“That was a bit of a cheap shot on Hilary’s part,” he told her.
“I’d say Hilary wasn’t the only one to throw a cheap shot tonight,” she said, “what with every bell and whistle from our past being rung.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie.” He was sincerely contrite. “I was at my wit’s end. I thought if maybe I could make you see how much we have had together, how much we stand to lose—”
“You should have thought about that on Friday,” she snapped.
“Oh, Jesus, are we back to that again?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Will you, once and for all, listen to the truth so we can be done with it?”
“All right, Jamey,” she sighed, knowing that sooner or later she’d have to hear it, “suppose you tell me why you decided to entertain Blondie in the shower.”
“I swear to you, I don’t know where she came from or how she got in. I opened the shower door, stepped out, grabbed a towel, opened my eyes, and there she stood. And then you walked in immediately thereafter.” He shook his head. “I swear to you that’s exactly how it happened, preposterous as it sounds. Any chance you’d left the door unlocked when you left?”
She thought for a minute.
“I don’t remember. I was a little distracted, I remember, thinking about all the things I wanted to accomplish. Your mom’s birthday present, a dress for the garden party next week, and then I walked past this shop and there was a wonderful old writing desk in the window. I went in and looked at it and thought it would be perfect in the hallway, you know, that bare spot along the one wall? The more I looked at it, the more I liked it, and I decided to come back and get you and see what you thought of it—”
“And there stood Glory in the all-together,” he said, finishing the thought for her.
“And that was it?” she asked sheepishly.
“That was it.” He shook his head. “I swear it, Maggie, on my life.”
“Oh, God, do I feel stupid,” she moaned, burying her face in his shoulder. “To think I was ready to pack up the kids and—”
“Well, it didn’t come to that.” He stroked her hair lovingly, relieved to his soul, knowing it was all still there between them.
“How did she even know we were there?” She lifted her head to ask. “How’d she know what room we were in or that I was gone?”
“The only thing I can think of is that she saw you leave the hotel; either she was in the lobby or walking past and asked at the desk. Maggie, I swear I didn’t ask her to come.” He studied her face. “Do you believe me?”
Instead of answering, she said slowly, “You should know that was the thing I have feared most. I was always afraid she’d come between us, all the years she threatened she’d get you back.”
“It could never happen, Maggie,” he reassured her.
“But she’s so beautiful, Jamey.”
“Ah, but there’s no comparison.” He put his arm over her shoulder and pulled her to him. “She can’t hold a candle to you, sweetheart. I had a choice a long time ago, and I’ve never regretted the choice I made. Not for a second. You are absolutely the single best thing that ever happened to me… my heart and my soul. I love you more than anything in this life, and I always will. Do you believe me?” he asked again.
“Oh, yes. I love you, too, Jamey. How could I have been so foolish… to think that I could go on through this life without you.”
He stood up, pulling her up with him, embracing her, kissing her to welcome her back, to tell her all the things for which he could find no words.
The air was warm and balmy, fragrant as the breeze drifted toward them, and they looked out over the fields beyond the garden, beyond the small barn. The moon was most splendid—full, golden, and bright enough to illumine the gently sloped hills.
“Look at it.” Maggie was mesmerized by its glow. “Have you ever seen anything like it in your life?”
“Um, no, it is spectacular.” He kissed her neck, then said suddenly, “Wait right here. I’ve an idea.”
He disappeared into the house and returned a minute later with a blanket over his arm, a large black dog trailing behind.
“Come on, love. Let’s take a walk.” He took her arm and started to lead her through the gate, telling the dog, “You, Duff, may stay here.”
“Where are we going at this hour?” she laughed.
“Ah, Maggie, the moonlight is irresistible. You’re irresistible.” He kissed her. “Humor your old man, sweetheart, this has been so dreadful an evening.”
“Jamey, if you’re feeling amorous—and it’s obvious that you are—why don’t we just go back inside and—”
“And waste a night like this? Come on, Maggie, we may never see a moon like this again. Besides, it’s been a long time since we slept under the stars. Come and take a walk up over the hill with me and we’ll make love in the moonlight. What better way to celebrate?”
With a reluctance she couldn’t have explained, she took his hand and they walked together toward the hills.
George Brenner was just closing up his cottage for the night when he looked out the kitchen window and saw the lovers as they ascended the hill, dark images against the golden sphere, the light from which flooded the valley. He froze and watched as the figures disappeared.
“Ruthann,” he murmured to the darkness. “Ruthann.”
He took down his gun and walked through the door into the night, a determined smile spreading slowly across his face.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, tracing her features with the index finger of his right hand.
“How grateful I am that you did what you did tonight and brought me back to reality. How good it’s been, our life together.”
“It always will be, I promise.”
“And God, when I think about how close I came to leaving you.” She shuddered.
“You wouldn’t have gotten very far,” he told her, his humor having returned. “I would never have let you walk out of my life without a fight. Of course, I hadn’t reckoned on having to do that on national TV.”
“It was a nerve-wracking evening, wasn’t it?” She kissed his chin, grateful to be back in his arms, where she knew she belonged.
“The worst night of my life, Maggie. Fearing I’d lost you was more devastating than anything I’ve ever experienced. Even Anjjoli,” he whispered, adding with a sigh of relief, “but it’s over now, and we’re together and we’ll stay together, always. There’s nothing that can separate us again, sweetheart.”
George had stopped but once on his ascent up the hill to catch his breath. He was an old man now, and the anticipation of the confrontation after all these years was making him light-headed. At this moment, in his own mind, he was twenty-five again, and he was giddy with the knowledge that he’d now have the chance to do what he should have done the last time he’d found them together.
* * * * *
Maggie lay quietly in his arms, peace at last settled around her heart. She stroked his face, then asked, “And Jesse? What was Jesse’s problem tonight?”
“What makes you think there was a problem with Jesse tonight?”
“You were up there with him for so long. And when you came back outside, your jaw was still clenched. So tell me…”
“Well, it seems Jess was terribly embarrassed by our publicly discussing his premature conception,” he began, “and was feeling a bit sorry for himself, thinking now that perhaps he’s illegitimate.”
“That’s silly, Jamey.”
“That’s what I told him, but he seems terribly sensitive about the fact that you were pregnant when we got married. And since he knows all his friends were watching tonight, he knows that they all know and I guess he’s a bit old-fashioned in that respect.”
“How did you handle it?”
“Not very well, I’m afraid. I owe him an apology, which I will give him in the morning.”
“Why do you need to apologize?”
“Because I called him a brat, among other things.
”
“Sometimes Jesse is a brat. Sometimes they all are.”
“I didn’t have to say it. He was feeling confused, I would think. And I just sort of lost my temper with him. But we’ll talk it out in the morning…”
He’d leaned down to kiss her again and heard a rustle behind him. As he turned and lifted himself slightly, a shadow seemed to glide over them. He looked over his shoulder, and before either he or Maggie could react, the first blast struck her in the left shoulder. He flung himself over her, his instinct being to protect her, placing himself directly in the line of fire. He fell forward heavily onto her as the second shot was fired.
“No!” she screamed as yet another blast shook the night and his body seemed to jolt.
“Ruthann.” The single word, spoken softly, seemed to come from nowhere. She froze at the sound and looked toward its source.
Oh, God.
“Not so smart now, are you, Ruthie.” The old man grinned with malicious satisfaction. “Not so smart at all. And you—” He discharged another shot into J.D.’s back. “You never should’ve taken her from me. I always knew you’d be back, Ruthie. Didn’t know when, but I knew you would come back. All these years, I’ve waited for you, Ruthann.”
“George,” she pleaded, wondering if she could reach him through this nightmare that had begun to play out. “I’m not Ruthann. I’m Maggie…”
“I’ve had to wait so long,” he said, a blissful smile appearing as he realized his quest had ended.
“Please listen. I’m Maggie. Maggie Borders,” she sobbed, but he seemed not to hear. He was lost in his vision of what had been, and reality was now only of his making. Maggie had become Ruthann, and J.D., her lover. And now George would right the wrong as he’d waited to do for twenty-seven years.
He lowered the gun so that the barrel was directly in line with her face. From somewhere in the dark she heard what sounded like the faint rumble of thunder from some unseen cloud. With each slow step he took toward her, the rumble swelled slightly. Behind him a black shape stalked, half crouched.
“Duffy,” she whispered, then screamed, “Duffy!”
The huge dog leaped with such ferocity that Brenner smashed face first into the hillside. Struggling to release herself from J.D.’s limp form, she crawled to where the gun had fallen and groped for the cold hard object with shaking hands. She flung it into the night as Brenner shrieked in agony as the dog attacked viciously.
“Duffy,” she panted, “guard. Guard, Duff. Good boy.”
Brenner moaned and tried to rise. Duffy growled menacingly, baring his teeth as the figure on the ground stirred, telling Brenner in the clearest of terms that further movement would be the signal for further attack. The old man slumped forward and remained facedown on the ground.
Light-headed, weak, and sobbing, Maggie turned back to her still, silent husband. In the dark she could not tell if his eyes were opened or closed.
“Jamey, please,” she whispered a cry, “please don’t die, Jamey. You can’t die. You can’t. Not after all this, Jamey.”
On her knees, she tried vainly to lift him, becoming aware for the first time of the pain where her neck met her collarbone. Her left arm was useless. Crying, she tried to gather him up in her right arm, and it was then that she saw the blood. It had poured from him as easily as liquid from an open jar as she tried to lift him, covering them both in a warm, dark flood.
“No, no,” she pleaded, “don’t do this to me. Don’t be dead, Jamey. Please don’t be dead…”
With an effort greater than she had ever realized she’d be capable of, she slid her good arm under him and lifted, raising herself to her knees, then to her feet. She stumbled, bent from his weight and the awkwardness of the angle at which he leaned upon her. Step by slow step she dragged him, talking to him in a fierce whisper, begging him not to die.
The pain had become unbearable and her body shook with fear, but she continued dragging him, inching down the slope of the hill with single-minded purpose. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breath, and she stumbled repeatedly, forcing her to readjust her grip, her good arm now numb from the effort to hang on. In the distance she could see the lights from the first floor of the house, and she struggled toward them until she reached the bottom of the hill.
“Hold on, Jamey. Just hold on.”
She rested him on the grass in the darkness, sinking to her knees, not knowing if he was dead or alive. Unable to take another step, knowing she would not make it to the house, she forced herself to think, to find a way to get attention from the house.
Her right arm now nearly as useless as the left, she attempted to toss a stone to Jesse’s window on the second floor just forty feet away. The stone hit well below the window ledge. She sought to compose herself, her breathing coming in quick, sharp gasps as she fumbled through the grass for another stone.
“One hit,” she mumbled to herself, “just one good hit.” She pitched the second stone and heard it bounce off the side of the wall.
“S’matter with you, girl?” she chided herself. “Former ace pitcher of the Kelly’s Mills girls club lost her touch? Try again… You can do it.”
She sought out another stone, larger this time, and in her mind her father’s voice echoed, coaching her as a twelve-year-old, determined to make the team.
“Come on, Maggie. You can do better,” Frank had encouraged her. “Underhand. Throw this one underhand.”
“Underhand.” She repeated the words from her memory as she struggled to her feet. “Throw this one underhand.” The underhanded pitch shattered the window.
“Jess,” she sobbed, “Jess…”
“Mom?” He leaned out the window, groggy with sleep and confused by the sight of her, half lying, half sitting on the ground. “Mom, what the hell are you doing out there?”
“Jesse,” she called hoarsely, unable to find words to tell him what had happened.
Within seconds he was there, shouting over his shoulder to Tyler, who had followed, to call for help. The last thing she remembered was her son’s horror-filled eyes as he looked down into her own.
Awakening in the tiny hospital room, it had seemed to have taken tremendous effort to focus clearly enough to identify the woman who sat at the side of her bed, the gray head bent as if in prayer.
“Luke,” she whispered, and in speaking, the nightmare returned vividly. She tried to raise herself on her elbows but could not. “Jamey…” Her voice rose in panic, her eyes widened in terror at the memory.
“Hush, Maggie.” Luke’s gentle hands forced her back onto the pillow.
“But Luke, Jamey…” Her face flooded with tears.
“The doctors are with him, dear.” Luke seemed to hesitate, as if to say something further but did not.
“Will he die?” she mumbled, eyes closing against her will.
“We will not let him die, Maggie,” Luke told her resolutely. “Our love will bring him through this. We will not let him die.”
As her daughter-in-law drifted back off, Luke patted the sleeping hands and wearily walked to the window. Looking out she sent a prayer to her husband, long since dead, to send their son back to her and to the woman who loved him so desperately.
Will he die? The question still hung in the air. She turned to the doorway as Judith passed quietly into the room.
“He needs more blood.” Judith could not make eye contact with her mother, could not bear to see the questions there.
“Isn’t that dangerous, blood transfusions?” Luke asked, adding, “I’ve been reading in the papers about contaminated blood…”
“They’ve taken mine. Right now they’re taking some from Jesse. Good thing there’s so many of us who match.” Judith moved a chair closer to the bed and directed her mother into it, gently rubbing the soft, papery skin beneath the thin dress that covered the stooped shoulders. Luke seemed to have been transformed from a spry senior to a fragile old woman in a matter of hours.
“Why don’t you let Ned d
rive you home? Or to a hotel? Get a little rest and then—” Judith suggested.
“While my boy lays dying?”
“He’s fighting, Mom. He may make it yet.”
Judith swallowed back the tears, not wanting her mother to realize they’d already lost him twice, first in the ambulance, then later on the operating table. She had tried to corner first one doctor, then a second, as they had emerged from that brightly lit room wherein others struggled to mend her brother’s wounded body. Both had shrugged, looking away as they muttered, “We don’t know yet.”
Mother and daughter sat in a long, tense silence, both fixed on a heavily sedated Maggie, grateful that she, at least, would recover hilly. The bullet that had passed through between the neck and collarbone had broken the bone but had caused no permanent damage.
J.D., however, had been shot three times. One bullet had struck him in the back, passing under his shoulder blade and through his right lung; a second had grazed the back of his head. The third, and most worrisome, should he survive the tremendous loss of blood and the resulting shock, completely shattered his right shoulder, turning bone and muscle to ribbons.
He won’t be playing the piano anymore, Judith thought sadly. No amount of therapy will bring that arm back. Listen to me, now, mourning the loss of an arm when we’ll be lucky if that’s all he loses…
“What do you suppose they’ll do with George?” Luke asked.
“He’s in custody. Under observation, they said.”
The silence returned, Maggie’s breathing the only discernible sound.
“They do not deserve this,” Luke said to break the stillness.
“No one ever does,” Judith replied quietly.
27
THE LONG, BLACK LIMOUSINE SLOWLY TURNED THE corner, the occupants of the backseat silently gazing out the window. The car came to a stop, and the driver exited momentarily.
“The gate needs oiling.” Maggie rolled the window down and leaned her head out slightly. “It looks as if the lawn people have been on holiday since we’ve been gone, the grass is so high. But, oh, Jamey”—she turned to him with tears in her eyes—“doesn’t it look glorious?”
Moments In Time Page 33
