Lauraine Snelling (30 page)

“Oh.” Maggie stared unseeing out the window. Why had she ever mentioned that she needed to do this? Shipping the boxes would have been so much easier. The butterflies and dragonflies were dive-bombing each other inside her. She rubbed her middle in the hopes of settling them down.

Even the Grapevine and the Angeles National Forest where they used to go camping couldn’t break through the thick glass that separated her from her surroundings. The first mention of Long Beach on the highway signs made her shrink back, trying to melt into the seat. Her breathing ratcheted up a notch.

“Maggie, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Gil touched her hand, making her flinch.

“N-no. I need to get this done.”

“Then you have to give me directions.”

“Take 710.” As they neared Long Beach, she told him where to turn and finally said stop in front of a four-story stucco building in the older part of town, but not the seedy area.

As she started to get out, he took her hand. “Maggie, I’m coming with you. If nothing else, I can tote the boxes.” Her relief caught him by the throat. “Did you think I was going to let . . . make you do this alone?” Shaking his head, he got out and came around to open her door and give her a hand down.

“Th-thank you.”

“You look nice.” He wanted to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear but refrained. That might send her flying right over the truck, let alone back into it. They took the elevator to the third floor and walked a carpeted hall to a sign that said Law Offices and a list of several attorneys. He opened the door and ushered her ahead of him.

“I’m here to see Lawana Carlson.”

The receptionist punched a button and said who was there. “She’s in the second office on the left.”

Maggie nodded. She inhaled a breath, walked to the door, and let him open it.

“Hello, Maggie.” A woman whose hair was probably gray under the blonde tints came around the desk, her hands outstretched. Maggie walked into the hug without saying a word.

After a moment of silence, the woman said softly, “You’re looking well, Maggie. You made it through and now your life can begin again.”

Maggie took in a deep breath and pulled back. “It already has. I want you to meet Gil Winters, my employer.”

“The man who adopted Breaking Free?” She reached around Maggie to shake his hand. “Sit down, please.”

“You know about it?” Maggie asked.

“There was a write-up in the paper about the program up at Los Lomas, and your picture on the horse was included. I wouldn’t have known it was you if it hadn’t said so.”

“I looked pretty ghastly.”

“No, the helmet shaded your face.” She guided Maggie toward the nearer chair. “Sit down and fill me in on what’s been happening.”

Maggie gave her a brief rundown, and Gil filled in a bit too. Lawana leaned back in her chair. “Well, that is certainly good news. And you’ve been reporting to your probation officer and attending AA meetings?”

“Of course. I’m not going back there.”

“Good. That was just the lawyer talking, we like to cover all the bases.” She nodded again. “I have your boxes.” She pointed to four cartons in the corner on a dolly. “And I have your financial records here, including your savings passbook. I invested your part of the divorce settlement in diversified mutual funds, which in spite of the crash managed to keep making you money—not much there for a while, but they’ve made up for that in the last couple of years. I kept a thousand in your passbook in case you needed anything, like I told you I would.”

“I guess. I don’t remember much of those days.”

“Not surprising. There’s also a letter here from Dennis, telling you where Charlie is buried. I wasn’t sure if he sent you that information or not.”

“His attorney did. Dennis never contacted me again.”

“That . . .” Lawana paused and gathered herself together. “Well, at least we didn’t have to go after him for your share of the house and assets.” She tapped the folders in front of her. “It’s all here. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, but I do thank you. You took your fees out as you went?”

“Yes, you don’t owe me a dime.” Lawana gathered the folders and put them into a manila envelope. She stood and brought the envelope around the desk to hand to Maggie. “I take it Gil is here to wheel the boxes down?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gil stood when she did.
And take care of this woman whom I’m lucky enough to have in my life.

Maggie took the envelope and gave Lawana another hug. “Thank you.”

“The best thanks would have been to have gotten you off.” She sighed and hugged Maggie again. “Don’t let this ruin the rest of your life.”

“It won’t.” Gil tipped back the dolly. “Let’s go.”

Maggie looked at him as if to ask, How could you know how my life will go? She opened the door for him and waved to Lawana.

Gil loaded the boxes in the backseat of the dual cab and, whistling, trucked the dolly back upstairs.

Maggie watched him go. She knew she should look in the envelope, but it might as well have been locked with three padlocks, none of which had a key. She laid it on the seat and buckled her seat belt. Her eyes burned so she closed them and leaned her head back against the headrest. One more chapter of her life was over.

Gil got back in the truck, and she could feel him looking at her but opening her eyes took more effort than she could dredge up.

“Would you like to get some lunch now?”

She shook her head.

“Coffee?”

She nodded. “If you want to eat, go ahead.”

“Later.” He started the engine. “Do you have a map to the cemetery?”

She dug in her shirt pocket and handed him a folded paper, faded by time.

He unfolded it, read the directions, and pulled out onto the street.

Every turn of the wheels tightened the ropes binding Maggie’s chest. When he turned the truck into the granite gates of the cemetery, she let out a whimper. “No, I can’t do this. No.”

Gil wheeled the truck around and drove back out onto the street. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We’re going home.” He glanced over at Maggie to see tears meandering down her cheeks. “Home, Maggie. You’ll be safe there.” He wiped away the tears with his thumbs.

Maggie crumpled into a heap, held up only by the seat belt.

TWENTY-NINE

E
very day as soon as he’d changed out of his school uniform, Eddie spun his way down to the barn. One afternoon, a few days after her and Gil’s big venture to Long Beach, Maggie had left Breaking Free loose in the pasture. Eddie whistled and Freebee raised his head, his dark mane floating with the movement. When the boy whistled again, the horse started for the barn. “He learned fast, didn’t he?”

“That he did.”

Breaking Free leaned over the fence railing to get his candy treat and pats from Eddie and his nose licked by Bonnie. When he tossed his head, looking at her, Maggie stroked his shoulder while Eddie rubbed between the wide-set eyes and smoothed his forelock. Opening the gate, they led Breaking Free down to the barn where Eddie fetched the grooming bucket, and they started brushing.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Maggie glanced down at the boy who looked up at her, eyes serious for a change. “And?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

She turned to face him. “Like you haven’t been asking me questions?” One eyebrow cocked.

“This is kinda personal.”

Fear hissed a warning. “You can ask, but I might not answer.”

“Okay.” He turned his wheelchair so he could watch her face. “Why are you afraid to drive?”

Maggie closed her eyes. Here it comes, ready or not. To tell, or not to tell, that is the question. When she opened them, Eddie was staring at her. Bonnie sat at his side, watching her also. Tell. Don’t tell. Run. Stay here.

“It’s not that I’m afraid so much as I swore I’d never drive again.”

“Why?”

“I had a little boy.”

“Charlie?”

“How do you know?”

“You said his name one time and then you scrunched your eyes and got all quiet. I could tell it hurt a lot.”

“It did—and does. One night my husband didn’t get home from work on time. I had prepared a really nice dinner because it was our wedding anniversary. A phone call came and said he’d been in an accident. I put Charlie in his car seat and drove to the hospital. It was late and dark, and I missed a stop sign. A car plowed into us. Charlie and the driver of the other car, an old man, both were killed in the wreck. I swore I’d never drive again.” Tell him the whole thing, that you’d had two glasses of wine, that you were angry and . . .

“How old was Charlie?”

“Three.”

“And you went to prison for that?”

“Yes.”

“Seven years?” Eddie’s mouth rounded. She nodded. “So Charlie would be almost the same age as me?”

“Yes.”

He stared at her, his eyes glistening with tears. “I’m so sorry, Maggie.”

“Me too.” She glanced up to see Gil standing a few feet away. How long had he been there? Her feet itched to run, to hide. But she didn’t need to do that any longer. While, as the social worker had said, she’d paid her debt to society, there was no way she could ever bring Charlie back. Or Dennis. The divorce took care of that. She tried to block the scenes with willpower she’d built over time, but the bars were down and the memories she’d kept locked away came pouring out. Dennis saying she killed his son and he could not stay married to her. The divorce papers. The family of the old man accusing her of murder. The headlines in the papers. Drunk Driver Kills Son. Drunk Driver Charged with Vehicular Manslaughter. Roberts Sentenced to Maximum Time. The media frenzy, as if she’d chosen the whole thing, as if she deliberately set out to kill her own son and send herself to the hospital so she couldn’t even attend the funeral.

Breaking Free turned his head and nudged her arm. Eddie kept brushing the horse’s side, as far as he could reach. He laid the brush in his lap, turned his chair, and rolled closer to her. Reaching out he took her hand, the one that had been brushing the horse, and held it. Silence, other than the sounds of breathing and sniffing, filled the stall and wrapped comfort around Maggie’s shoulders. With every inhale, she breathed in healing. With every exhale, she leaked out pain. When she looked, Gil was no longer there.

Breaking Free swished his tail at a fly, then stamped a foot at another offender.

I need to spray him,
Maggie thought.
I need to
. . .

She knelt by Eddie’s chair. “Thank you.” With tentative fingers, she reached over and brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead. His loving smile made her mouth twitch. Slowly, ever so slowly, the muscles in her cheeks strained against seven years of inactivity. A tear escaped. Eddie brushed it away and patted her face.

“You’ll be okay.”

“I know. Thank you.” Her facial muscles struggled further, and one side of her mouth inched toward a smile. The other side followed suit and her lips stretched. Her eyes shimmered with more tears, but lightened with the efforts of her face.

Eddie traced the curve of her cheek with one finger. “You’re smiling. I’ve never seen you smile before.”

“I guess I haven’t smiled for a long time.”

Breaking Free nudged her back, and she grabbed the arm of the wheelchair to keep from tumbling over.

“Hey, horse.” She glanced over her shoulder to see him nodding his muzzle.

“He wants attention.”

“I know.” Maggie stood up carefully, feeling like she might hit the roof she was so light. She ruffled Eddie’s hair and patted the horse’s neck. She could see every chip in the shavings, every black hair in Breaking Free’s thick mane. A swirl of dust rose from the light force of her hand on his shoulder. He needed a bath.

Eddie grinned at her and picking his brush up again moved around to the other side of the horse to continue his job. “We need to give him a bath. He must have rolled out in the pasture.”

“Maybe tomorrow.” Saturday would be a good day to wash a horse. Saturday would be a good day to be alive.

Confession must indeed be good for the soul.

Maggie lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She’d fallen asleep after returning to her apartment and now sunset burnished the room through the western windows. She should get up, but something was missing. And it felt so good to have it gone. How to describe it? The rat that had been gnawing at her gut for all these years had gone. Or rather, had slunk away.

“Thank you, Eddie, for asking.” She remembered reading somewhere, “when the time is right, the teacher will come.” Who’d have expected an eleven-year-old boy to be a teacher?

She and Gil had never discussed this, but she knew he knew. He’d said he’d gone over all her records. But he’d hired her anyway. That said something for the man. A man who made his living teaching others how to live more successfully. Were there things he could teach her? Or would teach her—if she asked?

That was the hardest part of all, asking for help.

Just get through. No, that axiom no longer applied.
I don’t want to just get through anymore. I want to live.
Marion Worth had once told her, “Jesus said, ‘I came so you could live life and live it abundantly’.” Had she ever lived life abundantly?

Not really. If she were really honest, and what sense was there in not being honest always, she’d begun to question her marriage even before the accident. Dennis had been working late an awful lot those last months. But Charlie had been nothing but her delight. Sometimes she’d wondered if Dennis was a bit jealous of her love for their son. Sure, he loved his little boy, but he wasn’t around him 24/7 like she was. And Charlie never got to be of an age where Dennis could play football with him, take him to games, all the things that Dennis liked best.

Her carelessness had stolen all that from him. He’d said so more than once.

But drunk driver? Two glasses of wine. She who never had more than one. Classified as a drunk driver. Convicted as a drunk driver. Did she need AA? Not hardly. Would she continue to go? Probably. Although she’d never told her story, it was a good place to make friends, friends who understood that life changes in an instant and you don’t have any control over those things. The accident might have happened even if she’d not had two glasses of wine. Maybe she’d tell her story there too.