“Maybe. I don’t know why you want to hog-tie me and throw me in the back of a moving van. If I had the will or energy to move to Livonia I would. I just don’t. I’ll spend time there to pick up the vibes. Shop at their crafty little malls; go to their barebones, make-believe library; play putt-putt; study dress styles, idioms and knock-knock jokes. How about that? When Tekla’s ready for school, we’ll move. When I have more time. As it is, I’m lucky to take a bath or wash a load of clothes. I confess to being a mess. But I can’t move. Not now.”
Loretta looked at Stella and nodded her head. Stella said, “Maggie, we’re here for you. No one’s going to put pressure on you to move until you’re ready. We’ll plan our coup d’état after I rock Tekla to sleep. That should give you enough time to reset the clock.”
Which sent Loretta into her noiseless, bending at the waist laughter, and bombshell tears to Maggie’s eyes.
“Holy crap, Loretta, it’s not that funny.”
“Hey, baby doll, what’s going on? No one’s gonna force you to move. You know that. The last thing we want is to make you sad. Stella was just jiving you.”
No way was Maggie going to bring up Jingo’s offer to sell them a house on Six Mile Road in Livonia. This was the major reason she was dragging her feet. A few days before Tekla was born, Ben Kabul, President of Jingo, tried to convince Sam that he and Maggie should buy this company-owned house from Jingo and cover the mortgage through payroll deductions. Sam had no idea how Jingo knew about their plan to move to Livonia, or how Jingo was involved in The Puzzle. An absurd, but somehow soothing pseudonym to describe the dread, demons and degradation of unseen, unknown, unimaginable forces aimed at Sam. Maggie played with the alliteration for a few minutes before she shook her head. For crap sakes, this isn’t material for a new poem. Bottom line, she, Sam and Clyde needed time to decide if Jingo’s house was a lair to avoid or a key to use to their advantage. Maggie thought time was on their side. Teaching could wait. Civil rights could wait. The house in Livonia could wait. Or could it? Who warned us to keep enemies close? Machiavelli?
Maggie heard Sam come in the side door. By now, Maggie knew Sam’s routine. Careful not to wake Tekla, he left his penny loafers in the kitchen, padded across the cracked kitchen linoleum, creaked across the hardwood floors in the living room and hall. From their bed, Maggie could see Sam’s shadow cast across the short hallway. She watched as his shadow leaned into Tekla’s door to listen to her breathe, then disappeared into her room. Maggie pictured Sam’s head resting on the crib rail, watching her sleep.
Almost three months had passed since they’d made love. Her Ob/Gyn had given her an all-clear after her six-week checkup, but Maggie’s libido took a dive when Sam told her about his encounters with the dark side. According to Sam, the first time was the night before their wedding, almost two years ago. Sam said he was seduced at work by Carla, an administrative assistant. In his telling, Carla locked the conference room door and stripped off his pants before baring her gigantic knockers and pulling him down to the floor. After that, he lost all memory. Then, a year ago at the Auto Show, Sam described a sex scene in the hotel ballroom. A bunch of men in suits surrounded a half-naked, red-haired Cuban model, who was stretched across three bar stools. Sam said he didn’t know if it was real or drug-induced, but he remembered feeling agitated, excited and caught up in the action. Images Maggie clung to; edited and re-edited. Like the truth and deceit of fiction finding its rhythm.
But today, after talking trash with Loretta and Stella, she felt invigorated—strong, healthy, human and sexy. Clean hair, shaved legs, a red satin slip, Maggie nixed wearing her long string of Gatsby-era pearls that drove Sam over the moon. Maggie was no saint when it came to raw sex, but tonight she wanted something different. Something she’d never experienced. Tonight she found herself both thrilled and confused by a sense of wellbeing, a new kind of ecstasy. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, the quiet tableau of infant, man, and woman excited her beyond any foreplay she’d ever known. Maggie waited for the shadow to move. In truth, she could barely contain the erotic anticipation of hearing Sam walk the few steps down the hall and fill the door. Lying still, Maggie watched as Sam undressed and slid into bed as if he were moving in slow motion. By the time he placed his hand on her hips, Maggie was somewhere else. A place where she watched herself arch her back, shudder and cry, “holy mother of god.” Sam sat up and looked at Maggie as if she’d caught him in bed with another woman. Maggie smiled and whispered, “Do you by any chance live here?”
Sam started with her lips then lifted Maggie’s red satin slip. Through shared murmurs, he said, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Then, with deliberate slowness, they began to move each other in the timeless dance of bamboo flutes, mandolins and tambourines.
Table of Contents
Cover
Praise
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Also by Kathleen Hall
Quote
Contents
Chapter 1: The Riots
Chapter 2: Who’s on First?
Chapter 3: Let the Games Begin
Chapter 4: The Fallout
Chapter 5: Cliff Jumping
Chapter 6: Bootlegged
Chapter 7: Adulterated
Chapter 8: Light My Fire
Chapter 9: Ashes
Chapter 10: Resurrection
Chapter 11: Cartels and Conspiracies
Chapter 12: Evolution
Chapter 13: Haute Bourgeoisie
Chapter 14: The Dance
Chapter 15: Black Jack
Chapter 16: Close Encounters
Chapter 17: Dead Rabbit
Chapter 18: Trapped
Chapter 19: Tipping Points
Chapter 20: Sidelined
Chapter 21: Mind Over Matter
Chapter 22: Daylight
Chapter 23: Moonlight
Acknowledgments
The Author
Preview
Dear Reader
If the Moon Had Willow Trees (Detroit Eight Series Book 1) Page 24