She didn’t know how she’d explain it to Aden, but she’d find a way. She had buried one man she loved, but couldn’t bury two. She’d thought she’d have to after Canada, and somehow he had been spared. Now he was going to risk everything on another race. It had nothing to do with his contract and he knew it too. It was all about him and the demon inside him that needed to dance with death again. And one day, the demon would win.
Chapter 16
Maggie was quiet for the last two weeks on the boat. She rested and swam, and made notes for her online gallery that she knew she had put off for too long, while she focused all her energy on Paul and lived on his schedule.
She didn’t mention the race again and neither did Paul. He had told her. That was enough. She didn’t need to know more. She didn’t need to go anywhere, or argue with him, or try to reason with him. She turned inward, and Paul eventually noticed how quiet she was.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned. He thought she seemed tired and pale. She almost looked worse than he did after his near-death experience. After nearly two months of rest, he looked even better than before, and was in flawless shape. He was working out in the gym every day, to get ready to race again, and his hands and feet were fine. The circulation was fully restored. His trainer told him he was a miracle and he knew it too. Maggie had been part of it. She had brought him back from the dead, and he was grateful to her.
“I’m fine,” she said softly. She seemed oddly removed to him, and he wondered if she should see a doctor in London or New York. He knew that what had happened to him had been traumatic for her too, and she had been selfless in caring for him. The days in Lake Forest had been among the most tender in his life. No woman he had ever known would have done that for him, but now he was back to life. He had mountains to climb and battles to fight. He had thought of retiring, when he was in the hospital, but knew it wasn’t time. If he had lost his hands and feet he would have had no choice. But the way had opened up for him, and he knew that it meant he wasn’t ready to quit. He still had races to win. Soon he would be too old, but not yet. He was going to squeeze the last drop out of the fruit that still tasted so sweet to him. He had worried about Maggie’s reaction, when he finally told her about the race, but she had taken it well. She hadn’t begged him, or argued with him, or threatened to leave him. She was a noble woman and she loved him. He loved her too. And racing was his job. She couldn’t expect him to leave it at fifty, while he knew he could still win.
The final days on the boat were peaceful. His phone meetings got longer, the deals more intense. He had taken a huge risk on the commodities market again, and won. He had made a killing while sitting on the boat. He loved it.
Maggie swam a lot, and she worked on her computer, contacting artists she wanted to represent. She had twelve of them now, and said she was going to keep it small at first, test the model, and not grow too fast. She wanted to keep it exclusive. He would have gone bigger and bolder, but he let her do what she thought best.
They had a romantic dinner on the boat on the last night. She looked beautiful in a white dress she had bought at Hermès in Saint Barth’s when they’d stopped there. It set off her tan, and there was something so elegant and dignified about her. He thought her eyes looked sad, but she sat straight in her chair, and gazed deep into his eyes. They held hands, and made love when they went to his cabin. Afterwards, he thought he saw tears in her eyes. He didn’t want to ask her again if she was all right. He thought maybe she missed Aden, or something had reminded her of Brad. She hadn’t cried for Brad for a long time. Paul had no idea that she was crying for him.
* * *
—
They flew to New York the next day, and checked in at the Four Seasons, into one of the large suites he liked on the fiftieth floor, with a spectacular view. He had meetings at his lawyers’ offices as soon as they arrived. They were flying to London the next day, and Paul was pressed for time. His lawyers congratulated him on his remarkable survival and recovery, and he smiled.
“Nine lives,” he reminded them. “Hopefully ten. I’m racing next month.” None of them commented. They knew him, and how he lived. Always on the edge. He was a phenomenon.
He met Maggie back at the hotel in time for dinner at La Grenouille, his favorite restaurant in New York, and now hers. She was wearing a chic black dress and her eyes looked like sapphires as she gazed at him.
“Good day?” he asked her in the car on the way to the restaurant. He was wearing a dark suit, and was very handsome. He looked well with a tan, and his silvery hair shone. He had a haircut after he met with his lawyers and was impeccable. He was in top form.
“Yes,” she said quietly, as she looked out the window. It was a short distance from the hotel.
“What did you do?”
“I saw some artists downtown.” She smiled at him, and he had an eerie feeling looking at her, it was as though she wasn’t really there. There was an ethereal quality to her. She seemed just out of reach, like a ghost. She looked exceptionally beautiful. Heads turned as they walked into the restaurant, and every man in the restaurant recognized Paul immediately. He was a legend everywhere he went, but Maggie didn’t mind. She had no desire for center stage and it suited him.
The dinner was delicious, although he noticed that Maggie ate very little.
“Are you feeling okay?” In the past two weeks he thought that she had lost weight. She looked remarkable, but he worried that she wasn’t well.
“Just tired,” she said. And when they went back to the hotel, they didn’t make love that night. He had a call from Tokyo when they walked in, and she was asleep when he got to bed. They had a long flight to London the next day and he didn’t disturb her. He turned out the light without noticing that her pillow was damp. He fell asleep instantly. It had been a good day for him and a nice evening. The call from Tokyo had been good news. He was looking forward to his meetings in London, and a race in a month. He was always a star in races in Spain, and won them impressively every year. He knew he would again. He was always brought in as the coup de grâce in a race now. His sponsors knew that he would do whatever he had to to win.
* * *
—
Maggie got up early and was packed when Paul got up. She ordered breakfast for him while he showered and dressed. It was waiting for him when he came to the table in a blue blazer and slacks.
“You’re not eating?” He was surprised.
“I’ll eat on the plane,” she said quietly, and went to close her bag.
She was ready when he was, with perfect synchronicity. She never made him wait. He called for the porter to get their bags. And they were in the lobby five minutes later.
They walked to the sidewalk together, and she said something to the porter Paul didn’t hear. He wasn’t paying attention as the porter put her suitcase to one side, and Maggie stepped forward and hailed a cab, which startled Paul. He stared at her in surprise.
“What are you doing? We’re taking a car to the airport.” His bag had just been put in the trunk of the town car waiting for them. Hers wasn’t.
“I’m not,” she said quietly, looking deep into his eyes. “This is where I leave the circus. I’m going home. I’m not going to watch you try to kill yourself again, Paul. Canada did it for me. I thought it did it for you too, but I was wrong. Nothing is ever going to do it for you. It’s never going to be enough. There’s always going to be one more race, one more death-defying act you think you can pull off. One day, you’re going to lose, next race, next time, someday, and I don’t want to be there to see it. I can’t.” And from the look on her face, he knew she meant it. She wasn’t crying, but the sorrow in her eyes was worse than tears. He suddenly understood why she hadn’t argued with him on the boat about the race. She must have made her decision then, or in the days since, without telling him. He knew her well but had missed all the signs.
&nbs
p; “Maggie, please…” he pleaded with her. “Just let me finish out this contract. I’m getting too old for it anyway. We’ll talk about it after Spain.” He was begging her and she didn’t move.
“No, we won’t. There’s nothing to talk about. You know what you want and so do I. You’re not too old. You’ll never be too old to want danger and risk your life.” She smiled sadly at him. “But I am. I can’t watch you do this again. I don’t want to be there when you finally lose the bet.”
“I’m not going to,” he said with the certainty of a gambler, sure he would win.
“You will lose one day. I don’t want to see it. And I can’t do this to Aden either. He loves you. So do I. He doesn’t deserve to lose another man in his life. Neither do I.”
Tears filled her eyes as she opened the door of the cab then and got in. The doorman put her suitcase in the trunk as Paul gazed at her in disbelief. “You’re leaving me?”
She glanced out the open cab window and nodded. “Call me when you’re too old to race. I’ll probably be dead by then.” She told the driver to take her to LaGuardia, and they pulled away and drove off with Paul staring after them. He could barely get into the town car after she left. He was distraught.
An hour later, he was at Teterboro airport in New Jersey, and boarded his plane. He barely spoke to the steward and settled into his seat. There were tears sliding down his cheeks when they took off for London. Maggie had just gotten on her flight to Chicago. She had a text from Paul but didn’t read it. It didn’t matter what he said now. She was done. She had seen him through races and an avalanche and his life-and-death battle with the IRS. Her mother had told her at seventeen that he’d be trouble, and she was right. And no matter how much she loved him, she couldn’t let him destroy her life, and she knew he would. She erased his text without reading it, and turned off her phone. She closed her eyes, and could feel the pain of peeling him away from her soul. But whatever it took, she was finished. Paul would have to do his dance with death on his own. She couldn’t watch it anymore, or live it with him.
She picked up her bag in Chicago and hailed a cab at the curb. When she got home, she turned her phone on. She had four more messages from Paul and erased them all without reading them. She had heard everything he had to say. She was done.
Chapter 17
Maggie felt empty when she got home. She didn’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone. She didn’t want to tell Helen she was there. She needed time to herself, to heal and come back. She knew she had to do it herself this time, without help. Nobody could do this except she herself. She had to bury him now. He was dead to her, as he had been for thirty years before she’d found him again.
She sent Aden a text so he’d know where she was, but she didn’t tell him what she’d done. She knew he’d be devastated that she’d left Paul, but she had done it to save her own life, and even her son’s. Paul Gilmore was a dangerous man to love. A heartbreaker of the worst kind. She couldn’t afford him in her life.
She took long walks for the first week she was home. The text messages continued, but she kept erasing them, and after another week, they stopped. He realized that she wasn’t coming back. She was a remarkable woman, and he didn’t deserve her. He knew that now. And if she wanted her freedom, he owed her at least that. She had brought him back from the dead, and he had broken her heart in exchange. He understood what she wanted and needed, and he couldn’t give it to her. Worse, he didn’t want to. He wanted racing more than he wanted her, and she knew it. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t let go of what the races meant to him. They meant he was a winner, that death couldn’t conquer him, that he was afraid of nothing, and dying meant nothing to him. He was the bravest and the toughest and the strongest, the most fearless man alive. He had been so frightened as a little boy, when his father left them penniless, and later when his mother died. He had fought fear from then on, and won every time, or close enough.
But in the end, Maggie was stronger than he was. He was terrified without her now.
* * *
—
After she’d been back a week, she contacted the artists she’d been meeting with, launched the website, and contacted everyone on her extensive mailing list. The site featured a slideshow of the artists’ works that she was offering. Within days, she had inquiries and responses, and four clients eager to buy some of the work she was representing. She made her first sale two weeks after she’d launched, and felt stronger by then. She’d spoken to Aden and told him that she had left Paul. He was sad, but he said he understood, and he hoped they’d see him again one day.
“If he’s still alive,” she said, and sounded angrier than she wanted to. She wasn’t angry, she was sad too, and disappointed. He had lied while almost dying was fresh in his mind. But as soon as he recovered, he was back in the game.
Aden said he’d come home for spring break in March, since she wouldn’t be in London now. She had no plans to return to Europe, and no reason to go there. She hated to admit it, but she would miss the boat. Who wouldn’t? It was a little taste of heaven on earth, and she’d been happy with Paul. She loved him, but she knew she wouldn’t one day. She had forgotten him before, and would again.
She’d been back for three weeks when she let Helen know she was home, and told her simply that she had left Paul, and it was better this way.
“Should I ask what happened?”
“It doesn’t matter. It never should have happened at all. He was a fantasy from my youth.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie.”
“Me too.” She told Helen about the online gallery then. She had finally done it, and was proud of herself.
She picked up the threads of her life, the ordinary pleasures she had enjoyed when she lived there. She had stopped living a life there ever since Brad died and the fateful trip to Europe where she met Paul again. It had been all about him ever since. Now it had to be about her again, or maybe for the first time in her life. She was going to have to do this alone, and figure out where she wanted to live. Chicago or Lake Forest or maybe New York. She could do whatever she wanted. It was frightening, but exciting too. Missing Paul was like a dull ache, a phantom limb, and she would have to get used to that. They had been together for a year and a half, and it was over now. She knew she’d survive, no matter how painful at first.
She was looking at slides of new work for her online gallery when Aden called her one week later on a Saturday. She was happy to hear him, but he sounded agitated.
“Turn your TV on, Mom.” His voice was unusually sharp. “Now!”
“Why?”
“Just turn it on. The sports channel, or a news channel. I think it’ll be all over the place.”
“Is he dead? I don’t want to see it.” She suddenly knew why he had called.
“Just turn it on,” he insisted. Reluctantly she did.
She could see a racetrack in the distance and hear a Spanish announcer behind the two American commentators speaking. They were engaged in a rapid-fire exchange, as though something incredible had happened. One of them was a famous retired race car driver, and the other was a network anchor they used for major sports events.
“I don’t want to see this, Aden,” she said firmly.
“Just listen, Mom.” She was about to turn it off when something stopped her, and a photograph of Paul filled the screen briefly. Maybe he had died, and she should know. But the commentators were still talking and the crowd was screaming Paul’s name. There were no ambulances visible, so maybe he wasn’t dead or injured. She watched, curious about what was going on. Both commentators were excited and the network anchor spoke to the audience almost breathlessly. “For those of you just tuning in, we’ve just seen racing history here. Neither of us have ever seen anything like this before, have we, Pete?” he asked the retired driver, who said he hadn’t. The crowd seemed to be screaming louder. She wondered if some
one had killed someone on the track. “We’ve just seen one of the most famous Formula One drivers in history withdraw from the race minutes before it started, ‘for personal reasons.’ He was lost in the snow for four days after an avalanche in Canada three months ago, we’re wondering if it had something to do with that. This would have been his first race since the accident. He was in the pit, checking his car an hour before the race, and all we know, folks, is that he walked off, announced that he was forfeiting the race, and then left a letter confirming it.
“He’ll be fined for forfeiting at the last minute, which he was certainly aware of. He’s been known for his ‘risk everything, I dare you, winner takes all’ attitude for thirty years of racing, but this beats everything. His sponsor can withdraw his contract for this. Paul Gilmore, where are you? The crowd has been going crazy here. You can hear them behind us. No one seems to know what those ‘personal reasons’ are. He’s been unavailable for comment, and word is he left the track minutes ago. For those of you watching at home, this is a first, and a shocker coming from a legend like Paul Gilmore. We’ve all seen him race, even with broken bones.” They were still talking when Aden spoke to her on the phone she was holding.
“I think he withdrew for you, Mom.” He knew why she had left him. “He’s going to pay a big fine for this.”
“He can afford it,” she said coldly. “Maybe he’s sick. He does what he wants, and maybe he doesn’t want them to know. Maybe his feet went numb again and he couldn’t drive.”
“I don’t think so. It would take something pretty damn important for him to forfeit a race. He’s never done that before. He’s too big for that.” She didn’t disagree with him, but wasn’t going to guess about it. The announcers were still trying to figure it out. They were hinting at a mental breakdown of some kind when she turned it off.
Nine Lives Page 20