Before and Again

by Barbara Delinsky

  “That you’re opening a French bistro here in town.”

  “Will they give me a break then?”

  “No. If you want lower prices, there’s an L.L. Bean in West Lebanon.”

  “Good,” he said and cut into the quiche. “We can go there today.”

  “Not me. I’m working.” I had no idea if I was. It seemed like an eternity since I had last left the Spa. Actually, yes. Now that I thought of it, I did have two bookings, though I would be done in plenty of time for a shopping trip with Liam. But I was not getting into that. Give Liam an inch, and he would take a mile, as Mom always said, and if that made me like Mom, so be it.

  “You’re working today?” he asked. “But today’s Sunday.”

  “And you never work on Sunday? Will your bistro be closed on Sunday? Absolutely not. Devon is a tourist town, and tourists are here seven days a week. Will your restaurant be closed any day?”

  “Mondays,” he said and, frowning, set a plate in front of me. “Maybe. That’s still TBD.”

  “This looks amazing,” I had to say.

  “I told you. I’m good.”

  Overeager, I took a bite of the quiche, then bobbled it in my mouth until it cooled enough to properly eat. The wait was worth it. “You’re right. You’re good.”

  Lifting a plate for himself, he straddled his stool sideways to face me. “What work do you have today?”

  His blankness gave me pause. Given his closeness to Mom, who had wiped me clean of her life, he might be clueless. “Do you know what I do?”

  “You sell makeup.”

  “I don’t sell it. I apply it. I’m a makeup artist.”

  “So you put it on.”

  I glanced at our breakfast spread. “Like you sling hash? There’s more to it, Liam. An artist is an artist, whether she’s working with food or makeup. I studied to do this. I apprenticed, and I’m certified. I work at the Spa at the Inn.” I added a dry, “You know, that Inn from which your restaurant will get most of its patrons?”

  “I know the Inn, Maggie,” he snapped, then softened. “I knew about it even before Edward approached me, and part of his pitch was laying out the numbers, so I know high-end dinner fare will sell. Still, I expected something sleepy—I mean, hell, this is Vermont. But it’s been buzzing here lately. I saw you on TV, by the way—at least, I think it was you going into that woman’s house and then, this week, going into court?” He studied my face, and suddenly, in my own home, I felt exposed. “You look different from how you used to.”

  I pressed my lips together, then nodded. “Older.”

  “That, too.” His phone dinged. He pulled it from his pocket, took a quick look, slid it back.

  “Did Mom see?” I asked, trying to be casual about it, like I didn’t care. But I did. I wanted to know whether she thought I was being a good friend to a good friend or was still associating with the wrong people.

  “You on TV? I don’t know. I left a month ago.” He lowered his voice, inviting the inside scoop. “So, did the kid do it?”

  When I realized no more would be coming about Mom, I said, “I don’t really know.”

  “But you know his mother. She seemed shell-shocked. Definitely a looker, though.”

  I wondered why men had to go with that first. “She also happens to be a good massage therapist.”

  “You work with her.”

  “We’re both at the Spa.”

  “Does she work Sundays, too?”

  I paused. “In what way is that relevant?” I dipped into my fruit. “Actually”—I relented, because the compote was warm, sweet, delicious enough to melt my pique—“she does. The best clients I get are the ones who come straight from her. They’re loose and relaxed. I should be so lucky as to have one of those today. My morning appointment is the guest of honor at a birthday lunch. I’m not sure what the afternoon one is.” I pulled out my phone to check and saw three missed calls. Two, plus a text, were from Edward’s cell.

  Talk about the past rushing back? I hadn’t seen that number since the divorce. Funny that he hadn’t changed it, though with his work and all, he wouldn’t. I had definitely changed mine. The old area code would have given me away in two seconds flat. Edward must have gotten my new number from my file at the Inn.

  The third call was from Grace, who had been so hard to reach that I returned it there and then, albeit in a low voice. “Hey.”

  “Maggie.” She sounded winded. “Can you do my hair this morning?”

  “Uh, I think so. I have a ten o’clock—”

  “It’s at eleven. They changed it. I’m looking at the schedule right now. If you get here at nine-thirty we’ll have time. I know it’s mean of me to ask this on a Sunday, but I really, really need something done.”

  Leaving the table, I turned away from Liam and quietly said, “Your hair looks great. You don’t need—”

  “Want. I want something done.”

  I might have argued that her current something was less than a month old and that too-frequent processing would hurt her hair. But how could I argue with want? Want involved emotional issues, and Grace, of all people right now, had a right to those.

  “Not raven,” I warned by way of concession.

  “We’ll discuss. When can you come?”

  I took the phone from my ear long enough to see that my phone screen read eight. And that Liam had nonchalantly strolled close. And that Edward was trying me again.

  Confront him, Kevin had said, but I wasn’t ready. Last night’s confrontation hadn’t ended well.

  Pressing ignore, I turned away from Liam, headed back to my breakfast, and told Grace, “Nine-thirty. See you then.”

  “Thankyouthankyou. Bye.”

  “Who was that?” Liam asked when I pocketed the phone. His own dinged.

  “Someone I work with.” I took another bite of the quiche.

  When he typed for a few seconds, I thought he would let it go. But no. As soon as he lowered the phone, he said, “Her?” I wasn’t sure whether he was seriously guessing or simply wanting to revive the discussion. I considered lying. An easy no would have done it. But having to lie in my own home, to my own brother?

  “Yes, it was her, but that has nothing to do with anything that concerns you.” I crossed to the small whiteboard by the fridge and scrawled the number of a guy who would tow Liam’s car. “Use my name.” I had a sudden thought then—a sudden, awful thought. “Liam?”

  His phone dinged again. He was looking at it when he said, “There’s great cell reception here. How’d you manage that? And Wi-Fi? Whoa. Full signal.”

  I caught his arms and shook them. “Liam. This is important. People here don’t know where I came from or what I did. They don’t know that Edward is my ex-husband. They don’t know about Lily or the accident or my conviction. They don’t have a clue who Mackenzie Cooper is. I want it to stay that way. You need to keep your mouth shut.”

  He twisted a lock at his lips too quickly for my peace of mind.

  “Swear it, Liam,” I ordered. “I’ve worked hard keeping the past out of my life here, but if you let it in, I’ll leave—just move away and start over somewhere else. I can do it,” I warned. “Edward had gall buying the Inn and you have gall signing on with him, so if word of the past gets out, it’ll be on your shoulders. I’m Maggie Reid. Mackenzie Cooper doesn’t exist anymore.” I didn’t like the look on my brother’s face. “What?”

  He held up his phone for me to see the screen. “Good luck with that.”

  11

  I’m almost there, read the text, and at the top of the screen, Edward Cooper.

  The words positively shouted at me.

  I shouted back, “I don’t want him here.”

  “He’s been trying to reach you,” Liam said.

  “How do you know?” I asked, though I knew the answer. Guilt was written all over my brother’s freckled face.

  “He knows I’m here, so he texted me. He said you’re not answering your phone and asked if I knew where y
ou were.”

  Control was a major issue in my life. I had lost it along with my phone signal on that country road shrouded with fall leaves, had certainly been without it when that van rammed us and sent us into a flying roll. I hadn’t consciously called for help; my high-tech SUV had done that. Control? Control? In my frantic effort to free myself from the car so that I could get to my baby? In the harrowing sound of police sirens and fire truck hoots, the glare of ambulance lights, the milling of responders keeping me from her? In the legal doings afterward? Control? Ze-ro.

  Slowly, slowly I had returned it to my life. This, now, just wasn’t fair.

  I tried to remain coherent against a rising anger, though I shook with the effort. “You had no right, Liam. I do what I want when I want, and if I don’t want to return a text, that’s my choice. This is my house, and I don’t want Edward here. You can tell him that when he comes.”

  “What’s meant to happen happens. It’s God’s plan.”

  “Don’t quote Mom!” I yelled, shooting to my feet. Then I just stood there, too bewildered to know what to do next until I actually heard the thump of boots on the porch. That got me going.

  I had spun toward the stairs when Liam asked a disappointed, “Is that all you’re eating? Didn’t you like it?”

  “Sorry,” I said without looking back. “Lost my appetite.”

  * * *

  I took a very long shower. Each time I thought I was done, I decided my body needed just a little more heat. Only when the water cooled to the dark side of tepid did I turn it off. I took my time toweling dry, blew my hair a little, brushed my teeth. My mug shot was there on the inside of the medicine chest—my old nemesis, never far—but I kept my mind on taking care of myself and getting out of the house.

  It was a blend of escapism, defiance, and self-pity. It was also desperation. I wanted Edward gone by the time I was dressed.

  When I left the bathroom, I heard voices down below. Since I wasn’t dressed yet, I told myself that there was still time for him to leave.

  Closing the bedroom door, I thumbed up Adele loud enough to drown out my thoughts. With my eyes out the window on the woods and my back to the door, I sat on the bed, pulled on leggings, a sweater, and heavy socks. Then I stood, turned, and gasped. Edward’s back was closing the door—the door to my bedroom.

  Every bit of the anger I had tamped down in the shower returned. “Leave,” I said with what I thought was commendable composure. When he didn’t budge, I said it louder, and when he continued to stare, I reached for my phone to silence Adele, and said it a third time, even louder, in case his hearing had gone bad in the years we’d been apart.

  His voice was low. “Why won’t you return my calls?”

  “This is my house, Edward. I don’t want you here.” He was too tall for this room, too past for this house.

  “We need to talk.”

  “This is not a good time. I have to get to work.”

  “Your first appointment isn’t until eleven.”

  I could ask how he knew what my schedule was, but it would have been a waste of breath. He owned the Inn. He owned the Spa. He owned the new computers and would own the new tablets. He could search them at will. I had no control over that.

  But here? Now? Crossing to the door, I moved him aside, returned to the bathroom, closed myself in, and flipped the lock. For a minute, bracing stiff arms on the rim of the sink, I hung my head. One deep inhalation later, though, defiance brought me upright. He might own all that at the Spa, but this was my house, my life.

  He knocked.

  “Not now,” I said and reached for my makeup. If I wanted to feel strong, makeup was a must. I needed to look like the new me.

  I half expected him to say something through the paneled wood. As I stood there, though, I heard nothing for a minute, then the sound of retreating footsteps. I heard him go down the stairs, and listened for either talk or the closing of the front door. Hearing neither, and not about to face him until I was good and ready, I carefully applied concealer, foundation, and blusher. I did my eyes and knotted my hair back. I brushed my bangs.

  Realizing that I couldn’t put this off forever if I hoped to meet Grace, I did a final check to make sure I was put together. After packing my blow dryer, best brushes, hair scissors, and clips in a tote, I went downstairs.

  Liam was washing the last of the cookware while Edward ate what was left of the food. Both looked up when I appeared. Liam went still with the dish towel on the pan; Edward set down his fork and stood. Both looked wary. But then, neither was stupid. They had to see that I was fuming.

  Driving home that point, my heels hit the wood hard with each step to deny the gentle sound my wool socks normally made without boots. “Glad you boys are enjoying each other’s company,” I said when I was halfway to the door. “Good breakfast, Liam.” My tote hit the bench with a thud.

  “You didn’t finish.”

  “I had plenty.” I looked back and smiled, not a particularly nice smile, but the best I could do. “Mom had it right. My eyes were always bigger than my stomach.” Those eyes sharpened, daring him to say something smart. He seemed to think better of it. I checked my watch and made for the door. “I’m leaving now. I have a nine-thirty appointment that was not on the books. She’s a paying customer.” The currency was friendship, of course, but that meant as much to me as dollars and cents.

  “It’s with Grace,” said Liam the traitor. I wasn’t sure if he thought he was helping, but I didn’t stop to find out.

  “She can wait,” Edward insisted. “This is important.”

  “Says the man who bought the Spa and is therefore my boss?” I asked, moving aside my bags only enough to make room for my butt on the bench.

  His voice followed me. “Says the one who was married to you and has a crisis here.”

  I straightened the laces on my right boot and put my foot in. “You have a crisis? Sorry if I don’t feel sympathy, because there’s a no-brainer fix for your crisis. Leave town.”

  “I can’t,” he said. His voice was even closer. “I would have explained that last night, only you ran out—and I understand why you did. I didn’t expect what happened to happen, either. I didn’t lead you back to my place for that.”

  “Um, okay,” Liam announced loudly, “I think I’ll go out.”

  Reaching for the left boot, I gave my brother a disparaging once-over. “Wearing that?” He had on sweatpants, a skimpy tee, and bare feet that were already moving toward the stairs, and we both knew that the rest of his clothes were just as pathetic.

  “I’ll go to the loft, then,” he said.

  “You’ll hear everything from there,” I called. “You could try the bathroom—but there’s really no need. Another few seconds, and I’m gone.”

  “No, it’s your house—”

  “Excuse me?” Boots on, I stood. I looked in his direction. “Would you please say that again?” He didn’t, of course. Point made, I reached for my scarf.

  Incredibly, though, he wasn’t done. “I just need socks and shoes. Then I’ll hit the road.”

  “In what?” I asked. He might have found my front door key, but only that. When he appeared at the loft overlook, I dangled the others for him to see, dropped them in my bag, and wound my scarf.

  “Let me take your truck now. Later I can call your tow guy for mine.”

  “I should walk to work?”

  “Edward can drive you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with Edward.”

  I had one arm in my coat when Edward said in a low, deep voice, “You said you weren’t a coward.”

  “The new me is practical.” I stuck the other arm in the sleeve but didn’t bother with buttons. “When there’s a pothole in the road, I go around it.” Shouldering my bag and grabbing the tote, I went out the door.

  The path would have been slippery after yesterday’s rain if it hadn’t been for the muddy boot marks underneath. After a few seconds of crunching over those shallow, ice-coated r
idges, I was in my truck. I had just enough time to toss my bags on the passenger seat, buckle my belt, and press POWER, when the side door opened.

  In one move, Edward shoved the bags to the floor and slid into the passenger seat. “If you want to do it this way, we’ll do it this way,” he said and slammed the door shut.

  I glared out the windshield. “I don’t want to do it at all.”

  “Not even after last night?”

  “What difference does last night make?”

  “We had sex.”

  “Really.”

  “Look at me, Mackenzie.”

  “It’s Maggie,” I said, with a glance in my rearview. The sight of his black Jeep blocking my truck did nothing for my mood. I could maneuver around it—lovely thing about living in the woods and having a driveway that extended to the trees—but it galled me. “You had sex with me to get me to talk?”

  “No.” He added a more controlled, “No. I told you. I didn’t plan on the sex. But the fact that it happened makes a statement.”

  “Which is?”

  “That we both have unresolved issues.”

  “Sex means that?” My hands shifted on the wheel, itching to put the truck in gear, but how to get Edward out of the cab? “For the record,” I said, “I might as well have been with a complete stranger, for all I know of the man you’ve become. For the record, if it hadn’t been the safest, the safest time of the month for me, I’d be heading for the pharmacy right now for a morning-after pill. I’m not having another child, not with you, not with any man.”

  “Look at me and say that.”

  I looked at him and repeated the words. But then curiosity got the best of me—curiosity and an odd fascination—and I couldn’t look away. He was as compelling as ever, if completely different, and it went beyond stray shots of gray hair. His eyes were tired, the lines at their outer corners deeper. His mouth was more tense, his beard a cropped mask on an iron jaw. His hair, which had always been short when I’d known him, had grown out thick and striking. Combed by fingers rather than a tool, it broke over his back collar and split in a natural part in front, leaving two broad spikes arcing over his brow.