by Neesa Hart
Edith Sophy had the kindest eyes Maggie had ever seen. A sudden memory of hazel eyes, flecked with gold, intruded on the thought, and Maggie felt a warm tingle on her skin. She smiled at Edith Sophy and took a plate from the cupboard.
“Well, hello there,” Edith said, drying her hands on a dish towel. “I’m glad you made it back before the storm sets in.”
“Storm?” Maggie found a knife in the silverware drawer and cut herself a piece of the cake.
Edith nodded, handing Maggie a fork. “We’re expecting more snow starting tomorrow night. Looks like we’ll have a white Thanksgiving this year.” She reached up and patted her salt-and-pepper hair.
Maggie took a bite of the cake, letting the dark chocolate roll on her tongue. “Mmmm. This is sinful, Edith.”
Edith smiled. “Ryan was so proud of himself. I wish you could have been here.”
“I wish so, too.” She swallowed another bite of cake and shot a quick glance out the kitchen window. “I was going to take Ryan shopping with me tomorrow to buy the stuff for dinner on Thursday. Maybe we’d better do it today instead.” She paused and studied Edith. “Did you have any problems?”
Edith shook her head. “No. Just the usual. He says his dad played a big role at the game this morning.”
Maggie sighed. “I know. I’ll have to have a talk with him about it tonight. We’ll have plenty of time while we’re shopping.”
Edith draped the dish towel over the end of the stove and reached around to untie her apron. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider and join us for Thanksgiving dinner, Maggie? All the kids and grandkids are coming, and we’d love to have you and Ryan with us. It might do him some good to be around other children.”
Maggie shook her head and took another bite of the cake. “It’s very kind of you to offer, Edith, but I think Ryan and I need to do this alone.”
“How about tomorrow night, then? You could come just for supper.”
“Can’t. We’re going out.”
Edith raised her eyebrows. “Out?”
“Yes. We’ve been invited to the Bruins game.”
“In Boston?” she said. The way Edith stressed the word, she might as well have asked Maggie if they were going to the moon.
“Yes.”
“Is this a business associate?” Edith asked. She wasn’t even trying to pretend not to pry.
Maggie shook her head. “No. It’s a friend.”
“Lord, child. It’s like pulling teeth with you. What are the vital statistics?”
Maggie laughed. “I don’t know them yet. He’s just this very nice man I met on the plane today. He’s in town on business—bidding on the Cape Hope project, in fact. He’s alone, had the tickets, and asked if Ryan and I wanted to go.”
“Oh, really?”
Maggie brandished her fork. “Really.”
“This is a pleasant turn of events.”
“I guess so.”
Edith pursed her lips. “You say you met the man today?”
Maggie laughed at the badly disguised curiosity in Edith’s tone. “Don’t worry, Edith. I don’t think he’s a masher. He’s an architect from Dallas, and, as I said, he’s bidding on the Cape Hope project. We agreed to review each other’s designs, and he asked me if Ryan and I would like to go to the game.” She licked the frosting from her fork. “Did I tell you this is very good cake?”
Edith ignored the comment about the cake. She reached over to pat Maggie’s arm. “I think that’s wonderful. It’s high time you started getting on with things. A young woman like you has no business being alone.”
Maggie paused, the fork still pressed between her lips, and looked at Edith. She slowly removed the fork and set it on the edge of the plate. “It isn’t as if I haven’t been doing anything with my life,” she said, sounding defensive and hating it.
“You’ve done a lot, Maggie. More than a lot of women would have the strength to do under your circumstances, but I’m not talking about your business or your financial security. I’m talking about you personally. You shouldn’t be alone, and neither should Ryan. I know he’s got his friends at school, and his teammates, but maybe he wouldn’t be so dependent on his fantasies about his father if he had another male role model.”
Maggie was spared a retort when Ryan came running through the swinging door. “When are we leaving?” he asked, leaping up onto a chair next to Maggie and plunging his fingers into the remains of her piece of cake. “Dad’s in the living room, and he wants to know if he can go along.”
Maggie frowned. “Ryan, one more mention of your father and we’re not going. Do you understand?”
“But—”
“I mean it.”
He nodded slowly. He looked hurt. “OK.” He stuffed his fingers into his mouth to lick the chocolate.
Edith gave him a censorious look that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You eat that cake, and you won’t have room for pizza.” Ryan favored her with a toothless grin.
Edith smiled at Maggie. She opened one of the cabinets and hung the apron on a hook. She tapped her finger on the door before she gave Maggie a thoughtful look. “How long did you say this fellow was in town, Maggie?”
“I don’t know. Several days I guess.”
“Then why don’t you invite him over for Thanksgiving dinner?”
Maggie stared at her. “Because,” she blurted out, “because I couldn’t. It’s too . . . personal.”
“Ask who?” Ryan said.
Edith ignored him. “You said yourself he was alone in town. It’d be the decent thing to do, Maggie.”
“Then why don’t you ask him?”
“Ask who?” Ryan tried again.
Edith gave Maggie a knowing smirk. “Because I’m not the one who took up with the man on the airplane.”
“Mom.” Ryan was starting to sound insistent.
“Just a minute, honey.” Maggie continued to stare at Edith. “I can’t just invite the man over for Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t even know him.”
“You’re going all the way into Boston to see a hockey game with him, and you can’t even share a turkey at your own table.”
Ryan tugged at her sleeve. “What hockey game?”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know, Edith. I’ll have to think it over.”
“You do that.”
“What hockey game?”
“The Bruins game,” Maggie told Ryan.
“Wow! Are we going to that? I thought you said the tickets cost too much. Wow!” he said again. He was staring at Maggie as if she’d just sprouted wings out of her head.
Maggie frowned at Edith. “Do you really think I should?”
“I certainly do. If nothing else, you can see how things go tomorrow, and then decide.”
“I guess that would be all right.”
Ryan pulled on her sleeve again. “Where are our seats, Mom? Are we close to the ice?”
Edith shook her head. She brushed her finger over Ryan’s bruised eye. “Not too close, I hope. You could get hit with a puck.”
“This is so cool,” he said. “I bet Coach Bullard is playing. Can I call Franklin and tell him? Can we take Franklin, too, Mom? Can we?”
Maggie rolled her eyes at Edith. “Great.”
Edith laughed. “Now if you need anything for Thursday, Maggie, you just let me know.”
“I will.”
Edith gave her a knowing look. “And remember what I said, even if it is none of my business.”
“I will,” Maggie insisted.
Edith’s nod was brief. “All right then. I’ll leave you two to do your shopping. Palmer’s has turkey on sale, by the way, and Kroger has the best buy on fresh cranberries.”
Maggie smiled. “Palmer’s and Kroger. I got it.”
“Now don’t forget what I said about putting your turkey in the oven overnight.” Edith picked up her purse. “And if you decide to make pumpkin pie, use the deep-dish crusts, or you’ll have a mess in your oven.”
Maggie nodded. �
��Overnight. Deep-dish.”
Edith pulled her keys out of her purse. “And enjoy yourself, Maggie. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks for watching Ryan, Edith.”
Edith shook her head in Ryan’s direction. He had a dark smudge of chocolate on his cheek. “He wasn’t any trouble. He’s a good boy that one.”
Ryan grinned at her. Maggie prodded his shoulder. “Tell Mrs. Sophy ‘thank you’ for the cake.”
Ryan swallowed the bite in his mouth and nodded. “Thanks, Mrs. Soph,” he said, using his preferred shorter version of the older woman’s name.
Edith smiled at him. “You’re welcome, young man. And the next time Tommy Willis hooks you with his stick,” she said, grabbing her purse in both hands, “give him an elbow in the ribs for me.” She made a jabbing motion with her elbow, and Ryan giggled.
Maggie smiled at her. “Thanks again, Edith. I always feel good knowing you’re here with him. Tell Roy I said ‘hello.’”
“I’ll do that. And you call me on Thursday if you have anything to report.” Edith shot Ryan a speculative look. “Or if you want me to pick up Ryan so he can play with my grandsons. I’ll understand if you want the house to yourself for a while.”
Maggie’s jaw dropped open. “Edith!”
Edith chuckled and walked out of the kitchen. Ryan shot Maggie a curious look. “What’s she talking about, Mom?”
“Nonsense,” Maggie said, reaching for a paper towel. She wet it and grabbed one of Ryan’s chocolate-covered hands.
“Can we take Franklin to the game, Mom?”
“No. We can’t.”
“But why?”
“Because I don’t have tickets. We’re going with a”—she paused—“with a friend.”
“What friend?”
“A new friend.”
“The guy whose coming for Thanksgiving?”
“I don’t know if he’s coming for Thanksgiving or not.”
“Why not?”
Maggie finished cleaning the chocolate off his face. She dropped the wet paper towel into the wastebasket. Things were so simple for Ryan. “Because I haven’t asked him, for one thing.”
“Are you gonna?”
“I don’t know.”
He frowned. “But if he’s taking us to the game, don’t you think it’d be nice of us to let him eat here?”
“Do you think so?”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah. Can I at least call Franklin and tell him we’re going?”
“Yes, you may.”
“Cool.” He started to squirm off his stool.
“Wait a minute, Ry, have you got any homework?”
He shook his head. “Mrs. Mitchell said we would spend our first day back just going over our math stuff and spend the rest of the day reading books and junk.”
Maggie wiped his other hand. “Well, it’s just after twelve. What do you say you call Franklin, then you and I go grocery shopping. We’ll buy everything we need for Thursday—”
“Are we going to have a turkey?”
“Yes.”
“And stuffing?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to make that sweet-potato stuff? The kind Dad likes?”
Maggie felt a brief twinge. Mark had loved her sweet-potato casserole. It had been his favorite part of holiday meals. Something in her balked at making it when he wasn’t going to be there to enjoy it. “Do you want me to?”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah, with extra nuts on top.”
She relented with a soft sigh of regret. “All right. Sweet-potato casserole with extra nuts.” She tweaked his nose. “Just for you.”
Ryan grinned at her. “Cool.”
“Now, go put your shoes on and call Franklin. We should leave before the stores get too crowded.”
“And then we’re going out for pizza?”
“And then we’re going out for pizza.”
Ryan leapt down from his chair and raced out of the kitchen, moving, as usual, at a full run. Maggie scooped up her plate and silverware and carried them to the sink. As she rinsed them, her gaze fell on the picture of Mark and Ryan she kept on the windowsill. She picked it up, feeling a fresh surge of tears.
The two of them had gone fishing the summer before Mark had left for Saudi Arabia, and in the picture, Ryan was proudly holding a trout almost as big as he was, and Mark was holding what looked like a glorified goldfish. Ryan was grinning from ear to ear, and Mark was looking at Ryan with something as close to adoration as Maggie had ever seen. She sniffled and put the picture back down.
And thought of Scott Bishop and his kind eyes and his sad smile and his big heart. She attacked the smeared chocolate on the plate with renewed vigor. Perhaps Edith was right. Maybe she had spent too much time concentrating on the external circumstances of her life and not enough time working on the inside. Her gaze strayed to the picture and she wondered if Mark was going to have sweet-potato casserole for Thanksgiving.
When she heard the doorbell ring the following evening, Maggie checked her reflection in the mirror one more time. She felt ridiculous, like a sixteen-year-old preparing for the prom.
“I’ll get it, Mom,” she heard Ryan yell from his room. He’d been ready for an hour.
She wrinkled her nose at her reflection. As usual, she cursed the especially dry winter air that made her fine hair so flighty. In North Carolina, the humidity had always made it limp. It seemed there was no pleasing it.
“He’s here, Mom,” Ryan yelled from the foyer.
Maggie took a deep breath. She saw him standing in the door of her foyer as soon as she reached the landing. “Hi.”
He glanced up. His smile was as warm, as kind as she remembered. “Hi.”
“Would you like to come in for a while?” she asked, continuing down the stairs. “I don’t think we have to leave just yet.”
“We’ll be late,” Ryan protested.
“We have plenty of time, Ryan,” she assured him. “Did you introduce yourself to Mr. Bishop?”
Ryan stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Ryan.”
Scott gave his hand a firm shake. “I’m Scott.”
Mark Connell leaned back against the doorframe and studied Scott Bishop. Maggie was leading him into the living room. Mark didn’t like the way the guy was studying her back as she walked. He knew masculine appreciation when he saw it.
“Well,” Annie asked, tweaking Mark’s ribs, “do you think this is going to work?”
Mark frowned. “I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on getting Maggie fixed up with this guy. I said she needed to get over my death: I didn’t say she needed marrying off.”
Annie shook her head and gave him a disgusted look. “Men. You’re all alike. This is some territorial thing for you, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mark shoved away from the doorframe and stalked across the room toward Scott. “He’s too tall for her.”
“He’s only an inch taller than you are,” Annie said.
“He’s got blond hair.”
“So?”
“So Maggie doesn’t like men with blond hair.”
Annie’s smile was smug. “She seems to like Scott well enough.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t this bother you? Even a little?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Him. Her. Them.”
Annie smiled a knowing smile and crossed the room, laying her hand on Mark’s forearm. “I want Scott to be happy again, Mark. I think he needs Maggie to make that happen.”
“There’s no good reason why I should go along with this,” he said, watching Scott examine the pictures on the wall. “I’ve had a whole day to think about this, and the more I think, the dumber it sounds. The only guarantee I’ve got that it’s going to work is the promise of some half-invisible ghost.” He looked at Annie’s cloudy fingers where they still rested on his arm.
She gave his forearm a tight squeeze before she released it. “You know I’m right, Mark. I was sure of it when I walked in the door with
Scott. I could tell by the way you were looking at Maggie.”
“Look. I gave this a lot of thought yesterday and today. I’ve been talking to Ryan, listening to Maggie.” He shrugged. “I think I changed—” Mark lost his train of thought when he saw the way Ryan was watching him. And Annie. “Uh-oh.”
Annie gave him a sharp look. “What?”
Mark indicated Ryan with a brief nod of his head. “He can see you.”
“Do you think so?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Then why hasn’t he said anything?”
“He’s careful about discussing me in front of Maggie. She gets upset.” He winked at Ryan. “But he can see you, all right.”
“Oh,” She stood up and smoothed a hand over her pink sweater. “How do I look?”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “Like a ghost.”
Maggie felt Ryan pulling on the arm of her sweater. She broke off her conversation with Scott about the Cape Hope project. “What, honey?”
“Who’s the lady?”
Maggie frowned. “What lady?”
Ryan pointed at Annie. “That lady.”
Maggie’s gaze turned to alarm. “Ryan, there is no lady.”
“Sure there is.” He walked over and stared at Annie. “Right here.”
Annie smiled at him. “Hello, Ryan. I’m Annie.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Hi, Annie.”
Maggie gasped. “Ryan! That’s not funny. I told you about Mr. Bishop’s wife so you’d know why he’s here with us. I want you to apologize right now.”
Ryan looked at Mark, then back at Annie. “Oh,” he mumbled. He turned miserable eyes to Maggie. “I’m sorry.”
He ran out of the room, and Mark dropped into a large wingback chair. “Oh, boy.”
Annie nodded. “Oh, boy.”
Maggie looked at Scott and frowned. “I’m sorry, I— I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure what that was all about.”
Scott rubbed his hand over his chest. “I think its about a kid who’s having a tough time dealing with the loss of his dad. It’s OK, Maggie.”
“Sometimes I just don’t know what to do for him.”
Scott looked at the kitchen door. “He’s probably more sane than the rest of us.”
By the time they were in the car, on the way to Boston, Maggie was a nervous wreck. Ryan seemed to have forgotten the bizarre incident, as had Scott, but anxiety niggled at Maggie. She should never have agreed to the date. It was too much. It was too soon. It was too real. She should have known she wouldn’t be able to handle it. Already, her palms were so clammy, she was afraid they’d slide off the steering wheel.