by D. Brown
When Maggie said good night at one, Sam offered to walk her home, but Maggie declined, saying she thought she could make it the sixty or so feet without getting lost. She smiled and gave him a polite peck on the cheek, a little forward yes, but Sam didn’t care. It was just Finch and Wen, and he was sure Maggie assumed he’d already told them something.
Sam watched her go, disappearing into the shadow’s embrace, fingering the folded slip of paper in his pocket.
“Sam, my boy,” Wendy said, “You are going to break that poor child’s heart.”
“I hope not,” Sam replied, but in his heart, he wasn’t sure.
Only Sam figured the heart to be broken as a result of all this wasn’t Maggie’s, but his.
Oh boy this one is really going to hurt, he thought as he felt his heart tear free from his chest and follow Maggie home.
30
Maggie answered the phone quickly.
“Hi.”
Her voice was sunshine to Sam.
“Hi there,” he said. “You were radiant tonight.”
His heart was a jackhammer pounding away at the concrete of loneliness encasing his heart.
If this is life I want to live to be a hundred.
Sam’s voice sounded small, and far away to Maggie as she lay curled on her side in bed with the lights out.
Then she was able to pretend he was right here next to her in bed.
His voice brought her comfort. She could lie there and listen to Sam recite the phone book and be just fine.
“I missed you today,” she said.
Sam replied simply, “I missed you, too.”
“I thought about you all day. Didn’t matter what I was doing,” she laughed, “Oh God, I’m a horrible mother.”
“Why are you a horrible mother?”
“Because I couldn’t get you off my mind,” she said. “I spent the day with my children, and all I thought about was how or when I’d be able to see you again.”
“I wasn’t much better. I was miserable all damn day.”
“Sam,” Maggie said, and she fell quiet afterward.
“What?”
“I want to thank you again.”
“For what?”
“For David.”
A single tear traced an uneven line down her cheek.
Her emotions were raked raw.
Maggie couldn’t hide it anymore.
“He could have drowned, Sam.”
“But he didn’t, and let’s leave it at that,” he said, “He’s okay.”
She was crying now, her tears gushing forth unabated, and for a very long time, she was unable to speak, and the hiss of silence answered her, as Sam had nothing he could say to ease this pain.
“I’m a horrible person, Sam.”
“No Maggie, you’re not. You are a fantastic mother and a wonderful and fascinating woman.”
“Sam, even tonight. I dressed for you, to please you, to look my best for you.”
“And you were beautiful,”
“I cheated on my husband, Sam. I am the worst kind of person imaginable.”
“Maggie . . .” was all Sam could say, confessing the obvious, “I love you.”
“You can’t love me. I have a husband.”
“But I do, I can’t help it.”
“I have children,” she said. “I can’t do this to them.”
“Then, I’ll wait,” Sam said, his resolve set, his future charted, “Forever if I have to. I don’t care how long it takes. I want to be a part of your life.”
“You can’t say that,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
“Because you deserve happiness in your life,” she said. “You deserve to have someone who can give you all the happiness you deserve, and I can’t do that.”
“I don’t care,” Sam said, “I’ll wait for you.”
“I don’t want you to wait for me. This isn’t fair.”
“Not fair?” Sam noted the irony. “What’s not fair is finding the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with and you can’t because she’s married to someone else. To hell with fair, I’m waiting for you, Maggie.”
Sam closed his eyes and squeezed away the silver flashes firing behind his eyes, concentrating on loosening the knots that tied up his shoulders.
“Maggie,” he began. “You want to be with me, right?”
Another very long silence followed, and a cold spike of fear slowly pierced the core of soul.
What if she says no?
What then, Sam?
Her reply was small, frail, very vulnerable, and accepting the reality of this, of them. “Yes,” a barely audible hush of a whisper almost lost among the hiss of her resigned sigh. “Yes, I want to be with you.”
Sam allowed the rush of relief to wash over him, and a smile creased his face, shining through the darkness. “Then everything will be all right, Maggie. We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. We’ll get through this. I promise.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“But Sam,” she said, more sadness creeping into her voice. “I can’t make you that kind of promise.”
“I’m not asking you too. This is my choice. I know exactly what I’m getting into here. I know just as much heartache and hurt awaits me as happiness and contentment.”
“But I hate it that you have to be hurt like that. I hate it that I’ll do this to you.”
Sam laughed an ironic chuckle “It’s what happens when you fall in love with a married woman, Maggie.”
And suddenly, Sam felt a rush of pity for Frank Wiley. He remembered the anguished look on his face when he showed up at the beach house as they were taking Diane away.
His expression betrayed far more than the tragedy of loss of a friend or colleague.
He looked like a man with a broken heart.
What goes around comes around, huh?
As Sam caught his spectral reflection in the night glass of an open window, he saw the same expression on his own face.
“Go to your window,” he told Maggie.
Sam heard the rustle of blankets and the brush of static over the phone as Maggie crawled out of bed.
“Why?”
“Just go to the window.”
Through the darkness, Sam saw the draperies part, mere brush strokes of gray swept aside, barely visible through the shadows. He couldn’t see beyond the draperies into Maggie’s room, but he knew she was in there.
Somewhere.
“Front window,” he said, “I’m here.
“I see you.”
“I see you too.”
Sam flipped on the lamp, enough to bathe the window in soft light and show his silhouette. Maggie did the same.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Sam said, speaking to her silhouette.
“How do you know it will?”
“Because it will,” he said. “It just will.”
Then he added, something Sam hadn’t felt in a very long time, “I have faith it will.”
There followed a long pause, too long in fact. Sam thought he lost the connection.
“You there?”
“Yes, I’m here,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper now. “Sam?”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“I love you.”
He sighed.
My God, what have we started here?
He brought up his right hand and pressed it against the windowpane... extended pinky and forefinger, thumb pointed out.
“I love you too.”
“You better,” he heard Maggie reply, and that made him smile.
Maggie did the same, and they held their hands there for a long time.
“Sam?”
“Maggie?”
“Can you come outside?”
“Sure.”
He looked away and switched off the table lamp. When he looked back, Maggie’s window was dark, the curtains drawn, and Maggie was gone.
Sam heard the whin
e and whap of her screen door opening and closing. He noticed movement along her porch. He bounded off the porch, racing across the lawn to her, seeing her do the same and running toward him.
All pretenses of indifference were shed now.
They had nothing to hide anymore, at least not now.
It was past two o’clock in the morning. There was only one reason to meet now.
Out here.
Like this.
Only one thing mattered to them.
Get to each other.
As quickly as possible.
Maggie jumped into Sam’s arms and he took her, holding her tight, as she smothered him with kisses. He kissed her back; anywhere his lips could touch. She held him just as tight, afraid he might let go, afraid she couldn’t let go now.
Maggie knew saying good-bye would be next to impossible now, but she didn’t care.
Neither did Sam.
“Worry about real life later,” he said, and kissed her lips, her face, and her neck. “For now, the rest of the world does not exist. This is our time, just us.”
“Yes,” Maggie was crying again, “Just us.”
They kissed again, finding each other’s lips, long and hard, devouring each other with their insatiable hunger.
They held each other for a long time, not wanting to let go.
Finally, they parted. Sam kissed her forehead, and Maggie smiled, looking down, almost embarrassed now by her unrestrained display of emotion.
“I love you more than I want to,” she said, a large, but sad smile pulling at her face as she looked up at him with tear stained eyes.
Sam kissed her softly, lips brushing together, caressing her cheek and then held her close, whispering in her ear, “Well, I love you more than I should.”
31
The Fourth Day – Sunday, July 5
They held each for a long time; Maggie curled next to Sam as they sat in the porch swing, slowly swaying back forth.
They said little to each other besides I love you.
Nothing else needed saying.
Enough had been said already.
Tomorrow’s problems can wait until tomorrow.
They put real life on hold. While Maggie wouldn’t take her wedding ring off, she did turn the stone down on her engagement ring. Whatever happened with the rest of their lives could wait until the end of these two weeks.
Sam stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. He relished the weight of her against him, the scent of her perfume – the soft round of her hip where his hand rested. Feeling the silk of her shorts and the warm, soft contours of her thigh as he gently caressed her leg.
This is where I belong. Right here, with her.
It’s only been two days, but it feels like I’ve always known her, always loved her.
She melted into him as her curves became one with his.
Maggie believed Sam when he said the rest of the world, for now, did not exist.
Not tonight.
No husband.
No kids.
No family.
No life.
Not tonight.
Just Sam.
To hell with the guilt, there will be plenty enough to deal with tomorrow.
I’ll deal with whatever I have to deal with in the morning.
Tonight, she loved Sam, and Sam loved her.
She nuzzled against his neck, catching the faint whiff of his cologne, mingled with the ash of the burning fire. She rubbed her hand against the whisker-stubble shadowing his cheek, feeling the rugged contours of his face, and as she laid her head against his bare chest, his soft chest hair tickling her cheek, she heard his heartbeat, steady and strong.
This is where she wanted to be. Right here, in Sam’s arms.
Protected and cherished.
Maggie drifted off to sleep.
When she finally stirred and opened her eyes, Maggie heard the steady creak of the porch swing chains pull at the hooks embedded in the overhead rafters. Sam’s breathing kept in time with the swing.
“You’re not asleep?” she asked softly, her own voice still thick from sleep.
“Nope.”
She looked up sleepy eyed, “Why not?”
He smiled back at her and she saw the expression of contentment warm his eyes.
“Because I don’t want to miss a moment of this, I can always sleep later. It’ll be time to go before you know it.”
“But we’ll do this again.”
His smile grew and he kissed her softly.
“I hope so,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid any voice would shatter the fragile magic of this moment. “Still, there will come a day, when you will go home, and I’ll be sitting out here on this very porch swing alone and remembering this night. I don’t want to miss a moment of my time with you. I don’t want to savor a nap in your arms. I want to savor watching you sleep in mine.”
The night was warm, less humid, but comfortable. The ocean breeze meandered across the porch, playing with the chimes, pausing a moment to kiss each of them, then moving onward up the beach, in no particular hurry at all.
“I just love this porch,” Maggie said. “It is so peaceful. I can get lost here.”
She leaned up and looked at the eclectic assortment of beach knickknacks, debris and salvaged junk Sam had arranged on the walls and ceiling. Some of it was pleasing to the eye, while others could have been called garbage.
Each piece, to Sam, they were all treasures.
“Where did you get all this?”
“Most of this washed up on the beach. Some of it I picked up in thrift and salvage shops. The ship’s lanterns I took off the wreckage of an old shrimp boat that washed up on the backside of Little Tybee, oh hell back before I was even born, I think. The rest are just odds and ends I’ve collected over the years walking the beach.”
A 1982 Florida license tag, rusted and bent, that could have come from a shark’s belly, or just drifted north with the tides.
A large chunk of driftwood coming from an old sawmill that used to operate up the Savannah River once upon a time. The scrap lumber from the old logging settlements up river settled to the bottom, and made a great natural reef habitat for sea life. Sam snared this massive chunk of pine, and thought he’d hooked the biggest damned fish ever caught by man or beast. That’s what he told everybody in the boat too. By the time it reached the surface, he thought he’d hooked one of these monster catfish, the kind that weighed up to 120 pounds, and reached five to six feet in length.
After reeling in the slab of driftwood and enduring the barrage of jokes from the boys, Sam decided anything that fought him this hard he wasn’t throwing back, animal, vegetable, mineral or even driftwood. So, he dried off the wood, brushed away the sand and sediment from the grooves, cracks and crevices, then coated it with varnish.
It’s hung from the wall above the rocking chairs ever since Sam bought the place two years back.
An old metal sign, rusted and sand blasted, saying Rix Marina, was centered into the porch ceiling. Another metal sign tacked to one of the porch posts said Regular Gas 19 cents a gallon.
Above the front door hung an eroded chunk of boat hull, the old wooden kind, with the ship’s christened name Annabelle written in faded white script, the paint chipped and peeling.
Two old boat props and a boat anchor that Finch gave him were arranged on the porch railing.
A working barometer hung from one of the porch posts.
An old spinning reel, one of those really old ones, where you used your thumb to stop the line flow, now served as a candle holder centered on the coffee table between the two rockers.
A Budweiser beer can; the old kind that you used to open with a can opener. A summer thunderstorm washed it ashore, and he tried to remember when they started producing beer cans with the pop-top, the 60’s?
An old coffee tin, from the turn of the last century, used by Sam’s great-grandfather, to carry coffee on his morning route as street car conductor for th
e Cincinnati Street and Cable Car Company. The tin most likely carried a pint of beer more often than it held coffee, knowing his great-grandfather, or on colder days, Irish whiskey.
A fisherman’s shrimp net draped from the wall and ceiling in the corner, filled with an assortment of seashells and other beach debris: fishing hooks, old bobbers, chewed up lures by God only knows what manner of sea creature – with teeth, sand dollars, starfish, seagull feathers, shark’s teeth and even fish skeletons.
And then of course there were the wind chimes of every imaginable size and description: bamboo, brass, sea shells; all sizes big and small.
Sam told Maggie the story behind each piece, pointing them out to her in the soft light. She laid her head on his shoulder and listened, captivated by the easy-flowing sound of his voice. Some pieces held more interesting tales than others but for each piece, even his rocking chair, there was a story.
“I found the conch shell after a full moon low tide off the southern point of the island.”
“The soup can is Cuban.”
“I don’t know what the hell that is,” he said pointing to a small rusted and slightly charred chunk of metal, “or where it came from. I’m almost afraid to ask, but it looks like it might be a piece of the space shuttle.”
“You collected all these?” Maggie nuzzled into his neck, draping her legs over the porch swing’s armrest.
“I walk the beach a lot.”
Sam savored the moment with her, not knowing when their next might happen, or it will ever happen.
He didn’t care either.
Live for tonight.
Deal with tomorrow, tomorrow.
They held each other for a long time, said nothing more than they spoke.
Maggie drifted off to sleep and Sam didn’t think he could know any more happiness and contentment than he did right now.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” he whispered softly in her ear. “I promise. Everything’s going to be all right.”
32
