by Erin Dutton
“Where are you meeting all these women? You work and then you go home.” Dani lifted her brows. “Did you secretly join an online dating site?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Let’s set aside who she is, and just tell me who she is to you.”
“She’s smart and beautiful. And strong. Imagine what she’s dealing with, and she’s down there at court making sure that the guy who—” She surged to her feet. “Damn it. I can’t get around who she is. Yet I’m thinking about her all the time. Wishing she was someone else—or I was—or Carey was. Wanting her to call me because she can’t stop thinking about me either.”
But she’d phoned. And Maggie hadn’t answered or returned her call. Now, she needed to move on, take Dani’s advice and look after her own emotional health.
“We’re here for you, kiddo.” Dani rested her hand on Ally’s arm, then brushed some sawdust off.
“Did you just go into full-on mom mode on me?”
Dani stood and ruffled Ally’s hair, then said, “Yes.” She took off her jacket and laid it on her chair. “Now, teach me how to make a table. I don’t want to go home to an empty house.”
“You’re a weirdo. You have a wife and two young kids. You should relish some alone time.”
“It’s too quiet.”
Ally grabbed another pair of safety glasses off the workbench along the wall. “Wear these.”
For the next hour and half, they worked together, talking only about the project in front of them. But Dani’s words kept rolling through Ally’s head. Even after everything she’d been through with Carey, she couldn’t imagine what Dani’s childhood had been like. She had happy memories of her and Carey’s younger selves to lean on when she was angry or disappointed with him. She didn’t know if Dani had anything good to reminisce about. But she’d clearly found a way to forgiveness. Ally had been around Dani’s mom several times and hadn’t picked up on any tension between them.
Chapter Eight
“Yes, sir, we do have your records request. We haven’t finished fulfilling it yet. But we’ll certainly contact you as soon as it’s ready.” Maggie shoved her hand into her hair at her temple and raked it back over her ear. The ache she’d been nursing all day throbbed under her fingers. She’d already been talking to this guy for longer than she should have to. He, like more than half the people she dealt with, thought the records he’d requested should be the most important project on her desk.
She glanced up as Inga leaned against the edge of her cubicle. “You have a great day, sir.” She disconnected the call and caught Inga rolling her eyes.
“You’re so nice to these people.”
“It’s called customer service. I know you’ve been a manager for so long the concept must be foreign to you.”
“We pay you to deal with the public so I don’t have to.”
“Right now, I need a break.” She locked her computer and stood.
Inga gave her a curious look but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. This was the third time in the two hours Maggie had been at work that she’d stepped away from her desk. Usually, Inga had to drag her away from it at lunch and then again in the evening. But Maggie had been distracted and restless, unable to focus for very long.
When she went to the employee break room, Inga followed. They shared the lounge area with the two other departments on their floor. On one side of the room, a secondhand couch faced a seldom-used television mounted on the wall. Several small tables provided space to sit and eat in the center of the room. On the far wall, two microwaves and a coffeemaker filled most of the small counter space.
Maggie passed up the fruit and yogurt she’d put in the full-sized fridge earlier and went directly to the vending machine. In the two months since the robbery, she’d graduated from mild insomnia to stress eating and irrational anxiety. She bent to fish the Butterfinger bar and bag of chips from the machine, then turned to find Inga blocking her path back to the office.
“Maggie, what can I do?”
“About what?”
“I know you’ve been paying every day to park in the open lot across the street to avoid going to the garage.”
Maggie’s face flamed with embarrassment. She’d thought Inga had caught her crossing the street a couple of days ago. Confronted with that observation now, she couldn’t force out the excuse she’d come up with that day—that she had to rush off to an appointment after work and wanted to be close.
“You’re eating junk all the time, and you look like you’re not sleeping. I know this isn’t work stress because I’ve purposely been assigning more new projects to Greg instead of giving them to you.”
“I don’t need you to do that.”
“But I do. I know how good you are at your job. Lately, you’re jumpy and irritable, and you don’t stay in your chair for more than forty-five minutes at a time. I can’t, in good conscience, pile onto what you’re dealing with.”
Her cheeks heated even more. In the two months since the robbery, she’d been struggling personally. But she’d always taken pride in her work, and hearing that Inga noticed she’d been failing there too hurt.
“So, what do you need? Would you like to take some time off?”
Maggie shook her head, grateful no one else was in the room to witness this exchange. Sitting at home wouldn’t solve her problems. In fact, she worried that being there more would exacerbate the issue. She could envision herself becoming a shut-in more easily than she would like. With Amazon Prime delivering anything a person could need, she’d rarely have to leave the house.
“I want to help, but—”
“There’s nothing you can do.” She hadn’t talked to Inga about the nightmares. Or sleeping with the television on so she wouldn’t have to decide if the noises she heard were real or not. Or about parking closer because she couldn’t bring herself to walk alone to the garage, let alone go inside the darkened space.
Inga would offer for Maggie to stay with her so she wouldn’t be alone at night. She would wait around and walk with her to her car. But Maggie needed to find the strength to handle things on her own.
“I’m sorry I’ve been distracted at work. I’ll try to keep my butt in the chair more often.” She spoke to Inga-her-boss because she didn’t want to tell Inga-her-friend that she couldn’t allow herself to need her right now.
She squeezed past Inga and headed back toward the office. Inga said, “Take your time.”
Maggie passed through the doorway without turning around. Back at her desk, she glanced at the clock and resolved to stay seated and working diligently until one o’clock. The chips and candy would hold her over until her late lunch.
* * *
Despite her resolution to spend more time at her desk, Maggie didn’t think she’d been much more productive. By the time she pulled into her parking space at the apartment complex, she’d reconsidered the merit of her hermit idea. She’d hang a bin on the outside of her door and pay her neighbor’s teenager to retrieve her mail and put it in there. She’d already decided Amazon would deliver the essentials. Now, she just needed a job where she could work from home. Since she wouldn’t need a car, she could sell hers. Without the additional expense she could accept a smaller salary for the convenience of working there.
Attempting to offset her junk-food binge, she limited herself to a grilled chicken breast on top of a large salad for dinner. She added crumbled blue cheese, sliced red onion, and dried apple slices, then drizzled a vinaigrette over it, because she hated a boring salad. A glass and a half of wine and most of her salad later, she’d scoured two job-search websites for at-home employment.
She finished her second glass of wine and poured a third. Settled on the sofa, she toyed with her phone, feeling just enough of a buzz to scroll through her contacts and find Ally’s name. Despite her mixed feelings, she wanted to talk to Ally. After she’d calmed down, she understood Ally’s confusion about how to broach the topic of Carey’s identity. When would Ally have t
old her had she not overheard that conversation? But she’d fought the urge to call, hoping as the weeks slid by that she’d forget how easy Ally had been to talk to.
The wine had made her head fuzzy, and she wasn’t in any condition to have a rational talk about Ally’s relationship to Carey Rowe now. But the desire to hear Ally’s voice had her staring at Ally’s name on her phone. The blur in her brain gave her an excuse to push Call. She activated the speakerphone function and laid her phone on the arm of the sofa next to her.
Ally answered, sounding a bit out of breath and distracted. Had she taken time to look at the display to see who it was?
“Hi, it’s Maggie. From the courthouse.”
“I remember you, Maggie.”
“Yeah. I figured.”
“How are you?” Ally didn’t sound like she was asking casually, as one would an acquaintance. She seemed to really want to know.
“Having a bit of a rough time,” she answered honestly. “And a little tipsy at the moment.” Maybe too much honesty there.
“Hm. I’ve just opened a beer, but it sounds like I’m pretty far behind you.”
“I’ll slow down so you can catch up.”
Ally chuckled softly. “If your aim is to get drunk, you might be on your own. I need to work on an important project tomorrow.”
“What kind?”
“I mentioned that I do carpentry, right?”
“Yes. Are you framing a house? Because that does sound like the kind of thing you should be clearheaded for.” Her words came out slightly slurred and jumbled together.
“No. I have a side gig that’s really more my passion. I build furniture. I’m supposed to be building a crib. My client wants to surprise his wife with it. And at this rate, the baby will be born and up and walking before I finish it.”
“Should I let you go, then?”
“No.” Ally paused, and Maggie heard the slight pop of her mouth against the beer bottle. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
“I didn’t return your call.”
“That’s okay.”
“It’s kind of rude.”
“You’re calling me now. What’s wrong?”
How did she say she felt like everything was wrong without sounding dramatic? Well, not everything. Her wine was good. And talking to Ally felt nice. She didn’t want to ruin that by bringing up Carey and her apparent inability to move past what had happened to her.
“Maggie? Is that short for Margaret?”
“Yes. I’m named for Margaret Chase Smith.”
“I’m not familiar with her.”
“She was the first woman to hold a seat in both the House and the Senate. My mother heard her speak while in college in 1974.” Maggie readjusted her position on the sofa, bending her legs and pulling her feet close to her butt.
“She must have been quite impressive.”
“I’m not sure I’m living up to the namesake.”
“How so?”
“I live an ordinary life.”
“Don’t we all.”
“At least you have a passion. Any piece of your furniture could potentially be a family heirloom, passed down through generations. That baby’s great-grandchildren could sleep in that crib.”
“It is kind of neat when you put it like that. What are you passionate about?”
Maggie shook her head, then stopped when the motion made her dizzy. “Nothing.”
“Maybe we don’t shoot so high. What do you enjoy? Hobbies? Interests?”
“When I lived with my ex, I liked gardening. We had a raised bed in our tiny condo yard, but now that I’m in an apartment, that’s not an option. I suppose I could put a planter on the balcony and grow some herbs. Or maybe a couple of tomato plants in five-gallon buckets.”
“If all you’re lacking is a plot of land, I have a decent-sized backyard. I’d happily loan you a corner of it in exchange for some of the fruits of your labor—or vegetables.”
“I don’t think I could do that.” Drunk-dialing was a far stretch from purposefully spending time at Ally’s house. But was she even drunk? Since they’d started talking, she’d slowed her wine consumption. She hadn’t even finished the glass she’d poured before calling.
“The offer stands. But if you think it’s inappropriate or you’d be uncomfortable, I won’t be offended if you decline.”
“Can I think about it and let you know?”
“Absolutely.”
They chatted for a while longer, shifting to more casual topics. Maggie didn’t refill her glass again, and she soon sobered up enough to be nervous about the fact that she didn’t want to get off the phone with Ally. Eventually, she could hear Ally stifling her yawns, so they said their good-byes. She plugged her cell in to charge, then washed down some ibuprofen with a whole glass of water. Trying to mitigate some of the hangover she would take to work tomorrow, she forced herself into bed for a few hours’ sleep.
* * *
Ally awoke to the obnoxious sound of her alarm going off. She could just hit snooze or, better yet, turn it off and wake up whenever she wanted to. But part of her plan to step away from home-building for the summer included treating her furniture hobby like a business—as sort of a trial run. In addition to testing out the financial feasibility, she needed to prove that she could be self-motivated enough when she didn’t have to report to a job site.
She lurched out of bed, pausing to stretch her neck and shoulder muscles. She’d spent too many hours on the lathe yesterday working on spindles for the crib. She’d finished most of the pieces, and today she would build the side rails. Grabbing her phone off the bureau, she sent an email to her client firming up a delivery date next week. Having a concrete schedule would keep her moving on the project.
She dressed in an old pair of jeans and a comfortable T-shirt. In the kitchen, she filled a travel mug with coffee and added creamer. Her stomach wouldn’t tolerate food this early, but she’d grab a frozen breakfast burrito on her first break in a couple of hours. In the garage, she leaned against her workbench and let the first few sips of coffee work their magic.
Was Maggie dragging like she was this morning? Probably worse. She’d heard the effects of the wine in her voice while they spoke last night and, she thought, the pouring sounds of at least one refill. Maggie was probably thankful today was Friday.
She’d made the offer to let Maggie garden at her place without much thought. The situation between them had so much potential for tension or, at the very least, awkwardness. But the kick of her heartbeat in her chest when she’d seen Maggie’s name on her cell-phone screen had nothing to do with discomfort. She’d abandoned her work on the crib for the chance to talk to Maggie.
Dani had suggested she start taking care of herself. She hoped Maggie took her up on the offer, because spending time with Maggie made her feel good. And she didn’t want to avoid that pleasure because of Carey.
For now, she’d direct her attention to this crib. She set her coffee mug on the bench and focused on the pieces she’d laid out the night before. As she assembled them, she thought about Maggie’s idea that future generations would fall asleep there. Parents would stand at the rail and gaze down at their peaceful child. Or they would get up in the middle of the night and lift their crying baby from the crib to rock it back to sleep. According to Shirley, Ally had been a fussy infant, and Carey had slept through the night almost immediately.
When she checked her phone on her breakfast break, she had a text from Maggie indicating she’d like to accept the gardening offer. Ally was so excited she forgot to let the burrito she’d just taken out of the microwave cool. Rereading Maggie’s message, she took a bite, then yelped as she burnt her mouth. She gulped down some orange juice, then texted back an invitation to come over the next day, followed by her address.
* * *
Maggie followed the directions to Ally’s house on her phone. As she pulled into the driveway behind Ally’s SUV, the front door opened, and Ally stepped out. Maggie stayed in
the driver’s seat, distracted by watching Ally saunter, which was really the only word for the sexy swing in her hips, down the walk toward her. The slash in the leg of her jeans just above the knee provided an enticing hint of thigh. Her sage-green T-shirt had a faded spot in the shape of some kind of chemical spilled just over her abdomen. And now I’m noticing how flat her stomach is. Ally’s strong body, a little thick in all the right places, probably came from daily labor rather than sculpting workouts.
To keep her leering from turning creepy, she averted her eyes and got out of the car. Ally waved as she crossed the lawn.
“Cute house. I love the color.” The one-story ranch home stretched across the lot. The brick had been painted dark gray, and the white trim stood out against it in bright contrast. Cedar shutters and front-porch pillars added a touch of rustic charm.
“I’m not usually a fan of painting brick. But this wasn’t pretty brick. It was mustard yellow, so something had to be done.”
She knew the style. Homes in established neighborhoods built in the seventies sometimes had the tan or yellowish brick with brown roofs. The black shingles on Ally’s house looked fairly new as well.
“Do you want to see the inside first? Or go right to the backyard?”
“I’m dying to know if it’s as spacious as the front.”
“It’s about the same size. I have a little over an acre. That’s why people are renovating these older places. New construction is fresh and clean, but it’s all jammed together on postage-stamp lots. Come on around.” Ally took her hand and led her up the driveway and into the backyard.
They followed a crushed-stone path through a gate in the privacy fence. Around the corner of the house, several large trees shaded an expanse of lush, green grass. When Ally dropped her hand, Maggie wished the walk had been longer. Ally’s fingers laced against hers felt warm and comfortable.
“What do you think?” Ally swept her arm as if indicating a grand vista in front of them.
Maggie planted her hands on her hips and pretended to consider the view. “Are you sure you want to give up your yard?”