Be gone, Writer’s Block! Be gone, I say!

Trixie glanced at her watch and sighed at her old enemy, time. It wasn’t good time management to go to Sleepyside and then turn right around and head back to White Plains, but this just couldn’t wait. She chatted briefly with Lucy, the school’s Office Manager, and went into Jim’s office to wait, not wanting to interrupt his class.

A couple of days had passed since Jim asked her to find information on Neil’s past. The desk clerk at Ashton’s motel vaguely remembered a brown haired boy who occasionally hung around with "that gang kid", and some additional tracking had finally led Trixie to a very disturbing discovery. She sighed, curling up on the small sofa. She felt worn out from the emotional trauma of the morning and it wasn’t until she felt Jim’s hand on her cheek that she realized she had inadvertently drifted off.

"What are you doing here, Sleeping Beauty?" he said, sitting next to her as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

"I need to talk to you. And Neil," Trixie said without preamble.

"You found something," Jim said, noticing the fatigue in her face. He touched her cheek again. "You look tired." He rose, opening the door, asking Lucy to bring Neil to his office right away.

"I am, a little. And I’d rather wait until Neil gets here before I say anything, if you don’t mind."

They didn’t have to wait long before Lucy returned. "Go on in," they heard her say.

Neil walked into the office, his eyes widening when he saw Trixie. He looked clean, fed and well rested, a stark contrast to the boy Trixie and Honey had found only a few days earlier.

"Have a seat, Neil." Jim waved a hand at one of the chairs in front of his desk and remained standing.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked as he obeyed, slouching nervously, chewing on a ragged cuticle. He really liked it here and hoped he didn’t have to leave already.

Trixie rose from her sitting position, standing in front of him. When she spoke, Jim couldn’t hold back a little gasp of surprise.

"Neil, why did you lie to us about your mother?"

*     *     *

Trixie didn’t think it was possible for a place to be more depressing than the seedy motel Ashton and Neil used to live in, but had to admit she was wrong when she pulled up to the slightly sinister looking Soundview Manor. "Some manor," she muttered as she finally found a parking meter. Apparently, parking lots were considered a luxury item along with paint jobs and regular garbage pick up.

She entered the dim lobby, picking her way among discarded Styrofoam cups littering the aging brown and gray linoleum, not wanting to touch the sticky looking counter or the grimy bell that rested upon it. A woman who reminded Trixie of the Bette Davis character in "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?" was reading a magazine behind the counter, looking up with an annoyed sigh when Trixie cleared her throat.

"I need to know what room Annabel Griffin is in," Trixie said in a brisk tone she remembered from her days with the FBI.

Bette Davis sighed again; her lipstick in such dark contrast to her pasty wrinkled skin it practically cast a shadow. "Ah, the hell with it. 3B, second floor." She dove back into her magazine without another word. They didn’t pay her enough to put up with this—if tenants didn’t want to speak to somebody, they didn’t have to answer their door, did they?

Trixie gave the old elevator one look and headed for the stairs, wincing at the sour odor that seemed to linger with every step she took. She found 3B and had to knock for a good five minutes before the door was jerked open by a brown haired woman who looked to be in her late thirties. Her shoulders were frail and she was dressed in a fading purple robe. She stood there looking at her, her lower lip full, her nose fine and straight.

"Annabel Griffin?" Trixie asked, keeping her face neutral even though a strong smell of alcohol was evident.

"Look, I get my check at the end of the month. Don’t you think I’d pay you now if I could?" she said softly, her face tensing. She wasn’t an unattractive woman, but stress and most likely alcohol had given her even features a hard look.

"I’m here to talk about Neil," Trixie said quietly.

Fear warred with hope in the tired lines of her face as the woman staggered a little, bracing her thin form against the doorjamb. "Where is he? Is he all right?" she cried, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

"He’s fine, Mrs. Griffin. I think we need to talk—can I come in?"

"Thank God," she breathed, covering her forehead with a shaky hand, although whether it was from relief or alcohol, Trixie couldn’t be sure. She stood back so Trixie could enter, shutting the door behind her.

"Has he run away before?" Trixie asked as she sat on a worn chair, trying not to let her distaste at the open bottle on the scarred table show. Other than two single beds, three wobbly chairs, a scratched table and a bathroom, there wasn’t much to see. She wondered at the circumstances that led to them living here and hoped Mrs. Griffin would let them help her.

Mrs. Griffin sat across from her, glancing at the bottle and then away, embarrassment preventing her from the desired drink. She felt Trixie’s gaze and her mouth quivered a bit. "I know what you’re thinking—poor Neil, he had to escape from his evil, drunk mother." She straightened a bit. "I’ve never mistreated Neil. I love him. I…well; I need a drink every now and then. Our life hasn’t been easy and sometimes I…well, that’s all. And I’ve been worried sick about Neil."

"I’m sure you have," Trixie said. She looked at the other woman, carefully keeping her tone non-judgmental. "Neil’s at the Ten Acres Academy."

"That school Ashton ended up at," Mrs. Griffin murmured. Need overcame embarrassment and she refilled her glass, lifting it to her mouth with a sigh. She took a long swallow and set the glass down. "Why didn’t you call the police?"

"Social Services was contacted—Neil told us you were dead."

Mrs. Griffin reacted as if shot, her hands flying over her mouth. She didn’t speak, only stared.

"Why do you think Neil would say such a thing?" Trixie asked. When she didn’t answer, Trixie added gently, "Mrs. Griffin, let’s not waste time on blame. That’s not why I asked. I only want to help Neil and I don’t feel like I can unless I have more information."

"Oh God, sometimes I think I might as well be dead." Mrs. Griffin rose unsteadily, pacing in the small room. She turned to Trixie, tears trickling down her face. "I never meant for things to get to this point. You know? I thought everything would be okay. He kept saying he would change and I wanted to believe him and I guess I still want to believe him."

"Neil’s father?" Trixie guessed.

"Yes," she replied softly. She sat back down and took another long swallow. "Our relationship has always been…complicated. He doesn’t mean to get angry—he just doesn’t handle stress very well. But he isn’t always like that…"

Trixie found herself unable to listen to another word of her tipsy babble. "He’s in jail for beating you," she said flatly, feeling a pang of guilt when the woman flinched.

"I…yes. He is." She finished her drink and set the glass down in the careful way the inebriated have. "But he never touched Neil. Never."

"Are you sure about that?" Trixie highly doubted it, remembering a tense and frightened young man who flinched away from her hand on his shoulder.

"Yes! Yes I am, dammit! What kind of woman do you think I am?"

Trixie sighed—as usual her mouth had spoken before her brain had time to assemble a tactful sentence. "Mrs. Griffin, I’m not trying to imply anything. I only want to help Neil. Please believe me. He’s so smart and I can tell he’s a good kid." Her words had the desired affect. Mrs. Griffin visibly calmed, a ghost of a smile curving her generous lower lip.

"He’s a great kid. He…he deserves better, I suppose. But I love him so much…"

"You must have an idea why he ran away, Mrs. Griffin."

"Yes, I think I do. And please, call me Annabel. And you are…"

"Oh gosh, I’m sorry. Call me Trixie."

"Is that short for Beatrix?"

Trixie couldn’t stop the face she made, and for the first time, Annabel looked like Neil’s mother—Trixie could see the resemblance to the sensitively drawn boy. She even looked pretty; her laugh sounding like a gently chiming bell. "Yes, I was named after my grandmother, but luckily nobody ever calls me that. What made you ask?"

"Oh, about a million years ago I was majoring in children’s literature in school. And Beatrix Potter was one of my favorite writers." Annabel’s face fell as she remembered a time when her future seemed much brighter. "But that’s all in the past. We were talking about what could have made Neil run away." She didn’t appear to notice that she had begun silently crying again. She reached into the pocket of the robe she was wearing and handed Trixie a letter. "He got really upset after reading this."

Trixie saw who it must be from by the return postmark. "This is from your husband? May I?" At the other woman’s nod, Trixie opened the letter and quickly read. In her line of work she had seen these kinds of pleas before—I’m so sorry baby, it will never happen again, can’t we make a fresh start—and it never failed to piss her off. "Neil read this and was afraid it meant you’d take him back. That it would all start again." It was only with extreme effort that Trixie kept her tone neutral.

Annabel didn’t answer, but her flush told Trixie everything she wanted to know. She didn’t bother asking her why she would want to ever see a man who hit her again, because she knew she would only hear the same excuses she and Honey heard from some of their clients. She couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped her, and was surprised to see a look of recognition rather than anger fill the older woman’s eyes.

"I know what you’re thinking and you’re probably right." There was a pause, then, "I want Neil sent home." Her lips tightened and she drew her robe around her. "I may not be perfect, but I am his mother. And I want him here. With me."

Trixie stood up, too restless to sit any longer. This had to be handled very delicately. "Mrs…Annabel, I know you love Neil. And I know you want what’s best for him." She stood in front of her, her voice heavy. "If you’re going to take him back when he gets out, you know what it means."

Annabel wouldn’t look at her, nodding imperceptibly.

"Then give your son a chance for something better. He can graduate, go on to college if that’s what he wants. He’ll have plenty to eat, friends, honest work and a good education."

Annabel finally raised her head, her eyes swollen and tear-filled. "Things I could never give him," she choked, wringing her hands. "Is that what you’re trying to say?"

Trixie regarded her steadily, her resolve staunch. "Things you won’t give him because all your time and your energy is taken up by self-destruction." Annabel flinched but didn’t deny it. Trixie continued, sitting back down across from her, taking her hand. "I know you’re not a bad person. And even though it’s hard for you to believe, you’re not a worthless person either; no matter what you think." Trixie’s eyes were sympathetic, but her tone was firm. "Show your son that you at least care about his future, even if you won’t safeguard your own." She could see by Annabel’s alert posture that her words had gotten through.

"Can I visit him?" she asked softly. Trixie felt a surge of elation—she was going to let Neil stay!

"Of course you can. But Annabel,"—she squeezed her hand—"You can’t be…you have to be sober." As she nodded, Trixie added, "Why don’t you use this time alone to pull yourself together? Get some counseling, or...or...treatment for your alcoholism." She said the last part in a rush, expecting a furious retort and was sorry and surprised when Neil’s mother burst into tears. She went into the bathroom and brought her back a cold washcloth, which Annabel pressed to her face.

"You want to know something funny? I was always one of those mothers who read every label, who made sure that everything in the house was childproof. I always held Neil’s hand in crowds and taught him how to look both ways before he crossed the street." She took a deep shuddering breath and looked at Trixie sadly. "Little did I know that the biggest danger he’d have to face was me. I guess I figured that as long as it was only me he was hitting, it would be all right."

Emotional abuse can be even more damaging that physical abuse, and leave deeper scars. Trixie kept this thought to herself—she could see that Annabel was starting to realize the impact she and her husband had made on Neil’s life. Having your son run away and claim you were dead could only be a catalyst of the worst kind. "Would it do any good if I said you didn’t have to take him back—that you could make a new life for yourself?" Trixie finally said.

"I wish I could believe that, but it’s hard to see how. I don’t have much education, I don’t have any family who’d be willing to help me and I don’t even have a job at the moment. I’m flat broke."

"If you’re serious about turning your life around, I can help you. You can go back to school and finish your degree," Trixie said earnestly.

Annabel stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. "Why would you do that? You don’t even know me!" It wasn’t in her habit to trust people, let alone somebody she had never laid eyes on.

Trixie smiled. "I got into the habit at a young age; what can I say?"

"What habit is that?"

"Helping people. Only now, I have a much bigger treasury to work with!" Trixie said, thinking back to the days when the BWGs never seemed to have more than a few dollars on hand. She glanced at her watch and stood up. "Just think about it, okay?

Annabel seemed stunned but managed to answer with a soft, "Okay." The kind of help Trixie was offering was so far out of her range of experience, she wasn’t able to immediately take it in.

Trixie assured her that she would let Neil know that she was thinking about him, and managed to convince her to wait a few days until she visited, not knowing how he’d react to being caught in a lie. If he ran away again, anything could happen to him…

"You didn’t need to lie," Trixie continued, her face serious. "Neil, your mother has been worried sick about you."

Neil’s face turned white. "You, you saw her?" he gasped.

"Yes, just a little while ago."

"Was she drunk?" Neil asked bitterly, the color returning to his face in the form of red splotches on his cheeks. When Trixie didn’t answer, he continued, "Look, I’m not going back there. If you don’t want me here fine, but I’m not going back. He’ll be home soon and I just can’t take it anymore. I can’t!"

Trixie laid a hand on his shoulder. "Nobody said anything about not wanting you here, Neil. And you don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. Your mother said you can stay."

Jim was having no problem understanding who Neil meant when he said ‘he’ll be home soon’. "Neil, I think we need to have a little talk," he said, "but it can wait. Why don’t you run on back to class?"

Neil slowly stood, his face starting to work. "She…she really said I can stay?" he asked Trixie.

"She wants what’s best for you. And she wants to come and see you in a few days."

"What for?" he asked, a bit sullenly.

Trixie’s face grew stern. "For the past few days she hasn’t known if you’re dead or alive. Now doesn’t that tell you something?"

Neil looked at his feet. "She doesn’t care," he muttered.

Trixie sighed. "Let me put it another way. It’s 11:30 right now. Katy is at the Small World Preschool, located at 50 Partridge Road in White Plains. It’s about two blocks from my office. Right now she’s probably eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with Kenny and Corrina, her favorite school friends. Are you starting to get the picture?"

"Yeah. You like knowing where your kid is," Neil mumbled.

"I wouldn’t call it ‘like’, Neil. Need. I psychotically need to know where she is. Mothers are kind of weird that way," she finished strongly. "And I just spent over an hour talking to your mom and believe me, she cares about you." Neil looked like he wanted to believe it, so Trixie relented. "Everything’s going to be okay," she said, and hoped it was true.

Jim waited until Neil was gone before speaking. "Whew, I’m glad you’re on my side!" He reached out and gently tugged one of her curls. He listened quietly as she relayed her conversation with Neil’s mother, frowning when she got to the part about Annabel taking her husband back when he got out of jail.

"Why, why, why do women take these guys back? I just don’t get it," Jim said, shaking his head.

"I don’t get it either. Honey says they don’t know any other kind of life, or they don’t feel like they deserve any other kind of life, but I’ll never understand it," Trixie sighed. She looked at her watch. "I’ve got to run. I finally have an appointment with Mr. Lewis, the ex-husband. Do you know he doesn’t even know he’s Sammy’s father?"

Jim looked at her incredulously. "What do you mean?"

"Apparently, Mrs. Lewis had Sammy after they had separated. He’s never had anything to do with him, has never even met him. Joeanne says he hasn’t wanted anything to do with this case."

"Well, maybe he isn’t the father."

Trixie lifted her hands, palm up. "Maybe he isn’t," she agreed. "But you’d think he’d want to know. Social Services wants him to take a paternity test—if Joeanne wins this case, and he is the father, then Sammy will have a home to go to. Family. And while I’m there, I’m going to talk to the next door neighbor, which will pretty much finish up my part of the investigation." A baby was lying in a hospital crib, a young boy was afraid to go home to parents who had been waging World War III for as long as he could remember and her best friend in the world had left her husband, who happened to be Trixie’s big brother. She didn’t feel quite real and had the uncharacteristic urge to take a real long nap.

"Poor little guy. What a rough start he’s had," Jim said sadly. He noticed Trixie’s expression and tried to lighten the mood. "I may have started out as an oops, but at least my parents weren’t really unhappy about it. Not once the shock wore off!"

"You were not an ‘oops’," Trixie said, starting to smile. "Who told you that?"

"Nobody, but c’mon—my mom was barely 18 when I was born. My dad left school so they could get married and live on the farm. That’s got ‘oops’ written all over it!" Jim said wryly, sliding an arm around her waist.

Trixie laid her head on his shoulder. "Well, don’t feel bad. I’m an oops too," she said happily, feeling her energy return.

Jim thought about the obvious love and pride the Beldens had for their only daughter. And there were times when they first started dating that Jim was convinced that Peter Belden was planning his assassination. "No way," he contradicted.

Trixie started to laugh. "Way! Are you going to stand there and tell me that my mom thought, Gee, Mart’s two months old already—what could be more fun than two kids in diapers? Nope, I was a mistake." She snuggled into his side. "We’re just a pair of mistakes. It’s a miracle we’re even here!"

"Feels pretty miraculous to me," Jim agreed, turning her into him and kissing her.

"Want to hear another miracle? I’m taking Dan with me today—he should be here any minute," Trixie said teasingly. After what happened to Meggie, she knew Jim would worry about her working Sammy’s case by herself. She had called Dan from the car and he agreed to meet her at the school. Besides, she wanted to hear all about his date.

Jim grinned. "You know, for an ‘oops’, you’re not half bad!"

"Ditto, my love. Ditto!"

To be continued…

Author’s note: Special thanks to Jenni, Rebecca, Jewels, Tina, Jill and Sarah. It was their "oops" discussion, oh so many moons ago, that inspired the ending of this Chapter. Hurrah for ‘oops’ children everywhere! (I was planned, BTW. How boring! *g*) I solemnly promise that my next submission will tie up the Honey/Brian situation. Or will it? Mwah ha ha ha! J

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