Thirty-Three

“Mother, sit down. I can get—”

“No, no.” Determined to serve her daughter, Maggie hobbled on one crutch to the refrigerator, pulled out the carton of orange juice, and carried it back to the kitchen table. “I’m getting pretty good with just one crutch. I can hop, too. Go without any.”

Gina shook her head. “I sure hope the doctor fixes you up with a walking cast this afternoon. You’ll break your neck this way.” She munched on buckwheat pancakes Maggie had cooked for her.

Her child looked exhausted, even after sleeping late this morning. Maggie sat down across the table from her, eager to pursue the subject of Brady. He had already been by this morning to deliver Gina’s luggage that had arrived on the early flight from Chicago. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as thoughtful as Brady. I told him we’d get your bag today. Yesterday he first called about noon, asking when you were coming, then again later when he heard the weather forecast. Then he checked with the airline. I hated the thought of you spending the night alone at the airport or a hotel.”

Gina got that “get real, do you know how old I am” look on her face. “I appreciated the ride, so thanks for sending him. He even had a pillow and blanket in his truck. I slept all the way home.”

Maggie laughed. “A pillow? He is attentive to detail. Did he send any more flowers?”

“A gardenia plant.”

She grinned. “I think you’ve got yourself a winner.”

“Do you know why he sent all those? Why he spent four hours driving in the rain last night?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s nuts about you.”

“He’s apologizing because on Saturday night his girlfriend walked in.”

Maggie felt her shoulders slump. “Really?” Still, she thought, he didn’t have to do all of that. “But—”

“But nothing, Mother. If there was anything, which I doubt, it’s over. Drop it, okay?”

“Okay.” She studied Gina’s pretty face. It looked so hard in this defensive mode. “Will you tell me about the deposition?”

“Didn’t you talk to Dad about it?”

“He hasn’t called. I left messages—Was he with you for the whole thing?”

“For most of it. He had some meetings on Tuesday.” She drank her juice, then met Maggie’s eyes. “It was hard…”

She listened to the details, aching for her child and feeling proud of the young woman who refused to back down, who fought for what she believed in.

With scarcely a pause for breath, Gina moved from the deposition into an account of her interview. Maggie watched her struggle with trying to emphasize the positive, but she saw how crushed her spirit was.

“Honey, I’m proud of you.”

Gina shrugged.

“For how you handled everything this week. Who knows, maybe you’ll get a little money. That would be some compensation and help get you back on your feet, besides influence a lot of people in favor of your elephants. And the interview, after all, was only your first one.”

“Mom.” She lowered her eyes and pulled something from her pants pocket. “There’s something else.”

Maggie took the small piece of crumpled paper she offered. An unfamiliar telephone number was written on it. “What’s this?”

“Don’t you recognize it?”

“No.”

Gina paused. “There was a message on the machine at home. A man said, ‘Hi. My father was taken ill. If you need me I’m at this number.’”

Maggie thought her heart stopped beating. A distinct wave of guilt and shame flooded through her. She felt as if she would never again have the strength to stand up.

“The message was for you, wasn’t it?”

Amazingly, she found her voice. “Yes.”

“Mother!”

“He’s a friend, Gina…” Just a friend, because I need—No, she wouldn’t make excuses, wouldn’t put any of the blame on Reece in front of his daughter.

“A friend Dad doesn’t know about?”

“Yes.”

“It’s no mystery why Dad hasn’t called you.” There was anger in Gina’s voice, fear in her eyes. “What kind of a friend is he?”

“It’s not—” An affair. But it is, though not in the physical sense. It is an emotional affair. Is that adultery? “It’s not in the way that you’re imagining.”

“How do you know what I’m imagining? What am I supposed to imagine? We come to Podunk, and you’re a totally different person. All of a sudden you have an ex-husband, a dead daughter, and a boyfriend!”

“He’s not a—”

Gina rushed from the kitchen.

So Reece had heard the message, too. How did it affect him? Did it affect him?

She pushed the question aside. What was this all about again, this coming to Podunk? To find herself. To go through the past. Unearth the hurts, the denials. She had made her list, asking God for grace to forgive and let go, strength to confront where possible. Hopefully in that she would find authenticity, the real Maggie Lindstrom Philips of today.

She adjusted the crutches under her arms, grabbed the car keys and her purse from hooks near the back door, and went outside. Still crinkled in her hand was the unfamiliar phone number.

It took her four attempts to punch in the correct calling card numbers followed by the ones Gina had handed her.

Maggie sat in the car, in the mall’s parking lot next to a drive-up telephone. Its cord stretched through the open window. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel, listening to the ringing of a stranger’s phone somewhere in Northern California.

“Hello.”

“John? It’s—”

“Margaret! Hello.” There was a smile in his voice.

“How—” Her throat constricted. “How is your father?”

“He had a stroke, but he’s getting along fairly well. He’s back home now.”

“And how are you?”

“Not bad. I’ve just relocated for a month or so. Dad’s timing was impeccable. He waited until my summer term was over. I can write from here almost as well as from home.” He paused. “So. How are the baby steps going?”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “It…it seems time for one giant adult step.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high. “Maybe it’s more like a plunge into a…a sea of authenticity.”

Silence filled the miles between them. Her tears spilled over, and she heard him take a deep breath. He understood.

At last he spoke. “I hear the water is somewhat cold at first.”

She closed her eyes and whispered, “It feels like ice.”

“You’ll be warm again. And it’ll be a clean warm, no more pretense on any front, no regrets.”

She wiped at the tears. “I’m sorry.”

“No, please, don’t be sorry. Never be sorry. That would invalidate our friendship.” He took another deep breath. “I’ve tried to plan for this all along, you know. It’s for your best. And I most definitely want what’s best for you.”

The tears flowed steadily. It was time to say goodbye, but she had no voice and there were no words.

“Margaret, before I start blubbering, we’ll just leave the rest unsaid. Thank you for…for everything. All right?”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled.

“All right. Take care.”

“John, wait! Tell me one thing.” The words rushed together now, racing ahead of the sobs building in her chest. “Why did you leave that message on my machine?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Part of me hoped you would pick up your messages. I wanted you to know where I could be reached. But, truthfully…I know you’re afraid of heights. I thought a little nudge toward the edge of the cliff might encourage you to take that plunge.”

It was an act of true love, forcing her to choose between authenticity and duplicity. If she wanted to live honestly, this friendship was outside the boundaries of her marriage. “Thank you,” she sobbed.

“Goodbye, Maggie-Margaret.” His voice was full of tears.

“Goodbye.” She leaned through the window, hung up the phone, and gave in to inconsolable weeping.

The crinkled piece of paper fluttered across the parking lot in the morning breeze.