He had pushed her up to a sitting position and spun her around to look at him. “You want to spend our wedding night at your aunt’s house? That should make for a real lively time.”
“No, no,” she’d laughed, “Aunt El will be staying with Uncle Gus’s sister. Aunt El has an unbelievable old house. It’s sort of like a Victorian mansion. It’ll be wonderful, you’ll see. And you’ll love Aunt El. She’s a darling. Ellie’s her namesake; she’s actually my father’s aunt.”
She led him through the throng to an elderly woman seated in the shade, a large white picture hat framing her face, her neck heavily draped with pearls. Maggie bent to kiss her cheek, and as the woman’s face emerged from beneath the wide brim, J.D. found himself unexpectantly gazing into his wife’s own green eyes set into the face of an eighty-seven-year-old woman.
“They named the wrong one after you, didn’t they?” he acknowledged, and the old woman chuckled with obvious delight as he accepted the hand she offered.
“So, this is the one who’s had my family in such an uproar for the past few weeks,” she said as she greeted him. Patting the chair next to her, she silently commanded him to sit down, which he did. She waved Maggie away, wanting to have a few private words with her favorite grandniece’s new husband.
Maggie wandered back toward the crowd, looking over her shoulder once to where her husband sat in animated conversation with the elderly woman. She recalled her twelfth summer, when Aunt El had tried to teach her to needlepoint.
“I can’t do it,” a frustrated Maggie had cried.
“Of course you can,” Aunt El had insisted, “and when you do, you will see how all the tiny stitches will come together to form the whole… There, you see the flower coming to life, all the little dots of blue will be a violet.”
When an exasperated Maggie had thrown it down, her aunt had calmly picked it up and handed it back to her, saying “Margaret, it may be that you’ll not learn to needlepoint, but you will learn patience. With any luck, you’ll learn both.”
Though she had never really learned but one stitch, the memory of those summer afternoons never faded. Aunt Eleanor was a wonderful storyteller, and Maggie would sit spellbound for hours, captivated by her aunt’s tales. How she, Eleanor, as a terrified nine-year-old, had crossed the ocean from Ireland accompanied only by her equally frightened sisters, Jane, who was not yet twelve, and seven-year-old Margaret, who, some fourteen years later, would become Frank’s mother. Before they had boarded ship, their newly widowed mother had pressed into the hand of each of the girls something precious to take with them, sensing, correctly, that she would never see her daughters again. To Eleanor, she gave her own gold wedding ring. To Jane, she presented a tiny opal pin, and to Margaret, her youngest, a gold crucifix that was suspended from a chain as thin as a spider’s web.
Having dispensed the only things that she had of value, Anne McMillan turned her back on the ship and made her way through the dirty Dublin streets to return to her two-room cottage in a crossroads hamlet, where her two baby sons were being watched by her oldest boy. This fourteen-year-old had been, since the death of his father but six months earlier, the sole support of the family. At her wit’s end with no money and no job prospects, Anne had sent her middle children—her only girls—to join her brother who had found work in a mill someplace in Pennsylvania—wherever that was. With luck and God’s grace, her daughters would survive. Maggie had heard the tale a thousand times, each time biting her lip and shedding a tear over her great-grandmother’s sad dilemma.
She fingered the worn gold cross that lay right below the hollow of her neck, the same gold cross that had sustained a frightened little girl across a vast ocean. I was right, she told herself. Eloping would have been a big mistake. These are the people who are dearest to me, the people who made me what I am. Jamey needs to know them if he is ever to really know me.
“Maggie, this is incredible.” Caroline put a hand on her elbow. “Your mother is a marvel to have organized such a beautiful wedding in so short a time. Everything’s perfect.”
“She is something, isn’t she?” Maggie laughed. “My mother missed her true calling, Caro. She should have her own business organizing parties for those who lack her knack of pulling things together. Weddings, graduations, christenings, birthdays, you name it. Mary Elizabeth can get the job done. And you certainly appear to be having a good time. I saw you dancing with Rick.”
“You know, I may have misjudged him,” Caroline told her. “He’s really quite an interesting person. Not nearly as boorish as I had once thought.”
“He is quite a character, that’s certain,” Maggie laughed, “but there’s really a lot beneath that wildman role he likes to play.”
“That’s what I was just thinking earlier.” Caro’s eyes narrowed somewhat, focused on something to Maggie’s left. “Speaking of the devil…”
Maggie followed her gaze to where Rick stood, alone and fiddling with his uncooperative tie, near the arbor.
“Looks like the best man is having a bit of a problem,” Caroline noted. “Maybe I should give him a hand.”
Curious, Maggie watched as Caroline started across the yard. She’d taken no more than ten steps before Lindy appeared and draped an arm over Rick’s shoulder. Caro stopped in her tracks as Rick began to laugh at something Lindy had whispered in his ear. Caroline turned slowly and walked in the direction of the house, a look of resignation on her face.
Oh, God, not both of them. Could both of my best friends have eyes for the same man?
Hearing her name called out, Maggie turned to find J.D.’s sister waving a camera. Judith had arrived on Thursday, embracing Maggie immediately, confiding, “My little brother is smarter than any of us had given him credit for. And he was absolutely correct. You are delightful. Mother will adore you.” Maggie had known instantly that they would become lifelong friends.
Maggie was as drawn to Judith’s warm smile as she had been to J.D.’s. Sister and brother were uncannily similar in mannerisms and moods, in facial expressions and speech, and shared the same droll wit. She found Ned, Judith’s husband, to be charming, though he was, she thought, very British in demeanor—much more reserved than his wife and brother-in-law. They’d brought their children, sons Alex and David, who were six and four, and their daughter, Cassie, who was not quite two. The three children were positive banshees after the long flight, Judith remarked, apologizing for not leaving them home. Maggie watched with a grimace as Cassie chased Otto through the next-door neighbor’s prized and pampered flower bed.
The caterer was ready to serve, and Maggie and J.D. joined Rick, Ellie, and Elliot at their table. A starstruck Colleen joined them and took her place between Rick and Elliot. Maggie winked at Colleen, knowing her little sister was the envy of all the young—and some of the not-so-young—girls in attendance. Rick had been playfully attentive to her throughout the meal and, to her unabashed delight, made a point of putting his arm around her for every photograph.
Kevin, whom J.D. found to be a decent drummer, had carried his drums upstairs and outside to the brick patio where an impromptu trio prepared to play. Rick tuned up his guitar, and he and J.D. went over some arrangements with Kevin, who had surprised them both by knowing every drumbeat of every song they’d ever recorded, having played along with their records for the past several months with his band. J.D. sat at the piano that had been rented for the day and, removing his jacket, proceeded to roll up his shirtsleeves.
The first song they played was, of course, “Sweet, Sweet Maggie,” and she knew as she watched her little brother’s face that he would never forget this day. He was so proud at that moment, not only to be playing as an equal with musicians he so idolized, but to play this special song for his sister, whom he loved so much. Maggie swore she could see a lump in his throat from ten feet away.
Even Frank had looked a bit misty, Maggie thought, and she crossed the lawn to where he sat, wrapping her arms around him from behind. His thoughts had drifted
to the scene he’d walked into the previous evening as he’d come down the steps from his den and paused in the doorway to the living room, where he had seen his wife and daughter pouring over an old box of photographs. Maggie held an old high school prom picture in her hands and was laughing at her hairstyle, her youthful appearance, her dress.
“Well, young lady,” Mary Elizabeth had said, “I can remember the day you found that dress. You thought it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Begged for it and, as I recall, promised to do dishes and trash duty for a month if we bought it for you.”
“Did I?”
“The entire month of June.”
Mother and daughter had laughed, and Frank had felt a tug at his heart as he’d watched them. It had seemed forever since they’d shared these quiet times, Mary Elizabeth and Maggie.
And later, as Maggie’s headed toward the stairs for bed on that last night under their roof, she’d stopped to embrace him.
“Maggie,” Frank said, clearing his throat, “Maggie, about J.D.…”
“Oh, Daddy, please don’t say it. I know he’s not what you wanted for me. I know you’re disappointed in him and disappointed in me…”
“Maggie”—he’d had to swallow hard to get the words out—“what I wanted to say was that maybe, well, maybe he’s not as bad as I thought he was.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” She’d put her arms around his neck, knowing the admission had taken no little effort. “Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
Frank had held her, stroking her long dark hair, and, for the briefest of moments, she was his little girl again.
Frank’s reverie was shattered by a hard-driving song the impromptu band was playing, and he shook his head.
“Don’t suppose they know ‘Sunrise, Sunset,’ ” he said, turning around in his seat to face his daughter, and they both laughed.
The younger members of the crowd had gathered around the brick patio, clapping their hands along with the music, then later dancing as the champagne continued to flow. It was, all in all, a wonderful wedding, a memorable day for all who attended.
Maggie had gone into the house with her mother, gathered the bag she’d packed and, as she turned to leave the room, said, “Mom, I don’t know if I can ever thank you. For getting Dad to come around, for the wedding, for being so good to Jamey, for giving him a chance…”
“He’s a darling, Maggie. And even an old fool like your father can’t help but see the man is head over heels in love with you. I can’t remember ever seeing you happier than you look today. And that is all we want for you, sweetheart; we only want you to be happy. I know it sounds so trite—it’s what every mother says to her daughter on her wedding day.”
Mary Elizabeth hugged her, tears in her eyes and on her face. “Just be happy, Maggie.”
17
JUST BE HAPPY.
In her mind’s eye she could see her mother’s sweet face—that much beloved face—and the simple blessing echoed in her ears, bringing tears to her eyes and a tug at her heart.
Mary Elizabeth had welcomed Jamey to the family with open arms and an open heart and had come to love him as she loved her own. She would be devastated by this unexpected twist in her daughter’s life, Maggie knew. Strange how it goes. As difficult as it was to tell them about him all those years ago, how much more difficult it will be to tell them it’s over.
Just be happy.
Oh, Mom—she swallowed hard—I was. We were. For so very long, we were…
She blinked back the tears lest they begin to run down her face, reminding herself that this was not the time to give in to the melancholy that was beginning to claim her. There will be plenty of time for tears, she thought, and time enough to dwell upon the past. She forced her attention to the present, immediately realizing she had picked the worst possible moment to tune back in.
“J.D., let’s talk about your production experience, which goes back quite a few years. We could call to mind several dozens of albums you produced for other artists, the most memorable, of course”—a sly grin turned the corners of Hilary’s mouth upward slightly—“being the Fields of Glory album with Glory Fielding. You were lovers at the time, I seem to recall.”
Maggie wondered what showed on her face at that moment, hoping it wasn’t the nausea she felt.
J.D. reddened slightly, all the while trying to appear casual. “Hilary, my relationship with her ended a long time ago, before I met Maggie.”
“But you were in love with her at one time…”
“I married the only woman I ever loved,” he replied softly.
Maggie’s apparent indifference to his quiet declaration was not lost on Hilary, who was becoming ever more curious. She decided to continue this line of questioning to see where it might lead.
“The album you did with Glory remains a big seller. Do you have any comments on that? Or on your relationship? Any regrets?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Hilary could see a steel mask settling over Maggie’s face. This was obviously a touchy subject. But why, after so many years of a supposedly blissful marriage, would the mere mention of an old lover cause such a reaction in this woman? She turned back to J.D.’s response.
“No, I have no regrets as far as the album is concerned. It was something Glory had wanted to do at the time, and she was having difficulties finding someone to work with her on it.”
Because it was, he could have added, an absolute piece of shit. Regrets? God, yes, from every quarter. That was the most God-bloody awful thing he’d ever been associated with. It still embarrassed him that his name appeared on the cover. It had monopolized six months of his life, not because they were striving to create great music, but because they’d both been stoned most of the time. The recording that had resulted was an almost incoherent collection of abominable songs that Glory had written poorly and sung even worse. It had become unbelievably popular by virtue of its overt bawdiness, most of the lyrics crossing the border into the realm of the obscene. None of the commercial radio stations would air it, and many record shops refused to stock it. Consequently, Glory’s career had really taken off after its release. She became a kind of cult figure in its wake. It was the biggest break she ever got and the biggest humiliation of his professional life.
“And your relationship with her?” Hilary pressed for an answer.
“Actually, Hilary, I have no relationship with her, and I haven’t in many, many years.” He could feel the heat from Maggie’s glare as it ate a hole in the middle of his forehead.
“But surely you must see her from time to time—your paths must cross at least once in a while on a social basis, if nothing else. Come, now, J.D., when was the last time you saw her?” Hilary was a pit bull. She would not drop this bone until she was convinced there was not a shred of meat remaining on it.
J.D. felt the flush creeping up above his shirt collar. “Well, actually, I did see her a few days ago. Bumped into her unexpectantly, more or less.”
“And you, Maggie, have you and Glory met?”
“Well, yes, of course we’ve met from time to time over the years.” Assuming of course that you’d count all those times the little bitch cornered me and made a point of telling me she was after my husband. And assuming that last Friday counts, when I caught them together in the bathroom. Some demon within forced her to add, “I could say that recently I’ve seen more of her than I ever had in the past. More, actually, than I’d ever had any interest in seeing.”
Hilary would have given anything to have been in on whatever it was that passed between them, unable as she was to decipher J.D.’s look of chagrin, Maggie’s hard, level gaze, a sardonic touch to her voice.
Terrific, Maggie told herself. This night just keeps getting better and better. It’s not bad enough that I have to sit here and talk about that woman, but now Hilary thinks that she’s onto something. Because I couldn't resist a jab. Maybe she already suspected, or worse, maybe she knows. How could she possibly know?
Of course. Glory. She probably has it spread all over London by now. By midweek, I'll be reading about it in the tabloids.
Of course, I’ll be gone by then. And Glory is welcome to him. God knows she waited long enough for him. Jesus, barely two weeks after we were married, she told me she’d never give up. Well, the little bitch was true to her word.
She bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering, thinking what a blow this would be to J.D.’s mother, that dearest of ladies who had so eagerly taken her in at their first meeting. Luke Borders had totally disarmed Maggie with her unconcealed joy at their marriage. Luke had made that first trip to England such a delightful experience…
Maggie’s heart was in her mouth, the thought of a flight across the ocean looming like a nightmare. The apprehension of the flight itself was one thing, but the anxiety that a crash would take not just herself but J.D. and her unborn child filled her with panic. J.D. spoke to her quietly, reassuring her that her dread was unfounded and the plane would most definitely get them safely to England. Soon she did relax and in fact managed a nap on the plane between lunch and dinner as well as a second one thereafter. J.D. had to wake her as they approached their destination, and she laughed when she realized she’d slept through most of the flight.
Judith was already at the airport awaiting their arrival when the plane touched down.
“You’re smart to spend as little time in the city as possible,” she told them as they piled their luggage into the trunk of her car.
“Why?” Maggie asked.
“The press is on to your arrival,” she said, adding dryly, “Everyone wants to print the first picture of you bringing your American bride back to your homeland.”
Maggie groaned, and J.D. laughed.
“Get used to it, Maggie,” Judith said wryly. “My baby brother is a big deal around here. Everyone wants to see what you look like. The newspapers all want photographs of the woman who brought his bachelor days to a screeching halt.”
Moments In Time Page 19
