Maggie and Della are back again! Read the first chapter of the novel-in-progress, The Ties That Bind:
Chapter 1: Whack-A-Mole
When I was a kid, I played a carnival game called “Whack-A-Mole.” With a rubber mallet, I “whacked” a mole that popped up on a game board, only to have another one appear somewhere else. The more moles I whacked, the more popped up. It was a game of speed and not a little nerve.
I was thinking about this in my Cambridge office the other day, waiting for that next mole. I’d already whacked down a clueless client, a husband who’d been cut back to four days a week and a health insurance premium that had jumped 50% the minute we turned 50. My latest mole to pop up was a downstairs tenant who, it turned out, was a closet kleptomaniac.
I thought I was just losing things. I was getting older and there were more distractions. The economy was down and my husband and I were staring at a dwindling bank account. No wonder I was misplacing small things: a letter opener, a stapler, a pack of writing pads. They always showed up again, so no problem.
That wasn’t the case, of course. The kleptomaniac, Marsha Cotton, was a successful landscape architect with a house in Newton, a high-earning husband and two kids. She’d been inadvertently helped in her nefarious activities by Larry Dileo, who was a kind, caring massage therapist who dealt with the woes of the world through his hands. I never thought of him as an enabler. Of course not.
Alas, my life is never that simple. I’d blundered across the activity – of course – and now Marsha was in therapy. Larry was trying not to be such a nice guy. I was helping, too, speaking of enablers. Marsha’s therapist – a client of mine, actually – had suggested she keep a journal. She was to record her feelings at the onset of any impulse to steal. And then she was to read the journal to Larry and me. And to Della.
Della Peterson was my office mate and she was not thrilled with this arrangement. When Della whacked a mole, it stayed down. In fact, the whole mole family moved out of town when she showed up at the board. She put up with it, though. I had asked her to.
So, I was sitting in my office with my three moles. Marsha had a notebook open on her lap and was looking at it nervously. Larry sat to her side, encouraging her to come forward with smiles and generous nods. Della sat next to me, arms crossed and waiting. Just that morning, Marsha had re-returned my letter opener. It seemed to be a favorite of hers, so much so that I was tempted to tie it to my desk with a piece of rope. I had to admit that we were making progress, though. Marsha was still stealing, but less so and she was starting to return things, too. Even Della had to agree.
“I had a talk with Ron last night about watching the kids more often,” Marsha was saying. “And he said yes, just like that. So I felt a lot better. I…I didn’t need the letter opener to feel in control.”
“See?” Larry said, ever encouraging. “That’s great, Marsha! You’re doing great.”
“Not great enough,” Della said flatly. Her expression was neutral, despite the disapproval in her voice. I’d chatted with her about that, suggesting that a little more positive encouragement might be a better thing for Marsha. She reluctantly agreed. Della enjoyed chewing people out, even though her bark was far worse than her bite. She was the bad cop to Larry’s good. “But it is better than before,” she conceded.
I picked up a ceramic cup and swirled it around. The sound of spare change chinked through the room. “What do you say this time?” I asked.
“A quarter,” Della said.
Larry nodded. “A quarter back to Marsha.” Marsha paid up when she stole, and got money back when she didn’t, or when she returned. Our goal was an empty cup. It was getting lighter. I doled out a quarter to Marsha, who worried it in her hand.
“These things take time,” I reminded her. I thought a lot about time these days too. My business was moving along and I was busier, at least this month. Alex tried to find things to do on his new, unpaid, Fridays off. Two steps forward, one step back. At least we still had the house.
Marsha stood up and pressed down her skirt with her hands. “Um, I also asked Ron to pick up something for dinner,” she added. “And he said he would. I think things are getting a little better, Maggie. Thank you again.” It was her way of concluding our little session. That was fine. Marsha and Larry said their goodbyes and finally exited my office.
Della stayed for a moment before standing up. “And how’s Maggie?” she finally asked, once she knew we were alone.
“Not in need of therapy,” I replied, standing up to stretch myself. “Do you want to walk to the subway?”
“Sure.” Della turned towards the hallway separating our suite of offices and, with a hand outstretched, made her way back. Her fingers brushed the walls as she walked. I followed behind her after locking my office. She reached her desk and picked up a folded white cane, then snapped it open in front of her. “And you’re going to say I’m too hard on Marsha,” she said, before I could. We headed down the stairs, Della in front. “I’m trying to see her point of view, but I still wonder if a short stint in jail mightn’t be a better deterrent.”
We walked out to the street. Della took my right shoulder and the two of us walked abreast towards Harvard Square. “Give her a chance, Del,” I said. “I’m the one she panicked all over.”
“Yes, and I don’t like that either. You ended up in the Emergency Room, remember?”
“I know,” I said. “I’m still willing to give her a chance. I think she’s trying. I’d hate to see her get into trouble. She means well.”
Della nodded, although her frown remained. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, that’s all. Sometimes you’re too forgiving for your own good.”
“And you’re not forgiving enough.” We reached the entrance to the subway. “Cut her a little slack, huh?”
“Only if you make sure Alex repaints every room in your house, now that he’s a man of leisure on Friday.” She chuckled and we hugged. “You think I’m worried about Marsha?” she said. “I’m worried about you. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
My life was not predictable these days. I wanted to think we’d be okay but I didn’t know. “We won’t starve,” I said. “We’ll be fine.”
“Little Maggie, you’d better be,” Della chortled, then tapped her way down the subway stairs.
