Halfway to Paradise

by Neesa Hart

  Scott took another sip of his beer. He was seated on the couch in his apartment, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, listening to the clock tick. It was raining, not so common a thing in Dallas, but highly appropriate for his mood.

  For the hundredth time that day, he questioned the wisdom of his decision to spend this day, the anniversary of Annie’s death, alone in Dallas. He could have flown back to Cape Hope. He could have gone to visit his parents. They’d practically begged him to come. He could have gone to the office and tried to concentrate on his clients. But he hadn’t.

  He’d sat down on the sofa and replayed in his mind every second of every minute he’d spent with Annie on this day one year before. The clock chimed twelve. Three hours, forty-two minutes to go.

  The phone rang, and, as he had all day, he ignored it. On the third ring, the answering machine picked up. He waited for the outgoing message to play through, then heard the tape click on. “Scott, Scott, are you there? It’s Maggie.”

  Maggie. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t talk to her.

  “Scott, I called your office. They said you weren’t in. I—you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just thought you might like to talk to someone about, well, anything but that.”

  Scott’s stomach twisted. Trust Maggie to know the reason he had been unable to face the world today. Every other day since Annie’s death, he’d dealt with the sympathy, with the questions, with the prying. Today, he couldn’t. He couldn’t talk about it, but he couldn’t not talk about it. The wounds were too raw.

  Maggie kept talking to him through the answering machine. “I talked with Chuck,” she said. “He said we raised seventy-one thousand and some change with the hockey game. He wanted you to know how much he appreciated everything you did.

  “Ryan says hi, and Edith Sophy said to let you know she’ll be glad to give you the recipe for that cheesecake. I . . .” Her voice trailed off. Scott was almost afraid the answering machine would hang up on her. “I . . . if you want to talk, about anything, I’m—”

  Scott grabbed the receiver like it was a lifeline. “Maggie, don’t hang up.”

  She sighed. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “I didn’t know if you were there.”

  “Yes, you did,” he said. “You knew I was sitting here in the dark feeling sorry for myself.”

  “Scott, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t know what I want. I just don’t want you to quit talking.”

  “OK. What do you want to know?”

  “Anything. How’s the weather?”

  “Snowing again. We’re going to have three feet on the ground by Christmas.”

  “Am I going to have any trouble flying in?”

  “I don’t think so. We’re pretty good at handling this kind of thing. It’s only a problem when it all comes at once.”

  Scott leaned back against the sofa. “My plane’s scheduled to land at eleven-thirty. Are you going to meet me?”

  “I said I would. Today is Ryan’s last day of school until after the first. I’ll bring him with me.”

  “Great. How’s he doing?” He was finding an odd kind of fortitude in the mundane conversation.

  “He’s fine. He’s been strutting like a peacock ever since the game. Carson Lipter sent him a Christmas card.”

  Scott had a sudden memory of the way he’d felt, standing in the bleachers, holding Maggie’s hand during that game. “I’ll bet he’s beside himself.”

  “Pretty much.” She paused. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay,” he lied.

  “Scott,” she said, “it’s Maggie. Tell me how you’re doing.”

  He paused. He stared at the clock, and listened to Maggie breathe on the other end of the phone. “I’m splitting apart,” he finally said.

  “Oh, Scott.”

  Scott clutched the receiver tighter against his ear. “Maggie, I think I want to tell you about this.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Where do I start?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you miss most about Annie, and we’ll go from there.”

  He stretched out on the couch. “You know what I miss most? This is going to sound really dumb.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  “I miss her hair. She had the most incredible hair. It was kind of honey-colored, with these red highlights. I could spot her all the way across a room just by looking for her hair. It kind of shone around her face like a halo. It was so soft, like silk. I remember one day after she’d started having chemo, I found her in the bathroom sobbing.”

  “Her hair was falling out?”

  “Yeah. She was holding this brush and it was full of her hair. I kept telling her it didn’t matter, and she kept crying.” He rolled to his side. “I even bought her a Dolly Parton wig. I thought if we laughed about it, it would help.”

  “Did it?’

  Scott drew a shuddering breath. “For a while. I don’t think either of us thought she was going to die at that point.”

  “When did you know?”

  He swallowed. “She knew first. She kind of started to prepare me for it. She would try and talk about what it would be like for me when she was gone. I didn’t want to listen. Then,” he stopped and cleared his throat, “then one day around the middle of September, we were on a walk. I looked at her, and I just knew. God, I almost fell to pieces right there on the sidewalk.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  He shook his head. “I never admitted it to her. I couldn’t. During the next two months, things got really bad. She was so weak, so sick. I can remember waking up in the night and hearing her vomiting in the bathroom. She never wanted me to help her.”

  “When did you have to put her in the hospital?”

  “December fifth,” he said. He’d broken into a cold sweat. He started to shiver. “After that, it happened really fast. I stayed there as much as I could, just holding her hand and talking to her.”

  “I’m sure it helped, Scott.”

  “It helped me. I felt like I had a million things to tell her. I was terrified to sleep or leave the room. I was so afraid I’d miss something if I wasn’t there.”

  “Scott, you couldn’t have been there twenty-four hours a day.”

  “Part of me knew that, but God, Maggie, I was petrified. I’ve never been that scared in my life. Every night she made me kiss her good night before she went to sleep. She always said the same thing. Always.”

  He thought he heard Maggie crying on the other end of the phone. When she spoke, her voice sounded shaky. “What?”

  “She always said, ‘see you in the morning.’” He felt a sad smile ghost across his lips. “I clung to that. I was like a drowning man holding on to a thread. As long as she said ‘see you in the morning,’ I could believe everything was going to be all right.”

  “Oh, Scott.”

  He heard Maggie’s voice break. “It wasn’t until the day she died, today, that she started losing consciousness a lot. I remember just sitting by her bedside and praying for every breath. I remember what I was doing every minute of that whole damned day.”

  Maggie sniffled. “What time did she go?”

  “Three-forty-two. She opened her eyes for the last time around three-thirty. She was pulling on my hand. I leaned over the bed so I could hear her. Her voice was so faint by then, it was barely above a whisper.” He could feel the tears rolling down his face now. He wiped at them with his cuff. “She looked right at me, and she said ‘Kiss me good-bye, Cowboy.’ “

  “Scott,” Maggie’s voice broke on a sob.

  “Did I tell you that Annie never liked to say goodbye?”

  “Yes.”

  “She knew. I knew. She closed her eyes, and she slipped away twelve minutes later.”

  “Scott—” Maggie’s voice cracked. “Scott, I wish I was there with you.”

  “I wish you were, too.”

  “I
don’t think you should be alone this afternoon.”

  He shifted on the sofa, pausing to wipe away the lingering tears. “I needed to think. I couldn’t face the questions.”

  “I know, but, I don’t like to think of you going through this alone.”

  “I’m not alone anymore,” he said. “I have you.”

  “I love you, Scott.”

  He closed his eyes. A simple admission, so simply made, so joyously received. “Thank you, Maggie.”

  “I—are you sure you’re all right?”

  “For the first time today, I feel like I’m going to make it to sundown.”

  “Do you want to keep talking?”

  He shook his head. “No. I just want to be alone for a while.”

  “All right. If you need me, I’ll be home all afternoon.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  “Can you at least consider yourself hugged until tomorrow?”

  “Do I get the real thing at the airport?”

  “Guaranteed.”

  “I’ll make it.”

  There was a long pause. “Scott?”

  “Yeah, Maggie?”

  “We’re going to be okay.”

  “I know we are. I’ll be there tomorrow, and we’ll get through the twenty-third together. All right?”

  “All right.”

  “I love you, Maggie.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He waited until he heard the dial tone before he hung up the receiver.

  Annie pulled her knees against her chest and rocked quietly back and forth, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

  “Annie?” Mark said.

  She looked at him in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard Maggie talking to Scott. I thought you might need me.”

  The breath squeezed out of her. “Shouldn’t you— shouldn’t you be with Maggie?”

  Mark shrugged. “Maggie’s okay. Besides, I can’t do anything for her.”

  “Isn’t it difficult for you to be apart from her?”

  Mark squatted down in front of her chair. He laid his palm against her face. “I’ll be all right. I just wanted to be here for you.”

  Annie threw herself against his chest. Mark shifted so that he was sitting in the chair, holding her on his lap. “I’m so sorry, Annie.”

  “I can’t even touch him. I can’t talk to him. I just have to sit and watch him hurt,” she said.

  “I know.” He ran his hand down her back. “I know.”

  She was silent for a long time. “You know what?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “I know for sure now that this isn’t Heaven.”

  Maggie buried her face in her hands as soon as she hung up the phone. There had been so much pain in his voice. She couldn’t believe how easily she had concentrated on her own grief during the past few weeks and completely ignored his. It hadn’t been until she’d phoned his office that morning and found he wasn’t in that she’d begun to realize how much pain he was in.

  She felt selfish. And shallow. And childish. She cried into her hands until the tears ran down her wrists. How could she have done this to him? How could she have allowed herself to lose sight of the fact that his pain was no less than her own?

  She lifted her head. Her gaze found Mark’s picture on her dresser. She got up and crossed the room. Holding the picture in her hands, she thought about the last time she’d seen him alive. He’d been so confident about his mission, so sure. She couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like for Scott to see Annie suffer over the long months of her illness.

  She thought about Scott’s kind eyes, the way his gaze softened when he looked at her. She thought about the way he made her feel, how she believed, really believed, she could do anything she set her mind to when she was with Scott. Resolutely, she set Mark’s picture down on the dresser.

  She opened her jewelry chest, then stared down at the wedding band on the third finger of her left hand. With a gentle tug, she removed it. She laid it carefully on the top shelf of the jewelry box before quietly closing the lid.

  And she wondered where she and Ryan could find a Christmas tree.

  When Scott stepped off the plane the next day, he looked worn-out, and wonderful. Maggie walked straight into his arms.

  “Scott, guess what?” Ryan was tugging on his coat.

  Scott’s gaze locked with Maggie’s for a few seconds. The look he gave her said, “I love you, I missed you, I’m glad you’re here,” all in an instant, before he shifted his focus to Ryan. He scooped him up in his arms. “What, sport?”

  “We got a Christmas tree. A big, huge one. Mom cut it herself.”

  Scott glanced at Maggie. “Really?”

  She nodded. “It was no big deal. I’ve cut a tree before.”

  He pressed a kiss to her lips. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.”

  “How are you, Maggie?”

  “I’m OK.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of here. I want a real answer to that question.”

  Scott had checked his luggage, and they had to wait by the turnstile until he collected his bags. Maggie left Ryan with him, and went to drive the car around. By the time he tossed his bags in the back, and climbed into the passenger seat, Ryan was talking a mile a minute. “Did Mom tell you I got a card from Carson Lipter?”

  “She sure did.” Scott turned in his seat to adjust Ryan’s seat belt for him. “Did he offer you a contract with the Bruins?”

  Ryan giggled. “No. It just said, ‘Merry Christmas.’”

  “I guess Mr. Wedgins would have to offer you the contract.”

  Maggie could feel Scott’s gaze resting on her face. She concentrated on the traffic. “Yeah,” Ryan was saying. “He’s the new owner. Coach Bullard says he gave all the guys Christmas bonuses if they played in the game. He said it was a lot of money. I told Franklin it was probably like a whole hundred dollars or something.”

  “Probably,” Scott agreed. He reached for Maggie’s hand. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  Ryan didn’t seem to notice the very adult tension in the car. “Mom said we could go Christmas shopping. I haven’t finished yet.”

  “Oh yeah?” Scott said, turning to look at Ryan. “What have you got left to buy?”

  “I gotta get something for Franklin and something for Miss Price.”

  “His Sunday school teacher,” Maggie supplied helpfully.

  Scott nodded. “Your teacher, hmm? That could be tough.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause, I want to get her something she likes.”

  “What are you getting Franklin?”

  “A Bruins jersey,” he said. “Just like mine.”

  Scott glanced back at Maggie. “Like the one your mom has?”

  She blushed. Ryan frowned. “What one?”

  “The one she sleeps in.”

  “Oh,” Ryan said. “No, that one’s old. It’s really worn-out. I want to get Franklin one of the yellow ones.”

  Maggie shot Scott a knowing look. She could tell by the expression on his face that he’d been trapped by his own game. He’d been trying to embarrass her by talking about her nightshirt, but Ryan’s innocent description had taken him by surprise. She turned onto the interstate with a wry smile. “If it’s all right with everyone,” she said, “I thought we’d have lunch at the Ice Palace.”

  Nineteen

  By that evening, Maggie was exhausted. They’d spent the entire afternoon Christmas shopping in Cape Hope. Scott had seemed to recognize her need for the distraction of bustling activity. He’d helped her concentrate on Ryan, and she’d been surprised to find that the afternoon had quickly passed.

  She’d left the two of them the task of setting the tree in its stand, and decorating while she prepared dinner. Scott had trailed after her into the kitchen. “Maggie, wait.”

  “What?”

  “About the tree. I know that was hard for you.”

  She shrugged.
“It didn’t seem fair to Ryan not to have one.”

  “When did you decide?”

  She paused in the process of rummaging through the pantry. She met Scott’s gaze. “Yesterday. After I got off the phone with you.”

  Scott crossed the kitchen in two quick strides. He raised her left hand to his lips to kiss her now bare ring finger. “Don’t think I didn’t notice this,” he said.

  Maggie hesitated. She felt the same nagging sense of discomfort that had plagued her since she’d removed her wedding ring. “Scott, I—”

  He pressed a brief kiss to her lips. “Let’s just make it through tomorrow, honey. We’ll worry about the rest later. OK?”

  She nodded. “OK.”

  Standing in the kitchen twenty minutes later, Maggie heard Scott and Ryan laughing in the living room as they decorated the tree. She lifted the lid off a pot to stir the beef Stroganoff. The spicy scent of onions and black pepper rose in a swirl of steam. Maggie sniffed appreciatively. Edith Sophy would be proud.

  She pulled plates and silverware from the cabinets and put them on the counter so Ryan could set the table. The sound of “Blue Christmas” wafted in from the other room. Maggie was sure Ryan was doing his Elvis impersonation for Scott.

  She was stirring a gallon of iced tea when the phone rang. “I got it,” she yelled, reaching for the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Maggie?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Carl Fortwell.”

  Her heart leapt into her throat. “Oh, Carl. Hi.” Maggie propped the receiver against her shoulder. She started separating the rolls. “What can I do for you?”

  “It’s about the bid, Maggie,” he said.

  He sounded grim. Maggie set aside the rolls. “What about it, Carl?”

  “I think Max is going to give it to you.”

  She was almost afraid to believe him. “What?”

  “I think Max is going to award you the bid.”

  “Carl, I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Nothing is final yet. We had a meeting with him the other day, and he said he’d make a definite decision by Monday. He sounded really positive about your designs, though. I thought you’d like to know.”