A Journey by Chance (9 page)

What did this have to do with Gina? The woman was obviously hurting. It was written on her face, in her cross response to old Hattie at the library, even in her shortness with him whenever they met.

Brady turned off the reading lamp and stared out at the pond and dark outlines of oak trees. It came to him then…the touch of her hand beneath his. On the heels of that impression came a distinct, irresistible urge to hold it. His emotions flew through the dark, catapulted over the treetops, bounced against the stars, then tumbled back to race around the pond.

What was this?

He only knew that the woman intrigued him. And that he hadn't been intrigued in a very, very long time.

He wondered if it was too late to call her and invite her to see the oak trees.

Maybe tomorrow.

When Gina and Lauren left for Chicago, their mothers headed out on their own shopping trip. Alone now in the car with Marsha, Maggie wondered how best to broach the subject of John. She had put her sister off long enough.

“Well,” Marsha interrupted her thoughts, “I'm not sure we'll be able to find you a wild purple dress with red flowers at the mall. Do you want to head up the interstate? The boutique shops in Thompkins should have more to offer. And then there's the new outlet mall about 20 miles beyond that.”

“I've got the whole day if you do.”

“Let's do it then.” She turned her attention from the highway long enough to throw her a smile. “I know the girls won't be back until late.”

“I agree.” Maggie chuckled. “They said Brady wanted to leave before three o'clock and miss rush hour. The guy has obviously never taken a group of females shopping in downtown Chicago. Tell me, what's he like?”

“As Lauren says, he is the gen-u-ine article. He truly is a nice guy. They're in good hands. He won't leave them stranded when they don't show up on time.”

“It is rather odd that my daughter and Neil's son would end up spending time together.”

“Only in Valley Oaks, huh?”

“Right.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for being patient. Do you want to hear it now?”

Her sister glanced at her. “Only if you want to tell me, hon.”

“I need a friend, sis. Promise you'll still love me, no matter what?”

“Of course.”

“Think about it. I'm going to tell you something that you will disapprove of.”

Marsha was silent for a moment. “Magpie, Jesus disapproves of a lot of things I do and say and think. But He is compassionate and still loves me anyway. When I know He disapproves, I ask His forgiveness and I know He gives it.”

“Well, I ask your forgiveness.”

“You don't need mine. You need His. I know you've told Him you believe He is God's Son and that He died for you. You asked Him to forgive all your past sin. But do you spend much time getting to know Him?”

A couple of years ago her sister had explained this plan of God's. Maggie understood it was the way to get in a right relationship with Him and had accepted that fact, but beyond that, Jesus didn't affect her day-to-day living. “I usually go to church on Sunday.”

“It takes time.” Marsha smiled at her. “A little bit every day. Tell me why you think you need forgiveness.”

“I haven't committed any major wrong, but I feel guilty.”

“What's up?”

“You asked who John is. He's just a friend.” She gazed out the side window at the passing cornfields. “I better start at the beginning. Reece has been traveling more and more. You know, I used to think that when Gina was out of the house, he and I would have more time together. I've seen less of him in the past two years than ever.” She took a shaky breath. “It's wearing me down.”

“That's understandable.”

“It is?”

“Of course. You're being neglected.”

“But he's always been such a good provider. I shouldn't feel neglected just because he's doing his job.”

“Maggie, I'm not judging or condemning Reece, but he isn't providing something you need on a deeper level. Have you talked to him about this?”

“I've tried. He loves what he does and, you know, he's so good at it. He says he loves me and our marriage and the way things are, that we'll have plenty of time together when he retires, which could happen within five years. Though I doubt he'll ever completely retire.” She sighed. “Whenever we discuss this, he'll make sure we go out for dinner, always with friends.”

“You've always trusted him, haven't you?”

“He's never given me a reason not to, although lately I've wondered. Why does he choose travel over me?”

They rode in silence for a few moments.

Maggie hesitated continuing the discussion that would lead to territory that for them personally was uncharted. Once she spoke aloud words to describe a close relationship with a dear man who was not her husband, other words would follow. Ultimately, words like adultery and divorce would become a part of their vocabulary, making that territory no longer uncharted and therefore making it…familiar. Comfortable. Acceptable.

She wasn't sure she wanted that. “Have you ever felt neglected?”

Marsha nodded. “Sure. You know what farming is like, especially during planting and harvest seasons. I could gain 50 pounds and shave my head and Dan would never notice. Add three children and the fact that my in-laws live a stone's throw away. Stir in years of unpredictable weather wreaking havoc on crops and emotional stability. Voilà.” She threw her a sad smile. “You've got the makings for wishing my best friend's mailman husband was available.”

“But you said you're so happy you could pop!”

“Deep down I am. But there have been moments, some that lasted for months at a time. Dan and I both recognized
that we weren't on the top of each other's priority list. We had to make conscious efforts to work on our marriage.”

“Unlike Reece.”

Her sister shrugged. “He takes you to dinner.”

“Mm-hmm.” Maggie stared ahead at the long, flat stretch of interstate. “I'm not having an affair. At least not in the physical sense. I am just so lonely, Marsh.”

“Maybe angry, too?”

“No,” she replied quickly. Not angry. Lonely made sense. Angry was too…out of control. She leaned forward, flipped the fan to high, the temperature to cold, and turned her face toward the vent's blast of freezing air. She heard her sister's stifled sigh. “I am not angry.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“At a party, last September. One of those work-related events I was compelled to attend. He was the friend of a friend of a friend. We just sort of enjoyed talking. He's an English professor at Long Beach.” She turned the fan back down and straightened. “A month later we ran into each other in the cafeteria of the hospital where Gina was. Reece was out of town. Again. My child was suffering. I was distraught.”

She drummed her fingers on the door's armrest. She'd skip what he looked like in his tweeds…disheveled wavy hair, black sprinkled with silver…brown-black eyes…calm voice…gentle mannerisms. The fact that he was a widower with no children. The way he simply listened!

“How old is he?” Marsha interrupted her reverie.

“Reece's age. Fifty-six. The third time we bumped into each other was at a local family-type restaurant. I eat there often because lone diners don't stick out like a sore thumb, and everyone is friendly.” She blew out a noisy breath. “I guess the third time was the proverbial charm. We met there again, sort of by accident, and then we planned on it once a
week or so. We've browsed through bookstores and art galleries and that's all. Neither of us wants more.”

“Yet. There's a yet in your tone.”

“Yet,” she conceded, then laughed disparagingly. “I'm supposed to use this time back here to figure out who I am. I don't even know if I'm Maggie or Margaret. I need to be quiet for a while, come to grips with some old ghosts. Then maybe I can get a handle on what comes next.”

“What do you want to come next?”

“I don't really know.” She saw pain etched in her sister's profile. “There's absolutely no physical contact.”

“But your hearts have connected.” A tear trickled from the corner of Marsha's eye.

“Our hearts have connected,” Maggie whispered. “He is my best friend.”

Marsha wiped at her eyes, blinking to keep them focused on the highway before her. “This is dangerous territory, hon.”

She nodded. “And I am petrified.”

The next morning Maggie tapped softly on Gina's door, then peeked inside.

“I'm awake,” Gina mumbled from under the covers. “Mmm, do I smell coffee?” She yawned and stretched.

“You do.” Maggie slipped open the shades while Gina plumped pillows and sat up. Morning sunlight streamed through the two open windows. Warm air chased away last night's coolness, promising rising temperatures today. She handed her daughter a mug of coffee, kissed her forehead, then sat beside her on the bed. “You must have had a late night.”

“Thanks. No, just a long day. A really long day. What is this?” She inhaled the steaming liquid and took a sip. Her eyes widened. “Mom! This is real coffee!”

Maggie smiled. She still loved surprising her daughter, still loved watching her wake up in the morning on rare occasions such as this. Her tousled hair framed her face, a lovely feminine version of her father's with strong chin, olive skin, and striking dark brows that accented her green eyes. “Aunt Marsha and I went up the interstate to shop at some boutique-type places. Lo and behold, I found a Starbucks.”

“Mmm. It's great. Did you find a purple dress with red flowers?”

“I did. It's absolutely wild. My sister may disown me if I wear it to the wedding, but it's perfect for the reunion. What did you think of Chicago?”

“I loved Chicago! So exciting. It was the perfect antidote to Podu—excuse me. Valley Oaks. Look in that shopping bag. I bought Lauren some towels she liked. We didn't have a shower gift, did we?”

“Good idea.” She admired the towel set, then pulled out a book. “What? Oh my goodness. Brady Olafsson?” She turned it over and gasped at the resemblance to his father, Neil.

“Do you believe it? Do you believe we didn't even know?”

“Marsha never mentioned that he's an author. This looks like a major publication.”

“It is.”

“Interesting. How did you get along with him?”

“Well.” Gina looked out the window.

Maggie sat back down. “What's wrong, sweetie? Is the chip still there on his shoulder?”

“Delilah died.” She quickly brushed tears from her eyes.

“Oh, no.” They looked at each other for a speechless moment. Maggie knew it wasn't a total shock to her daughter, but the circumstances coupled with Gina's tendency to grieve over the death of any animal meant this hurt deeply. “I'm so sorry, hon. How did you find out?”

Gina sipped her coffee. “Well, I bought a newspaper. Then we walked for miles and my leg—don't say anything.”

Maggie pressed her lips together and made an imaginary zipping motion.

“I should have worn my brace.”

“Can we look at it?” When Gina hesitated, Maggie knew it must ache. “If your knee's swollen, I'll get you some ibuprofen.”

She pulled aside the sheet.

Maggie fought the onslaught of queasiness that still came whenever she looked at her daughter's scars. Angry fuchsia colored ridges crisscrossed her knee, one rope-like vine continuing along the thigh, marring the youthful skin. Evidence remained of holes where the pin had been inserted.
It could have been worse. It could have been worse.
She swallowed. “Doesn't look too bad. Does your hip hurt?”

“Not much. Anyway, we stopped for ice cream on the top floor of this wonderful, huge, old, old store—”

“Marshall Field's on State Street.” She pulled the sheet back across Gina's leg in spite of the heat wafting through the window. “Grandma Philips took you there once when you were very young.”

“Really? Lauren said Aunt Lottie took them a few times through the years. Anyway, I stayed put while the rest of them kept shopping. I read about Delilah in the paper. Then Brady came to pick me up. By then it was too late to avoid rush hour traffic, so the others had decided to meet us later.” Her eyes widened. “There I was, stuck with Mr. Homespun for two solid hours.”

Maggie giggled.

“It wasn't funny!”

“The look on your face is. Whatever did you do?”

“Told him to leave, but he invited me to go sightseeing on a tour bus. Mother, he really was a perfect gentleman, and I had a good time. He did get obnoxious, though, when we talked about your divorce.”

“How's that?”

“This is unbelievable. He blamed you for ruining his dad's college career by running off with another man.”

“Oh?”

“All you have to say is ‘oh'?”

Maggie shrugged. “It's Valley Oaks, Gina. There's so much talk about everything, some of it's bound to get twisted. You just can't take it all to heart.”

“Well, when he brought me home, he apologized for his attitude. He explained how it was ingrained in him by his grandmother.”

“Just as I thought.”

“Right. And, get this, he asked me to forgive him for the chip on his shoulder.”

“He sounds rather…authentic.”

“Yeah, I have to admit, he's beginning to seem that way. Mom?”

Maggie smiled to herself. “Mom” in that tone meant Gina was going to say something heartfelt. “What?”

“How's your and Dad's marriage?”

She blinked, waited for her heart to beat again, waited for the sensation of her body melting into liquid to pass.