LITMIR.BIZ

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soft voice and hands to calm him down, it would be a problem if Joe acted out his disturbance and became physical. Joe’s eyes slowed their frantic flicking.

      The old guy, Smith—Marsh never remembered his first name—who varied between utter stillness and manic activity, looked up. “Tuna fish. Tuna fish.”

      “Peanut butter!” Rosemary said, her mouth tightening as if Smith’s preference would overrule her own.

      Joe moaned again. His eyes started to flick.

      Stephen joined the general ruckus, sending a hand across the checkerboard and scattering the game pieces. “Abby, Abby, where’s Abby, where’s lunch, where’s Abby to make our lunch and pour the milk, lunch and milk, lunch and milk?”

      Damnation, how all of them repeated themselves. It made Marsh nuts. If only he didn’t have to put up with them—if only Abigail were here, as she should be. Next time he’d go and do the shopping, since she couldn’t manage to get it right. Couldn’t get herself home to feed the people she was responsible for.

      “Shut up, Stephen!” Rosemary scrabbled after the checkers on the floor. “You messed me up. I was winning. You messed me up!”

      Joe threw the pancake of clay at Rosemary, who shrieked in fury. Smith got out of his chair and started to walk in a circle in the center of the room, coming too close to Rosemary. Marsh was just in time to get between the two of them before Rosemary decided to slap.

      “I know what, we’ll all have popcorn for lunch!” Marsh said, with false cheer. He cursed Abigail silently. She had a lesson coming when she did get home, after causing all this mess. “Let’s go in the kitchen and put a bag in the microwave. It’ll be special, real special.” Just like the special words he’d have for Abigail later that night, once everyone had gone home to their families.

      “Special,” repeated Joe, getting to his feet.

      “And a movie. I get to pick!” Rosemary chanted. She stepped on the pancake of clay and ground it into the short-loop carpet. Marsh closed his eyes for a second, not nearly long enough to count to ten, but enough to allow him to ignore the newest mess. Then he got hold of Smith by his elbow and brought him along to the kitchen. The only way to stop Smith from walking in circles for the rest of the day was to completely change the scenery and give him a new focus. No way was Marsh going to let Rosemary pick the movie, though. He was damned sick of Finding Nemo, her latest favorite.

      The afternoon wore on, full of countless exhausting and infuriating outbursts from the entire group. Marsh’s patience thinned with each passing minute that Abigail didn’t arrive. Rosemary and Stephen both had meltdowns ending in tears and thrown objects, events that wouldn’t have happened had Abigail been present instead of shirking her responsibilities, wherever the hell she’d gone.

      Marsh couldn’t shake the idea that she was with another man. Where would she have met someone else? The produce aisle at the grocery store? It wasn’t like Abigail went very many places without Marsh. He could hardly think. He tried to keep himself from going to the window every few minutes, because the clients were starting to notice his own agitation. He popped more bags of popcorn and got out crackers and cheese, and settled the group for a long afternoon of movie watching. It was easier than doing art projects or baking cookies in the kitchen, though both activities were favorites with the group.

      Finally, at four in the afternoon, just ninety minutes before family members were due to retrieve their grown-up children, Marsh dug out the telephone book and wetted his finger to flip through the yellow pages. God help Abigail if she was still at that store.

      Marsh dialed, keeping an eye on the group, who were quiet at the moment, engrossed in the umpteenth repeat of Finding Nemo. Stupid film.

      When someone answered on the third ring, Marsh had to swallow down a growl of anger. “I’m looking for someone who was headed to your store a little while ago. I...uh, forgot to tell her to get a gallon of milk. She’s about five feet six, and she has a long light brown ponytail. Wearing jeans and a blue cotton shirt. Is she there?”

      “Store’s empty, just me here right now.”

      “Has she been there?”

      “Not since I came on shift.”

      “Well, when was that?” Marsh couldn’t believe the idiocy of the clerk.

      “Coupla hours ago. Look, is there a problem?”

      “No. There’s no problem. Is anyone else there, your supervisor maybe, someone who was there before you?”

      “No, man. Wish I could help you, but like I said, haven’t seen her.”

      “Thanks.” Liar. You’re probably the man she’s run off to meet. She’s probably there now, listening to you answer my questions, laughing at me. Marsh clicked off and put the handset away, in the cupboard, where it was out of Rosemary’s view. That woman had a real thing for anything with buttons on it, telephones, remotes, controls for electric blankets, stereos.

      “Where’s Abby?” Smith asked.

      Marsh clenched his fists behind his back. “She’s... She had to go to the doctor.” Yes, that was it. Get the story squared away with the clients, then set the expectations with their families: no day care tomorrow, Abigail was ill, it was probably contagious, she’d been at the doctor all day. Really sorry for the inconvenience and no notice. Knew they’d understand. Really, really sorry.

      Beside Smith, Joe started to rock and hit his hand on his thigh. “Don’t like the doctor. Don’t like the doctor.”

      “She’ll be fine,” Marsh assured him, putting a big hand on Joe’s shoulder. “It’s just a virus. In a day or so everything will be back to normal.”

      “Don’t like the doctor,” Joe repeated, but his voice was quieter as long as Marsh was touching him. Abigail was going to need the doctor when Marsh got through with her, that much was certain. He’d make sure her legs were too sore to carry her off to the store, hell, go anywhere.

      “She’ll get some medicine and be fine.”

      Smith turned his head and looked up at Marsh. “I don’t like it when Abby isn’t here.”

      “I don’t like you,” Rosemary chimed in. “I think you’re mean.”

      “Now, now,” Marsh muttered. “That’s not very nice, Rosie. I think we’ll have to tell your families you can’t come here tomorrow, since Abigail won’t be feeling very well. We don’t want you to catch her virus, do we?”

      “Mean,” said Rosemary, and Smith nodded, then kept nodding. Well, Smith could nod his head right off his neck, for all Marsh cared. He wouldn’t stop the perseveration this time.

      “Shut up and watch the movie. All of you. Or I’ll turn it off, and you can just sit in your chairs until it’s time to go. You don’t want that, do you?”

      Joe began to rock again. Idiots, all of them. Why Abigail thought they were worth bothering with, Marsh would never understand. When all of their faces were turned back to the neurotic fish-father searching for his lost fish-son on the television, Marsh walked into the next room to get his temper under control and plan what he needed to say to the families to keep them away tomorrow. He couldn’t legally operate without a second certified attendant, but more important, he didn’t want to.

      He’d see to it that Abigail learned this lesson. Learned it well. Learned it pronto. She’d never leave him in the lurch like this again.

      And she’d never get another chance to sneak off with someone while Marsh wasn’t looking.

      Ever.

      * * *

      While he took the bag of groceries back to the truck, Cade assessed what he knew about the woman seated at the picnic table.

      Thirty-one years old, based on her driver’s license. She was too thin in that nervous way of women who were perpetually

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