"No." Timmie was sure she said it too quickly. Only Ellen looked her way.
"How about if Meghan comes to my house," Ellen offered. "My kids would be tickled. Besides, you don't want her here when you're this upset with her daddy. She wouldn't understand."
"I'll stay with her," Cindy offered. "I'm even beginning to like that miniature handbag she feeds."
"We'll work it out together," Mattie decided, eyes unwaveringly on Timmie. "Why don't you two go down and see if she'd like McDonald's?"
"We should stay," Cindy protested.
Timmie almost managed a smile. "Thanks anyway. Really. I just want time off."
The two of them eventually went, which left Mattie, who was neither as polite as Walter nor as passive as Ellen. "You gonna tell me the truth?"
Timmie could barely stand to look at her. "Not today."
Mattie just stood there, a seething energy behind sharp brown eyes. "You know, this may be a real unpleasant shock to you, girlfriend, but we do give a shit about you."
After everything, that was the thing that brought Timmie closest to tears. Only one other person in her life had offered unconditional support, and she'd just been contemplating killing him.
"Thank you, Mattie," she said anyway. "I know. And it'll be okay, I promise."
Another lie. This one easier to pass, because it was the one she most wanted to believe.
At least it soothed Mattie a little. With only a few more protests, she guided the flock to the door and left Meghan a moment with her mom.
Timmie sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Megs into her arms, reptile cage and all. "I'm sorry this has been so crazy for you, baby Do you know I love you?"
"Yes." Not as certain-sounding as Timmie would have wanted.
So Timmie hugged tighter. "I'm not going anywhere, Megs. Neither are you. But there's just a lot going on that you shouldn't have to worry about, so Mattie and Ellen are helping me make it easier on you. And the sooner I get this all resolved, the sooner we can really settle down and be country mouses."
Meghan looked up at Timmie, suddenly very hesitant. "You mean it?"
Timmie gave a brief thought to Traumawoman and then waved good-bye. "Yes, Meghan. I mean it. We're staying right here where you can see shooting stars and feed apples to Patty's horse. And when things settle down, maybe you and I can really be country mouses. Go camping or fishing or something. All by ourselves."
Meghan wrinkled her nose. "I hate fish. Besides, we can't go anyplace. There's Grandda."
Timmie was very proud of the fact that she didn't give herself away. "I know all about Grandda, honey. Don't forget, I met him a long time before you did."
"Okay, Mom. I'll see you tomorrow."
Timmie held her close. "Tomorrow, baby. Then everything will be fine."
That was, if she could get through tonight.
Chapter 21
"You haven't been to see your father today."
The voice was just as soft. Just as sinuous, a sibilant snake of temptation. Just the sound of it made Timmie's palms sweat.
"How do you know?" she asked, not daring to look over to where Murphy was listening in on the kitchen line.
"He didn't have a good day, I'm afraid. Not that he's sick, of course. He has the heart of a fifteen-year-old. But he's frightened, isn't he? He's frightened all the time now."
Timmie sucked in a breath. Closed her eyes and stopped the monologue cold. "No."
She was met by silence.
"Thank you for the offer," she said. "I know you only had his best wishes at heart. But I can't accept it."
She should get him to indict himself, she knew. She couldn't think that well. She couldn't even stay on the phone that long.
"Are you sure, Timmie? This is really what you want?"
No. She wasn't sure. If she'd been sure she would have spent the day ripping through this miserable excuse for a town finding out who was trying to coerce her into compliance instead of just sitting in the lotus position like a comatose yoga teacher.
"And just so you know," she said, eyes still closed so she did this all on her own. "You're not going to kill any more people in that unit, and you're definitely not killing my father. I won't let you."
"How could you say that about me? I'm just trying to help."
"Oh, I know. But I don't think anybody wants your help anymore. Good-bye."
And that, after what she'd dreaded all day, was that. No confrontations, no protestations, no huge emotional rock rolling down on her head. She felt a little calmer, kind of like the moment she'd finally filed for divorce. The decision wasn't easy, but the uncertainty was over. At least until the next time somebody made the same offer when her father was even more frightened and old.
"So that's what that was all about," Murphy said quietly from the kitchen doorway.
Timmie didn't bother to look at him. "I appreciate your coming over to witness this, just in case there was a question."
"I also got the caller number," he said. "You want to know what it is?"
"No."
At least Murphy wasn't asking for explanations or demanding that Timmie share her reactions with him. Hell, he hadn't even told her that what she'd done was the right thing to do.
Probably why she'd asked him to be here instead of her friends. The last thing she needed right now was sympathy and understanding.
Murphy didn't look in the least sympathetic. He looked avid. "555-1230. Ring any bells?"
Timmie rubbed hard at her tired eyes. "Yeah. It's a hospital extension. Not a big surprise, I guess."
Almost a relief, really. She'd sure rather it be the hospital than quite a few of the private numbers she knew in town. Murphy reached around her to pick up the old black phone. "I take it you don't know just which hospital extension?"
Timmie grabbed the phone right out of his hand. "How about I do this?" she asked with a tight little smile. "I think it's safer."
Murphy almost slipped and let a flash of compassion through that wry expression. Timmie turned away just in time to miss it.
"Go right ahead," he said, his voice brisk and businesslike. "Just remember. I can find out myself whenever I want."
"I know you can, Murphy," she said, dialing the switchboard. "I just like to know first. It's a fault of mine."
"Then I guess that means we can't live together," Murphy said easily. "We'd always be fighting for the paper in the morning."
"God, Murphy," she protested. "Don't even suggest it. I have enough on my mind right now without you insulting me."
He chuckled. Timmie wanted to thank him. She didn't. She waited for the night operator to pick up. An ancient, Marlboro-puffing, Southern lady with the basal metabolism of a land tortoise, the operator had been known to take six rings to pick up the red phone that only called in code blues.
"The voice was familiar," Murphy was saying to himself.
"This is Memorial Medical Center," the sixty-year-old voice drawled in Timmie's other ear. "How may I direct your call?"
"Ginny?" Timmie asked at three times the speed. "This is Timmie Leary from the ER, and I can't find my listings. What extension is 1230?"
"Timmie?" Ginny echoed, delighted. "How are you, honey? How's your daddy? I got over to see him t'other day. He's just so sweet."
"He's fine, Ginny," Timmie said, twitching with the delay. Ginny always did this to her, like automatic doors opening too slowly. "What's the number?"