Maggie felt empty when she got home. She didn’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone. She didn’t want to tell Helen she was there. She needed time to herself, to heal and come back. She knew she had to do it herself this time, without help. Nobody could do this except she herself. She had to bury him now. He was dead to her, as he had been for thirty years before she’d found him again.
She sent Aden a text so he’d know where she was, but she didn’t tell him what she’d done. She knew he’d be devastated that she’d left Paul, but she had done it to save her own life, and even her son’s. Paul Gilmore was a dangerous man to love. A heartbreaker of the worst kind. She couldn’t afford him in her life.
She took long walks for the first week she was home. The text messages continued, but she kept erasing them, and after another week, they stopped. He realized that she wasn’t coming back. She was a remarkable woman, and he didn’t deserve her. He knew that now. And if she wanted her freedom, he owed her at least that. She had brought him back from the dead, and he had broken her heart in exchange. He understood what she wanted and needed, and he couldn’t give it to her. Worse, he didn’t want to. He wanted racing more than he wanted her, and she knew it. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t let go of what the races meant to him. They meant he was a winner, that death couldn’t conquer him, that he was afraid of nothing, and dying meant nothing to him. He was the bravest and the toughest and the strongest, the most fearless man alive. He had been so frightened as a little boy, when his father left them penniless, and later when his mother died. He had fought fear from then on, and won every time, or close enough.
But in the end, Maggie was stronger than he was. He was terrified without her now.
After she’d been back a week, she contacted the artists she’d been meeting with, launched the website, and contacted everyone on her extensive mailing list. The site featured a slideshow of the artists’ works that she was offering. Within days, she had inquiries and responses, and four clients eager to buy some of the work she was representing. She made her first sale two weeks after she’d launched, and felt stronger by then. She’d spoken to Aden and told him that she had left Paul. He was sad, but he said he understood, and he hoped they’d see him again one day.
“If he’s still alive,” she said, and sounded angrier than she wanted to. She wasn’t angry, she was sad too, and disappointed. He had lied while almost dying was fresh in his mind. But as soon as he recovered, he was back in the game.
Aden said he’d come home for spring break in March, since she wouldn’t be in London now. She had no plans to return to Europe, and no reason to go there. She hated to admit it, but she would miss the boat. Who wouldn’t? It was a little taste of heaven on earth, and she’d been happy with Paul. She loved him, but she knew she wouldn’t one day. She had forgotten him before, and would again.
She’d been back for three weeks when she let Helen know she was home, and told her simply that she had left Paul, and it was better this way.
“Should I ask what happened?”
“It doesn’t matter. It never should have happened at all. He was a fantasy from my youth.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie.”
“Me too.” She told Helen about the online gallery then. She had finally done it, and was proud of herself.
She picked up the threads of her life, the ordinary pleasures she had enjoyed when she lived there. She had stopped living a life there ever since Brad died and the fateful trip to Europe where she met Paul again. It had been all about him ever since. Now it had to be about her again, or maybe for the first time in her life. She was going to have to do this alone, and figure out where she wanted to live. Chicago or Lake Forest or maybe New York. She could do whatever she wanted. It was frightening, but exciting too. Missing Paul was like a dull ache, a phantom limb, and she would have to get used to that. They had been together for a year and a half, and it was over now. She knew she’d survive, no matter how painful at first.
She was looking at slides of new work for her online gallery when Aden called her one week later on a Saturday. She was happy to hear him, but he sounded agitated.
“Turn your TV on, Mom.” His voice was unusually sharp. “Now!”
“Why?”
“Just turn it on. The sports channel, or a news channel. I think it’ll be all over the place.”
“Is he dead? I don’t want to see it.” She suddenly knew why he had called.
“Just turn it on,” he insisted. Reluctantly she did.
She could see a racetrack in the distance and hear a Spanish announcer behind the two American commentators speaking. They were engaged in a rapid-fire exchange, as though something incredible had happened. One of them was a famous retired race car driver, and the other was a network anchor they used for major sports events.
“I don’t want to see this, Aden,” she said firmly.
“Just listen, Mom.” She was about to turn it off when something stopped her, and a photograph of Paul filled the screen briefly. Maybe he had died, and she should know. But the commentators were still talking and the crowd was screaming Paul’s name. There were no ambulances visible, so maybe he wasn’t dead or injured. She watched, curious about what was going on. Both commentators were excited and the network anchor spoke to the audience almost breathlessly. “For those of you just tuning in, we’ve just seen racing history here. Neither of us have ever seen anything like this before, have we, Pete?” he asked the retired driver, who said he hadn’t. The crowd seemed to be screaming louder. She wondered if someone had killed someone on the track. “We’ve just seen one of the most famous Formula One drivers in history withdraw from the race minutes before it started, ‘for personal reasons.’ He was lost in the snow for four days after an avalanche in Canada three months ago, we’re wondering if it had something to do with that. This would have been his first race since the accident. He was in the pit, checking his car an hour before the race, and all we know, folks, is that he walked off, announced that he was forfeiting the race, and then left a letter confirming it.
“He’ll be fined for forfeiting at the last minute, which he was certainly aware of. He’s been known for his ‘risk everything, I dare you, winner takes all’ attitude for thirty years of racing, but this beats everything. His sponsor can withdraw his contract for this. Paul Gilmore, where are you? The crowd has been going crazy here. You can hear them behind us. No one seems to know what those ‘personal reasons’ are. He’s been unavailable for comment, and word is he left the track minutes ago. For those of you watching at home, this is a first, and a shocker coming from a legend like Paul Gilmore. We’ve all seen him race, even with broken bones.” They were still talking when Aden spoke to her on the phone she was holding.
“I think he withdrew for you, Mom.” He knew why she had left him. “He’s going to pay a big fine for this.”
“He can afford it,” she said coldly. “Maybe he’s sick. He does what he wants, and maybe he doesn’t want them to know. Maybe his feet went numb again and he couldn’t drive.”
“I don’t think so. It would take something pretty damn important for him to forfeit a race. He’s never done that before. He’s too big for that.” She didn’t disagree with him, but wasn’t going to guess about it. The announcers were still trying to figure it out. They were hinting at a mental breakdown of some kind when she turned it off.
She was curious but didn’t want to text and ask him. She didn’t want to open Pandora’s box again. Whatever his reason for forfeiting, it must have been a good one. It was noon for her then, and she went about her day, then went back to the emails she was writing to the artists whose work she was selling.
She bought groceries after, and had just scrambled some eggs at eight o’clock that night when she heard a text come in. She was going to ignore it, but thought it might be Aden, and that he had heard more about Paul. Instead she saw it was from Paul himself. She was about to erase it without reading, when curiosity got the best of her and she opened it and stared at what it said.
“I just flew here from Madrid. I’m in Chicago. I retired today.”
“Why?” she texted back.
“I figure I may have used up the ninth life in Canada and decided to quit while I’m ahead. And I’m in Chicago because you live here and I love you. I did it for you, Maggie, if you still care.” She didn’t know what to answer, and had tears in her eyes. She didn’t want to care, but she still did. She didn’t trust him. He’d find some other way to risk his life if he wasn’t racing. Skydiving. Mountain climbing. He’d find something. He couldn’t help himself.
He had spent the last four weeks thinking about her, and trying to decide what to do. And when he got to the racetrack that morning, it all became clear. It was so simple. He just had to do it. It had been easier than he’d thought it would be.
“You probably don’t believe me,” he texted her when she didn’t respond. “I wouldn’t either. I could have won the race. You mean more to me. My sponsor will probably sue me for walking, but I don’t give a damn. I flew here to see you. Can I come home?” Her eggs were stone cold as she stared at her phone. She didn’t want to go through it with him again. Canada had almost killed her. But what if he really did it for her?
“I’m here,” was all she responded, and forty minutes later, her doorbell rang. She opened the door and he was standing there, still in his driving suit. He hadn’t bothered to change on the plane.
He looked serious when she opened the door to him, and so did she. She stood there, staring at him.
“You made history today,” she said to him, still not sure what to think or if she believed him. But it had been on TV.
“I know,” he said, and then gently pulled her into his arms. “I did it for you,” he told her again.
“So you said.” She had left him standing on the sidewalk outside the Four Seasons a month before and she believed it was the right thing to do. But she couldn’t ignore what he’d just done in Spain, whether it was for her or not. It was huge for him to have done it, and took incredible courage. He’d been racing cars since he was a kid, and was one of the most famous drivers in the world. “Thank you,” she said softly. And then he kissed her and she looked at him in surprise. The man who had nine lives had come home. “Why did you do it?” she asked him when he stopped.
“I have too much to lose now. You and Aden. I don’t want to lose you, Maggie.” She nodded. She didn’t want to lose him either. They had lost each other the first time at seventeen and eighteen, and neither of them wanted it to happen again more than thirty years later. Something had brought them together the first time, and again now. She didn’t know if it was kismet or fate, or an accident of some kind, but it was stronger than they were. And she knew his passion for danger. But he had walked away from a race for her. And if he could do that, she could take a chance on him. She knew as she looked at him that she was willing to risk it, and brave enough to try.
He followed her into the living room and they sat down on the couch in the small simple house she had outgrown. And as she looked at him, she saw in her mind’s eye the boy who had biked away when she was eighteen with a wave and a smile. She remembered him distinctly and she put her arms around the boy and the man and held him close to her.
“Welcome home,” she said softly, and he kissed her again. She realized then that her mother had been wrong. Sometimes the wild ones are worth the wait, and don’t break your heart after all.