Maggie heard Tika protest as soon as she turned on the overheads — a good thing, because it let Maggie know she was all right. She clicked them off immediately and went to her.
“What is it, hon?”
The young woman’s face was whiter than usual, and she was trembling. She looked at Maggie forlornly. “Bad dreams,” she said. “Again.”
“Ahhh ...” Maggie drew a cup of water, handed it to her. “The iron-sided crone back to haunt you?”
Tika nodded, solemnly, and took the cup.
Maggie looked down at her, hands on hips. She sighed. Appearing to collect her thoughts, she pulled up a chair. “I’m gonna tell you a bedtime story,” she said.
Tika turned away, embarrassed. “Maggie ...”
The problem with Maggie was, she didn’t just look like Whoopi Goldberg — she acted like her sometimes.
“Shhht! You nee
