Copper Lake Confidential - By Marilyn Pappano Page 0,64

her life and opening a new one...

“A couple of incidents don’t make you unbalanced, Macy. Stress manifests itself in strange ways. You probably just forgot because you need to forget. That’s part of what this trip is about for you.” He snorted self-deprecatingly. “I’m not a people doctor, but I’m happy to diagnose and give advice.”

“I’d be happy to accept your diagnosis and advice, except...” She glanced at Clary leaning against the wall, Scooter’s head in her lap, and the tears glistened again. “This is a really bad time to have this conversation.”

“Want to drop her off at home?” Because he really didn’t want to put it off. These kinds of confidences didn’t come easy, and he didn’t want to give her a chance to reassess and decide she didn’t trust him enough to share. He wanted her trust. He needed it.

His mother hadn’t raised him and Marnie in church, but he believed in God, miracles, divine intervention. At that moment it came in the form of Anamaria Calloway and her two children, waving from across the street. “Hey Doc! Hey Doc!” Will called while his younger sister vacillated. “Scooter! Doc!”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation a few seconds ago, Stephen couldn’t have stopped the smile crossing his face if he wanted to. Will and Gloriana, and their mother and father, were among his favorite people in town, and their yellow Labs, Lucky and Ducky, yes, named by the kids, were two of the biggest characters in his practice.

“Will thinks my name is Hey Doc,” he said quietly to Macy as the Calloways started across the street, “and Gloriana couldn’t care less what it is as long as Scooter’s around.” His smile broadened as they stepped onto the curb, released their mother’s hands and rushed over for a hug. “Hey, guys, how are you?”

Gloriana returned his hug, then immediately turned to Scooter and Clary. “I know you. You’re her little girl.” She pointed at Macy.

“Who are you?” Clary asked.

“I’m her little girl.” Now her finger turned to Anamaria.

Fidgeting in front of Stephen, Will claimed his attention. “Hey Doc, guess what? Mama let us skip the boring part of church. She made Daddy stay, though. Said he needed it more.”

From what Stephen had heard about Robbie Calloway’s life pre-Anamaria, that was probably true.

“We’re not being total heathens,” Anamaria said. “We’re having Robbie’s birthday dinner this afternoon, so we’re down here to pick up the cake from Ellie’s. Just the very immediate family, and I think it’s going to be twenty-some people.”

“Sounds like fun. Tell Robbie happy birthday.”

“I will.” Anamaria rested her hand on Macy’s shoulder, studying her intently. People said the woman was a psychic, and Stephen figured it wasn’t his place to say yes or no. There were more mysteries in the world, blah blah. After a moment, she bent to hug Macy. “We have a few minutes before the cake’s ready. Can we borrow Clary and Scooter for a little play in the square?”

Psychic, intuitive or just an insightful woman—Stephen didn’t care. At that moment he adored her.

Macy hesitated until the kids, including her own, started clamoring. Finally she nodded. He thought her reluctance might have as much to do with the conversation that awaited them as it did with letting Clary go off.

Linking hands, the kids headed off with Anamaria, Scooter trotting alongside with his leash in both girls’ hands. Stephen watched until they were in the square proper then turned his gaze to Macy. “You can see her and make sure she’s safe, and she can’t overhear a thing. You believe in fate?”

“I guess I do.” She shifted in the chair then folded her hands together. It took her a long time to start, but he didn’t push. Skittish creatures tended to push back or flee entirely.

“I told you last night that I—I lost the baby I was carrying when Mark died.”

He didn’t need to be particularly insightful to know she’d said those words to very few people. They were still difficult for her. They still tore at the raw place in her heart.

“I also, in a sense, lost Clary. I was hugely depressed. I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning, not even to feed or dress my daughter. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t feel. I didn’t care if I lived or died. The only times I wasn’t depressed, I was in a constant panic, almost manic in my behavior. I would get up at two in the morning and scrub the bricks in the