by Bonnie Grove
I cleared my throat. She gave me a knowing smile and said, “Kate, my pet, I’ve been prattering on, but now I must get to the point of my visit.” She leaned forward and spoke in conspiratorial tones. “Do you know my story? My life story? Who I was before I came here? How I got here?”
Maggie had a vague friendship with my mother as they had been bumping into each other all over town for years. At the grocery store, the dentist, the town fair. Maggie had also been an infrequent customer at the bookstore. She bought romance novels in paperback and always required change from the “need a penny, leave a penny” bowl. I recalled that Maggie had attended my father’s funeral swathed head to toe in black (the only time I had seen her without color) and had patted my mother’s arm after the casket was lowered into the ground. I supposed it was possible that she had attended Kevin’s funeral as well, but I couldn’t recall seeing her either at the funeral parlor or my home after the interment service.
I gave Maggie a slim smile. “You’re pretty well known around here, so I’ve heard some of the stories.”
Maggie leaned back in her chair, offered the ceiling an expansive grin, and launched into her story. “I was married once. As far as I know, I’m still married. But my husband is gone. ‘Long gone,’ as they say in the ballparks.
“My husband took his leave of me … but not by his choice.” She paused and waggled her eyebrows at me. “I’m an American, but my husband and I lived ‘across the pond,’ as they say. Jeremy Cunynghame was a good man, ethical and virtuous. But some men hated him for it. One man in particular was out to destroy him. He told lies about Jeremy. I don’t know what they were because Jeremy forbade me to read the papers or listen to the radio.
“One morning, very early, I awoke to find him packing a suitcase.” She stopped, seemingly out of breath, and looked around. “Have you any water, dear? This story always wears me out.”
When I returned with a glass of water, she took it without comment and drank deeply.
“I begged him to stay. I told him that we could face anything together. Come what may!” She dropped her chin to her chest and peered up at me. “That may seem dramatic, but be certain, it was a dramatic moment.” She smoothed the blinding yellow shirt over her belly.
“He wouldn’t listen,” she said, her voice dipped so low she could have been attempting a James Earl Jones impersonation. “I asked him if he was in danger. He said only if he stayed. He said he’d return when it was safe to do so.
“I’m afraid I made a scene. Bawled and brayed like a donkey. Can you imagine?”
I shook my head. I preferred not to.
“When I asked him how long he would be gone, he just looked at me, like this.” Maggie opened her eyes wide and stuck out her chin, and let the corners of her mouth droop low, a Buster Keaton look-alike. “When I begged him—begged, mind you—to let me come too, he shoved me back onto the bed and said it was impossible.” She sipped at her water. “The weeks went by with no word from my husband. Then months.” She gave a minuscule shrug. “Then years.” She sat back in her chair, a faraway look in her eyes. I sat waiting too, it seemed, for Jeremy’s return.
She rested her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes. “After three years of waiting for my husband to return, two thoughts occurred to me. One, he was not coming back. Two, I was a wealthy woman. And three … I said three thoughts, right? And three, I needed to stop moping around and get out of there.”
“Wealthy?” I repeated. I had heard of Maggie’s local philanthropy, but no one seemed to know the origin of her prosperity.
Maggie flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Wealthy, yes. I made my money the old-fashioned way.” She flashed me a toothy grin. “I inherited it.”
Maggie had boarded up her grand home overseas, hopped a plane, and landed into her new life in Greenfield. She had bought the first house the realtor showed her. “It was on Apple Tree Lane. Who wouldn’t want to live on Apple Tree Lane?” She promptly went about securing her place in the social circles of Greenfield County. Maggie was a big and colorful fish in a small gray pond. She held strong opinions and seemed to feel obligated to share them with everyone. With her loud dress and louder voice, some town folks said she was not to be taken seriously. But seriously was exactly the way Maggie wanted to be taken. She joined the Greenfield Community Church choir, the Chamber of Commerce, and the Ladies of Our Glorious Flag Quilting Group.
“That’s a great story, Mrs. Cunynghame,” I said when she was done. And it was, but it gave me no clues as to why she was in my house.
“Kate,” she said, “you and I have a great deal in common. We have both lost the husbands we adored.” She hesitated. “Differently, I suppose. Yours died. You lost him, but you also know where he is. Mine, well, I good and lost him, didn’t I? I couldn’t find him if I looked. But never mind that. We’re both facing the world alone; that is the point I’m making. I want to help you.”
“Mrs. Cunynghame, thank you for wanting to help, but—”
“Stop calling me that. Call me Maggie,” she said with a smile.
“There is really nothing that you can do … Maggie,” I said.
“Nonsense, Kate. There is a great deal I can do. You require advice from someone who knows what’s what and what’s not.”
“I appreciate your wanting to help. But I have my sister. And my mother.”
“Your mother!” Maggie’s voice rose to impossible volumes. “Love a duck, child, your poor mother. Sharp on the heels of her loss she has to bury another family member. Tossed with grief, she is. Her burden is too great, sweetie, to be able to take on yours as well.” She was right. Mom was tossed with grief. How many books had she read trying to put her pieces back together?
My eyes drifted to the pile of books on the floor. Maggie followed my gaze and I could see her eyes move back and forth as she read the titles. She turned her head sharply down and to the left in order to read the title of the bottom book. She mouthed the words I Wasn’t Ready to Say Good-bye. She straightened her head and gave me a glittering smile. “Have you read any of them?”
I shook my head, shrugged, and shook my head again.
“The problem with self-help books is you first need to be in a place where you can help yourself,” Maggie said.
I opened my mouth and waited for something to come out of it. Nothing did, so I closed it again.
“Do you know what I love about Greenfield?” she asked.
“Huh? Uh, I don’t know.”
“I love almost everything about it. It is a wonderful place to live. Especially when a body is healthy and life is good. Small towns. Can’t beat them. But look at you. A beautiful young woman loses her handsome husband; it’s a terrible shame, a real tragedy.” She leaned forward in her chair. “How long have you been sitting here like this?” She threw her arms out, taking in the whole room. “Sleeping on the floor. Yes, I clearly see. It’s all right, honey, I don’t judge you. I understand more than you know. How long?”
Against my will my eyes filled with tears. I blinked rapidly for a moment. “Since the funeral. I slept upstairs the first night, but I’ve been down here ever since.”
“You only go upstairs to change clothes?” she said, eyeing the jeans, socks, and shirts strewn on the floor.
“No. I don’t go up there at all. I just use the clothes that were already in the laundry room, down here.”
“I see,” Maggie said. “I’m not trying to pry, child, but, how long has it been since you took a bar of soap to your skin?”
“I … I … don’t … go upstairs.”
“I understand. It’s been weeks. Do you get many visitors?”
“Just my mom and sister.” For some reason I didn’t mention Blair.
“Just family. It’s shameful how a whole town can show up for the funeral then disappear for the grief. Yo
u aren’t going to find what you need here, child. You need to be in the city for what you need.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I am advising you to get yourself to the city and find a good counselor. Someone you trust that you can talk to and work through some of this. Something you won’t find in this small town.” She waved both hands at the room.
“Oh well, I don’t think I need—”
“My darling girl, you’re in no position to even begin to know what you need. I’m here to tell you that you have two options.”
“Maggie,” I said. “Mrs. Cunynghame—” I corrected. She barely knew me, yet here she was giving me advice I hadn’t asked for.
“Option one. Sit here in your living room until you decide to either live or die. Heaven knows how long it takes to make a decision like that. Could be years for all we know.”
“Yes, but—”
“Option two. Decide you may as well start getting better so you don’t get any worse. And it can get worse, dear child. I assure you, it can get a whole lot worse.”
I wondered if I should tell her about Kevin’s voice. No, I told myself. I couldn’t talk about that. She’d think I was crazy. She already thought I was crazy.
Maggie stood up and headed for the door. “I need to go. But think about what I said. I have some names and addresses for you. Counselors you could try.”
I cocked my head to one side. “Try?”
“You have to try them on, like clothes at a store. It’s not one size fits all. You have to meet with each one until you find the one you like and feel you can trust.” Maggie pulled the door open and stepped outside. I got up and followed her, stopping on the threshold. I felt the wind on my face for the first time in weeks. Its freshness, the joy of it, caught me by surprise. Maggie turned to face me. I watched her make a short study of my features. My dirty jeans and white T-shirt hung on my frame. My greasy hair flapped like strips of bacon in the wind.
“Kate, beautiful Kate,” Maggie said. “Go have a long shower. You’ll be surprised how some hot water and soap can make a body feel human again.”
Maggie climbed into her electric yellow Mustang, and I watched, reluctant to close the door on the wind.
6
I pushed Maggie’s words to the back burner of my mind the moment she left. I had other things to concern myself with. Standing at the door watching Maggie, I noticed my mailbox was filled with flyers, pamphlets, fast food coupons, and important letters. Three with the return address of the company that held Kevin’s insurance policies. Oh man.
The third one informed me that, like Maggie, I was now a wealthy woman. It seems that when a husband dies at work, his widow cashes in. The sum on the page was big enough to, at any other time, make me happy. Giddy even. I felt numb.
I sat at the kitchen table and squinted at the fine print. I was entitled to grand sums of money, but I had to work for it. There were forms to be filled out, boxes to be checked, and information to be relayed. The last letter contained a list of duties I was required to perform before the insurance company could “release the funds.” Like the money was a wild animal, caged, penned up for my safety.
I filled in as much information as I could but soon realized I’d need to make a trip to the bank where Kevin had worked. He had a safe-deposit box there containing mortgage, insurance, investment, and other important papers. I sighed. The idea of going down to the bank, the place where he had died, filled me with dread.
I reached for the phone and dialed. It rang five times before I realized I’d dialed Kevin’s direct line. No one would be there to answer it.
I was about to hang up when I heard a sharp, “Hello?”
“Uh, hi,” I squeaked.
“Who’s this?” the voice demanded.
“I’m sorry. I just dialed the number without thinking. Out of habit, I guess. I’m … I’m sorry,”
“Kate? Is that you?”
“Huh? Yes, it’s Kate Davis.”
“Kate, this is Donna. I was walking by Kevin’s office and I heard his phone ringing. Is there something I can do for you?”
Unwanted tears filled my eyes. I jabbed at them with an impatient finger. “Yes, please. I’m not sure who I should talk to.”
“Whatever it is you need, I will help you.”
I felt a cup of relief spill over in my stomach. “Thank you.”
“I’m happy to do it,” she said.
“I’ve been looking at the forms from the insurance company—”
I heard her take a sharp breath. “You haven’t sent those back yet?” She sounded startled.
I shrank in my skin. “No. I just looked at them today.”
“Today?” she said louder, almost annoyed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just that, normally, we recommend these matters are attended to within a few days of the … passing. It’s a sad fact, but when someone dies, the first thing the survivor should do is call the insurance company and visit the bank.”
“Visit the bank? Why?”
“To unfreeze accounts, show proof of the will, gain access to funds, investments, clear debts, change over ownership of accounts and safe-deposit boxes, that sort of thing,” she said sounding more like a banker now than a friend.
“Deposit box. Actually that’s why I’m calling. Kevin has … had … a safe-deposit box,” I said.
Donna was quiet for a long moment. In the silence I felt fatigue fill my body like an oil spill. I slumped in my chair, my eyes threatening to close.
“Is the box in your name too?”
I tipped my head back until it met the back of the chair. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s just in Kevin’s name.” He had told me he was renting a box, but I had no compulsion to add my name to it. He was in charge of those things.
I heard a soft tapping sound, like fingernails drumming on a table. “Things are crazy at the bank right now. Since we lost Kevin, it’s been chaos. I wouldn’t want you to walk into the middle of this.” She hummed tunelessly for a moment. “I’ll pull a few strings and get the paperwork done and unfreeze Kevin’s accounts for you. That way you can access the funds.”
I had no idea Kevin’s accounts were frozen in the first place. I briefly wondered how our bills were getting paid. I brushed the thought aside with an impatient wave of my hand.
“That would be a big help,” I said.
“Good. It will take a few days for me to get it all sorted out. I’ll call you if I need you for anything.”
I hung up and put my head down on the table. A tiny thought swirled. What about the safe-deposit box? What about the insurance forms? Did we talk about that? I let out a groan. I tried to replay the conversation, but it just sloshed around my brain. I reached for the phone again.
“There are copies in the den,” Kevin said.
I froze, hand midair. My throat constricted. “Copies,” I said. A thousand tiny needles pushed at my scalp and rushed down my body.
Kevin said, “I keep copies of everything in the desk in the den.”
“Kevin?” Fear swept through my gut. This is crazy.
I waited for him to speak again. I stood very still for a moment, listening hard. “In the den,” I repeated.
“Copies of everything in the middle drawer on the right-hand side.” His voice was calm, conversational. I wasn’t hearing him in my head, rather out loud, as if he were just in the next room, calling to me.
I jumped up and went into the living room. Nothing.
Finally I went down the hall to the den and found the papers in the desk, just as Kevin had said.
I wrap the gift in deep-blue paper, the most masculine-looking paper I could find. I don’t bother with a bow or string because whenever Kevin sees a bow on a gift he wrinkles his nose, pulls it off, and says, �
��What’s this for?” before tossing it over his shoulder. He was a man’s man. No frilly stuff for him.
It’s our third anniversary and that means leather. Twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is silver, fifty is gold, but third is leather, and I’ve bought the perfect gift. Plus I’ve made reservations at the Tower, an expensive restaurant with a medieval name that makes the best grilled salmon with dill reduction sauce in the world. It completely blows our meager budget, but I don’t care. Kevin is worth it. And with all the hours he’s been putting in at work lately, he needs a break. We both need a break.
I rip off a last bit of tape and press it to a ragged bit of paper in one of the corners. It looks terrible, like it was wrapped by a five-year-old. But tonight I’m too happy to care what it looks like.
I hear his car in the drive and scoop up the gift, hiding it behind my back while I position myself in front of the door. He opens the door, sees me, and smiles. “Whatcha got behind your back?”
I smile and roll my eyes. “Not telling.”
“Then I guess I’m not telling either,” he says, holding up a brightly wrapped parcel with a gold bow on top. I make a playful grab for it, but Kevin holds it over his head, well out of my reach. “Happy anniversary.” He easily takes the gift from me and puts both of them on the kitchen table. “Presents later. I’m hungry.”
At the restaurant he orders wine, then changes the order to champagne. “Leave the bottle,” he tells the smiling waiter.
I eye the champagne, wondering how much it costs, but I hold my tongue. Not tonight. Tonight we won’t talk about money or budgets or saving for a bigger house. I raise my glass. “To us. And to our future.”
Kevin clinks his glass against mine. “Hear, hear.” He takes a long gulp of champagne while I sip mine. He pours himself another. “It’s going to be a great future, Kate. Things are starting to look up for us.”
Up? I didn’t know they had been looking down.
Kevin slurps up the last of his drink and reaches for the bottle. “You know how unhappy I’ve been in the loans department.” His hand wobbles as he pours, and some champagne dribbles down the side of his glass. He picks it up and licks the side from bottom to top. “Can’t waste it.”
