‘Celebration of life’.
Sounds like a sugary name for a wake to me.
THE SKY’S FLAWLESSLY clear, the perfect summer blue scattered with the odd fluffy white cloud and the softest of breezes kissing my lightly tanned skin to keep me comfortable.
If a day could be described as happy, this would be the day.
Betraying bastard.
The so-called ‘Celebration of Life’ is in full swing, so I’m hiding with a bottle of white wine, which I hate but can no longer taste so it doesn’t matter. I’m sick of hearing all the wonderful stories about my wonderful family in past tense. So I snuck out and found a big arse tree to sit under.
My head’s swimming and I can see that I’m holding a glass in my other hand, but can’t seem to feel it under my fingers. I lift it up and look at the sky through it, twisting and turning it, watching the sparkle and soft colours reflect off the crystal, and eventually hold it upside down. It’s empty. I must need a drink then. I raise the bottle to my lips and swallow the tepid liquid until it’s as empty as I am. My sluggish gaze goes to the light reflecting off the large diamond on my finger. My hand lowers, my thumbnail catches in the band.
One night. That’s all he got to see me wear it. One lousy night, after he’d got down on one knee and asked me to marry him every day for the rest of his life. If only we knew the rest of his life would come to an end so soon. The night that we made love for the very last time. When Brendan carried me for the last time, held me in our bed, kissed me before going to sleep… for the very last time. If we only knew…
“There you are, Chicken.”
I startle a little then look up. And up. Jon’s just so darn tall.
I roll my eyes. “Ugh, not you too.”
His deep chuckle is comforting. Annoying, but comforting. “It kinda fits you know. You’re still smaller than anyone I know.”
“I’m average height for a woman so you can shut right up.” My head tips back by itself, suddenly too heavy for my neck. My hair catches with the bark of the tree. “I wonder if the girls would have grown to average,” I speculate out loud, lolling my head from side to side over the splintering trunk. “Suddenly it sounds pretty darn good to just be average, don’t it Jonny Boy?”
“They were never average Maggie Mae.”
We used to think the nick-names we gave each other sounded so cool when we were kids, so Bonnie and Clyde, but now they just sound like bad, out-dated songs. It’s funny how we never gave one to Brendan, even though he was always the one coming to our rescue when we bit off more than we could chew - which was most of the time. Maybe we should have tagged him the Lone Ranger. He certainly was perfect enough; to me anyway.
“It’s time, Maggie,” Jon whispers from his seat beside me. “And this ground is killing my arse. How can you sit there without moving for so long?”
“Can’t feel it anymore” I reply, slurring some of my words.
“You can’t feel what, the ground or your butt?” I can hear the smile in his voice and it makes me smile too.
“Yep.” I lift my eyes and tilt my chin towards the sun’s rays as it breaks free of a small white cloud and floods us in its warmth.
“Yep what?”
“Just… yep.”
“Are you drunk Maggie Mae?”
“Yep.”
“Yep?”
“Yep.”
“Good.”
“Isn’t this place the best, Jonny Boy?” I say, attempting to stand without falling. “You can get married, christen the kids and get buried all within walking distance.”
Straightening, I notice a figure leaning against the thick trunk a couple of trees over. Jon steps in closer, hand on my arm to help keep me steady then follows my line of sight.
“He’s been there for as long as you’ve been here.”
“Why?”
I know it’s rude and an ungrateful thing to ask, but I can’t help but wonder. Luke’s been fantastic, but he’s not family and it’s been years since we saw each other.
“Be easy on him Mags, he’s been through a tough time too,” is all Jon offers as an explanation, before taking my arm and leading me to my family’s final resting place.
I think Jon’s right. It is a good thing that I’m a little drunk right now. It does make walking in heels a bitch though, so I stop and kick them off, not bothering to pick them up.
Apparently this is a very important step to take towards acceptance, watching my life being lowered into the cold dark ground and covered in damp earth, trapped away for all eternity.
I think whoever told me that is full of shit.
My mind becomes consumed with gloomy confined spaces and a lack of oxygen. How Mattie hates being left in the dark without a night light. I should have remembered to give her one. What sort of parent am I to forget something as important as that?
My mouth opens. I’m about to tell them to stop lowering my girls when a hand grips my shoulder and fills me with the sense of security, coaxing me into a protective hold.
“They’re safe Maggie, I promise,” Luke whispers into my ear so no one else can hear him. “Trust me.” And I do. I don’t know why, but I do.
I look to the grief-stricken faces of my immediate family, openly shedding unsurmountable tears of their own as they work their way around my husband and children, murmuring their last words while watching the caskets descend. I feel my body following suit until I’m sitting with my legs folded uncomfortably underneath me. Once again I’ve dragged Luke along; he’s ended up propped awkwardly by my side. Jon’s squatting at my feet, crushing my fingers. Or maybe I’m crushing his.
I watch in suffocating horror as the tips of the flowers resting on polished timber lids slowly disappear below ground level, taking all I have left with them.
Then that’s all there is.
It’s over.
two
Chapter 4
“AREN’T YOU SICK of me yet?” I’m using an easy-going inside voice aimed towards the kitchen, hoping I don’t miss a step while climbing down the stairs with my arms full. The house is so much quieter these days, there’s seldom the need for raised voices anymore. It makes me sad. I never thought the day would come when I’d miss all the noise.
I am about ready to regret my question after a prolonged silence fills the air, before Luke offers me a response.
“Not yet,” he replies distractedly, looking up from his laptop as I walk into the room, “Hey, what have you got there?” he asks, pushing his chair back to stand. He meets me in the doorway and frees my arms from my load without having to ask him for help. Not that I needed it. This is classic gentleman Luke, never complaining or questioning; even when I do something so bizarre it has him raising his eyebrows. I like it but don’t at the same time.
Jon’s been spending more time at home with his parents. Apparently they aren’t coping and are thinking they need some time away from it all. Us all. He also has a job that he has to get back to. Maybe I should look at getting a job, but then what? I just don’t know at the moment.
“Well, you’ve been wearing the same half dozen things for the last month or so. I thought you could use something else to put on for a change.”
He looks to the bundle and compresses his lips into a thin line. I’m not sure if I know Luke well enough to be able to decipher all of his expressions, but this one has me feeling insecure, and now I’m worried that I’ve offended him by offering up a dead man’s clothes.
“They’re good, all washed and pressed. Actually he hardly wore most of this stuff. Some of them still have their tags on. But it’s fine if you don’t want them. I’ll understand.” I’m trying to give Luke an out so he doesn’t feel trapped into taking them.
“You sure Maggie?” Luke asks, narrowing his rich blue eyes as he inspects my face.
“No,” I laugh. It’s a bland attempt, but still an attempt. I really don’t know how I’ll feel about him wearing Brendan’s things. In theory I think I’m fine with it but
, I guess I’ll find out if he decides to take up my offer. “But it’s a start, right?”
Luke’s expression softens as he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Are you suggesting I smell bad, Maggie Mae?” he chuckles, using the silly nick name Jon gave me years ago.
“Not you too, Luke,” I fake whine. If asked I would never admit it, but I actually like the way my name sounds coming from him.
Suddenly the room becomes too stuffy and it feels awkward with him in my space, so I move to the opposite side of the kitchen. He’s set up a make shift office there since we don’t use the table for meals.
And he does smell, just not bad. “Please take the clothes if you want them, Luke. You’re a bit broader than… what… he… they might be a snug fit, but they should be fine,” I finish in a rush. I don’t understand this. I can think Brendan’s name and I can stare at him for hours whenever I close my eyes, so why can’t I mention him out loud or stand the sight of all the photos scattered around my house?
Luke picks a black t-shirt with white stick figures depicting the human evolution chart printed across the front, and holds it up in question. I raise my shoulder and glance away from his searching eyes in response.
Quirking a smile with one side of his mouth, he drops Brendan’s shirt back on the pile, takes hold of the hem of his white tee and whips it over his head.
Right in front of me.
Topless.
Good God, the man’s beautiful - tanned from our summer sun, toned to perfection well before he found me. My eyes zero in on his abs - all six of them. He has a tattoo I can’t quite make out from this distance inked over his left side, and a soft, dark blonde happy trail running below the waistline of his loosely hanging jeans.
I can’t help shamelessly ogling at the poor guy. What I can see of his body is flawless, as in runway model perfect. Don’t get me wrong, Brendan was lovely and more than enough for me. But Luke’s in a different league all together.
He stands, still holding his crumpled shirt by his side, letting me finish my brazen inspection. His blue eyes darken when I finally return to his gaze and I feel my face warm in embarrassment.
He lifts a questioning brow and raises my husband’s t-shirt. “Are you sure you’re okay with this Maggie Mae?”
With what? Him standing there half naked in front of me?
I cup the side of my face to cool the rising heat over my humiliating indecisiveness. Luke in this state of undress is undeniably beautiful and a little intimidating, so I guess the answer is no, I don’t think so.
I’m pretty sure I don’t think so.
Am I sure that I’m ready for him to be wearing my husband’s clothes right in front of me? Not at all but… “I’m fine Luke, really. Just cover your ugly arse up.”
He does the right thing and offers a chuckle at my attempt to make light of the situation, sliding the t-shirt over his head. I turn to leave the kitchen needing space when he calls me back. My breath catches when I find him shrugging into Brendan’s top. He looks good. Brendan looks good on him.
“Um, Maggie you received a letter this morning and I may have opened it,” he murmurs almost sounding nervous. Reaching for the offending paper, he holds it out for me like it’s an offering.
I instantly zero in on the expensive parchment and letterhead. “You opened my mail?” I ask in disbelief. “Don’t you think you’re over stepping the mark a tad there, buster?”
“Buster?” Unfortunately he shakes the distraction out of his head before I can run with it. It was worth a shot. “You had a phone call as well-”
“Which I heard from upstairs and was happy to let it go to the machine.”
What is with this guy all of sudden?
“And you know full well they’ve left over a dozen messages for you Maggie. So don’t get shitty with me, because I did what you should have done weeks ago.”
Oh, I’ll get shitty over whatever the hell I want and with whoever the hell I choose. And right now I choose Lucas Andrews.
“Who on earth do you think you are? You can’t just come waltzing in here and take-”
“Maggie, read the bloody letter.” He extends his arm and gives the page a shake for emphasis. Luke’s nostrils flare as he inhales deeply trying to keep his composure when I cross my arms tightly over my chest, refusing to take it. Good, he’s getting pissed off too.
“No.”
“Maggie.” He draws out my name in a deeper tone than he was using seconds ago.
I mimic him childishly. “Luke.”
“Read it or I’m going to-”
“NO.”
I’m losing my temper, something I very rarely do. I can feel the tension building, gripping my muscles, ready to explode; and for some strange reason I like it, relishing the escalation of heat filtering through me, set to erupt.
It’s like I want to get mad, be angry with something or someone, or everything and everyone.
“Why not?” Luke bites back without missing a beat. Brendan would never have spoken to me in such a harsh tone, and the impact of it forces me to rear up a step.
“Don’t you-”
“Read it.” He uses the same tone even though he can see I’m floundering.
I’m quickly learning that it’s one thing to yell at someone and another thing all together to be yelled at.
Panicking, I scream the first thing that comes to mind. “GET OUT.”
And instantly regret it.
Thank God he ignores me.
“Read the bloody letter.”
“NO.”
I’m really shouting now. My heart’s pumping and my temples pound under the pressure. I don’t argue well, so I’m making it all up as I go. I don’t have a plan nor am I thinking anything through. I only know that I don’t want to read the letter, and I do not want to hear what Luke has to say about it. It’s none of his business. I’m none of his business.
Stepping into my personal space, Luke yells just as loudly, “Why not?”
My mind goes blank with his proximity. I can’t hold his penetrating glare, so I become the coward and look away, frantically searching for an escape.
He grabs hold of my upper arm to stop me from running like I want to, and repeats his last question in a harder, quieter tone. Strangely, this is far more intimidating than all the screaming.
“Why not Maggie?”
I jerk my arm from his gentle grip. He takes a step to my right so we’re standing toe to toe, and blocks my only exit. I breathe angry breaths, opting to stare at his mouth because I haven’t the courage to look back into his eyes. Then I inhale the overwhelming scent radiating off of him, which almost brings me to my knees.
Luke smells like Brendan.
Wearing his clothes, I can smell my husband all around me. It’s the same, but different. It’s Brendan mixed with Luke, and it’s a horrifyingly wonderful combination that has me wanting to lean in closer and press myself further into the wall at my back at the same time.
“Why not Maggie?” Luke asks again, much more sombrely now that I have lost some of my fight.
Looking to my feet I mumble, “Because it’s from Brendan’s law office. It’s from one of the associates.” My words catch as I begin to sob.
“Ahh, Maggie Mae… it gets easier. Never better, but easier, I promise,” Luke whispers, his soft lips gently rubbing against my forehead as he pulls me into a firm embrace. Slowly he sways us from side to side, shifting our feet like we’re slow dancing.
With him wrapped securely around me I can’t seem to be able to help myself. I inhale as deeply as I can, holding the mixture of scents in my lungs and savouring them for as long as possible. I release the air, then do it all over again - knowing that I’ll pay for it later when I’m resting on the floor by my bed pretending to sleep. The memories I try to keep at bay will come and shatter me into dust.
“We’re meeting Joe Reynolds at two, Maggie Mae. I know you’re angry with me and that’s ok, but we’re going.” Luke’s voice is both g
entle and firm at the same time, a tone that broaches no argument but doesn’t sting.
“Why are you here Luke? What are you waiting for?”
In my heart of hearts and no matter what I’ve said, I really don’t want him to leave. But he had a life before all of this, so what makes now so different? I know Luke’s finance company is based in New York. He came here on a whim with Jon, to my house to share a meal, and has stayed ever since. Why?
Tightening his hold and pressing his lips into my hair, he offers me an explanation that confuses me.
“I’m waiting for when fine isn’t fine anymore.”
But isn’t being fine a good thing? Every day I wake up and inhale and act. And I am fine, I’m functioning. Doesn’t that mean I’m coping through all of this mess, dealing the way everyone expects me to?
THE RISE OF the elevator leaves me feeling nauseated. I used to dread having to travel in one when I was pregnant.
Pregnant. Seems like a hundred years ago. I hate that.
It’s the part of the ride when you reach your floor and the car rises that bit too far, then drops with a spongy bounce, always leaving my stomach bottoming out and my legs wanting to fold underneath me. The more flights I have to travel up, the closer my stomach drops to the ground floor when we stop. This afternoon, it’s eight.
Luke walked with me to the front entrance of Appleby, Brenner and Associates, the law firm Brendan worked for. He wanted to come up with me but I wouldn’t let him, especially after he dismissed another call on his mobile phone without looking to see who the caller was. He has a business to run and I have to man up and do this on my own. I told him as much and though he did protest, Luke understood. And yes I feel like a bitch for pushing him away when he has been nothing but nice, thanks for asking.
The solid stainless steel doors glide flawlessly open to reveal a smiling Mitchel chatting to a laughing Maryanne. Both stop mid chat to take me in as I stroll out of the lift.
Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story Page 5
