Maggie wiped her napkin across her lips, then set it over her lap. Janice had practically offered up a Sunday dinner; roast beef and gravy with mashed potatoes and peas. Maggie apologized for her lack of appetite at the beginning of the meal, but then proceeded to eat three full slabs of roast beef before throwing in the towel. Deacon feared she may have stuffed herself just to be polite.
Catherine groaned softly to herself from across the table. Even with Maggie’s sudden appearance, John wasted no time shooting his wife a quick text, demanding she come down the road and meet Deacon’s new ‘fixation.’
Damn it, she’s not a fixation. She’s just on my mind. A lot.
“Whatever you say, pal,” John said as he introduced Maggie to his wife.
Deacon couldn’t help but watch Catherine as she made her way around the home. She was comfortable there now, married to John for over a year. Still, Deacon couldn’t help but watch, wondering silently whether she still felt pain in her side, if there were silent troubles that even John wasn’t telling him about. She smiled at everyone the way she always did, ate with relish, telling jokes and filling everyone in about her family. Still, Deacon knew how brave Catherine Calhoun Fenn could be. He hoped this jovial mood wasn’t just a show of grace.
“Who’s this now?” Maggie asked suddenly at the mention of Catherine’s cousin, Bennett Calhoun.
Catherine’s eyebrows shot up. “Who? Bennett? He’s my cousin.”
“Bennett Calhoun?” Maggie asked and her words were staggered.
Deacon froze a moment. She’d know that last name, the name of the man who’d murdered her sister.
“Yeah. Calhoun is my family.”
Maggie took a deep breath and they all went quiet a moment. Finally, she turned toward Deacon. “Deacon Fenn. I knew recognized that name.”
Oh shit, he thought.
“You were there? When Bodie Calhoun died?”
Deacon nodded.
Maggie licked her lips, setting her napkin in her lap. She took a deep breath, nodding across the table to Catherine. “Will you – will you shake Bennett’s hand for me, when you see him next?”
Deacon frowned and his heart hurt. He knew Bennett well, knew that the night Badie Calhoun died would haunt his friend for the rest of his life, but to Maggie, Bennett was the man who killed her sister’s killer. It didn’t matter than he was also the man’s son.
“So, Maggie – should I call you Maggie, or Maggie Light Foot?” Carl asked, his thumb hooked into the belt loop of his jeans. Deacon silently praised his father’s very name for breaking the tension of that moment.
Deacon watched Maggie out of the corner of his eye. He’d often wondered this very thing himself.
“Either is fine. I’ll even answer to just Light Foot, if you’re feeling inclined.”
John nodded, sagely. “Well, it’s a rad name, man.”
Maggie smiled. “That’s what Deacon said.”
Maggie had graciously taken on every question thrown her way, smiling and answering with the manners of a queen. Deacon just sat beside her, listening and watching.
He’d discovered she was a poet, a painter, an Aries, a cat person, and mildly allergic to Cilantro. He was grateful his family circle hadn’t made fools of themselves by delving any further.
Janice was off in the kitchen, preparing to bring a blueberry pie to the table for dessert when Deacon’s phone suddenly burst to life in his pocket.
“Oh shit!” He said, jumping up from the table and scanning the room for his keys.
It was his work alarm. He’d completely forgotten he was due for his first shift.
He turned toward Maggie, setting a hand on her shoulder as he stepped away from the table. “I’m so sorry. Do you have a ride home? I completely forgot I have to work. Fuck.”
“It’s ok,” she said, touching his hand. “You needn’t worry. It’s not like you were expecting me.”
But he did worry. She’d come to his mother’s house, sat with his family for an early supper, and behaved with such grace as to never let on the drama that was brewing back on the rez. Whatever brought her there, and whatever inspired her fear before she arrived, he was left ignorant to it.
“Mom, John? Can one of you give her ride home, maybe?”
“Of course! I’m not about to let the poor girl walk home, shoeless.” Janice said, setting the massive blueberry pie down on the table as John and Carl both groaned.
Deacon touched Maggie’s shoulder again, then jerked his hand away.
Stop it, Deacon. Don’t be so damn familiar. You hardly know her, you have no idea why she’s here. Stop it!
“Alright,” he said, and his body almost moved to kiss her on the cheek as a parting gesture. He stopped dead, mortified with himself.
What the hell is wrong with you?
“Everybody wish me luck! Let’s hope it’s a quiet night.”
His family called their well wishes as he shot through the kitchen toward the front door. He noted that Maggie didn’t say a word.
The sky was already near dark as he rushed out to his SUV, smelling the wood smoke and chill in the air. He flung open the driver side door, nearly hitting Maggie in the chest. Jesus, he hadn’t even heard her come out.
“Sorry! Sorry,” she said, splaying her hands before her. “I just – I just thought I’d say goodbye. I’m sorry about this whole thing, it wasn’t my inten -”
Deacon grabbed her around the waist, pulled her against him, and kissed her. Despite every nerve in his body screaming in horror at the sheer audacity of this move, Maggie’s body softened in his arms. She kissed him back.
She broke from the kiss after a moment, not pulling away, not pushing him, but simply breaking the connection. Their lips remained close as he fought to comprehend what he’d just done. Carissa came flooding to mind at that moment, and his stomach turned with guilt. He hadn’t thought of her all day.
“I’m sorry, Maggie. I don’t know where that came – sorry.”
She exhaled, and he caught a hint of the oregano from his mother’s gravy on her breath. Beneath that, the same strange, intoxicating smell he’d caught in the house. Her scent betrayed wanting him. He could blame those god damn pheromones, couldn’t he?
Yet, why did she smell so different than other women?
He could imagine John’s answer to this question.
Because she’s it, man!
Not helpful.
“I don’t want to make you late,” she said, but still she didn’t pull away.
Deacon exhaled, frustrated to think he had to leave now. Of all the months he’d spent trying to find a decent job down south, one would expect some relief to be going back to work. Yet, this smoky, foreign, beautiful thing seemed to shift and settle into every cranny of him, and he didn’t want to let her go for anything.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, a familiar ringtone he’d been waiting to hear for days, now tearing him from the most pleasant moment he’d had in a long time – Carissa.
Oh god, he thought. Carissa.
Deacon released his hold on Maggie with more force than he’d intended, half pushing her away from him as he straightened. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”
“No, it’s ok. Please, you don’t need to apolo -”
“I have to go. I’m sorry I wish I could drive you home – I’m sorry.”
With that, Deacon climbed into his car, fighting to keep his eyes from her face as the headlights set her skin aglow. Deacon threw the car in reverse and was barreling down the dirt road in less than three seconds.
He was as far as the Fenn gate before he stopped to read her text.
I’m sorry, Deedee. Can I call you?
Deacon swallowed. This was the message he’d waited a week for. This was the message he accepted would never come when he begged Lara to put a good word in for him at the clinic, when he let his father deliver another week’s worth of groceries the day before. This was the message he forgot he’d wanted to receive wh
en Maggie Light Foot was sitting beside him.
He felt shame bubbling beneath his skin. How could he be so quick to seek the touch of another woman? He’d never acted like that before; he usually took his time, got to know a person before he went in for a kiss. What was it about Maggie that made him act this way? Was it because of that strange connection they shared – the fact they’d been engaged for all of a day?
He hopped out of the SUV to open the gate and made up his mind.
I’ll call when I’m on break.
Lara settled into the passenger seat of the ambulance and began snacking on twizzlers, a habit he’d once teased her for in their many hours together. He usually found it endearing, but tonight it was just a constant smacking, chewing sound that reminded him he couldn’t make a call.
He wanted to make that call.
“How you feel being back?” Lara asked after two hours of quiet. Living in the middle of nowhere Maine made for some quiet nights, if they were lucky.
He shrugged, too distracted to really engage his old partner. “It’s nice to feel useful, I think.”
She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t speak, digging back in to a twizzler. Lara’s dark hair was up in a tight ponytail, the ends of her hair just grazing the nape of her neck. She was petite, but built like a brick shit house, evidence of her affection for CrossFit. John once made comment that Deacon should try for some extracurricular work activities.
“A girl with thighs like that? Are you kidding me?”
Deacon laughed. John liked to say crass shit, but John had barely slept with anyone for two years when Catherine came along and turned him into a sex fiend.
“Thighs that I’m sure her girlfriend is very fond of,” Deacon said, smiling to see John’s crestfallen expression at hearing Lara didn’t like boys.
The radio burst to life. “Medic 4. We have a 57 year old male complaining of chest pains at 1437 West Seafarer Way. Wife is present, man is conscious.”
Lara snatched up the radio receiver as Deacon pulled the ambulance out onto the main drag. They were ten minutes out. Deacon threw on the lights, but left the sirens silent. There were no cars on the road yet to announce their coming. He barreled down the road, years of living in Blackrock leaving him with perfect memory of every nook and cranny. They pulled into the driveway of the yellow doublewide just as his phone burst to life on the dash – John was calling.
Deacon ignored it, jumping out of the ambulance to meet the troubled woman who stood in a pink bathrobe in the open front door.
George Halsen was conscious and lucid, his pains enough to cause fear, but as Lara and Deacon examined the man, realized he was in no immediate danger. If he’d been having a heart attack, it was a minor one.
Deacon piled back into the driver’s seat, Lara and Mrs. Halsen piled into the back of the ambulance with George relaxing on his gurney, an oxygen mask over his bearded face.
Deacon’s phone lit up on the dash again – John.
For fuck’s sake, you know I’m working, he thought, letting the sirens blip as he came up behind a white Toyota. The drive back to the clinic was short, and George was admitted seamlessly, Lara and Deacon giving their notes and reports to the nurse before heading back out to the ambulance for another round of ‘hurry up and wait.’
Deacon was growing impatient with everything around him. He needed to make that call. He needed to know what Carissa was going to say, what direction his life might turn in.
As they made their way down the hallway, Lara offered to grab him something from the cafeteria, and Deacon grabbed his opportunity. He snuck outside, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air around his face as he pulled up the familiar number.
“Hey.”
The familiarity of the voice, the soft way she spoke, especially at this time of night – it stirred something in him. That voice was the way she used to talk to him, back when things felt better – back when he still thought she liked him. He’d wanted so much to hear that timber in her voice again during the months since she stopped letting him touch her.
“Hey. I’m still at work, so I don’t know how long I will have, but - I didn’t want to make you wait.”
“Oh, Deedee. I don’t want to be a bother,” she said. She was so light now, softened in such a way that it almost felt like a trap. Could she really still want him?
“No, no, Car. You’re not a bother. You know you’re not a bother.”
Deacon shot a glance around the corner of the ambulance. There was no sign of Lara.
“Can you talk?”
“Yeah, I have a minute,” Deacon said, the phone shaking in his hand.
Carissa took a deep breath on the other line. “I wanted you to know that if you wanted to come back down, I’d – I’d like that very much.”
Deacon’s phone buzzed in his hand and he pulled away to look – John.
Deacon silently began plotting his brother’s demise. “Really? Are you sure? I know things haven’t been all that great for a while.”
“No, I know. I know that, but I think that’s my fault as much as it is yours. I think that it – we might be worth talking it through, you know?”
Deacon let the words sink in as he stood there, his EMT uniform freshly cleaned and pressed, the familiar smell and feel of the ambulance just behind him. It was his first day back, how the hell was he going to break this one to Lara? She’d be pissed.
And then, what about Maggie?
God damn it, Deacon. What about Maggie? You’re going to let some schoolboy crush end a year long relationship?
Carissa’s words – the ones that broke his heart just days earlier – played across his mind. He swallowed. “What about what you said – the other day?”
“What about it?”
“You said, ‘if I was the one, you would know.’ Isn’t that what you said?”
She paused. “Yes.”
“Well… am I?”
Carissa went quiet for a moment, and Deacon swallowed, waiting for the response. Despite the heartbreak and longing of the past few days, he couldn’t quite put his finger on this strange feeling. He’d been miserable and prayed for this moment, but now that it had arrived, his stomach was turning. Random notions were racing through his mind – John doesn’t like her, Gramps doesn’t like her, Lara was so excited to have you back, Bennett could use having a friend close by – and then between each of these thoughts, the pinnacle of them all kept skipping through.
Maggie. Maggie. Maggie.
Schoolboy crush or no, would he feel this way for another woman so soon if Carissa was his fate?
“I think that’s something we have to find out together, Deedee.”
“Is it?”
“What?” Carissa asked, and her voice shifted just slightly, a tinge of irritation.
“Car,” Deacon said, and his tongue felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds. “I care for you very much -”
“Oh my god,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.
“- but what you said. What you said really hit me. If I’d been sure, I’d have told Gramps to go screw, wouldn’t I?”
She faltered, ready to protest.
“I could have just let him disown me; just said no. But you were right. I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t, but I think – I think you deserve to be with someone who is sure, you know?”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
Deacon took a shaky breath. “And I think I deserve to be with someone who is sure, and you’re not – you’ve never been sure about me.”
Carissa went quiet as Deacon’s phone buzzed with another call from John. Deacon shut it down, waiting for Carissa to respond.
His phone buzzed as a text came in from John.
ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE!
Deacon’s blood began to boil at his brother, but he fought to stay calm for Carissa. Finally, she took a deep breath and swallowed. “Fine.”
Deacon waited for her to go on. As the silence dragged on he found
himself desperate to break the silence. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. I am, too. I’ll let you get back to work.”
Before Deacon could say another word, Carissa was gone, the phone beeping to signify she’d hung up.
Out of spite as much as obligation, Deacon pulled up John’s number and pressed send. He was poised with venom for the instant John picked up.
“Get home. Now.”
John’s voice was wrong. That was the only way he could describe the tone – it was just wrong.
“Is Catherine alright? Mom?”
“Yeah, we’re all fine, but your girl’s not.”
Deacon’s heart dropped to his feet. “What? What are you fucking talking about?”
“Dude, all fucking hell broke loose when I brought her home. Did you fucking know she’s been exiled?”
Deacon inhaled. “I did.”
“Yeah, well you might’ve fucking told me that. She’s suiting up as we speak. Chief White Eagle challenged the poor thing to a fucking Kalmud the second she got home.”
“WHEN!?” Deacon’s voice cracked the silence of the parking lot, startling a pair of nurses smoking their cigarettes outside the main door.
“When do you think, Deacon? Now! Right fucking now.”
“But she can’t!”
John scoffed on the other end of the line. “She doesn’t have a fucking choice, man.”
“No, you don’t fucking get it.” Deacon turned toward the building, pulling his car keys from his pocket. “She can’t fight a Kalmud!”
“Tell that to -”
“She’s not a fucking bear, John! She can’t fight!”
John went quiet. Deacon piled into his SUV and started up the engine. He’d text his apologies to Lara. He simply couldn’t wait another moment.
“Do you know where they are?”
John’s tone shifted on the other end of the line. “I think so. Meet me at the rez road.”
Deacon tossed his phone into the passenger seat and took off out of the parking lot, rocketing toward home.
CHAPTER TEN
Maggie watched Deacon’s tail lights disappear in the distance.
The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan Page 36
