Grimm's Last Fairy Tale

by Becky Lyn Rickman

  He was there in an instant and didn't speak, but waited for her to unload.

  “Jacob, I think you were right. You're always right. David is a cad!”

  Jacob still did not speak or show any kind of emotion that Maggie was capable of discerning.

  “Say something!”

  “I don't know what to say, Maggie. I am here just for you. No one else. I have no ulterior motives.”

  “And I know that you think David did.”

  “I just had some suspicions, why? Has he said something to you about money or the accident?”

  “No, he just put the moves on me. He was being a little bit forward for my taste.”

  “I know that today things move so much faster than in mine, but that does seem a bit hasty.”

  Now Jacob was showing some genuine concern. He had put down his guard and had Maggie's best interest in mind once again.

  “Yes, I just wish I knew what he was up to. I can't talk long. They could be listening outside the door. They already think I'm psychotic! See you tomorrow?”

  “Until then.”

  Maggie brushed her teeth and slipped out of her clothes and into bed. She was eager for some sleep, but decided to prop herself up on the pillows and do some writing. It was such a welcome break from reality when she could get lost in the words battling it out in her head.

  She wrote prolifically until Jacob popped in and startled her. She grabbed the covers and pulled them up over herself.

  “Jacob, what are you doing? I didn't call you!”

  “Maggie, tell me about what it is you're writing.”

  “I can't. You'll see it when it's finished. Now get out!”

  Jacob winked and slipped out to wherever it was he went when not with Maggie.

  She had just collected her thoughts and was typing once more when there was a light knock on the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Maggie, it's Mrs. Clark. May I come in?”

  “Just a minute.”

  Maggie closed the laptop and pulled the covers up once more.

  “Come in.”

  She entered the room cautiously, as if Maggie were a known felon, and sat on the very edge of the bed.

  “Listen, dear, I was just thinking. Maybe you could stay on another day or two. I have this friend, Dr. Lisa Schultz. She's wonderful. You would like her. I think the two of you could be good friends.”

  Maggie chuckled, more out of frustration than amusement, and shook her head.

  “I'm fine, Mrs. Clark, really. I know I seemed a little left of center this evening, but when I get tired and stressed, I often talk to my guide and since I am generally alone, I talk out loud without even thinking first. That's really all there is to it. I'm just used to being a loner.”

  “And why is that, dear? You seem like a nice woman. Why would you choose to be alone? There are lots of nice men out there who could take care of you. My David is a nice man.”

  “Oh, dear me, Mrs. Clark. I'm afraid you're a little out of your league here. My life . . . my history . . . with men . . . well, it's really just my business and I don't mean to be, well, rude or anything, but it's just that . . . I really can't talk about it. Only know this. I am very, very content in my life right now.”

  “I see.”

  Although Maggie knew without a doubt that Mrs. Clark did not understand at all, she thanked her again for her concern and told her goodnight in as sweet a dismissive tone as she could. Mrs. Clark took her leave without the accomplishments she was hoping for when she went in.

  Maggie continued to write until she could no longer hold her eyes open and then closed the laptop and slipped into slumber still propped up on the pillows.

  Chapter 29,

  in which Maggie finally gets to say goodbye and hits the road only to have to deal with a confrontation from Jacob

  Maggie awoke to another knock on her door.

  “It's Ronald. Are you ready for breakfast? It's gravy!”

  There was a sing-song chime to his voice as he said the word gravy.

  “Yes, I'll be down shortly. Thank you.”

  She washed up, dressed for the trip, anxiously thinking about the next twenty-four hours alone in the car with her music and the visit that would follow the next morning. Then, with a little dread, she made her way down to the table and took her seat facing the patio doors, but today, the sun was not shining in through them. Today, the weather had turned gloomy and there was a light drizzle.

  Mrs. Clark broke the silence.

  “So, how did you sleep, dear?”

  “Very well, I think. I fell asleep sitting up, but I don't seem to be any the worse for it.”

  David glowered and would not speak, but Ronald made up for his silence.

  “So who are you going to see today?”

  “Well, this is my second daughter, Rachel. She has a couple of kids and I can't wait to see them all.”

  “How old are the kids? Are they boys or girls?”

  “Brian is eleven and Sophie is eight. They are delightful and I can't wait to sit and read to them.”

  “You like to read?”

  “Oh, yes, very much. I write also. Did you know that?”

  “No!”

  “Yes, I do. Well, I mean, I'm just getting started, really. I've always written things down and my feelings about them, but I've never tried to put them into a book before, but now I'm working on that.”

  “Is that why I saw you working on a laptop last night, dear?”

  “Yes, actually, I was working on my book.”

  “That explains so much. You creative types are always so, well, you know, colorful.”

  Maggie's eyes opened wide enough to take in the whole room.

  “Yes, that's it exactly. I'm colorful.”

  “Oh, I didn't mean any offense, dear, it's just that in my family, people tend to run a little more on the analytical side—you know, math and science stuff.”

  “Yes, I see. That explains so much. You know those analytical types tend to run a little bit—well, you know, without imagination or the ability to understand us creative types.”

  Maggie knew she had said enough, but she was not sorry for it.

  The rest of gravy was served without conversation and when the plates were clean, Maggie cleared the table and did the dishes without interruption and then went up to her room to gather her things.

  “Maggie, may I come in?”

  “It's your house, David.”

  “Let me know when you're ready to go. I'll take you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Look, Maggie, I get it. I know you're not interested. I just don't want to end what might be a nice friendship on an awkward note. Can we shake on it?”

  Maggie felt a gush of relief and stretched out her hand, only to find herself being pulled into his arms again.

  Maggie did something she had never in her life done before. She slapped a man in the face.

  He pulled harder.

  Then Maggie did something else she'd never in her life done before. She raised her knee and forced it into his power source.

  He bent over and fell to the floor, rolling around in agony.

  “Are you kidding me? You don't know a good thing when you see it. You'll pay for this in court. I was trying to play nice so this thing would smooth over, but you're going to be a very sorry girl when you take the stand and I start talking about you and your imaginary friends. You just wait. You're going to be so sorry!”

  And then Maggie did not do something she had always in her life done before. She did not run to him, cowering in fear, and apologize. She just walked out of the room, carrying her own bags and walked out the front door. She started down the sidewalk, determined and strong, and made it all the way to the corner before she started to cry. It was not a pitiful cry of someone weak and hopeless. It was a “so glad that crappy chapter of my life is over” cry. She pulled out her cell phone and looked up a cab company and called them to pick her up. It wasn't hard to tell th
em where she was. She just had to look up to the signpost she was leaning on. And, she told herself, it is alright to lean once in awhile, as long as you can hold yourself upright when you need to and lift your knees when necessary.

  The cab came and took her to the mechanics where she received her car and planted a kiss on the hood. She loaded her things into the trunk and climbed behind the wheel.

  “I've missed you.”

  She put a CD into the player and cranked the volume. She was finally on her way to Virginia and Rachel's.

  When “I Love How You Love Me” began to play, she heard a male back-up singer she had not heard before and turned to see Jacob in the passenger's seat. She huffed, showing her disapproval.

  “Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

  “No, I was just enjoying my solitude.

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Look, Jacob, I don't want to have to apologize for expressing myself to you to spare your feelings of insecurity. Can you understand that?”

  “Wow, look who's all of a sudden Miss Assertive. You are a different woman, Margaret. Good for you. I'll just be floating around if you need me.”

  “Thank you,” Maggie uttered on deaf ears that had already left the car.

  She pondered on how she had changed and grown and yet still she wondered if this was for the best. Was she a better person? Was she still as kind? She never wanted to become so involved in herself that she began to exclude others, but neither did she want to go back to being that doormat. She speculated about fine lines and seeking balance.

  She continued her drive, singing at the top of her lungs because no one could hear her, and really found herself enjoying the trip. She could think. She could cry at the songs that made her wish she was sixteen and could do it all over again. She could laugh out loud when she thought of some of the silly mistakes she had made. This was clearly the way to go. Not having to explain yourself to anyone when you expressed something.

  Then, about five hours into the trip, the loneliness began to set in. She discovered she was missing Jacob, and so she called to him.

  “Yes?”

  “Hey, what are you up to?”

  “Just hanging around, you?”

  “I don't know. I guess I was just missing you a little.”

  “I'm right here, Margaret.”

  “Where were you when I called?”

  “There was a little girl in Budapest who was just discovering the fairy tales. I was watching her face. I wish I could take all the snapshots and videos in my brain and play them on the big screen. But if I could, I suppose it might go to my head and that would be the end of that.”

  “That is actually one of my greatest fears. It is one that makes me try to do the right thing. I sometimes wonder if our entire lives might be shown to us and to everyone on the big screen when we die and go wherever it is we go. I don't think I would care to relive most of the moments of my life.”

  “I understand. Here's an idea. Make restitution for anything you've done wrong and then the only things that would show up would be the good you did, because I know for a fact that when you repent and forsake your sins, so does God. Forgotten. Poof!”

  With the word “poof,” Jacob made little motions with his hands that looked like old dandelions bursting into the wind. It made her laugh.

  “OK, I'll go with that. I guess I'd better start making a list of things I've done bad or badly.”

  “I'm sure it's not as extensive as you might imagine sometimes. You have been a good person mostly. Remember, I've watched you. A lot.”

  “Sometimes that makes me squirm, wondering what you might have seen.”

  “If there had been anything that dastardly, I wouldn't be here with you today.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course, dearest one. You drew me to you without knowing it, just through your kindnesses to others.”

  “Jacob, how could I have even thought about someone like David? Clearly my judgment is cloudy at best. I don't trust myself anymore. Are you sure you're a good man?”

  Jacob laughed at that.

  “No, not at all. I'm just a man, but I'm a man you can trust because if I say it, it is true. I don't lie. What you see and hear is what you get.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise! So, off to Rachel's, eh?”

  “Yes, I'm a few hours out still, but I'm going to stop soon and rest for the night. I'll start out in the morning with a short drive so I'm more myself when I get there.

  “Good idea. We can just relax and maybe have some nice conversation.”

  “Sounds great, but I may want to do some writing. I've had some ideas kicking around in my head all day.”

  “I suppose this is apropos, you being busy with your writing. I'm sure I snubbed a lot of people with my work. Not that you are doing that. But you might be. I'm not saying.”

  “I read your profile. I would say that was probably accurate as you have no family of your own. But there must have been women in your life, no?”

  “Yes, a few. None that I was ever serious about . . . at least none that I could make a forever commitment to.”

  “That's too bad. I think it's hard to do that. At least for me it was. And would be. The more I live, the harder it becomes to trust anyone. I think I can trust you.”

  “I'm counting on it.”

  The sun was beginning to set and Maggie's eyes were getting tired of staring at pavement so she found a motel and pulled in. Once she got into her room, she excused Jacob and jumped into a hot shower and washed the day off of her body and out of her hair.

  Once in her robe, she called for Chinese take-out and then for Jacob.

  “Come watch me fiddle with chopsticks, Jacob.”

  “Nothing I'd rather be doing, unless maybe it was eating Chinese with you. It's something I never experienced in my life. We ate things with names that would make you laugh. But Chinese always looks so good. Sometimes I miss the joy of eating a good meal.”

  “I can certainly understand that. There's more to eating than putting food into your mouth. It should be an experience for all the senses.”

  “Exactly!”

  When they had finished, she took out the laptop and set it up.

  “Is this where I leave?”

  “No, I think it would be nice for you to stay, though probably a little boring. And I better not catch you staring at me!”

  “Then I'm going to take my leave for a bit. I can't be asked not to stare at the woman I love.”

  Maggie asked herself the difference between Jacob's advances and David's. She had no idea, except a feeling in her gut that Jacob's were more sincere. Still, she did have a momentary interest in David.

  “Don't go to far! I want you to be able to hear me when I call you.”

  “Promise.”

  Maggie worked feverishly on her writing until she felt her head jerk on its base; then she knew it was time to stop for the night.

  She saved her work and went horizontal on the bed and tried to make the industrial pillow conform to her head. This was a night of fitful tossing and turning on the TV a few too many times to find no decent options. She wished that she had a sleeping pill to aid her effort, but instead, she called to her friend.

  “I can't sleep.”

  “I'm sorry, I wish I could help.”

  “I do, too!”

  “Well, do you want to talk for a bit?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to watch a movie?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like for me to read to you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “Hold me.”

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Hold me. You touched me before. Can't you do it now when I need for you to?”

  “No, Margaret, that would be out of the question.”

  “It's OK. I just need a little cuddle.”

  “It wouldn't be appropriate for me to lie in bed with you.”

 
“Oh, Jacob, it's a new century. It's not like we can even do anything, can we?”

  “I won't even answer that. I'm trying not to be offended.”

  “Oh, dear, I'm sorry. I didn't really mean anything untoward. I was just in need of some human touch and I don't have anyone else that I can . . .”

  “Am I just a port in a storm to you?”

  “I think you know better than that. Now I'm getting offended.”

  “I'm sorry, Margaret. The last thing I want is to offend you or to be offended by you. We are from different times and different circumstances and it's just going to take some adjusting and patience on both our parts for this to work. Please forgive me.”

  “Forgiven. And you?”

  “Forgiven, as well.”

  “Goodnight, Jacob. I'm going to sleep now.”

  “Good night, Margaret.”

  And with that, he bent over and kissed her forehead and she was asleep before the smile left her face.