“Wow, Abs. How great is it being able to still go for a swim in October?” Shelly rests her head on Abigail’s shoulder while throwing her right arm out the window, expressing her exuberance for the persistent summer-like weather. “It’s really starting to feel like old times.”
Abigail is irritated and gives Shelly a short glare out of the corner of her eye. She was still simmering over Roland’s intentions concerning the Colden estate. “I guess, if you say so, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. The radio said that the typhoon is heading straight for California. Sooner or later, I’m sure we’re going to start feeling those residuals.”
“Yeah, well who cares about some dumb typhoon, I plan to soak up every ray of sun I can while the weather is still warm.” Shelly lowers the sun visor to check her lip gloss in the mirror—juicy fruit flavored. “What’s got you in a tiff?”
“So your dad’s taking over the Colden estate?” Abigail turns her head to Shelly, spearheading the topic of her agitation. She watches as Shelly smudges lip gloss around her mouth using her pinky finger and then turns her eyes back to the street. “When did this happen?”
“I don’t know. I try to stay out of daddy dearest’s plans. Why?”
“Nothing… I guess.” Abigail turns up the music and brushes the hair out of her eyes.
“I’m sure everything is perfectly fine.”
“I suppose.” Abigail curls her lip and turns onto Fontenelle. Without using her blinker, Abigail veers into the left lane cutting off a woman in an SUV loaded to capacity with screaming eight-year-old linemen of the Derrylin Eagles little league football team—six in all, including the tight end. Before Abigail had cut her off, the woman already looked as if she was having a complete meltdown; she gives the horn a long sharp tap and yells into the backseat, “If I have to tell you one more time to button it up, there will be no pizza after the game!”
Abigail, still thinking about Roland and not the woman with half a football team in the back of her SUV, presses her hand into the horn. Seconds later, she does the same to a burly thick-haired man in a red and cream-colored Ford F-150, driving much too slow. Herbie could be heard sounding off at the horn and sputtering recklessly down Fontenelle Boulevard as Abigail darts in and out of traffic. Ten minutes later, and without the loss of any limbs or an angry mob of cars in tow, Abigail and Shelly reach Maggie’s estate on the far northern edge of town.
Colden Manor lies off in the distance beyond a massively rugged wall of round stones and mortar. A long line of flowering red dogwood trees obscure any sight of the lavish twelve room Classic French-styled home. Abigail pulls into the short outer driveway, stopping in front of a pair of majestic iron gates.
Since Herbie’s aftermarket air conditioner had broken down in the middle of the July heat wave, she now had both windows rolled down. Although Walter offered to get the AC fixed on numerous occasions, Abigail was in no condition to remember such trivial things and eventually had gotten used to forty-five-miles-an-hour air conditioning. She hovers out her window and presses down on the button attached to the external speaker system mounted to a post along the side of the driveway. After a few moments, Maggie’s voice crackles over the speaker. “Hello? Girls… Is that you?”
“Yes, Maggie. It’s Abby and Shelly.” Abigail is soon smiling as she listens to the eager sweetness in Maggie’s voice.
“Hey, girls… Oh okay. Okay… Hold on, just give me a second to… find this… oh damn it to hell—”
A moment later, Maggie buzzes the girls in and the gates hum to life with the sound of soft electricity, giving Herbie a wide berth. Abigail slides back inside, shaking her head. By now, she has forgotten about Roland and is giggling at Maggie’s impudence. She pops the clutch and hits the gas, and Herbie sputters up the drive.
As Abigail drives along the extended length of the flagstone driveway that winds up to the estate house, neither she nor Shelly can help but admire the beautifully manicured zoysia grass or the perfect line of dogwood trees outlining each side of the driveway and then dream about a life full of such things. Abigail briefly thinks about the life she had lost with Bill and decides she could easily live without a sumptuous lifestyle if it meant having him back. After pulling behind Maggie’s Lexus and turning Herbie off, Abigail reminds herself that nothing is going to get her down—not today anyhow.
Maggie flows elegantly through two elaborately designed French doors and steps onto the flagstone drive with her hands out to her sides ready to embrace the girls in hugs. She wears a black one-piece bathing suit under a silk floral cover up. A purple scarf holds her hair place and the smile on her face greets Abigail and Shelly with graceful warmth; large rimmed sunglasses cover her round cheekbones. While Maggie widens her smile and waves her extended arms out in a welcoming fashion, Shelly notices the large red tumbler in her hand—a pineapple hangs over its side and the thick icy drink sloshes back and forth.
“Oh. I think we’re drinking today.” Shelly immediately zeroes in on the beverage and places her hand on Abigail’s shoulder, unconsciously biting down on the tip of her thumbnail. She then directs Abigail’s attention to the red Tahiti tumbler and mischievously arches an eyebrow. “This is new. Perhaps Maggie is up for this more than either of us might have anticipated.”
“Just take it easy, Shelly. Let’s first see what kind of a mood she’s really in, okay?”
Maggie embraces Abigail in a long affectionate hug and then does the same with Shelly. She leads the girls through the foyer that looks out over the mansion’s spacious sunken living room and then into a long hallway of nooks, various knickknacks, and family photos. Abigail spots one of her favorite pictures of Bill and his parents while they were on vacation in Hawaii. Bill was only thirteen in that picture, but by the smiles on both Ted and Bill’s faces, you would have never thought there was any turmoil between them. Bill is in his swimming trunks on the beach, dripping wet while hugging his dad. Abigail notices the long scar on the left side of Bill’s back that he had gotten in a skateboarding accident when he was eleven. Reminded of such fond memories Bill had shared with her, Abigail quickly pushes past Maggie to escape the haunting photos.
Out of the hallway and into the kitchen at the back of the house, Abigail steps past Maggie and sees that Alley May is vigorously cutting into a pineapple with a large chef’s knife at the center island. On the counter around the blender are a fifth of light rum—three quarters full—a pint of banana liqueur, and a tall bottle of grenadine. A jar of Maraschino cherries sits to the right of the liquor bottles.
“Good morning, Alley.” Abigail is all smiles as she removes her sunglasses and takes a seat on a stool across the island from Alley May.
“Good morning, Ms. Abby. How are we feeling this afternoon?” The short round dark-skinned woman makes her way around the kitchen island, giving Abigail a hug.
“Surprisingly good, thanks for asking. Mom took me to see a therapist yesterday and I have to say, for the first time in a long while, I am actually starting to feel better.” Abigail takes a breath and then continues, “we all have a long road ahead of us for sure, but I think talking with Rebecca Steinman was definitely a step in the right direction.”
“Wow, Abby. Blabber much?” Shelly snickers at her long-winded friend and then takes a seat next to her.
“Nonsense. I’m glad to hear that you’re doing better, sweetie.” Maggie leans in close for another hug before taking a seat. “I wish you the best, kiddo. But that Steinman, isn’t she the psychiatrist that bought one of the lofts overseeing town square? The one who specializes in hypnotic therapy?”
“I’m really not sure where she lives, but yes, that’s her all right.” Abigail nods.
“I’ve run into her a few times at the farmer’s market and I believe once at Starbucks. She is quite the eccentric one but very pleasant. I hope she’s not trying that sort of stuff on you, is she?”
Abigail wanted to scream hell yes; however, she didn’t think it was pertinent to talk about her session with Rebecca, especially after thinking about how bizarre their initial session went. She instead looks at Shelly’s inquisitive expression and then back to Maggie with a crinkled nose, “Of course not—we just talk, mainly. Dr. Steinman… Rebecca is brainy with this sort of thing. She mainly helps me understand my problems, that’s all.”
“That’s good to hear. Who knows what might happen if she were to go fooling inside your head.” Maggie lifts her sunglasses to her forehead. Abigail and Shelly both notice the dark circles under her eyes, circles that had not been there the prior week. They look at each other fully knowing that losing her husband and son had taken a terrible toll on Maggie, but now it seemed as if it might be affecting her health. The same way it had been with Ted.
“So, Maggie… how are you holding up?” Shelly asks as she leans into the counter and snuggles in next to Abigail.
“You’re getting plenty of rest, right?” Abigail adds.
“Here and there, you know. I do what I can, I suppose.”
“She’s doing better now,” Alley explains, taking a long look at Maggie and then sighs. “On rougher nights, I stay over so she’s not by herself.”
“You’ve been a good friend throughout the years, Alley May.”
“Likewise, Ms. Maggie. You’ve been a wonderful friend to both me and my family. It’s the least I can do.” Alley focuses on the pineapple she is chopping and as she does, she adds, “Last night, I finally got Ms. Maggie to play a few hands of gin rummy. She is very good, you know.” Alley arches an eyebrow toward Maggie. “I’m thinking she may have played before.”
“And I’ll never tell.” Maggie slaps her hand down on the counter with a devilish smile and a loud thud. After the short startle, Alley May and the girls share a laugh, adoring Maggie’s strong spirit.
“So what is all of this then?” Shelly motions her hand over the bevy of liqueur bottles.
“Oh, now this is all Alley’s doing. When she heard you girls were coming over for a swim, she got it into her head to make drinks. What did you call this again?” Maggie sips from the tumbler and then lifts her cup for viewing.
“I call it a Tropical Storm. I thought it would be refreshing in light of the storm all over the news.”
“Tropical Storm,” Shelly mumbles to herself, while thinking and licking her lips and imagining how tasty the drink sounded. “What’s in it?”
“Well, now let’s see… A bit of rum, a banana liqueur, a splash of grenadine, pineapple juice, and orange juice, and a maraschino cherry.” Alley drops three cleaned pineapple wedges into the blender and then adds the other recited ingredients, minus the cherry of course—she planned to add the cherry as a final touch after she runs the smooth concoction over crushed ice.
“Will you ladies be having one?”
“I definitely will,” Shelly answers quickly, avoiding Abigail’s narrow glare. “Tropical Storm sounds absolutely yummy.”
“I can’t, unfortunately,” Abigail confesses. “I’m on medication prescribed by my therapist. It may not be the best idea to mix the two.”
“I’ll make yours a virgin then.”
“That’ll be fine. Thanks.”
With drinks in hand, Maggie leads the girls out through the kitchen’s sliding glass door and into the sunshine to a wooden deck that surrounds a glistening clear blue swimming pool. Before sliding the door close again, Maggie encourages Alley to join them, but she respectfully declines and heads upstairs to make up Maggie’s bed and gather the laundry.
Enclosed by four-foot post walls made of white marble that look out over more than an acre of refreshing green turf, the Caribbean style swimming pool itself is eighteen feet wide and thirty-six feet in length with its deepest depth is at eight feet. The sunlight beams down on the clear water and shimmers reflectively off the water’s gentle sway. After dipping her toes in the water to check the temperature, Shelly places a white towel over a trifold, wicker-strapped lounge chair. She takes a slow drink from the blue tumbler, closing her eyes to savor the fruity flavor, and then lowers the drink beside the lounge chair and sits down. Maggie and Abigail both take seats around the white marble table shaded with a pink and white umbrella.
In the sun’s light, Maggie appears too pale. She removes her sunglasses briefly to rub her fingers to her temple; the dark lines under her sunken eyes seem more defined in the sun. Abigail cannot help but wonder how Bill’s mother was coping alone in such a large house. From the looks of her, it didn’t seem like she was getting much sleep, and that worried Abigail. She takes a drink from the nonalcoholic Tropical Storm, buying herself another moment before she intended to address Maggie with her current state of health.
“Maggie?”
“Yes, honey.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but I’m really starting to worry about you.”
“Oh fiddlesticks, don’t you go worrying yourself about an old hen like me. I’m fine.” Maggie appears brave yet entirely too prompt in her return.
“Have you at least seen a doctor since Ted, you know… passed away?” Abigail looks down shamefully. By her own accounts, she knew how bad it made her feel to hear Bill’s name coming out of someone else’s mouth. Abigail’s heart would stop and she held her breath, waiting for the anxiety to pass. For Abigail, Bill’s name held so much life that every time she would hear it, it literally felt like the stabbing pain of a knife in her chest stealing her breath away. She gathers her nerve and looks into Maggie’s eyes. “Maybe you should go in for a checkup.”
“No, no, no… no doctors, please. I feel fine, honestly.” Maggie slips her sunglasses back on. “I’ll get the occasional headache, but really, under the circumstances, I’d say it’s to be expected.”
“I know. Believe me. I know.” Abigail reaches out taking both of Maggie’s hands in her own. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t mean to pry. I just need to know that you’re okay.”
“Oh nonsense. Everything is perfectly fine, Abby.” Maggie’s smile seems less than genuine.
“Is Alley May aware of these headaches?”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Maggie takes a long sip from her tumbler. Abigail immediately notices hand tremors shaking the plastic cup. Maggie sets the drink down and quickly places her hands on her lap.
“Maggie, you are all I have left in the world. I’m not trying to appear overdramatic but Bill would have wanted me to make sure you are okay.”
Maggie turns her head off to one side. She nestles her chin against her shoulder watching as Shelly rubs an SPF 30 sunscreen on her arms. She mulls over the situation for a moment then curses sharply under her breath after realizing she had to come clean.
“Shelly? Would you be a dear and sit with us, please.” She waves Shelly over to an empty seat at the table, and then mumbles, “The Lord knows this is not how I imagined things would go today.”
Shelly picks herself up, as well as her drink and takes a seat next to Maggie. Both she and Abigail wait for Maggie to speak, although Abigail appears anxious and waits with bated breath. Maggie removes her sunglasses and folds them on the table in front of her. She stares down at the dark lenses, trying to gather her thoughts, and then finally takes hold of Abigail and Shelly’s hand.
“Damn it, Abby,” are her first words. Not really cursing Abigail; Maggie just didn’t appreciate being cornered. “Okay, I’m sick. There, I said it. And not just sick, mind you, I’ve been really sick for a really long time.”
“What? No!” Abigail spits the words out of her mouth like venom. Shelly remains very quiet, slipping her hand down on Abigail’s lap, keeping her calm, keeping her grounded.
“After the headaches worsened, I did decide to see Dr. Anderson—that was last Thursday. I have been experiencing headaches like these long before my Ted passed away, but just recently, they have become quite unbearable. Dr. Anderson took a blood sample, and performed an MRI and… well, I got the results back yesterday. Among all the other horrible things that have recently afflicted my life, it would seem I now have a tumor on the surface of my brain, and according to the doctor, it is very much inoperable.” Maggie looks away and decides to tighten her grip on their hands comfortingly at the same time. “I was going to tell you. I promise. I just didn’t know how.”
Abigail tries to think of anything to say. Anything to comfort Maggie, yet all she can manage to get out is, “Maggie?”
She sits respectively still. She feels Maggie’s hand rubbing her forearm and Shelly’s hand firmly placed on her lap, but no matter how hard Abigail tries to feel anything else, she just sits there in her chair, utterly depleted.
She had heedlessly pretended to gain some control over her life, but a ruse that was. Bill had crushed her, leaving her to cling to a stolen love while her heart hemorrhaged in her hands. Ted left her, crushed by his own broken heart, and now Maggie was soon to join them, leaving Abigail with the ghostly memories of a family she loved as dearly as her own. It was evident that Abigail was on a desperately tragic ride and there was no way off at any time. Too stunned to cry, she remains perfectly still, staring blankly across the table into Maggie Colden’s dark blue eyes—eyes that reminded her too much of Bill.
“I know you’re angry, Abigail, and I’m truly sorry, but there is just too much wrong with this old lady.”
“I’m shocked,” Shelly mumbles, staring down into her tumbler that now does not seem so refreshing or yummy. “And I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Shelly. It is what it is. After I got the results back, I cried and cried, but I’ve made my peace with it. I’m okay.”
Shelly follows Maggie’s eyes as they drift over to Abigail, trying to absolve Abigail’s mortified expression with tenderness, although Abigail is unblinking and lost.
“It’s okay, Abby. You’ll be okay. I’ve lived a long blessed life. Do you even know what kind of miracle it was to have William so late in my life? I thought for sure I would never get to experience motherhood. Even as short as his time was with us, I truly felt the Lord’s blessings upon me. William was a miracle for me and my Ted.” Tears fully erupt down Maggie’s face after baring her soul. “I don’t want you to shed any tears for me. I’m ready to go.” Maggie offers a faint smile through her tears. She smiles bravely, if not for anything other than Abigail’s sake. “I want you to know when you called me this morning, it opened my eyes. Sooner or later, I’ll leave this life, but I’ve decided I’m not going to wait around for it to happen.”
Abigail slips out of her chair, thrusting herself desperately against Maggie and finally manages to cry.
“Oh now, calm yourself, missy. I’ll be with my boys again.”
In between her light gasps, Abigail repeats herself, saying, “I need you to know, I loved Bill with all of my heart. I need you to know that. I need you to know…”
“Oh, sweetie, I know. I know. Any silly willy could see that twinkle in your eye. Only a woman that is truly in love has that look about her.”
Maggie looks over at Shelly, who has been wiping her own tears away. Shelly understands the damaged bundle of love clinging to Maggie, desperately refusing to surrender her last light of hope to what seems like a tragic death-sodden world. Maggie pulls back and looks earnestly at each of them. “Girls, people die. That’s just the plain truth of it—it’s the end of an adventurous cycle. You need to look out for each other, now more than ever. I promise you that one day, you will get past all of this and live long and happy lives. However, today, while the sun is still shining, I wish to spend it with my girls. So please, Abigail… Shelly, don’t cry on my account.”
Abigail nods quietly and then breaks down further.
It takes thirty minutes of crying and asking every question imaginable about Maggie’s condition before Abigail finally allowed herself to calm. She eventually brought herself to see the strength Maggie possessed as she looked past her own troubles and offered a final comfort to them on the eve of her end. When Abigail comes to her senses, at least temporarily, she decides to give Maggie her one last adventure in the sun.
After another ten minutes, Maggie steps into the shallow end of the pool. She turns and smiles at her girls and then walks out waist-deep with her blue tumbler in hand. It would be the last time Abigail and Shelly would ever see Maggie Colden step into her pool or smile so lovingly. On the morning of October 11, Maggie suffers from a complication in one of her lungs and dies shortly after from a pulmonary embolism. For the rest of that day, her girls keep her smiling and in good spirits.