* * *
—
She was finally feeling better by the time Aden got home. The nightmares had subsided again, and she’d only had one bad headache. The doctors had told her it would be that way, that the PTSD would flare up at times, particularly if something upset her, and then would calm down again. They had warned her that the flashbacks she had in her nightmares might continue for several years. But it was already significantly better after one. She was still aware of it at times, but not to the same degree, and she had stopped seeing the psychiatrist. There was nothing more she could do, and she thought Maggie had adjusted well. The trip to Europe was a good sign. And Maggie hadn’t been back to see her since her return.
* * *
—
The house came to life instantly when Aden came home. His friends arrived within the hour he did. The kitchen was crammed full of young male bodies, voices calling to each other, laughter, doorbells ringing, you could hear them all over the house. Maggie loved it.
She was thrilled to see her son, and he was happy to be home, although he loved college and living in Boston.
The chaos only calmed down significantly on Thanksgiving Day, when his friends had to be at home with their families. But by nightfall they were back, louder than ever. It made Maggie smile listening to them. They all seemed to have grown up in the last three months.
The day after Thanksgiving, Aden was out with his friends all day. They were meeting up with some girls, dropping in at each other’s houses, driving around to visit. Everything seemed lively, and Aden had brought home a mountain of laundry. She was even happy to do it. It made her feel useful.
On Friday night, a bunch of them piled into her basement playroom to watch a movie. They were still there, laughing and talking, when she went to bed. She liked it when Aden had friends over and she saw familiar faces from his school days.
She was surprised to see a lot of them back on Saturday morning, when she came out of the laundry room with an armload of clean clothes for him to take back to Boston. She noticed that they were watching a car race. It was in the heat of the race, and the commentator was excited. He was speaking over an announcer in another language, which sounded like Spanish. Instinctively, she stopped for a minute to watch it. Just as she did, she saw two cars crash into each other in a dramatic collision and then hit a third car. Within seconds, two of the cars burst into flames. As people screamed and others ran toward it, firemen leapt to the scene, and Aden and his friends were shouting and pointing at what was happening on the screen. It was a grisly scene as the drivers were pulled from the cars. One looked lifeless, and firefighters were fighting the flames as the crowd was roaring. Aden and his friends were agitated, and she hated watching but couldn’t stop. One of the announcers said that a driver called Garcia-Marques appeared to be dead, another was carried away by paramedics, while the third one had escaped the blaze with parts of his driving suit on fire as he leapt from the car, and then had been surrounded by firemen and medical personnel putting the flames out. It was an impressive sight. Maggie was watching the screen as the boys stared in horror at what was happening and talked animatedly.
“Where is that?” she asked, setting the laundry down for a minute.
“Spain,” one of the boys answered, still watching the TV, and then she heard his name, as the announcer explained that the man whose suit was in flames was the legendary Formula One driver Paul Gilmore. She felt frozen to the spot when she heard it, and her eyes were riveted to the screen with even greater interest. Paul was being led off the track, but still walking under his own steam and limping. He had taken his helmet off, his face was blackened. She knew that their driving suits were fire retardant, but the arms of his had caught fire anyway. The fire on him was out by then, and parts of his suit were charred. She sat down heavily in a chair as the boys continued to chatter, and the scene at the racetrack was utter chaos. One of the drivers had been officially declared dead by then, and the second one was said to be in critical condition from multiple injuries. Maggie’s heart was racing.
“Gilmore is amazing,” Aden commented to one of his friends. “He’s the best driver I’ve ever seen, and I swear, he’s walked away from some of the worst accidents in racing.” Maggie had noted instantly his tone of admiration for Paul Gilmore. Most of the time she saw him watching hockey, football, or baseball. But he liked all sports to some degree. The other boys were talking about Paul then, and Maggie startled them when she spoke up.
“I went to high school with him. He’s from around here, or he was then. I just ran into him in Europe. I hadn’t seen him in thirty years.” Aden looked stunned and impressed.
“You know him? You never told me that.”
“I hadn’t seen him since we graduated from high school. I was your age.” She didn’t say that he’d been her first love. It wasn’t the sort of thing you’d tell a son, but more likely a daughter.
“Where did you see him in Europe?”
“I ran into him in Monte Carlo, and saw him again in London. He said something about a race in Barcelona.”
“This is it,” Aden said, his eyes bright from the excitement, and intrigued that she knew him and had seen him recently. “I’d love to meet him. Is he a cool guy?”
She smiled at the suggestion.
“By your standards, yes. He’s as crazy as all those guys.”
“He’s the best driver ever. He wins almost every race. I’ve seen him cross the finish line with his car on fire. Nothing stops him.”
“Yeah, I know that about him,” she said, as she stood up to go upstairs with the laundry. She’d seen enough. Paul had survived another near-death experience. She’d seen it firsthand this time, and she hoped he was all right. The boys continued talking about him when she left them. After she put Aden’s laundry on his bed, she went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and found that her hands were shaking. She felt sorry for Paul. He had no one, no wife, no family. In his solitary life, who cared for him when he was injured or hurting? After the adrenaline rush, she suspected that he would be in pain from the accident. The announcer said they had taken him to a nearby hospital to check him, but he had made a miraculous escape. She wondered which life he’d used up this time. What number of his nine lives was he on?
She waited another hour, and then looked up the number he had given her on her phone. It was a British number, he had said it was the cell he used most often. She also had his email and a Swiss number for him. She called the cell, not sure if she would reach him, but at least she could leave him a message, that she had seen the accident on TV and hoped he was all right. She hadn’t intended to call him again, but this was different, and she told herself that it wouldn’t hurt anything to tell him that she felt bad for him.
It rang twice, and she was waiting for his voicemail when he picked up and answered in Spanish. He spoke it fluently from his motorcycle racing days in Mexico, which came in handy when he raced in Spain.
“Maggie?” He sounded stunned when he heard her voice.
“Yes. Are you okay? We were watching the race on TV. My son was with his friends. We saw it happen. Are you badly burned?”
“My hands are pretty toasted. The rest of me is okay. I broke six ribs, though. Occupational hazard.” She was sure it wasn’t the first time. “I have time off now anyway for the next few months, so they’ll heal before I race again.” He didn’t sound worried about it, but she could tell he was in pain and having trouble talking. “I guess this doesn’t help my case,” he said, sounding glum.
“I’ll give you a pass this time,” she said gently. She felt sorry about the pain of breaking his ribs and having no one to take care of him. She didn’t want to drive home the point on top of it. They both knew that his chosen career was dangerous, and he risked life and limb every time he went out there. “Are you going to be okay? Are they keeping you in the hospital?”
“They want to. I’m flying back to London in a few hours. I’ll be fine. I’ll take it easy for a few days.”
“And then what?” She was concerned. He was real to her again since she had seen him recently. He wasn’t just a memory or a disembodied voice from the past.
“I’m sending the Lady Luck down to Antigua. She’s already on her way. I’ll go down and spend some time on her when she gets there. They can take care of me. I can’t move around much with six broken ribs.” He sounded like he was having trouble breathing.
“I’m really sorry,” she sympathized again, but at least he had somewhere to go to be nursed a little, and he could get there on his own plane.
“You’re sweet to call. I thought I’d never hear from you again,” he said sadly. He’d been elated to get her call.
“I wasn’t going to,” she admitted, “but I’m a sucker for guys with broken ribs and their clothes in flames.”
He laughed and then cried out from the pain of it.
“Don’t make me laugh.” But she wasn’t amused by what had happened. Watching the accident had been terrifying. Aden and his friends were used to seeing accidents like that during races they watched on TV, she wasn’t, and the moment she heard that Paul was in it, she nearly fainted.
“Take care of yourself, Paul,” she admonished him in a motherly tone.
“I will. You too.” He remembered that she had a painful date coming up in a couple of weeks, and he knew that would be hard for her and her son.
“My son is vastly impressed that I know you, by the way. I told him I just ran into you in Monaco and London.”
“Did you tell him that I’m the greatest guy you’ve ever known, other than his father, and that I’ve been in love with you for thirty years?”
“Actually, I left that part out. He doesn’t need to know that.”
“Let me know if you ever want to bring him to a race. I’ll tell you if I’m going to do any in the States. You could bring him.”
“I don’t like the idea of his seeing people dying,” which was what had happened in the race today. As usual, Paul had been the lucky one. The other two drivers weren’t.
“That was really bad luck. I got off easily compared to the other guys.”
“You’re alive and survived another race. I’m grateful for that. I’ll spare you my lecture. You know how I feel about it.”
“What else would you have me do to make a living? Watercolors?”
“Maybe, if it kept you alive a few years longer. That seems worth it to me.”
“I’d rather go up in flames than sit in a chair doing something boring for the rest of my life.”
“I’m glad you didn’t get your wish today.”
“The only wish I have is to see you again, Maggie, and be with you. Do you want to come down to the boat? You could bring your son.”
“We’re going to be home for Christmas.” It was going to be their second Christmas without Brad, and they knew it wouldn’t be easy. Aden had promised to help her set up the outdoor lights the way Brad had always done, and to put up the Christmas tree with her.
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will. Thank you,” she said politely, but she knew she wouldn’t. Their traditions were more important than ever to them now. Paul didn’t have any, since he had no family, so he didn’t understand.
“Can I call you sometime?” he asked hesitantly.
“You don’t need to,” she said, which was her ultra-polite way of saying no. “I’ll call to check on you if you like.”
“Whenever you want. I won’t bother you. Tell your son I say hello, if you tell him you called me.” She doubted that she would. “And thanks for calling me, Maggie. It means a lot to me.” She knew there was no one else to do it.
They hung up a minute later and she thought about him, and the crash she’d seen, all day. It was so exactly what she was afraid of. He had gotten lucky again. She was sure he must have had fifty lives, or a hundred. Nine seemed like far too few for the way he lived. He needed a thousand.
Chapter 9
Aden wasn’t home from Boston yet on the anniversary of his father’s death. It was the first one, and the day got Maggie in its grip and wouldn’t let go from the moment she woke up in the morning. She had barely slept the night before, as images of the crash raced through her mind. She remembered what Brad had said to her when they were about to crash, and his face when she saw him drowning, too far away for them to get to him in time, as the currents had pulled him away from the life raft. She still didn’t know how he had slipped out, but it didn’t matter now. It had happened and they had to live with it.
She spoke to Aden twice that day, and he admitted that he wasn’t doing well either. There was something so powerful and overwhelming about the actual date, as though the loss was different on that day than on others, which in fact it wasn’t. But the date bound them to the anniversary of what had been the worst day of their lives, and it was all she could think of. There were no good memories attached to the day, unlike Brad’s birthday. This was pure hell, remembering what had happened.
Phil Abrams sent her a card, and some of their friends had dropped off small bouquets of flowers. Paul sent her a text message telling her that he was thinking of her, but he didn’t call. It was hard to guess the right thing to do in the circumstances, without intruding on something so personal. It troubled her that she had unwittingly opened the door to Paul again after his racing accident, and she didn’t want to overdo it. He was being careful with her too.
A few days later, Aden came home from school for the holidays. He was staying just through Christmas, and then he was going skiing with friends in Vermont. One of his roommates had a family home there and had invited a mixed group to come skiing with them, and Aden was eager to go. Maggie had said he could, and didn’t expect him to hang around with her all through the holidays, which would have been boring for him.
The first thing they did the day he got home was start setting up the outside lights to decorate the house, as Brad had done so expertly in the past. Maggie pulled out pictures of it, to copy exactly what he used to do. And they came fairly close. She stood on a ladder to help Aden as she had done with Brad. Aden tried to get on the roof, but it was too icy. They did a good job anyway. They even had a lit-up snowman in front of the house, and a Santa Claus, which was their pièce de résistance. It was corny, but Maggie, Aden, and the neighborhood children loved it.
The next day they bought a tree and brought it home and decorated it with their favorite ornaments, including all the ones that Brad had liked. After the barren Christmas they’d had the year before, right after his death, this year was a vast improvement. She had bought Aden all the new ski equipment he wanted, and a racing helmet, which he flatly said he wouldn’t wear.
“Good, then you can forget the trip to Vermont,” she said with an iron look in her eye. “I’m not compromising on that. I know how you ski. I’m not having you get brain damage because you don’t think it’s cool to wear one. There are resorts in Europe where it’s required, I’ve been told. People can die from not wearing helmets.”
“They can die from slipping in the bathtub too,” he pointed out angrily. “Do you want to forbid me to take a bath? Dad didn’t wear a helmet when I skied with him.”
“No, and he didn’t ski like you. He was a very cautious skier, and hardly ever went, except to make you happy. He didn’t go nuts like you when you hit the slopes.” Aden had entered junior downhill ski races for a few years, and was an expert skier. He loved to ski as fast as he could. “It’s up to you,” she said adamantly. “No helmet, no Vermont. And don’t lie to me and tell me you’ll wear it, and then don’t. I need to be able to trust you on this or you’re not going.”
He finally gave in the night before he was supposed to leave. They’d had a lovely hol
iday other than that one argument. Even without Brad, their Christmas had been warm and cozy. Aden had gone skating several times with friends at a nearby pond where they skated every year when it froze over. He’d gone caroling, visited his old coach, Buck, and told him all about the hockey team at BU. He’d gone out twice with a girl he knew from high school who was in college in Boston too, and he had dated a few times there. And he had reveled in being at home in his room, in familiar surroundings with all his belongings. It felt good to be home, and Maggie had stocked up on all the foods he liked to eat. It had been a perfect Christmas vacation and he held his mother tight the morning he left to fly to Boston. He would drive up to Vermont with his friends the next day. He thanked her again, and hung out of the car and waved as he left, driven to the airport in Chicago by a friend’s father. The roads were icy, and Maggie didn’t like driving in those conditions, so Aden had hitched a ride with them. She stood in front of the house as long as she could see him, and then she went inside, grateful for the holiday with him, and sad to see him leave. He wasn’t coming home again until spring break in March.
She’d had a text message from Paul on Christmas, wishing her a Merry Christmas and telling her that he was on the boat in Antigua, enjoying the comforts of the Lady Luck, and feeling better after the accident a month before. He said everything was healing well, and his ribs hardly hurt at all. He could even laugh now, which had been excruciating before.
Nine Lives Page 12