Recovering Maggie

by KT Morrison

  A tickle sizzled through him like an orgasm; no emission, but he tightened till his stomach cramped, an iron grip locked on the end of his pulsing erection.

  Then Maggie and Cole burst into explosive breaths, gulping for air, Maggie slapping Cole’s chest lightly as she lifted a leg off him, getting off the chair to stand. Cole’s cock slapped against his belly, glowing in wet painful red.

  Maggie’s knees buckled, and she rested her palms on her thighs, still trying to catch her breath. Cole stayed in the chair, rubbing a hand over his sweaty stomach, eyes sleepy. After a slow and steady exhale, Maggie stood more upright, looking over the footboard to see his cock still hard, but his hand resting on his leg.

  “Did you… whew … did you come?”

  Cole’s head rolled to the side, seeing Max for the first time this morning, sighing a satisfied, “Hey,” to him as greeting.

  “Morning,” Max said.

  Maggie stepped to the bed, her hands grabbing the top edge of the wood footboard, looking at his erection, saying, “You want me to—”

  He shook his head, reached up and put a hand over one of hers. “No, no. I did come—kind of. Nothing came out. I think I’m empty.”

  Maggie laughed and bounced where she stood, shimmying her thighs together, eyes rolled up like she measured her interior wetness. She said, “I think Cole’s empty too.”

  Cole chuckled and groaned, said, “Still felt good.”

  She agreed: “It sure did.”

  “Max and I need to replenish.”

  Maggie said, “Yeah. I’m hungry too.”

  Max said, “Why don’t we take those snowmobiles into town and pig out at a diner?”

  Cole’s hands clutched the log ends of the chairs arms, rocking it fully forward, his expression one of awe. “Dude …”

  “Right?” Max said.

  Maggie patted his hand and turned, walking to look out the window, seeing if there would be enough snow. With the bright winter blue sky behind her, her body became a dark perfect silhouette, reflected sun from the snow covering the ground below lighting her face. His heart soared with her beauty revealed; plus something more—a certain completeness.

  Then the moment was gone—she turned and said, “Sounds perfect,” coming away from the window and crossing to put her bare rump toward the dwindling fire, reduced to a bed of coals. This was her now, and it exhilarated him to see her so assured.

  She shivered, then said, “Somebody stoke the fire, I’m getting in the shower.”

  “Want company?” Max asked.

  “No way,” she laughed, waving them both off. “I think I need a break.” She disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

  “We did give it to her pretty good,” Cole said from his chair.

  Max said, “She can take it.”

  Cole laughed hard, rocked himself out of the chair and came to the bed, jumping onto it and laying next to him. He rolled to face him, Cole wanting to say something but pausing, the sun lighting up his eyes in turquoise. He reached out and put his hand over Max’s neck. “I’m sorry, Max.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry for all the shitty things I did. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “She did,” Max said, nudging his chin toward the bathroom door.

  Cole laughed, then frowned, said, “Did you mean that dirty?”

  “No. But I guess it applies.”

  Cole sighed, grew pensive. “I’m a fucking top shelf asshole, dude.”

  “You are,” Max said. “So am I.”

  “I hate the things I did but I couldn’t help myself. I really am sorry.”

  “It’s … I’m okay. I think … I grew up a lot … Learned a few things about myself I’m grateful to know.”

  “I’m so lucky to have her, have you … I’m so grateful you don’t hate me.”

  Now Max’s face grew pensive, and he lowered his eyes.

  Cole said, “What is it?”

  Eyes returned to Cole’s, he said, “Don’t take her from me.”

  Cole stayed expressionless, mouth opening and closing again.

  “Please, just don’t take her from me.”

  13

  Arctic Cat

  Sunday, November 5th

  In the basement they found zippered snowsuits, full-face helmets with tinted visors, and wind-proof gauntlets. Together they trudged through the drifting snow and crossed from the lodge to the garage, Cole picking up and throwing a giggling Maggie into a particularly tall drift, its peak curled over like a frozen wave a surfer would die for. Max and Maggie pelted him with shoddy snowballs that fell apart before they scattered dryly over his back, the snow not quite wet enough to pack.

  Once in the garage, he showed them the basics of operating a snow machine, taking one of the Arctic Cats out and showing off, riding with one knee on the bench and throwing donuts in the fluffy white drive below the log garage’s dormers. Cole watched with excited envy and Maggie watched with her hands clamped over her ears while he revved the high power machine, sending up an impressive rooster tail of snow that twinkled like sparks in the cold bright sunlight.

  Cole got the hang of it quickly, disappearing on them, racing the machine around the property. Maggie was reluctant, and while he sat with her, putting his hands over hers and operating the controls with her, she was too apprehensive.

  “I had an accident, you know …”

  “When?” he asked.

  “In Michigan. With a rental car.”

  “When you went to find me?”

  She nodded.

  “What happened?”

  “I backed into another rental at the airport. Right in front of the attendant.”

  When he finished laughing, and she stopped swatting at him with her padded mittens, she said, “Let me ride with you. Can’t I just ride with you?”

  “I want you to ride with me,” he said and darted a kiss to her cold lips. “Put your helmet on.”

  She climbed on the seat behind him, wrapped her arms around his middle, and they launched down the driveway looking for Cole.

  The hamlet was desolate. Snow still covered the streets, and they were creased with the tracks of the few vehicles that had ventured out and been capable enough to traverse the unplowed roads. Most of the businesses were closed though she wasn’t sure if that was because of the storm or if it was because it was Sunday and it was the winter. It didn’t matter because they were able to find what they were looking for.

  Off the main street and down a hill, following a laneway that backed onto a river, they found a two-story building in gray cedar shingles and white trim, its awning bowing with armfuls of white snow. A metal sign hanger fixed between its two second-floor windows showed a sign for street traffic that read: Leachman’s Restaurant, since 1956, in a font from that time. Its two street-level windows were dark but the neon tubes spelling OPEN were lit in inviting red. Max and Cole were able to park the snow machines right out front, and they went in, stomping their boots and taking their helmets off. They had the place to themselves.

  The waitress said, “Now that’s how you beat the plows,” gesturing to their snowmobiles with her pen. She took their orders, and they got comfortable, setting their helmets on the floor and pulling themselves out of the top halves of their snowsuits. They took the table right in the front window though the view was mostly closed off with curtains printed with evergreens and moose.

  The food came quickly. Pancakes, French toast, home fries, sausage, bacon, eggs, coffee, Coke, and Cole asked for a pitcher of water, Max and Cole making snide little jokes about having their fluids depleted.

  “What do you want to do this afternoon?” Max asked her.

  There were one million things they could do, and she suddenly smiled. It didn’t matter what they did as long as she was with both of them. That’s what mattered. She said, “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Ski, snowmobile, sleep. We could watch a movie downstairs in the theater …”

  Cole smil
ed at her warmly and she had a strong feeling that he got it.

  Max said, “We have to drive back tonight. In separate cars.”

  Cole said, “I can skip school tomorrow.”

  “I took two weeks off. I can’t. You guys can stay,” Max said, and she thought he might mean it.

  “No, dude,” Cole said, “we’ll all drive back together.”

  “I’m behind, too,” Maggie told him, the last two painful weeks taking a distinct toll on her studying.

  They ate in silence for a little while longer but then she set her knife and fork down. Cole continued to eat, but Max looked to her.

  She said, “Max, can you come to Harvard with us?”

  He said, “When?”

  “Attend with us. I want you there with us.”

  Max looked pained and lost for a moment again and she hated to see that in him, he was too good a person to feel that way. He said, “I can’t do that, Maggie. It’s not my plan.”

  “I don’t want to be away from you,” she said.

  “You won’t. I swear, we’ll figure something out. We don’t have to think about it now. That’s not for a while …”

  “It’s soon,” she reminded him.

  “I’m going to make it work,” he assured her, looking in her eyes. She kept his gaze, let it draw her in, and she saw a surprising strength there that had been missing before. “Okay?” he asked her, that old unsure Max gone now, maybe, hopefully for good, strong Max making her feel like it could possibly be okay.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Cole said, “Lots of work opportunities in Boston.”

  “There are,” Max agreed, winking at her.

  Cole called the waitress over and ordered a sundae and Max joined him but she declined, feeling like her belly might burst. The waitress asked what toppings they wanted and Max said fudge, Cole said fruit. When the waitress left, Max rolled his eyes and muttered, “Somebody wants his cum to taste good.”

  She laughed so hard she bent over to protect her stomach from sending up its overstuffed and maple syrup-soaked contents, falling to touch her forehead to the paper place mat bordered with ads for local businesses. When she rose, it had stuck to her.

  Before they left the restaurant, while Maggie had gone to the ladies room to wash her face, he’d talked to Cole. Now, zipping down the lodge’s driveway they saw him ahead, his machine stopped at the bay of the log garage, taking off his helmet and shaking out his hair. Max continued past the garage, Cole giving him a nod, and they circled behind the towering lodge, traveling through its lilac shade, carving a fresh path through the snow. Maggie squeezed him tighter, the round shape of her helmet pressing against his shoulder.

  They descended the wooded slope in a series of switchbacks until he slowed, finding the shore of the pond. It was cast in a hazy navy sheen, no action on its surface today and it froze in a fragile shell. The machine came to rest under the reaching black arms of a tall spruce. This side of the water had fallen in winter shadow, snow in pale pastel shades, the far shore and the snowy mountains beyond lit in silvery sunshine.

  When he stood, he removed his helmet and dismounted the snow machine. He set the helmet and his mitts down on the seat in front of Maggie and walked to the frozen shore. With the toe of his boot he tapped at the surface and an arcing line snapped through it, water seeping up and over top, sinking the fragment of ice. He rinsed the snow from his boots and shook it from his pants with a few stomps.

  Maggie stood now too, taking her helmet and gloves off and setting them down next to his. She came down to join him, linking an arm through his and standing at his side, the two of them facing the breathtaking view. Only it was Maggie he watched.

  Watched those beautiful narrow eyes, the reflected mountain sunlight sparkling under her lashes; a lot had changed in the last few months. It was like she’d become an adult, matured—and it was more than cosmetic, more than the removal of the blue from her hair. It showed in her demeanor, the way she carried herself. The Maggie he had met and fallen in love with, devoted himself to, had been a girl. At his side was the woman.

  “Thank you,” she said, eyes still on the vista. “It’s beautiful.”

  He took the hand that had linked through his arm and turned her to face him, took her other hand. Now she smiled, and he took it from her with a slow and gentle kiss. She kissed him back; not passionately, not lustily, but lovingly. Hands released, he lowered, getting himself down on one knee. In the pocket of his snowsuit he’d transferred the velvet clamshell case that entombed the ring he’d pulled from her. He had it now, flipping the lid open with his thumb and presenting it to her.

  “Maggie, I never should’ve taken this from you. I did it to hurt you—but only because I suffered so badly. I was wrong, everything I thought was wrong. But the day I gave you this ring was true and honest. I want that back. I want you to have your ring.”

  The last time she’d been presented this diamond, she’d veritably burst with giddiness, bubbling, Yes, Max, yes, a thousand times yes, with such deeply credulous love it was infectious, consuming him with the same almost childlike jubilance. Now, she looked solemn.

  She sighed, “Oh, Max,” her eyes glued to the ring she’d proudly worn for the last six months. She dropped to her knees in the snow, slumping so she had to turn her face up to meet his. “Maxy, I love you.”

  He plucked the ring from its velvet seam and palmed it, closing the case and putting it away in the snowsuit’s pocket. His gaze lowered, afraid to meet her doleful eyes, looking to her chest, the stitched Polaris logo with flecks of tufted snow clinging to its threads. Her response this time would not be a thousand times yes.

  When he looked to her again, he saw her eyes gleaming wet, felt the same rising in his own. “Take it, Maggie. Take it because of what it once meant. When I bought this ring for you, I went with my brothers and I swear … I was overflowing with love for you. And when you accepted? … Do you remember how you felt, the things you said?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “I don’t want this ring to be put in a drawer, or returned, or pawned … not when it means so much.”

  Both her hands wrapped over his that held the ring. His eyes met hers again.

  “I’ll wear it, Max. I’ll wear it on a necklace.”

  “You will?” he said, raising his chin and showing her he was strong.

  “I’m not saying no, Max. Two weeks ago when you took it off my finger I wanted to curl up and die—”

  “I’m so sorry …”

  She shook her head. “Because it meant so much to me. It still does.”

  She pried his hand open with her fingertips and he lay his hand flat, the gold band and diamond lay in the center of his palm.

  “There it is,” she sighed, happy to see it. She took it up with thumb and forefinger and pressed it to her lips. Arms circling his neck, she pulled him against her, kissing him fully. When she withdrew, she sat back on her heels, unzipped the snowsuit. She said, “I’d be crazy not to marry you, Max Milton.”

  “You would be,” he agreed as she smiled and put her hands behind her neck and undid her necklace.

  “We’re young, Max. We’ll know when we’re ready,” she said, her eyes watching the necklace thread through her ring. Clasped again, she hooped it over her head.

  He leaned close and ran his hands through her hair to pull it from the necklace’s circle. “One day you’ll be mine, Maggie,” he said.

  “I’ll always be yours, Max,” she said, closed her eyes and kissed him again.

  All three of them pitched in as best they could to clean up. The company that managed the property for Martin would hire a service to come in and make it perfect, so they mostly made efforts to hide any evidence of their more vulgar activities. The garbage and recycling were bundled into clear bags and sealed in a metal bin in the garage; the Arctic Cats were parked in there as well. She left a fifty-dollar tip and a thank-you note for whomever would come to clean because whether they realized it or
not they would be removing a lot of body fluids from the hard surfaces and the bedding.

  In the afternoon they watched Netflix through the home theater system, displayed on a hundred-inch screen between red velvet drapes, and she fell asleep laying across the soft leather cushion of a reclining chair, Max and Cole in identical ones on either side of her, Cole stroking her hair and Max rubbing her feet. When she woke, Max pulled her pants to her knees and went down on her while she made out with Cole. They made love together, all three of them one more time in the bed, then it was time to go home.

  Lights shut off and doors locked, they packed their vehicles up. She told Max she would ride with Cole to see how he would take it and he hugged her, said maybe they could switch after they stopped for dinner. So she boarded the tall Jeep and soon they were winding their way along the snowy roads, heading out of the Adirondacks with Max’s headlights staying close in their rear view.

  The closer they got to Vermont the more the spell cast by their troika union in the lodge became replaced with serious thoughts on what she would do now. Her sex was satisfied, she knew what she wanted in bed and would get it, but so much more lay ahead of her. There were other things she wanted and she would get them, too.

  “You want to play your music?” Cole asked her.

  “Yeah,” she said, finding her phone and scrolling through her music library to find her Boccherini. She set the phone in the cupholder and let it serve as its own vinyl amplifier. As the tinny strains of Jacqueline du Pré’s Davidov reverberated under the drone of Cole’s big tires rolling on Interstate highway, she watched the headlights in the side mirror and played through her shirt with the hard circle that hung between her breasts on a golden chain.

  Epilogues