Mitchel’s hands fly to cover his mouth as he makes his way around the cumbersome reception desk. “Oh my God, Maggie. God woman, how are you?” he sings, folding his long thin arms around me.
“Fine, Mitchel. Sorry it’s taken me so long to get here,” I reply into his neck, hugging him. He pulls back to take me in, flicking one of his hands in dismissal of my comment. Maryanne leans past Mitchel to press a kiss on my cheek with her hellos.
He steps and holds me at arm’s length. “We need to get you some lunch girl, you’re losing too much weight.”
“Leave the woman alone, Mitch,” Maryanne chastises. “You look great Maggie, don’t listen to him. He’s only jealous. He was just sayin’ that he wants to lose some weight.”
Rolling his eyes, Mitchel turns me away from Maryanne. “Joe’s waiting for you in his office,” he says to change the subject, glaring over his shoulder. “And I will talk to you later, Ms Meyer. This conversation about my waistline is so not over.”
He threads his arm through mine and casually walks me down the carpeted hallway to a stained redwood door that’s struggling to support the weight of the attached brass handle.
“Can I get you anything? Sandwich maybe?” Mitchel asks, pressing into my side. I love that he’s treating me like I’m still human.
He raps on the door twice before I can respond and waits for Joe to call before turning the handle.
Mitch flips into lawyer mode. “Joe, Maggie Cartwright.” He leads me to a large leather armchair facing a robust redwood desk.
Joe rises out of his seat and comes to the front of his desk to greet me with an awkward hug and three pats on my back. Joe’s not comfortable with people getting into his personal space and that’s fine, because frankly, I’m not that comfortable with Joe being in mine.
He’s a stout, bookish man with a few… quirks. I’ve always found him odd, but Brendan insisted that he’s fantastic at his job, and that he was glad to be working with him, not against him. Brendan said he would lose every time, Joe’s just that good.
Joe taps the toe of his right shoe on the floor three times before returning to his seat, where he taps the spotless blotter pad three times with his right index finger before settling into his chair, which he scuffs forward three spaces before he’s completely satisfied with its position. He adjusts his metal framed glasses three times, then rests his elbows with clasped hands on his desk and offers me a closed mouth smile.
“Hi Joe, it’s good to see you,” I say evenly, mirroring his smile.
“Hello Margaret, are you as well as can be expected?”
“I think so. Sorry it’s taken me so long to come see you.”
“Understandable, understandable… understandable” Joe replies in a nervous tone, rocking back and forth in his chair before opting to sit back. He’s clearly upset with the direction of our conversation and it’s exacerbating his quirks. Time to get to the point.
“Thank you for taking the time to see me, Joe,” I offer calmly.
“You’re welcome Margaret. Brendan was a very good man, very, very good.”
“Thank you Joe, I think so too. You had Maryanne call me at home. May I ask why?”
“Yes, of course Margaret. Brendan asked to sit with me, and together we discussed and penned a Last Will and Testament. This document was originally drawn up after you birthed your first child. We then re-convened and consequently amended the document after the birth of your second.
“Brendan came to me approximately sixteen and a half months ago. We further discussed you and your children, and as a result of our exchange, we made further amendments.”
My stomach sinks nauseatingly. Brendan’s Will. Of course this is about his Will.
The thing is, though, I didn’t even know he had one. It never occurred to me that we’d need one, but he did. He thought about death and wanted to take care of us from beyond the grave. And even after all of my loss, I still hadn’t, until this very second. What kind of parent does it make me for not even thinking about taking care of my family? To be so arrogant to not think that something could happen to me?
“The amendments,” Joe continues, oblivious to my internal turmoil, “include the total payment of your current residential dwelling, which will be implemented by the end of the month. Trust funds are in place to cover the full costs of all future education for your offspring and an additional personal cover has been taken out on your behalf Margaret, so you are now completely covered should anything untoward impacts your future. However, given the current circumstances, all trusts will be transferred into your name and established for your personal benefit. You will be placed on an extremely generous monthly allowance.
“Brendan also discussed and drafted a Last Will and Testament for yourself and I would be delighted to discuss this with you. However I can assure you that all details have been taken into consideration and thus, should you feel uncomfortable at this time to delve into details you can feel confident to sign this document,” he says, tapping the index finger of his right hand three times, indicating where I am to sign, “here.” I robotically pick up a pen that’s already laid out for me and scratch my name without question. I trust Brendan and therefore I have faith in Joe. “Thank you for your confidence Margaret. Here also, please,” he adds, pointing with his pen and tapping three times. I write again.
“Will you be keeping your current surname or changing back to your maiden name?” Joe asks casually, flowing into this new direction without missing a beat. His enquiry is so blasé I would have almost missed it if it hadn’t slapped me in the face. “And lastly here,” he taps three more times. I scribble, digging the ballpoint pen into the thick parchment with far too much pressure.
My name?
Do I need to change it? Can I keep it? Am I even allowed to keep it?
“No matter, we can make all necessary adjustments as you see fit. Simply contact Maryanne for an appointment time.”
My indecision, my ignorance beings to irk me. All this being organised behind my back starts to grind. My lack of organisation, my lack of forethought, my lack of care for my children straight out pisses me off.
I understand that this is Joe’s way, but Brendan - what’s with him keeping me out of the loop? What was the big deal to not tell me? And how dare he place me on a freaking allowance? Am I not smart enough for his holier than thou lawyer brain? Me - just a poor, lowly house wife - am I not intelligent enough for more than cutting off bread crusts and tying shoelaces?
And I thought I was being arrogant in not thinking into far enough into the future. This, THIS organising around me is beyond arrogant.
Joe moves back and picks up more documents, taps them on his desk three times and lays them in front of me, turns pages, explains their contents and taps over and over again. We perform this routine until Joe’s three times satisfied that everything’s in order for me to be able to ‘proceed with my life with minimal interruptions’.
Minimum interruptions.
What the hell does that even mean?
By the time I’m descending in the lift, I’m fuming. I’m so angry with my husband, I want to hit something so hard it breaks.
Joe was kind enough to inform me that Brendan’s office has already been ‘attended to’ and he’ll organise to have Brendan’s belongings couriered to me the day after tomorrow, but not tomorrow as that is ‘far too short a period of time to expect compliance’ scheduled for the afternoon as to allow me to ‘attend to errands in the morning hours’.
How considerate of him to allow me to get my jobs done in the morning instead of the afternoon, because I couldn’t have organised my day on my own. The poor uneducated housewife couldn’t possibly think for herself.
God, I need a drink.
Chapter 5
“WHERE ARE YOU, Maggie Mae?” Luke’s gentle voice sounds worried as it carries through the small speaker.
“The Pub Bar. Why?”
I don’t care that he sounds all tender and caring. He�
��s the reason I’m here in the first place. It’s his fault that I’m annoyed. He forced me to see Joe so he can suck up my sucky-ness.
He chuckles. “The Pub - where?”
I hate that stupid laugh. He does it all the freaking time and it’s dumb. He’s dumb.
“Pub Bar. It’s a place people go to drink,” I spout like a petulant child, “What do you want, Luke?”
“You were going to call me when you were done with Joe?” Shit, shit, shit. I start laughing at my own joke. Three shits, three. It’s freaking hilarious.
“Something funny, Maggie Mae?”
“I swore the same word three times”
“Wow, yeah I can see how that could be funny.”
“I know, right?” I agree, laughing louder. Okay, maybe Luke’s not that dumb.
“Can you give me the address so I can come by-”
“Not if you want to drag me to that house,” I interject bitterly, my mood shifting back to angry with enough force to cause whiplash.
“I was going to say to have a drink, if that’s ok with you.”
Well hell, he just wants to have a drink with me. If I hadn’t downed over half a bottle of wine already I may actually feel bad for being such a bitch, but I have, so I don’t.
“I don’t know the address. I was walking around for a while, liked the name, so came inside,” I automatically sit up taller, looking for clues to where I am, “Hold on a sec Lucas,” I say pronouncing his name in two separate syllables.
I lean over the timber stained counter and grab the back of a passing barman’s shirt. “Sorry friend, my phone would like to know where I am. Can you please give it the directions here?” I ask, offering up my mobile with a shake.
The barman takes my phone, brushing his cool fingers over mine.
Smirking, he looks me over with confident ease, “You want me to talk to your phone, sweetheart?”
Smirking back because it looks so good on him, I thought I’d give it a try. “Yep.”
He places the phone to his ear, holding his unblinking gaze on me like it’s a challenge. I listen to the depth of his voice but not the words before he ends the call. His attention goes to my phone, punching in a new set of numbers.
“Hey whatcha doin’?” I ask, standing taller on the barstool to lean over the counter. He doesn’t reply, just keeps smirking and holding me captive in his black stare.
“Hi Phone, it’s just me, Red. I’m using a real pretty girl’s mobile to call so the two of you can talk. I really think she should tell me her name now that she overheard me telling you mine, and now that she has my number an’ all, it would be rude not to share, don’t you think?” His brow quirks as he presses the end button and stores his number, before passing over my phone.
“Red. Knowing your name make me a friend does it?” I’m struggling to hold back a smile. It’s been so long since I’ve smiled a real smile and, with the aid of the alcohol flowing, it’s easier to find a little happy.
Red’s eyes sparkle and his smile broadens. “Yeah sweetheart, you’re my new best friend.”
I take in his features, giving my sluggish brain time to contemplate my next move. He’s good looking, in a dark, dangerous kind of way. Not short on sex appeal and he knows it. Somehow his arrogance makes him even more appealing.
“Maggie.”
“Hi Maggie, it’s nice to meet you. Can I buy you a drink?”
He sets up two shot glasses in front of us and pours clear liquid into them. He lifts the one closest to him and holds it to his lips, waiting for me to do the same. When I do, Red licks his bottom lip and downs the drink.
Mesmerised, I mimic his movements, lick my bottom lip and gulp the contents of the small glass. I gasp noisily before sealing my mouth shut tight so I don’t cough spit all over the place.
“Wow that burns,” I eventually choke out.
Red laughs, his grin causing a dimple to flash to attention as he pours us seconds. He takes my hand and places something cool and damp in it, closing my fingers gently to encase it. He turns it over so my knuckles are facing up and slowly licks the back of my hand and trickles a grainy white dust over the moisture.
If possible, his almost black eyes darken. He licks the salt off the back of my hand then downs his drink. He turns my palm up and bites into the lemon wedge, licking my soft flesh before taking the fruit and straightening.
Red takes the wedge from his teeth and tosses the rind to one side. He holds his hand to my mouth and I’ve had just about enough alcohol to do what he wants. I lick the offered surface, take the small glass held up for me in his other hand and swallow the hot liquid, biting the lemon between my teeth after he brushes the tangy fruit over my smarting mouth. I close my mouth around it and enjoy the bitterness, cooling the burn in my throat.
“That’s how you do it, sweetheart,” he whispers to my swollen mouth. I didn’t notice we’d gotten so close that I can now feel his warm breath mixing with mine.
“That’s how you do what, Maggie?”
My eyes widen. Luke’s here. I love that he’s here.
I spin on my seat and amazingly manage to end up on the counter. “Luke, you have to meet my new friend, Red. Red, meet Luke, he lives with me. I don’t know how that happened but it has and now he does,” I say, giggling.
I’m giggling. I don’t giggle. God my life’s turned me into a freaking giggler.
“Lucas this is the very handsome, but don’t you dare tell him…” I whisper, leaning into Luke’s chest, “it would be beyond embarrassing, if you know what I mean.” I exaggerate an open mouth, wide eyed wink. “Red.”
“Red?” Luke questions over my shoulder, hugging me to him. He’s not smiling.
“Conrad. My friends call me Red. Maggie’s a friend.”
Yep, that’s me. His new best friend.
“You two live together?”
“Yes,” Luke bites out, at the same time I chirp a solid,
“No,” nearly choking on the saliva in my mouth. “Well, yes, sort of. We share a roof. Right, Luke?”
He doesn’t respond, nor look at me… or loosen his hold.
“Luke?”
Luke’s posture softens, his blue eyes returning to my face, taking me in. “Yes Maggie Mae, we share a roof.” He runs his hand through my wavy red hair and gently fits some strays behind my ear. “Have you had enough or do you want another?”
I can’t help wanting more when he’s being tender like this. More of his strength and warmth and… rightness.
“One more?” I ask, pulling on his shirt and squeezing my legs against his waist to keep him close. When he doesn’t answer, I look up to see him watching me playing with the tight fabric around his waist, and feel his abs contract when my fingers catch on the waist band of his jeans. Everything stills and calms. We’ve created a bubble I could very easily get comfortable in.
“I’ll have a Guinness,” Luke tells Red. Smiling gently when he finds my eyes on his face, he takes my hips into his strong hands, coaxes me forward and lifts me off the bar. My legs and arms automatically wrap around him and my head rests on his chest as he carries me to a table without another word. I’m pretty sure if I were a cat, I’d be purring right now.
He noisily drags out a chair and carefully sits me on the seat. “What would you like to drink, Maggie?”
Umm, my head is swimming after the shots and now another drink doesn’t hold the same appeal, so I shrug instead of answering him.
“Are you hungry Maggie Mae?” Luke asks, not reacting to my non-answer and settling on the seat by me. He takes a menu from the holder on the table. “I could use something to eat.”
“I can eat,” I smile, grateful for the idea, but not certain if food’s going to settle well with all the liquid floating around in my stomach.
Red sits a large glass of dark foaming liquid in front of Luke and a glass of wine in front of me. As he’s about to turn, Luke asks him to bring us food - reading off the menu and double checking his selections are okay
with me first.
It’s lucky, because I was about to get a tad miffed with him and I would hate to have to get out the big guns and go all bad-arse on him in public… because I could, you know. I’m pretty bad-arse when I want to be.
THE DAY AFTER my hangover the courier arrives as promised, in the afternoon so I could get to all of my non-existent errands done in the morning. Brendan’s things are wrapped and boxed to perfection for safe delivery. I distractedly wonder while Luke and I stacked them in a corner of Brendan’s study - who was the lucky person to get the honour of cleaning out his office and if they took their time and cared for the things that were removed as quickly as Brendan was.
I somehow managed to hold a conversation around my throbbing temples with Jon. We covered all the obligatory topics: ‘How are you?’, ‘Keeping on top of things?’, ‘Parents well?’ and so on and so on. When we had exhausted the menial, Jon started floundering, telling me all about the weather and the unusual winds we’ve been having. That’s when I knew something was up.
Over discussing turbulent gusts, I braced myself and told him to, “Just spit it out, Jon.”
“It’s a notional magazine Maggie. I can’t say no.” Oh, he’s been offered a contract. A big one by the sounds of it.
“That’s fantastic Jon.”
It’s not a complete lie.
“No, I mean - yeah, it is, but it’s abroad Maggie Mae. I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone.”
And you don’t think I can take care of myself.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s your job and you’re great at it. Go, have fun. Just remember the little people when you’re all rich and famous okay?”
Jon’s good at what he does. Really good. A house full of awards proves it. As far as the ‘rich and famous’ goes… he’s held a lot of shows that have attracted a lot of people, so I guess he’s on his way there, if he isn’t already. It’s hard to tell with him. He’s boisterous and attention seeking, except when it comes to his work.
After a few more minutes of to-ing and fro-ing, we finished up with promises to keep in touch, even though we won’t.
Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story Page 6
