One Summer Night

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.

  “Maggie, please,” he said.

  But she didn’t want to hear another of his lies. She wanted to run. Escape, because if there was only one thing left to her from this marriage, it was pride. Head held high, she blanked herself to the inquisitive glances as she sped away from him and through the office. She somehow made it to the elevator, thinking, Just put one foot in front of the other. One little step at a time, as she willed herself not to break down as she left him behind.

  As she left her heart behind.

  * * *

  The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, but he deserved that and more.

  He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the blood. He ignored the mix of curious and pitiful glances from the office staff and glared at them to get back to work. Turning, he walked toward his office where his father stood at the door, an almost gleeful expression on his face. Pushing past him, he marched to his desk and dropped down heavily into his chair.

  As his father returned to stand before him, Owen met his wily gaze and said, “Are you happy now, Father? Are you pleased with what you’ve accomplished?”

  His father shook his head. “What I’ve accomplished? I wasn’t the one who lied, Owen, both to me and to Maggie. I wonder why I didn’t see the truth of it before.”

  No, his father hadn’t been the liar. He had done that all on his own, not that it made his father’s role in the whole situation any less repugnant.

  “I lied to you. I won’t deny that. But I never lied to my wife about loving her. I do love her, and I’m not going to give her up. I refuse to let myself become a bitter, twisted, hateful old man like you.”

  His father’s face paled before an angry red mottled his cheeks. “The Maxwells and Pierces were never meant to be together. Accept that and get on with your life.”

  “I will never give up on Maggie. And she’s a Sinclair, in case you forgot.”

  His father muttered something unintelligible and surged to his feet. “Call the lawyers. Put this chapter of your life behind you and move on.”

  Owen was going to call a lawyer, but not for what his father thought.

  He was not going to give up on Maggie without a fight.

  * * *

  Maggie kept it together during the short walk back across town and to her office, where she closed the door behind her as she started to shake and her stomach did a roll she barely managed to contain. Racing to her private bathroom, she dropped to her knees by the toilet and threw up what little was in her stomach from lunch. She sank back onto her haunches, still shaking, and finally released her fragile hold on her emotions.

  Great sobs racked her body as grief overtook her until she was so spent, she could barely hold herself upright and curled into a limp fetal position.

  Be strong, Maggie. Be strong, she told herself. She had a lot to do. People who depended on her. She couldn’t allow herself to fall apart, even if her world had just shattered into pieces.

  * * *

  Owen tried calling Maggie for what seemed like the hundredth time, but as it had before, the phone rang and rang before going to voicemail. The same happened at the direct line at her office as he tried that number yet again.

  Swallowing his pride, he reached out to the one person who might know just where Maggie would go and be able to make sure she was okay.

  He dialed Connie.

  She answered almost immediately, making him wonder if she already knew, and if she did, if he was in for a verbal beatdown, not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was making sure Maggie was fine.

  “Hey, Owen. What’s up?” Connie asked with no apparent animosity.

  He wasn’t about to mince words. “I fucked up and I hurt her, Connie. I need your help to make sure she’s okay.”

  Like bullets from a gun, her words were rapid-fire and heated. “What did you do, Owen? Why would Maggie be that upset?”

  He closed his eyes and replayed the whole ugly incident in his head while telling Connie what had happened. Connie was silent for a moment, barely enough for him to take a breath, before she attacked.

  “You’re a fucking fraud, Owen. She trusted you. Loved you. How could you be such a shit?”

  He got her anger. Understood it. Would accept it. But right now, his one and only concern was his wife.

  “Just shut up, Connie. I called for your help. For Maggie’s sake. She’s going to need a friend, and I need to know she’s okay. Do you know where she might go?”

  “Not home. Not until you get your ass out of there, which you better do ASAP, get it?”

  “I get it,” he said and rubbed his hand across his face, feeling so tired. So defeated.

  “I know where she might be. I’ll find her and take care of her,” she said. There was a longer pause after her words this time, making him wonder if Connie had finally heard what was really in his heart. “Are you okay, Owen?”

  He didn’t think he’d ever be okay again if Maggie couldn’t forgive him. And while he wanted to wallow in his self-inflicted pain, he wouldn’t for long. He wanted Maggie. He’d give her the space she needed to think about what had happened. But he intended to do whatever he needed to prove to her that he loved her. That he could be trusted.

  “I love her, Connie. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

  To his surprise, her friend said, “I know, Owen. Just give her time to heal, and don’t give up. That’s all I ask.”

  “I won’t,” he said and hung up the phone.

  * * *

  Scrubbing away the tears, Maggie rose slowly, gingerly, feeling like she was ninety. At her sink, she ran the cold water and rinsed out her mouth, but the bitter taste of disillusionment clung powerfully. She splashed her face repeatedly until the chill water brought artificial color to drive away her pallor and washed off the evidence of her tears. The woman who stared back at her from the mirror looked older. Almost as haggard and lifeless as Owen had earlier.

  Owen, she thought and tamped down the pang of need and worry that erupted at the recollection of his handsome face, ravaged by guilt and sorrow. While he said he loved her, she couldn’t quite imagine how he could if he could hurt her like he had. Or maybe hurt was only possible if you did love. Maybe like yin and yang, one couldn’t exist without the other.

  Maybe Emma was right about love and marriage and the whole happily ever after being a happily never after. That thought caused even more tears to stream down her cheeks. She dashed them away with her hands, bent, and washed her face again.

  A hesitant knock came at her door.

  “Are you okay?” Connie said from behind the thick wood.

  As she stared into the mirror and lifeless, faded-blue eyes stared back, it occurred to her that she might never be okay again. But then she reminded herself that she had to be okay, if not for herself for all the others who depended on her.

  She walked to the door and opened it, trying to keep her actions deliberate. Controlled. She needed control now more than ever.

  Connie winced as her gaze traveled over Maggie’s features, and before her friend could say anything, she said, “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  While she appreciated her friend’s concern, she wondered at her unexpected visit. “Why are you here?”

  Another wince and a trace of guilt crept onto Connie’s face. “Owen called me. He was worried about you.”

  Maggie bit her bottom lip so hard, she worried she’d draw blood, but it wasn’t enough to contain her anger.

  “Worried? About me? That’s rich. Did he tell you what happened?”

  Connie nodded. “He told me, and I have to say—”

  “Don’t,” she urged with a sharp slash of her hand. “Don’t say that he’s sorry. That he didn’t mean it.
That…” She sucked in a deep breath and held it, using it to dam up the flood of emotions threatening to break through.

  “Maggie,” Connie said and reached for her, but Maggie stepped away, feeling so fragile that she feared she would break with even the slightest touch.

  “Please, let’s not talk about this. You’re my lawyer. You’ll know what to do.”

  Connie’s head whipped back with surprise. “You want lawyer me to do what?”

  “Lawyer you. Figure out what to do about the prenup. The marriage.”

  Her friend clearly recognized that at that moment, any additional discussion was futile. “Okay. Whatever client Maggie wants. Now I want to find out what friend Maggie needs.”

  From a well deep behind the dam she had erected, gratefulness spilled over her. Fighting back tears yet again, she embraced her friend tightly, holding on to her like a drowning man would a life preserver.

  “It’ll be okay, Mags. Trust me. It’ll be okay,” Connie crooned and stroked her back.

  “I know,” she said shakily, hoping her friend was right. Hoping that the pieces of her heart could somehow knit back together. Hoping, as she had for her friend Tracy, that none of the pieces would be lost along the way, leaving her less than whole.

  Chapter 33

  After Connie had called him to say she’d found Maggie and would take care of her, Owen had given Maggie a day to let her anger simmer down before reaching out to her again.

  She’d refused to speak with him.

  He’d tried every day since then to contact her, but she hit Reject on her cell phone, and her assistant refused to put through any of his calls. He had been hoping to see her at the gym and approach her, but she hadn’t shown up.

  He kept on trying, leaving her voicemails to explain. Letting her know that he still loved her and was sorry for the hurt he’d caused.

  On Friday morning, he was about to badge through the security area in his building lobby when a man blocked his way.

  “Owen Pierce?” the man asked.

  Owen nodded, and the man slapped an envelope against his chest. “You’ve been served.”

  Owen grabbed hold of the envelope as the man hurried away. He cleared himself through the turnstile and walked to the elevator, opening the envelope as he did so. As he realized what was contained in the envelope, he staggered onto the elevator and grabbed on to the handrail to keep steady.

  Divorce papers.

  The ding signaling he’d reached his floor barely registered. He stumbled off. Somehow, he mustered his strength to walk to his office, where he closed his door, sat, and picked up his phone. He called Maggie again. As it had before, it went to voicemail. As he had before, he tried to explain.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Maggie. It was the only way I could think of to keep my father out of our relationship, and I know now it was a stupid way to do it. Thoughtless, but please believe me when I say that I love you and want to be with you. I won’t sign these divorce papers. I won’t give up on us.”

  He ended the message and tossed the envelope on his desk. He’d arrange with his lawyers later to deal with the divorce papers. Right now, he intended to find a way to confront Maggie face-to-face and not in front of a crowd of lawyers.

  * * *

  Maggie glanced at her cell phone as it rang.

  Owen. Again.

  She’d lost track of how many times he’d called. Of how many messages he’d left, pleading with her to understand. Trying to apologize for his actions when there was no way any apology could ever be enough to assuage the pain of his betrayal. To make her feel alive again.

  When her mother had died, her father had buried himself in his work because, in a way, a part of him had died that day as well. At only eight years old, she hadn’t understood it. Hadn’t understood the real meaning of “burying yourself” in anything. She understood it now.

  For the last week, since the breakup with Owen, she had immersed herself in every aspect of what was happening at the stores, especially the goings-on in the Savannah Courtyard and the Winter Wonderland. Even though Christmas was still nearly two months away, the floor was filled with families coming by to check out the restaurant and the various activities they offered daily until Santa’s arrival in less than a week. He would arrive earlier than was usual, beating out the Thanksgiving Day arrival of the Macy’s Santa, but they needed whatever edge they could get, especially since she refused to open on Thanksgiving Day, like so many retailers did. She truly believed that families deserved to be with each other on that holiday, and they were making it a point in various ads and offering other coupons and special events both before and after in keeping with their theme of families being together and building memories.

  She smiled with satisfaction, since it seemed to be working, judging from the many shoppers on the floor. As she rode the escalator down the six stories, she took note of the shoppers in the other departments. When she reached the main floor, the babel of New York City filled her ears with the different languages of the tourists as well as New Yorkers strolling through the gaily decorated aisles. All seemed to be better with Maxwell’s, a far cry from the state of her personal life.

  She exited the store onto Fifth Avenue, and a brisk wind swept up from downtown, chilling her with a bite that warned winter would soon be on the way. Tucking her lightweight fall jacket around herself, she skipped the cab ride and decided to walk back to the Chrysler Center and her meeting with Connie.

  Lawyer Connie, who would hopefully have some answers for her on what to do about the prenup and Owen.

  Owen.

  She told herself that his constant phone calls were the reason he hadn’t left her thoughts over the entire week, as much as she had tried to drive him out the way an exorcist would a demon. The truth was that he had sunk his claws deep into her heart, and she couldn’t shake him loose, maybe because a part of her didn’t want to. A part of her wanted to believe what he’d said in his voicemails.

  Lord, how she wanted to believe, but the forgiveness thing was a lot harder to do than she had expected.

  Pressing on as the wind pushed her along, she hurried down Fifth until the big public library with its famous lions was across the street. Patience and Fortitude, she thought, recalling how her mother had told her the names of the lions on a long-ago visit. Both virtues she needed to deal with the current state of her life.

  The wind died down on Forty-Second Street, unlike during the winter months, when it sometimes blasted down the wide thoroughfare, piercing through clothes and deep into your bones. Within a few minutes, she was strolling past Grand Central Terminal and crossed Lexington Avenue over to the Chrysler Building.

  In the lobby, she took a moment to chat with the security guard, asking him about his newborn baby, trying to make believe that life was back to normal. After, she whipped out her building ID and swiped herself through the turnstile to walk through the building and over to the annex, where her friend’s law firm was located. She headed up in the elevator and to the law office, where the receptionist quickly ushered her into a large conference room.

  A conference room that was surprisingly empty.

  She had just shucked her jacket and taken a seat when Connie entered, looking both flustered and pale.

  “Are you okay? You don’t look well,” Maggie said, concern for her friend replacing her own worries as she rose and hugged her.

  “Not feeling quite right. I think I caught something,” she said, splaying a hand over her stomach.

  “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Are you up to the meeting today?”

  Connie’s expression soured more intensely. “I was, but I just got a call from Owen’s attorney. He wants to reschedule. Says something urgent came up at the last minute.”

  Anger flared to life, and she dragged her fingers through her hair. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

&nb
sp; “Possibly, or maybe he’s trying to convince Owen not to fight us,” Connie offered.

  “Fight us? Does Owen really think that’s possible?” she asked, incredulous at her husband’s—soon to be ex-husband’s—brass.

  Connie shrugged and motioned for her to take a seat even though irritated energy had her wanting to pace. She plopped down onto the thick cushion of the leather chair and shook her head. “I don’t get it. What could he possibly want? There’s no way he can get the properties unless I default on repayment, and I sure don’t plan on doing that.”

  “I’m not sure the properties are what he wants,” her friend said. Then she immediately tacked on, “He wants you. He wants a reconciliation.”

  With a more vehement shake of her head, Maggie said, “Not going to happen.” But inside, the little voice that kept on recalling Owen’s anguished face started shouting again for her to forgive. To not let anger make her lose the love of her life. It was that voice that made her say, “Do you think that’s what I should do?”

  Even though Connie’s face had paled to a sickly green, her friend still managed to get out a heartfelt, “I think you need time to think about what you want. To think about what’s in your heart.”

  She trusted Connie’s advice both legally and personally, as difficult as it was to know what was really in her heart. There was still too much pain and anger there, but she nodded and said, “I’ll try, Connie. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

  “I think I may do just that,” her friend said and bolted from the room like a student excused for summer break.

  * * *

  “I don’t think they’ll be patient for much longer,” his lawyer said.

  Owen sighed and replied, “I understand. I just need a little more time.”

  “Little being the operative word, Owen. They’re going to push back sooner rather than later.”

  “Got it, Mel. I’ll be back to you shortly,” he said and ended the call. Despite his promise to the attorney, he had no idea on how he would accomplish the “sooner,” even though he’d been trying for the last two days to see her face-to-face since his phone calls were being ignored.