3. Maggie #2
That’s Mama. Practical as a pocketknife, and tender when it counts.
She asks if I slept, and I lie badly enough that she sighs into the phone.
She asks if I ate, and when I tell her I’m eating pancakes, she makes a pleased little sound that nearly makes me cry right there at a billionaire’s kitchen island.
After I promise to call again later, I phone Jules.
He answers on the first ring. “Maggie.”
The exhaustion in his voice nearly knocks the breath out of me. “You sound awful.”
“You always know how to flatter a man.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I look worse than I sound, which is a personal attack on my entire brand.”
A laugh slips out of me before guilt can smother it. For a heartbeat, I’m back in our cramped shelter office with his iced coffee sweating rings onto the desk while he complains about paperwork and pretends not to love every animal in the building.
“The shelter?” I ask because I can’t wait any longer.
His voice changes. “Police cleared us around three. The worst of it is cleaned up. I sent the volunteers home after they gave statements.”
My fingers grip the phone tightly. “And the animals?”
“Scared, but okay. Two volunteers came back this morning to help. Claire and Denise.”
“Bless them.”
“Amen.” He exhales, and I hear the scrape of a chair, like he’s sitting down. “But we’ve got a problem, honey.”
My stomach sinks. “Volunteers?”
“A few already called sayin’ they need time.”
I close my eyes. I can’t blame them. Lord knows I can’t. But the shelter runs on people who show up because they care, and if fear keeps them away, everything starts falling apart fast.
“And donations?” I ask.
“Too early to tell.”
That scares me the most. Second Chance Savannah is always just one big vet bill away from trouble. If donors start thinking of the shelter as a place of violence instead of rescue, we could lose the progress we worked so hard for.
“I’m comin’ in,” I tell him, pushing away from the kitchen island and pacing toward the nearest window. Ivy doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“No, ma’am.”
“Jules.” I stop walking and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Maggie.”
“I can’t just sit here.” Frustration rises with every word. Outside, another security guard crosses the lawn, which makes me even more irritated.
“You watched somebody die yesterday.”
The words silence me. I drop my hand from my face.
His voice gentles. “You take one day. Stay with Ivy. I’ve got the shelter.”
I stare out the window toward the gardens, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
“What about meds?”
“Handled.”
“Morning walks?”
“Handled.”
“Kevin?”
I can practically hear him rubbing a hand over his face.
“He tried to bite a police officer.”
Lord help me.
“Of course he did,” I laugh softly.
“He’s fine. Everyone’s fine enough for today. You hear me?”
I look at Ivy, who’s pretending not to watch my every move. “I hear you.”
“Good. Then let somebody else carry the clipboard for twenty-four hours.”
Emotion wells up, but this time I don’t argue. “Okay.”
“Good girl.”
“Don’t push it.”
“There she is,” he says, and for a moment, through all the fear and grief, life almost sounds normal again.
After I hang up with Jules, I return to the stool with my phone in my lap and stare at the plate in front of me as if pancakes can answer questions they have no business answering. Ivy keeps picking at her breakfast beside me, cutting each piece smaller and smaller without eating much of it.
Agatha moves quietly around the kitchen, wiping down counters that already look spotless and checking on the biscuits in the oven. Somehow, she makes the enormous room feel less like a billionaire's mansion and more like somebody's home.
She hums under her breath once, catches herself, and peeks toward Ivy like she's afraid the sound might upset her. When Ivy doesn't react, Agatha resumes with a little more courage. It's funny how a little thing like that can make a room feel less sad.
“You want a little more syrup, sweetheart?” Agatha asks, holding the glass pitcher near Ivy's plate.
Ivy looks up at me first, like I've somehow become the gatekeeper for all decisions that happen in this house. “Can I?”
“Of course you can,” I tell her, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Ain't no law against extra syrup.”
Agatha smiles as she pours a ribbon of syrup over Ivy's pancakes, then slides a folded napkin closer to her hand. “There you go.”
Ivy finally takes a bite. It's tiny, but it counts. Around here, I’m learning that counts for a whole lot.
Alexei comes back through the glass doors with his phone still in one hand. Sunlight follows him inside, and I find myself noticing things I probably shouldn't. The dark shirt. The tired shadows beneath his eyes. The way he seems to take in the entire room in a single look.
His attention lands on Ivy first. He focuses on the fork in her hand and the bite missing from her pancake before his eyes lift to mine.
“Jules?” he asks.
I nod. “The shelter's standing. Animals are okay. Volunteers are scared, which I can't blame them for, and donations are one giant question mark with a neon sign over it.”
The look he gives me says he's already made up his mind. “You won't go there today.”
My back straightens before I can stop it. “I said I’d give Jules today. That doesn't mean you get to start issuin’ orders.”
Agatha suddenly becomes very interested in the skillet.
Ivy looks between us, her fork hovering above her plate.
Alexei notices. His gaze drops to her, then returns to me with the edge taken down a notch. “I want you safe.”
“I understand that,” I answer, keeping my voice calm because Ivy doesn't need to hear grown-ups arguing over her pancakes. “But the shelter is mine, Alexei. Those animals don't stop needin’ care because somebody decided to bring violence through the front door.”
“I have men who can handle logistics.”
“Animals don't need logistics. They need people who know them.” I hear my own voice thinning and force myself to breathe before I go marching off into a full Southern fuss right in his expensive kitchen.
“Kevin needs somebody who understands that he bites when he's scared.
Jake won't eat unless his bowl is in the back corner. Bella gets nervous if Mr. Pickles barks too much, and Elvis will howl himself hoarse if he thinks everyone forgot him.”
Alexei keeps looking at me, and I know what he’s thinking.
To him, the answer is simple. Keep me home.
Keep me safe. The trouble is that my life stopped being simple the day I took over that shelter.
Animals get sick. Volunteers panic. Donations disappear.
Somebody always needs something. And if nobody keeps an eye on Kevin, he'll probably commit another felony before lunch.
“I said today,” I add more gently. “Not forever.”
His jaw flexes once, but he nods. “Today.”
Ivy's fingers tighten around my sleeve. “You'll stay with me?”
Whatever argument was waiting between me and Alexei disappears beneath the fear in her voice. I turn toward her and place my hand over hers.
“Yes, baby. I'm stayin’ today.”
Her shoulders relax, and she leans against me again.
I peer over at Alexei and find him watching her. It tugs at my heart. He wants to be the one who fixes this. I can see it. The trouble is that some hurts don't work that way. Right now, Ivy wants me close, and all either of us can do is give her what she needs.
When I look back at him, I find him watching me instead. My stomach does that ridiculous little flip again. Then his phone vibrates, and the moment disappears before either of us can say anything.
A burst of movement in the hallway announces Winston before I ever see him. He barrels into the kitchen at full speed with Daisy following at a much more dignified pace. Both dogs look entirely too pleased with themselves.
“Well, somebody had a good walk,” I murmur.
Winston heads straight for Ivy, nudging his nose beneath her hand until she pets him. Daisy curls up beside her stool with a contented sigh.
For the first time all morning, Ivy's mouth twitches.
It's not quite a smile, but it's close. Then she asks if we can go upstairs.
The request sounds harmless enough until I notice she keeps checking the hallway.
The look on her face reminds me of shelter dogs after a thunderstorm.
They know the worst is over, but they're still waiting for the next boom.
My heart squeezes. I don't think spending the day hiding in a bedroom will help. Right now, she needs sunshine, distractions, and a chance to think about something besides yesterday.
“How about we find paper and crayons?” I suggest. “Maybe draw a little.”
“I don't know what to draw,” Ivy mumbles.
“Well, sugar, that’s the beauty of crayons. They don't require a plan.” I slide off the stool and hold out my hand. “You just pick a color and see what happens.”
Ivy leads me into a sunroom at the back of the house. Winston claims a patch of sunlight near the windows while Daisy stays close to Ivy's side. The entire room is bright, and the gardens beyond the windows look like something straight out of a magazine.
Flowers bloom in every direction. Security guards patrol right through the middle of them. It’s enough to make me shake my head. Alexei has managed to turn even a flower garden into a guarded perimeter.
Ivy notices the guards, too. “Are they staying?” she asks.
Alexei, who followed us from the kitchen without making a big announcement of it, answers before I can. “Yes.”
“For how long?”
“As long as I decide they're needed.”
Ivy absorbs that, her little face turning serious. “Because of the bad men?”
The question feels like a punch in the gut. Agatha pauses near the doorway with a tray of cookies and juice, and my hand tightens around the box of markers I found in a cabinet. Alexei crouches in front of Ivy, lowering himself until they are eye to eye.
“Yes,” he tells her. “Because of the bad men.”
“Will they come here?”
“No.”
The certainty in his answer almost makes me believe it on her behalf.
Ivy studies him. “Promise?”