“Your arm is broken,” the photographer argued with the deceptive sweetness she sometimes adopted to make a point. “No concert in the world is worth going through the rest of your life a cripple.”
For the next hour, as police managed to calm the crowd and shoo away any lingering trouble, paramedics attended the wounded. Anyone who hadn’t been hurt while waiting in line was told to go home, and the police had to haul off two more kids in squad cars when they resisted the orders.
By the time the last teens had been loaded into ambulances or police cars or sent home, Maggie was exhausted. “Sam,” she said, “give your film to Sharon. She’ll develop it.”
“I might have gotten some good stuff,” Sam said, handing over the roll.
Sharon gave her a playful punch. “You’re a pro, kid. You kept your head and your eye. I’d bet my next paycheck that you’ve got a shot or two in here worth the morning paper.”
Sam squealed, grabbing Sharon’s hands. “Really?”
“Really.”
Maggie grinned. “Do you have any idea where you might have left your shoes?”
“Uh—no.” Sam glanced at the mess in the square and widened her eyes sheepishly. “I think they might be lost.”
“It’s all right.” Maggie slung an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “But, in the future, you might think about wearing more comfortable shoes.”
Sam smiled.
“Now, I’ve got an editorial to write while I’m still hot, and you have a final to study for.”
“If you’re going to be up awhile, Maggie, I’ll call to let you know what we have in the way of photos,” Sharon said.
“Great. Talk to you then.”
Samantha barely spoke on the way home, deep in her own reverie. Maggie let her drift within herself, familiar with the need to absorb what had just been recorded. As they drove up in front of the house, Sam reached out to touch Maggie’s hand. “Thanks for letting me go,” she said.
Maggie smiled, touched again with the bittersweet evidence of Sam’s growing maturity. “You’re more than welcome.”
She didn’t see Joel until they reached the stairs. “Hi,” he said, standing to greet them. In his arms was the kitten, his back paw rather conspicuously bandaged in a cast.
“Hi, Joel,” Sam said cheerfully. “How’s the kitten?”
“Good. The vet said today his lungs are clearing, and he should be able to eat real food in a few more days.”
“He’s so cute,” Sam cooed, stepping forward to rub the kitten’s head. “I’m glad he’s okay.” She tsked lightly. “I have to go study. See you guys later.”
Maggie had watched the exchange with an amused smile. When Samantha went inside, she said, “I didn’t know you and Samantha had grown to be friends.”
“She comes to talk to me in the garden sometimes.” He grinned. “She’s the one who told me how much you love a certain brand of hamburger.”
“Of course.” Maggie grinned. “Count yourself among the elite, then. She finds most people over the age of twenty boring beyond belief.”
“She’s a sweet kid,” he said. “But not nearly as sweet as her mother.”
Maggie stared at him in the lamplighted dimness. His expression was tender and grave. A square of light caught on the plane of his cheekbone, throwing his eye into shadow. “I have to go in,” she said, suddenly overwhelmed with the emotions crowding into her chest.
He moved slowly toward her and put a hand on her neck. “Do you have to go right now?”
“I have to write an editorial tonight, while I’m still angry.”
“Well, then,” he murmured, “go write and come back.”
He pulled her head to his, his huge hand cupping the back of her skull, and lowered his mouth. Instead of kissing her gently, he took her lower lip into his mouth and sucked lightly. Her hips went weak with the sensation.
His thumb moved on her ear, stroking lightly, his touch jingling her earring, and he followed the sucking motion with a gentle nip and a teasing thrust of his tongue. “Come back out when you’re done,” he whispered insistently. “We can have some coffee or something.”
“It might be a while.”
“I can wait.” His thumb moved up and down, up and down on her throat. “It’s a beautiful night.”
Maggie nodded. “Okay.”
He let his hand slide down her arm, then squeezed her fingers and let go. “Go get finished. I’ll be here.”
* * *
But the editorial Maggie had planned to write completely disappeared from her mind when she sat down to try to scribble it out at the desk in her bedroom. She found herself glancing out to the backyard, her mind filled with the promise of Joel. In exasperation, she threw down her pencil.
Lately, her discipline had flown right out the window. Several times recently, when she should have been taking notes for a story or an editorial, she’d instead played peacemaker. Tonight, she’d been more interested in Sam’s excitement than in the news unfolding around her. Even now, instead of writing an editorial, she wanted to find out who the students involved in the protest were and have a talk with the adults behind them. She wanted to stage a town meeting to call parents’ attention to Proud Fox’s lyrics. She wanted to find out why David could come and go at will, with no one paying much notice; she wanted to uncover the reasons why so many sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds had been able to camp out all night in front of that store.
She had no interest in making a story out of it. She wanted to fix it.
Rubbing her forehead wearily, she let go of a long breath. Newspapers had once seemed to be the most exciting kind of career she could choose. After seeing Samantha at work shooting photographs tonight, Maggie realized there was a huge gap between what she felt for her career and what people who loved theirs felt. Like Joel. His voice soared when he spoke of hawks, and his eyes took on a glow.
It called into question everything she thought she knew about herself.
“Oh, quit,” she said aloud. “Stop agonizing.” She grinned. First it had been thoughts of pregnancy and babies, now dissatisfaction with her job. Was that what they meant by a biological clock?
More likely, she thought as she headed down the hall, she just had a bad case of infatuation, which time would undoubtedly heal.
Samantha, when Maggie looked in on her, had fallen asleep over her studies. Maggie gently removed the book and turned out the light, then flipped the quilt over her. For a moment, she looked at her daughter tenderly, seeing in memory all the Samanthas she had tucked in through the years. Now Sam was nearly a woman, but her face still showed the faintest traces of the little girl she had been.
Joel was propped on the porch railing when she came out. “Done so fast?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t get it done.” She sat on the swing on his end of the porch and kicked it into a sway. “No motivation.”
“Maybe I can help,” he suggested.
You’ve already done enough, she thought. “No, I’m just not with it tonight.” She glanced at him, lifting her eyebrows quickly once to indicate resignation. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
She definitely sounded blue, Joel thought. Beneath her eyes were shadows. He felt a pang of conscience. Tonight, he’d wanted her all to himself the instant he had seen her, and he’d used her physical attraction to him to draw her back outside with him.
Now he saw that she had a lot to think about. The newspaper took an enormous amount of time, especially given Maggie’s devotion to detail. Rarely had he ever seen a misspelled word or a clumsy headline. Page designs were well balanced, and the photos were creative. Even the quality of news covered showed a good feeling for the readers themselves—not an easy feat for a woman ten to fifteen years older than they were.
She did it because she loved the kids, held a rare sympathy for their dramas and crises and need to be noticed. It showed in the solid relationship she had developed with Sam, who spoke of Maggie with a deep respect balanced with teasin
g humor.
He took a seat on the swing next to her and put his arm around her. “Come here,” he said quietly. She rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. Gently, he pressed his cheek against her hair and with slow, easy movements, massaged her shoulders.
For a long time, they sat there together without speaking, the swing rocking back and forth in the cool evening. Joel held her pressed to his chest, smelling the scent of her shampoo mixed with the smell of the night itself. Her body fit next to his as if they’d been carved from one piece of wood.
As she relaxed against him, he thought, finally, that everything had been worth it. If it had been necessary to undergo the struggles and dark years to reach this moment with Maggie in the mellow spring night, he would gladly endure them all again.
With the thought, he turned to press a kiss to her forehead—and grinned to himself. Maggie had fallen asleep, cradled in his arms.
She trusted him, like Moses did. The knowledge gave him a knife thrust of sorrow, for eventually, he would have to betray that trust. Moses asked nothing more than Joel’s attention, the assurance of food and a warm place to sleep—things that must have been unimaginable to the old tom.
Like Moses, Maggie had survived long, cold nights and a ragged hunger—in her tales of her father, he could hear the lingering pain of an emotionally battered child. That her ex-husband had also betrayed her reinforced the belief she held that men were not to be trusted.
His chest tightened with guilt. Oh, Maggie, Maggie, he thought. I hope you’ll find a way to forgive me when the moment comes.
It was wrong. He could see that now. But as he held her in his arms, he didn’t see how he could give up—not yet. For if his gamble succeeded, they would both shed the chains of the past, and his debt would be paid.
Chapter 8
Thursday afternoon Maggie groggily opened the door to her grandmother at the usual time. “Good afternoon,” she said with a yawn.
“Thunderation, child,” Anna said with concern, “you look ready for the hospital.”
Maggie kissed the cool, powdered cheek. “I’m okay, Gram. Just worked late last night.” She padded into the kitchen in her robe. Once there, she blinked, trying to remember what she’d been about to do. Oh, coffee. Right.
“I’ll take care of that,” Anna said, taking the filters and coffee can from Maggie’s hands. “I’d tell you to go back to bed, but I know you won’t do it, so just sit down and have a bear claw.”
The bear claws didn’t look very appealing, for once. Maggie rubbed her face. Weariness weighed on her.
Her grandmother frowned. “Why don’t you take a vacation?”
“I’ll be all right,” Maggie said. “There’s just been a lot going on lately. I never seem to get it all done.” To prove to her grandmother that she was fine, she served herself a bear claw and began to choke it down.
Her statement was only partially true. Her life had been extremely busy lately, with shortages of help at the paper, the need to get Samantha ready for her trip to Denver and the constant extra work created by the Proud Fox conflict. But her exhaustion stemmed from a lack of sleep—and she hadn’t lain awake at night haunted by those worries.
She couldn’t get Joel Summer off her mind.
She also had no one to discuss her feelings with. There was no one who would understand why she was afraid of him. What, after all, could she say was wrong with him, except that she was frightened by the deeply passionate nature she sensed below his playfulness? And that he had some painful things to work through, things he wasn’t willing to show Maggie. As he’d said, time would help them know each other better.
But he frightened her in a way no man ever had. Just being with him released all the careful holds she’d kept over herself all these years.
Galen, she thought suddenly. Galen would understand. She would call him tonight.
“Maggie,” Anna said, sitting down with two fresh cups of coffee, “I hate to bring this up, but I think you need to know that some of the church is angry at the way you’re covering this rock band problem.”
Maggie straightened and reached for her cup. “That’s their prerogative.”
“You have to think of Samantha, too, you know.”
“I am thinking of Samantha.” She frowned. “Is there talk of keeping us out or something?”
“Not exactly.” Anna’s eyelids flickered down. “But a lot of people are pretty unhappy.”
“Well, frankly, Gram, so am I.” She leaned over the table, her fury rekindled. “Did you read the statistics about the riot at the ticket outlet? Seventeen kids injured. I think the whole thing has gone too far.” She narrowed her eyes. “But you know what? I can’t find out who’s in charge of the kids who are protesting. No one will talk to me. It’s beginning to seem a little weird. Why aren’t there adults in charge, putting a stop to the protest?”
Anna pursed her lips. “Maybe I can help you find out.”
“If you can find anything, I’d appreciate it.” Maggie pinched a bit of pastry and popped it into her mouth. “You know,” she said after a minute, “I guess it is possible that the kids just got together and decided to stage this by themselves.” But she’d thought more and more lately, there was something slightly askew about the whole situation, something she felt she’d almost stumbled over several times. “I do know one thing. There’s a boy named Cory who is supposed to be a spokesman or something. When I ask questions, that’s whose name comes up.”
“Do you know where he goes to school?”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know anything about him.”
“I’ll talk to some people I know at the various churches.” Anna touched her hand. “It’s beginning to worry me, too.”
“Thanks.” Maggie smiled and turned the conversation to lighter things. “What about that great-granddaughter of yours, huh?” she said with a grin. “She made the front page of the city daily at the age of fifteen.”
“Weren’t you frightened for her?”
Maggie remembered the night, Samantha exuberantly shooting the action with no thought for safety. “Yes. But you wouldn’t have stopped her, either. She’s got her mama’s blood in her veins, I think.”
“Her mama died when Samantha was three.”
“I know.” Maggie cocked her head. “But a safe life isn’t what everyone wants. I bet if you gave Samantha’s mother the choice to live her life over again, she’d live it exactly the same way.”
“Some people’s work is that important to them.” Anna smiled at Maggie.
“Exactly.” Her appetite was returning, Maggie realized with pleasure. She selected a sticky bun, poured another cup of coffee and with a wicked smile said, “Come on, Gram. I want to know what they’re saying about me at church.”
“You little gossip,” Anna chided. But she leaned forward, eager to laugh about the exaggerations.
* * *
Unfortunately, Galen was little help in understanding her reticence about Joel when Maggie spoke to him that night. Samantha had gone to a movie with David, who’d borrowed a car for the evening, and Maggie took advantage of the solitude to place her call.
“This guy sounds terrific, Maggie,” Galen said. “I think I’d just let it unfold for a while. You don’t have to marry him, you know.”
At this, Maggie felt a flush of embarrassment. “It’s not even a serious relationship or anything.”
“You know, sis, I hate to say it, but you need to let yourself go a little bit. Trust him. Trust yourself.”
“Oh, fine,” she said with irritation. “I call you to be my champion, and you throw me right back there in the ring.”
“Don’t you get lonely?” he asked in a sober voice. “I do. I’m tired of doing it all myself. We both had a pretty rotten childhood, but it doesn’t have to ruin the rest of our lives.”
“At least I’ve sampled marriage. You’re five years older than I am, and you’ve never even tried to get serious about anyone.”
“S
ure I have. I’ve tried, but Maggie, I don’t think I have the skills I need. You do.”
For the first time, Maggie understood that Galen had his own warped self-image to contend with. At the very thought of her sensitive, handsome brother lacking the skills to keep a marriage together, she smiled, but changed the subject. He never dealt well with her insights into his personality—a remainder of the eldest brother mentality, she supposed. “When are you coming to see me?”
“I can’t say exactly, but I’m hoping for late June. Is that good for you?”
“Sure. I’ll stock up.”
“Great. Hang in there, kid.”
“Thanks.”
As she hung up, Maggie shook her head. “Some help you were,” she said aloud, staring darkly out the kitchen window. It was a few minutes past sunset, and the backyard was outlined in the silvery, soft light of dusk. The lilacs glowed an unearthly shade of pale purple, and Maggie knew just how they would smell. All at once, her bad mood dropped away and she headed outdoors.
Settled on the picnic bench, her skirt draped over her knees, a shawl over her shoulders, she let her worries fade with the day. She didn’t brood by nature, simply because it was too hard to resist the small joys she found in moments just like these. As she sat there on the hard wooden bench, she realized she probably wouldn’t feel so panicked over her attraction to Joel if his appearance in her life hadn’t coincided with both Samantha’s annual trek to see her father and the chaos in her working life. She’d been so tired the past week that she’d found the barest thought processes difficult.
So she let her thoughts wander where they would, watching the sky deepen from dust to night.
When Joel soundlessly joined her in the cove made by the lilac bushes, she was able to look up at him with pleasure. “Hi,” she said.
He settled next to her on the bench and took her hand. “Hi.”
They said nothing at all for a long time, listening together to the crickets whirring in the grass. From several blocks away came the sound of traffic, engines and horns and tires, pleasantly muted. Children down the street called farewells to friends as mothers gathered them in. A breeze floated over Maggie’s face, sweet and heavy with lilacs, and her hand in Joel’s was comfortable and warm.
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