“Fergus was a good cook, much better than me. I might have to look into a Crock-Pot.”
Myra rolled her eyes as she slipped into her jacket. The four dogs line up, expectant looks in their eyes. “Nope. You’re staying home, guys. Here’s a chew. See you in a little while. Do not chew anything else while I’m gone.”
The dogs, as one, looked at Annie, who burst out laughing. “Sorry, guys, I have no jurisdiction here.”
“Hold on, Annie, someone is at the gate. I can’t see who it is other than that it’s a woman,” Myra said, when the dogs rushed to the door. She eyed the monitor and frowned. “I think . . . it almost looks like Maggie.” Myra pressed a button on the panel by the back door, and the electronic gate swung open. “It is Maggie!”
Myra and Annie followed the mad rush of the dogs to get through the open door. “You wanted some action, Annie! Looks like we just got some. Oh, good Lord, the girl is crying!”
Maggie Spitzer barreled out of the car, stopping to pet each dog before she ran into Myra and Annie’s outstretched arms all the while sobbing, as if her heart was breaking.
Back in the kitchen, both Myra and Annie fussed like two mother hens over Maggie, crooning and cooing to their younger charge as they asked questions. Annie moved to make tea, the universal cure-all to everything in life as far as she was concerned. That it never helped was of no consequence. The bottom line was that when someone was in acute distress, you made tea. Tea was the magic elixir to everything. Period. Bottom line.
“Please, Maggie, stop crying. I can’t understand a word you’re saying. We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what’s wrong, dear,” Myra said.
Maggie sniffled, then blew her nose in a wad of paper towels Annie held out. She gulped, took several deep breaths, and blurted out her turmoil in one long, sobbing sentence. Gus Sullivan, her husband, had died ten months ago in Afghanistan when he had been called to help out with a security company.
“Ten months ago!” Annie and Myra cried in unison.
“And you’re just telling us now! Why?” Myra demanded, as Annie urged the young woman to drink the tea in front of her.
“I didn’t . . . I couldn’t . . . I was in shock at first. Then I got angry because Gus didn’t have to go. He wanted to go. Even in the condition he was in, which wasn’t all that good health-wise. He was in constant pain, and there was nothing more the doctors could do for him. All he said was, ‘I’m a soldier. I have to do this. They need me.’ He didn’t think twice because some damn company wanted him as a consultant. He didn’t even ask me if I was okay with it, he just agreed. We had a horrible fight, and he left. He just packed a duffel. Someone came to pick him up, and he waved good-bye. He waved! Do you believe that? He waved good-bye. No kiss good-bye. I didn’t see it coming. I felt like I was . . . blindsided, for want of a better term. Six weeks later, the same person who picked Gus up came to the farm and gave me the news, along with his gear. They said there wasn’t . . . there wasn’t enough of him left to send home for burial. It was a roadside bomb.”
“Darling girl, why didn’t you call us? We would have rushed to you on winged feet. Did you go through this alone? Was anyone there for you? Oh, Maggie, we are so sorry,” Myra said, wrapping the young woman in her arms. She looked up at Annie, whose eyes were wet.
“The girls. Did you tell the girls?” Annie finally managed to ask.
“No. I felt so guilty I couldn’t bear to be around anyone. By then I knew I had fallen out of love with Gus. I called Ted in the middle of the night, and he helped a lot. He was there for me. He even came to see me once during . . . the worst of it. The only other thing I did was call Gus’s nephew, his only living relative, and told him about Gus’s death, and turned over the kennel and the farm to him. He came in a heartbeat, and things finalized the other day. I had nowhere else to go, so here I am. I need a job. Are there any openings at the paper? I’ll do anything, even maintenance if that’s all that’s available. I kept my old house in Georgetown and paid the taxes, but there’s a tenant in there I’ll have to ask to move.”
“Ted knew. He never said a word,” Annie said in a disbelieving voice.
“Because I asked him not to. I wasn’t in a good place, Annie. I wasn’t up to making decisions. It was Ted’s idea to turn the farm and the kennel over to Gus’s nephew, and the sooner the better. I would like to think that I would have done it somewhere down the road, but having Ted help me was even better. He would check on me six or seven times a day.”
“Ted is a good man,” Myra said gently.
“Yes, he is,” Maggie agreed tearfully. “Don’t get me wrong here. I married Gus because I loved him. Gus married me to belong to someone. He married me for all the wrong reasons. I found that out rather quickly. He wanted a partner. A business partner. Not a wife. I tried to make it work, but you can’t make someone love you. If Gus hadn’t gotten the offer to go off to Afghanistan when he did, I probably would have called it a day on my own because I fell out of love. It’s that simple.”
“I told him I would stay until he got back, then I’d file for divorce. I don’t know if he even heard me; he was so gung ho on getting back to Afghanistan. That all went down during the big fight. Ted insisted I go to a shrink, which I did. What I got out of all of the sessions was that in his mind, Gus had only one love: the army. He knew he might die over there, and he was okay with it, knowing he was doing what he wanted to do. That was pretty hard to accept. Plus, the shrink said he knew that he had nothing to come home to. That’s the guilt I’m carrying with me.”
“Oh, no, no, no, darling girl. That’s all wrong. Gus made a choice. It wasn’t your choice. You can’t carry that guilt with you. You said it yourself—Gus was a soldier. It was the only life he knew from the age of eighteen as I recall. It was his choice to return to Afghanistan, and it doesn’t matter in what capacity he was going; he made it knowing what he was getting into. Did the two of you communicate while he was there?” Myra asked.
“A few times via e-mail. He was happy, said he felt he was contributing. He asked me not to be angry with him. It was a roadside bomb, and the man who came to see me said he died instantly. There was a huge insurance policy. I wanted to give it to Gus’s nephew, but he wouldn’t take it. I doubt I’ll ever be able to spend the money. I’m trying to come up with a good cause that Gus would approve of to donate it to. Something for wounded vets on their return. I don’t know yet. I’m sure something will come to me sooner or later.”
“Ted?” Annie said, mentioning her new editor in chief at the paper she owned.
“My rock. I couldn’t have made it without him, and no, I don’t want his job, Annie. I laughed when he told me he had taken over my old job. He said the chair didn’t fit, but he was getting used to it. He misses being out there gathering news, or in his case, making news. Espinosa sent me funny e-mails from time to time. He was in on it—the secrecy part. Both he and Ted are better friends than I deserve.”
“Rubbish!” Annie exclaimed. “The three of you worked well together. They missed you terribly when you left, but they both stepped up to the plate, and I know every time a crisis reared, they both would ask, ‘What would Maggie do?’ And then they’d do it. It actually worked. You were on the payroll in absentia in a manner of speaking.”
Maggie smiled through her tears. “Thanks for telling me that.”
Myra clapped her hands, and said, “Now I think we should all go to lunch. Annie has seventy-three dollars she won in Las Vegas, and it’s burning a hole in her pocket. We were on our way to town when you arrived. You’re too thin, Maggie. The first thing we need to do is put some meat back on your bones. Or we could drink our lunch if you feel that would be more appropriate.”
Maggie blew her nose in a fresh wad of paper towels, dabbed at her eyes, and sat up a little straighter. “I’m your girl,” she said with spirit.
“And you’re going to stay with me until your house is available. My roommate just relocated, and I’m all alone,” Anni
e said.
“Where’s Fergus? Are you saying Fergus left?” Maggie asked, shock ringing in her voice.
“It’s a long story, dear. We can talk about it over lunch,” Myra said, shooing Maggie out the door while she tried to hold the dogs at bay for a clean getaway.
ANNIE DROVE THE way she always did, like a bat out of hell. They arrived at a local bistro that served alcoholic beverages at lunchtime with the brakes smoking and tires squealing.
Myra and Maggie exited the car on wobbly legs. Not so Annie, who smiled with satisfaction, and said, “I got you here in one piece.”
“Just shut up, Annie. It’s going to take at least an hour for me to calm down after that hair-raising ride.”
“I remember this place. We got drunk here, Annie. I can’t remember who drove us home, though,” Maggie said. “This is like old times. And they were good times, too.”
“Well, don’t look at me; I’m old now and can’t remember a damn thing. Just ask Miss-know-it-all Myra,” Annie said, glaring at Myra, who glared right back.
They were seated in a ruby-red leather booth in the back of the bistro. Annie suggested they make it simple and order one of everything, which she did. “Three double bourbons and branch water on the rocks. One of everything on the menu.”
“Annie!” Myra yelped.
“What? What? There are only four things on the damn menu, Myra. Burgers, hot dogs, fries, and onion rings.”
“Oh,” was all Myra could say.
“Works for me,” Maggie said. “I’ve been drinking to excess lately. After today, I’m going on the wagon. I smoke now, too,” she volunteered.
“Really?” Myra and Annie said in unison.
“They were just crutches to get me . . . you now, through the bad nights.”
“Did it help?” Myra asked.
“No. I’ll give up the cigarettes after today, too. I hate smelling like a chimney stack, and I hate waking up with a hangover.”
“Good for you, dear,” Myra said, reaching across the table for Maggie’s hand. She patted it to show she understood, as did Annie.
“So, tell me about Fergus,” Maggie said, raising her bourbon glass in a toast. The women clinked their glasses before Annie started on her story, embellishing it along the way, which was no surprise to Myra. She knew that Annie was trying to lighten Maggie’s mood at her own expense.
Twenty minutes later, Maggie said, “So what you’re saying is, you’re going to miss the sex more than the man himself even though he’s a really good cook.”
Annie squirmed in her chair and flushed. She shrugged and gulped at the little bit of the bourbon in her glass that remained. She held it aloft for a refill.
“I guess you’re thinking there is no one else out there who will rip your clothes off with their teeth. Is that it?” Maggie continued.
“More or less. I might have to settle for a manual slow and easy. We all have to make concessions from time to time,” Annie said airily.
Myra wanted to slip off her seat in the booth, her face a fiery crimson.
“But the last time we were in here you said Fergus had a heat-seeking missile that was all yours. What are you going to replace that with?” Maggie giggled.
“A purple vibrator turned on high!” Myra said, deciding she might as well join in the fun at Annie’s expense. And just maybe she’d learn something she could pass on to Charles. At some point. Just the thought made her insides all jittery and Jell-O-like.
“You little devil, you! I knew it! The word vibrator was never in your vocabulary, Myra, my dear,” Annie chortled.
“I’ve been reading Cosmo so I can keep up with you,” Myra said defensively.
“Myra, you are so far behind me, it would take you a lifetime to catch up. Now, if you really want the skinny on Fergus’s prowess, gather close. I wouldn’t want word of this to fall on anyone’s ears but yours. Myra, get out your notebook and make notes for Charles.”
Maggie’s eyes almost bugged out of her head.
“Tell us. Our lips are zipped. Right, Myra?”
Myra nodded. If her life depended on it, she couldn’t have made her tongue work.
Maggie Spitzer knew in that moment in time that she was back home, and her life would take on a whole new meaning. Who said you can’t go home again? she thought smugly. She was the living proof. So there!
Photo by M2IFOTO ©2006
FERN MICHAELS is the USA Today and New York Times
bestselling author of the Sisterhood and Godmother series,
The Blossom Sisters, Tuesday’s Child,
Southern Comfort, Betrayal, Return to Sender
and dozens of other novels and novellas.
There are over seventy million copies of her books in print.
Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care
centers in her hometown, and is a passionate animal lover
who has outfitted police dogs across the country
with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home
in South Carolina with her four dogs
and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret.
Visit her website at fernmichaels.com.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
eKENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 1991 by Fern Michaels
Fern Michaels is a registered trademark of First Draft, Inc.
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ISBN: 978-1-6018-3075-3
For All Their Lives Page 52
