Mom’s laugh made me smile harder. “Oh, you’ll have Chloe. And you’ll have me. I’m gonna visit. You couldn’t keep me away if you tried.”
Mom patted my knee, and I covered her hand with mine.
“Good,” I said. “Chloe would be disappointed if you didn’t visit.”
“What are you going to do about work?” Mom asked.
“I have an idea, but I have to check into the logistics.”
Chapter 34
The pit in my stomach seemed like a black hole. The last days of summer depressed me. John and Chloe would be here in seventy-two hours, but I focused on the start of school. I opened my laptop and typed in the school website then opened my e-mail. The list of unread items covered the screen. I deleted junk mail then scanned the rest, expecting to see birth announcements with the occasional death.
The last announcement caught my attention. My eyes burned and my hands shook as tears streamed down my cheeks. Jenny McBride was not announcing the birth of a grandchild. In fact, she wasn’t announcing anything. I leaned closer to the screen and reread the words over and over, not believing the news. She had passed away.
The image of her at the cancer center plagued me. A pang of loss constricted my chest. I’d told Jenny to call me, and I knew she wouldn’t. Our friendship tainted by ambition. Details didn’t matter, the fact remained the same, Jenny McBride former friend, and colleague had passed away from cancer. She’d seized her dream of becoming principal while I wallowed in rejection, not knowing what fate had in store for me. With the beat of time, my future was upon me, and I now understood the “big picture.”
I sat back in my chair, closed my eyes, and then said a prayer for Jenny and her family. I said a prayer my own family. Bones trotted in, his jowls flapping, his stout bulldog body bobbing and weaving with each step. He sat at my feet.
“This is a sign.” I dabbed my cheeks with tissue. He tilted his head in my direction. “I know you don’t get it, but it’s a sign, God rest her soul.”
Bones grunted then wobbled over to his bed, circled it three times, and plopped down.
I read the e-mail one more time. Her funeral had been three days ago. While I was riding shotgun, reminiscing my vacation, she’d lost her battle with disease, closed her eyes, and said goodbye to the world. Guilt brewed as I caught my breath. It just didn’t seem possible.
My phone buzzed. It was John. My eyes blurred with emotion as I read the screen. I tapped out a reply. Yes, I’m here. Mom is great. Can’t wait to see you. xo
Setting down the phone, I scanned the e-mail for an address to send my condolences. I scrolled down to the last unopened e-mail, a job posting. My heart bound by sadness, I opened it, perused the details, and closed it just as quickly, not giving me time to mull over the proposition before me.
In the top drawer of my desk, I dug for the book that held my username and password to the state retirement website. The gray-haired couple on the front held each other in jubilee. I imagined how free they felt. My phone buzzed again. I looked at the screen. It was John again. I read the message. A smile crept across my lips. I tapped out another message. I’m sure Glad will watch Chloe when you are here. My stomach rolled over at the thought of being in his arms again.
I read the first page of the schoolteacher’s retirement book, and then typed my information into the login box of the website to double-check my years of service. Highlighted blue font on the left side of the screen caught my attention. I squinted to read the tab again. I clicked on the words, buying years. I read the explanation, then reread it, thinking I missed something. Since when did the state re-instate the privilege of purchasing years? I’d given up the hope a few years back as we were told that wasn’t an option any more. I could’ve sworn I read it on paper.
I reread the passage in disbelief just as I’d read Jenny’s obituary. What was the catch? Was this a trick? I read the formula and gulped at the amount of money it would cost me to buy my way out.
Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes. Jenny’s face haunted me. She was gone at such a young age. She was dead and I was here in my cozy house large enough for a good Irish-Catholic family, pondering my own dilemma, which really wasn’t a dilemma in retrospect. Tears ran down my cheeks and my chest heaved. At one time we’d been so close. How could we have let enterprise unravel the threads of our friendship like one of Mom’s knitting projects when she yanked at the yarn to start over?
I bowed my head and my body convulsed with remorse. “Goddamn it.” The lump in my throat constricted my voice. I swiped at the tears. The computer screen blurred in front of me and my brain throbbed against my skull. My phone vibrated against my desk.
“Goddamn it,” I cried, letting it all out.
The screen of my phone flickered as I opened the photo. It was from Chloe. She was perched on Huckleberry. I swiped my fingers over the screen to make the photo bigger. Huckleberry’s spots glistened in the sun, the intensity matching the expression on Chloe’s face. I read the text. Hi Maggie, I got to ride Huckleberry today. I just wanted to send you a picture so you wouldn’t forget me.
I dabbed my swollen eyes. God, how could she think I would forget her? “Shit.” I tapped out a message back. I could never forget you!
Recalculating the retirement formula again, I reviewed my years of service, then started plugging in numbers. I swallowed at the total cost. How was it even possible? Who could afford five digits, teetering on six digits, one more snack cake, and the scales would tip. The total number of snack cakes consumed in a twenty-seven-year career probably cost just as much. Who knew? I should have put the money in a secret bank. Even with Bradley on his own, it seemed impossible. I shut the computer down in disgust. My phone sat quiet while I dreamed of being with Chloe and John at the ranch.
A knock at the door jarred my train of thought. Bones jumped from his place and ran to the door. I followed as he skidded around the corner. Mom stood at the screen door. “How come you just didn’t come in?”
“I figured I’d better start knocking,” Mom said. “Never know what I might interrupt.”
My cheeks simmered. “Ha. Ha. You’re funny. Nobody here but me.” I joined her on the porch.
“Why the long face?” she asked, sitting beside me on the swing.
“I don’t think I can afford a buy out.”
“What do you mean, sweetheart?”
“I can buy the years I need to qualify for my pension, but it’s seems too expensive. It’s based on your highest years of salary, not current rate.”
Mom made a face.
“What?”
“I’m not sure you want me to butt in, Maggie.”
“Seriously, you’re going to disappoint me now? This sucks.”
Mom frowned at me.
“What?”
“How much do you owe on this house?”
“Not really sure of the exact number, but we’ve, excuse me …” A bitter note of Beckett lingered at the back of my throat. God, why was I so angry with him today? I hadn’t spoken or seen him in months. I tucked my foot under my thigh and rested my arm on the back of the swing.
“So what do you owe?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Well we had a thirty-year mortgage and I’ve been here for at least twenty-five years, maybe, I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t count anymore.”
Mom took her glasses off and leaned close to me. “Sell the house, dear. The market has gone up.”
My eyes scanned the porch then peered through the screen door to the inside that sat dormant most of the time. My breath caught in my chest.
“What’s the problem? What in God’s name could cause you to look like that?” Mom nibbled at the end of the arm of her glasses.
“Jenny McBride died. Do you remember her?”
“How could I forget? She’s all I heard about for the longest time.”
“Sorry,” I said. Tears didn’t come. I glanced up into my mother’s eyes and held her hand. “I don’t think
I was a very good friend.”
“You tried.” Mom took a deep breath. “It takes two.”
“Maybe, but she died of cancer, Mom. And I’m still here.”
“Thank God for that. And I do every day, sweet girl.”
A lump formed in my throat as Mom’s glossy eyes stared at me. I inhaled, held my breath, and then let it out along with the sting of tears.
Mom wiped my eyes. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I know you two used to be close. It’s a shame how work interfered with your relationship.”
I pictured Jenny lying in a coffin, gaunt, not the blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman who seemed vibrant not so long ago. A wave of nausea rushed through my belly, and I covered my mouth then swallowed hard.
Mom’s forehead creased with worry.
“Sorry.” My chin quivered.
“Oh, Maggie.”
I pressed my lips together gathering my scattered thoughts. “I was off in Montana having the time of my life and she was here dying and I didn’t even know it. Judy and I saw her a few months ago. I had no idea.”
Mom sighed. “You can’t feel guilty for living your life.”
I picked at the hem of my T-shirt. “What?”
“You can’t feel guilty,” Mom said, again. “If things had been turned around, she would’ve been doing the same thing and rightfully so.”
Bones plopped down on the porch floor and let out a deep sigh.
Mom stroked his back with her toe. “He gets it. Why can’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sell the house and move on,” Mom said.
“I’d have to talk to Beckett.” I nibbled at my thumbnail. The prospect of selling made my stomach churn. This was Bradley’s childhood home.
“Fine, talk to Beckett, but I see that as just one more reason for you to hang on to it. You let him dictate your life for all those years. You really want to go there?”
“No.” Mom was right, but I didn’t have the nerve to look her in the eyes. Damn it, she was right. “Maybe Bradley would want it.”
Mom pressed her lips together in disgust. “You are impossible. You worry about everyone but yourself. You’ve been like this forever. Why can’t you just focus on you?” She laid her glasses on the bench between us.
“I don’t know.” Truth was I did know. Truth was, it was less painful to focus outward. There was something prickly inside me. It nicked my heart. It rang in my head. I didn’t know myself the way I should have. I was afraid to know myself.
“I think you do know,” Mom said. “It’s time to face the music.”
“It’s just so scary. The thought of moving, the thought of a new life. What if it doesn’t work out?”
“And if you don’t go, you’ll always wonder. What will hurt more?”
Mom’s blunt words made me cringe, a direct hit as if we were playing Battleship and she just torpedoed my last ship. I bit my lip as it trembled. Chloe’s image danced in my mind. John’s touch lingered in my memory. I knew I couldn’t live without them.
Chapter 35
Beckett’s hair was shorter than usual and a tinge grayer, too. I sat with my hands under my chin thinking about what I saw in him. With a tilt of my head and a blink of my eyes, he was nothing to me. He rambled on about teaching art history, the new Japanese restaurant downtown, and the thought of dying his gray.
I nodded along for a while until I couldn’t listen anymore. “So, I’m thinking about selling the house.”
Beckett frowned. “Sell the house? Why would you do that?”
A million reasons crossed my mind, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him just yet about John and Chloe. He didn’t even know I went to Montana, and I liked it that way. “I’m just one person and it’s getting harder to keep up,” I said. That part was true. Beckett’s eyes dimmed as hurt creased in his brow. “I just wondered if you wanted to buy it.”
“I thought you’d live here forever. It’s the home you love and are comfortable in.”
“That’s one of the problems. I guess, if I’ve learned anything since our divorce, comfort doesn’t necessarily equate to need.” Beckett’s eyes darkened and his forehead furrowed. I knew I wasn’t getting my point across. “I think it’s time to pass it on to another family.”
“Does Bradley know you’re thinking about selling it?” Shoulders drooping, Beckett played with the keys to his Prius.
“Um, no. I thought I’d talk to you first. Thought you might be interested in buying it?”
Beckett shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you want to move. We put so much into this house.”
“Yeah, but I’m getting to the end of my career and this house is a lot for one person.”
Beckett didn’t get it. The hint of anger sparked within me. Once again, Beckett wanted me to keep something that I didn’t want. He wanted me to hold it close for him. God, what was he going to do when I told him I wanted to buy out my last few years and move away from the suburbs of Detroit that he still treasured? It was fine for him to transition into a new life, but not me.
“I thought you wanted the house. We agreed you’d take the house when we divorced.” His Adam’s apple bulged as he grew more irritated.
I played with the grass bracelet on my wrist. John’s touch alive and fresh. “Um, we did. You also told me that you wanted to live closer to the university. It wasn’t an issue then.” Not much was an issue between us at that point. Beckett had come out and he did everything he could to make me comfortable, too comfortable, sometimes suffocating me with kindness. If he wanted the house, he should’ve said something. My patience wore thin.
Beckett leaned back in his chair, his peeved expression personified.
Folding my arms across my chest, I leaned back into my chair, preparing for a showdown.
“This is just like you,” he said.
I shook my head. “What?” Mom’s words flooded back. The electricity in the air warned me to tread lightly.
“I gave you everything you wanted, needed. And now you don’t want to live here.”
“Why are you trying your best to make me feel shitty about this? Yes, you’ve given me more than I think many ex-husbands would give their exes, but sometimes …” I stopped. I didn’t want to fight and thought we were past this petty behavior.
“What, Maggie? For God’s sake, just say it. You could never just say what you really wanted. It was like a guessing game half the time.”
I pressed my lips shut and avoided his disgusted gaze, trying to maintain control, but then again, I thought maybe I should speak my mind. Lose control. It might do me good. “Okay.” I stifled the nerves that menaced my self-confidence and pushed my shoulders back. “You know what, Beckett?” I pointed my finger at him as his lips parted. “You gave me all those things because you felt so damn guilty about your part in all of this. Jesus, you hired an interior decorator last summer and wanted me to date him. You can’t just give away things in hopes that it’ll Band-Aid the wounds that you helped create.” I challenged Beckett with my stare.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Let’s try this again. Listen,” I said. “All your generous gifts were a coping mechanism, for you.” My tone was strong and certain. “Sometimes people have to hurt. Sometimes people have to figure out life by themselves.”
“Why are you pushing me away, Maggie?”
I stared at Beckett, long and hard. “You thought that if you gave me the house, helped with the decorating—” My hands flailed in front of me as I stumbled over my words. “You thought that I wouldn’t hate you.”
His expression softened. His tense jaw flexed.
“Am I right? You did it so I wouldn’t hate you. You were afraid there wouldn’t be anyone else who truly cared about you after you came out.” Oh, my God, did he really feel that isolated and alone? How could he possible think I’d be that shallow?
Beckett sat frozen, his eyes glazed over, and his fingers stopped working his keys.
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br /> “Am I right?” I looked around at the kitchen he’d picked out, letting him think it was a compromise because that’s what married couples do. My chest heaved with exasperation. I was as much to blame as he was. We pacified each other, and not in a good way. “Well, am I?”
He said nothing.
I glared at him.
“Fuck, Maggie. I gave you the better part of my life.”
“You didn’t have to.” My teeth ground together as I seethed. “So you stayed with me out of pity?”
“You’re making this worse than it has to be, Maggie.”
“No, I am making it real. If you stayed for pity, shame on you. You wasted your time and mine.” Shouting at Beckett felt great.
Beckett cleared his throat. “I stayed because I thought my son would hate me, more than I hated my own dad.”
I smoothed my hair away from my face. “Oh, Beckett.” I wiped the corners of my eyes. “How the hell could you think your own son wouldn’t forgive you?” He’d sold Bradley short. He’d sold me short. He’d sold himself short.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I hissed. “Now you’re the one not being fair to Bradley. Has he ever made you feel less than all the things that you are?”
Beckett lowered his gaze. “No.”
“What?”
Beckett’s eyes glistened with tears as the stern words left my mouth. “I love him too much. I just didn’t want to lose him. It was bad enough that I had to split with you.”
My hands shook. “We could never raise a human being to be so hateful.” What was Beckett even thinking?
“Don’t hate me, Maggie.”
“The only thing that’s going to make me hate you is this condescending attitude that you’re displaying. What the hell? I know I’m not perfect.” I stopped myself from going any further. “Do you want the house or not?”
“I don’t know.” Beckett rubbed his temples. “I really like my place downtown. I just don’t know.”
“Fine, then think about it and get back to me.” Pushing back my chair, I left the table. It wasn’t Beckett’s hard stare that unnerved me, it was his reminiscing. I opened the refrigerator door and peered inside for a magic wand to fix what I stirred up, or better yet, a baseball bat to beat him with. I hoped like hell this conversation would go better with Bradley. I snagged a bottle of water and rolled it across my forehead. The glass bottles rattled as I slammed the refrigerator door. Beckett stood then paced back and forth with his hand on his chin. I rolled my eyes. God, what made me sleep with him all those years ago? He irritated the hell out of me.
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