Moments In Time (33 page)

“What are you planting?” he asked casually.

“Daffodils.”

“Isn’t it late to plant them? It’ll be cold soon.”

“You plant spring bulbs in the fall,” she explained with a flat voice. “Daffodils bloom in the spring.”

“Oh,” he said. She did not look up at him.

“Maggie,” he said after a few minutes had passed.

“What?”

“We have to put it behind us, Maggie.”

“I can’t.” She dug another hole.

“You have to. I have to—”

“You already have,” she spoke harshly, pulling away from his attempt to touch her. “I can’t understand how you could so easily forget—”

“I haven’t forgotten. I never will. But we have to get on with living, sweetheart.” She did not reply, and he continued, “Maggie, we can’t change what happened
. Please, Maggie, talk to me…”

She shook her head as the tears welled and flooded her face. He moved closer and took the trowel from
her hand, holding her as the tears gave way to heartbreaking sobs.

“I never saw her face, Jamey, I never held her. They took her from me and put me to sleep and the next thing I knew, they were putting her in the ground,” her voice broke I harshly. “I wanted to hold her, Jamey.”

He rocked her shaking form gently, letting her cry, hoping i that by voicing her pain, she would be released of its grip on
her soul. “I wanted that baby, Jamey,” she said quietly, “and maybe if I’d stayed home, maybe if I’d gone to the hospital the first night I had that pain, if I’d gotten to the hospital sooner—”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Maggie. Nothing would have made a difference,” he told her. “I spoke with the doctor. The cord had been wrapped around her neck. There was no heartbeat when you first got to the hospital, Maggie. It was already too late.”

“Why didn’t they tell me? Why did they let me go through that?”

“Maggie, stillborn or not, you had to deliver her. Would it have helped you to have known?”

“Did you know? Did they tell you?” she demanded in an accusatory tone.

“They told me there were serious complications,” he admitted. “I do know that nothing that you did or didn’t do was responsible for what happened, Maggie. It’s not your fault or the doctor’s or anyone else’s. It happens sometimes. This time it happened to us. I know it hurts you terribly, sweetheart; it hurts me, too. But we have to put it behind us and go on, do you understand?”

She nodded her head slowly, a reluctant acknowledgment that she did. “There’s been so much sadness these past few years, Jamey. There’s been so much pain. Lindy. The baby.”

“Lindy is finally at peace, sweetheart. And we have six beautiful, healthy, wonderful children. Be grateful for them. They need you, Maggie, and so do I,” he told her as he dried her face. “Please come back to us. Put Hallie to rest, sweetheart.”

They sat close together in the fading sunlight, and watched the shadows stretch across the grass. She remained wrapped in his arms, and he knew she was far away, lost in her thoughts. An occasional tear slid from her face, but she did not speak. Dusk began to close in, and she turned to him.

“I guess we should see about dinner,” she said, and he stood up, helping her to her feet.

They walked hand in hand to the house, and he wondered if he’d gotten through to her. He couldn’t tell for sure. But later that night when he got into bed as quietly as possible, thinking that she was asleep, she had nudged into his arms, kissing him with her old passion very much in evidence. As he fell asleep hours later, he knew that his wife had come back to him.

J.D. went on tour for two months the following spring, and when it was over, he and Maggie packed up the family and traveled for three weeks as soon as school was out, taking all six children to France and Germany for a family holiday. They spent the rest of the summer in England. Every morning Maggie took a walk to the churchyard to visit the tiny grave. Sometim
es he accompanied her, some
times she preferred to be alone. He feared she’d become depressed again, but when it was time to leave, she did not resist the trip home and had asked him to walk with her that last morning.

They entered the quiet cemetery, and he studied her face carefully, trying to read her thoughts as she placed a handful of flowers near the white headstone that bore the simple inscription Margaret Hallie Borders, August 1, 1986.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that the saddest thing in this life is burying a child, Jamey. There simply couldn’t be any pain like it. I can’t imagine anything that could do greater damage to your soul,” she told him as they turned to leave. “It’s a hurt that never goes away. And no other child can make up for one you’ve lost. I love each of our children so deeply, Jamey, but I’ll never stop wanting her.”

A lump had grown in his throat and he could not speak, and so he just nodded and took her han
d
as they walked back down the road to his mother’s home. Once there, they rushed to get all the bags and all the children into the car and to the airport on time. The flight was chaotic, as always, the children restless and bored at first, then tired and cranky as they neared their destination. After they’d arrived home and the last child had been kissed good night, Maggie climbed wearily into their bed and turned to him.

“It was a good trip. I’m glad we stayed the summer. I was scared at first—scared I’d get crazy again and not want to leave. But your mom goes down to the cemetery several times a week, and that’s a comfort to me. I know that Hallie will always be with us, inside. It took me a whole year to understand that, but I can live with it now.”

24

“
T
HANK YOU,”
M
AGGIE WHISPERED AS SHE TURNED
to face him, not looking away when he looked into her eyes. “I’m all right.”

J.D. followed her as she walked to the sofa and quietly seated herself.

“Maggie, I’m so sorry.” Hilary was acutely aware that her audience, while loving her when she made people crazy with her innuendoes, would not look kindly upon her for flaunting a dead child in its mother’s face. “It was ab
solutely thoughtless of me…
”

“Life goes on,” Maggie said quietly, raising her chin slightly.
Life always goes on. People die and pieces of us die with them, but it all still goes on. Days pass and we build our lives around the void.

It can all be so unfair sometimes,
Maggie thought darkly.
And yet it goes on. Always a new crisis or a new joy. Since Hallie, we’ve survived my dad’s open-heart surgery, my mother’s mastectomy. The nightmare of
Anjjoli and dealing with its aftermath. Caroline’s been divorced and Colleen’s been married and Kevin and Jenny have had a child. And of course, there’s Spencer. Blessed Spencer
…

* * * * *

I
t had been a hectic year, another album for J.D., another baby on the way, much to Dr. Bernard’s concern.

“Maggie, I’m very worried about you, and I think you should give some consideration to, well, maybe you should think twice this time,” he told her. “It could be risky for both of you.”

“Then tell me how to minimize the risks,” she replied, “and I’ll do whatever I have to do. But I
will
have this baby, and we will both be fine.”

She spent most of her time in bed for the following months, much to her frustration, but she was determined that nothing would go wrong. She tearfully acknowledged to J.D. that this would be the last one, and when he offered to have a vasectomy, she agreed it would probably be a good idea.

Spencer Thomas Borders was born
the following spring— the last of their children.

O
n a lazy midsummer day shortly after their arrival at Luke’s for their annual visit, the entire family packed into the car and headed toward Rick’s to spend the afternoon.

“Sophie’s growing so tall, Rick,” Maggie observed as she watched the lanky blond girl run across the grass, concentrating on the soccer game she was playing with Emma and Lucy and Judith’s daughter Pamela.

They sat on the veranda, overlooking the huge expanse of lawn behind Rick’s palatial home.

“Didn’t call her mom Legs for nothing,” he said. “She’s a pretty thing, don’t you think?”

“A true natural beauty,” Maggie readily agreed, “she looks so much like Lindy.”

“Gratefully, she lacks her mother’s moodiness, her melancholy.”

“That’s your influence on her.” Maggie smiled.

“Well, I certainly didn’t have such a great influence on her mother, that’s for certain,” he said grimly, watching his daughter as she ran to retrieve the ball, which had blasted through the hedge following a hard kick by Lucy.

“You still harboring some guilt?” Maggie asked.

“Always. I took her life.”

“You did what she asked you to do. As you always did.”

“Do you think I did the right thing?” He looked at her with eyes that were still haunted.

“I don’t know.” Maggie sighed deeply. “You did what she thought was right for her. Would she be better off had she lived these past years, flat on her back? The decision was hers, Rick.”

“I got her into the drug thing. That’s what did her in,” he said flatly.

“Rick, Lindy spent a lot of time looking for a way to shut it all out. She’d have found it sooner or later, with or without you. At least you didn’t abandon her, you did everything a person could do to try to help her get away from it.” She put her hand gently on his arm, then added, “She had something inside her that we couldn’t see and couldn’t understand. It’s haunted me since it happened, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it couldn’t have ended any other way for her.”

“And what do I tell Sophie? She’s asked a million questions about her mother. I hate to keep lying to her, but I can’t tell her the truth.”

“What purpose would the truth serve in that child’s life? It’s hard enough for her to grow up without a mother without burdening that little soul with all the gory details.”

“I just want to do what’s right for my daughter,” he said, “if in fact she is my daughter. If Lindy knew for certain, she took that secret with her.”

“Do you really need to know?” Lindy’s blunt confession rang in Maggie’s ears, gnawing at her conscience.

“No,” he sighed. “Whether she’s my flesh and blood doesn’t matter. She’s my little girl and she always will be. She may not have a mother, but she’ll always have me. And I’ll always love her. That’s about the only sure thing I know in this life, Maggie.”

“Well, that’s a lot.” She grinned, praying a silent thanks to
Lindy for having given him this most precious of gifts. Not flesh of his flesh, but undeniably, Sophie was his heart.

“Look at them.” His focus was on the four young girls as they lounged on the grass, taking a breather from their game. “They all look so grown up. I’m not ready for them to grow up quite yet.”

“Neither am I. You know Jesse turned thirteen this year? And already starting to look at the girls.”

“With any luck he’ll have his father’s good taste in women, and you won’t have to worry about it. Of course, his father wasn’t quite as selective as a young man,” he teased, “but he grew smarter as he grew older.”

“What about you? Are you seeing anyone special these days?”

“Not really. I’ve been busy. New album, an international tour. Sophie,” he said, somewhat self-satisfied. “It’s such a kick, Maggie. Do you realize that now that I’m an old man, I’m a ‘legendary guitar great’? I guess that happens to you, once you pass forty. It’s amusing, don’t you think?”

“There’s nothing amusing about passing forty, Rick,” she grimaced.

“You don’t look a day over thirty, Maggie. You never really change very much. Neither does J.D.”

“I think it has something to do with being happy all these years,” she told him. “I wish you could find someone to share your life with. I imagine you get lonely sometimes.”

“I do,” he admitted, “though there’s never a lack of female companionship.”

“It’s not the same as being with someone you love.”

“I’ve only loved one woman in my life, Maggie,” he said very quietly, “and I’ve given up hope of ever—”

J.D. called to them as he rounded the side of the terrace and began to ascend the steps to where they sat.

“So, how was the hike? And where are your sons?” Maggie asked, disappointed that the conversation had been interrupted.

“Down by the duck pond,” he said. “Young Spencer here is soggy and could probably use a nap.”

“Well, since I’ve been sitting here relaxing all day while
you’ve been dragging the boys all over the countryside, I’ll take him in and clean him up and get him a drink.”

She took her blond, curly-haired little boy from the backpack in which he’d been riding. He was such a joy to her, this last child, and his pleasant ways and sweet disposition filled her heart every time she held him. He was a cuddler, and now as she walked into the cool of the old brick house, she felt him snuggle into her neck as she carried him. Knowing he would be her last baby made him extra special to her, just as Jesse, being the first, was special. She hoped the others didn’t sense it and think she loved them any less.

Three days later, Rick had dropped Sophie off
at Luke’s, which had become more and more Maggie and J.D.’s house. They had expanded again two years ago, and at Luke’s suggestion, Maggie had redecorated the entire house. Even the garden bore Maggie’s mark, with the newly built wall enclosing an even greater space that housed those flowers to which she was partial. All along one side she’d planted dozens of her favorite roses, an ashy lavender color with the sweetest of fragrances. She filled every room of the house with them when they were in season, in vases and bowls, the aroma everywhere.

Maggie was placing a newly cut bouquet in her bedroom when Emma and Sophie trailed in, bored and looking for something to do. Maggie made a few suggestions and wasn’t the least surprised that all were immediately rejected, eight-and ten-year-olds being as they are. She caught the movement out of her eye as Sophie drifted toward her bedside table and picked up a photograph, studying intently.

“Is this my mother?” she asked, torching the glass reverently with a small finger, wanting to touch the face of the woman she’d never known.

“Yes,” Maggie said, walking toward her slowly. “That picture was taken a long, long time ago. Before I met J.D. and before she met your daddy.”

“Where was this?”

“In Philadelphia. After a bike race we were in.” She smiled, thinking back to that day so very long ago.

"Did you win?” she asked.

“Not by a long shot,” Maggie laughed, “but we didn’t expect to. We did it for fun.”

Sophie smiled up at her, a light in her eyes. “Was it fun? Was she fun?”

“Oh, yes. She was a lot of fun. She had a great sense of humor, and she was, as you can see, very beautiful. We had many good times together back in those days, your mother and I.”

Sophie looked wistfully at the photograph of the mother who had never hummed a lullaby to her sleepy child nor rewarded a handful of clover with a kiss. “How old was she when this picture was taken?”

“Well, let me think. This must have been, um, 1973? The spring of 1973, I think. So Lindy would have been about twenty-five.”

“I never saw a picture of her when she was this young. In the few Dad has, she was older.”

“Well, if you’d like, I’ll have that one copied for you. And I have a few back home that I think you should have. I’d give you this one, but I don’t have the negative, and it’s one that I particularly like.”

“Why?” Sophie asked.

“Oh, because it makes me remember the day, and it makes me think of your mom and how we were back then. And that day was special to me. See, after the race, we went out for some dinner, and we sat and talked for a long, long time. That was the day we started to get to know each other, the day that marked the beginning of our real friendship.” Maggie’s throat tightened as she recalled that night, as Lindy, sensing that Maggie was a person she could trust, slowly told her the story of her life and all it’s tragic twists and turns.

Seeing Lindy’s daughter holding the photograph, the tragedy was real to her again, and she was saddened for the little girl who looked so much like the mother she’d never known. In some ways she was a bit like Lindy, sassy and bright and beautiful but, gratefully, lacking the darkness that had pervaded her mother’s nature. She was, in this respect, truly Rick Daily’s daughter, lighthearted and jovial,
casual in her approach to things with that same seemingly boundless energy and enthusiasm.

When they’d returned home to the States, Maggie spent a morning going through boxes of old photographs, selecting those she thought Sophie would most appreciate. She had them all copied, and several she had enlarged and framed. She packed the box carefully, enclosing a note that told the story behind each picture. Sophie called her the night the package had arrived to thank her, but as she began to speak, she broke into tears.

“Oh, Sophie, I’m sorry. I never for a minute thought it would upset you,” Maggie apologized.

“I’m not upset,” Sophie replied. “They are beautiful pictures, Aunt Maggie. It’s the best present anyone ever gave me. I’ll always keep them.”

“Which one did you like the best?” Maggie asked when Sophie had settled down.

“I like them all, but I love the one on the beach. The one with you and my mother sitting back to back, and her hair is long over one shoulder and you are laughing. The camera was real close to you, and your faces are big in the picture. I have that one next to my bed, on the table
…
Oh, Daddy wants to talk to you.”

“That was a lovely gift, Maggie. Thank you. You have no idea what it’s meant to her, to see her mother smiling and looking happy. The few pictures I have mostly make her appear morose, as she tended to get those las
t
few years. It’s been wonderful for Sophie to see Lindy in less complicated times.”

“It was my pleasure, Rick. I’m glad they were well received.” She paused and looked out the window as Caroline’s car pulled up the drive. “Well, I see my dinner guest is here. Caro just arrived.”

“Caro and her old man? No pun intended,” he said dryly.

“No. Just Caro. She left Allen.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago. I don’t know exactly why. I suppose I’ll hear about it tonight. Jamey’s in L.A. for some award thing
so I’ll have the whole night to sit and listen and commiserate.”

“Well, tell her…
tell her I’ve been thinking about her. And give her my love.”

“
I
t was a mismatch, and I told you it wouldn’t last,” Maggie said smugly to her husband as she poured his coffee on the morning of his return from his trip. “Not that I’m glad it didn’t work out, but I knew she wouldn’t be happy with him. And I’m glad she realized it as soon as she did, before she spent ten or fifteen years in misery.”

“So what is Caroline planning on doing?” J.D. asked as he flipped through his mail.

“She’s going back to work and is getting her life back on track. Actually, she seems relieved. She didn’t cry or accuse Allen of mistreating her or say anything negative about him. Just that she didn’t love him, wasn’t happy, shouldn’t have done it, and she was filing for divorce this week. Period. All very matter-of-fact.”

She looked out the window into the woods behind the house, staring blankly into space. “I hope she’ll be happy with someone someday. I always wondered if someday maybe she and
…
”
Her voice trailed away.

“She and who?”

“Rick,” she said over one shoulder.

“Rick? Rick Daily? You think so?”

She nodded. “I think they would be good for each other. I don’t know that it will ever happen—it seems they’ve missed each other at every turn—but I think they could be very happy together.”