Stars to Lead Me Home: Love and Marriage (A Novel)

by Peggy Webb

  It’s the greatest compliment I’ve ever received. The child in me has been lost for so long I feared I’d never see her again. I almost share that with Matt. In the end, though, I say, “Thanks. I plan to do that more, now.”

  “Maybe I’ll kick off my shoes and join you.”

  It’s not hard to picture myself romping in clovers with this man, and I hope he doesn’t see the blush creeping up my neck. If he does, his face doesn’t show it. He just smiles then goes back to hammering, and I head back inside and press the clovers between the pages of my brand new journal. I glance at the only entry. “Fabulous day today. Had breakfast with a blue bird. It lit right on the porch railing and stayed there the whole time, watching me eat a cranberry croissant.”

  It’s a happy entry, reflecting good times, and I’m determined to keep it that way.

  Matt’s tapping again, this time at my front door.

  “I don’t mean to bother you, Maggie, but I could use a glass of water.”

  “How about lemonade?”

  “Even better.”

  As I lead the way I am struck by the way a tall man can fill up a house, by the way a smile that is charming outdoors can turn electric inside.

  When my office phone rings, it shatters the moment, but I won’t let myself think what kind of moment.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Matt says.

  “No need. It’ll be Jean or Lillian.”

  But it’s not; it’s Halbert. And though I’ve flushed him down the toilet, he didn’t lose a single bit of his charm.

  “I’ve missed you, Maggie.” He waits, probably for me to say I’ve missed you, too. But I tighten my grip on the phone and on my resolve. “Can I come over? I have to see you.”

  The old Maggie would have jumped to conclusions. The old Maggie would have pictured a reunion complete with yellow roses, one that would start with a hug and then lead to heartbreak.

  But the new Maggie is careful of her heart.

  “Of course,” I say, polite but not enthusiastic. I’m also careful of my voice. “How about next Tuesday?”

  I glance at Matt, grateful that he’s standing in my doorway, grateful that he looks like somebody you’d see on Fourth of July picnics waving an American flag and wearing an old tee shirt that says Save the Dolphins.

  He gives me a thumbs-up sign, sensing, somehow, that I need it. I say goodbye to Halbert then don’t even wait to hear his response before I hang up.

  “Is everything all right, Maggie?”

  “Yes,” I say, then, “No,” because it not only feels wrong to start out a new life with lies but it also feels wrong to lie to this honest, sincere young man.

  “You’re pale as a sheet.” He eases me into a chair. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  When he turns around I notice his hair is beginning to thin a little at the crown, and I wonder if he’s older than the twenty-five or so I’d first imagined.

  Not that it matters, one way or the other.

  He’s back with the water, and I tell him about Halbert. Not everything, not the intimate parts, but only that he was a man who said he loved me, then just stopped calling.

  “Like an old country and western song,” I add.

  Matt renders the first verse of “Am I That Easy to Forget,” and I’m glad I told him. He’s the kind of man you want to tell things to, the kind who looks like he would make a comfortable lap for you to sit in, then stroke your hair while you bare your soul.

  “I hope you have a nice girl who appreciates you,” I say.

  “I guess not.” He grins as If we’ve shared some joke.

  I might fix him up with Lydia if I were the kind of woman who did that sort of thing. It comes as a relief to me that I’m not that kind of woman.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I startle awake then pull the sheet up to my chin and lie flat on my back listening. The sounds I’m hearing are not the normal ones you hear in the country at night, not the wind in the trees nor a branch scratching against the screen nor an owl calling from the woods. This sound is not even the one a stray cat makes when it’s on the prowl.

  I slide my arm out from under the cover, ease the phone off the hook and dial 911.

  “Lee Country Sheriff’s Department.”

  “I think I have an intruder.” I tell my name and location.

  “We’ll send somebody right out, ma’am.”

  Now what? Hide in the closet? Cower in bed and wait?

  I fling back the covers and stalk to my closet, but not to hide. I’m through with timidity, done with waiting. This is my house, and nobody is going to catch me unawares, especially not in a nightshirt.

  It’s not even my good nightshirt. This one has a tear in the tail where I caught it on a sharp place in the fire escape while I was still living in my apartment downtown. I’m not about to let anybody see me in it, not the sheriff’s deputy and certainly not an intruder.

  If somebody is going to come creeping into my house, he’s going to find a woman to reckon with. I pull on jeans and black turtleneck then add my black fringed vest for good measure. Annie Oakley without a gun.

  I race into the bathroom and grab the toilet plunger. From now on, anybody who tries to engage me in battle is going to find me armed.

  o0o

  “The toilet plunger? That’s rich.” Jean is sitting on my sofa laughing so hard her tea threatens to spill. Then suddenly she’s serious. “What would you have done if it had been an intruder?”

  “That’s not the point. The point is that Maggie Hudson is not going to go down without a fight. Not ever again.”

  “You should have called me. Bill would have come right over, or you could have come down and stayed the night with us.” Her face flushes when she gets worked up. “I don’t like the idea of you alone in this house with somebody trying to break in.”

  “Nobody tried to break in. The deputy said it was a raccoon.”

  “Still . . .what if it hadn’t been a raccoon? What if something had happened to you, Maggie?”

  It’s an old fear of hers, that I’ll be the first to die, and I get caught up in her fantasy, picture myself lying in state with my hands folded across my chest as if I hadn’t care in the world, as if I hadn’t gone off and left big chunks of my life unresolved.

  “Who would be my partner in crime?” Jean adds, partly to lighten the mood, I think, but mostly because she means it. “I couldn’t bear to live without you and Lillian both.”

  “You’re not going to lose either one of us.”

  “She looks like she’s losing weight in those vacation pictures.”

  Since that first batch, Lillian has sent them from Pigeon Forge, the Grand Ole Opry and a fishing stream in Gatlinburg.

  “Maybe a little,” I say.

  “When’s she coming back? Has she told you?”

  “Not exactly. It could be as early as tomorrow but it might be next week.”

  “I can’t wait!”

  “I know. I get sad thinking about all the time we’ve missed with her this summer, but then I think how selfish of me, wanting to take time that belongs to Carl and the girls.”

  “I’m not that noble, Maggie. When she gets back I’m going to rush right over.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  o0o

  There’s something about the way a phone rings in early morning that puts all your senses on alert. It could be my wild child Lydia, calling to say she’s had a wreck but not to worry, or Beth saying she’s been diagnosed with breast cancer and wants to make up all the time we lost. Or Jean, hysterical over anything from a broken dinner plate to a stroke.

  “Hello?” I say, tentative, my hand over my heart.

  “It’s Lillian. I’m home. Can you and Jean come over?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve sent Carl to work and the girls will probably sleep all morning. You know how teenagers are.”

  “We’ll be there in an hour.”

  “Great. I’ll have breakfast r
eady.”

  “You don’t need to cook.”

  “I’m not. It’s coffee and croissants with grape jelly, Maggie.”

  I call Jean then select a sundress with a hater back and flared skirt. A special occasion dress, I call it. It’s pretty and feminine and exactly the color of sunshine. I even spray myself with perfume that smells like gardenia. For Lillian, I tell myself. Still barefoot, I unlock the front door for Matt then hurry to the kitchen to put on the coffee.

  Matt arrives exactly at seven. I could set my watch by him. Though he’s painting inside today, he’s wearing jeans and tee shirt so white it makes him look as if he’s just come back from a beach vacation.

  “Something smells good in here.”

  “It’s the coffee.”

  He reaches over my shoulder, and I’m stunningly aware of his nearness. I tell myself he’s doing nothing more than nabbing a mug from the cabinet. His mug, I now call it, a large blue pottery one with Delta Blues etched on the side. I’d found it at blues museum on a teacher’s retreat. When Matt first saw it, we discovered we are both crazy about that particular kind of gut-felt music.

  He fills his cup, then steps back, glances at my bare feet and smiles again. He’s standing so close I can see a sunburst in the middle of his dark eyes. For a minute, I’m caught up and can’t look away.

  “I’m going to be at my friend Lillian’s this morning, maybe all day. That’s why I’m wearing this dress.” I say this a bit self-consciously, as if I’m anxious that he know I didn’t dress for him. “Do you mind working inside when I’m not here?”

  “Not at all, Maggie…but it’s more fun when you’re here.”

  “Probably because I’m an easy mark for your pranks.”

  “Could be.” He studies me for such a long time I feel my cheeks growing warm.

  “I think I’d better put on some shoes.” I hurry from the kitchen, then turn in the doorway. “I’ll leave you a key.”

  For work, of course, I should have added. But I didn’t. And now I’m in my bedroom putting on yellow sandals that match my dress, hoping he didn’t get the wrong idea and wondering about his power to fluster me.

  Jean sees all this the minute I get into her car.

  “I told you the carpenter was cute,” she says.

  “Hush up. I’m just excited, that’s all.”

  “I’d be excited, too, if that hunk was in my house.”

  “Good grief, Jean. He’s probably half my age.”

  “I don’t know, but I can ask Bill.”

  “No!”

  “Well, you needn’t shout.”

  “I’m not shouting. Just nervous, is all.”

  “Over Matt?”

  “For Pete’s sake, Jean! Over Lillian.” I think. I hope.

  Surely forty is too old to go around being vulnerable to just any charming man. But then, Matt Graham is not just any man. He’s the guy I learned to trust because of a Saturday night radio show.

  Jean drives at her usual break-neck speed, and Lillian meets us at the door. The three of us wrap our arms around each other and don’t let go for a very long time.

  “I’ve got breakfast in the sun room.”

  We follow Lillian into a room bright with sunshine and flowers she’s brought from her garden. Or maybe Carl brought them inside, because she looks too fragile. Jean’s was right to worry.

  We settle into chair with deep cushions, all done in bright yellow and green and aqua prints.

  “Catch me on everything I missed,” Lillian says. “And don’t leave out a single detail.”

  She leans back against the cushions and sips her coffee while Jean holds forth on everything from my renovations to my carpenter. And she doesn’t skimp on words like gorgeous and sexy.

  “Maggie? Is this true?” Lillian seems so delighted with this news that I’m not about to ruin it for her.

  “Every word. He has a sense of humor, too,” I say, and Lillian claps. “Enough about me. We want to hear about you.”

  “And we’re not talking about your vacation,” Jean tells her.

  “I know. My heart’s growing weaker. I don’t need a doctor to tell me that. I’m at the top of the list, but there have been no more blood matches. I just try not to think about it, that’s all. I can’t.”

  I reach for her hand. “You don’t have to.”

  “I know. That’s why I wanted to see you and Jean. My husband says he won’t talk about it, but he can’t seem to help himself. Poor Carl.”

  Lillian leans her head against the cushions and closes her eyes. Jean and I butter more croissants and I watch the small blue vein that throbs in Lillian’s forehead. It seems more prominent than when she left. Or maybe her skin is just more translucent. Still, as long as that blue vein is pulsing, I can cling to optimism.

  Finally, Lillian rouses. I glance at my watch and see Jean doing the same thing. In the last few months, it’s not unusual for Lillian to drift away for a minute or two, but never fifteen. Still, I can’t show this alarm on my face.

  “Halbert came by last night,” she says. “He looks haggard. Have you heard from him Maggie?”“

  “He’s coming to my house Tuesday.”

  Jean snorts with disgust and Lillian says, “Don’t trust him again. Even if he is my cousin.”

  “Maggie’s got more sense than that.” Jean turns to me. “Don’t you, Maggie?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Then why see him at all?” Lillian asks. “Don’t tell me you still care for him, after what he did to you!”

  “I do not. I’m just being polite, that’s all.”

  Jean snorts again. “What time is that turd coming?”

  “Six o’clock. Why?”

  “I’m going to show up at 6:30, and don’t you do a thing until I get there.”

  “I’d do the same thing if I could. I don’t like the sound of this, Maggie.”

  “For goodness sake, you two! I’m not going to do anything with Halbert. Just talk, that’s all.”

  “Don’t let him talk you into anything,” Lillian says. “He’s a smooth con man, and don’t you forget it.”

  It takes me fifteen minutes to convince them that I am perfectly capable of handling a confrontation with Halbert, that I will never forget what he did.

  “I’ll be in complete control of the situation, and that’s that.”

  o0o

  On Tuesday evening, I stand in front of the mirror and give myself a pep talk. Then I decide the yellow sundress makes me look like a woman trying to get the attention of a man. I jerk it off, then change clothes three times until I am satisfied that I look like a woman with nothing on her mind except being well groomed.

  When the doorbell rings, I take my time getting there. Halbert’s standing so the porch lighting makes him look like a wonderful mystery women can’t wait to solve. Thank goodness, I no longer want to solve him.

  “You look beautiful, Maggie. But of course, you always do.”

  I duck away from the kiss he aims at my cheek, grateful that I look like a no-nonsense school teacher in stern skirt and white blouse, grateful I’ve learned the difference between a pretty lie and the truth.

  “Won’t you come in?”

  I lead him into my living room. Matt built bookshelves and painted the walls a deep shade of yellow that makes them appear to be washed by sunshine, no matter what the time of day. I smile thinking of him whistling as he applied the paint.

  Halbert mistakes the smile for him, and tries to grab me around the waist and maneuver me onto the sofa.

  I sidestep out of his reach. “I’ll get the tea.”

  I take my time in the kitchen, in no hurry to rejoin him. By the time I get back, he’s on the edge of his seat looking uncomfortable.

  That’s exactly how I want him to feel. That’s one of the reasons I arranged this meeting at my house, on my own turf so to speak.

  I sit across the room from him, legs crossed, a cup of hot tea with sugar and cream in my hands. It’s q
uiet as both of us sip our tea, and I don’t care whether he’s comfortable in this silence or not.

  “Would you like some more?” I ask.

  “No thanks. It’s delicious though.”

  It pleases me that I’m totally unmoved by his compliment. What pleases me even more is that I’m totally unmoved by him.

  He leans toward me, and I can tell by the look on his face that he’s planning to tell me another lie.

  “You’ll never know how much I missed you, Maggie.”

  “More cookies?”

  I pick up the platter and offer it to him. He’s taken aback by my lack of reaction, but recovers quickly.

  “Of course. They’re marvelous. But then, you always were a great cook.”

  Everything he says is calculated to evoke memories as well as a certain response.

  “I got these at Kroger. On sale.” I don’t want him to think of me spending a single minute in the kitchen preparing for him.

  “Still, you know how to make a man happy.”

  “I suppose I do.” I give him an arch little smile. “I made gingerbread for my carpenter. He’s repairing my house . . . he’s quite skilled with his hands.” I tell him all this in a smug manner, implying that there’s no telling what all my carpenter is doing with his talented hands.

  Quick remorse smites me, and I resolve to tell Matt that I’ve bandied his name about in order to make Halbert squirm.

  All of a sudden, I can’t wait to see Matt, to hear him laugh.

  He’d laughed about the gingerbread, laughed with pure pleasure when I invited him inside to eat.

  “I smelled it cooking, and was hoping for an invitation.”

  I served it hot from the oven, and he ate three enormous chunks washed down with a glass of cold milk that left a white ring around his mouth he’d wiped off with the back of his hand.

  Afterward he stood at the kitchen sink and helped me wash up the dishes.

  No man has ever done that for me, and I told him so.

  “Pity them. They don’t know what they’re missing.” He playfully swatted my backside with the dish towel then returned to work, whistling.

  “Maggie?” Halbert interrupts my reverie. “I said, I want to see you again.”

  “No.”

  “Look, I know you have every right to be a little miffed, but I’m going to make that up to you. I promise.”