“The forecast is for one hell of a storm tonight,” Hannah said. “You’d never know it to look at it now.”
Maggie just grunted and wandered around the kitchen, poking around in drawers, looking for a hair clip.
“Well, don't you look like someone who was kept up late doing goodness knows what,” Hannah said. “Confess! You've had your way with that nice young man, haven't you?”
Maggie pulled her hair back into a wild, messy twist and clipped it with a big barrette she found in the drawer by the sink.
“Certainly not,” she said, cocking a stern eyebrow at her friend as she sat down at the table across from her. “I left him in the same chaste condition in which I found him.”
“That's a pity,” Hannah said. “You could use a good roll in the hay.”
Maggie thought of how nearly she had rolled on the café floor with Scott the night before and her face felt hot.
“You did do something,” Hannah accused with a wagging finger. “You're blushing.”
“Drew gave me a perfectly nice kiss, thanked me for a lovely evening, and that was that.”
“He didn’t stick his tongue down your throat or slobber all over your face, did he?” Hannah asked. “Cause you don’t look too impressed.”
“No,” Maggie said. “It was short and sweet. It was very nice.”
“That’s the end of that, I guess,” Hannah said.
“Why do you say that? I like him. He’s cooking me dinner tonight.”
“Look, I want you to be happy, and Drew’s a great guy, but if the first kiss doesn’t steam up your windows, nothing else he does will, either.”
“You don’t know that,” Maggie said in a cross tone. ”I hate when you do that. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let’s change the subject.”
They talked about Willy Neff being found in his truck in the river, and as awful as it was, neither could drum up much sympathy.
“I’ve got to go to Pendleton to pick up some new prisoners,” Hannah said. “And since I know what you love most in the world besides chocolate cake and root beer is a pepperoni roll from the IGA in Pendleton, I thought you might want to ride along.”
She looked hopefully at Maggie, who she could tell was about to say no. Hannah jumped in again before she could.
“I talked to Jeanette; the bookstore is covered, and we can take care of Bonnie, Grandpa Tim, and Fitz before we go.”
Maggie pointed a finger at Hannah.
“Hah! My mother informed me this morning that she doesn't need me waiting on her hand and foot,” Maggie said. “And what's more, the sainted Patrick can take care of Grandpa Tim and Fitz.”
“Then there's no reason not to go,” Hannah said. “C'mon! Can’t you just taste the pepperoni grease soaked up by the warm, squishy roll?”
Maggie gestured to her hair, saying, “I need a shower, and you know this bird’s nest takes at least an hour to be put right.”
Hanna looked at the tangled, semi-matted mess on Maggie's head, and nodded her head in agreement.
“Okay, how about this? You take a quick shower. I will get the special comb and carefully, ever so tenderly detangle this wild wig of yours while your highness sips your tea, and if I can make it look presentable we can go.”
Maggie sighed deeply and went to take a shower.
“You know, most people would love to have this hair,” Hannah said fifteen minutes later, as she started the detangling process from the bottom, using a wide-tooth comb. “It's a gorgeous color, and people pay a lot of money for this kind of curl.”
Maggie winced and groaned as Hannah worked the tangles out.
“It's not hair, it's an affliction,” Maggie said, “and ‘most people’ can have it.”
“Everything you have going for you, which most people would feel blessed with, you consider a curse,” Hannah said. “You are the most contrary person I know.”
“Don’t lecture me,” Maggie said. “I have a mother for that.”
A half hour later they left the bookstore just as Scott was walking down the street toward them. Maggie felt panicked, and her heart raced.
Hannah yelled, “Jinkies! It's the cops! Make a break for it!”
Scott briefly acknowledged Hannah's greeting, but his intense focus was on Maggie, who could see Hannah watching with piqued interest.
“Where are you two off to?” he asked.
Maggie replied, “To Pendleton to pick up some inmates,” looking everywhere but at Scott.
He stood directly between Maggie and the passenger side door of Hannah's truck, and Hannah might as well have not been there for all the attention he paid her.
“While you’re there,” Scott said, “would you mind stopping by the retirement home and talking to Ruthie Postlethwaite about Margie and Enid?”
“Sure,” Maggie said, shrugging, but still not making eye contact. “Why?”
“Just to see how they’re doing. Remember the thing Lily Crawford mentioned that I asked you about,” he said cryptically.
“Oh yeah,” Maggie said casually. “Will do.”
“When will you be back?”
“I don't know. We might go to the city and do some shopping.”
It was obvious from her double-take that it was the first Hannah had heard of this plan. Maggie could see her making note of the body language and palpable tension between Scott and her.
“Call me when you get back,” he said. “I'd like to finish the conversation we started last night.”
He smiled at Maggie then, in a knowing, intimate way that could not be mistaken for anything other than serious lust, and Maggie felt the flush start in her chest and zoom up through her face.
“Alright,” Maggie said, as she pushed him aside to open the truck door. “I'll call you.”
Scott grinned at Hannah and said, “You girls be careful now.”
He stood on the sidewalk, grinning from ear to ear, watching them until they were out of sight.
“What in the hell was that about?” Hannah demanded, before they were a block away from him.
Maggie hid her burning face in her gloved hands and would not look at Hannah. She mumbled something Hannah could not make out.
“Mary Margaret Fitzpatrick,” Hannah said, smacking her on the arm, “you look at me and tell me what happened between you and Scott Gordon.”
Maggie shook her head and kept her face hidden in her hands.
“This happened last night?” Hannah asked. “After you dropped off Drew?”
“Yes,” Maggie said, the word smothered by her gloves.
“You brazen hussy,” Hannah said. “Seducing men right and left, one after another.”
Maggie's head popped up.
“I did not!” she said, trying to give Hannah a mean look, but smiling sheepishly instead. “Scott was waiting for me when I got back last night. It was awful.”
Hannah could hardly keep her eyes on the road.
“Awful? You had sex with Scott Gordon and it was awful?”
“No, no, no,” Maggie laughed. “I’m saying it was awful because it made me feel awful, afterward.”
“After the sex,” Hannah insisted.
Maggie smacked Hannah on the arm, yelling, “No! There was no sex!”
“Okay, okay, don't get physical on me. There was no sex. You don't have to tell me anything.”
Hannah appeared offended and made a pretense of concentrating solely on the road ahead. Maggie knew it was an act, but went along with it. She needed time to think.
Maggie had hoped Scott would pretend nothing happened, at least in front of other people. She could see now it had been a foolish hope. Scott wasn't going to keep it a secret and didn't care who knew it. She had kept him at a safe distance for the last couple of years, across a minefield of bickering and continual rejection. That battleground had been crossed the previous night, and he wasn't planning on retreating. As soon as she weakened and let her defenses down, he was acting as if he had already captured the castle.
Maggie dreaded the days ahead. She felt she had only two choices: she could reject him completely and finally, and hurt him terribly, almost certainly laying waste to the close friendship they had developed over the years; or she could give in and subject herself to what felt like the complete surrender of her safe, orderly world.
She wanted him, oh my, yes. She secretly wished he would come back to her last night and finish what he started. But she knew him so well. There could be no long-term hot affair with Scott Gordon, no way. As soon as he was in her bed, he would be pressuring her to marry him, and once she was married to him, it would be Mother Marcia and her in the center ring, with Scott as the prize, ‘til death did they part.
She was so fond of the man, she did love him, and there was no doubt the physical attraction was intense, but she had these nagging doubts. It hadn’t felt like that with Gabe. Maggie would have married Gabe in a heartbeat. Maggie would have followed him to the ends of the earth if he’d asked her to. She had assumed she and Gabe would eventually get married, have children, and then grow old together. Unfortunately, during the three years they were together Gabe never proposed, and then one night Gabe was gone.
Maggie knew Hannah wanted everyone she knew to be paired up and making babies. She would not, could not understand why Maggie didn’t want that, too. Nevertheless, she was Maggie's best friend in the world, and knew her better than anyone. She might not understand, but she loved Maggie, despite her pricklish nature, and would accept whatever Maggie decided to do, regardless of whether she approved or not. She owed Hannah the truth.
“He was waiting for me when I got back last night,” Maggie began, and then told Hannah all of it.
Hannah said, “Mm hmm,” in all the proper places, and didn't interrupt, keeping her eyes on the road.
When Maggie finished recounting the events of the evening, ending with Skip's timely interruption, she concluded by saying, “And that's what he wants to talk about when I get back.”
“I don't think it's talking he wants to do, little missy, and neither do you,” Hannah cackled.
“I can’t do it. I won’t.”
“You want him,” Hannah said, “but you don't want to marry him.”
“No, I don’t,” Maggie said. “And there’s no half way with that man. If I sleep with him he'll have Father Stephen over to breakfast the next morning, giving us premarital counseling over coffee and doughnuts.”
“I know this seems simple, and you've probably thought of it already,” Hannah said slowly, as if she were talking to a child, “but do you think maybe you could just tell him all this? And talk about it? You know, like adult people?”
Maggie shook her head.
“I will, but he won't listen. He still thinks being in love solves everything.”
“He should know better from marrying Sharon.”
“He’ll say that wasn't meant to be and this is.”
“Well, you can't lead him on,” Hannah said.
“I won't lead him on,” Maggie protested. “You know I'm not like that.”
Hannah shook her head, saying, “What a mess.”
Maggie nodded in agreement.
“Poor Drew, too,” Hannah said.
Maggie, who hadn't thought it possible, felt even worse.
Several minutes later Hannah, who was singing “Brown Eyed Girl” (loudly and off key), along with Van Morrison on oldies radio, suddenly stopped and interrupted Maggie’s reverie.
“Hey, why are we going to talk to Ruthie about Enid and Margie?”
Maggie told Hannah what Scott suspected about Margie.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Hannah yelled. “Our little town is a haven for blackmailers, murderers, and mail-tamperers! This is a job for Tiny Trollop, the crime-fighting kitten! Turn on the slut signal, Mary Margaret!”
Pendleton was about twelve miles west of Rose Hill and Hannah took the scenic route to get there rather than the faster highway. The curvy, two-lane black top wound through a narrow gap between the hills, covered with hardwoods and evergreens, all frosted with snow. She waved at almost every vehicle they passed, and Maggie kidded her about it.
“These are my constituents,” Hannah said. “My job is a politically appointed position, you know.”
Maggie didn't remind Hannah she was continually re-appointed because no one else wanted the low-paying, thankless, nigh impossible job.
Pendleton was much bigger than Rose Hill was, with a Mega Mart and several fast food restaurants right outside the city limits. The Mountain View Retirement Home was on Main Street, situated between a medical office building and a funeral home.
Hannah pointed to the businesses on either side of the retirement home and said, “It’s like an assembly line.”
Hannah pulled the truck into the semi-circular drive as if to drop Maggie off, and Maggie said, “Aren't you coming with me?”
“No thanks,” Hannah said. “These places are like no-kill shelters for old people. I like to see my grannies in their natural habitats.”
“Wait ‘til your old man dies and Alice can't remember how to pull up her own panties; you might feel differently.”
“Thanks so much for the visual. Now get out!”
Maggie entered the lobby through two sets of automatic doors which formed a windbreak. Just inside was a large, airy room with a semi-circular reception desk, decorated much like a hotel lobby, and a large sitting room area just beyond. There were several people seated in soft chairs and wheelchairs in the sitting room, watching a morning talk show on a big screen television. A cheerful woman dressed like a hotel reservationist asked Maggie if she could help her. Within minutes of her request Maggie's old friend Ruthie was hugging her and offering to show her around.
“Scott called me,” Ruthie said. “He said you were coming by to talk about Enid.”
Ruthie took her down to the end of a long hallway that led through the “north wing,” where there was a physical therapy room, a craft project room, a full service hair and nail salon, and a gift shop. The “south wing” held a huge dining room, a meeting room, and a snack bar with game room. Both wings enclosed an atrium garden area with benches and tables. Beyond the atrium, Ruthie told her, in the west wing, was the more hospital-like extended care facility.
Maggie’s first impression was it looked like a luxury hotel for people in wheelchairs. She had secretly been anticipating abandoned-looking old people drooling and yelling in the hallways, and was ashamed of herself now she saw how nice it was, and how friendly everyone seemed.
Ruthie bought her a soda in the snack bar and took her back to the office, which she shared with several other people. Nurses were dressed in colorfully printed scrubs and office workers wore identical khaki's, white shirts, and navy blue blazers. Ruthie had on the office worker uniform and her badge said, “Intake Registrar” below her name.
“I'd like to move in as soon as possible,” Maggie said, as she sat down across from her old friend at her desk.
Ruthie laughed.
“We're lucky,” she said. “Our owners are really dedicated to good care. Our ratio of caregivers to residents is one of the highest in the industry. We hope they never sell us.”
“It must cost a fortune,” Maggie said.
“It is expensive,” Ruthie admitted, “but we have a waiting list of people wanting to get in.”
“How could someone like Enid Estep ever afford it?” Maggie asked.
“Some people deed their homes over to the company to pay for it,” Ruthie said. “If Enid owns the house she and Margie are living in, that's definitely a possibility. Otherwise, we have a program funded by grants and bequests for people who have limited means, and she would probably qualify for that.”
“Have you talked to her about it?” Maggie asked.
Ruthie frowned and leaned forward, saying in a quieter voice, “Many times. I work part-time here as an intake nurse and part-time as a home health nurse, and I see Enid at least twice a week, depending on o
ur rotation schedule. I don't want to imply she is in any way neglected…”
Ruthie paused here and Maggie filled in, “But?”
“I don't know exactly what Enid's late husband's pension payments are, or what his social security benefit is, but my mother has the same pension plan from my dad having been a fireman in Rose Hill, plus his social security, and she lives a whole lot better than Enid.”
“So what do you think is going on?”
“Her daughter has drummed it into her head that they’re poor and can't afford anything, but I think Margie must be squirreling away money, or spending it somehow. I told Margie about a new drug treatment program that may help her mother's arthritis, but she shut me down, saying it was just another way for the drug companies and doctors to get rich, and they couldn't afford it.”
“Won't her insurance pay for it?” Maggie asked.
“They will pay the larger part,” said Ruthie. ”Enid would have to pay the rest, but if it would improve her quality of life? I can only tell you if it were my mom I wouldn’t hesitate.”
“I haven't been in their house,” Maggie said. “What's it like?”
Ruthie looked around to see who was nearby before speaking in even more hushed tones.
“It's not exactly squalor; not bad enough to say she's being abused,” she said. “But it's depressing as hell, and she's so isolated.”
“Would she leave it, though?”
“When I told her about this place she said it sounded wonderful, and she wished she could afford it. She didn't say, 'oh I could never leave Margie,' or 'I could never leave my home.' She said she would love to come but can't afford it. She also said she wished Margie wasn’t stuck there at home with her.”
Maggie and Ruthie stared at each other thoughtfully for a moment, and then Maggie said quietly, “Scott is investigating Margie for something bad she may be doing, and it could be Enid will need somewhere to live as a result.”
Ruthie’s eyebrows popped up.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I'll let you know,” Maggie responded, and then made the lock motion with her fingers in front of her lips, the same way they had as children, when promising to keep a secret.
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