Maggie's Way (Montana Bound Series Book 1)

by Bradley, Linda

  His eyes filled with remorse, and I wondered how the hell he could pull this off without making me want to kill him. He reached to hold my hands.

  “It wasn’t fair. I know. Nothing about this is fair to you or Bradley,” Beckett explained. “It’s taken me a long time just to figure it out myself. I was a coward. I thought if we were in public, it might go better. Bad choice, I know,” he added as he fidgeted.

  I slid my hands away from his as he tried to console me. That was Beckett, always trying to make things right. “Nothing is going to make this better.” I swallowed hard and noted that his temples had grayed since I last saw him.

  Beckett lowered his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I will make it up to you.”

  Stepping back, I crossed my arms, knowing he could not perform such a miracle. I found it hard to breathe.

  “You look pretty today. You should wear your hair down all the time.” Beckett picked up his box, pivoted, and kicked open the screen door. “I know I hurt you. I’m sorry, Maggie, so sorry. I’ll be in touch.”

  My throat tightened. I didn’t know I even had any tears left. “Sure,” I answered, trying to match his graciousness. He couldn’t help being that way. That was Beckett. Being angry with him was difficult even if he did end our marriage. It was easier to blame myself for ignoring my instincts and playing the game. Beckett had finally understood who he was, now I was left to my own devices to figure out who I was going to be.

  Beckett meandered down the driveway while I stood in the doorway watching the only man I had ever loved leave and pack the last box of his belongings into his Sea Glass Pearl Toyota Prius. “I should have known,” I muttered to myself in disgust with a snicker. “Shit, this is like a bad episode of Will and Grace.”

  My gay ex-husband drove away, calm and poised, while I wondered how he managed being married to me for twenty-three years.

  “You shouldn’t swear. It’s a bad habit.”

  I stepped onto the porch, curious to see where Chloe’s voice came from and how much she had overheard. I leaned onto the thick railing and peeked into the bushes.

  Chloe smiled up at me, and the hair on my neck prickled.

  “My dad says girls shouldn’t swear. If you really want to make someone mad, end a sentence with a preposition,” she chirped as she collected a tiny mound of rocks in the palm of her hand and dropped them into a purple plastic pouch, one-by-one.

  “Be careful of the impatiens,” I said as she dragged her purple-stuffed cat on a leash through my immaculate garden. I sucked in as much air possible, hoping it would stifle harsh words. “That’s some stuffed animal.” When Chloe took her last step out of my bed of flowers, I cringed at the matted down ground cover.

  “Don’t worry, they’ll pop right back up. That’s what my dad says.”

  “Of course,” I muttered as I rolled my eyes in disbelief that she even had a father. It had been two days and I hadn’t seen him yet, but then again I wasn’t looking either. I sat on the porch swing, then checked the chains to make sure they were still securely anchored to the porch ceiling.

  Chloe joined me. “Is Bradley here?”

  “That was nice of you to remember his name, but like I said, he’s in Boston. Remember? He won’t be coming home for a long time.”

  Chloe tapped the side of her head. “I may not remember facts very easily, but I am good at names.” She yanked on the cord attached to her stuffed cat. “Oops. Didn’t mean for him to land there.”

  I stopped the sway of the swing as she scooted over to pluck the dirty critter from my lap. I swallowed. “It’s okay,” I said as I wiped away fresh soil that belonged in the flowerbed, not on me.

  “Dad says I can’t have a pet.” Chloe stroked the stuffed cat’s head. “That’s why I have Voodoo.”

  My eyebrow lifted toward the heavens at the sound of the name. Chloe’s purple matted one-eyed cat stared at me.

  “He goes everywhere with me.” Chloe hugged him hard. “He’s my best friend. Who was that guy and why was he trying so hard to be nice to you?” Chloe dug some rocks out of her pocket and tossed them back into the bushes. “What wasn’t fair? My dad says life’s not fair. I hate that,” she sputtered.

  “Of course he says that.” I rubbed my right temple trying to stop the pulsating. I reminded myself I didn’t have to explain anything to anybody, especially a seven-year-old girl. I studied her from head-to-toe. Chloe appeared unscathed by my stare. “Where is your dad, anyway?” I asked.

  “Work. He works a lot. He’s a doctor. A pediatrician. He takes care of kids. That’s how come he knows so much.”

  Chloe crossed her ankles. “My mom left my dad. They got a divorce. She said she needed to find herself. She moved to Hollywood to be a model and we moved here, next to you.”

  “So, who watches you when he’s not home?” I glanced over my shoulder expecting to see some caring adult come check on her.

  “Nanny Nora. She’s new. The last one quit.” Chloe shrugged.

  “Hmmm. Wonder why?” I jested.

  “Guess it just didn’t work out,” Chloe said, picking at her thumb. “Kind of like that thing with you and that guy. Sorry.”

  She patted my knee. Her touch felt warm beneath the smudges of dirt. “You want some ice cream?” I asked.

  Chloe jumped up, dragging Voodoo behind her. “Yeah.”

  “Maybe you should wait here while I go inside,” I suggested.

  Chloe sat back down on the swing. The chains jerked as she bounced. “How do you make this thing go?”

  I held the screen door open. “On second thought, maybe you should just come in.”

  “Can Voodoo come, too?”

  “Yes, Voodoo can come, too.” The corners of my mouth curled up as Chloe’s eyes beamed. That purple mangy creature was a lifeline. “So, your mom had to find herself, huh?”

  “Yup. She says she’ll let me visit, but I don’t know when. She hasn’t called in a long time. She must be busy making commercials or something.” Chloe’s eyes widened as she entered the foyer. “Wow, this is a nice house. You need more furniture though.”

  She was right. I needed more furniture. I needed more than that. “Come this way, Inspector Clouseau,” I said in a French accent as I motioned for her to follow me. “Are you sure it’s okay that you’re here?”

  “I can call Nanny Nora if it will make you feel better,” Chloe said.

  I handed her the cordless phone. She didn’t take it.

  “Nobody has a landline anymore. Don’t you have a cell?” she scoffed.

  I poked the phone in her direction. “Just dial,” I ordered, listening to her conversation as I organized the vanilla ice cream, chocolate, and bananas on the counter. I peered over my shoulder as Chloe paced back and forth answering yes and no. With her head down and methodic steps, Voodoo followed her every movement.

  When she was done speaking, she handed the phone back to me. “It’s all good. Nanny Nora just said don’t eat too much.”

  “Doesn’t she want to come over and meet me?” I questioned.

  “Guess not.”

  “Nice.” I shook my head with disapproval. When Bradley was young I had fifty million questions and he never went anywhere without me meeting his friends’ parents. I’m sure I embarrassed him with my over-protective demeanor.

  Chloe smiled as she put Voodoo on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. “You sit here. Be good, or Maggie might not ask you back.”

  I smirked as she waggled her finger at her matted, purple pet. “I’m having a banana split. How does that sound?”

  “Great. Do you have peanuts?”

  “I almost forgot,” I said, winking at her. “If my head wasn’t attached, I just might lose it.” Opening the cupboard, I rummaged in the cans until I found a half-eaten container of Spanish Peanuts. “Thank goodness my mom went shopping,” I said with my head buried in the refrigerator searching for the can of whipped cream I knew was in there. All the sundae ingredients
were lined up on the counter. “Are you allergic to any of this stuff?” If Nanny Nora wasn’t going to investigate, I was.

  Chloe settled into the seat next to Voodoo. She crossed her arms on the counter, licked her lips, and said, “Nope!”

  “Me neither.” I narrowed my eyes as my stare met hers begging the unspoken affirmation.

  “I’m sure, I’m not allergic. Why would I eat something that could send me to the hospital or kill me? I’m sure. Trust me.”

  I took a deep breath then said, “I can think of a lot of reasons, actually.” I picked up the scoop and got to work after deciding to trust the rug rat.

  “Hey, Maggie.”

  “Yeah,” I answered, licking ice cream from my fingers.

  “You need some pictures to go on all these nails you have in the wall.”

  I added extra chocolate to my bowl. I could use the calories today. Finally, I felt like pigging out. “Yup.” Yet again, I reminded myself that I didn’t need to explain to a meddling seven-year-old that my husband moved out and took just a little less than half of our things with him.

  I sat bundled in my cotton throw on the back patio reading my book. The sun was going down and my eyelids were heavy. I hadn’t expected to have so much fun with Chloe. Confined within my compound, I was content. Bradley was settled in Boston for his summer internship. Beckett had settled in a trendy condo in downtown Detroit near Wayne State, while I managed an empty house that was too big for one person.

  Voices from Chloe’s yard caught my attention. Wanting to hear more, I carefully put my book down, then tiptoed to the fence pretending I needed to check the tomatoes, making sure my gate was closed. I heard Chloe’s reasoning voice. “Dad, it was just a little ice cream. It’s not like we spent the day ending our sentences with prepositions or swearing. She’s not like that. She was just being nice. Nanny Nora said it was all right.”

  “She—” her father started in a deep voice.

  “Her name is Maggie,” Chloe interrupted.

  There was a pause. I froze, afraid they might hear me as I eavesdropped like a seven-year-old myself. It was hard not to, especially after I heard my name.

  “Ever since Mom left, you are nothing but a pooh-pooh head!” Chloe shouted.

  Chloe’s words teetered on the cusp of belligerent. Drawing the throw around my shoulders tighter, I plucked a medium-sized ripe tomato from the vine, then another one, and then another one. I hadn’t noticed the tomatoes ripen. I scolded myself for not paying attention, which seemed like a reoccurring problem. I watered, even fertilized, but didn’t realize early plump, red tomatoes were ready to harvest. I have got to start paying attention.

  I used the bottom of my shirt to make a basket. There were enough tomatoes to make spaghetti sauce. Bradley loves my spaghetti sauce. I beamed when Bradley’s face filled in my mind.

  “I wish you were here,” I said to the sky, wishing he would hear my words in the wind.

  With my bounty nestled in my homemade pouch, I got up from my knees. Out of nowhere, something landed on my head. I swatted it away. “Shit, shit, shit,” I shouted, hopping around. “I hate flying things.” The fireflies were my friends, but this thing was huge. When I realized it wasn’t a bug, bird or even a bat, I eyed my gorgeous, scattered tomatoes upon the ground. Voodoo was smack dab in the middle of the chaos.

  The fence gate flew open. “Voodoo, Voodoo, are you okay?”

  Chloe’s face fell when she noticed his twisted body amongst the mess. Behind her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man that I assumed was her elusive father. I tried to keep the corners of my mouth from tugging downward.

  “This is that lady, Dad.” Chloe’s disgruntled words rolled off her tongue with ease. “Her name is Maggie,” she added as she ran to Voodoo’s aide.

  I peered in disgust at the mess before me. Chloe’s sad face met my stare.

  “My dad says girls shouldn’t swear.”

  I frowned at her. “So, you said.” I looked her father square in the eyes. His steely glare didn’t startle me. I had seen it all too many times on the face of an upset parent across the conference table. He stepped closer then took Chloe’s hand and hauled her up from the ground.

  “Guess you heard our conversation,” he mumbled, giving Chloe the stink eye.

  “Pretty clearly,” I quickly replied, tucking my hair back into place.

  “I’m John McIntyre. We moved in last week.”

  I nodded, trying to shake off the anger, wondering when he planned on apologizing. “Yup. And as you know I’m Maggie, Maggie Littleton, I mean Abernathy, the ice-cream lady.”

  Chloe carefully placed Voodoo down in the grass and petted his head. “Now be good, Voodoo, no more flying for you today. Although that wouldn’t have happened if my daddy wouldn’t have picked me up so fast.”

  I inspected Chloe’s father as he watched her console Voodoo. What was behind his stern emerald eyes? They were cold and distant. I used my shirt to make a basket for my tomatoes. I picked them up one-by-one, until I felt his eyes upon me.

  Chloe yanked on Voodoo’s string and Voodoo followed as she walked away. He bumped along the ground like a true soldier.

  “I don’t want my daughter over here all the time. She has a nanny,” he said quietly.

  My back stiffened at his abrupt tone. Maybe it was the pent-up anger toward Beckett or a late response to the phone call I received from the doctor’s office two days ago. “I didn’t invite her over.” I peered over his left shoulder to make sure Chloe was out of earshot. He was tall. I had to stand on my tippy toes to see past him. “Your daughter just shows up, and as far as your nanny goes, what nanny in their right mind doesn’t meet the adult that your child is hanging out with?” My eyes narrowed as the harsh words left my lips.

  Chloe’s father turned his back, started to leave, but stopped, then he faced me. He shook his head in only what I can imagine was a gesture of pure repulsion.

  My shoulders slumped forward when I realized he was not coming back. With a shirt full of tomatoes I walked back to the patio, straight inside through the French doors and into my kitchen, alone, no thanks to Beckett. I kicked the door shut behind me.

  “Who was that guy? What a jerk? Maybe he should find a day care.” I let the tomatoes roll across the counter as I made a ramp with my shirt. One spun off the counter. I fumbled for it. “Shit,” I grumbled. The tomato split open as it hit the floor.

  “Maybe you should give people the benefit of the doubt?”

  I glanced up to see my mother with a cup of coffee in her hand standing over me. “Couldn’t you at least warn me when you are coming over?” I said hastily. The muscles in my chest tightened. My breast ached. “That guy is a jerk.”

  “I saw the whole thing. Quite entertaining,” Mom said with a smirk. “What’s going on here? I go away for six weeks with my travel companions and your furniture goes missing. Apparently, someone has stolen half of the pictures and artwork from the walls.”

  My stomach fell as I saw Mom’s arched eyebrow. It was time to confess to at least one of my secrets.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I continued to sputter as I cleaned up tomato guts from the cold white tile Beckett had chosen. His interior decorating skills were impeccable, but his ability to find function and flare this time had failed. “Damn you, Beckett.” I said through clenched my teeth.

  “I’ll just make myself comfortable while you get yourself together.” My mother pulled out the same stool Chloe had sat on just hours earlier. “Oh! Better wipe this off before I sit down. Sticky!”

  I handed her the sponge. “Go for it.” I scrambled for a pot and the ingredients I needed to make spaghetti sauce. “Better do this now before I lose the ambition.” I fake-smiled at my mother. I knew I had to keep my hands busy if we were going to have this conversation. I could tell by the look in her eye she wasn’t leaving until we did.

  “Marjorie Jean, what is this all about? What are you hiding?” She sprinkled sugar in her cup, and
I noticed that a few granules dotted the black granite countertop. She stirred her coffee and sipped.

  The hair pricked at the nape of my neck as I felt her stare bore holes into the back of my head. I focused on catching my breath and ignoring my stinging eyes as I chopped sweet onion into neat little cubes. When I dropped them into the pan, the pieces sizzled in the hot oil. Hot steam masked my anguish. I turned the heat down as I stirred in salt, a pinch of sugar, and minced garlic. “What’s there to tell? We are redecorating.”

  “Ha,” she scoffed. “Beckett would never let this place look like this even if that were true. He’s a neat freak. Furnishings are missing everywhere. You can tell me you’re selling off things to support a drug habit or you can tell me the truth.”

  “How long have you been here, Glad Abernathy?” I stopped stirring long enough to peer over my shoulder at her, knowing I should have told her months ago that Beckett and I were divorcing.

  “Now, now. No need to take a tone.” She snickered. “Long enough to have a good look around.”

  I reached over, picked up three tomatoes from the counter, and tossed them in the pot. Then I added the rest and smashed them down with my potato masher. “Got any good ideas?”

  “You’re thinner, what’s the mystery? You need to put some meat on your bones.”

  “You’re not any bigger than I am. I ate a sundae today.” I added a pinch of sugar, basil, and oregano before putting the lid on to simmer the sauce, knowing half my ice cream went down the disposal before facing my mother. “Beckett is having a midlife crisis. He’s moved out.” My chest tightened. I couldn’t bear to tell her why. “He’s decided he wants a new life and that doesn’t include living with me anymore.” I stayed steady, realizing my wedding band was still outside on the table. “He’ll be back,” I said with certainty, knowing it was a lie.

  “Where’s he gone?” Mom asked.

  “He’s got a place downtown. He says it’s near work and will save wear and tear.” I peeked into the pot. Little red bubbles percolated so I reduced the heat, put the lid on, and set the timer on the microwave. Tomorrow the married flavors would be perfect.