“Ted knew. He never said a word,” Annie said in a disbelieving voice.
“Because I asked him not to. I wasn’t in a good place, Annie. I wasn’t up to making decisions. It was Ted’s idea to turn the farm and the kennel over to Gus’s nephew, and the sooner the better. I would like to think that I would have done it somewhere down the road, but having Ted help me was even better. He would check on me six or seven times a day.”
“Ted is a good man,” Myra said gently.
“Yes, he is,” Maggie agreed tearfully. “Don’t get me wrong here. I married Gus because I loved him. Gus married me to belong to someone. He married me for all the wrong reasons. I found that out rather quickly. He wanted a partner. A business partner. Not a wife. I tried to make it work, but you can’t make someone love you. If Gus hadn’t gotten the offer to go off to Afghanistan when he did, I probably would have called it a day on my own because I fell out of love. It’s that simple.”
“I told him I would stay until he got back, then I’d file for divorce. I don’t know if he even heard me; he was so gung ho on getting back to Afghanistan. That all went down during the big fight. Ted insisted I go to a shrink, which I did. What I got out of all of the sessions was that in his mind, Gus had only one love: the army. He knew he might die over there, and he was okay with it, knowing he was doing what he wanted to do. That was pretty hard to accept. Plus, the shrink said he knew that he had nothing to come home to. That’s the guilt I’m carrying with me.”
“Oh, no, no, no, darling girl. That’s all wrong. Gus made a choice. It wasn’t your choice. You can’t carry that guilt with you. You said it yourself—Gus was a soldier. It was the only life he knew from the age of eighteen as I recall. It was his choice to return to Afghanistan, and it doesn’t matter in what capacity he was going; he made it knowing what he was getting into. Did the two of you communicate while he was there?” Myra asked.
“A few times via e-mail. He was happy, said he felt he was contributing. He asked me not to be angry with him. It was a roadside bomb, and the man who came to see me said he died instantly. There was a huge insurance policy. I wanted to give it to Gus’s nephew, but he wouldn’t take it. I doubt I’ll ever be able to spend the money. I’m trying to come up with a good cause that Gus would approve of to donate it to. Something for wounded vets on their return. I don’t know yet. I’m sure something will come to me sooner or later.”
“Ted?” Annie said, mentioning her new editor in chief at the paper she owned.
“My rock. I couldn’t have made it without him, and no, I don’t want his job, Annie. I laughed when he told me he had taken over my old job. He said the chair didn’t fit, but he was getting used to it. He misses being out there gathering news, or in his case, making news. Espinosa sent me funny e-mails from time to time. He was in on it—the secrecy part. Both he and Ted are better friends than I deserve.”
“Rubbish!” Annie exclaimed. “The three of you worked well together. They missed you terribly when you left, but they both stepped up to the plate, and I know every time a crisis reared, they both would ask, ‘What would Maggie do?’ And then they’d do it. It actually worked. You were on the payroll in absentia in a manner of speaking.”
Maggie smiled through her tears. “Thanks for telling me that.”
Myra clapped her hands, and said, “Now I think we should all go to lunch. Annie has seventy-three dollars she won in Las Vegas, and it’s burning a hole in her pocket. We were on our way to town when you arrived. You’re too thin, Maggie. The first thing we need to do is put some meat back on your bones. Or we could drink our lunch if you feel that would be more appropriate.”
Maggie blew her nose in a fresh wad of paper towels, dabbed at her eyes, and sat up a little straighter. “I’m your girl,” she said with spirit.
“And you’re going to stay with me until your house is available. My roommate just relocated, and I’m all alone,” Annie said.
“Where’s Fergus? Are you saying Fergus left?” Maggie asked, shock ringing in her voice.
“It’s a long story, dear. We can talk about it over lunch,” Myra said, shooing Maggie out the door while she tried to hold the dogs at bay for a clean getaway.
Annie drove the way she always did, like a bat out of hell. They arrived at a local bistro that served alcoholic beverages at lunchtime with the brakes smoking and tires squealing.
Myra and Maggie exited the car on wobbly legs. Not so Annie, who smiled with satisfaction, and said, “I got you here in one piece.”
“Just shut up, Annie. It’s going to take at least an hour for me to calm down after that hair-raising ride.”
“I remember this place. We got drunk here, Annie. I can’t remember who drove us home, though,” Maggie said. “This is like old times. And they were good times, too.”
“Well, don’t look at me; I’m old now and can’t remember a damn thing. Just ask Miss-know-it-all Myra,” Annie said, glaring at Myra, who glared right back.
They were seated in a ruby-red leather booth in the back of the bistro. Annie suggested they make it simple and order one of everything, which she did. “Three double bourbons and branch water on the rocks. One of everything on the menu.”
“Annie!” Myra yelped.
“What? What? There are only four things on the damn menu, Myra. Burgers, hot dogs, fries, and onion rings.”
“Oh,” was all Myra could say.
“Works for me,” Maggie said. “I’ve been drinking to excess lately. After today, I’m going on the wagon. I smoke now, too,” she volunteered.
“Really?” Myra and Annie said in unison.
“They were just crutches to get me . . . you now, through the bad nights.”
“Did it help?” Myra asked.
“No. I’ll give up the cigarettes after today, too. I hate smelling like a chimney stack, and I hate waking up with a hangover.”
“Good for you, dear,” Myra said, reaching across the table for Maggie’s hand. She patted it to show she understood, as did Annie.
“So, tell me about Fergus,” Maggie said, raising her bourbon glass in a toast. The women clinked their glasses before Annie started on her story, embellishing it along the way, which was no surprise to Myra. She knew that Annie was trying to lighten Maggie’s mood at her own expense.
Twenty minutes later, Maggie said, “So what you’re saying is, you’re going to miss the sex more than the man himself even though he’s a really good cook.”
Annie squirmed in her chair and flushed. She shrugged and gulped at the little bit of the bourbon in her glass that remained. She held it aloft for a refill.
“I guess you’re thinking there is no one else out there who will rip your clothes off with their teeth. Is that it?” Maggie continued.
“More or less. I might have to settle for a manual slow and easy. We all have to make concessions from time to time,” Annie said airily.
Myra wanted to slip off her seat in the booth, her face a fiery crimson.
“But the last time we were in here you said Fergus had a heat-seeking missile that was all yours. What are you going to replace that with?” Maggie giggled.
“A purple vibrator turned on high!” Myra said, deciding she might as well join in the fun at Annie’s expense. And just maybe she’d learn something she could pass on to Charles. At some point. Just the thought made her insides all jittery and Jell-O-like.
“You little devil, you! I knew it! The word vibrator was never in your vocabulary, Myra, my dear,” Annie chortled.
“I’ve been reading Cosmo so I can keep up with you,” Myra said defensively.
“Myra, you are so far behind me, it would take you a lifetime to catch up. Now, if you really want the skinny on Fergus’s prowess, gather close. I wouldn’t want word of this to fall on anyone’s ears but yours. Myra, get out your notebook and make notes for Charles.”
Maggie’s eyes almost bugged out of her head.
“Tell us. Our lips are zipped. Right, Myra?”
Myra nodded. If her life depended on it, she couldn’t have made her tongue work.
Maggie Spitzer knew in that moment in time that she was back home, and her life would take on a whole new meaning. Who said you can’t go home again? she thought smugly. She was the living proof. So there!
Photo by M2IFOTO ©2006
FERN MICHAELS is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of the Sisterhood and Godmother series, The Blossom Sisters, Tuesday’s Child, Southern Comfort, Betrayal, Return to Sender and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are over seventy million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care centers in her hometown, and is a passionate animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret.
Visit her website at fernmichaels.com.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 1983 by Fern Michaels
Ballantine mass market edition: January 1984
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