Mom stood back and put her hand on her hip just like Chloe. “Now why would he do that? Accidents happen, you know.” She inspected my injury then pressed the towel against my skull. “You just hold that there and don’t go anywhere. I’ll get some ice.”
I sighed in disgust. “Now, where would I possibly be going?” I slumped over the counter holding my head with my hands. The crack of the screen door made me jump. “Now what?” I closed my eyes and buried my face.
“This is not a time to get sassy, young lady,” Mom jested.
I mentally counted to ten.
Warm fingers lifted my chin. I blinked to see John in front of me. His strong hands cradled my face. I closed my eyes as he examined my head.
“That’s not so good. You’re going to need stitches,” he said.
“I’m going to need more than that,” I snapped. My belly warmed with the curve of his faint smile. I winced as he touched the skin around the gash.
“Should only be a couple. I’m really sorry.” He took a clean towel from my mother and placed it on my forehead. “About lots of things,” he whispered. “Maybe we should start over.”
John’s lingering gaze softened. My eyes glanced over to Chloe who was dragging Voodoo around the kitchen. Her plastic shoes slapped the floor in rhythm with my throbbing head. John left the kitchen. I waited for the slam of the screen door, but it didn’t come. I smiled at the sound of the doorbell.
Mom turned from the sink where she had been rinsing out the bloody towel. She shooed me toward the door. “Get up, go answer the door,” she ordered.
Chloe climbed up onto the chair next to me. She leaned across the counter on her belly. “Can I just call you Glad? I can’t really say that other name you told me. Besides, Glad sounds happier.”
“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Mom answered her.
“Maggie will be okay. Bad things happen to me all the time,” Chloe stated. “My dad says”—she cleared her throat and grunted as she scrunched up her face—“it’s all part of life.”
I stopped, looked over my left shoulder at my mom and Chloe who seemed so at ease, and wondered if I’d ever feel like that, too.
John stood at the door with his hands in his pockets.
I peered through the screen feeling foolish with the charade. I opened the door. My eyes met his although I could only see him with one eye because my other one was covered with the towel holding my head together.
“Hi there. I’m John McIntyre. I moved in next door and I thought maybe I should come over and apologize for my daughter.”
I smiled and took the towel away from my face. “I’m Maggie Abernathy. The woman in the kitchen is my mother, and yes, you probably should apologize for your daughter.”
John guided my hand with the towel back to my head. A tingle tickled my spine. “You really are going to have to get stitches. Is your husband home to take you?”
His question hit the nerve. “U-Um,” I stammered. “I really don’t have a husband. We’re divorced.” Saying those words felt strange. I pressed the towel to my head.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I know how that goes. It’s just me and Chloe.”
“She told me,” I said in the midst of feeling lightheaded.
“She tells everyone everything. She has no boundaries, but I guess you already know that,” John said, grinning.
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
John called to tell Chloe it was time to go home.
“My mom can take me to the emergency room.” I turned to prevent another collision as soon as I heard the sound of speeding flip-flopping.
Chloe sprinted past me, Voodoo following behind.
“I don’t know if this will help, but I can call ahead and let them know you are coming. It may save you some time.” John caught Chloe by her shoulders and twisted her around so she could see me.
Chloe yanked Vooodoo’s leash.
“Look Ms. Abernathy in the eye, please,” he interjected.
The corner of my lip curled upward. “I prefer, Maggie,” I said.
Chloe reeled Voodoo in and clutched him tight. “I’m sorry we bumped heads.”
“Me, too,” I whispered. I glanced at John who was scrolling through phone numbers on his cell phone. My temple throbbed, making my smile disappear.
Chloe rushed down the porch stairs and vanished around the corner of the house. John paced on the porch as he talked on his phone. I sat on the swing until he was finished.
“They know you’re on your way. Hope it helps.”
My mom came out with our purses and shut the doors. “Let’s go, Mags.”
John helped me down the stairs and into Mom’s sedan. “I’m really sorry,” he said, leaning into the car to buckle my seatbelt.
Chapter 8
I rolled over and squinted at blurry numbers on the alarm clock. Pressing the phone to my ear, I covered my head with the sheet, too tired to move. I grunted as my mom had a conversation with herself. She said she’d be in my kitchen in ten minutes.
“Let yourself in. I’m pretty sure you have a key,” I mumbled. Today, I didn’t care. I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling with beads of sweat coating my body. This menopause stuff wasn’t as great as it sounded. Like clockwork, waking up at least once a night shivering to cold sweat, usually about three-fifteen while the rest of the world slept around me became routine. I’d layer the sheet, the bedspread, and the extra down comforter I kept folded neatly at the end of my bed. Mom disconnected the call and with a heavy breath, I buried the phone under my pillow. Rain plunked against the roof lulling me back to sleep. Twenty minutes later, my phone chimed, again. “What?” I grumbled.
“I’m here, and you have a visitor. A man named Paul Mitchell.”
“I know you’re here. I can hear you rummaging around down there.” I sat up and thought about what day it was.
“It’s not like Maggie to oversleep.” I heard my mom talking to Paul through the phone. Her voice echoed up the stairs and through the hallway. “This change in her life is wearing her out. You know all us women go through it.”
Horrified, I kicked off the covers, slipped into the sundress I’d worn yesterday, hurried to the bathroom, put my hair up in a bun, and scrubbed my face with a cold washcloth careful not to touch the stitches in my left temple. I had exactly no time left to stop her. As I ran through the hall, I stopped in front of the mirror on the wall of the landing then adjusted the straps of my dress to hide any black tattoos.
I trotted down the stairs and hoped that my decision to keep Paul on as my decorator was the right one. I gave a little wave in his direction. “Good morning. Guess, I’m not used to my summer schedule yet.”
Mom raised her brow at me. “I’m going to make the coffee and whip up some breakfast.” She peered over the top of her glasses. “That is, if you haven’t already eaten.”
Paul smiled. “We should talk about a few things, get this project going. I got your message about the library. I’ll be out of your hair soon so you two ladies can enjoy the morning.”
“No. No. Join us. We’ve got plenty. Just did a major shopping trip yesterday,” Mom said.
She stopped in her tracks, turned around and shot me a look through her leopard print cheaters. She had more glasses than Imelda Marcos had shoes. She came back to where I stood at the bottom of the stairs and pushed my hair away from my temple to inspect the damage from yesterday.
“How’s that feeling?” she asked.
Paul leaned in. “Ouch.” He cringed.
“Really, I am fine. Just a few stitches to hold my head together.” Maybe I should have asked them to mend my heart while they were at it.
Mom grinned sheepishly. “She’s always brave,” she muttered. “I’ll get the bacon on.”
As Paul and I sat in the great room discussing our plans, my embarrassment subsided. While Paul spoke, my mind wandered to Beckett. The last time we spoke was the day he came to get his books. Shouldn’t he be settled by now?
I thought he’d call. He said he would. Pretending to be interested, I nodded along with the conversation.
Paul clapped his hands mid-sentence, breaking my trance. “So, I’ll get the painter’s scheduled and we’ll get the ceiling done first.”
“Sounds good. A fresh coat will brighten up the oak paneling. Take the window treatments and the oriental out while you’re at it. I want something different.”
Paul nodded.
“I want an oversized desk, a wooden drafting table for working on my hand-colored photographs, and a place to put my teacup collection.”
“Okay then, I’ll do some research and get back to you. Would you like to use the oriental in another room?”
I leaned back in my wing-backed chair. “Beckett can have it, if he wants it.” I scanned the great room. “Let’s ditch these window treatments and repaint in here, too. Something simple. Get rid of the plants, I’m, tired of taking care of them. If Beckett wants them, he can take them. I want a new sofa. Let’s move this one into the library.”
Paul inspected the rich brown leather he was sitting on. “Yeah. This is a great piece. The silver studs make it.” He ran his fingers over the supple hide. “Where’d you get this?”
“Traveling out West. We went to a Dude Ranch when Bradley was fourteen. Beckett thought it would be a great adventure,” I chided. “We all ate campfire food for five days and had sore backsides from trotting around on horses. Beckett and Bradley had great horses. Mine was skittish, afraid of rocks, but she was a beautiful Appaloosa. The lodge had a great sofa that we’d hang out on.” I gestured to our replica. “And you’re sitting on it. Great memories.”
“Sounds like a good time,” Paul responded as he crossed his legs.
“Yeah, it was. Bradley loved the dirt and the smell of fresh earth. I loved being on a horse under the big blue sky. It really was the best adventure.”
My heart warmed, knowing that we had shared that time together. Memories like that overshadowed the petty arguments and quiet evenings Beckett and I had grown accustom to once Bradley went off to college. I worried about Bradley; Beckett worried about finances. I worried making sure the lawn was properly edged; Beckett stressed over his job. I worked harder to get a Master’s degree while Beckett took on consulting jobs. Shaking my head, I realized how each nuance had driven the wedge deeper. I got up and strolled over to the heavy oak mantle we spent hours restoring. My eyes caressed the photographs lining the beautiful architectural element. “I have to admit, Beckett looked good on that horse,” I muttered.
Mom called from the kitchen, “Hey, you two, you about done? The rain stopped and breakfast is waiting. It’s on the patio. And you don’t want an old lady to eat alone, do you?”
“You’ll have to excuse my mother. You really don’t have to stay.” I secretly hoped Paul would take the opportunity to leave.
“Actually, it’s been a busy morning and I am kind of hungry. Smells great.” Paul pushed himself up from the sofa and headed for the kitchen.
I stretched and mumbled to myself, “Sure, just make yourself at home, everybody else does.” I followed. The food did smell good. Yesterday, after all of Mom’s pestering she provoked me into standing on the scale in the extra bathroom. I figured the doctor’s office was light. Guess not. I was down seven pounds. I hadn’t been one hundred fourteen pounds since college. The power of stress amazed me.
Mom looked charming as she sat reading the paper. My eyebrows shot up when I saw four place settings. “Um, four plates? Invisible friend?”
She closed the paper and stared at me through narrowed eyes. “Ha, ha. The last time anyone had an invisible friend, it was you. Lily Anderson wouldn’t play with you because you snapped her Barbie’s head off. You couldn’t stand being alone. You said it was the worst week of your life.”
“Until now,” I joked. Paul pulled out a chair for me. Mom was right. I never liked being alone. Beckett reassured me that I’d find someone when this was all said and done, but I wasn’t sure that would ever happen or that I even wanted it to happen. His feeble attempt of making a purse out of a sow’s ear only made me think he was full of crap.
“Hey, that whole Barbie incident was an accident.” I giggled as Paul arranged his napkin on his lap with exact precision. “Seriously, four plates?” I reiterated.
“Chloe will be here in a minute,” Mom said as she put the morning newspaper on the lounge chair behind her.
“What?” I pointed to my head and pushed my hair back showing Paul the stitches. “Oh, I forgot. You already saw them.”
Paul wrinkled his nose. “Ouch.”
“Can’t I catch a break?” I paused, staring into Paul’s dark eyes then over to Mom. “Sure, Chloe’s father was kind yesterday, but his kid split my head wide open sliding into home plate trying to catch the Triscuit box. Come on. What is she going to do to me today?”
“She’s just a little girl. Be nice. You were a little girl once, too,” Mom reminded me as she sipped her coffee.
I peeled back the wrapper of my blueberry muffin then broke off a piece of moist cake and plopped it in my mouth. The sugar crystals melted on my tongue sending a jolt of happiness through my bloodstream. Chloe’s humming penetrated the dewy air. “Ah, here she comes. Does her dad know she’s over here? I am supposed to call, you know.”
“Lighten up. He’s doing the best he can. Do you know Chloe’s mom lives in California? Left her here with her dad. He’s a pediatrician, works long hours. And that nanny, I’m not so sure about her, either,” Mom rambled.
“Sounds rough,” Paul interjected. “Although, this bacon is sinful.” He lifted the carafe to warm my mother’s coffee.
I sat back, reveling in the fact that Paul felt so comfortable amongst strangers. “Chloe already told me about her Hollywood mom,” I said, staring at Mom. Chloe strolled around the corner of the patio dragging Voodoo behind her. “You know, poor Voodoo’s face is getting a little worn. Maybe you should carry him,” I suggested.
Paul scooted out the chair between my mom and himself.
“He doesn’t mind,” Chloe said. “He’s independent. Dad says, ‘It’s good to get a few scrapes here and there.’”
Paul nodded in agreement as he helped Chloe get situated. “Your dad sounds like a smart man. I’m Paul. I’m helping Maggie fix her house up.”
“Yeah, I know. I seen you before,” she replied, carefully reaching for a piece of bacon.
“Saw,” I interjected. “I saw,” I repeated.
“I thought this was summer vacation,” Mom said.
Paul laughed and twisted off the top to his muffin. “Remember that Seinfeld?” he asked.
Mom and I laughed.
Chloe snorted. “You people sure are something.”
“Hello,” a voice called from inside the house.
Chloe shrugged. “It’s not J.P. He’s at the office.”
“Who?” I asked.
“J.P. That’s my dad. John Patrick. All his friends call him J.P.” She peeled back the paper from her muffin and took a big bite. Crumbs showered down around her.
John didn’t strike me as the kind of guy with lots of friends. None of us moved from our respective seats. With Bradley away, Chloe, Paul, and Glad were all accounted for so, I figured things couldn’t get weirder. I gulped my juice and peered back at the doors leading to the kitchen just as Beckett poked his head out.
“Looks like a party. Maybe I should come back,” he suggested.
“Nonsense,” Mom chimed. “There’s food in the kitchen. Get yourself a plate.”
“Only if it’s okay with Maggie,” he replied.
His puppy dog expression searched for my approval. “Geez, make me the bad guy, why don’t you?” I glanced around the table. All eyes were on me. “Help yourself.” I moved the food around on my plate making neat little piles that didn’t touch.
The soft breeze blew some of my hair loose from my bun. I twirled the lock of hair and stuck it back in my hair tie.
Beckett came out with a heaping plate of fruit and toast. J.P. followed in his footsteps. I eyed Chloe.
“I guess I was wrong. Hi, Dad,” she chirped as she gobbled up a strawberry.
Mom and I stared at each other in secret code.
“Sorry to intrude. I thought maybe I’d find her here.” John arched an eyebrow in his daughter’s direction.
“Not her fault,” Mom interrupted. “Not Maggie’s either. I invited Chloe to be my guest. Maggie’s lived this long, I figured if I could handle her, I could handle Chloe, too.”
“Nice one, Mom,” I said. “Beckett, this is John, my new neighbor. John this is Beckett.” I assessed Beckett’s trendy shoes and slacks. He looks handsome as ever. Damn him. He probably thinks I look like I just rolled out of bed, oh wait, I did. I wondered if Mom had the gumption to arrange this little gathering. Knowing her, she did.
The men shook hands.
Paul’s gaze caught my attention. He slid his chair back and got up. “Hi there, it’s nice to meet you in person,” Paul said. He shook Beckett’s hand. “We’ve only spoken on the phone,” Paul clarified.
That answered many lingering questions. “And John, this is Paul, my decorator, and Paul this is John, my neighbor. Do I have everybody covered?” I asked. Another strand of hair fell into my face. Exasperated, I blew it away. This was just too much work. “If I skipped anyone—”
“You skipped me,” Chloe declared. “Beckett, Mr. Maggie, it’s nice to meet you.” She smiled at her dad. Her front tooth was growing in making her look less like a jack-o’-lantern and more like a troll. “Dad, you didn’t ask Maggie how her head was.”
John stepped closer to my chair. I could feel his heat as his fingers grazed my skin when he moved strands of hair away from my temple. “No bandage this morning.”
I touched the spot carefully as Chloe and I shared a glance, her smile apologetic. “I must have lost it in my sleep. I’m fine.” I carefully glanced up in his direction feeling the air change between us.
Beckett leaned in closer. I could feel his breath. He patted my head like a puppy. “What happened?”
Maggie's Way (Montana Bound Series Book 1) Page 6
