“No, I wouldn’t. I’m going out for coffee tomorrow morning with a lesbian I met today at the bookstore. Even if I wasn’t in Arizona, I would still be a lesbian.”
“So you’re not just thinking about this. You’ve actually slept with a woman,” Josephine said tentatively.
“Two to be exact.”
Maggie hadn’t intended that much shock value, but she had hit hard. She could read it in her mother’s face. She had hoped that her being an adult would make this easier on her mother. She could see it was not going to be as simple as she would have liked.
Her mother attempted another tactic. “Are you sure that you’re not still suffering some of the aftershocks of Harold’s death? I can understand how you might feel safe and protected, even loved and nurtured, in a more feminine environment, but that doesn’t mean you are necessarily like that.”
“No, Mother, I am definitely like that. I’ve always loved Celia, and if I’d known what to do about it twenty years ago I wouldn’t have married Harold.”
“And then you wouldn’t be burdened with me,” Amanda shrieked, running from the room.
Maggie buried her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Maggie heard her mother’s chair as it scraped across the floor. She expected her to go after Amanda, to stroke the child’s broken wing. Instead, Maggie felt her soft touch on her own shoulders. Her mother sat in the chair next to her and took her hands. She looked deep into Maggie’s eyes and wiped away the one tear that ran down her cheek.
“You’ve had a tough time of it. Harold was not the one great love of your life, and that always bothered me. It must have been hard to be needed so desperately by two people who were selfish and not to have enough passion to fill up all that Harold and Amanda took from you. I always respected your strength and determination. I know that you did your best. The rest of your life should be spent loving whom you want and living where you want. I may not join PFLAG, but I certainly hope I get invited for a visit. I always did like Celia.”
Maggie smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”
Maggie drove home that evening thinking that the old lady had grace and enough wisdom to know when to give in. Her mother would be a powerful ally. If anyone could get Amanda to come around, she could.
PFLAG. How did she know about that? Maggie wondered. Am I the only one who lived in a homosexual mecca and didn’t even think about it? I must have been living in a cloud. She sipped her coffee and smiled at Sam who smiled back.
“Thinking about last night?” Sam asked.
“Is it that obvious?” Maggie asked.
“It is a big deal. Coming out is never easy.”
“Did I do a good job?”
“Anything short of denial is a good job.”
“What did your mother think about all of it?”
“She wasn’t exactly thrilled. But what the fuck. They get used to things. She’s better now. Everyone gets through somehow or another. She knows I’m happy, and that counts for a lot. She doesn’t brag about me at the office, but that’s okay. What do I care? I’m me and I know who I am, and that’s important. Anything else is extraneous bullshit.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” said Maggie. She was wistful, thinking back to being young and knowing what your expectations are, not being wishy-washy and simply making choices by absentee ballot. No wonder Amanda hated her.
Maggie didn’t see how she could straighten up and become a real parent. It was too late for that. Her father had tried it, deciding to become a parent when it was too late. Maggie had let go of him a long time before, and try as he might, he couldn’t reel her back in. Now she realized she had done the same thing to her own child.
“I think I found the perfect realtor for you. Her name is Lucretia Freeman, foremost dyke realtor. She deals in big properties like I’m sure your house is.”
“What makes you so certain of that?”
“The car is a dead giveaway,” Sam said, cocking her head in the direction of the BMW.
“I guess it is a good-size house.”
“Why are you so apathetic toward your possessions? Don’t tell me you’re one of those rich women who have everything and are still miserable. I’d shit for a car like that.”
“Not if you were pretending to be something you know you’re not.”
“Like what?”
“Like an overeducated, underachieving doctor’s wife who is really a closet lesbian.”
“So where’s doc now?”
“He died last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He lived a good life, got most of what he wanted—except, maybe, a truly devoted wife, but that was partly his own fault. That’s what happens when you compromise.”
“What was the compromise?”
“My best friend and his fiancée ran off with another woman.”
“So you two hooked up out of pain and loneliness.”
“Precisely.”
“How did you hook up with your ladylove in Arizona?”
“She’s the best friend and fiancée.”
“You’re shitting.”
“Small world. We finished what never got started.”
“Does it feel right?”
“Very.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
Maggie went home wondering if Sam was the incarnation of her guardian angel, showing up at just the right time to keep things going. Maggie had felt herself slowing down, becoming inert. She didn’t know why or how, but she could feel it.
Then Maggie had the dream. She dreamed that she saw Celia and they made love, and then Maggie said I can’t believe I don’t wake up next to you each morning. In the dream she felt the pain of having known love and having lost it.
Then there was Amanda, who wouldn’t return her phone calls or answer the door when Maggie went to see her. It was getting so messy. But she had a realtor.
* * *
Maggie wasn’t prepared for Lucretia when she cruised into the house. She was the embodiment of panache, dressed in an orange suit with short hair colored blonde and lipstick that seemed about to take over her face. She poked and prodded about the house.
“Do you care who buys the house?”
“What do you mean?”
“Honey, do you want straights or family?”
“Does it matter?”
“To some people it does. Most of my clients are family, but then Sam says you are, too,” Lucretia said, raising an eyebrow and checking Maggie out as if she wasn’t sure. “She says you’re selling and running off to live with your lover somewhere in the southwest.”
“Arizona.”
“Yes, that’s right. Is time a concern?”
“Yes. I want out as quickly as possible.”
“Have you decided what’s going and what’s staying?”
“Not exactly. But I’ll get on it,” Maggie said, thinking that she hadn’t even started cleaning out Harold’s possessions. Messy. Things were so messy. How did she think she could run a business when she couldn’t get around to selling the house?
After Lucretia left, Maggie called Celia.
Celia laughed hysterically at Maggie’s description of the dyke realtor, but she could sense underneath Maggie’s facade of humor that something was wrong, very wrong.
“Mag, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. Everything is fine.”
“Stop it. Tell me what’s wrong. What are you feeling?”
“Oh, Celia. I’m a mess. I feel like I’ve got concrete blocks tied to my limbs. I can’t get myself to do anything. Amanda won’t speak to me. I still haven’t done anything with Harold’s stuff. Lucretia wants to know what comes with the house. I don’t even know what to keep, what to throw away.”
“Get a piece of paper, and we’ll make a to-do list.”
“All right.”
Together they made up a schedule. Maggie felt better when they were done.
“What’s up?” Olivia asked.
“Maggie’s not doing well. She needs some help.”
“I knew it. We never should have let her go like that,” Olivia said.
“Do you two think you could hold down the fort?” Celia asked Madeline and Kate.
“Of course.”
“No problem.”
Celia knew she couldn’t leave Olivia behind, and she needed Anna to keep Olivia under control. She knew Olivia was fiercely attached to Maggie. She was more of a daughter than Amanda could ever hope to be.
“I need you two to come with me. Maggie needs some reinforcements. I was wrong to think she could tackle this by herself. I’ll call for tickets. We’ll leave as soon as I can get us a flight.”
“Thank god. Let’s get this shit cleared up and move on,” Olivia said, getting up.
“Where are you going?” asked Celia.
“To pack.”
“No time like the present,” Anna said, getting up to follow her.
“At least I don’t have to convince anyone,” said Celia.
Olivia turned to look at her. “How could you have possibly thought she could do this by herself?”
“Olivia!” Anna said.
“Well, it’s true. You let her clean up your mess the first time, and now you’re letting her do it again. Isn’t once enough?”
“You’re right. I should have gone with her. I was being selfish.”
“Damn straight!” said Olivia.
“Olivia, that’s enough. We all have our own reasons for what we do, of which other people are not always aware. Now apologize and then go pack,” Anna told her.
Olivia stared at both of them, momentarily stunned. “I’m sorry.”
She turned and left.
“What was that?” asked Celia.
“I’d wager it was a prime example of tapping into the universal consciousness. For a moment Liv tapped into your experience, realized it, and was then released,” Madeline explained.
“Oh,” Celia replied, crinkling her brow.
“Personally, I think she realized she was being a crass asshole. Anyway, I’m glad we’re hopping on our white steeds to rescue a damsel in distress. Maggie’s not going to be upset that we came?” asked Anna. “It’s not like we don’t have faith in her.”
“She knows she needs help. There’s no shame in that.”
“Are you going to tell her we’re coming?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I’m just not. Maybe I’m afraid she’ll talk me out of it.”
“Could she?”
“She did it once.”
“Have you been back there at all in twenty years?”
“No, I haven’t. It was a real disaster, lots of hurt feelings. Until now, there was no reason to go back.”
“Do you think it will be any better this time?”
“I doubt it.”
Chapter Nine
Maggie sat in the middle of the den packing. She’d decided that she would start with Harold’s stuff. If she could remove his presence from the house, she could tackle the rest more easily. Lucretia had given her a week before she would start showing the house.
She carefully wrapped newspaper around breakable items, even though she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with them. She didn’t want them. Maggie didn’t want anything. She wondered at her lack of attachments to possessions. Maybe Sam was right. She would ask Amanda if she wanted them—if Amanda ever spoke to her again.
Clearing up a life wasn’t easy. It was as if both occupants of the house had died.
She poured herself another glass of wine. There was something to be said for fine wines, and she was drinking her way though Harold’s wine collection.
Amanda appeared in the doorway of the den. She, too, had been drinking.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing,” replied Maggie.
Amanda’s face was flushed. Maggie felt her own color rising.
“So this is really it. You’re doing it. Leaving us all in the wake of your disaster. You’re a fucking deserter. Can’t handle it, can you? I don’t suppose it matters anyway. You never liked your life. You never loved us. You thought you fooled us, but you didn’t. We knew.”
“Amanda, that’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. Why don’t you just torch the place? Why bother with all this care?” said Amanda, whisking the neat stack of newspaper off the table, the leaves flying about the room.
“Sit down. Let’s talk,” Maggie said, standing up.
“What is there to talk about? You’ve decided everything already. Leave and forget. Forget any of this ever happened. You’re such a fucking coward.”
“Amanda, stop it. I’m not going to stand here and listen to you abuse me. I love you, dammit. I have always loved you. I wasn’t perfect. I never tried to be. I gave you the best I had. I’m sorry if that wasn’t good enough. But I’m not going to stay here in order to make you happy. I deserve more than that.”
“Oh, yes, you deserve everything. You deserve to be crushed into small pieces for being such a fake. For faking everything you were. I hate you. I hate this house, all these things, stupid things, things that are supposed to mean something, things that mean nothing.” She picked up the nearest thing, a lamp, and pitched it against the wall dangerously close to Maggie’s head. Maggie ducked.
“That’s enough. This is my house, and I won’t let you destroy it.”
“Why not? You don’t care about it,” Amanda replied, grabbing something else to fling across the room. Maggie crouched down and covered her head, listening to the crash as it hit the wall. Amanda screamed at her. Books and crystal crashed around her and finally the chair flew through the window. Amanda was ripping the room apart, piece by piece, while Maggie cowered behind a stack of boxes. For a brief moment Maggie thought about calling the police, but Amanda ripped the phone from the wall and pitched it across the room. The bell chinged as it struck a hard surface.
Amanda’s temper frightened her. She ran statistics through her head about instances of domestic violence perpetrated by a loved one. Suddenly—the crashes stopped, and she heard other voices.
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
It was Olivia’s voice. Maggie thought she was hallucinating. Wishing for a savior, one had appeared.
Celia, Anna, and Olivia had been standing on the porch, suitcases in hand, when the desk chair went sailing through the window. Politeness was thrown to the wind as they barreled in the front door and stared at the madwoman who was throwing everything she could get her hands on across the room.
Olivia and Anna grabbed Amanda, restraining any more violence. Maggie looked up and saw Celia. Amanda was dragged off, struggling and screaming obscenities.
“Maybe the fresh air will clear her out,” Olivia said as she helped carry Amanda out the kitchen door to the backyard.
“Nice house, hey,” Anna said as they scurried past rooms.
“You fucking bitch!” Amanda screamed.
“Hey, that’s enough of that. Your mother may not defend herself, but that doesn’t stop me from knocking you flat,” Olivia told her. “Now you can either sit in that chair nicely or I’ll tie your ass to it. You need to calm down.”
“Or we’ll be forced to sit on you until you do. Now you wouldn’t like that, would you? It’s not very dignified,” said Anna.
“You’re so diplomatic,” Olivia complimented her.
“Why, thank you.”
“You two are the fucking nutcases,” Amanda snarled.
“I didn’t see either one of us pitching shit across the room at your mother. Did you?” Olivia asked, looking at Anna.
“No, as a matter of fact I didn’t. Of course, demolishing a den is not always a sign of insanity,” replied Anna.
“Well, it certainly isn’t a sign of stable mental health.”
“I�
��m not going to sit here and listen to this shit,” said Amanda, getting up. Olivia slammed her back into the chair.
“I don’t think so, little lady. You’re not going anywhere until we think you’re ready.”
“She should probably have to clean up the mess,” said Anna.
“At the very least.”
“I’m not some four-year-old that can be made to do things,” said Amanda.
“Maybe you should stop acting like one. Besides, cleanup is probably preferable to being charged with aggravated assault.”
“Maybe we should call the police now.”
“I certainly hope you didn’t hit your mother with any of those objects, because then we would be forced to take some drastic action,” Anna said, narrowing her eyes at Amanda.
“I didn’t hit her. I don’t think I hit her,” Amanda replied, beginning to come to her senses, trying to remember what she had done in her rage. Remorse crept in.
“Maggie, are you all right?” Celia asked, walking across the debris to where Maggie crouched.
Maggie got up and dusted herself off. “Would you like a glass of wine? I think I really need one.” She looked around for a glass. There wasn’t an intact one around. “Swig maybe,” Maggie replied, taking one and handing the bottle to Celia.
“Timely arrival,” said Maggie, drawing Celia to her and holding her. Celia could feel her shaking.
“Maggie, are you okay? She didn’t hurt you, did she?”
“Celia,” said Maggie, wiping the tears from her eyes but still smiling. “I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t do this on my own. I thought I was strong enough, but I’m not. You’re not disappointed in me, are you?”
“No, not at all.”
“What’s your big problem? Surely you’re not a mama’s girl. Why clutch and grab at her when she would willingly hold you if you asked?” said Olivia.
“I shouldn’t have to ask.”
“Your mother is supposed to be telepathic on top of everything else?” Anna said, staring at Amanda. “What do you want from her? What sort of ultimate sacrifice do you expect?”
Saxon Bennett - The Wish List Page 13
