Maria

A Short Story By

Tina Appleton Bishop

 

         For Maria Castec, the morning had begun very badly.  In a careless moment, she had snipped her bangs too short. Later, in the shopping center, a man had yelled at her, “Mind your own business!” and called her a “Mexican bimbo.”

         Maria was neither Mexican nor a bimbo, having been born in Colombia, South America, 28 years ago to a well-to-do family. She had been raised with all the privileges of a good education, private lessons in tennis, swimming, riding, and dancing.  Needless to say, she knew nothing about cooking or housekeeping, but she was very brainy and graduated from high school at 16. She was too young to go to college, but was filled with energy and ached for adventure in the United States. Finally – after two years of constant pressure – her father reluctantly caved in and agreed to help her establish herself in America, but only if her 25-year-old cousin, Isabella, would live with her.

         Life in a new country was very difficult for Maria at first.  Despite her looks and intelligence, there were few opportunities for the young Hispanic woman.  For a girl of her pampered background, who had never washed a dish or made a bed, domestic work was a joke, and baby-sitting jobs were sometimes complicated when half-drunken young fathers made passes at her on the drive home.

         Her cousin, on the other hand, spoke fluent English and was a trained accountant.  She soon found work.  She also found an American husband, and after a year with Maria, she moved out.

         Maria’s situation improved enormously after she met and married, at 18, Eduardo Castec, a burly, ambitious young Puerto Rican, nine years her senior, who had successfully established a landscaping business in the town.  He encouraged her to take English classes at the local high school, and later to attend the community college. 

         After ten years and the birth of two children, she had become an expert housewife and an extremely conscientious parent. She had earned a degree in Early Childhood Education but decided against a career until her sons were older. “I want to bring up my children myself. I do not want to leave them with strangers,” she often said. Instead she was an enthusiastic volunteer at all of their school activities. She also helped two mornings a week at a shelter for battered women.

         Ironically, despite a pleasant life, Maria was in a sense a victim of her own intelligence and competency.  With her energy and organizational abilities, she managed her household chores in jig time. There was too much time on her hands. She was bored.  There were periods of emptiness when she needed friends who metaphorically “spoke the same language.”  Unfortunately, she had little in common with the women whom she met at the Hispanic services in her church. They literally did speak the same language but she had little interest in their drab, hard working lives and made no bones about hiding it. Some regarded her as a snob, and perhaps they were right. 

         Her years in the States had not dimmed her interest in all things American.  Sometimes during the lonely periods when the children were at school she often spent hours strolling alone through the nearby shopping center. It always excited and energized her to think that she was now an American citizen, a part of the amazing mix of people that populated that most American of environments.  In her church gatherings she had felt isolated. At the center she felt comfortable. She blended in.  Her caramel- colored skin, huge dark eyes, and astonishing volume of silky, black hair drew little attention.  There were lots of other women there of all shapes and colors, though few had the money or time to spend idle hours browsing about.

         On that Friday morning she felt at lose ends as she drove into the center’s parking lot. She had no shopping in mind, merely hoped to find an inexpensive hairdresser where her botched haircut could be rescued.

         As usual, Friday was a difficult day for parking, but Maria managed to locate a vacant spot at the far end of the lot. It would mean a chilly, windy, hike to the stores, but there would be no problem with weighty packages on her return to the car. While carefully maneuvering her Chrysler minivan into the slot, she had noticed a similar car on her left.  Same make, same dark blue color.  Its motor was evidently running, and for a moment she had considered waiting until it backed out, but vetoed the idea – better grab an empty spot when you can.  It was a tight squeeze between cars however, and there was barely enough room to open the driver’s door between the two Chryslers.

         When she had finally wriggled out of her car, the other van was still running.  She had planned to smile at the driver and hold up two fingers, as if to smile and say, “We’re twins!” when, to her shock, she discovered that the driver’s seat was empty.  With her face pressed against the passenger window, she saw a ring of keys hanging from the one in the ignition, including an elaborate ornament, initialed “A.”  “A” for absent-minded?

         At first she did not notice the passenger in the back of the vehicle, a young boy, about the age of her seven-year-old son, José.  His seat belt was buckled firmly across his quilted jacket and he appeared warm enough, though his knitted cap had been thrown aside.  He was entirely engrossed in a book, peering at it through thick glasses, and never noticed Maria’s tapping on the window beside him.  Perhaps he was a bit hard of hearing, as well as near-sighted, she mused. 

         She continued the tapping until he finally looked up from his reading.  To see Maria’s face pushed against the glass startled him and he dropped the book.  She slid open the van door to speak to him.  The boy recoiled from her but was caught by his seat belt. 

         “Sorry, I did not mean to scare you.  How come you’re out here, all by yourself?”

         “I was reading Harry Potter.  I didn’t want to go with him.  He said he’d be back in a minute.”

         Some minute!  It would take him a couple of minutes just to walk to the stores, a few more minutes to be waiting in the line of customers, and another two or three minutes to get back to his child.  The Hell with Harry Potter – he should have forced the boy out of the car. 

         “I’ll keep you company until he comes back,” she said.  The driver’s door was open, so she simply sat in the driver’s seat and prepared to wait.

         The child was a bit confused.  His mother had told him “don’t talk to strangers.”  This lady was a stranger, but she seemed to be acting like a friend, especially when she had said, “Harry Potter!  My son loves him too.” He picked up his book from the floor and continued reading.  Meanwhile Maria’s mind was rehearsing how she would confront that outrageously negligent parent.  Only three days ago she had read of a six year-old-child who had sneaked into the family sedan and driven off.  What might have happened if this little boy had tired of the book, unbuckled his bonds, climbed into the driver’s seat and put the car in gear?  Since the age of the computer children had become incredibly adept at mastering all kinds of mechanisms.  Driving a car – for a short distance anyway – would be a snap for many youngsters.  This chubby-faced child seemed bright enough to pull off such a trick.

         The minutes went by.  So concentrated was she on practicing her sermon, that she did not notice the man who suddenly opened the driver door and barked at her, “What the Hell are you doing in my car? Yours is the one next to it!”

         His son spoke up, “Dad, this lady came to stay with me till you came back.”  His smile did not soften the man’s anger.

         “What in God’s name gave you the balls to do that!”

         “Sheer outrage, I guess.  For at least twenty minutes this little boy’s been alone.  The motor was running, the car was unlocked.  Anyone could have taken the car, with or without the child.  The child himself could have jumped in the driver’s seat and gone for a joy ride on Main Street.  Guess you didn’t figure it out.” She gave him a smile that could only have been called evil.

         It was then that he had shouted at her as she was about to enter her own car, “Who do you think you are?  Mind your own business, you Mexican bimbo.”

         As soon as he said it, he regretted it, but it was too late to apologize. Her minivan had already left the parking lot. He felt deeply ashamed of his lack of control, particularly in front of his son, Danny.  Like Maria, Allan Dempsey had also had a bad start on his day.  It had begun early, when he discovered a stye on his right eye.  Styes and cold sores had made his life miserable ever since childhood. He was not a vain man, and physically he was not a coward about pain, but his red, puffed up eyelid humbled him.  It also made him irritable and quick-tempered.

          What a time for this to happen. For several months he had been jobless.Now he had two interviews planned at the beginning of the following week, and wouldn’t you know – a damned stye was beginning to form on his lid. He needed some emergency treatment immediately.

         A couple of years ago, a pharmacist at the drug store in the mall had helped him choose some eye drops and special ointment. He might find the same pharmacist, he hoped.  After an unpleasant walk against the wind he finally reached the drugstore and immediately went up to the pharmacy counter.

         Unfortunately, a line of at least ten customers had formed by the time he reached his goal.  He was the only one who obviously looked in need of help.The man at the end of the line saw the eye, took pity on him and offered Allan his place, but that simply moved him to the number nine spot.  Desperately, he played his trump card.

         “I have a child waiting in my car. Please, could I go ahead of you?”

         “That’s your problem, Buster,” said one hard-faced elderly woman.

         His wretched, swollen face produced no sympathy in the crowd. The line moved at a tortoise like pace.  No one would give up space to such an unsavory looking character.

         And that is why little Danny Dempsey read three whole chapters of Harry Potter before his father’s return a half hour later. 

                                                              #

         Following her encounter with the enraged parent Maria drove straight home, completely forgetting the purpose of her trip to the mall.  Thanks to the wind and her rushed exit from the other minivan, her hair looked more disheveled than ever.  She was too upset to worry about such things.  The insult from that beat-up looking man still rankled, but it was his utter lack of concern for his child that fueled her wrath.

         She was still fuming by the time Eduardo returned home.  At critical times she was sometimes tempted to speak Spanish, but they had made a pact at the time of their marriage: English was to be the language of the house.

         Her voice was a notch above normal as she declaimed, “Can you imagine a man – a weird looking one at that – leaving a little child alone in an unlocked car with the motor running?  Believe me, I told him off!  If I’d seen a policeman I’d have had him arrested for child abuse. When the man saw me, sitting there in his car, he went wild!”

         Her husband interrupted, “Hold it – why were you sitting in that car in the first place?”

         She was flustered.  “Well, it was windy and chilly outside.  The heater was on in the car, though one window was open a crack   I felt sorry for the boy.  He was kinda cute, thick glasses and all.  We talked a little bit until he felt easy enough with me to return to his Harry Potter story. While we were waiting for the father to come back I had lots of time to practice what I was going to say to him.  Words come easily when you’re really mad.”

         Eduardo laughed.  “Yes, Honey, I’ve seen you in action.”  Years with Maria had taught him to flee the room when the volcano was about to erupt. “I can imagine what you said to him, and how you said it, but what did he say to you?”

         She blushed. “He called me a Mexican bimbo. Told me to mind my own business.” It was not the first time that Maria had been told to mind her business, but never had she been called a “bimbo.”

         Eduardo was amused.  Having his sexy wife called a “bimbo” was in a sense a compliment.  It was a kind of appreciation, but the Mexican thing was another matter.  Mexicans were not his favorite people. He never hired them in his landscaping business.

         “I agree that what the man did was wrong, and you were right to feel outraged.  But you know something, there are times when you go overboard when you want to right a wrong.  Honey, this could have turned into something nasty. Next time, when you get all stirred up, try to keep calm.”

         His smile only made her feel angrier.

         “As a Puerto Rican trying to survive in the streets of New York, I guess you learned how to keep your nose out of trouble.  You used to say that in the old days, everybody put the blame on what they called the ‘spics.’ Now they’re giving the Mexicans a hard time.  All that talk about the ‘green cards.’  Where will it end?” she asked.

         Her husband was relieved to have her change the subject.  Maria was a wonderful woman, very intelligent and kind, but it was trying at times to live with a female Don Quixote.

                                                             #

         Her righteous indignation lay dormant for some months.  Maria adored her husband and sensed his growing lack of sympathy with her “reforming attacks” as he called them.  He never actually forbade her to act on her impulses, however.  With Maria’s strong emotions and permissive upbringing the word “no” would have been counter productive.  A little laughter on his part would usually wilt her ardor.

         Several weeks of unusually unpleasant weather followed and kept her housebound.  The sleet and snow brought profits to Eduardo, however.  He and his crew of three Guatemalans had plenty of lucrative work plowing driveways and sweeping snow off rooftops, and to Maria’s delight, her children frequently missed school because of the weather.

         One evening, as they sat before the living room gas fire, her husband said, “I think you must be the only mother in town who actually looks forward to “snow days.”

         Maria’s joy in her children, José and Marco, (known to all as Joe and Mark) amazed her friends.  One who had once complained about being “too broke to send the kids to camp” always remembered Maria’s reply, “Why ever would you want to send your children away?  Don’t you like them?” (She never used the word “kids.” Kids were baby goats.)

         With the arrival of spring she returned to her morning visits to the mall, though the unpleasant encounter in the parking lot remained in her memory. Every once in a while she witnessed things that irked her: lack of sensibility to others or simple dishonesty.  The temptation to interfere was strong but she controlled herself.  At times when she saw a couple quarreling noisily or witnessed a child stealing a candy bar or a small toy in a store she walked away.

         “Look, Honey, keep out of trouble if you go to the mall.  It isn’t a perfect world, so don’t try to fix it,” Eduardo had said. 

         How right he was, she thought, as she walked along the pavement in front of the long stretch of storefronts.  It was a particularly fine day, perfect for a brisk walk. Perfect too, for picture taking. Two years earlier Eduardo had given her a small digital camera for her birthday.  Since then she had been making a photo recording of life at the shopping center.  “America at Work and Play” was the title of the proposed book, which she hoped to sell in her home country.

         As she watched and snapped shots the crowd seemed energized and was moving at a faster pace than usual – even the small children.  One toddler had other thoughts and had stopped and decided to squat down and pet a stray cat that was lying in a patch of sun. 

         A middle-aged woman was shouting as she loomed over the little girl. “Hey, Kim!  Lay off that cat – you know I’m in a hurry.”  With that she reached down, roughly grabbed the child’s little arm, and yanked her off the pavement. Half lifting the toddler off the ground, and muttering to herself, the woman strode towards the parking lot. The child’s feet barely touched the pavement as she was being dragged along.

         It had happened very quickly but Maria managed to take three quick shots of the action, though she hardly had a look at either one. She did notice that the little girl was Asian, and that the woman was not. Like so many Asian children, this one was simply beautiful. Later, when she checked the pictures and saw the fear on the toddler’s face and the grim look of the woman who was brutally handling her, she was determined to rescue that helpless child. Yes, this was meddling.  But even Eduardo might approve.  Or would he?

         On that day Maria Castec became a stalker.

         Perhaps the woman and child did not go to that shopping center very often, or perhaps they were visitors from elsewhere, but Maria faithfully patrolled the area during the hours when her children were at school.  Neither they nor her husband knew about her obsessive compulsion to confront that cruel-faced woman.  It was something she had to attend to, with or without their approval.

         For more than a week she patrolled the area and peered at the crowds in the stores.  An Asian child and a tall, white woman should have been easy to spot, particularly since the woman had a very large, red plastic tote bag slung over one shoulder.

         Finally she saw them.  The child was not walking, but was being pushed along in her stroller.  No chance of her getting yanked along as she had been when first seen.  It was a fancy stroller, with lots of chrome accents, a Cadillac in its class.  Must have cost hundreds of dollars, Maria figured.  It had probably been carried in a vehicle of equivalent value.

         She followed the progress of the pair along the storefronts until they reached a narrow store at the far end of the shopping center.  It was a dingy looking place, as if it had been carved out of a larger store as an after-thought.Its name in large block letters, filled most of its window:  SOL’S SPIRITS. Evidently the place was too small for the king-sized stroller so it was left outside.  The child was brusquely plucked out of it and drawn through the doorway by her attendant.  Maria meanwhile took a couple of pictures of the stroller in front of the liquor store.  She stayed out of sight in the entrance of the shop next door, watching as the woman and child emerged a few minutes later.  With one hand she was grasping the toddler’s arm, with the other she was inserting a small brown paper package into her tote bag. Two quick clicks and the scene was captured by Maria.  So the woman was a drinker and cruel as well.

         Maria was elated, but decided that one triumph was enough for that day and returned home.  Would the woman go back to the parking lot and take a few swigs in the car, or would that be too risky, she wondered.  A few days later that question was answered when she met the woman and child face-to-face on the sidewalk in front of the supermarket. The child was once again in her stroller and was flipping a little plastic string of beads in her hands. When the toy suddenly fell to the dirty pavement Maria reached to pick it up but the woman beat her to it.  Quickly, she brushed the toy briskly against her coat and handed it back to the child, who promptly put it in her mouth.

         As the woman gave a husky laugh,  “A little dirt never hurt nobody,” a scent of liquor floated over to Maria.  “This little kid’s a survivor.  She’s tougher than she looks. Name’s Kim.  Came all the way from South Korea.  Adopted a coupla years ago.  If you want a kid that bad, why not get one right here in the states? Buy American I always say.”

         Unfortunately, the incident escaped Maria’s camera, but the woman’s nasty laugh and whiskey breath would not be forgotten.  A week later Maria encountered them in the supermarket.  The woman apparently remembered Maria and went up to her as both of them were cruising the fruit and vegetable area.  Kim was not in her stroller, but was perched in a grocery cart, and for a change she was smiling.  She had seized a cellophane wrapped bunch of seedless grapes, torn open the bag and was happily eating them.

         Disobeying her promise not to interfere in other’s lives, Maria blurted out, “How can you let her eat those unwashed grapes? Who knows what kind of chemicals are on them?”

         The woman snorted, “Guess you must be one of them organic kooks.  You and the woman I work for. She’s a nut about what she calls natural foods. If she could see what I feed her darling child she’d flip.  In a coupla hours I’ll be givin’ her lunch. And what do you think it’ll be? A hot dog from Frank’s stand. Giant size, with lotsa relish and mustard.  That’s our favorite. Wholesome American food.  In the six months I’ve cared for her, this kid’s never had a sick day.”  She leaned closer to Maria.  Her breath stank of liquor.  “How’d you like to come with us and try one of Frank’s hot dogs?  It’ll make a believer out of you.”

         Ah, a photo opportunity, Maria thought. Hesitantly, she said, “What would I do with my groceries, and how far off is this place?”

         “No more’n five minutes away and you could keep your stuff in my cooler and follow me in your car.  By the way, my name’s Goldie.  What’s yours?”

         There was no mention of her boss’s name, but that would come later, Maria figured.  All she had to do was to take down the number of the owner’s license, which she did while Goldie was busy buckling Kim into the back section of the Lexus SUV.

          Frank’s real name was Sam, but he dreamed up the name “Frank’s Franks” for his hot dog stand.  Sam did indeed make the most delicious frankfurters that Maria had ever tasted, so delicious that she almost forgot her purpose: to get a picture of Goldie and Kim eating them together.  It was not a pretty picture, but a perfect, messy image of two very happy eaters. The king-sized frankfurter was much too large for little Kim to cope with. Goldie solved that problem very easily. She simply leaned towards the tot and bit off a piece of it. Maria wondered if Kim’s portion had a flavor of whiskey.  Afterwards, as she looked at the two shots, Maria felt a sense of guilt, akin to treachery.Although she had enjoyed every bite of the lunch, she felt like a detective who had set up a scam to entrap a would-be criminal.  Though Goldie may have been an unhygienic, even brutish, caregiver, she was not a criminal – just a woman who should never be entrusted with children.

         While they were eating Maria had asked her, “What are your feelings about spanking children?’

         Goldie scoffed, “My boss, Mrs. R., would have a stroke if she seen me slappin’ her child.  Not really hard, mind you, but enough to make her think twice before tryin’ to climb something dangerous or goin’ near an open window.  One day I took a nap and I musta forgot to raise the side of her crib and she was almost out the window before I caught her.  She got more than a slap that time.”  There was great satisfaction in Goldie’s voice as she spoke.

         “Poor baby.” Maria shuddered inwardly and wished that she had taken a tape of the conversation. She was more determined than ever to get that woman out of Kim’s life. It should not take long.  The dossier against Goldie was growing. When the pictures were printed the next day Maria had enough evidence to make her case and present it to “Mrs. R.” the baby’s mother.  How to learn the name and address of this unsuspecting woman?

         It occurred to her that her friend Isabella’s husband might have connections in the police department.  Jim was a pompous sort who liked to brag about his “pull” with important people.  Well, she would test him.  One night at a small party she drew him aside and asked him a favor.

         “A friend of mine has a problem which you might be able to solve for her. Recently in a parking lot, she accidentally grazed the back fender of a car parked next to her and felt guilty about it. She would like to pay its owner for the damage.  She doesn’t want to get involved with her insurance company; another mark on her record could really hurt her.  She was smart enough to note the license number of the damaged car. Do you think that your friends in the police could track down the name and address of the owner?”

         Naturally, Jim was very pleased to be able to help with Maria’s friend, though he immediately suspected that the “friend” was none other than Maria herself.

         He winked at her.  “Tell your friend I’ll keep her secret and it should be no trouble at all to locate the owner.  Give me a couple of days and I’ll get back to you – discreetly, of course.”  He was a pleasant, balding man whom Isabella had met while at work in a real estate firm. Maria’s looks had always appealed to him and it gave him a tiny spark to feel that he and she shared a secret. “I won’t call you at home,” he said, nodding in the direction of Eduardo.  “You’d better check with me at the office.”

         Maria waited three days before calling him. “As I told you, no problem. The car’s a Lexus, registered in the name of Rachel Russell.  Must have some money.  Lives in a high-end area.  Hope it turns out well for your friend, sweetie.”

          She flinched before thanking him.  The word “sweetie” had never been used by him to her, but that was the price to be paid for a favor granted.  It was important that no one know of her detective work.  Jim was not her favorite, a little too slick for her taste, but she trusted him.  He promised to leave the information for her with the secretary in his office.

                                                              #

         Now that she had the car owner’s name and address, Maria was faced with another problem:  the only time to see Rachel Russell was on a weekend.Goldie had told her that her boss worked as a writer in New York in a big ad company.  “She writes the kind of stuff you and me would throw out, but she gets a lot of money for it.”

         On Saturdays both of her boys were always involved in afternoon sports and for the past two years Maria had been a faithful rooter on soccer fields, basketball courts and baseball diamonds.  For once she would have to drop her sons off and leave them for a while as she visited Mrs. Russell.  She had made a surreptitious call to her on Friday evening.

         “Mrs. Russell, I hate to break into your weekend time, but I have something really important to talk to you about . . . No, I’m not selling anything – but I think there’s something going on that you should know about . . . Yes, it’s about your little girl, Kim . . .  Could we talk about it soon, say tomorrow afternoon?  I have something to show you.”

         Rachel Russell would normally have hung up after Maria’s first words. There was a note however in Maria’s voice that made her listen.  What could this slightly foreign sounding woman have to show her?  The very words “about your little girl, Kim” made her feel apprehensive. Rachel was a poised, tough-minded career woman who was not easily frightened, but the more she pondered Maria’s call, the more nervous she became and by the time she answered the doorbell on Saturday afternoon she was feeling very shaky.

         Both women were surprised by each other’s appearance.  Maria had been expecting a younger, more feminine woman.  Rachel had envisioned an older, less voluptuous, woman. Both of them were equally nervous as they shook hands in the doorway.

         “Kim’s having her nap,” Rachel explained as she led the way into a picture perfect living room.  On the glass-topped coffee table she had set out a teapot and two cups.  At the sound of Maria’s car coming up the pebbled driveway, she had quickly poured boiling water into the teapot.  The three Earl Grey teabags would steep quickly she figured. She took a seat on the rose-colored velvet couch as Maria rather awkwardly settled on the edge of a wing chair.

         Looking at the manila envelope that Maria had put on the end table, Rachel asked, “You said you had something to show me?”

         Clearing her throat, Maria replied shakily, “Maybe I ought to tell you first why I came here.  When I get through, you may get mad and tell me to mind my own business.  My husband doesn’t know I’m here.  He says I’m too nosey.Maybe he’s right.  I do get mixed up in other peoples troubles, and I promised him I’d stop.”

         Rachel was growing impatient. When was the woman going to get to the point?  She was shifting in her seat as she tried to listen to Maria’s rambling account of her arrival in the States 12 years before, her early marriage at 17, the birth of her two sons and her hobby of photographing scenes in the shopping center.

         “Castec, that name rings a bell . . .  Is your husband in the landscape business? I remember seeing his truck around,” Rachel cut in.

         Though irked by the interruption, Maria replied, “That’s him. He takes good care of me and would be really mad if he knew what I was doing here.”

         “And what exactly is that?” Rachel smiled at her.  Now that she had identified Maria as the wife of a respected local businessman she felt more kindly towards her and looked at her more carefully.  Yes, she thought, Maria Castec was an amazingly young woman to be the mother of sons aged eight and six – and attractive and intelligent, too.

         Maria reached for the envelope and opened it. “I guess these pictures tell the story better than I can.” She said apologetically as she handed over the photographs. Rachel’s lukewarm interest in Maria’s account had been noticed. As Rachel slowly studied the pictures, Maria watched the astonishment and shock that transformed Rachel’s face. 

         After the first impact, Rachel was too stunned to speak, and strangely enough, her face turned very red, as if in embarrassment.  “Yes, this is my child, Kim.  I can’t believe that I could have allowed that awful woman to take care of her.”  She began to weep, “Poor baby, what I did to her.”

         Maria put her arms around her until the crying ended.  “You didn’t know, dear,” she kept murmuring.

         It was Rachel’s turn to tell her story.

         “Until six months ago, I had a wonderful, real Nanny, who took care of my child.  At least, I thought she was wonderful until I found out that she and my husband were having an affair.”  She paused and added bitterly, “I guess I was naïve to hire a woman 15 years younger than I am – I’m forty.  Of course, everything fell apart after that.  Tom and I split up and I had to fire the girl.  For a while I tried to take care of Kim by myself, but I needed to go back to work again.  Goldie had helped me years ago as a cleaning woman.  She was in pretty good shape then, older than I, but energetic and dependable.  I was desperate to find someone.  Goldie had found out about my situation – had heard the gossip, I guess. She came to see me, went all gushy about the baby and talked me into hiring her.  The fact that she was older and rather unattractive was a real plus.  And the price was right.”

         Maria poured them both a second cup of tea. “What will you do now that you know what’s been going on?  I wish I could help you myself, but as I told you, I have two sons to look after.  Do you have any family members who could help for a while?  Someone who could come right away?”  The temptation to offer temporary shelter to little Kim in the Castec household was almost irresistible to Maria, but of course, it was not feasible.

         “As a matter of fact, I have a widowed mother who adores Kim.  She’s 64, loving and intelligent, and as energetic as I am.  Why don’t I call her right now and get her reaction?” Rachel said as she reached for the phone.

         While Rachel spoke to Emily Fredericks in Pennsylvania, Maria pretended to read a magazine that was lying on a table nearby.  She did not read long. In little more than five minutes Rachel hung up the phone, beaming.

         “God Bless my mother.  She got the picture immediately and will arrive here tomorrow afternoon.  It’s about a four-hour drive. No big deal for her. She’ll stay as long as I need her.  She’s been lost since my father’s death a year ago, and the idea of being with her beautiful granddaughter thrills her. Confronting Goldie on Monday morning’s going to be tough.  It’ll be wonderful to have Mother backing me up.  I’ve always been a sissy about firing people, but Goldie’s got to go – and fast!”

         Mission accomplished, it was time for Maria to leave.  As she walked on the driveway toward her car, never had she received such effusive thanks and hugs. Rachel looked ready to weep again, but this time it was from joy.

                                                               #

         Despite her feeling of triumph, Maria decided not to tell her husband about it.  He would have been appalled to know how deeply she had been involved in “saving Kim.”  She also decided to stay out of the shopping center for a while.  The thought of running into Goldie frightened her.  The woman may not have suspected that Maria had ratted on her, but Maria was taking no chances. She stayed clear of “Franks Franks” also.  Much as she was curious to see what Rachel’s mother looked like, she avoided meeting her.  Mrs. Fredericks had spoken once to her on the phone and thanked Maria for her “dedication in ridding my daughter of that terrible woman.” “At my suggestion,” she said, the town’s social service department had been shown the photos, checked into Goldie’s life, and had put her on their list of “do not hire” persons.

          “How smart you were to take those pictures, Mrs. Castec.  Rachel and I will always be grateful to you. Kim’s doing beautifully now – a much happier child.  I’d love to meet you and to have you see the way little Kim looks these days. Do you ever go to the playground with your children?”

         Evidently Mrs. Fredericks’ “temporary help” had become permanent.

                                                                #

         Maria often thought of Kim in the months that passed.  These days her picture taking no longer was a study of American life. Instead she filled her album with hundreds of shots of her sons. It was a lovely collection.  The boys were like their father, lighter skinned and curlier haired than she, but they had their mother’s looks. Maria wished that she had taken a good picture of Kim. Those action shots showed nothing of the toddler’s real beauty.

         With the start of school Maria had time on her hands again.  One autumn day she remembered Mrs. Fredericks’ mention of meeting in the playground. Why not?  It had been six months since she had last seen Kim and she was curious to see her as a “happier child.”  Should she call the grandmother and make plans for a meeting?  No, it would be best to make an unannounced visit to the playground.  She hoped to capture some candid shots of the child at play.

         The playground was filled with activity when she arrived.  The children were rushing from sandbox to swings, to slides, to seesaws and jungle gyms. As she watched them, Maria was always amused to see that every child moved at a run.  Rarely had she seen a child who simply walked. She looked around at the adults in the area.  When they were not sitting on the park benches, they too, moved fast as they attempted to keep up with the children.  One slightly stout, grandmotherly looking woman sat alone on a bench in the shady part of the park.  Could this be Mrs. Fredericks?  She seemed more relaxed than some of the other adults. Her eyes were not straining to monitor a child.  Perhaps, this pleasant faced person simply came to enjoy the scene.

         With her camera at the ready, Maria approached the children. The frenetic activity made it hard to single out Kim.  In the sand box area she spotted three children, all girls. Two of them got up and left to investigate a serpentine slide nearby. The other child seemed to be sitting quietly, filling and refilling a little pail.  She had her back to Maria, and could not be identified, but the extra-thick, shiny black hair gave her away.

         Very excited, Maria took two pictures then ran around to the other side. Yes, it was indeed Kim.  Or was it?  Without that wonderful hair, it would have been hard to recognize this pudgy-faced, chubby-bodied Asian child.  Little Kim was “Little” no more.  Shock and deep disappointment flooded Maria’s mind. How could this have happened?  For years she had followed stories about childhood obesity and had been like a drill sergeant about denying her boys sweets and fast foods.  Looking at the “new” Kim she felt like weeping. 

         This disaster was a devoted Grandma’s doing and this time there was nothing at all that Maria could do about it.

The End