Tasha’s mother nodded. “I’ll try. I can’t make promises, you know, she does what she wants, but I’ll try.”
He nodded in response. “Thank you. We’ll keep looking too.”
They headed back down the stairs as the woman closed the door behind her. Bill shook his head. “I should have known she wouldn’t head back there. She and her mother don’t get along. I just thought if she didn’t have anywhere else to go… Christmas Eve.” He shook his head again. “You don’t have to stay out with me, you know. You must be freezing. I’m going to head down to the waterfront, and we can get you a cab there.”
“I’m fine. I don’t mind helping. It’s not that cold.”
He smiled. “You always were a terrible liar, but thanks, I appreciate the company.”
For the next hour, they wandered around South Boston, doubling back to recheck the paces Bill had seen Tasha before, hoping that she would turn up at one of them. They went into the L Street Tavern to warm up for a few minutes. The place had been featured in the movie “Good Will Hunting” and the décor reflected it, with autographed pictures of Matt Damon and Ben Affleck, an invitation to the Oscars and other memorabilia. It was surprisingly crowded for Christmas Eve, and they pushed into the far corner of the bar to drink coffee laced with brandy before heading back out into the cold night.
It was nearly 11:00 when Bill’s cell phone rang. He pulled off his glove to get it, saying, “Maybe it’s a shelter. Maybe she turned up, and we can go home.” He glanced down at the phone and shook his head. “It’s Michelle. I forgot to call her.”
He walked a few steps away to take the call, and Maggie turned her back to give him some additional privacy. She heard his voice, low and intimate, and she blinked back sudden tears from her eyes. He seemed happy with his life and his work, and she could not be anything other than glad for him. If anything, she felt little wishful thoughts. If only things had worked out differently; if only they had been able to hold things together through the long separation from college, maybe she could be the one waiting for Bill to return home.
She turned, startled as Bill’s voice got suddenly louder. “I told you, Tasha’s out on the street and it is absolutely freezing! She could die if she spends the night out here.” He paused and turned back toward her, his cheeks flushing with more than the cold. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but this girl is my responsibility. I can’t just abandon her, Michelle, I need to find her.”
Maggie’s eyebrows shot up as she heard Bill’s wife screaming on the other end of the phone. She tried not to listen, but she could understand every word. “It’s Christmas Eve! My family is here. Do you have any idea how this looks, to have you running around after some disadvantaged teenager instead of home with your wife?”
Bill’s eyes met hers, and she cringed at the expression of shame and unhappiness she saw there. He hung up the phone without another word and shoved it back into his pocket. He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s not your fault. I guess she’s pretty mad, huh?”
He snorted. “Yeah, just a little.”
Suddenly they were laughing, both of them bent double on the sidewalk with snow in their hair, the tension of the night and the ridiculous understatement of their conversation proving to be too much for their shattered nerves. They clung to each other, tears freezing on their faces as they howled until their stomachs hurt. It was not funny, but it was, in the way only something really horrific can be.
When their laughter finally abated, they stood next to each other, their bodies pressed together. Their breath came in short bursts, puffing in the cold air. She looked at him, at those unimaginably blue eyes, and she did the only thing that seemed natural to her. She cupped her mittened hands on his face and raised her lips to his. She felt him hesitate, and then lean into the kiss. His lips parted; his tongue met hers, and she felt a rush of joy. This was her Bill, the man she had always known she belonged to him. The kiss lengthened, deepened, and she surrendered herself to it entirely.
Then without warning, he pulled away and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Damn it, Maggie! Why did you do that?”
Chapter 6
She pulled back, startled, and gaped up at him.
“Why are you so angry? You kissed me too!”
“You kissed me first. I’m a married man, Maggie! You can’t do that.”
Maggie blinked back tears. “You’re right. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have done that. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re right it won’t! I’m going to call you a cab right now.”
She reached for his sleeve. “Bill! No, let me stay and help you. It was a mistake; we can still be friends, can’t we?” She felt sick at the thought that she might never see him again. The kiss had been an impetuous thing. She did not remember thinking that she was going to kiss him; it just happened. It had seemed right, and his lips were just as she remembered them. She looked at him pleadingly, hoping that he would see reason.
“Okay. You can come, but I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I need to think.”
She nodded, afraid that speaking would make him change his mind. He set off down the street, and she hurried to keep up with him. Unlike the moment when they left the shelter, he did not look back to make sure she was keeping up, nor did he offer her his hand. She tried not to think about that, but she would give anything to take back the kiss and have his hand in hers again.
He was headed back to the park. They had been there three times already, and she did not understand why he was trying again. When they got there, at first it looked empty, just the way it had before, but Bill held up his hand as if he was listening, and then set off at a run toward a dilapidated bandstand in the middle of the park. She trotted to keep up with him, but fell behind quickly, the cold air searing her lungs as she ran.
When she finally caught up with him, Maggie could see him bent over a figure on the ground, and her heart sank. Was that Tasha? Was she dead? She hurried over to him, her heart pounding, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Is she okay?”
“She’s alive, but she’s freezing. We have to get her warmed up.” He stood up and stripped off his coat, draping it over the girl on the ground, who did not move. Bill called 911, and the two of them waited for the paramedics to arrive. While they waited, he pulled off his gloves and rubbed Tasha’s hands to warm them. Maggie’s heart felt like it would explode. He was exactly the same as he had been back in high school: kind and compassionate, and so generous. She could not believe she let him get away.
The wait seemed interminable, but in reality it probably only took about ten minutes for an ambulance to arrive. The paramedics wrapped Tasha in warmed blankets and bundled her into the ambulance. Bill climbed into the back with her and Maggie rode in the front with the driver. He tried to make conversation with her, but her thoughts were absorbed, hoping that Tasha would be okay and that somehow, she could still have Bill in her life.
When they got to the hospital, the paramedics rushed Tasha into the emergency room. While she was in the ambulance, they hooked her up to an IV, and she was so thoroughly wrapped in blankets that she was almost unrecognizable as human. She climbed out of the ambulance and found Bill on the phone with Tasha’s mother. When he finished his call, Maggie asked, “How is she?”
He shook his head. “Not good. She’s half frozen. Her fingers are badly frostbitten, and I can tell they’re afraid she’ll lose them. It’s a lucky thing we found her when we did.”
“I’m sorry. I know you care about her, I can tell.”
He nodded and opened his mouth to talk, and then shut it as tears sprang to his eyes. He looked down at his phone, cleared his throat, and said, “I’m going to stay with her. You should go home.”
His voice was clipped and cool, and her heart sank. She really messed things up with that stupid kiss. Why hadn’t she kept her lips to herself? She nodded and said, “Will you call me to let me know how she’s doing?”
“I don’t think that�
�s a good idea. You can call the shelter to get an update. They’ll know. Just tell them I said you could call.” He turned and headed for the emergency room, and Maggie pulled out her phone and called a cab.
A half an hour later she was home. She could not feel her feet, and her hands and face were burning. Her breath had frozen on her eyelashes, and as soon as she got into the warmth of her apartment they melted, sending a stinging shower of mascara into her eyes. She hurried to the bathroom to rinse them, and decided to run a bath. She needed to warm up. She turned the hot water on and headed into her room to take off her clothes and grab a robe.
She stayed in the tub a long time, trying not to cry. She could not believe what a mess she had made of things. All she wanted to do was to reconnect with Bill in some small way, and now she had probably guaranteed that she would never see or hear from him again. It did not matter that his wife sounded awful. Maggie had to admit; she might have been upset too, if her husband had missed a Christmas Eve gathering with her family because of work. It did not matter that his work was philanthropic; his wife had been counting on him, and it was understandable that she had been upset. No matter what, his wife’s yelling had not justified what she had done. She buried her face in her hands. She kissed a married man. Nothing could make that okay. She was a horrible person.
When she finally got out of the tub, she put on fleece pajamas and padded into the living room. She bent to plug in the Christmas tree, and sighed as the lights came on, splashing colored patterns on the walls.
“Merry Christmas to me.”
Chapter 7
The next morning she slept in because she was still feeling sorry about the kiss. There was no point in getting up early. She was not due at her parents’ house in western Massachusetts until late afternoon, and with no kids or husband to merit getting up early, she decided to stay where she was. She woke up briefly to feed her cat, Mozart, and then she crawled back into bed. When the cat finished eating, he jumped up on the bed with her curled up on the pillow, breathing his tuna breath on her. She buried a hand in his soft fur and patted him, letting his warmth and purring lull her back to sleep.
When she finally got out of bed, it was nearly noon. Still in her pajamas, she went into the kitchen to make coffee and toast. She took her breakfast into the living room and glared at the tree, which seemed to be mocking her with its cheerfulness. She could not deny she was feeling cranky and distinctly un-Christmas-y, but she plugged it in any way. She pulled down Mozart’s stocking from the mantle and shook it at him. One of the toys she bought for him had a little bell on it, and it jingled merrily, causing his ears to twitch. She laughed and sat down on the floor, pulling him into her lap so she could show him the salmon treats and toys. Once she pulled everything out of the stocking, he ran into a corner with a toy that was filled with catnip. He rolled around chewing it and throwing it around with his paws, and she could not help but laugh. At least he was easy to please!
She had a few presents under the tree, including a couple from Patrick. She flipped on the television to watch the annual marathon of “A Christmas Story” and decided to open her gifts. She would have more to open later at her parents’ house, but she needed some Christmas cheer. She sat on the floor and unwrapped everything, showing each gift to Mozart and wondering if doing so made her an official crazy cat lady or if she had a few years before she could lay claim to that title. Patrick had bought her tickets to the Boston Symphony, which was an annual tradition for them. It would be nice to have a date to bring, but she and Patrick always had fun. They usually went out for dinner first. She looked at the tickets. The program was Mozart and Shostakovich, not the most likely combination, but anyone who got sleepy during the Mozart would wake up as soon as the Shostakovich started. He had also given her a cashmere sweater, something that she would scold him about after thanking him. They were doing okay, and this was a busy time of year, but it was not as if either one of them was wealthy.
Two hours later she was dressed, wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater that her mother had made her two years ago. It featured a giant reindeer face with a red pompom for a nose. The cuffs were rimmed with jingle bells, so she rang every time she moved. She finished wrapping the last of the gifts for her family, then gathered them into a large shopping bag to bring with her. She made most of her gifts this year, and she hoped her parents would like them. She picked up the bag and headed to the door, figuring it would be okay if she were a little bit early. She had enough solitude for one day.
She was standing just inside the door, ready to put on her coat, when the doorbell rang.
She opened the door. Bill stood there, holding a gift. She stood there, gaping at him, unsure what to do. She had been so sure she would never see him again, and now he was here. Not with his wife, not celebrating Christmas. He was here, with a gift. She was afraid to breathe.
“Can I come in?”
She opened the door wider and stood back to let him in her apartment. She took her time closing the door, wondering what to say. Her instincts had not done very well by her in the past twenty-four hours, and she wanted to make sure not to mess things up again. She took a deep breath and turned to look at him. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” He held out the package to her. “This is for you. I needed to apologize for last night. You were right, I kissed you just as much as you kissed me. I shouldn’t have blamed you for what happened, not without accepting part of the blame myself.”
She took the package. “Come in and sit down. Do you want coffee? I can put on a pot?”
“No, thanks. It looks like you were on your way out. You’re wearing that sweater…”
She laughed. “Yeah, my mom made this for me. She loves to see me wearing it.”
“I can understand why. It looks spectacular on you.”
She glanced at him, wondering how to respond. It was an ugly sweater, and maybe he was just being nice. Sure, it was a slightly flirtatious comment, but she misread him last night and she did not want to do it again. She finally just smiled and went into the kitchen, where she put on a pot of coffee before heading out to the living room. She found him sitting on her couch, petting Mozart, who was purring so loudly he was practically shaking.
“I see you have a new friend.”
“Yes.” He nodded to the package, which she was still holding. “Will you open that?”
She nodded and sat down on the couch with Mozart between them. “What is it?”
He smirked. “Open it. Why do people always ask that? Just unwrap it and find out.”
She slid the ribbon off and unwrapped it. What she held in her hands was a perfect little wooden box with a hummingbird inlaid in the lid. It looked like mother of pearl, and she ran a finger over it. She opened the lid, and music started to play. At first she did not recognize it, but then her ears made sense of it, and she realized. It was playing “Just the Way You Are.” She looked up at him.
“Do you like it?”
Maggie tried to smile, but burst into tears instead. She had caught a glimpse of his horrified expression before she buried her face in her hands. She felt him reach for her and without thinking; she leaned into his embrace. She was trying to stop crying, but the music box was still playing, and she could not process what was happening. What did it mean? Was it just a sweet apology, or was there something else going on here?
“Sweetheart, please don’t cry. I have something to say to you.”
She forced herself to take a few deep breaths, and that allowed her to get her sobbing under control. She looked up at him, sure that her face was a mess. She wiped her eyes and looked at him expectantly.
“When I got home last night I thought about why it was that I got so angry with you. I did respond to your kiss, and I liked that you kissed me.”
“You did?”
He nodded. “The truth is…” He took a deep breath. “The truth is, I shouldn’t have gone through with the wedding. We haven’t been happy for a while. By t
he time I admitted it to myself, though, the hotel was booked, and the invitations had been mailed and I felt like it was just too late. So I married her. When she called me last night and started screaming at me, all I could think was, I made a mistake. And then you kissed me, and it hit me how big of a mistake I made, not just now, but in letting you get away back in college. We were always meant to be together.”
She was afraid to breathe. Was he serious?
“Maggie, I’ve always loved you. Even after we broke up, I never really felt the same way about anyone else I dated. Not even Michelle. Not even at the beginning, when we first got together. Will you give me another chance?”
She did not stop to think or worry about the consequences of what she was doing. She lunged at him as Mozart leaped to the floor to avoid being crushed between them. Their lips met, and Maggie felt a surge of joy rush through her. His arms closed around her, and he pulled her down on top of him. They kissed for what seemed like hours, and Maggie thought she could be happy just to stay there with him forever.
A ringing telephone startled them out of their embrace, and Maggie sat up, slightly disheveled. “I’m sorry; that must be my parents. I’m late.” She fumbled for the phone and answered it. “Hi Mom.”
She grimaced and mouthed, “I’m sorry.” He gave her a “never mind” gesture with his hand and smiled.
“Yes, I know I’m late. I was just going to leave, but,” she glanced uncertainly at him, “is it okay if I bring a friend?”
He smiled widely and nodded his head. She listened as her mother said yes, and decided she would let the fact that the friend she was bringing was Bill, whom they had not seen in years, be a Christmas surprise. She hung up the phone.
“We’re all set.”
“I don’t have anything to bring your parents. I can’t show up empty handed.”
“I’ve got you covered.” She ran to the door and picked up the platter of cookies she made. “Just tell them you made these.”
Our Song Returns: Falling In Love At The Wrong Time Page 3