, and horror shuddered into her soul.

No, God, please no. Life flooded back into her lungs, and the darkness began to lift. She hadn't died. Fear doubled inside her, and still she refused to open her eyes. If she did, she knew what she would see-- what she would be forced to see for hours on end. But before that, would come the pain.

Now it would begin.

A scream tore through her consciousness.

Her eyes sprang open. She shoved herself upright on the sofa, gasping in the air with huge, greedy gulps. Where was she? Terror clutched her heart as she forced herself to look about the room. It required courage to look. Evil could emerge from the shadows, the rope dangling from its hand to begin again. It had happened before.

Her chin edged up until the room around her came into view.

On the wall, a silver photo frame greeted her, winking in the morning sunlight that filtered through the closed blinds covering the windows. It was the picture of two young men, posed side by side in the cap and gown attire of a graduation. Though younger than he was now, Madison recognized the lopsided grin. The other one she knew to be John, but Terry was the one she paid attention to. She focused on him, on the friendly eyes that smiled at her through the glass.

Terry Davis. This was his apartment. Last night, he had brought her here after the doctor's visit and dinner with the Johanneses. He had sat on the coffee table and watched her sink beneath the comforter on the sofa. He had asked if she had food.

This was Terry's apartment. The thought calmed her until she breathed without trying.

The question from the night before made her smile inwardly. Did she have food? Of course she had food. He had stocked that kitchen so well, she could feed herself for the next two weeks without having to even think of running out.

Madison moved to her feet with a stiff grimace of pain. The trials of yesterday came flooding in, as did the realization that she still struggled with the same problems as before. There had been no pill to make it all go away, no treatment to make her suddenly normal.

What had the doctor said to take? It wasn't the same stuff Terry kept giving her, but it was on the list as something she could take for the pain. Remembering the bottle on the counter, Madison limped to the kitchen while trying not to pay attention to the need in her body. She cursed the need that the dragon created. It had given it to her with that dream, for after the choking, then came sex and those awful videos. She despised it with every fiber of her being, and yet, the need was there.

For the first real time since her freedom, the need was there. It discouraged her until she felt herself the worst person on the entire planet. Evil rubbed off onto others, didn't it? That made her just as evil as him. No, there was no him, just the Dragon. She swore to forget him so entirely, she called it by a different name. Even him was too close.

The monster, the evil, the Dragon. It all meant the same to Madison, for they all represented him.

She snatched up the bottle of ibuprofen and dumped two pills into her hand. Disgust had her stomach churning. How could she possibly ever hope to become normal? The very idea was laughable.

Despair tugged at her so hard she wobbled to the floor. She popped the pills into her mouth and forced them down. What had she been thinking? Better to go sit in a trash pile and wait for death, than to keep trying for something unreachable.

"Please, God," Madison prayed from Terry's kitchen floor, "I don't think I can do this. Nothing I do will make me be like everyone else. They don't have any dragons to fight, and I do. I can handle physical pain, but I don't think I can outlast the hurt on the inside. Hoping for something better than what I've got, hurts. I didn't know how much hope could hurt, but it does. Couldn't You make the hope go away?"

For several long minutes Madison waited for God to answer. She half expected a shining light to descend from heaven, along with a glowing angel and a message straight from God. Such a thing never happened to her before, but who knew if it might?

After ten long minutes of nothing, she got to her feet with a discouraged heart. What was the use of even trying, when nothing really ever changed? She'd run, hadn't she? She'd run for as long as her money had lasted. Now what? A big fat nothing.

Depending on how she looked at it, the only good thing about now, was the fact the rope only choked her in her dreams. Even Terry's apartment couldn't shield her from that. Oh, why hadn't God let her die when she had the chance?

Pulling herself into the living room, Madison sank onto the sofa. She stared at the printouts the doctor had given her. It was no use. Too much was wrong that they couldn't fix. The doctor hadn't said that, but why else had she been given all this paper? And the deeply troubling issue the doctor had talked about, didn't do any good either. A mental health professional wasn't going to solve anything, and neither was all this paper.

Madison flung them aside.

What did God want from her? She'd waited for an answer, and got nothing.

She crawled back into her comforter cocoon. Hell could freeze over, a monster earthquake could open up and swallow every living person, and she would not care.

Well, every living person but Terry. She owed him something. Closing her eyes, Madison pictured an earthquake with the hopeless mess of humanity being tossed into the trash but Terry. He alone survived. Hell froze over and Terry stayed safe in Heaven with the angels. Now that she thought about it, Terry wouldn't be happy without his family, so John and Izzy and the three girls popped through the clouds and greeted him. He stood there in a long white robe with a harp and a halo, smiling that silly lopsided grin. Madison's thoughts grew heavy, blurring the edges of consciousness. How could Terry be in Heaven if he survived the earthquake?

The next thing she knew, someone was shaking her shoulder.

"Madison? Hey, come on, wake up."

When she opened her eyes, Terry came into focus. She blinked hard, trying to clear the sleep from her mind. "I thought you went home."

He smiled. "I did, but I came back. I believe you dropped these," he said, placing a small stack of printouts on her blanket.

She scooted upright, eyed him as he sat on the coffee table like he had last night. Without harp or halo, Terry didn't look as blissfully happy as he had in her dream.

"Do you know what time it is?" Terry nodded at the clock in the television cabinet. "Almost noon, and here you lay fast asleep. I let myself in when you didn't answer the door." He held up the house keys, and his eyes glanced about the room as though he knew something was wrong. When they came to rest on the sheets of paper, he frowned thoughtfully.

"Did you read them?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I gave my word."

"That's no reason. Men break their word all the time."

"Not me." Terry dropped the keys into the pocket of his navy blue slacks. "I talked myself out of coming any earlier because I didn't want to intrude. Now I'm beginning to think that might have been a mistake."

"Go home. Please, just go."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong."

She glared at him. How could he sit there in that pale blue polo shirt and ask such an obvious question?

"Everything's wrong. Here, look for yourself." She shoved the papers at him and he accepted them readily.

"Are you sure you want me to see this?"

She shrugged, turned her head but watched him out of the corner of her eye. He looked good. Need stirred inside her but she pushed it away. Even if she could, she would never give in to it willingly.

He let out a small breath. "Early stages of osteoarthritis of the hip. That's what this says-- what most of these papers are about." He flipped to the back, and his brows raised. "Is this what makes it hurt to sit?" He handed her the sheet of paper in question and she hurriedly tucked it under the comforter. She'd forgotten about that.

"Someone really hurt you," Terry said, returning his eyes to the papers in his hand. "I'm just scanning this information, but I'm guessing you suffered an injury that affected your hip. It's why you have osteoarthritis." He looked up, and she nodded "yes." He sighed, looked back at the paper. "Why are you letting me see this?"

"Because it doesn't matter anymore."

"Of course it matters. This is what's hurting you, and it matters a lot."

"It doesn't matter to God."

The papers came down and he looked at her with an expression Madison couldn't name.

"Why do you say that?"

Suddenly quiet, Madison shrugged.

"I take it you've had a difficult morning."

"I guess."

"Bad dreams again?"

She stiffened. "How do you know about my dreams?"

Terry returned his attention to the papers. "You whimper in your sleep, that's how. You made a lot of noises on the couch yesterday-- all of them disturbing-- but the whimpering is what really got to me." He took out his phone, turned it on and began punching things in to it, while constantly referring to the printouts.

"What are you doing?"

"These came from a website. I want the URL."

"Why?"

"Because I want to study this further." He handed her the papers, then put the phone back into his pants pocket. "That other problem... it has nothing to do with your hip?"

"No." Madison squirmed beneath the blanket. Why did he have to see that? Why hadn't she remembered to shred that page into tiny pieces before letting Terry know precisely where it hurt?

"Did the same someone who hurt your hip, also injure--" Terry hesitated. "Did someone hurt you there, as well?"

"Do you have to know everything?" she asked.

"I guess not." He shrugged, but looked as though he needed an answer.

"It's yes, okay? Yes, the same someone hurt me there as well." She turned in the blanket, adjusting herself so she wouldn't have to stare at Terry. "You're very persistent."

"You're very secretive."

"Well, now you know. I suppose you think I asked for it."

"Why would I think that?" His voice grew more serious. He stood, came around the sofa and deliberately moved into her line of view. "Madison? Why would I possibly think that?"

"Because." She felt something hot sting her eyes, and hurried to smudge away the evidence. The words wouldn't come, though she tried very hard to make them.

He leaned forward, laid a hand over hers and gave a gentle pat. "You don't have to explain. I understand."

She jerked her hand away from his. "How could you possibly?"

A deeply pained look crept into Terry's eyes. He looked away, then turned back to her as though it took effort to speak. "I was a counselor at a crisis hotline for a while. I'm afraid I wasn't a very good one, but I tried to help where I could. You aren't the only one to have ever gone through this. It's happened to others."

She dug her thumbnail into the back of her hand until it drew blood, then relaxed in the calm it gave.
He paused. "This may be more about me than you want to know--"

"Then I'd rather you didn't tell me." Madison cut him off before he could finish. "I might not be the only one, but you couldn't possibly know what I've been through."

"I think I can guess."

"No you can't."

His eyes measured her a moment.

"Have trouble sleeping?"

"Yes."

"Do you wake up screaming?"

"Sometimes."

"Does it happen while you're awake?"

"No." She shot him a triumphant smile. "You guessed wrong."

"Those dreams-- do you wake up wanting the abuser to finish what he started?"

The question cut her to the quick. Her eyes fell. She tucked her chin against her shoulder and attempted a careless shrug. "So what if I do? I can't make it stop unless I degrade myself. I'd rather die, before I do that."

"You could take a long walk to get it out of your system," Terry said, turning to look at the still closed blinds. "It's a nice day outside for a walk."

"No thank you."

"Come on, Madison. I saw enough of those printouts to know a little exercise would do your hip some good."

"No it won't."

To her everlasting irritation, he smiled. "How do you know, if you don't try?"

"It won't do any good, Terry. That doctor said my hip will eventually have to be replaced. Exercise won't save it."

"It might not," he said, clapping his hands together, "but if the doc says you walk, then you walk. Get up."

"No."

"Madison, this is for your own good."

"You can't make me."

He grinned. "I'm tempted to try."

When she shrank against the sofa, the grin vanished.

"Please try. There's a whole lot more to life than wishing you were dead."

"I don't wish that." She turned away, and Terry moved so she could not easily avoid him.

He crouched beside her, his face leveling with hers. "There's happiness waiting out there, lurking behind some corner, just waiting for Madison Crawford to come along and find it." He gave the comforter a small tug. "What do you say?"

"Go away, Terry. I want to sleep."

"You've been sleeping all morning. It's time to get up, wash your face, put on some of those new clothes and come outside. Have you had breakfast yet? Knowing you, you haven't eaten a bite all day." He gave her a knowing look. "It's almost lunch, and you have yet to eat breakfast. Am I right?"

"Terry, please go."

"Am I right?"

She groaned. "Yes, you're right."

"Then I'll fix lunch." Terry stood, turned toward the kitchen. "Put on your new clothes and try to enjoy what's left of the day."

"I don't want to enjoy anything."

He smiled. "Psalm one hundred and eighteen, verse twenty-four. Look it up."

"I don't have a Bible."

"What? No Bible? We'll have to fix that. But first you go change out of Agatha's clothes and put on some of your own. I'll have lunch ready in fifteen minutes."

"But, Terry--"

"Scoot." He nodded her toward the stairs. "Smile, Madison. It takes practice, so you'd better start now."

Defeated, Madison threw back the comforter as Terry disappeared into the kitchen. She pushed herself off the sofa with a groan. She wasn't going to smile, and if Terry didn't like it, too bad. How dare he barge in here, all butterflies and rainbows when she had her heart set on rain? The thought caught in her mind as she started up the staircase. This apartment belonged to him. If he wanted to barge, who was she to stop him?

Reaching the top of the stairs, Madison paused. How had he gotten her to talk about her injuries, her dreams, even her need? He had not made her feel the biting heat of shame when he spoke. Why? Terry didn't make any sense. Her injuries were the result of something she had not wanted, or asked for. She told him that. Did he really understand what that meant? She had been violated-- raped-- and he accepted it without making her feel she was to blame. Why didn't he question her word? Why didn't he blame her for making the Dragon do what it did?

Worry tightened Madison's stomach. How had he gotten her to say so much? That former crisis counselor was dangerous.

"Madison." Terry's voice carried down the length of the apartment, up the steps to the top stairs landing where she stood worrying. "I hope you're changing clothes up there. Lunch is almost ready."

She leaned over the banister. "You said fifteen minutes!"

"I was wrong. So sue me."

Huffing out a sigh, she pushed into the bathroom where Terry had left her shopping bags. She had insisted on staying out of the bedroom, and even her things were not to go in there. The bedroom was enemy territory.

She checked the bathroom door, made sure it was locked, then went to pick out some clothes from the bags. It felt good to have clothes that belonged to her, and not someone else. It made her feel as though she had an identity all her own. A gloriously independent sensation.

The ungrateful thing she had said about God not caring, bothered her. She had clothes, actual clothes to put on and live in. Her tummy didn't ache from hunger, and for the first time in a very long while, she hadn't been violated while alone with a man. He had every opportunity to take what he had salvaged, and use it however he wanted. But he had not.

No, God cared and it shamed her to remember how much He did care.

Madison pulled the pink T-shirt over her new jeans, choosing to leave it untucked to hide the fact the trousers were too big. In the mirror over the sink, she didn't look too bad. When she backed up to see her bottom half, the clothes didn't look ridiculous. When she stood on her tiptoes to see all of the reflection, they almost looked normal.

Almost, but not quite. Just like the skinny face that paled each time she caught her own expression in the mirror.

She felt haunted. Seeing herself churned up memories of private horror, so she avoided eye contact with herself whenever possible. Whenever she was aware of herself, aware of the Dragon waiting in the basement. She wished she had the broken mirror, the one she carried with her into Three Mile Bay. Small pieces of her-- just the eyes, the mouth, the hair, didn't stir bad memories like seeing all of her did. But the broken mirror had been left in the bag at the campground, and by now, most likely thrown out like so much trash.

Before she left the safety of the bathroom, she bowed her head and apologized to God. The future still baffled her courage, but at least the present seemed endurable. She could occupy the here and now, she could endure today. She could see herself surviving this day.

Taking the stairs one step at a time, she moved into the living room, then into the small dining area at the back of the apartment.

Terry sat at the table, eating from a plate of sandwiches. He made no comment when she sat down to the second plate on the opposite side.

She quietly prayed, then began nibbling at her food. Her plate had a glass of milk beside it, a small carton of yogurt. Terry just had sandwiches. Unnerved that she had more than he did, she slid the yogurt to him. He frowned, and shoved it back.

"Yogurt is good for you," he said.

"It's good for you too."

"I didn't get that for me."

After considering her plate, she pushed the glass of milk at him. He pushed it back.

"That has calcium."

"Do I need calcium?"

"All women need calcium."

In defeated silence, Madison drank her milk, spooned down the yogurt, then started in on her sandwich.

"I don't know everything you've been through," Terry said, "and I'm not going to pretend I know what's best for you. But what happens to you does matter. Your pain matters to God. I hope you know that."

"Yes, I know. I apologized to Him upstairs."

"Upstairs, upstairs? Or UPSTAIRS?"

"You mean Heaven? No, it was just upstairs."

"That's what I thought." Terry gave his typical lopsided smile. "Because if you're regularly going to Heaven and talking to God, you're more special than I thought."

She sighed deeply. "There's nothing special about me." She played with the remaining bite of her sandwich, wishing she was anyone but herself. Something hot stung her eyes, and she quickly brushed it away. "What's going to happen to me, Terry?"

"I don't know. What do you want to happen?"

With a sniff and a shrug, she pushed her plate away. "Whatever happens, I just want it to be normal."

"You know," he said, inclining his head in a confidential manner, "I hear normal is seriously overrated."

She blinked at him, and his smile slipped.

"That was a joke."

"Oh." She shrank back in the chair, and wondered if anyone had ever had as uncertain a future as hers.

* * * *

It took strength to sit at the table and watch Madison nibble at her food, then to see her push the rest of it away uneaten. It took fortitude to not sink beneath her pain each time he glimpsed it in her voice, her eyes. He hadn't been able to make her smile. Just one little curve of the lips would have given him comfort. But he hadn't been able to make her smile.

The short talk about dreams had scratched the surface of what Terry sensed had been a prolonged period of abuse. Madison was too profoundly different for it not to be the case. The more he remained in her presence, the greater his conviction that she had endured a private hell for quite some time. She looked at the world with large tremulous eyes, eyes unused to seeing the normalcy of life. The bad things she knew, even expected, but the good was a complete mystery to her.

She intrigued Terry. One moment she appeared jaded by sexual experience, the next, a trembling child, unsure of herself and those around her. A strong breeze would knock her over, and a harsh word from him would drive her into despair. For all of her hardened bravado, Terry sensed a tender soul lurking behind those long lashes.

When he stepped outside for the walk, it was the child who reluctantly joined him.

"Keep to the sidewalks in this part of town, and stay away from the main road," Terry said as they left the apartment complex behind. "I don't want to see you hitchhiking. If you want to go somewhere, either walk or call me. Can you drive?" He looked over his shoulder, saw her trudging behind in his old heavy coat. The sleeves had been rolled up around her wrists, like a child bundled against the cold.

"No, I can't drive." She sounded dull, a little discouraged and overwhelmed by her situation.

"Then call me when you can't walk, and I'll drive you. Okay?" He slowed until she caught up. "Okay?"

She gave a half-hearted shrug. "I guess, but it doesn't seem very practical."

"I don't care how it sounds, I don't want you hitchhiking again."

"I've never hitchhiked, all right? I took a bus to Three Mile Bay."

He stopped, turned to look at her in those upturned coat sleeves. "I still don't want you to ever get into a stranger's car. Got it?"

She nodded.

"The bus is all right, but the other thing is out of the question. The very thought of you going with some stranger, scares me." Terry started off again, checking both ways before he crossed the street with Madison in tow. He strangely felt like a parent responsible for a child. "We should have thought to get you a coat. And a Bible, you need a Bible." He paused, pulled out his cell phone to make a list, and she paused behind him. Her face was rosy from the cold breeze that swept through the bay, her nose a matching bright pink. "How old are you?" he asked as they began moving again.

Her nose scrunched against the direct glare of sunlight. "Thirty-four."

"You're kidding. I never would have guessed it."

"How old are you?" she asked in a voice that said, "You asked me, now it's your turn."

"I'm forty-seven."

"Really? That's old."

Terry decided not to comment.

"How come you aren't married like your friend, John?"

Terry darted a glance over his shoulder. "Who says everyone has to be married?"

He must have glared, for her chin tucked to her chest and she didn't look up. "I don't know. People just usually are," she mumbled.

"Did I yell at you?"

"No."

"Then why are you acting like I did?"

A shoulder lifted in an uncertain shrug, and she started lagging further behind.

Before Terry thought to slow down again, he recognized a familiar face. An old friend, Brian Donovan, an architect and close fishing buddy of Terry's, started down the sidewalk in their direction, a tiny terrier trotting before him on a thin leash.

Before Terry knew it, Madison had hidden herself behind Terry's back.

"Hey, Terry," Brian greeted with a broad smile. "Nice day for a walk."

"Hey, it sure is."

The dog strained against the leash, impatient to get on with his business.

"I'm supposed to be walking the dog," Brian laughed, "but the dog is walking me."

"Say 'Hi' to Dave for me."

"I'll do that." Brian gave an easy smile, then he saw Madison. The interest in his face was obvious. He looked like he wanted to ask Terry who the woman was, but the dog kept going down the street and Brian followed.

It figures, Terry mused, rounding the curb for the walk back to the apartment. A pretty face attracts attention.

Madison clung behind Terry's shoulder.

"I hate it when men do that."

"Do what?"

"Look at me like they want something."

"He was just being friendly, Madison."

She went silent, then asked, "Who's Dave?"

"Brian's teenage son. Brian's a widower, so it's just him and Dave now. And of course, Macho."

"Who?"

"The dog. I've known them for several years. In fact, they go to our church."

"Who-- the dog?"

"No, Brian and Dave." Terry cut across a filling station, then stepped back onto the sidewalk. "Would you like to attend church next Sunday? You could come with me and the family."

"Why? So I can meet Brian?"

"No, so you can fellowship with other Christians. There's a good church in this area, and since there is, you should come." He crossed the street, moved between two parked cars, then stepped onto the concrete paving near his building. It ran the distance of the complex, branching off to the different apartments and community laundry.

As they neared his door, Madison tugged at his arm. One look at her pale face, and Terry came to a complete stop.

"What is it? Why are you trembling again?"

She sucked in air as though trying to brace herself against passing out. He reached out to steady her, and she moved away.

"What is it, Madison?"

"Promise you're not taking me to church so I'll meet Brian. Promise you're not trying to marry me off so I won't bother you anymore."

The desperation in the request made Terry wish he had never said anything about Brian being a widower. He saw fear brimming in those gray eyes and realized he had put it there by his careless remark.

"In all honesty, I'm not trying to get rid of you. You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need."

"But I'm costing you money. I heard the receptionist at the medical center say what I cost you."

The thought popped into Terry's mind that she was costing him a whole lot more than a mere hundred dollars for a visit to the doctor. He already guessed they had x-rayed her hip, and who knew what other tests and procedures they had done? He expected additional bills to start coming in any day now.

"I can't pay you back, Terry."

"I know. I don't expect you to."

She stood there in that ridiculous coat, several sizes too large, looking very much lost and all by herself.

"Promise you're not trying to get rid of me? I wouldn't blame you if you were."

"I'm not. I promise."

Madison sniffed, ran the sleeve of his coat over her nose. "I don't have anyone else but you. Even if I was asked, I can't marry to put a roof over my head. I just can't. I'd rather die than have a man touch me like that."

"Calm down, you're not going to die, and no one is going to touch you. I simply thought you should come to church, that's all. As God is my witness, I had no ulterior motive than a simple church service with me and the family. That's it. You don't have to talk to Brian, or to anyone else, if you feel uncomfortable."

Her bottom lip quivered. "I'll be going with you?"

Terry nodded.

"Promise? Promise you won't leave me there?

"Madison, why would I do a thing like that?"

"I don't know why, just promise. Please, promise."

A sigh moved through Terry. "I won't leave you there. I promise."

The palpable relief on Madison's face spoke for her. She tightly hugged herself and continued to tremble.

His emotions already stretched to the limit, Terry felt helplessly weak.

He stepped to the door of his apartment and pulled keys from a pocket of his slacks. "How's your hip doing? Feel any better?"

She leaned forward against the wall, her forehead propped against dry brick and mortar. She gave a limp nod of her head, and when she spoke, emotional fatigue sounded in her voice.

"I don't want to be a burden, Terry. I'll try not to cost you more money."

Terry's heart squeezed until he was forced to look away. He wanted to tell her that what she had survived was likely more harrowing than anything yet to come, that her future was just beginning and to take heart. But Madison didn't need courage. She had enough. What she needed now was a friend.

He sucked in a breath, held it until he could speak without his voice cracking.

"You won't be alone, Madison. God is with you, and so am I."

Her eyes squeezed shut and a tear slid down her cheek.

He wanted to reach out and hug her, but knew it would likely scare Madison senseless. Instead, he bowed his head to her and spoke as softly as he could.

"God didn't expect you to go through this alone. That's why He sent you to Three Mile Bay. So I would find you."

"Do you really believe that?"

Her voice tremored so hard Terry wanted to weep. Knowing his tears were not what she needed, he forced himself to speak.

"I believe I'm supposed to help you. God is counting on me to be your friend, and I'll do my very best to not let Him, or you, down."

"I'm sorry," her words spilled out in a faint whisper.

He leaned in to hear better. "Sorry for what?"

"I was grouchy to you this afternoon. You didn't deserve that."

"You? Grouchy?" Terry feigned surprise, and was rewarded by a slight upturn of her lips. "Don't beat yourself up, Madison. I understand you're going through a tough time." Terry opened the door and waited for her to go inside. He thought of inviting her to dinner at the house, but decided against it.

After getting her settled on the sofa with dinner warming in the microwave, he left the apartment as soon as he could.

Grief welled inside him as he climbed into the jeep. Fearing she might get up and see him from the window, Terry pulled away before he freed the sorrow building in his soul. God, help him. He had to get better at this, for Madison was going to need a lot of help.

* * * *

Propping his feet on the desk, John leaned back in the chair with an open laptop. The Osaka account had closed that morning after a thumbs-up call from their client, and John was flying high. Another fulfilled contract to add to an ever-growing résumé, and another hefty paycheck to keep their business thriving. Thanks to John and Terry's custom software, their client had a solid anti-fraud system to combat against hackers and cyber-crime. Very important for a bank. With online banking fraud on the rise, establishments like the one in Osaka had good reason to worry.

When a bank fails to identify fraud before the transaction of money takes place, many get hurt, including the bank. The innocent man paying his bills online might not understand his computer has a virus to detect the keystrokes of his ID and password, or that the official looking website he just clicked on via an urgent email, wasn't his bank alerting him of an emergency with his account. No emergencies here, just a phishing scheme meant to rob you of your life savings. When Mr. Innocent Man gets robbed, the bank suffers loss of trust. Since the bank can't rely on the watchfulness of its customers, it's up to the bank to be the guard dog.

And now the Nakamura Bank in Osaka had a guard dog with John and Terry's name on it. Woof.

John never considered himself a crime fighter, but in his own way, that's just what he and Terry had become. Sometimes, they were hired as consultants, or called in somewhere to troubleshoot a glitch ladened network with security holes so big he could drive his minivan through without being detected. Kids included.

The custom software they had engineered for Osaka required a great deal of time, and very deep pockets for the amount of work that needed to be done. Money amply rewarded them for their effort, and now that the contract had closed, John was eager for some down time. Their hard-earned reputation was attracting the sharp interest of a substantial client in Singapore, but John knew if he and Terry didn't rest between jobs, they would burn out.

It was high time for some R&R, a little rest and relaxation.

With a tap of the trackpad, John checked his email. He didn't expect much more from Osaka, except the occasional question from an employee maintaining the network. He didn't expect much in his personal email, either. After all, if anyone-- business or personal-- was going to contact him about something vitally important, John expected them to call. They would call, wouldn't they?

Not this time.

Clutching the laptop, John dropped his feet from the desk. "Izumi? Hey, Izumi, get in here!"

After several moments, Izumi walked into the office with a spattered apron tied about her small waist. Three ponytailed girls crowded around her, each licking a spoon of brownie batter. When John had brought the triplets home from preschool that day, Izumi announced they would make brownies to celebrate the men's holiday.

Izumi shook her head in womanly disbelief. "I don't know why you always think I can hear you from the kitchen. You carry on a one sided conversation, then wonder why I don't answer your question. What is it?"

"I wasn't carrying on a conversation. I just wanted you to come."

"Well, I'm here, but you'd better make it quick. I've got two batches of brownies in the oven."

The smudge of chocolate on Izumi's cheek made John get up and plant a kiss on her mouth.

"John, I told you, I'm making brownies."

"Have I told you lately how much"-- John paused, saw Izumi's mouth curve into a playful smile that expected a compliment-- "how much I love brownies?"

The girls giggled and Izumi had no opportunity to pretend insult for John planted another kiss on his wife's lips.

"Guess what I have?" John asked, shielding the laptop screen from Izumi's view. "I'll give you three guesses."

Hands on her hips, Izumi gave him a patient look. "John, I really do have brownies in the oven."

"I know, I can smell them."

"I don't have time for games."

"Just one guess, Little Dove, and I'll tell you my surprise."

Momentarily forgetting the spoon, Ruthie perked up. "It's Christmas again?" she asked, venturing a guess of her own.

"Does this look like December to you?"

"No, but you said to guess, Daddy."

"Give me a realistic guess."

"We're getting a pony?"

"No. No ponies. I said realistic."

"A cat? Cats are realstick."

"That's realistic, and no, no cat. No fur-bearing animals in this house. Mommy has an allergy-- you know that."

"John, I really must get back to the kitchen."

"Just one guess, Izumi. Come on, where's your playful spirit?"

"In the oven, getting ruined with the girls' brownies."

"I thought you said those were for Terry and me?"

"John."

"Okay, okay." He grinned, turned the laptop screen to Izumi. "Guess who's coming back to Three Mile Bay?"

* * * *

After parking his jeep in the garage, Terry headed for the house in an unhurried stride. A check in the rear view mirror had given him the confidence he needed. His eyes weren't too red. Unless someone looked closely, no one would know he spent the last fifteen minutes crying. Weeping made him feel ridiculous, but it also released the pent up emotion building inside him all afternoon. Tears mixed with prayer had done their quieting work, now only the shame of having broken down remained.

At least she had smiled. Before he left, that slight smile had given him comfort. She had decent food, a warm dry place to sleep, and she had smiled.

Terry decided not to let it go to his head. One weak smile in the midst of all that trembling shouldn't seem like a victory. But it was. No matter what she had gone through, that smile proved she still possessed the ability to hope. She was still trying, still hanging on with everything she had.

Instead of going into the house and facing John and Izumi, Terry shifted his way to the picnic table by the beach. He needed a few minutes of quiet. He sat down, pulled out his mobile phone and began punching in the few things he knew about Madison. She wasn't married, and had no children. She'd been sexually abused, most likely by one person-- a man. She had trouble sleeping, and sometimes woke up screaming. She had no one, and no one was looking for her. Not even the man. She hadn't hitchhiked, but arrived on a bus. And, he remembered, she had said Three Mile Bay was as far as her money would take her-- intimating that she had gotten on the bus of her own free will. There were other things Terry was certain he'd missed, but those were the highlights.

Just looking at the list made him weak. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, turned his eyes to the broad expanse of water lapping at the beach. Whoever did this to Madison ought to be hauled into the street and shot. Terry felt no pity for the animal who had reduced her to a trembling shadow. If there was any justice in the world, that pond-scum would know how it felt to be violated, himself.

A soft breeze ruffled Terry's hair, cooled his face and soothed his anger. A verse came to him, the words unclenching his fisted hands. "Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." [Galatians 6:7] The words calmed Terry. Nothing got past God. Whoever had done this to Madison, would surely suffer. There was no such thing as evading God's justice, and whatever the man's punishment was, it would come, as surely as God was just.

It did make Terry wonder though. Who was this man? Was he hurting someone else, now that he no longer had Madison to abuse? Why wasn't he looking for her? Madison seemed sure of that fact. Terry thought it over. If he had abused someone over a long period, and that someone was walking around unafraid of retaliation, it had to mean either of two things. One, that the abuser felt the person he had hurt wouldn't say anything, or two, that the abuser was dead. Of course, it might also mean the creep was in prison and couldn't come after her. The possibilities pounded at Terry until he was forced to make it stop. He had to. He couldn't take it.

He had to keep going until God told him to give up. Madison needed someone. She was what mattered.

"Think about her," he breathed into the wind blowing from off the bay. "Just think about her."

"So you've spent the entire afternoon with Madison."

Terry turned to see John standing a few feet from the picnic table, his hands stuffed into the pockets of a dark green coat.

"I was hoping after you dropped by to check on Madison, that maybe you were visiting a fishing buddy and that's why you didn't come back for lunch. I should have known." John sauntered to the bench, dropped down beside Terry. "So. How's she doing?"

"Fine, I guess. I don't really know how to answer that question."

"Okay, how's this one? How are you doing?"

"John, what if Madison's abuser is walking around and hurting someone else?"

John hesitated. "Do you have a name?"

"No," Terry shook his head, "I just know that a man hurt her. I don't have names or places. I'm doing good that she's even talking to me."

"Then you don't have that responsibility, Terry. Not until you have enough information to go to the police with."

In frustration, Terry punched the air. "It makes me want to beat that man within an inch of his life. How can someone do that to another human being? How?"

"I guess," John said, "when you don't care about anyone but yourself, it makes you capable of just about anything, if you let it. Selfishness is like that."

"But how could he hurt Madison? She's such a sweet person, how could anyone do that to someone like her?"

"Is she sweet, Terry?"

Terry looked at John, and John gave a half shrug.

"Hey, Terry, I just met her. I haven't been around her as much as you. If you say she's sweet, I'll take your word for it. I just hope you're being careful."

"I am."

"Okay, just checking. She's sweet and you think she's pretty."

"I never said that."

"You did, Terry. We were watching the triplets fish, and you said you weren't helping Madison because she's pretty."

"Well, I'm not."

"I know. But my point is"-- John pulled his hands out of the pockets and leaned against the table-- "you think Madison is pretty."

"She is... I guess." Terry shrugged. "I try not to notice."

"But you think she's sweet?"

Terry sighed. "You're point is?"

"Don't fall in love with her, Terry. You're an honorable man-- I don't doubt that for a second, but she's--"

"Damaged?" Terry finished.

John nodded. "That's the word I was looking for. I'm not trying to run your life. I just want you to be--"

"I know, I know. Be careful." Terry puffed out a sigh. "Everyone wants me to be careful, but what about Madison?"

John looked out at the bay. "Are you in love with her?"

"No. I don't think I am." Terry considered the rough table top, the loose sand beneath his shoe. "When you're in love, do you know it? Or is it something that happens without you're being aware of it?"

John turned, gave Terry a half smile. "It can definitely sneak up on a guy. Which is why I'm warning you to be so careful."

"I'm not in love." Terry shook his head with an adamant sigh. "I'd know it if I were. Besides, she told me today that she'd rather die then let a man touch her in passion. I feel sorry for her, but nothing more."

For a long while, John didn't say anything. Even through the silence, Terry could hear the wheels turning in his friend's mind. John believed him-- Terry knew he did-- but the silence meant John was busily wondering if Terry really knew his own heart. Terry thought of arguing the point further, but felt too tired to make the effort. In the quiet of the fading evening, Terry thought about something Madison had said. It had struck a deep nerve, and hurt even now.

In thoughtful silence, Terry and John watched the sun slip beneath the horizon. No one spoke of dinner, each man lost in his own thoughts.

Then Terry broke the silence with a sigh. John looked at him, and Terry allowed himself to speak freely.

"Sometimes, I wish I could love someone the way you love Izzy. To know what that feels like for just a few minutes before I die. I'd like to know that feeling, to live it instead of watching everyone around me getting married and having children."

The look in John's face sobered even more. "You've never said that before. Why now?"

"I don't know." Terry pushed out a breath. "Yes, I do know. Madison asked me today why I'm not married like you."

"And what did you say?"

"What could I say? John, why aren't I? What's wrong with me?"

"Hey, hey now." John clasped Terry's shoulder. "There is nothing wrong with you. You're just shy, that's all."

"Yeah, I guess."

"How long have you felt this way?"

"I don't know. For a while I suppose. I'm getting older, and my chances keep getting slimmer."

"Then why don't you talk to Izumi? I'm sure she'd be glad to invite some of her unmarried friends over to the house for dinner. And then there's the singles group at church."

Terry shook his head. "Forget I ever mentioned it. I must be tired. Really, really tired to even talk like this."

John didn't move. "Do you want me to ask Izumi?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Then I'll ask her."

Terry hesitated. He wanted desperately to turn down the offer, but couldn't. What if this was his last chance? On the other hand, what if he never had a chance to begin with?

John nodded without Terry's answer. "I'll ask her." He got up, started for the house and Terry called him back.

"Do me a favor?"

"Name it."

"Don't tell anyone that Izzy's doing this because I asked. It'd look like I couldn't speak for myself."

"I won't say a word of this conversation to anyone but Izumi."

"Okay." Terry sucked in several deep breaths. "Okay."

"If God wants you to get married," John said, as the moon glided over their heads, "then it'll happen, chronic shyness or not. If that's what you want, then God must have put that desire in you for a reason."

Terry stood up, nodded to his friend. "Thanks for not laughing at me."

"Would I laugh at a time like this?"

"Yes, that's why I'm thanking you."

"Then you're welcome."

The men stepped onto the walk leading to the house.

The sound of waves lapping at the shore underscored John's ironic chuckle. "You know, I came out here to find you so I could spill the beans about some big news I received this afternoon."

"Oh? What is it?" Terry looked to John and saw the white grin spread across John's face.

"AJ is coming home."

"Let the righteous be glad; let them rejoice before God: yea, let them exceedingly rejoice... [for] God setteth the solitary in families: He bringeth out those which [were] bound with chains..."
~ Psalm 68:3, 6 ~ 

Chapter Eight
Looking Ahead

"But I will hope continually, and will yet praise Thee more and more."
~ Psalm 71:14 ~ f Jake had been the one to spill the good news, he would have been thoughtful enough to call. But not Abby. She shot off an email and dumped the good news into their lap without any ability to remark or ask questions. That was Abby.

That night, Three Mile Bay called San Diego for more of the details that Abby had left out. Such as when they were arriving, and what had finally made up their mind to come. With everyone on an extension in separate rooms of the house in New York State, Abby fielded their questions from her living room in San Diego while Jake put Ricky to bed.

"We've given it a lot of thought, Dad. College has overall been a good experience for Jake, and I'm delighted he graduated with honors. I really am. I'm proud of him. His professors say he has real potential, but I have to admit it's been rough at times. Almost everyone here has been incredibly kind and supportive, so I don't have any right to complain."

"But something is wrong," Izumi spoke up. "I can hear it in your voice."

"It's not so much wrong, as it was never really great to begin with. He struggles through friendship with the others students, never really able to just relax and be himself. The others don't know how to treat him because everyone here knows he's on an advisory board for a state penitentiary. Even worse, they know why."

"How could they possibly know that, unless someone told them?"

"Mom, remember that newspaper clipping I emailed you after we got here? The piece from the local newspaper? It's made Jake a minor celebrity. Everyone is super polite and kind in the extreme-- you saw that when you were all down here for the graduation."

"Yes, the college president gave us an extensive tour of the campus. It was very impressive."

"See what I mean?" Abby groaned. "The college president-- who doesn't give out tours-- gave one to my family. It was because of Jake."

"But isn't that a good thing, Abby?"

"Mom, they won't let him fit in. They are kind, and I believe genuinely glad they can point to their student body and say such a person as this was able to graduate with honors. Jake makes them look good. I hate to put it so bluntly, but it's true. As for the more genuine friends, they often aren't able to cope with the trauma of knowing what happened to Jake. They feel awkward around him, like they just can't forget."

"Then why did you have to give so much information in the article?" John asked.

"They didn't get that from us, Dad. Remember the commission? They got a transcript of the entire thing, Jake's testimony included. They had more than enough to do their column. Like I said, I'm not complaining. The reporter was well-meaning, but I wish the story had never been run. Now that he's graduated, I think it's time we came home."

"What does Jake have to say about all this?" Terry asked.

"He won't admit to me that people treat him differently. In short, he pretends all day long that he's fine, that it doesn't matter, that he can take it with a grin and keep his mouth shut. I can't. Hold on a minute. Jake's coming. Pick up the extension in the living room, Baby."

"Dad, Mom-- Uncle Terry? Hey, did you get Abby's email?"

"We sure did." Terry summoned a happy tone, maintained it carefully for Jake's benefit. "It's fantastic news. When are you coming? We can have the little yellow house fixed up and ready for you by the time you arrive. There's the gas, electricity, water to turn on, and there's probably a foot of dust on the floor by now."

"Don't go to any trouble."

"It's no trouble, Jake. You're bringing our Abby home. We're more than happy to do it."

"Thanks, Uncle Terry."

Abby spoke up. "We have some things to take care of here, but we should be able to leave sometime this month. I don't know yet when we'll arrive. Dennis said I can keep the pay increase I received when coming to California-- that I'd earned it, and not to think that just because I'll be working from home again, that I'll be any less indispensable to him. It was kind of him to say."

"There's no shame in working from home," Terry said. "We saw 'Bassin' the Weeds with Dennis,' last week. You looked good, Abby. I keep telling people that our Abby is on television and they won't believe me until they see the show for themselves."

"Yeah, well." Abby hesitated. "I won't be making guest appearances anymore. I'll continue to write for the magazine and the website, keep my name in front of everyone. It'll be good."

Terry winced at the strained silence that followed. He heard a deep sigh, Jake's voice in the background.

"It won't hurt my career, Jake. We talked about it and we agreed."

"But you don't want to leave."

"Yes, I do. I want you to be happy. What's not good for you, is not good for me. Now say something so they won't worry."

"Dad, she doesn't want to leave."

"I don't know what to tell you, Jake. I'd love to have you guys back here-- you both know that."

"Jake, this is Mom. How do you feel about the move? Do you want to come home?"

"When you put it that way, Mom--"

"Please be honest with us, Jake. What do you want?"

The phone went silent.

"Tell her," Abby said in the background. "Mom, he wants to come, I know he does. He hasn't been happy here, and he wants to come home. I don't blame him for that."

"But you want to stay."

"Jake--"

"Abby, please. Don't do this because of me. You love it here, you know you do."

"That's enough, Jake. I've already given Dennis notice. We're going. Dad, Uncle Terry? If you could have the house ready for us, I'd really appreciate it. I'll let you know as soon as we have a better idea of when we should get there."

"But, Abby--"

"Jake, please. Not now. We'll talk about it later."

The conflicted joy in John's voice made Terry wince inwardly. He knew how John felt. "I know you'll both do what's best, Sweetheart. Take care of my grandson, give him a big hug and a kiss from all of us."

"And call us before you leave," Izumi said.

Terry wanted to add, "And tell us if you change your mind," but didn't. From what Abby had said, they needed to come home. He hated to think of her career slowing down, her leaving the successful show that had garnered so much acclaim and attention, but he had to credit Abby for putting Jake before herself.

The phones hung up, the three gathered in the living room to look at each other with thoughtful faces.

"Well." Izumi sat down on the couch with a sigh. "Sounds like they're coming."

"I pray God gives them wisdom, but I think you're right." John turned to Terry. "Tomorrow, bright and early, we need to get their house ready. When was the last time we checked their roof? It's the rainy season, and I don't want Ricky getting wet over a few leaks that could've been easily patched over."

"I don't remember the last time we checked," Terry answered, "but it's a good idea. At least they're coming back to a home that has no mortgage. They don't have any student loans to pay off, very little credit card debt, and they're healthy. I don't know what this might mean to Abby's career, but they're not in bad shape. In fact, I'd say it's a better than average start."

With an assenting nod, John gave Terry a light punch in the shoulder. "Leave it to you, to see the good in the bad."

"I'm only saying," Terry sat in the armchair while John settled on the couch beside Izumi, "they're not in bad shape. Abby still has her job with Dennis, and Jake can start pursuing his career from Three Mile Bay instead of California. They get to put down roots here, instead of somewhere else. We should be grateful." Terry leaned over, pulled off his shoes and absently dumped sand onto the carpet. "We should be grateful-- and I am-- but I wish things had gone better for Jake."

"When we're supposed to do something, or be somewhere," John said as he dropped an arm around Izumi's shoulders, "then God will make a way for it to happen. I think this only proves God didn't intend for them to stay in San Diego indefinitely."

"Look who's seeing the good in the bad," Terry grinned.

An easy smile parted John's mouth. It faded into quiet thought, then a quick jerk of light. "Little Dove, Terry and I have a favor to ask."

"Oh no. Not that-- not now."

"Why not? Terry, I'm going to ask her before you turn chicken."

"I'm not turning chicken."

"Then pipe down so I can ask her." John tugged at a lock of Izumi's black hair. "Terry would like you to go through your mental list of single ladies from church, and maybe ask one of them to come to dinner some evening. You know, to get to know Terry better."

Doom crouched hidden behind the recliner. Terry could feel it waiting to pounce. "It's no big deal, Izzy. I was only thinking you might know of someone who wouldn't mind having dinner with us... with me."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You have never, in all the years I've known you, ever asked or even expressed a wish to find a wife. That's what this is about, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You're serious?"

"Have I ever asked this before?"

The incredulity left Izumi's face, though she still looked stunned. "I suppose I could look around. I could start with the singles' group at church. Then there's the women who aren't group joiners."

"Make sure they're young enough to have kids," John chuckled. "Of course, if he goes for an older woman, there's always adoption."

"John, stop teasing. He's turning red."

"Is he?" John turned to look at Terry. "Well, now, would you look at that."

"Okay, time to turn in." Terry moved to his feet, picked up his shoes and saw the jovial grin on his best friend's face. "Did I make fun of you, when you were dating?"

The question met with a laughing shrug. "I never dated anyone but Izumi. And even then, it was only once. One lunch, and I was hooked."

If only, Terry thought, he could be as blessed as that. True, John had never dated anyone but Izumi. Also true they married soon after that first date. How could someone not even be looking for a wife, and then find her so quickly? So easily and without effort, fall in love and decide to get married? As Terry moved to his bedroom down the hall, he thought it over. God had pulled some strings, and Izzy had appeared for John. Maybe God would pull some strings and give him a wife, as well. Maybe it would be that easy.

* * * *

Even in the hurry to get the triplets to preschool on time, Terry didn't forget. All through the kitchen morning cleanup, making his bed, brushing his teeth-- spending quiet time with the Lord-- he remembered. Not for a single moment did it slip his mind.

Before starting work on the little yellow house, he needed to visit Madison. Just a few minutes to check her, and he would be back.

While Izumi took the girls to preschool, and John shaved in the master bathroom with a Christian radio station blaring from the bathroom clock, Terry grabbed the jeep keys and headed for the front door. Now would be perfect.

He drove down the main road, turned into the complex, parked the jeep. All in a short amount of time. Just five minutes in the apartment, ten at most. Then back home to help John and Izzy get ready for AJ's return.

The moment Terry stepped into the apartment, however, he knew something was wrong. The sofa sat empty, not even a pillow or blanket to show she had slept there.

"Madison?" He opened the living room blinds, looked about. "Madison, where are you?"

He checked the kitchen, found yesterday's dinner still sitting in the microwave.

Everything looked as he had left it.

He rounded into the dining area, into the living room. The television set was on, playing reruns of some cop show. He clicked it off. The half bath downstairs was empty.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he mounted the stairs. No one was in the second bathroom, and no way on God's green earth would she set foot in the bedroom. That left the storage room.

A twist on the handle proved what he already knew. Locked.

"Madison, I know you're in there. Open up."

As hard as Terry tried, he heard nothing. He fumbled for his key ring, glad he had the foresight to add the storage room to his set of keys for just such an occasion. He didn't trust the pain that had sent her in here the first time, and knew it might happen again.

His heart in his throat, he pushed open the door. Even before he saw her, he knew where to look.

Behind the boxes, wedged between file cabinets and old suitcases, he found Madison. She had dragged her bedding here, and made a nest for herself among old business records and fishing gear. He didn't see her, only the blonde wisp of hair and a sight hand with thin fingers showing from the edge of the comforter. From the look of it, she had jammed herself in there, crowded into an area too small for her and so much bedding.

He tugged at the corner of the comforter. Her hand didn't move. He crouched, lifted the edge and peered under. Two unseeing eyes stared up, but not at him. He shoved the blanket from off her head.

"Madison, look at me." He cupped her face between his hands, turned her toward him. "Look at me. Madison, I want you to look at me."

The eyes blinked. A moment more, and she saw him.

"You gave me quite a scare, Madison. What are you doing in here?"

She blinked.

"Stand up, if you can. I don't like the way you've stuffed yourself in there. Madison, do you hear me?" Not willing to wait for her to stand on her own, Terry hauled her into his arms. She gave a whimper of pain, but said nothing. Hair plastered to her face, sweat dampened her shirt, and Terry realized she had been under stress of some kind. He carried her to the bathroom, set her on the edge of the bathtub.

"Madison, I'd be grateful if you said something." He raised her chin. He recognized frenzied pain in those gray eyes, along with a hint of relief. "Say something, anything, just let me know you're all right." He stepped back, wondering if she would slide into the bathtub without him to hold her up. She stayed. Twisting on the sink faucet, Terry grabbed a hand towel, plunged it into water, then wrung it with a quick squeeze. "I wish you'd say something." She made no movement as he knelt on the tile. Using the wet towel, he patted her face, brushed the hair from her eyes. "Please, Madison. Speak to me."

She bowed her head, leaned into him until he had her gathered onto his lap. Her face hid against his shirt. He hugged her.

"What's wrong? What happened to trigger this?" His insistence made her tremble. "Calm down, calm down." He eased a hand over her head, smoothed back her hair and spoke in a quiet hush. "It's all right. I'm not angry."

Her breath shuddered, her hands fisted at her sides.

"Madison. Are you having a flashback?"

No answer.

"Madison, you need to fight it. Can you hear me?" He moved her to the bathroom floor, snatched up the wet towel and patted her face. She fell back against the bathtub, slid onto her side and pulled herself into a tight fetal position. Her eyes remained wide open. Terry rubbed her shoulder as hard as he dared without leaving a bruise.

"Your name is Madison Crawford. You're thirty-four years old. You have blond hair and grey eyes. You like yogurt. Come on, Maddie, look at me. You are in my apartment. I'm Terry Davis, and you are in my apartment. There is no one here but me and you. Do you hear me?" Terry raised her chin so he could see her eyes. They blinked at him, though her jaw remained clenched.

"You're safe. No one is hurting you. It's okay to let yourself relax. Come on, give yourself permission to breathe. Maddie. Do you hear me? Breathe."

The command forced more air into her lungs. She sucked in a large breath, then gulped in more until the color started returning to her face.

"Thank God." Terry sat her up against the bathtub and continued to towel her cheeks. "Does this happen very often?"

She made no reply.

"Madison, I know you can hear me. Now answer the question."

Her voice sounded in a mumble. "I don't know."

"Why didn't you eat your dinner? I had it warming in the microwave. Remember? I told you when it beeped, to go into the kitchen and get your dinner. Why didn't you?"

"I don't know."

"Stop saying that. You do know."

"No, I don't."

"What triggered this? Did you have a bad dream?"

"I-- I don't know. Please, Terry, I don't know."

He dabbed the towel behind her neck. "The TV was on. I didn't turn it on, so you must have. Why didn't you get your dinner? What were you watching that made you forget?"

Her eyes focused on his shoulder. "I don't remember. Honest, I don't."

"Has this happened before?"

"I don't think so. Don't leave me. Please, don't leave me."

"Easy, there. I'm only going over to wet the towel in the sink. Okay?"

She nodded.

"I'm going to ask you a question," Terry stood, moved to the sink, "and I'd appreciate an answer. How long have you been away from your abuser?"

"I don't know."

He came back to her, crouched, pressed the towel to her forehead. "Has it been weeks, months? Years?"

"Months. I think it's been months. Maybe even weeks-- I don't know."

The response gave Terry a grim idea of what she faced. The abuse had only just stopped for her-- making this part of the adjustment period where PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) could easily show itself. In fact, it probably just did. The trauma she endured was finding its teeth. Everyone handles traumatic situations differently, but for those who endured prolonged abuse, the damage is often more extensive, more profound. Terry knew this, understood it implicitly, for he had been there himself, in that dark soulful pit of misery someone had once dug for him. A return to normal was what Madison needed. But how could she be expected to return to a normal life, when she might very well have never had one in the first place?

She had to move on, there was no other choice. In the absence of fresh pain, there would only be memories; in the absence of creating new memories, there would only be the reliving of the past.

Terry took a deep breath. "Do you remember how old you were when it started?"

"No."

"Were you a child, or a grown woman?"

"I don't know."

"Think, Madison. When was the first time you were violated?"

"I don't know." The agitation in her face became more obvious. She jerked away from the towel. "Stop it. I don't want you touching me."

Terry eased back, regained his feet and tried not to look directly into her eyes. It only made her mistrust worse, as though he were challenging her through brute force and not gentle persuasion. He turned his eyes on the bathroom tile. "How old, Madison? How old were you?"

"Seven. Maybe eight or nine, I don't know."

"Was it someone you knew? A friend of the family?"

"Don't do this, Terry. Don't. Just back off."

He took the warning literally and backed away. "You need help. The flashbacks and night terrors might go away for awhile, and then again, they might not. With childhood abuse survivors, they often come back."

She gave a weak mocking laugh. "Are you trying to encourage me? It's not working."

The jaded woman sat before him now, not the timid child. The child who needed a hug was nowhere to be seen.

"I'd like to take you to a friend of mine. He's a psychiatrist."

"I won't go."

"He helped someone very close to me, and I think he might be able to help you." Terry crouched, hoping to coax her to look at him. "You need to face what happened. It'll help the hurt go away."

"What are you-- a psychiatrist or something?"

"No, I'm not even a something. I'm trying to help you by giving the very best advice I can. Think about it."

He wanted to tell her about his own experience but held back. She had enough pain to deal with, and she had already said she didn't want to know.

Terry hung the towel to dry. "I'm not leaving you alone. Wash up, change into clean clothes and meet me downstairs."

"Where are you taking me? Not to that psychiatrist."

"No, I'm taking you home for the day."

* * * *

It might not be the brightest thing to do, to take Madison with him because he feared leaving her by herself. Staying in the apartment, however, was not an option he wanted to consider. As far as Terry understood, the flashback he witnessed that morning had been the first real one with her eyes wide open. It scared him. First the nightmares, now reliving a past trauma in the full light of day. She was going down a path he knew all too well.

He turned the jeep onto the main road, flicked a glance at the passenger riding silently beside him. The navy blue T-shirt and dark coat contrasted against her peaches and cream. It made her gray eyes a stormy blue, or at least it seemed that way to Terry.

A thumbnail dug against the back of her wrist.
"John and Izzy's girl is coming home." Terry snatched at the closest thought, held on and pushed it in front of her. "It's been four years since they lived in their house, so we're going to get it ready. They have a little boy-- Ricky. He's four. Has these enormous brown eyes. Get's them from his father." Terry cast a quick glance. The thumbnail kept working into her skin. "Our Abby's an expert fly caster. She's even become somewhat famous by being on her bosses' show. Ever hear of Dennis Beckman? He's a two-time MRD champion and son of the very well-known Archibald Beckman, who is also renowned for his skill with a fly rod. Please don't do that. You're hurting yourself."

"It's my wrist."

Terry slowed, turned off the road. He came to a stop in front of the house.

"I'll give you two choices. You can watch television, or help us clean Abby and Jake's house. What's it going to be?"

"I'm not ever watching TV again."

"Why? Because something on the screen triggered a bad memory?"

"I'm not watching TV anymore."

"Fine. Then you'll help us clean house." Terry unsnapped his seat belt, got out of the jeep while Madison did the same.

A car backfired on the main road. She jumped, pushed her way past Terry and ran to the front door. She stood there, huddled against the door and not even trying the handle.

"You can go in. It's not locked."

She went inside with him following, then hugged herself as she stood in the middle of the living room.

"Are you cold?" He knew better than to ask, when she still wore his heavy coat, but the impulse to wrap a blanket around her was strong. "The kids are at preschool, so it's just us grownups this morning. Go ahead and sit down. I'll be back in a moment." Terry started down the hall, then realized Madison was right behind him.

The backfire had frightened her.

He held up a hand to stop her from following any further. "I'm going into my bedroom. Stay in the hall, okay?"

She nodded, hugged herself and looked about with cautious wide eyes. The child had come back.

Breathing out a sigh, Terry went into his room and left the door open. He pulled off his coat, hung it in the closet, then stooped to fish some gloves from a pile of shoes.

"Hey, Terry?" John came striding into the bedroom. "We'll need the ladder in the garage. Would you haul it to AJ's house? I've got to run to the hardware store for some roofing cement."

"Sure."

Terry leaned back, watched John leave the bedroom and politely move past Madison in the hall. Terry winced when she scrambled to get out of John's way.

Terry hurried on the gloves, and tugged on a baseball cap.

"Oh, hi, Madison. I didn't know you were going to be with us today." Izumi's surprised voice came from the living room. Terry hustled into the hall. "If you get hot in that coat, you can take it off. The house is on the warm side."

When he stepped into the room, Madison was in the process of retreating into the kitchen.

He decided to ignore that.

"Izzy, I'm going outside for the ladder."

"All right. Oh. I guess she's coming with you."

Her chin down, and still hugging herself in a tight embrace, Madison stood behind him like a child waiting for direction.

He decided to ignore that, too.

Sunlight glinted off the bay, though from the threatening clouds scudding against the horizon, Terry knew the sunshine was for a limited time only. The forecast called for rain, so the roof was priority number one.

As he opened the wide door, light flooded into the garage. He skimmed the large hooks on the walls, the piles of storage boxes stacked alongside tool cabinets and a table saw.

"Let's see... ah, there it is." He lifted the ladder, then shouldered it to negotiate around Madison and get it outside.

A friendly toot sounded as a car pulled to a stop in front of the house. The driver got out, gave Terry a wave.

"Hey, Dick! What brings you here? How's Sara?"

"Good, she's good. Jake called me this morning with the good news. I thought I'd drop by to see if I could help you guys get their house ready. Well, who do you have here? Another helper?"

"Dick, I'd like you to meet Madison Crawford. She's using my apartment for awhile. Madison, this is Richard Doyle, a good friend of ours. So Jake called you?" Terry grinned. "It'll be good to have them back, won't it? Those short visits with Jake each time he flies in for those advisory board meetings just aren't enough. We barely get to say 'hi,' when he has to run to catch the flight back to California. We appreciate the way you've been paying for his traveling expenses."

"Don't mention it, please." Dick ran a hand over his balding head, adjusted his sunglasses. "After talking Jake into joining the board, it's the least I could do. I don't remember Jake ever mentioning your friend before."

"That's probably because we haven't told them about Madison yet. I'm in no hurry. They'll meet her soon enough when they get here. Madison, say 'hi' to Dick."

"Hi."

Dick gave her a polite nod. "I don't recall any Crawfords in the area. Does your family live nearby?"

Panicked silence overtook Madison. She looked to Terry for help.

"She's new to the area."

"I see. Well, I hope you enjoy Three Mile Bay. What do you do for a living?"

Another silent panicked look had Terry groaning inwardly. "She doesn't have a job yet, but we're going to solve that as soon as she regains her strength. And before you ask-- no, she's not from the hotline."

"You get that a lot, huh?" Dick chuckled. "You've got a big heart, Terry. I admire you for it, though I sometimes think you'd be better off like the rest of us. Sympathetic and bewildered."

"You're one to talk," Terry grinned. "If memory serves me right, I've seen your big heart in action a time or two. No bewilderment then. Testifying before that commission took guts." Terry nodded to Madison. "Dick's the former warden of the Watertown State Penitentiary, and a staunch advocate against prisoner abuse. Don't let his affable manner fool you. This is one tough man."

Dick laughed. "I wish I was, Terry. I wish I was. Let me give you a hand with that ladder."

The men carried the ladder the short distance to the little yellow house. Both homes had an enviable view of the bay, as did the other houses along the shore. On one side of the Johannes property was public land, on the other, the private property of neighbors. Most lived here on a seasonal basis, though some stayed all year round.

A year-round elderly neighbor waved to Terry, and Terry waved back. Terry placed the ladder against the yellow house.

Dick looked about the barren plant bed, and shook his head. "If it wasn't so late in the year, I'd buy some greenery to go right here. I remember flowers. Yellow, weren't they?"

"Yellow and white tulips," Terry nodded. "But it's not too late to plant tulip bulbs. In fact, this is the right time for it. Plant 'em now, watch 'em bloom in the Spring."

"Then Sara and I volunteer to buy the bulbs and get them planted. We'd like to do that for Jake and Abby."

Terry smiled. "I'll make sure they know who to thank when flowers start coming up next Spring."

"By any chance"-- Dick pulled off his sunglasses, and Terry saw worry in his eyes-- "did Jake say why he and Abby are moving back? Don't get me wrong, I'm delighted they're coming. But Jake said very little about why, and I'm worried something's wrong. Is their marriage all right? Ever since Jake asked if he could stay at my house because he and Abby were having problems of some sort, I've always been sensitive to the fact that Jake's past would add stress to any marriage. Let alone a young couple like them. I realize that happened a few years ago, but I can't help worrying. I hope you don't think I'm prying. He's like a son to me, and I just want to be sure everything's all right."

"I understand, Dick. You don't have to make any apologies. As far as I know, Abby and Jake are doing very well together. From what Abby told me, they're coming back because Jake has been having difficulty maintaining a low profile. After that article ran in the paper, people know he stood up to the system by testifying at the commission and admitting that he'd been raped in prison. That took courage, and in some peoples' eyes that makes him a hero."

"That's what'd I'd call him. A hero." Dick rubbed his forehead. "So he's having trouble with the notoriety. It's not good, but it's better than marriage trouble. I see him when he flies in for the meetings and I try to keep an eye on things, make sure he's doing all right. Sometimes, though, I have a feeling he doesn't want to burden me and keeps things to himself. Glad to hear the marriage is doing well." He gave a satisfied nod. "Very glad."

"Jake may be coming back," Terry said as John's car pulled up, "but he isn't coming home with his tail tucked between his legs. Jake accomplished what he set out to do-- he obtained a college education, and then exceeded our expectations by graduating with honors. We're very proud of him."

"So am I." Dick grinned like a proud father. "Sara and I were thinking-- that is, if you and the Johanneses don't object-- to throwing a welcome home party at our place when they get back. Of course, you may have other plans and I certainly wouldn't want to step on anyone's toes."

Terry gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You're a good friend, Dick. You haven't stepped on any toes. I'll talk it over with John and Izzy, but I'm sure they'll agree that Jake would appreciate a party at your place. He thinks a lot of you. Always have, and always will."

His eyes misting, Dick gave a grateful nod and put the sunglasses back on.

John came over and greeted Dick, then the men talked and debated about roof shingles, roofing nails, and whether or not it would rain that day. Through it all, Madison kept quiet, and remained as close to Terry as she could without getting too much in the way. Terry watched her step aside so others could pass, then retake her position behind or beside him, whichever was more convenient at the time. Terry couldn't decide whether her fright last night and this morning had anything to do with this current display of needy behavior, but he did sense that when among others, she felt safer with him, than without him. In this wide world of strangers and pain, Terry was her one earthly refuge.

She didn't need to say that, for him to feel it. The responsibility of it burdened him, but at the same time, he thanked God for the opportunity to really help someone, to hopefully make a lasting difference in someone's life. His other attempts hadn't gone very well, but Terry pinned his hopes on Madison. This one would be different. This one would be his first success story, something he could show Jesus and say, "See? You didn't put so much effort into me for nothing. This is all for You."

While John and Dick climbed about on the roof, patching shingles with roofing cement, Terry moved inside where Izumi was already hard at work.

"Need any help cleaning the fridge?" he asked, seeing her on her hands and knees and busily scrubbing its white interior.

A head with a red bandanna popped up to look at him. "Is the electricity on yet?" she asked.

Terry grinned. "I'll do that right now. Madison, why don't you grab that broom and start working on this floor?"

She looked at him, the broom, then back to him.

"It's a broom. You know how it works." Terry turned, left by the front door whistling a jingle from a TV commercial. One of those dumb tunes that some Madison Avenue ad exec probably stayed awake several days straight to dream up, in the hopes of inducing him to run out and buy hot dogs. Whatever. Terry didn't feel disposed to waste energy on the manipulations of advertising. AJ was coming home, his family was happy and healthy, and Madison was sweeping the floor. Maybe she wasn't quite happy or very healthy, but a start's a start and he grasped at all the optimism he could.

He rounded the house, came to where the utilities connected to the building. He had to have faith that no matter what, God would be there. Tribulation works patience into people, and patience gives experience. With experience comes hope, and when God's love is shed into every corner of a trusting heart, that hope will not be ashamed.

Terry looked skyward.

Sunlight poured from between the clouds overhead, painting Three Mile Bay in glorious bright God rays. It felt as though Heaven itself was smiling down on them. Sure, there were problems. It was life, so there would always be problems, but today, Terry felt more buoyed by hope than usual.

The water and electricity turned on, Terry rapped at the window until Izumi's face appeared. "It's on," he shouted. She nodded, her face oddly grave as she waved him back into the house.

In that moment, Terry tensed. One thought raced through his mind as he jogged past the men on the ladder, through the enclosed porch, past the swing, through the front door and into the living room-- Madison.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Izumi met him, pointed to a corner of the room. There sat Madison, her knees raised and hugged close to her chest.

"Is she all right, Terry?" Worry sounded in Izumi's voice. "She swept the kitchen like you asked, then put down the broom and went to go sit in the corner."

"Is that all?" Terry smiled when Izumi looked at him with baffled surprise. Izumi could hardly know he was relieved Madison hadn't screamed, or done something more obvious to indicate she was reliving a past trauma. He nodded to Izumi. "She's had a difficult time, but she's going to be okay."

He left a concerned Izumi, crossed the room to where Madison sat crouched in the corner. A prayer thumped in his chest, a quick plea to Heaven that he hadn't been wrong about her not having a flashback. Her forehead rested against her knees, so he couldn't see her face.

"Hey, how about cleaning some windows?" When Madison didn't respond, he knelt, touched her shoulder. "Come on. It's not healthy to sit and stew by yourself. We could use your help washing those windows."

She shrugged his hand off.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Her head nodded "yes."

"Okay. I'll leave you alone, but only for a few minutes." He started to straighten, stopped when her hand reached for his. He clasped her fingers, held them and forced himself to breathe.

"We're finished on the roof--" John strode inside, his voice cutting out the moment he saw Madison. Half a second later, Dick appeared at John's side. Dick pulled off the sunglasses and stared, though Terry was only vaguely aware of their presence.

The slender hand kept trembling, kept gripping his. He stroked the fingers and did his best to remind her that she wasn't alone. She had a friend.

She whispered his name. "Terry."

"I'm right here. Try to relax, Maddie. I'm right here."

"Don't leave."

"I won't." He bowed his head, began to pray in a low voice so she could hear. "Dear Heavenly Father, we need some help today. Sometimes our hearts become overwhelmed, and that's when we cry to You. From the end of the earth, we will cry unto You when our hearts are overwhelmed. Lead us to the high rock, so the waters will not overtake us. We trust in Your mercy. Give us a way to escape that we may be able to bear this. And comfort Madison. Please, God, give her comfort. In Jesus' name, amen."

Her head came up as the prayer ended, and Terry saw the dust smudges on her cheek. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped them away and gave her a smile.

"Were you remembering?" he asked.

She shook her head "no." "I feel so sad."

"Sad about what?"

Her eyes looked about the room, took in Izumi, John, Dick, then himself. "Abby and Jake are so blessed to have all this. They have a home, family and friends who worry about them. I didn't know."

He squeezed her hand, coaxed her to continue.

"I didn't know I was missing out on so much."

The words punched Terry in the chest. He couldn't speak. All he could do was hold her hand, offer his encouragement and stay with her while she rode out the sadness. He couldn't tell her that the past few days she had spent in Three Mile Bay were nothing, compared to the blessings that went on all year round. The everyday joy of watching children grow up, the laughter and tears invested in those small little lives. And the love, oh what love surrounded them as they grew.

As he knelt there, holding Madison's hand, he thought of his own childhood. Since there was a very real danger of reliving the past attached to those memories, he rarely let himself think back. The fears of a boy returned to him, the pain smeared with deep shame. The stain on his memory that would never go away. It clutched him, and he forced his thoughts to focus on Madison.

How could he tell her that he knew exactly what she felt? That even now, he sometimes felt as though the normal ones were passing him by and only he was left alone to watch the parade. Belonging to someone else's family had to be enough for him. Until God gave him more, he must wait and hope and pray.

Would there ever be more than the hoping? What if this was all there ever would be?

A stroke on the back of his hand woke Terry from the pain. He looked up to see stormy gray eyes, pink lips tipped into a concerned smile.

"I made you sad. I didn't mean to." She meant those words. Terry could feel the realness of them in her voice, in the hand tightly clasping his. And suddenly he was the one being comforted. "If you still want me to, I'll wash the windows."

He smiled, felt the sadness lift from him bit by bit until a soft pleasing quiet settled into his soul.

He helped her up, led her to the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink where the cleaning supplies were stored. Fearing the job of cleaning every window in the house would be too much for her, Terry assigned her the inside glass, and he took the outside. The job could be finished before lunch, if they worked together.

* * * *

The moment Terry left with Madison to find the window cleaner, John turned to Izumi with a hurried whisper. "He's getting too close to her. Make a list of possibles, then start inviting them to dinner until Terry finds the right one."

"Something's definitely going on between those two," Dick added helpfully.

"That's why we need to find someone soon." John gave a firm nod. "Before Terry gets hurt."

Izumi sighed. Men were sometimes a little dense. Just make a list. Simple. A list of possibles. As if they were going to kick tires and check mileage at some car lot. Invite them one by one to dinner. Oh, John. Izumi found no words to voice her bemused horror.

To keep herself from speaking her mind before she had an idea of what to do, she returned to the kitchen to repaper the cupboards. The task of finding Terry a helpmate would not be simple. There were not an unlimited number of single women at church to pick from. Still, there were enough to start giving it some careful thought. To be good enough for their Terry, she had to be someone special. Someone who didn't have Madison's nightmarish past, someone to comfort Terry in those quiet moments when he walked alone. Someone gentle, caring, appreciative of their sweet, big-hearted Terry's special qualities.

It pleased Izumi to wonder if one of the women she knew at church was destined to become Terry's wife. The more she thought about it, the more hopeful she became.

If Heaven intended someone from their congregation for Terry, Izumi would find her.

"As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I [God] comfort you..."
~ Isaiah 66:13 ~

"Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God."
~ 2 Corinthians 1:4 ~ 

Chapter Nine
Reaching for Hope

"Pleasant words are as an honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones."
~ Proverbs 16:24 ~ aving not eaten since yesterday's lunch, Madison had little energy to offer the cleaning effort. First she faded into silence, then began to droop so much Terry made her sit down until he realized her problem. It took effort to calm down and head back to the Johanneses' house to make an early lunch for her. He reproached himself for letting her go so long without eating, for not being more careful when it came to food and Madison. His thoughts came as rapidly as his stride, and it wasn't until he reached the Johanneses' front door that he thought to look back.

His heart twisted when he saw Madison limping to catch up.

Tuna sandwiches. He would make lunch and focus on something else besides the wounded puppy.

Slapping together generous slices of bread, tuna, and mayo, he made enough to satisfy his own hunger, as well as hers. He settled at the kitchen table while Madison stared at her meal. He hoped getting her to eat was not going to become a daily habit.

A sturdy look on his part, and she picked up her sandwich and began nibbling like a rabbit in someone else's garden. No wonder she looked so thin. She seemed unused to the concept of regular meals, and he suspicioned she was accustomed to starvation of some sort.

It made him think. Her first memory of abuse was somewhere between the ages of seven and nine, and she had suffered acutely up until a few weeks or months ago. The evidence pointed heavily to a family member being the abuser.

Though it grieved Terry to even think such a thing, he could not change facts or what he saw with his own eyes. No friend of the family could have such continual access for so long a time, without it being a close relative. Horror and disgust churned in Terry's stomach until even the taste of his tuna sandwich turned bitter. He forced himself to eat. Little good would come from lingering too long over the past, especially when it picked the scabs of his own traumatic childhood. Better to not think too much, than to let the pain ooze out and overtake him again.

He shoved away from the table, and did it with such force, Madison jumped at least an inch off her chair. Doing his best to ignore it, Terry grabbed his hat from off the table.

"You can finish the inside windows after you're done eating. Okay?"

She nodded hurriedly.

"I'll be outside if you need me. And stop looking so frightened-- all I did was get up." He put on the work gloves while trying to force back the visceral sensation of his step-father pushing him down, the heavy breathing that never failed to sear Terry with deep-rooted shame. "You wanted this," sounded sharply in his brain, until the echoes of it reached his heart. His knees buckled, and for a moment, he had to brace himself against the kitchen chair.

Not again, Lord. Please, don't let him win again.

The sound of someone choking made Terry look up. Madison was stuffing the sandwich down her throat so she could leave with him.

"Hey," he let go of the chair, "slow down." He moved to her, picked up a glass of water and pushed it into trembling hands. "I won't leave until you're done, so slow down."

Water spilled from around her mouth, dribbled down her chin and onto her shirt. She placed the cup on the table, jerked the coat on as though he might leave without her.

"You've got crumbs." Terry touched his cheek, and nodded when she swiped her mouth with the sleeve of his old coat. "Good enough. Let's get out of here."

Moments away from leaving, John, Izumi, and Dick came inside. Dick was laughing over something John had said, and John sounded deep in discussion as they pulled off gloves and hats, relating some incident of Abby as a little girl.

Then John saw Terry, and John's face turned sober.

For the life of Terry, he could never figure out how his friend managed to tell when he was having a rough time. Did he talk different, look different? Maybe he wore an invisible sign that only John could see. Whatever it was, his friend's perception always baffled him.

"There's not much left to do in the house, if that's where you're going. Dick and I finished the windows, and I even cleaned the bathroom-- didn't I, Izumi?"

Izumi arched an eyebrow. "You scrubbed the toilet bowl."

"So? That counts." John cleared his throat, pressed on as Izumi went into the kitchen to start lunch. "The gas company will be out here sometime tomorrow, so the house is almost ready for Abby and Jake."

Dick grinned hugely. "Sara and I will come by this weekend and plant those tulips. After seeing their old appliances, I'm planning to get them a new washer and dryer. There's bound to be a lot of laundry with a four-year-old running about."

Eyes fixed on John, Terry almost missed the generosity of Dick's offer. "That's kind of you. I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

"Anything to help out," Dick said, as he took a seat on the couch. "Looks like it's about to rain. At least it held off long enough to get the roof patched."

John nodded to Terry. "Still going out?"

"I was thinking I would. Do you want me to pick up the triplets from preschool?"

"No, I'll do it right after lunch."

Terry pulled off his gloves, determined to get out of the house and do something to keep his mind off the pain and the puppy sadness hanging about him. "If you don't need me, I'll run some errands before it starts raining."

A knowing flicker of grief touched John's mouth. His eyes spoke clearly, "I think you're running."

"By the looks of those clouds, it'll start raining any minute now," Dick said with a laugh. "Better take an umbrella, or you'll get caught in a downpour."

"I'd also suggest you take a coat," John added. "It gets colder when you're wet."

"I won't get wet."

"Then take an umbrella."

"I won't need one."

"What about her? Won't she get wet?"

At the reminder, Terry turned to Madison. The automatic assumption that she was going with him, caused Terry a wincing pang of chagrin. Behavior similar to this had been the teasing reason he had christened Abby and Jake, "AJ." The last thing he wanted was an abbreviation of himself. Unfair? Perhaps. Embarrassing to a grown man nearing fifty? Absolutely.

Even so, John and Terry both knew Madison was coming with him.

"I'll get an umbrella." Feeling deflated, Terry motioned for her to stay put. As he moved down the hall, into his room, John followed in concerned silence. Terry knew better than to think his friend's concern lay in coats and umbrellas. He bit back a smile, tugged a coat from his closet while John stewed in unaccustomed restlessness.

"We'll wait dinner for you."

"There's no need." Terry zipped up his coat. "If I think I'll be late, I'll call ahead of time."

John folded his arms. "Your important errands came up all of a sudden."

"I never said they were important."

"You never said they weren't."

The men stared at each other.

"I'm fine, John."

"If you say so." After a moment, John cracked a smile. "Okay, I'll back off."

"Hey, I'm not complaining." Terry bent to retie his shoelace. "I appreciate the concern."

John only grinned and shook his head. "Are you sure you don't want us to wait dinner for you?"

"Nah. I should be home long before then."

"Got your umbrella?"

"Ah, knew I forgot something." Terry returned to the closet while John chuckled in the background.

Both men moved into the living room, but the moment Terry saw Madison crowded into a far corner, pity stabbed his already wincing heart. On the couch, Dick talked away, as though nothing and no one-- especially in that room-- had a problem in the world. To Dick's credit, his conversation didn't seem to require any response from the woman huddled in the corner.

The relief in Dick's face when Terry joined them, was unmistakable. No, the former prison warden hadn't missed those telltale signs-- the inability to look someone in the eye, the aversion to close contact, even the trembling. Unlike Jake, however, this one trembled like a chihuahua on caffeine. Terry coaxed Madison from the corner, then called goodbye over his shoulder as he took her outside.

Before he had the umbrella out, a wet splash landed on Terry's chin. He tugged her to the garage where his jeep was parked.

"Here, hold this." He placed the closed umbrella into her hand, then pulled out his keys to unlock the garage. The drops came more frequent, pelting the side of the building as Terry raised the garage door.

Eyes closed, head tilted back, Madison opened her mouth and let a raindrop land on her tongue. Her lips curved into a smile. She caught another, and something very much like a giggle bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her. Rain splattered her face, dripped from her eyelashes like ornaments hanging from a Christmas tree. Terry's breath caught. When she smiled-- really smiled-- she lit up like a Christmas tree, all sparkly lights and animation. Her hand raised to catch the rain, her face full of wonder at such a simple and ordinary moment.

Her natural joy marveled Terry.

"Isn't it pretty?" she asked, braving the dark skies with her upturned face. "Oh, Terry, isn't it pretty?"

"After what happened at the campground, I'd think you'd be frightened of the rain."

Her eyes moved to his. They held for a moment before darting away. "Now is different. The rain is different when you're safe." When he gave no immediate reply, her eyes flicked to him before retreating behind generous lashes.

"Are you safe, Madison? Do you feel safe with me?"

"Yes, Terry."

"I'm glad then." He sucked in the breath he'd been holding, released it and let in the joy that Madison had found and then shared with him. Like someone reaching for hope, he followed her example and held out a hand to the falling raindrops. Some splashed between his fingers, but others he caught in his palm. They joined up with other drops until they ran down his wrist and soaked into his shirtsleeve.

"It's coming down heavy now." Terry moved Madison into the jeep before she caught cold and his happy feeling disappeared.

With Madison buckled into the passenger seat, Terry pulled away from the garage. He got out, lowered the door, locked the garage, then jumped back into the vehicle as rain poured into the bay like someone emptying water from a boot. It pelted the roof, splashed down the windshield in small rivers as the wipers swished back and forth.

Terry switched on the heater. "If you get cold, let me know."

She blinked at him, then turned timid eyes to the downpour beating against the window as he pulled onto the main road. With a hard rain like this one, not even Madison could stand against the onslaught and declare how pretty it was to catch a few drops on her tongue.

* * * *

It quietly stunned her to see the weather turn so harsh and without warning. To Terry, it seemed to come as no great surprise, though she wondered where was he going. Why didn't he tell her?

Madison forced herself to sit back in the seat and breathe. Did it really matter where they went, as long as he took her with him? The thought of sitting in the apartment by herself, quieted further anxious thoughts about their destination. This unknown was to be preferred to the other, to the ghosts that seemed to hunt her whenever she was by herself. The thought of last night gave her chills. Whatever had happened, it made her frightened to be alone.

God, please help me. I don't think I'm going to make it.

She zipped her coat, pulled the collar up around her chin and tried to ignore the heat behind her eyes. Rain covered the road now, turning the pavement into a thinly veiled mirror of the sky. Terry turned up the heater. He said nothing as he drove, and though Madison was grateful for the warmth, she would have preferred his talk to his silence.

When they pulled into the broad parking lot for MegaMart, she unfastened her seat belt and waited as Terry found a parking space close to the entrance. People braved the rain as best they could, most hurrying along beneath the shelter of an umbrella. Terry got out, rounded the hood with his black umbrella, and Madison gladly took shelter with him. Despite the wild torrent, the rain seemed to take on a friendly glow as long as she was with Terry.

Inside the store, she struggled to remember the friendly feeling and hold on to it. People were everywhere, getting out of the rain and doing their shopping at the same time. Madison could hear them, watch their feet as they moved past the grocery basket Terry pushed. Did Terry notice one of the wheels squeaked? She concentrated on the squeak, then felt someone take her hand. It was Terry.

"Hold onto the basket so I don't lose you, all right?"

She nodded.

Terry seemed to know where he was going. She followed the squeaky wheel, doing her best to keep up with the cart and stay out of the way of people who jostled past her.

"I've been reading that website your doctor referred you to." It was Terry's voice that spoke, and in the midst of the hurry bustle, it came as a welcome comfort. "Your doctor's first pick of pain reliever was not ibuprofen, but acetaminophen. I didn't have any at the apartment, so we'll pick some up while we're here. Your limp is getting worse. Are you tired?"

She shook her head "no."

"Tell me when you are, and I'll find a bench so you can rest." The cart moved down an aisle, and Terry paused to put something in the basket. A package of brightly colored construction paper. Next came non-toxic glue sticks, bright crayons, a child friendly marker set, a large box of assorted stickers with princess themes, more with flowers and hearts. To this was added a box of multi colored pipe cleaners. None of it made any sense to Madison, although the stickers had caught her attention.

The cart pushed past a display of notebooks, and she lingered long enough to yearn for a thick, spiral-bound notebook with pastel flowers on the cover.

She bit her lip when Terry added it to the basket. He tossed in a pack of ballpoint pens, then moved the cart into the next aisle. For the next several minutes, all she could think about was the notebook. Why had he picked it up? Who was it for? Men didn't like flowers decorating their things, but maybe Terry was different. After all, he had picked up those stickers.

A bottle of acetaminophen found its way into the basket, and Madison didn't have to ask who it was for. But that notebook... how she longed to have someplace of her own where she could spill her thoughts into written words. Terry wouldn't like flowers. He'd grow tired of it, and then maybe she could ask for it and he wouldn't care. It had a stiff back for writing purposes-- she'd seen it when Terry put it into the cart and it had held perfectly flat. So perfect.

A pink toothbrush tossed into the basket, followed by toothpaste and a bottle of mouthwash. A compact gray purse with a long shoulder strap and matching wallet, even though she had nothing to put into it. Terry assured her that given enough time, she would need these things, so into the cart they went. And oh, that notebook. If only...

"Madison?"

At the sound of her name, she looked up from the basket with the squeaky wheel and prayed Terry would give her the notebook if she asked now.

"Which of these brands--" Terry gestured to the shelving on the store wall-- "do you usually use?"

She moved closer, and saw they were sanitary pads. "It's okay." She moved back to the cart, "I don't use any, Terry."

"You don't? You use tampons, instead?"

Her face heating with embarrassment, she shook her head, "no."

"Well then, you must use pads. Pick your usual brand and let's get out of this aisle."

Madison looked at the floor-to-ceiling shelves, all crowded together with bright tags and numbers with dollar signs. She looked back to Terry, and saw the understanding turn on in his mind.

"You don't use any of this stuff. At all."

She shook her head.

"Then what do you do when your period comes?"

Shame heated her face. She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and prayed he would forget his question.

"Dear God." Terry blew out a stiff breath. "Your abuser wouldn't let you have these things."

It wasn't a question, so Madison didn't answer. Her past must be terribly obvious, for him to make a guess and be so absolutely correct.

"Okay, this will be a first for you. You have the general idea of what these things do, right?" He moved the cart so a customer could reach the shelf beside Madison. He waited a moment for the woman to leave, then repeated the question.

Madison nodded. She saw the commercials on TV. She knew what they were for, and also knew she couldn't have them.

Terry nudged her with the cart. "Pick one. This isn't your old life, so decide what you need and put it into the cart."

Why couldn't Terry forget and just move on? She wouldn't ask for the notebook. He could keep it, pretty flowers and all.

"Madison? Go on."

Her eyes glossed over the shelves again, then flicked back to him.

"Can't you decide?" he asked.

She shook her head vigorously, "no."

"Well, they can't all be that different from each other." Terry picked up a soft white plastic bag, turned it over and looked at the picture with some text beside it. "You don't need this one." He placed it back, gave a quick smile. "Your bladder control's fine. Right?"

She shrank back a step, and he grasped her hand and placed it back on the cart.

"Okay, I'm calling home." Terry pulled out his cell phone, punched the screen then held the device to his ear as he waited. "Hey, Izzy? We need some advice. Which brand of sanitary pads do you use?"

Biting her lip, Madison watched as Terry tried to tactfully explain the problem. If only she'd just picked one, like Terry wanted. Now even Izzy would know. Let them shake their heads all they wanted, but Madison would never tell them she had to use wads of toilet paper to make up for what other women took for granted.

"What do you mean the one with some pink on the front?" Terry looked helplessly at the rows of small boxes and bags lined up before him. "They all have some pink on the front." A woman reached around Terry, pulled something from the shelf and gave him an odd look as he tried to get Izumi to describe, EXACTLY, what the box looked like. He rummaged, read labels out loud until breathing a sigh of relief and tossing a white plastic bundle into the basket. He thanked Izumi, then returned the phone to his pocket. "We'll get you several, so this won't come up again for a very long time." After nearly emptying the display, Terry pushed on.

"Did she laugh?" Madison asked.

"Of course not. She understood." Terry checked the list on his cell phone. "The rest of this I'll buy over the Internet. Come on, we're ready for the checkout."

They passed one aisle after another, before Terry pulled to a stop. He stepped away from the cart, returned and dropped a hairbrush and an oval hand mirror into the basket. "Now we're ready."

As she stood in the checkout line with Terry, her eye wandered back to the notebook.

"When we get home," Terry said, advancing the cart a few feet, "I want you to take some of this acetaminophen. Your limp is worse, and I'm guessing it's because you're tired. Did I make you walk too far? Maddie, are you listening?"

She looked up at him, nodded her head "yes."

"Get the umbrella out of the cart." Terry started placing things onto the checkout conveyor, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. "You're having dinner at our place. Okay?"

She nodded, kept her eye on the notebook as it moved past the cashier and into a shopping bag. Terry placed the bags into the grocery cart, then accepted a receipt from the cashier. The squeaky wheel moved to the large glass entrance doors. Terry opened the umbrella, placed it into her hand with the admonition to stay close, then pushed off into the rain.

She held the umbrella over Terry, not paying attention to the wet sliding down her neck as she tried to keep it centered over him. When he unlocked the jeep, she refused to get in and kept the umbrella perched over his head as he loaded the vehicle.

"Get in," he said, taking the umbrella from her, and shielding her as she climbed into the passenger side of the jeep. He shut the door, shutting out the rain and the gusts of wind that drove the rain even deeper beneath her collar.

Terry jumped into the jeep, folded away the umbrella, and shut the door with a laughing chuckle. "It's really coming down, isn't it? Hey, you got your feet wet. You're supposed to walk around the puddles, not through them." He started the engine. "When we get home, I'll ask Izzy to lend you some dry socks."

The windshield wipers swooshed back and forth, and all she could think about was the notebook. It had flowers. Terry wouldn't like it.

"How's your hip?"

Madison didn't hear the question, and when she didn't answer, Terry slipped into silence. On the drive home, the only sounds to be heard were the swish of the wipers, the beat of the rain, and the cascading spray of passing cars.

* * * *

Even before Izumi heard the familiar voice in the living room, she knew who it was. She could hardly be kept in doubt, for the triplets giggled and laughed as they only did for Terry. Setting aside her Bible, Izumi climbed off the bed while rain continued to pound the roof with such unrelenting force, it made her glad Terry was home. John appeared from the office, met her as she moved down the hall.

"Sounds like he's bought the girls some goodies," John smiled.

It hardly surprised Izumi that when they reached the living room, three little girls were hovering over wet grocery bags deposited on the carpet. They tugged at looped handles, trying to get a better look at what was inside, but polite enough to contain their curiosity until given permission from Terry. From the eager glances passing between the girls, Izumi knew that they knew the contents were meant for them.

Terry burst into the house, dropped more bags onto the floor, then jogged back to the jeep parked in front of the house. As John went to help, Izumi noticed Madison, shy, wet, and shrugged against the wall beside the door.

"You poor dear." Izumi went to her, coaxed her past the crowd of girls, and down the hall to the master bedroom. Before Izumi had managed to get a step further, Madison began to struggle against the urge to come inside and dry off in the bathroom. The woman shook her head and panicked so noticeably, Izumi let her stand in the hall while she went inside to locate a dry pair of socks and a hairdryer.

Izumi took her into the kitchen, plugged the hairdryer in beside the coffee maker, and started drying Madison's hair like she was one of her daughters. The only difference being Madison had to sit in a chair so Izumi could reach all that wet hair.

"Put on your socks, like a good girl. That's it. Why didn't Terry take better care of you than this? Here, take the hairdryer and warm the legs of your jeans. They're soaked from your knees down." Izumi moved into the living room and shook her head when Terry came jogging back with the last of the bags. The girls crowded around him, and he grinned his lopsided grin and told them to go ahead and look at what he'd brought.

Those few words of permission set off a small frenzy. Squeals of delight erupted as the arts and crafts bounty spilled onto the carpet. Izumi had to admit Terry had outdone himself. The girls loved to cut and paste and make all sorts of paper creations, and on this rainy late afternoon, it came as a welcome treat.

When they saw the princess stickers, even Terry had to back away as the girls eagerly ripped open the slim package and began to divide them three ways. "Play fair" had always been Izumi's maxim, and the girls had learned it well. As they made three piles of princesses and castles and princes and dragons, John came back from putting the jeep in the garage.

"Oh, an arts and crafts party, huh?" he grinned at Terry, and Terry grinned back. "That ought to keep them busy. But look at all that stuff, Terry. It looks like a mini version of Christmas."

Grinning ear to ear, Terry pulled off his wet coat. "Where's Madison?"

"In the kitchen, drying off." Izumi folded her arms. "She wouldn't set foot in the master bedroom, so I took her into the kitchen."

A hint of familiar sadness pulled at Terry's grin, and she saw it slip.

"When she's dry, get her to come out here, would you? Since we're home to supervise, I was hoping the girls could play with her. There's enough art supplies here for four... although it looks like the stickers have already been divvied up. It's just as well. She's probably too old for that sort of thing, anyway."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" John asked.

"You could take out the trash."

John smiled at Izumi. "I was speaking to Terry. Besides, it's raining."

"The trash still needs to be taken out."

Izumi went into the kitchen to start dinner and check on you-know-who with the hairdryer. It whirred in Madison's thin hand like some unfamiliar piece of equipment she didn't quite know what to do with.

"Why don't you go into the living room?" Izumi asked. "Terry has a surprise for you."

"What is it?"

"Go in there and see for yourself." Izumi unplugged the hairdryer, and gave Madison a few moments to gather her courage. Running on pure mothering instincts, Izumi offered an encouraging smile as Madison timidly crept out of the kitchen.

Since pity wouldn't fix dinner or get John to take out the trash, Izumi struggled to push aside excess sympathy. Right now, she had to get to work and figure out what was for dinner before someone asked. And they would ask.

Her menu settled, she filled a large pan with water, then placed it on a stove burner with the fire turned up. She began to go through the people she knew at church. After seeing how hard Terry was trying to make Madison happy, Izumi felt pressure to act as soon as reasonably possible. She asked God for wisdom, then decided to pick up the phone and arrange to meet Emily McCall for lunch, tomorrow. Emily was pretty, had a gentle way about her, and had been a faithful member of their congregation for the past six years.

More to the point, Izumi happened to know Emily was praying for a godly husband.

* * * *

Hope had spurted up in Madison at the mention of a surprise. She hoped it would be the notebook, and at the same time, told herself not to wish for it too hard; when her wish didn't happen, it would make the disappointment all that harder to bear.

After all, it was just a dumb notebook. It wasn't hers, and that was that. One day though, when she made her own paycheck, she would get all the paper she wanted and write for as long as her hands would hold out. Until then, she had to be content with watching others get what she so desperately wanted.

Spotting her, Terry waved her to the other side of the room, near the couch.

"Did you get dry socks?"

She nodded.

"Good. Sit down. The floor won't hurt you, will it?"

Up until a little while ago, she had been sleeping on the floor, so she ignored the over-concern and sat down several feet away from Terry. He smiled good-naturedly.

"Hey, munchkins." Terry whistled to get their attention, and all three girls looked up from their projects. One was already cutting some construction paper and gluing pieces together. "Wow, Debbie. You already have something going? Good, good. Madison is new to this sort of thing, so do any of you have an idea for her? Something easy for her to make?"

"She could do origami." This came from a girl wearing a shirt that said "Lizzie" on the front.

"That's certainly an idea." Terry grinned with good humor. "I was thinking of something a little easier than that, though."

"Paper dolls?" offered a girl with "Debbie" on the front.

"Oh, she should make masks, like me." A pigtailed girl with "Ruthie" stood up and carried her things over to Madison. "I can show you how. It's not hard."

Madison gulped apprehensively as the child sat down at her side, easy and natural in her innocence, and completely genuine in her helpfulness. "You have to make the eyes and mouth first, so you can put stuff around them. Like this." Munchkin Ruthie showed her a scrapbook bulging with sticker collections and craft projects, and then pulled out a template that her mommy had made. It had dotted lines cut out for eyes, mouth, and even an optional nose. Using the cut outs for a guide, Ruthie traced a pencil onto a vibrant orange sheet of construction paper.

"The fun part comes next," said Munchkin Debbie, abandoning her project to come be a part of this one. "When you decide what you want to be, you get to cut out eyebrows and whiskers, and things."

Ruthie gave her look-alike, Lizzie, a frown. "I'll show her."

"I want to make masks, too."

"Then make your own. Madison and me are busy." Ruthie began tracing out something on a black sheet, then handed it over to Madison. "Here, cut this out. I'll draw and you cut."

"But I want to play, too," whimpered Lizzie.

"I'll play with you, after I play with Madison," Ruthie said in a very patient, grown up voice that had Terry smiling.

With a sigh, Lizzie handed Madison some chubby, bright colored scissors. Moving to a cross legged position, Madison accepted the scissors and picked up the paper with Ruthie's pencil tracing. She had only cut a little way, trying very hard to stay within the lines, when Ruthie dropped another sheet into her lap.

As Debbie came over to give instructions on how to make the mask "the right way," Terry moved away until Madison sat by herself with three small girls eager to show her what to do. Only after Madison had proved herself by cutting out a mustache and bushy eyebrows, did they seem to relax and accept her into their group.

Lizzie began a kitty cat mask, and Debbie was going to be an astronaut, though she didn't know yet how to make the glass part of a helmet. They traded scissors, glue, scraps of paper like they had been doing this all their lives. Sometimes, they didn't even have to speak for them to work in seamless harmony. They chatted about preschool that day, then commented that it smelled like mommy was making hot dogs. At this, Madison began to secretly hope they were right. She loved hot dogs. She had eaten one once, and it had been an experience she never forgot.

Ruthie scooted next to Madison, their knees touching, and began to color in parts of the mask with crayon. It was such a simple gesture, one showing complete trust, that it struck Madison as something amazing. Did these little girls have no fear? But then again, why should they? They had two parents-- three if you counted Terry-- a nice house with nice things, food every day, and no one to beat them or teach them what had been beaten into Madison from a very young age. To trust so openly, was to make yourself vulnerable, and Madison had never trusted anyone unless there had been absolutely no choice.

These three four-year-olds-- who were quick to inform her they would turn five in a few months-- knew no such fear. They looked at life with expectations of kindness and of their love being returned without question.

As she sat there, cross-legged on the carpet with construction paper and art things scattered all around her, Madison envied them. It wasn't a green envy, but a sad sort of wistfulness that made her ache inside.

From a nearby recliner, John sat watching them from over a newspaper. He kept glancing over at them, then returned to his paper until he stopped checking. Madison assumed that meant she wasn't doing anything wrong to make their daddy uneasy. The knowledge of it made her relax a bit, but only a bit.

Then Terry came down the hall, and immediately, all three held up their projects with, "See this, Uncle Terry?"

"That's looking good," he said, and moved to the couch with a laptop. "Smells like your mommy's cooking hot dogs."

Oh, how Madison hoped so. She worked the scissors until her fingers pinched in the small handles. Lizzie handed her another sheet, and soon Madison found herself cutting out the pieces for three different masks.

"Daddy?"

"What?" John looked up from his newspaper, smiled at Munchkin Debbie.

"Did God make the rain?"

"He sure did."

"Did He make the clouds?"

"Yup."

"Did He make all the water for Noah's ark to float on?"

"Yes."

"If it rained a lot, would you make us an ark?"

"If the situation called for it, sure."

The answer seemed to satisfy the child, and she went back to her mask. John smiled, and returned to his paper, and Terry kept tapping away at his laptop.

In all the mess on the floor, Madison didn't find the notebook. Though she tucked the disappointment deep within her, she still felt its sting.

Still, as Madison cut the last of the pieces she'd been given, she knew she had a lot to be thankful for. She quietly thanked God, and after a quick glance at the laptop, an idea came to her. Gathering brightly colored scraps of paper, some glue and scissors, she moved to a small area by herself to start her own project.

* * * *

From over his laptop, Terry saw Madison working alone. He wished the others would pull her back into their circle. It wasn't good for her to be on her own so much of the time. If he could, he would have sat down on the carpet and joined their projects, all the while working to include Madison in everything. Since he'd always been clumsy when it came to creative things, he kept out of the way and watched.

He'd been proud of his girls, the way they helped her and showed patience when she didn't understand their way of doing things. The triplets were close, not only as sisters, but also as best friends. Their communication was often silent, their bond, inseparable. To be an adult, and included in their circle was always an honor. Terry had prayed arts and crafts would bring the girls together, and in a way, he figured he had succeeded. Even so, it pained him to see Madison alone.

When Izumi called everyone to dinner, the girls were the first to dash off and wash their sticky hands in their bathroom. Terry set aside his laptop, and John put down the newspaper. The men went into the kitchen to help Izumi set the table, even though by now, both knew their offer would be too late.

It never hurt to show your willingness.

The rain pounded hard as everyone gathered at the kitchen table for hot dogs, cream of corn, and baked tortilla chips with fresh salsa. It took some coaxing to get the girls to take off their masks, and even more coaxing to get Madison at the table.

"Come on, we're waiting for you," Terry called from the kitchen.

"I'm not hungry," came the return call from the next room.

John sighed, and gave a patient look to Izumi that Terry didn't miss.

Pushing away from the table, Terry got up and went into the living room. Madison sat on the floor, still working on something.

"Madison."

At the sound of her name, she jumped.

"Please put down whatever it is you're doing, and come sit at the table with the family."

"Do I have to?"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Aren't you hungry? We're having hot dogs, not some exotic dish no one can stomach. Everyone likes hot dogs."

"Couldn't I eat in here?"

"Not if you want dinner. Izzy set a place at the table for you. Your only option is to accept gracefully."

The scissors came to a stop. She looked thoughtful.

"Come on, get up. Dinner is getting cold, and I'm not leaving here without you. Your place at the table is wedged between two of the triplets, so you'll be perfectly safe."

This prompted Madison to her feet. She winced, and Terry suddenly remembered the acetaminophen. While she limped into the kitchen, Terry hurried to fill a glass of water and tap out two pills.

"For pity's sake, Maddie. Why didn't you remind me?" He heaved a sigh, dropped the pills into her hand before she sat at the table. "Sometimes, I think you'd starve yourself to death, rather than ask for something to eat." He pulled out her chair, gently pushed it beneath her as she sat down. "I wish you'd learn to speak up. I really do."

Moving around the table, Terry resumed his seat. He flashed an apologetic look to John, then everyone bowed their heads while John prayed over the meal.

When the food started passing around the table, Terry caught the hunger in Madison's face. Her eyes didn't leave the plate of hot dogs, and when it came to her, she took four. John's eyes popped wide, as did Izumi's, and even the girls giggled, but Terry forced himself to remain placid. If he had to go without his usual helping tonight, he would do so gladly, if only to see her eating a large meal.

"Listen to that rain come down," John commented as he held the bowl of corn while Debbie ladled some onto her plate. "I hope the road doesn't flood. I'd hate to have to go anywhere tonight." He glanced at Terry, and Terry understood the meaning.

"The couch?" he asked, and John nodded.

Terry glanced at Madison, and sighed with relief to see her biting into a fully loaded hot dog with all the works. Her eyes closed half-mast, and her mouth tipped into a smile.

"Good?" he asked.

"M-humm." She swallowed, took another bite until Terry feared she might choke. One by one, all four hot dogs reached the same fate. Her face turned a little green, and though he feared she might lose her supper, she sat back and refused dessert like a sensible woman.

While everyone enjoyed a dish of ice cream, Madison stole back to the living room, no doubt to work on her project. At least, Terry thought with some satisfaction, she ate all her dinner.

Half an hour or so later, Terry returned to the couch. On the floor, Madison flipped through Ruthie's scrapbook. As he sat down and lifted the laptop, he couldn't help feeling he was watched. Then he saw it, a square of bright blue paper with stars cut out and pasted all over with glue. In large yellow letters, he read its message.

THANK YOU, TERY

Even though his name was misspelled, he knew instantly who it was from. He looked over to Madison and caught her watching. He opened the card.

I THINK YOUR A VERY NICE PERSON. THANK YOU.

The words were simple, but they made him smile.

"You're welcome, Madison. You're very welcome." He closed the card, looked again at the front. "Thank you for this. It was a thoughtful gesture." He turned to Madison and saw a faint smile around her mouth. How anyone could smile and yet look so sad, was beyond him, and yet Madison managed to do it very easily.

"It's still raining." He tucked the card away for safekeeping, continued his thought out loud as the girls returned to start tidying up before bed. "I'd like you to stay here tonight, if that's okay with you. You can sleep on this couch, and I'll make sure you have enough pillows and blankets to be comfortable."

"All right, Terry."

The words sounded tired, making him grateful she wouldn't have to brave a storm-tossed drive back into Chaumont.

He cleared off the couch, helped the girls clean up their mess, then went to collect some sheets and blankets. Stepping into his room, he gathered a pillow, the thick warm comforter off his bed, two sheets, and a clean pillowcase from the linen closet in the hall. An excited shout that she had first dibs on the bathtub, was proceeded by Debbie, and then Lizzie. They sped past him, their combined voices at once serious and carefree. Not as anxious for a bath as her sisters, Ruthie came last, her arms full from the remnants of their party.

"Thanks for helping Madison," he told the pint-sized girl. She beamed a sweet smile at Terry, and he planted a kiss on her forehead. How he loved his munchkins.

A boom of thunder rattled window panes. The lights flickered, then came back on.

"Better have your flashlight handy," Terry told the girl. Excited chatter came from the girls' bedroom, and Ruthie dashed off to tell her sisters how neat it would be if the power went all the way out.

Terry stepped into the living room, quietly noting Madison was still on the floor beside the sofa. Thin arms hugged her legs, and her forehead rested against her knees.

"I hope you're not afraid of a little thunder and lightening." Terry put down his bundle, pulled off a sheet and flapped it open. "You told me earlier the rain is different when you're safe." He glanced at the bowed head, shook open the pillow case and stuffed the pillow inside.

Slippers padded through the living room as John passed through from the kitchen with an emergency flashlight.

"Good night, Terry. Madison."

"'Night," Terry smiled, and watched as John disappeared into the master bedroom. Izumi came out a moment later, and headed for the girls' room, no doubt to make sure they were making progress and getting ready for bed.

"If you need the bathroom," Terry continued, "use the one adjoining the office. No one should bother you there." He opened the heavy comforter, draped it over the bed as another boom of thunder rattled the house. "Just listen to that."

Madison's head came up. She looked toward the roof, apprehension glinting in her gray eyes.

"You're safe," he reminded her. "Pray about it, give it to the Lord, then move on. Come on, climb into bed so I can turn out the lights."

"Could you leave one on?" she asked timidly, moving onto the couch and taking refuge beneath the covers.

"Do you want a night-light?" Terry didn't wait for an answer, but went into the kitchen to dig up the spare light hidden somewhere in the junk drawer. He found it, pugged it in beside the couch, and clicked it on.

"Thanks, Terry."

"It's no problem," he smiled, first turning off the overhead light, then the lighthouse lamp he had given Izzy for Christmas several years back. Madison burrowed beneath the comforter, facing the side of the sofa where a small arc of light glowed against the wall. "Before you go to sleep, wait a moment. I'll be right back."

He snagged the grocery bag in his room, came back and placed it on the floor beside Madison's couch. "I forgot to give this to you earlier, but you can open it in the morning. Do you need anything else? Are you comfortable?"

"I'm fine." She sat up a little, looked over the edge of the cushion.

"Try to get some rest, Maddie." He moved away from the couch, saw her reach for the grocery bag. It crinkled as she pulled out the notebook. She gasped, hugged it to her chest like someone clinging to a great treasure.

He knew she wanted it, but hadn't realized how much until now. Smiling, he went to his room, and closed the door.

Rain slammed against the house, but inside, everyone was safe and dry and snugged beneath warm blankets. As Terry lay awake in bed, he thanked God that Madison wasn't struggling to survive somewhere in all that wet and cold. She was in the living room, cuddling a spiral-bound notebook and enjoying the safe comfort provided by a simple night-light. More than once, he tiptoed to the end of the hall and looked across the room to the couch. Only when he heard the rhythmic sounds of her slumber, did he go back to bed and allow himself to truly rest.

Come what may, he determined to be a faithful friend to her. His last prayer before slipping beneath the pleasant waves of slumber, was to ask God for more strength.

More and more, Terry was realizing it would be no easy task to help Madison find her place in the world.

"And I [Terry] thank Christ Jesus our Lord, Who hath enabled me, for that He counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry [of helping Madison]..."
~ 1 Timothy 1:12 ~ 

Chapter Ten
Lifeline

"The LORD is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and He knoweth them that trust in Him."
~ Nahum 1:7 ~ reams tumbled past Terry in a grotesque way of making the nonsensical seem utterly real. Images of adolescence blurred with the present, and he stood as a child on the shore of Three Mile Bay, the wind full in his face and the sun warming his back.

Without warning, the air turned frigid. Darkness slicked over the heavens like an overturned can of black paint. Cold settled into his body, chilling him from the inside out.

"Terry."

Someone spoke behind him. A shockwave of dread exploded within his chest, and his feet froze in place. He jammed fingers in his ears, shouted the words to "Jesus Loves Me" until the force of the voice shoved him to his hands and knees. Pain seared him from behind, and he slammed face down into the sand. The taste of dirt filled his mouth, gritted between his teeth as the pain bore down. It felt as though the universe had fallen from the sky to crush him.

Far worse than the pain, was the pleasure.

"You're no different than me. Oh, you wanted this."

Shame seared him with an unquenchable heat. He heard the crackle of flames, forced open his eyes and saw hell yawning before him in livid color.

"You wanted this, so you're just as bad as me. Give me your hand."

Terry's hand yanked up until it felt the owner of the voice. Touch filled him with curious dread, and the smell of sweat filled his nostrils to the point of choking.

"Jesus loves me, this I know." A child sang in the distance, and he recognized it as himself.

He struggled to breathe, to force air into his lungs and cough out sand.

"For the Bible tells me so."

That voice. The cool hope of it made the heat sizzle and hiss, like water coming into contact with flame.

"Little ones to Him belong, they are weak, but He is strong."

Pain coursed through him, then cruelly intense pleasure. Dirt forced its way down his throat and he screamed to make it stop. He cried out to God, and even in his torment, he knew God had not forgotten him.

"Terry." A voice blurred over the panic, both familiar and welcome. It called, and yet the pain continued to knife through him without mercy. "Terry, wake up."

Some part of him knew it was a dream, and yet, he couldn't wake up. Not on his own.

"Water. Izumi, a glass of water-- hurry."

The urgency of the voice sent fresh panic into Terry. What was wrong? Why was John so frightened? He strained to find John, but continued to be pulled under by the flames, the scalding heat.

Someone shook him and he struck out in self-defense. Then cold splashed across his face.

"Hey, wake up. Come on, Buddy, don't make me fight you." The one who shook him was John, and the realization of it stopped Terry's flailing.

Safety no longer seemed out of reach, and it encouraged him to fight against the pull of sleep. Now he was certain it was a dream. Darkness, then light, blinked before him. He forced his eyes wide open.

His friend was above him. No phantom to trick him into relief, but actual flesh and blood.

"Take a moment to calm down. Terry, calm down."

It took a moment for Terry to realize he was gasping for breath. His chest was tight, his pajamas soaked with sweat, his hands clenched in white-knuckled fists.

But he was alive.

Terry didn't dare close his eyes, feeling the force of the nightmare still fresh on his consciousness.

"Take it easy." John squeezed his shoulder. "You're awake now-- that's what matters."

The overhead light shone into his eyes, a reassuring sign he wasn't still trapped in the nightmare. He palmed the sweat from his eyes, sucked in each precious breath of air like it was a gift from God.

"That was a bad one." Terry let his body relax from the strain of nightmarish sleep. "Thank God they're not all as bad as that."

The bare walls of his room, the scent of his mouthwash-- even the moth that flicked around the light fixture-- all confirmed reality. Terry dropped his gaze to the man in dark blue pajamas on the edge of the bed.

The relief in John's face spoke volumes. "Your night terrors are starting up again, and you know what that means-- you're taking too much on."

Tension edged back into Terry's shoulders. He understood John's meaning, and it sickened him to think that maybe John was right.

"Daddy?" A child called from the hall, and when Terry turned his head, he realized Izumi stood in the doorway to keep the girls out. "Is Uncle Terry hurt?"

"No, I'm all right, munchkin." Terry offered them a smile, and noted the relief in Izumi's face.

He turned to John. "Did I yell?"

"You did."

"Very loud?"

"Enough to wake everyone in the house." John moved to his feet as a little girl wiggled her way past Izumi. "And where do you think you're going?"

"Let her see him, John." Izumi allowed the other two inside. "They need to see he's all right."

Determined to not frighten his family anymore than he already had, Terry sat up and smiled as three eager cherubs climbed onto his bed.

"It's all right," Lizzie said, crawling over to give him as big a hug as two small arms could manage. "We won't let anything happen to you, Uncle Terry."

Wet moistened his eyes as Debbie, then Ruthie, crowded him with hugs and kisses.

"I'm fine, girls. I'm fine." Not trusting his voice any further, he showered them with smiles and returned each hug. Thank God he hadn't woke up crying. Every time he did that, John did his best to shield the children from the worst, but they always knew their uncle was weeping. No matter how hard Terry tried to keep his grief quiet, they almost always knew.

Ruthie snuggled into his right arm, and patted his hand. "Do you feel better?"

"Yes. Much." He kissed the top of her head and tested himself by closing his eyes for a moment. Nothing, not even the slightest threat of hell or flames. He was safe. Oh, he breathed the air and thanked God for His faithfulness. It had only been a bad dream. A visceral experience, but only a bad dream.

"Say good night to your uncle," John said, glancing at the clock as he spoke. "It's late, and you three need to get back to bed."

"Can't we stay with Uncle Terry?"

"Please, Daddy?"

"Yes, please?"

Somewhat amused by the request, John looked to Terry for permission.

"I don't mind. Maybe they'll keep the bad dreams away."

John shrugged. "It's your call. Just don't let them keep you awake. Hear that, girls? I expect you to go to sleep."

"We will." Debbie pulled back the covers on the single bed, and Terry scooted off the mattress to use the bathroom and change out of his damp pajamas.

"No, he's all right," Izumi told someone in the hall.

"Izzy? Who is that?" Terry put the bathroom on hold and came around to the doorway. "Madison?"

His house guest stood on the far side of the hall, hugging herself tightly. She was trembling.

"Did I wake you?" An unnecessary question, for he could see the fright on her face. "I had a bad dream, but everything's all right now. It's okay to go back to bed."

She looked into the living room, then up at the ceiling as rain pounded the roof. Her eyes skidded back to him, and she hugged herself tighter.

Terry sighed inwardly. He knew just how she felt.

"Give me a minute to use the bathroom, and I'll come see what I can do. Maybe the TV could keep you company--" Terry stopped, remembering what happened the last time she watched television. "Just give me a moment."

John sighed, shook his head and returned to the master bedroom with Izumi.

It made Terry wonder. Was he pushing himself too hard? He probably was, for the night terrors were back with a vengeance. John hadn't needed to wrestle him awake since... uh-oh.

Victor.

Wincing, Terry moved to the bathroom adjoining his bedroom. He wasn't ready to admit Madison had been the cause of his nightmare. Yes, being around her bruises this close reminded him of things he tried to forget, but so what? He could handle it. He wasn't fresh from his abuse like she was. He had experience in these matters, and would deal with the pain in a professional manner.

He locked the bathroom door, cranked the shower up to block out sound, and burst into tears.

God, help me. Don't let me shatter again.

* * * *

She couldn't go into the living room by herself, not when the rain made her want to curl up and disappear. And then that scream. It sent shivers down her goose bumps just thinking about it.

That had been Terry?

It must have been some bad dream.

Propping herself against the wall, she heard the triplets in Terry's bedroom. She wanted to peek inside and see the girls, probably looking cute and cozy snuggled up on the bed. A giggle came from the room, and Madison couldn't help herself. She had to see.

She peeked around the door, and sure enough, the three girls were tucked beneath Terry's blanket, on their sides to fit in the narrow bed and exchanging whispers as though in some secret club-- a girl's club, comprised of fraternal sisters.

Then the bathroom door opened, and Terry stepped out in a fresh pair of pajamas. The sight sent a chill of dread through Madison. A grown man with little girls in his bed. A sharp memory streaked past her, and she forced herself to ease away from the doorway without being noticed.

She hugged the wall, jumped when Terry came out and found her. Thunder boomed across the roof, pushing at her already strained courage until she slid onto the carpet to take refuge.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He crouched, reached out his hand but she shrunk back. A heavy sigh blew past his lips. "Neither one of us are having a very good night, are we? What a mess." To her dismay, Terry sat down on the carpet, leaned against the opposite wall and propped his arms on raised knees.

"Uncle Terry?"

"I'll be there in a few minutes," he called. "Until then, go to sleep like your daddy wanted." When the direct order was met with giggles, Terry smiled. It was such an easy smile, no malice or mischief hiding in his expression. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply like one who had just run a great race and was exhausted.

Overhead, rain continued to beat the rooftop without mercy. For an odd reason, it didn't matter as much anymore, for Terry was there. Even the living room looked safer than it did before her sleep had been jolted awake by Terry's scream.

Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at him, not trusting what she saw. For the umpteenth time she asked herself, "Who is he?" Red had rimmed his eyes, and his nose looked pink from crying. The more she observed, the more certain she was of her guess.

"They're not real, you know."

His eyes popped open. "Excuse me?"

"The dreams-- they're not real. Even though they feel like it, they're only figments of our imaginations."

"Who told you that?"

"I saw it on TV. Some guy who wrote a book, said so. It's true, isn't it? Bad dreams aren't anything to be afraid of."

"That depends on the dream." Terry gave a resigned sigh that filled his face with sadness. "It's times like these when I cling to my battle cry the hardest."

Though she had no idea what he meant, she let him keep talking.

"I won't go into any details or stories about my life, because I don't think you want to hear them. Suffice it to say, I had a rougher than average childhood. Sometimes, when I'm under an unusual amount of pressure, or I let myself rundown physically, my defenses lower and I put myself at risk for a mental breakdown. It's why I work out as much as I do."

"Are you under an unusual amount of pressure right now?"

A tired smile flitted across his mouth. "We'll see."

It seemed like an odd answer, but since he didn't explain further, she contained her curiosity in silence.

"When I feel like this, I need to shout my battle cry the loudest. I know from experience, the most heartfelt ones come while on your knees."

Now he really wasn't making any sense. "A battle cry?"

"It's something to rally the troops with when it looks like the bad guys are winning. For me, it's Psalm sixty-one, verse two: 'From the end of the earth will I cry unto Thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I.' Each time my heart is overwhelmed by what's happening, I remember that verse and take courage. It's like a soldier on the front lines of a battlefield. He takes a hit, but keeps on fighting until he either gets killed or wins. Until God takes me, I keep fighting."

"Did you take a hit tonight?" she asked.

He gave a wan smile. "You could call it that. Unfortunately, my heart overwhelms a little too easily these days."

"Terry?"

"Hmmm?"

"What was that verse you said?"

He repeated it, and she knew she would never be able to remember it long enough to write it into her notebook. She stood up without disturbing his closed eyes, moved into the living room and located her treasure beneath the covers. She pulled one of the ball point pens from the grocery bag, returned to the hallway and reclaimed her place on the carpet.

"Terry?"

This time, he didn't answer.

She bit her lip, uncapped the pen and wrote on the first page of her notebook:

MADISON CRAWFORD, early Friday morning, somewhere in September-- i wish i wasn't so different. being free isn't what i thought it would be, and i have to remind myself that i'm where i'm supposed to be. God put me here for a reason, and He kept me alive all this time. i have to believe it's for a purpose. does God make peeple who don't have any reason to be alive? i hope not, because i would be first on God's list as someone who was just taking up space for someone else who is more important. i have to believe i'm not worthless.

Terry's arm dropped from his knee and Madison stopped writing. She waited, hoping he would open his eyes so she could get the battle cry.

His breathing came with a soft snore, and she went back to writing.

i think i have a friend. i hope i do. he doesn't get angry at me, at least not very easily, and he's always trying to help peeple, even me. he seams nice, and i try to forget he's a man because its not his fault God made him one. i wish God didn't have to make men. i think the world would be better off without them, but i'm not God and i suppose He knows best. by the way, his name is Tery.

The sound of someone yawning made Madison's pen stop. She looked up, saw him blinking awake and looking surprised that he had fallen asleep.

"I'm hitting the sack," he said, moving to his feet until he towered above her. "Are you going to be all right by yourself?"

She nodded.

"Good night then."

"Terry?"

"Yeah?" he paused with one foot in the bedroom.

"What was that verse you said-- the one that's your battle cry?"

"Oh, you mean Psalm sixty-one, verse two? What about it?"

"Could you please say the words again? I want to write them down."

"It's no big deal," he said with another yawn. "Just go look it up in your Bible." When she didn't respond, he winced. "That's right. I forgot. You don't have one." A noise from the bedroom made him step inside to check the munchkins, then a moment later he came back out and quietly shut the door. "Are you ready?"

She nodded.

"From the end of the earth will I cry unto Thee--"

"Not so fast, please." Her pen dug into the paper, furiously working to form the cumbersome words. She paused, and he continued, this time at a slower pace until the entire verse was safely in her notebook.

"Try and get some sleep," Terry said in full yawn, "and I'll do my best not to wake anyone up again."

She nodded, and watched him move into the bedroom and leave the door open. After putting the cap on her pen, she crawled to the doorway and peered inside. Terry had managed to lay down on the narrow sliver of bed left him, and all without waking the now sleeping children. The girls slept in a row of yellow nightgowns, looking very much like a package of fluffy yellow Peeps, soft and marshmallowy and ridiculously cute. One girl had an arm snugged around another, while the third slept with her head pillowed against her sister's shoulder.

They looked perfectly safe, though Madison still struggled with her dreaded certainty that something bad would happen because they shared the bed with a man. The dread came as second-nature to her, and it was no small task to ignore the fear that screamed even louder than Terry had in his nightmare.

Her stomach clenched into a tight fist, and she crawled away from the bedroom as fast as her hands and knees could carry her. At the end of the hall, she scrambled up and ran to the couch, only pausing to throw back the blankets before diving in. Her heart pounded in her ears, and whispers of past terror made her tremble in the semi-darkness of the night-light glowing against the wall.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to remember the words of Terry's battle cry. When they wouldn't come, she derived comfort by clutching the notebook where they had been written down.

* * * *

A small knee jabbed into his ribcage, followed by another. He moaned. Four more knees followed in rapid succession, and when Terry pushed open his eyes he wasn't surprised to find the bed empty. The smell of a hot breakfast had probably been the reason for the mini stampede, and Terry crawled from bed feeling trampled upon but marginally rested.

Still bleary-eyed from a night of children tossing and kicking him in his sleep, Terry shuffled into the hall, letting the smell of breakfast lead him to where the good stuff was at. Coffee. He needed some java to kick start his brain. Some of the cogs were sticking, making him think the nightmare and subsequent wrestling match with John had all been one continuous dream. Then he saw Madison on the sofa, and remembered it had really happened.

Caffeine, preferably of the French Roast variety. Hold the cream.

"Morning," he said, nodding to Madison as he passed through to the kitchen. "Izzy, where's my-- oh, thanks." He accepted his smiley mug from Izumi, dragged himself to the kitchen table and collapsed into his usual chair. The herd of baby animals that had stampeded him minutes before, beamed at him with milk mustaches and innocent faces. "Every time you munchkins sleep in my bed, I get run over in the morning. Quite a coincidence, isn't it?"

Giggles came from their side of the table, and Terry drowned his smile in the mug.

"Thank God the rain stopped." John's house-shoes slapped against the kitchen laminate as he came to the table with his laptop. "Looks like I'm off the hook for building that ark."

Debbie grinned.

On the stove, pancake batter sizzled along with strips of turkey bacon and another skillet with scrambled eggs.

John raised his brows. "What's the occasion? Our breakfast isn't usually such a production."

"Should I take that as a complaint?" Izumi asked, picking up the slotted spatula and going to the eggs. "If you don't want any of these pancakes, I can always give them to someone else."

"Oh no, don't give them away." John flashed her a teasing grin. "I only wondered why all the trouble for breakfast, when we usually have toast and cereal."

Izumi nodded toward the living room, and John blinked. The man was absolutely clueless.

"It's for Madison," Terry said with a degree of certainty that made him grateful for such good friends. "I appreciate it."

"If you want to thank me, make sure she eats. She's an unhealthy thin, and I don't think she's been eating regularly, even at your place. Make sure she eats."

"I know, I'm trying to."

Sighing, Izumi turned to stir the eggs. "She's not taking care of herself. That means it's up to someone else to help her learn how."

"I agree. If you have any ideas, I'm open to suggestions." Terry sipped his java, winced at the hot temperature and set aside the mug.

"The first thing I'd suggest"-- Izumi slid pancakes onto John's plate, then went back to pour more batter-- "is to get her a smaller place. Your apartment is too big. She needs something small that won't wear her out every time it needs cleaning."

"That's a thought." Terry bit into a bite of pancake slathered with maple syrup and butter. And sighed in pure contentment. No one made pancakes like Izzy. "I have a vacant apartment that fits the description. Single bedroom, bathroom, a cramped kitchen that would make Snow White think she was still keeping house for the seven dwarfs. The place is a cracker box, but the linoleum's new and the rent is low."

"Then loan it to Madison." Izumi scraped more pancake onto Lizzie's plate. "Give her the key and tell her she's responsible for keeping it clean."

Terry considered the proposal, then nodded. "That sounds reasonable."

"Next thing, she should get a job."

"Now that will be a little harder to do." He reached for the mug, saw the empty chair between Ruthie and Debbie and frowned. "Maddie?" he called to the next room.

"What?"

"It's breakfast time."

"I'm not hungry."

"I didn't ask if you were hungry. I said it's breakfast." When nothing but silence came from the living room, Terry remained seated. "Madison, get in here and eat."

"No, I won't."

The outright refusal caught Terry by surprise. She usually did as she was told.

"Terry, she has to eat."

"I know, Izzy, but tell that to her. On second thought, I'll do it myself." Terry pushed back from the table while three little girls tracked him with interested faces. "Just watch, I'll have her in here before you munchkins can ask for seconds."

The giggles behind his back only served to deepen Terry's determination. Izzy was right. Madison needed to learn to take care of herself, and the first place to start would be eating on time.

He rounded into the living room, came to a stop when he noticed a large trembling lump on the couch, covered over with blankets.

"Madison?" He moved to the couch, tugged at a blanket but found she held it fast. "Do you mind if I ask an obvious question?" He waited a beat. "Why are you under those covers?"

Silence.

"It's time for breakfast. I want to see you out of that bed and at that table in the next five minutes, or I'll..." he hesitated, wondering what he would do if she stayed put. He rubbed his neck, then noticed an odd smell coming from the couch. "Hey, are you all right under there?"

When she didn't answer, Terry yanked the covers back. Even before he saw it, his nose had already told him what had happened. A large wet spot soaked her jeans, and the odor that accompanied it told Terry it wasn't just urine.

Her face paled. She stared at the carpet, not daring to meet his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked, then bit his tongue at the stupid way it sounded. "Why didn't you use the bathroom? I told you where it was, didn't I? The half bath adjoining the office?"

A slight shrug lifted a shoulder. She said nothing.

"When did your accident happen? Was it just now? Did we frighten you with our talk?"

"No," she mumbled. "I woke up this way."

"You did?" Terry kicked himself for strolling through the living room and not noticing her distress. "Does this happen very often?"

She shook her head,"no."

"Terry, is she all right?" Izumi came into the living room, stopped when she saw Madison.

Terry blew out a sigh. "I'm going to need your help cleaning her up."

"Didn't she know where the bathroom was?"

"Yes, but she did this in her sleep."

"Well then." Izumi went to Madison, coaxed her onto her feet the way a mother would a child. "Accidents will happen. Let's get you into the shower and make this mess go away."

As Izumi led Madison to the hall, Terry tossed back the bottommost blanket and saw the wet mark on the leather couch. The flip-flop of house-shoes sounded behind him.

Both men stared at the spot.

John punched Terry on the shoulder. "It'll come off. If this thing can survive toddlers, it'll survive this."

A deep sigh moved through Terry as John went off in search of the cleaner. He had very good friends.

As Terry pulled off the blankets, shouting erupted from down the hall. Terry dropped everything, came running and nearly collided with John as John dashed from the kitchen. They moved into the hall, only to see Izumi tugging on Madison's arm to get her into the master bedroom. Madison shouted, her hands grasping the doorjamb for dear life. The door nearly caught her fingers when it accidentally bumped closed.

Seeing the near miss, Izumi let go, panted for breath as Madison tried to fight her way past Terry and John.

"Hey, hey." Terry tried not to hurt Madison. He twisted her around gently, pushed her against the wall while John went to Izumi.

"I'm all right," Izumi insisted. "I tried to coax her into the bedroom, but she became wild-eyed and nearly decked me when she grabbed the doorjamb. I shouldn't have tried to pull her inside."

"Maddie, hold still." Terry squeezed her shoulders until the writhing stopped. "No one is going to hurt you. Izzy was taking you into the bathroom so you could shower."

"I already told her that," Izumi said, giving a wide berth around Madison as Izumi went with John into the living room.

The struggling started again, and Terry was forced to restrain her against the wall with his chest.

"Maddie," he breathed into her ear, "you've got to calm down. Now relax. You'll only hurt yourself by fighting. I'm going to back away, and you're going to stop fighting. Okay?" He tested her by letting up. When she remained plastered to the wall, he took a few steps back. "Did I hurt you?"

She didn't answer.

"Maddie, did I hurt you?"

"No."

"Thank God for that." Terry breathed in relief, knowing he would've had a hard time looking himself in the mirror if he had. He glanced down the hall, saw Izumi was fine and breathed another thankful prayer.

Madison remained against the wall, her face turned away from everyone.

"All the showers in this house are through a bedroom," Terry said matter-of-factly. "I know you don't like it, but unless you want me to drive you back to the apartment as you are, there's no way to get around it."

"Drive me back."

"Maddie," Terry stepped closer and lowered his voice, "if any of my neighbors see you like this, someone's going to call the police. I can lend you a pair of pants, but I really think you need to overcome your fear of bedrooms long enough to get into the bathroom."

"Please don't make me, Terry. Please don't make me."

"I won't make you do anything, but I think this is for the best." Terry turned so his back was to John and Izumi. "Think of this as your first step toward becoming self-sufficient. Today, you run through a bedroom, and tomorrow-- who knows? You might find it wasn't so bad and start sleeping on a bed."

"No, please, no."

"What if you close your eyes? Just shut your eyes and I'll lead you safely through to the bathroom."

Her head shook in a decided "no."

"Is there any way I can get you to trust me on this?" Terry stepped around her, moved into her view. "I give you my solemn promise-- before God-- you'll reach the bathroom safely."

"Terry, I can't."

"Well, how do you know, unless you try?"

She worried her lip, looked at him out of the corner of her eye like a mouse trying to work up courage to trust a cat.

He held out his hand, but both her fists remained clenched against the wall.

"I know what-- I'll give you my cell phone. If anything bad happens, you can punish me by destroying the phone."

A smile crept to her mouth.

"You trusted me once before, didn't you?"

She nodded, "yes."

"I'm asking you to trust me again." Terry kept his hand outstretched, praying she would take it. After that scuffle, he wouldn't blame her if she was too shaken up to take the risk.

The fist moved to her side. She opened it, stared at his hand like it was something out of a horror movie, then took hold of his elbow instead.

"Close enough," he smiled. "Now close your eyes."

She squeezed her eyes shut, and he started her into the bedroom. It seemed wise to not go anywhere near the large king sized bed, so Terry gave it as wide a berth as he could. He opened the bathroom door, placed her inside, then closed the door with, "It's all right to look now."

Having watched their progress, Izumi came into the bedroom with John. Izumi looked impressed. "I didn't think you'd be able to do it, Terry. That took trust on her part."

"Yeah, well," Terry shrugged, "it wasn't much, so I won't let it go to my head."

John smiled, and Izumi moved to the bathroom door. "If you want to be useful," she said to Terry, "Madison could use another change of clothes."

"I'll get them."

With a hesitant look, Izumi lowered her voice. "After all that struggling in the hall, make sure nothing fell out of her pants." Then Izumi went into the bathroom, and promptly shut the door.

The sound of muffled voices, and Izumi's gentle coaxing, was enough to ease Terry away from the bathroom. Maddie would be all right-- he had to trust God for that. A small hand took his, and he smiled down at Ruthie in her favorite bright yellow kiddie nightgown.

"We didn't frighten you, did we?" he asked.

Ruthie smiled, and Terry lifted her up for a hug. Inside the bathroom, he heard Izumi promising not to look, and Terry decided it was time to get those clothes from his apartment in Chaumont.

Moments after he had finished cleaning the hall, but before he had time to change out of last night's pajamas, the front doorbell sounded.

"I'll get it,"John called.

A familiar voice greeted John, and Terry stepped into the living room to the sound of Dick laughing at seeing John-- and Terry-- in pajamas.

"It's nearly ten o'clock," Dick laughed, as his wife, Sara, joined them inside. "If I'd known you guys got such a late start on the day, I would've come later."

"Oh no," John smiled, "we don't often sleep in so late, and are usually dressed by now. Aren't we, Terry?"

"Oh yeah," Terry grinned as a little girl in a nightgown scampered past him on her way to the kitchen, "this is nowhere near a normal morning."

"If we're intruding," Dick peeled off his sunglasses, "we can come back another time to do the planting. I know we agreed on the weekend, but it turned out we're supposed to visit Sara's mom Saturday, so I was hoping we could do it today-- but only if it's not too inconvenient for you."

John squinted in thought. "Pardon?"

"We're here to plant tulips," Dick smiled in his usual way of putting people at ease. "Sara went out and bought a large bunch of them at the nursery, and the guy promised her they'd come up yellow and white. I suppose we won't know for sure though, until next Spring."

A muffled cry came from down the hall, and Terry winced. Not now. Please, God, not in front of the Doyles.

"Who was that?" Dick asked.

"Who? Oh, you mean that noise just now? It's probably nothing." Terry flicked a glance to John, and saw his friend already heading down the hall. Terry would never forgive himself if Madison hurt Izzy. Izzy was a small little thing compared to Madison's tall frame.

A nervous smile fixed on Sara's mouth. "Are you sure no one's hurt?"

"No, I'm sure-- at least, I'm almost sure. Maybe ninety-nine-percent sure." Terry tried hard to smile. "Izzy is helping Madison take a shower, and for obvious reasons, I'm not allowed inside." He glimpsed the soiled couch behind the Doyle's and prayed for mercy. At least a chance to cover up the wet spot so Madison wouldn't have to endure more embarrassment.

Looking somewhat disturbed, John came back down the hall. "I tried to talk to Izumi through the door, but she couldn't hear me. I think everything's fine."

"Would you like me to go check?" Sara took off her coat, revealing a crisp pair of blue jeans and a wool sweater that looked inappropriately elegant for digging about in a garden. "Maybe Izumi could use the help of another woman."

"Thank you, that's very kind"-- Terry almost lurched forward when Sara turned to deposit her coat on the couch-- "I'll take that for you. They're in the master bath, just down the hall and through the bedroom. That's right, the last door at the end."

Calmly sucking a lollipop, Debbie went to go sit on the blankets, neatly avoiding the wet spot.

Another girl, this time Lizzie, went to go join her sister, and she also sucked a bright colored lollipop. As Terry wondered where the girls were getting all this candy, he saw Dick passing an orange one to Ruthie. Wonderful. All John and Izzy needed were well-meaning cavities from a friend.

Using the momentary distraction, Terry edged around to the couch, quickly tossed a blanket over what he now hoped wouldn't prove to be a stain.

"Terry," John said in a polite but subtly urgent tone, "don't you think you should be moving along? They'll be needing those things we discussed earlier."

Dick blinked, looked from one man to the other, his mouth in one long continuous smile. "That sounds like code for something, so I won't ask what."

"It's just something from his apartment," John said, casting a quick eye to the blankets and breathing a noticeable sigh of relief. "Madison slept on the couch last night, and needs a change of clothes."

"Oh." Dick looked to the couch where three little girls sat with their candy, every single one of them avoiding what they knew was hidden beneath the blankets. "I don't remember Victor ever having that privilege."

"That's because Victor wasn't Madison." John showed Dick into the kitchen for some hot coffee. "We trust her more than we did the others."

The vote of confidence in Madison's favor, made Terry smile, even though the reference to "the others" caused him some painful regret. Unlike John, Terry had trusted the others, though Victor stood out more than the rest. At one time during their "friendship," Victor had made Terry think "this is the one-- surely, I can make a difference with him." It hurt to think how much that trust had been betrayed. In a cruel act of revenge for Terry's unwillingness to buy Victor a new car, Victor had trashed Terry's apartment with a baseball bat, then poured fetid garbage over the carpets for the express purpose of letting the stench leach into the floors. The cost of renovation didn't hurt Terry as much as knowing that someone he had once called friend, had done that.

Shoving aside past failure, Terry jogged to his room to quickly change.

The morning had its bumps, to be sure, but there also had been some positive moments. Madison's unexpected trust had been a bright spot... unlike the one she had left on the couch. As he went out to the garage, Terry wondered if Izzy might somehow manage to keep the soiled clothes from Sara's notice. For Madison's benefit, as well as his own. All he needed was for Dick to give him another patient sigh, and privately think he had fallen for yet another sob story.

* * * *

The water felt good, although Madison had trouble enjoying the clean feeling. Izzy stood just outside the frosted glass wall of the shower, her red robe showing through in a vague haze. The woman called Sara, stood with her, the blue and the red chatting with each other while Madison cleaned herself.

At least Izzy hadn't seen anything. Madison tried to console herself with the fact, though she had nearly been discovered when Izzy almost turned before Madison was safely behind the shower door. Madison had screamed, and Izzy said she'd nearly had a heart attack at being so startled. No harm had been done, but the scream had attracted attention, and now there were two of them.

The water still ran hot, leaving Madison's arms and hands a bright red glow. She lathered the body soap and prayed Terry would come soon with her clothes. Until he did, she would be stuck in the shower, for there was not enough coaxing in the world that would make her come out naked. The doctor who examined her had expressed concern upon seeing the scars, and Madison was certain Izzy would too. Whatever Izzy saw, she would surely tell Terry, and then questions would follow.

She had to avoid the questions. It was her problem, and Madison refused to let it become theirs. She'd managed to keep her secret this long, and nothing short of outright discovery would make her speak when silence could avoid the entire issue.

Oh, where was Terry? The hot water couldn't last forever, and then she'd have to endure a cold drenching or risk shutting it off. If Izzy couldn't hear the water running, she might think the shower was over and open the door.

Something Izzy said made Sara laugh, and Madison wished she had paid more attention to their conversation. Had Sara seen the pants? Why hadn't she awakened in time to use the bathroom? She didn't recall any bad dreams, nothing to create such a messy accident. Yet it had happened. She guessed her dread of leaving the couch in the middle of the night, in a strange house, had made her hold it in until she could hold it no longer. She felt so stupid for not waking up in time, though even then, she knew she would have tried to hold it until morning, rather than venture into the office in the dark.

Cool air nipped her bare skin, and she stepped back into the spray only to find the water had turned lukewarm.

Oh, Terry, please come.

"Madison?" Izzy had stopped talking to Sara, and now stood beside the door. "Are you finished yet?"

"No. No, I'm not."

"I don't know how much longer the water will stay hot. You'll soon empty the water heater, so you'd better hurry."

"Okay." Madison clamped her jaw shut, intent on not letting her shivers register out loud. The water had turned cold, though she couldn't bring herself to shut it off. She shrank into the far corner, trying not to touch the hard tile walls that only made her shivering worse.

"My niece, Jennifer, stays in the shower so much, her parents joke she's trying to grow gills." That didn't sound like Izzy, Madison concluded, so it had to be the blue blur speaking. Izzy responded, but Madison didn't pay any attention. It was obvious people were beginning to wonder about her staying in the shower so long, but she couldn't help it.

Oh, Terry. Please don't forget me. I'll clean the couch, I promise I will, but please don't forget me.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door. It opened, and Madison heard Terry's voice-- familiar and friendly and extremely welcome. The door closed, and Izzy came back to the blurry glass.

"Terry just brought your clothes. I'm going to leave them beside the sink. Do you need anything more before I leave?"

"No thank you."

The bathroom door opened, then shut, and the room sounded amazingly empty.

Venturing to the frosted glass door, Madison slid it open an inch and peered out. They were gone. Thank the Lord, they were gone. In her joy of escaping the shower, Madison didn't forget to silently thank Terry.

He hadn't forgotten her.

She dressed in a pair of oversized jeans and a gray T-shirt with a generic butterfly on the front. The clean socks felt comforting after the icy tiles of the shower, and she curled her toes in quiet delight. Then she remembered her soiled clothes. What had Izzy done with them? They weren't anywhere to be seen, and Madison guessed Izzy had taken them with her.

Which had to mean the blue blur knew why she was in the shower.

All Madison knew of being normal had come from what she'd seen on the television. This wasn't normal. Not even close. Making a mess on the couch, hiding from anyone seeing her scars-- it all added up to something ugly, something Madison had feared for a very long time but never admitted to herself outright. If others didn't behave the way she did, then she had to be crazy. A lunatic who couldn't wake up to use the bathroom, a hugely stupid idiot who couldn't come out of the shower when she was freezing.

Hot stung her eyes. She smeared it away and put on the running shoes Terry had given her when they bought all the clothes.

He hadn't forgotten her. That was a bigger comfort than even having clean clothing and privacy from those women. The warm knowledge of it made her feel cared for, part of something else besides herself. She had a friend.

Feeling more settled, she plugged in the hairdryer and switched it on. The hot blast felt wonderful, and she turned it on her arms every so often for warmth. She ran Izzy's hairbrush through straight locks, until they swept against her shoulders in thick golden falls. A touch of hairspray and she was done. At least she looked normal, or as normal as she was ever going to get outside of a personality transplant and skin grafts.

Sucking in a deep breath to face the world, she went to the door.

And stopped in her tracks.

How was she going to leave, if she had to pass through the bedroom? She couldn't, which meant she had escaped the shower only to be trapped in the bathroom.

In a quick handful of seconds, her heart plummeted lower than her toes. She might shout and hope Terry could hear, but then she really would look like an idiot in front of his guests. Who's that shouting, you ask? Only the pitiful woman I found in the wild. Can't do anything right, and dumb as dirt.

Indignation filled her chest, and she slumped against the bathroom door in defeat. Nothing was working out like she'd imagined. How was she ever going to make it? Her old dreams of being ordinary and normal seemed laughable now, only she couldn't laugh. Hugging her knees to her chest, she made herself small and hid from the worthlessness staring her in the face.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Uh, Maddie? I don't suppose you got out of there on your own? You are still in there, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm here." She scrambled to her feet at the sound of Terry's voice, and stood there waiting.

"May I open the door?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

"Okay, but maybe you should close your eyes first."

"They're closed." She squeezed them shut, felt Terry's arm and let him guide her through the room of terrors and into the hall.

"You can look," he whispered.

In the living room, John talked with the man called Dick. John had changed out of his pajamas, and after a few more exchanges, John called to Izzy that he and the Doyles were going out to plant tulips. Izzy's reply came from the kitchen, and three little girls dressed in pants and sweaters ran to the door with coats in hand, ready to help with the digging.

Madison tugged Terry's arm. "Where are my clothes?"

"Izzy put them in the wash. Don't worry, Sara and Dick don't know. As soon as they leave, I'll clean the couch."

"I'm sorry, Terry."

"Forget it. Unless you tell me you did it on purpose, I refuse to accept any apologies."

"I didn't do it on purpose."

"I know. I'll take you to the kitchen so you'll eat your breakfast. And don't try to wiggle out of it like you did last time," he added with a hint of good humor.

It was pointless to argue, for she knew her own hunger. She tagged behind Terry as he moved into the kitchen just as the blue blur ended a conversation with Izzy.

"Well, hi there." The blue blur gave Madison a bright smile, laughed as Izzy introduced her as Sara Doyle. "I have to be running along, but I hope to get to know you better. Any friend of Terry's is a friend of mine. See you later, Izumi, and thanks so much for the coffee. Are you sure I can't help with lunch?"

"Thanks, but I've got it covered." Still wearing her robe, Izumi stood up from the table. "Send one of the girls a few minutes before everyone comes in. That'll give me time to get everything on the table."

"I'll do that." Sara moved around Madison, flashed another pearl white smile and went to where the girls were being zipped up in their coats. Sara looked to be in her early sixties, had dark brown hair that probably came from a bottle, and dressed in tidy clothes that gave her a slightly formal but casual appearance. Since she was a total stranger to Madison, none of this really mattered.

What did matter, came on the plate Izzy placed on the table. It turned out Izzy had kept breakfast warm, so Madison sat down, prayed, then started eating large helpings of pancakes, eggs, and crispy slices of bacon.

After the group went out to plant flowers, Terry pulled cleaner from a kitchen cupboard and moved into the living room to clean the couch. Izzy tidied the kitchen, then went to go change for the day. Though most of breakfast found its way into Madison, the sheer number of pancakes couldn't all fit in her stomach. Looking satisfied, Terry declared it a good attempt, and went to go get their coats because he wanted to drive her into Chaumont to show her something.

By now, Madison felt so compliant she didn't even bother to ask questions. The stain on the couch had been removed, her stomach was full, and no one had yelled at her. Amazingly, she had survived the morning.

Zipped up in a warm coat, she felt her spirits lift once more. Hope came easier when she was with Terry. She followed him outside, waited for him to talk with Dick and John, then watched Terry back the jeep from the garage. From behind the wheel, Terry leaned forward, opened the door, and she climbed in.

"I'll close the garage later. Right now, I have something to show you." Terry pulled onto the main road, and she soon recognized the way back to Chaumont. "Izzy had an idea this morning, and I think it's inspired. You remember I own the apartment complex, right?"

She nodded.

"Izzy thinks I should give you a small place-- nothing big that would wear you out to keep clean, but someplace all your own. A place for a new start."

"Terry, I can't pay rent until I get a job."

"I'm not expecting rent, and when you do find work, I promise it'll be within your budget."

Not knowing what to say, she kept silent. It seemed too good to be true, and yet so much about Terry fit into that category. He seemed larger than life in an ordinary way that only served to underscore his kindness.

The jeep pulled up to the complex, parked in its usual spot without a trace of formality. It was almost as if the vehicle knew right where to go out of habit. Terry got out, rounded the hood to open her door. She expected him to show her the new apartment, but instead, he pointed to his.

"I have a two story unit, but the one right next to it was built wider, so I divided the floors into single bedroom apartments. The one on top is currently rented out, but the bottom one's all yours. Wait here a moment. I have to get the key from Lauren."

It took a moment for Madison to remember Lauren. Oh yes, the nosy woman who insisted on inviting her to dinner sometime soon, the woman Terry had said was the building superintendent. A hefty title for someone Madison so desperately wanted to avoid.

To her dismay but not to her surprise, Lauren returned with Terry.

"I confess, this is unexpected," Lauren said, as Terry unlocked the vacant apartment. "I thought Madison would go on living at your place. It's so convenient for you two."

"I've told you before, she isn't that kind of a friend." Terry tossed Madison an apologetic look. "Come inside, and see your new home."

Those words felt foreign to her ears, and she struggled to make herself believe Terry had actually said them to her and not someone else.

The place was dark until Terry opened a window and let in some of the outside sunshine. "There's no furniture, but we can take care of that easily enough."

The living room felt like an empty box with four walls, but no bugs crawled on the clean carpet and no water stains scarred the ceiling. She moved through the doorway off the living room, and found herself in a narrow kitchen that was one person deep. Cupboards lined above and below the counter, while the opposite wall stood blank. Good thing, for anything thicker than a poster would get in the way of movement. Framed at the end of the walkway, she saw a window with a view of slender ornamental trees.

"The refrigerator is fairly new," Terry pointed out from behind her, "as are the oven and microwave. There's a food pantry on your right, but no dishwasher."

"I don't mind, Terry."

He smiled, and looked encouraged. "The bedroom is back through the living room. Do you want to see it?"

"No, thank you."

"It's empty, Maddie. You don't have to put a bed in there, but you could get a soft couch and shove it against the wall. It doesn't have to look like a bedroom, if you don't want it to."

Intrigued, Lauren moved closer to listen.

"There's a double window on the East facing wall of the bedroom, a closet, and a single bathroom with a combination bath and shower to save space. The navy blue pile carpet is the same throughout the unit, except for the sandstone tile in the kitchen and bathroom. If you decide to stay here, you'll be responsible for its upkeep, just like any other tenant. I don't allow pets, and make no exceptions so the same rule goes for everyone."

Numb, Maddie nodded without thinking too hard about what he said. Terry sounded as though he'd given the spiel about pets before, and she let him run through his routine without interruption.

When he came to a pause, she realized he was waiting for a response.

"So what do you think? I can give you a reasonable rate for as long as you stay, and until you find work, it's rent-free."

As good an offer as it was, Madison didn't readily accept. Living in his mostly unused apartment was one thing, depriving him of potential income, another. "Won't you lose money by not renting it out to someone else?"

"He will," Lauren interrupted without apology, "but then Terry would give you the shirt off his back, if he thought you needed it." The wording must have suggested something to Lauren, for the woman kept observing Terry and then Madison as though trying to picture something in her mind.

A sick wave of nausea rolled through Madison at what the woman must be thinking. It was hard to ignore the curious looks from Lauren, but Madison took her lead from Terry and paid her little attention.

The apartment was perfect. She couldn't ask for a better fit, and when he pressed her again for an answer, she agreed to the arrangement. If she had money, she would have given it to him in a heartbeat, but she had nothing and was hardly in a position to turn down such a generous offer.

After Lauren had given Terry an update concerning the plumber he had hired to fix some leaky pipes, Terry took Madison back to Three Mile Bay. He said he didn't want to leave her by herself just yet, and she accepted the comment without protest. She didn't feel prepared to be alone again, but knew the time would come for her to live by herself in that perfect apartment next to Terry's.

Even though she knew he hardly lived there, it comforted her to know his place sat right next to hers.

Her place. Her very own place. Her apartment had elbow room, and room for little else, but Madison liked it that way. No one could live there but her, and no one could be expected to live there but a single person. That that person would be her, shot tiny thrills of excitement into her anticipation for the future. She kept silently repeating, "Thank You, Jesus."

Once again, God was making her to hope. So much depended on the character of who God was, His constancy and faithfulness to those who had no strength of their own, that she felt compelled to simply have faith. The only other alternative was to curl up and die.

And there was Terry, always Terry. His steadfast friendship continued to stun her. How long his willingness to help would last, she had no way of knowing.

She only knew God had thrown her a lifeline, and his name was Terry Davis.

"Blessed be God, which hath not turned away my prayer, nor His mercy from me."
~ Psalm 66:20 ~ 

Chapter Eleven
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

"Teach me thy way, O LORD, and lead me in a plain path..."
~ Psalm 27:11 ~ re you sure you can handle lunch without me?" Izumi came through the kitchen doorway as she slid a purse strap over her shoulder. "I could push my appointment back if you need me here."

"Nope, I've got everything under control." Terry folded his arms, leaned against the counter in his usual easygoing manner. "You already fixed lunch. All I have to do is put it on the table."

"Thanks, Terry. When the Doyles arrived this morning, I thought I'd have to change my plans."

"By all means, keep your lunch date," Terry said as Madison took a seat at the table. "We can handle a hungry crew, can't we, Maddie?"

When his question met with only timid agreement, Izumi made no comment. It didn't seem humanly possible for Terry to ever find someone more damaged than Victor, yet he had done just that. This damaged soul with the quiet beauty of a folded rose, had sharp thorns that could easily draw blood. Madison wouldn't inflict pain on purpose, but the pain would come, just as surely as Terry's nightmares were becoming more violent.

"Stop worrying about lunch, Izzy. Go have a good time and don't give it a second thought. We've got you covered."

A good time wasn't what Izumi had in mind, but she thanked them both and left without having to say who she was meeting for lunch. It was too soon to say anything. In the unlikely event the dinner invitation was turned down, Izumi would rather Terry not know.

* * * *

The Bayfront Restaurant at Three Mile Bay Marina jostled with activity. An overworked waitress hefted a tray above Izumi's head as Izumi maneuvered to find her friend.

"Over here." Emily McCall waved, gave a pleasant smile as Izumi edged between two crowded tables to reach her. "It's a madhouse, isn't it? Serves me right for suggesting we come during the noon rush."

"I'm just grateful you came, Emily." Izumi returned the smile, took a good look at her friend. Emily's blue-brown eyes were framed by straight brown hair cut just above her shoulders, and parted down the middle for a smart look that held a hint of playful spunkiness that reflected its thirty-four-year-old owner.

Intelligent and thoroughly approachable, Emily had that admirable balance of brains and good looks that didn't get in the way of common sense. She didn't take herself seriously, though there was a professional confidence in the way she carried herself that announced she wasn't a pushover for flattery. Competent and sweet. That described Emily to a T.

Added to all this, was Emily's strong sense of loyalty. She had taken a short vacation from her job as a store manager in New York City, to come to Three Mile Bay and care for her ailing mother. When her mom passed away, her father became ill and needed constant care. As an only child, this responsibility fell solely to her. She gave up her job, and six years later, Emily was still in Three Mile Bay, caring for her dad's frail health. They had a comfortable house not far from the Johanneses, and lived on her father's social security and her earnings as a home-based call center operator-- a job suggested to her by John. She handled everything from customer complaints, to billing, order processing, and technical support for a nationwide internet service provider. She had her own home office, and waited for calls as they were routed to the various operators in the call center network. The job took advantage of her college education and solid work ethic, though it couldn't compare to her earnings or prestige as a store manager. But no one could call Emily a quitter.

Their church helped out whenever they could with house repairs, and volunteers took turns watching her father whenever Emily needed to leave and a nurse or aide wasn't available.

Taken as a whole, Izumi knew it wasn't easy for her to get away on such short notice.

Emily's blue-brown eyes flashed with curiosity. "When you called yesterday, Dad told me something was up. As far as I know, nothing's wrong with the girls, AJ is still likely to come back, and your marriage is rock-solid. So what's up?"

"Well, you're right-- this isn't about John or the kids."

Emily smiled. "Which leaves Terry."

"Yes, Terry." Izumi paused as the waitress placed glasses of water on the table, then took their orders. When the waitress left, Izumi noticed the pained smile on Emily's face.

"This has something to do with the woman Terry's helping, doesn't it?"

"You could say that." Izumi paused. "How much have you heard?"

"Not much, save for what's floating around town. Her name's Madison, she's homeless, likely has an unpleasant past, and pretty much hides behind Terry. Oh, yes, and she's very beautiful."

"My, my." Izumi sighed deeply. "I hadn't realized how much had already gotten around."

"Izumi, it's a small town."

"So I've noticed." Izumi waited as the waitress set their plates before them. When they were alone, Izumi leaned forward. "What else have you heard?"

"Aside from ridiculous gossip, that's it."

"What gossip?"

"That he's having an affair with that woman. I don't believe it for a moment, and neither does anyone else who really knows Terry. But you are concerned about him-- I can see it in your face. What's wrong? Is he having another breakdown?"

"Not yet, but I believe he's close to one. Oh, Emily, it's like watching a train wreck in slow motion."

"What can I do to help? Maybe we could organize another prayer group in Terry's behalf, like the one we had when Victor was around."

"That's definitely an idea, but not the reason I asked you to meet me. I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner at our house tomorrow evening."

"Oh." Emily shrugged. "Sure. I guess."

"The thing is," Izumi sucked in a deep breath, "it wouldn't be just dinner with John and me. It would also be with Terry."

"Uh-huh. With Terry." Emily narrowed her eyes. "What exactly are you trying to ask?"

"What I'm asking is this: Are you interested enough in Terry, to find someone to watch your father so you can come to our house for dinner? No commitments, no obligations other than to show up and see how you and Terry like the idea of getting a little friendlier."

Emily raised her brows. "You mean, as in a date?"

"You could call it that, though it's really just dinner at our house. It's not too far-fetched, is it? You already know Terry, and he knows you. So why not come and see what happens?"

"Did Terry ask you to ask me?"

Izumi hesitated before answering. "He doesn't know I'm asking you, but he knows I'm playing matchmaker, and I have his blessing. He's looking for a wife, Emily. The first person I thought of was you."

"Then I'll come." It breathed through Emily's lips like someone accepting a dare. "Like you said, we'll just see what happens. I've always admired and respected Terry, although for some reason, I've always thought he was uninterested in settling down like John. But Terry's a good person."

"Yes, he is."

"Of course," Emily added, her head tilting to one side, "the fact he's also painfully handsome doesn't hurt, either."

Quiet hope threaded into Izumi's thoughts. She had picked the right woman.

"What time do you want me?"

"I was thinking tomorrow, around six thirty."

A frown worried Emily's bottom lip. "I know it's asking a lot--"

"Go ahead and ask."

"Tomorrow is Saturday, and it's nearly impossible to find anyone to watch Dad on a Saturday night. Would it be too much to ask the dinner be moved up a day? Or perhaps forward to Sunday evening?"

Izumi thought it over. "Tonight would work. I need to run to the store after I leave you, but I can have everything ready by six thirty."

"Thanks, Izumi. Are you sure... do you think Terry will mind my coming? He knows the purpose of the dinner?"

"Yes, he'll know. And if I thought he'd mind your coming, I wouldn't have asked you."

She nodded, her face pensive and hopeful. "How should I dress?"

"Dress like you always do. For pity's sake, this is only lasagna at our place, not oysters at a five star restaurant. Come as you are."

"Oh no, I at least need to put on makeup. He already knows what I look like without it, but this will be different." Emily fumbled for her purse, added to the tip Izumi had already left on the table for the waiter.

This woman was not clumsy, and seeing vibrating nerves under the surface of a normally calm exterior, made Izumi realize Emily was taking the dinner seriously.

One of the most eligible bachelors in their congregation was looking for a wife. Izumi couldn't help comparing it to a fairytale Prince Charming searching for a Princess to fit the glass slipper. No man was half so handsome or charming as her own John, but Izumi considered Terry a very sweet person with a huge heart ready to be given to some fortunate woman.

She could only hope that woman would be Emily.

* * * *

It was supposed to be simple. After all, how hard could it be to get the right size? They came in small, medium, and large. Terry peered around the laptop, tried to guess which one fit Madison. Small was out, or did tall and slender count? How about petite? No, that was Izzy. Definitely not Madison.

"Ladies, I hate to interrupt your important transactions"-- Terry paused while the girls traded stickers on the living room carpet, noted the front of Madison's notebook now sported Cinderella twirling in a fancy gown-- "I could really use Maddie's input right now." He turned the laptop, pointed to the screen. "What do you think?"

Ruthie wrinkled her nose. "It's not pink."

"Is your name Maddie? Like I was saying," Terry slanted the laptop to get another look at the product image, "it has twelve reviews, and a five star rating. There's three thousand search results, and they're all starting to look the same. You'd better speak up if you don't like it."

"Can't I keep wearing yours, Terry?"

He sighed. After all the work he'd done to find the right one, she was content with worn hand-me-downs. "Do you want to go around the rest of your life wearing my old coat?"

"I don't mind."

"Well, you should." Terry turned the laptop back, tracked the cursor to the sizing information. "When you start going to job interviews, you need to look like you know what you're doing."

The wording had Ruthie snickering.

"I meant, you need to look more professional. More on purpose." He saw Madison peel off another sticker and examine her notebook for just the right place to put Cinderella's castle. "About the coat? Do you like it?"

Madison shrugged. "Whatever you pick will be fine with me."

"Okay, then we'll go with this one. I just have to figure out the size chart. Hey, John?"

The man in the recliner looked up from his laptop.

"Is my tape measure still in the rollaway tool cabinet in the garage?"

"It should be. Why?"

Terry shook his head. "They want bust, waist, and hip measurements."

"Who does?"

"This website. Makes me feel like I'm trying to buy carpet, or something." Terry tapped his fingers on the laptop. "What size do you think Maddie is?"

"How should I know?"

"Okay, then what size is Izzy?"

John's expression blanked, like a page with no writing. "I haven't a clue. She always buys her own clothes."

"I'm getting that tape measure." Terry set aside the laptop, got up from the couch to go open the rollaway tool cabinet in the garage. Men were easier to shop for. You wanted a coat, you Googled it, found something that looked about right, then bought it in large. Hard to go wrong with that logic.

Minutes later, he returned to the living room with his trusty twenty-five-footer. "Okay, Maddie, stand up."

Madison eyed the tape measure as he fed out some tape, then let it snap back.

"It's not going to hurt. I just need a few numbers, then you can go back to whatever it is you're doing." He glimpsed more stickers decorating the inside pages of Madison's notebook, and tossed Ruthie a question. "I thought you girls took all the princess stickers."

"We did, but we gave her some of ours, and she's been trading some of them for kitty cats and puppy dogs."

"Oh. Okay. As long as you four are happy-- come on, Maddie, don't look at me like that. It's just a tape measure."

"Do I have to, Terry?"

"Yes, you have to. Now get up and let's get this over with."

"Can I have a coat, too, Uncle Terry?"

"You already have one."

"Not one I had to get measured for."

"That's because your mommy knows what she's doing. Come on, Maddie."

With all the reluctance of someone about to swallow a live goldfish, Madison put aside the notebook, then struggled to her feet. Pain flickered in her eyes as she straightened, but she kept any groans to herself. If Terry hadn't been watching her face, he would have missed it.

"Have you taken any painkiller today?"

She nodded.

"What time?" he pressed.

"I don't know."

"Maddie, you need to keep track of these things. You have to be careful not to overdose, but you don't want to be in pain if you can help it, right?"

Her eyes tracked the tape measure, almost as though it might scroll out and bite her.

"Okay, arms out. Let's get this over with." Terry fed out some tape while John raised an objection.

"Careful not to pinch that tape measure, or it'll be ruined."

"Please, Terry," Madison backed away, "I'll just wear your old coat. I don't mind, really I don't."

Terry snapped his fingers. "Twine. There's some in the kitchen. Measure out a length, then use that instead of this tape. All I need is an approximate."

"Is she going to have a pink coat, Uncle Terry?" Ruthie got to her feet while Debbie and Lizzie played with dolls beside John's recliner. "If she gets one, can I have one, too?"

"Yeah, twine will work," John nodded.

The sound of a car door slamming shot Lizzie to her feet. She ran to the window. "Mommy! Mommy's home!"

While Terry went to the kitchen to find some twine, he heard the front door open, then the excited chatter of triplets as they scrambled to tell her what they'd been doing in the two hours she'd been gone.

"Are the Doyles still here?" he heard Izumi ask.

John answered, "No, they left after lunch. The flower bed has been duly planted, and by all rights, we should have tulips coming out of our ears next Spring. Hey, what're the shopping bags for?"

Plastic crinkled as John and Izumi came into the kitchen with groceries.

"Mommy, did you get me a surprise?" One little girl after another asked, until all three looked expectant.

John gave Izumi a laughing look. "How about me? Do I get a surprise?"

"Girls, settle down. You too, John." Izumi reached into the first bag and began taking things out. "I have a lot of cooking to get done before tonight, and no, I'm afraid there aren't any surprises. Although I do have one for Terry."

At the sound of his name, Terry paused his search of the junk drawer. Still no twine.

A cryptic smile sat on Izumi's mouth. "Guess who's coming to dinner?"

With those five words, Izumi had captured his full attention. They'd talked about it, he'd prayed about it, and someone was actually coming. Izumi had talked to an actual woman, and that woman was coming to dinner because of him.

It had definite shock value, a tangibility that mere talk did not.

He cleared his throat, tried hard to feign some sort of calm. "I give up. Who?"

The measured smile on Izumi's face had him wondering like mad. It was hard to imagine a woman being interested in him.

"I invited Emily McCall."

"Really?" Terry swallowed hard. She was too pretty to be even remotely possible. "And she said yes?"

"To come to dinner-- yes, she did. If you want to ask her anything else, you're on your own."

"So you talked to Emily. The one we see in church every Sunday."

"That's the one."

Blood pounded in his ears and Terry felt dizzy, like he'd just been told he won a million dollars, or that his jeep had just been totaled. It was too early yet to say which. "Izzy, when you talked to her-- did she say anything. To you. About me?"

"Half-sentences." John raised his brows. "He's interested, Izumi. I guess you picked a good one."

"Did she?" Terry couldn't help but ask. "What was her reaction when you asked her to come?"

"She seemed open to the idea," Izumi said as Madison peered through the kitchen doorway. "I don't know what to tell you, Terry, except that she's taking the invitation seriously. In hindsight, I wish I'd asked your permission first."

"Why? Did she laugh?"

"Of course not, Emily would never do that." Izumi waded between two girls to put deli cheese into the fridge. "It's just that Emily is taking this seriously. She doesn't consider this a joke, and believed me when I said I had your blessing to play matchmaker."

"Well, you do." Terry fought to keep his thoughts in hand. A woman-- a pretty woman who he'd never dreamed in a million years would ever think of him in that way, was actually coming because of him. It was terrifying.

"You like Emily, don't you?" Izumi placed lettuce into the fridge. "Of all the single women we know at church, she's the sweetest."

"Sure, what's not to like?" Terry desperately tried not to notice John's grin. "So she's coming to dinner."

Izumi moved around John, grabbed a produce bag of multi colored bell peppers. "I'd appreciate some help getting the house ready. She's coming tonight."

"Tonight?" Terry saw the bright lights of an oncoming train, and he was smack in the middle of the tracks.

"I realize it's short notice, but it's hard to find someone to watch her father on a Saturday night."

"Yeah, okay." The train was so close, he could feel the shrieking whistle blasting in his face. Was this what it felt like to date, or was this just how he felt? Terry had absolutely no idea, but he came to a rapid conclusion.

Dating was brutal, and he'd only just started.

* * * *

The talk had attracted her to the kitchen doorway, though she tried hard not to intrude. Izzy had said she was playing matchmaker for Terry, and Terry didn't seem to mind even though the color had drained from his face. Madison had never been on a date in her life, but she wasn't stupid. She understood what was being discussed.

Though the conversation had been light, and at times amusing, Madison's thoughts turned several shades darker. And it sickened her.

Terry wanted a wife, someone to do over, someone to handle however he wanted. A wife was even worse than having to endure it without marriage, for once you got married, you were saying you would go on doing it for the rest of your life. The thought nauseated Madison, and a spark of anger kindled against Terry. He was no different than the Dragon, only Terry wanted to trap a woman with her own words. The Dragon was smarter than that-- he took what he wanted, when he wanted, because he could and no one could stop him. Especially not Madison. Terry was stupid to think any woman in her right mind would actually consent. At least the Dragon had spared her the torment of having a choice.

This woman was coming for dinner?

Madison wanted to laugh and vomit at the same time. Any woman who gave her word to a man, had it coming. She wouldn't feel sorry for her. To exchange your dignity for a roof over your head was the absolute lowest anyone could go. It shamed Madison to be a woman. What a bunch of hypocritical idiots.

The wash of anger and resentment stirred her to her very core. Terry-- her Terry-- was acting like a man. The realization crushed her, and she went back to her notebook.

Hot stung her eyes, but she ignored it, and resumed her hunt for the best place to put the castle. They were still talking. And Terry had forgotten about her coat. She hadn't wanted it, but he'd forgotten and it stung more than she cared to admit.

All because of that woman.

She hadn't given any thought to why Terry had never married, other than that he was different. He was a man, but had risen above what other men do.

Her anger focused on the woman. The intruder was turning Terry into a man, and it both frightened and angered her.

Who did that woman think she was, to do something so cruel to Terry? Of course, Terry didn't seem to be fighting it. Why should he? Once he got married, he was going to have fun. All the fun he ever wanted.

A pang of sympathy went toward the woman, then reversed when Madison remembered the woman had a choice.

They all had choices, and they were all acting stupidly.

Exhausted, Madison rolled onto her side, tucked her knees against her chest and shut her eyes. The world was becoming more than she could handle. Things jumbled around inside her, until she felt so confused she couldn't have given her own name.

Her tummy hurt.

Make it go away, God. Please make it go away.

Footsteps sounded nearby, but she didn't have the heart to open her eyes.

"Uncle Terry! You better come."

"What is it, Deb--" the voice cut short. She heard quick footfalls, then the touch of a hand on her shoulder.

She jerked it away.

"Are you having a flashback? Come on, Maddie, answer me."

"No, I'm fine. Go away."

A sigh of relief said what he did not. "Is it your hip? Do you want me to get you something for the pain?"

She shook her head, "no."

"Okay, not that either. That doesn't leave much else, Maddie."

"Please go away."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. Just leave me alone."

He breathed a heavy sigh. She heard him move back, then heard nothing but silence. Fine. Let him go. She didn't care. Something wet stung her eyes. She blinked it away, then saw Terry sitting on the couch near her feet.

He gave a lopsided grin. "I'm leaving you alone, just as you so politely requested."

An edge of guilt glided across her heart, but didn't draw blood. She stared at him, trying to figure out if he were more human than man.

"A person could freeze to death with that icy glare, Maddie. Be careful how you use it."

"I'm sorry, Terry."

His smile softened. "Okay, that's a start. Care to tell me what this is about? Debbie, Lizzie, Ruthie-- why don't you play somewhere else? I'd like to talk to Maddie." He waited for the sticker books and dolls to be picked up, watched as they moved their play into the hall. "Thanks, girls.

"Okay, Maddie. I saw you listening in at the kitchen door. Don't look so guilty, all right? I don't mind. In a small way, this is even your business, because I can't have Emily over for dinner if you're still here. You understand, don't you?"

Though she really didn't, she nodded "yes." If Terry wanted her to leave, Madison figured she owed him that much, if not a lot more.

"After seeing Lauren's reaction to us this morning, it should come as no surprise that there's talk in town that you and I are having an affair. Emily told Izzy she doesn't believe it, so Emily's giving me the benefit of the doubt; she's treating me like the true friend she's always been." At this, Terry smiled fondly. He shook his head as though he couldn't believe his good fortune. "I have to take you home before she arrives. I hope you understand."

"I do, Terry."

"You do, huh? Then why do I feel like I've kicked you in the teeth?" He rubbed his neck, gave her a long look that showed he didn't understand. "Something you heard a few minutes ago, made you as angry as I've ever seen you. Won't you tell me what it was?"

Even though she wanted to, Madison bit her lip and looked away. How could she talk, when she didn't understand it, herself?

His foot nudged her side. She looked up and he smiled.

"Are we good?" He waited for her response, and she sighed.

"Yes."

"Okay then. If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me. I need to start getting the house cleaned up, so I have to cut this short. Are you sure your hip isn't hurting? It is, isn't it. Wait right there, and I'll get some painkiller."

The hard wash of anger had subsided, and Madison felt more clearheaded. It would have been easier to harbor a grudge if he wasn't so disarmingly kind.

Even though he acted like a man where that Emily was concerned, Madison was grateful he still treated her the same as before. It proved that underneath that male exterior, he was an actual person. Not an animal like the others.

She pushed herself up, tried to straighten her legs as Terry came back with a glass of water and two pills.

"I'm going to give you my cell phone, tonight. Here, take the glass. If you start feeling shaky, call me. I don't want to come for you tomorrow morning, and find you huddled under a blanket on the hard floor, lost in hurtful memories and weak with pain and hunger. I don't think I could take it again, and I'm not sure you could, either. I wish you could watch TV. There's not a lot at the apartment to do by yourself."

"It's okay, Terry. I'll be fine."

"Yeah. Easier for you to say, than for me to believe. Swallow down the pills. The house is a mess, and I have to get started."

She gulped down the water, gave him back the glass. John was already getting out the vacuum cleaner, and food preparation noises came from the kitchen. She hurried to gather her sticker sheets and stuff them into the notebook before the vacuum cleaner carried them away.

Madison scrambled onto the couch, lifted her feet as John vacuumed her side of the room. The vacuum moved to the hall, and she heard laughter as the girls moved yet again to their room.

Terry set aside piles of magazines, a stack of books, pulled off a thick cover, then tugged out the table that had been hidden in the corner of the room like a silent witness to the life going on around it. Matching chairs appeared from under more stacks of books, and were placed at the table with ridiculous dignity for something that had just been used as a bookcase and an ad hoc storage space.

A layer of lemony wood polish was applied, and while Terry rubbed the table to a shining gleam, Madison picked up the feather duster John had left on the couch and started hunting dust. She had no idea why she was helping Terry get ready, only that she felt guilty not trying.

That Emily lady had to be old enough to know what she was getting into, so Madison figured justice would work itself out and the woman would get what she deserved. Terry was a good person, even if he was a man, and wouldn't hurt the woman on purpose. Of course, it would work out that way, but that wasn't Madison's problem. It was that woman's.

She was almost glad she wouldn't be here to watch. It calmed her to know Terry wouldn't get hurt, and that was what mattered.

As for Emily-- she was on her own. God help her, for Madison would not, even if she had been able to stay for dinner.

* * * *

It didn't feel good to leave Madison in that large apartment by herself. It made him uneasy that she'd most likely sit in silence, go to bed early for lack of anything to do. He'd given her his cell phone, made her solemnly promise to eat dinner when it was time, then forced himself to leave before he changed his mind.

She was a grown woman, not a child. He had to remember that, even though she was unable to completely look after herself. Like Izumi had said, Madison needed to learn. The trouble was, Terry didn't know if he could survive the lessons. That icy stare, the wild flare of anger that made him sense underlying rage-- it unnerved him, made him remember the jaded side that kept resurfacing in her personality from time to time.

That rage. Where did it come from?

He could only conclude, from a lifetime of being cruelly used. Beat a dog often enough, hard enough, even the most trusting will turn vicious. Even a puppy.

The morbid turn of thoughts had him feeling depressed. This was no way to head into an important evening.

It still seemed unreal to think Emily McCall was coming. Wow. Things were definitely falling into place, or at least looking hopeful. He'd known Emily ever since she came to care for her mom, then her dad, and had always been impressed by her selflessness. Though he didn't want to place over-importance in outward beauty, Emily had that, and some to spare. She had dated at least two different men from their church, but nothing ever came of it.

Almost as if God were saving her for some guy named Terry.

Interesting thought. Maybe things would be as easy for him, as they had been for John. Only God knew.

* * * *

The house smelled like mouse paradise, a cheesy wonderland of Italian sausage and ricotta smothered over wide noodles, and thickly topped with mozzarella. It was enough to make any self-respecting rodent dare the mousetrap for a taste, then die with a whiskered grin.

Before company arrived, the triplets ate their share of the meal, then ran off to play computer games in their room until dessert. A part of Terry wished he could go with them, and not brave the dating gauntlet before him. If only he could get it over with a few easy steps-- buy the ring, find a dress, exchange I-do's-- and get it over with. He'd be married, and then he could relax. The hard part would be over.

Okay, maybe he was being a tad over-simplistic, but Terry dearly wished Emily would get down on one knee before starting in on the lasagna, and propose. He could either say "yes" or "no," and that would be that.

"Terry, would you sit down?" Izumi skirted past him on her way to the table, placed a salad bowl next to the ranch dressing. "You're making me nervous."

"That's because he is." John sank onto the couch, reached for a laptop that wasn't there and frowned. "Glad I never had to go through this kind of torture. Terry and I had already started our business and were fresh from college when I met Izumi. We took a look at each other, and decided to get married. Piece of cake."

"Yeah, easy for you to say." Terry went to the recliner and sat down before he got in Izzy's way. "You had it easy. God put everything on a bright shiny platter and served it up with a large bow. All you had to do was have the good sense to accept it."

"True, very true." John moved his feet so Izumi could get past with a crystal bowl centerpiece with floating candles. "Whoa, pulling out all the stops. Are we going to actually light them, or are they just for show?"

Terry sank back in the recliner. "I was fresh from college, too, and it didn't happen for me."

"That's because God's timing is always perfect," Izumi said as she stepped back over her husband's feet. "John, watch what you say to Terry."

"Huh? Why?"

With an exasperated sigh, Izumi went into the kitchen.

A moment later, a car door announced their company had arrived.

"She's here," John called as he went to open the door.

No reason to be nervous, Terry told himself as he stood. I see her every week. This isn't a stranger. It's only Emily. When she stepped into the room, he wiped his hands on his dark brown slacks, and hoped they didn't feel clammy.

"Oh," Emily beamed at the dining table, "this is special. I didn't know I rated this. Am I glad I didn't show up empty-handed." She gave John a bottle of sparkling apple cider. "This is for the hardworking hostess. I hope she didn't go to too much trouble."

John returned Emily's hug. "Nothing's too much trouble for an old friend. Make yourself comfortable on the couch. I'll go give this to Izumi." As he left the room, John tossed a wink to Terry.

No, his best friend didn't have a good appreciation of the stresses of dating. Big surprise.

"Hi, Terry." Emily gave a lovely smile and Terry had difficulty giving her a hug like they usually exchanged. "I don't hear the girls? Are they at a friend's house?"

"No, they're playing Hoppin' Froggies in their room. They've gotten to level seven, while I'm still on four. Can't seem to get past the bog monster-- I get eaten every time." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, and wondered if what he'd just said sounded dumb or not. It probably did.

"So," Emily smiled and Terry kept track of his pulse to see if it quickened, for he'd heard love was supposed to affect your heart rate, "I hear you have a new pet project."

"New what? Oh, you mean Madison." He nodded, sat down in the recliner while Emily took a seat on the couch. "Izzy told me what they're saying in town. They've got it all wrong, of course, and I was grateful to hear you didn't believe it."

Emily dismissed his thanks. "I don't think many do-- not really. It's just some juicy gossip to chew on until something else comes along. I wouldn't pay too much attention. Give it time, and it'll pass. Most things do."

Laughter bubbled from the girls' room, and they paused to listen.

"Such sweet girls," Emily said as the noise died away. "Do you know how much longer Madison will be in Three Mile Bay?"

Terry shrugged. "Indefinitely, I suppose. She doesn't have any family, no friends except us. I'm giving her one of the smaller units at the complex so she'll have a place of her own. It's unfurnished, but we'll do some shopping and set her up properly."

"That's very nice of you. I don't know many who'd go to so much trouble. But then, you always were a soft touch when it came to those in need."

The compliment lost some of its shine when she didn't smile and instead looked toward the kitchen. She looked ready to start the meal, and Terry wished John would send Izzy out with the mouse bait... with the nicely cooked homemade lasagna.

Things picked up after they sat down to dinner, and the candles flickered their floating flames about the room, and the sound of conversation kept Terry busy. More than once, he was able to make Emily laugh, and the feeling predominated that things were truly falling into place. Then he saw Emily's coat on the couch, reached into his pocket for the cell phone to make a reminding note. And came up empty.

"Would you excuse me a moment?" Terry slid back from the table, tossed another one-liner at Emily that had her eyes watering with laughter, then pushed into the kitchen.

He checked the small rooster clock perched above the fridge. She should have eaten by now, and might have already gone to sleep. He decided to risk it, and call anyway, guessing she was still awake.

"Come on, Maddie, answer. I told you to look at the screen, and when you see this number-- Hello, Maddie? Did I wake you?"

"No," sounded dully in his ear. "I can't sleep."

The heavy feeling returned to his heart, that personal rain cloud that had followed him since meeting Madison. It rumbled and threatened lightning, and Terry had to work hard not to worry. God was in control. He had to believe that.

"Did you eat?" he asked, squeezing his eyes shut and shooting a silent prayer to Heaven. "I told you to nuke one of the frozen dinners, remember?"

Izumi came into the kitchen, gave Terry a curious look to see him on the phone. "Who is it?" Izumi whispered.

"Yes, I ate." The words sounded flat and hollow, and terribly lonely.

"Good, that's good. That's real progress. If you get bored"-- Terry berated himself silently-- "when you get bored, try listening to the sound system in the cabinet beside the television. But keep the volume down. The other tenants will probably mind the noise."

Izumi cast her eyes skyward. She kept her voice hushed, so neither the woman on the phone, nor the woman in the living room, could hear. "Emily is waiting for you, Terry. She didn't come here to talk to us."

"How's your dinner?" Madison asked.

"It's going great. Hey, I have to get back. I just wanted to check up on you, make sure everything's okay. I'll see you tomorrow morning, all right? Good night, Maddie." He hung up the phone, tried to appease Izumi by hustling back to the living room and offering a lame excuse. Izumi came back with the cider bottle, topped off everyone's glass with yellow-white fizz.

He needed to get that coat. The winter would only get harsher, and the thought of Maddie braving it with only his old town coat, bothered him. He still hadn't found that twine.

"Terry?"

He looked up and realized everyone was waiting for him to respond. To what, he had no idea, only that the pained look on Izzy's face meant he had probably missed something important.

"I'm sorry, my thoughts were elsewhere. What was the question?"

John gave a good-humored laugh. "You were invited on a tour of Ellis Island."

"Oh. Who made the invitation?"

"Who do you think?" John flashed Emily a long-suffering smile. "You'll have to forgive him. He's been preoccupied lately, getting Abby and Jake's house ready, and..."

"And of course his pet project," Emily added with a flourish of her crystal glass. "It's okay. I guess it comes with the territory."

There was a ring of resignation in her voice, and it oddly gave Terry fresh hope. He coaxed her into explaining the invitation.

"My Aunt gave dad and me New York Passes to go see Ellis Island, so we'd stay at her house for a day or two and visit. Aunt Martha is housebound, so she can't visit Dad, and Dad's health won't allow for travel without more help than I can provide alone. There's no way Dad can use his pass, so that leaves me with two passes to New York, and a promise from Aunt Martha to let me invade her hospitality and use her guest rooms whenever I want. I'm hoping you'll help me get Dad to his sister's house in Jersey City, Dad and I will take one of the guest rooms, and you'll take the other. Then while Aunt Martha and Dad visit, we can see the sights. What do you think?"

"Jersey City? What is that-- a two hundred, three hundred mile drive?"

His practicality tossed cold water on Emily's enthusiasm, but she forged on. "It's almost a six hour drive from here, and with Dad, it'll take even longer. We can count on a full day to get there, stay the night, spend a day or two visiting, then start back early in the morning."

"Sounds like you have it all worked out."

"Not exactly. I was going to ask someone from church to volunteer, for Dad hasn't seen his sister in years. But then Izumi invited me to dinner, and it seemed like Providence."

"Hard to argue with that," Terry smiled. "Looks like you have your volunteer. When were you planning all this?"

"There's no fixed date, only whenever would work best for you." Emily's smile beamed like afternoon sunshine. He could tell she considered this a great favor, not only to her dad, but also to herself.

Since Terry figured he needed all the breaks he could get, he didn't give the request more than a moment's thought. If doing a good deed also meant getting more favor with Emily, then so be it. Aunt Martha and Stanley McCall, Emily's dad, would be there to chaperone the entire time they were in the house. Everything was very proper and seemly, and besides the time away from home, Terry could almost look forward to it as a vacation.

Except with a frail old man, and someone's housebound aunt in Jersey City.

Dessert was served, finally tearing the girls from Hoppin' Froggies long enough for fancy ice cream and even fancier cookies. Izumi had really outdone herself. At least the evening wasn't turning into the train wreck he'd been dreading. Overall, things were going fairly well.

Terry promised Emily to get back to her about the timing of the trip, and she left after giving him another hug. This time, it seemed tighter, more grateful maybe. He didn't know. Women often spoke in a language all their own, and it was up to the guys to either figure it out as they went, or drown trying. Maybe this is what dating felt like. And then again, maybe this was what it felt like to be desperate.

As Emily drove away, Izumi gave Terry a hug herself, more out of relief than anything else.

"Does this mean it's official?" Terry asked. "Do I have a girlfriend, or is this still a matter of more wait and see?"

"Hey Buddy"-- John slapped him on the shoulder-- "I wouldn't rush things. You snuck out in the middle of dinner to call another woman, and Emily still wants to see you. That is what you were doing, right? Thought so. Even Emily caught on. Oh well, just take things as they come, and see what God has planned."

"But does this mean I have a girlfriend?"

John shrugged, looked to Izumi for an answer.

"I think that's probably a 'yes,'" Izumi said, "but I'd wait before you announce it to the world. You're just going to have to take things one step at a time."

Terry sucked in a patient breath, held it, then remembered he had something important to do.

Madison needed a coat.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven... Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy."
~ Matthew 5:3, 7 ~