by Anthology
"You never told me you wrote me a song."
"It was in the beginning," Maura whispered. "Before I felt like I could tell you how I really felt."
"Will you play it for me?"
She smiled, sleepily. "No."
Ian made a small noise. "It's late. You should go to sleep."
"You should, too." She yawned.
"I want to see you," Ian said in a voice so low she almost missed it.
Maura didn't answer right away. He could mean he wanted a picture. Or that he wanted her to get in her car and drive to him.
"Dance with me?" Ian whispered. It had been their code for a long time, meaning that he wanted to see her on video chat.
"If I see you, Ian," Maura said, "I'm going to want you."
Ian made a noise. "Ah. Well. Best not, then."
"Goddammit, Ian! You can't keep doing this. It's not fair."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Have lunch with me tomorrow," she said impulsively. "Just lunch. We can go to that Thai place you like. Maybe a movie, after."
"No. I don't think so."
"C'mon, Ian. Why not?"
The rustle of his phone had her picturing him shaking his head. "Because if I see you, I'm going to want you."
Maura scowled, wide awake now. "You want me to dance with you, but you keep changing the song."
"Maybe you should find someone else to dance with, then," Ian said.
"I don't want someone else."
"You wanted someone else tonight," Ian said in a tight voice. "Seems to me, you wanted him enough."
"Fuck you, Ian," Maura said, and hung up on him.
***
"Boy, someone's in the doghouse." Madge, the woman who worked down the hall, held aloft a glass vase of flowers with a balloon attached to it. Grinning, she settled it on Maura's desk, turning it to show off the card. "They left it in my office by mistake. Thought I'd walk it down to you."
"Thanks, Madge." Maura didn't bother to open the card. She knew who the flowers were from.
"You know, my George always sends me flowers when he's done something he knows I'm going to scold him for." Madge leaned an ample hip against Maura's filing cabinet. "Not that I have to very often, of course."
"Of course not." Maura smiled. George was as close to perfect as a man could get, according to Madge. Having met him, Maura was inclined to agree -- at least that he was perfect for Madge.
"So..." Madge lifted her chin toward the plant. "New beau?"
Madge was one of the few in the office who knew any of the details about Maura's divorce. Not about Ian. Maura hadn't told anyone but Shelly about him. But Madge had been there to listen more than a few times when Maura'd been down about her marriage. Even before she'd met Ian. Madge had taken Maura to lunch and listened to her vent, had always offered advice but never judgment.
"No. Not quite." Maura untied the balloon, which was bouncing annoyingly in her line of vision, and let it float up to the ceiling. Maybe it would pop.
Madge laughed. "How's the dating going?"
Maura's laugh was more rueful. "It's...going."
"Well," Madge said with another lift of her chin toward the plant, "Whoever sent you that must be trying to apologize for something."
"Can I ask you something?" Maura swiveled in her chair. "How many times can someone hurt you in the same way before you just...give up on them?"
At this, Madge pulled up a chair and settled into it. "Oh, dear. I guess it depends on how important they are to you."
"Very important."
Madge nodded, not looking surprised. "Did you know that George wasn't my first husband?"
"No!" The way Madge always talked about him, Maura'd assumed they'd been childhood sweethearts.
"No. I was married once before I met him. In fact," Madge added after a second, her brightly painted mouth thinning for a moment, "I was married when I met him."
"Oh. Oops?" Maura offered, keeping her expression neutral.
"I'm not proud of it," Madge said.
Maura found a stray paperclip to unbend so she could keep her hands busy. "No. I guess not."
"But...I'm not sorry." Madge sat a little straighter. "Does that shock you?"
Maura smiled slowly. "No."
Madge laughed a little sadly. "It shocked my mother, let me tell you. She loved my first husband. Thought he was the best thing that would ever happen to me. Honestly, she thought he was the best I could do."
Maura had heard plenty of stories about how difficult Madge's mother could be, and how much she hated her son-in-law. "That's why she doesn't like George."
"Yes. But that doesn't matter, does it? Because I like George." Madge grinned.
Maura twisted the bit of metal in her hands, thinking about last night's conversation with Ian. "So, how'd you two end up together?"
"I left my husband when I found out he'd spent all the money from our checking account at the track. I had to work two jobs to make ends meet after that, and one of them was as a waitress. Let me tell you, sweetie, there might be days when this job has me run ragged, but it's nothing compared to working the nightshift in a truckstop diner." Madge shook her head. "When George found out where I was and what had happened -- he was a friend of my best friend Jill's husband. That's how we met. At Jill's house. Anyway, when George found out where I was working, he started showing up towards the end of my shifts. Two in the morning, when he had to get up for work the next day! Can you imagine it?"
Maura's throat tightened. "Wow."
"He said he had insomnia. I believed him at first, too." Madge laughed. "And he's such a bad liar, Maura, I was just fooling myself. He'd show up, order the same breakfast every night. Two eggs over medium, hash browns, sourdough toast. Then he'd be there to walk me back to my car. He said he wanted to make sure I was safe."
"George is awesome."
"He is. Do you know, the first time I ever saw him, I thought, 'I bet that man could kiss my socks off.'"
Maura put a hand over her mouth to cover the guffaw. "Yeah?"
Madge nodded. "Yes. Of course, I didn't do anything about it for a long time. Except one night at Jill's house, she was having a Christmas party. We were all a little toasted. And Keith, that was my first husband, he'd already gone home because he didn't like Jill's husband, because he'd once told Keith he needed to stop spending so much time with the ponies and more with his beautiful wife."
"Sounds like Jill's husband's a keeper, too."
"Oh yes," Madge said. "Definitely. He and George have been friends forever. And...quite honestly, I think Mark knew that George was interested in me. That's why he hung the mistletoe."
"That was your first kiss?" Maura leaned her chin in her hands to look at Madge. "Romantic!"
"Yes. The room was all lit up from the tree, which had this lovely star on top of it, all different colors in a disc that spun faster and faster the longer the light was on. It was the seventies, so you can imagine what it looked like."
Maura laughed, thinking of childhood Christmases. "Yes. Like a disco ball."
"Yes! Exactly. So we'd been topping off our eggnogs all night long, and George was looking so handsome. He wore a mustache back then. I can't believe I ever liked that, but you know, it was the style." Madge laughed, shaking her head. "Lord help us. Anyway, we were the only two in the room...though I'll tell you, Maura, there could've been a hundred people there, and me and George would still have been the only two in the room."
Maura knew how that felt. Not a disco ball Christmas tree star, but the swirling lasers and flashing strobes of a dance floor. Hundreds of people, and the only one she'd been able to see was Ian.
"Someone had put on that Kenny Rogers' album, the greatest hits one that so many people were listening to. And Jill told me there was something I needed to do for her in the living room. I didn't know Mark was telling George the same thing. We both ended up in the doorway at the same time, right there under the mistletoe." Madge paused. "On purpose for both of us, I'm sure,
though I've never asked him."
"I'm sure." Maura swallowed against the tightness of more emotion. "And then what?"
"Oh. Well. I kissed him," Madge said matter-of-factly. "It was a terrible first kiss. A peck, really. But I'll never forget it. How the world sort of swam all around me. The smell of his cologne. The tickle of that awful mustache."
"It sounds lovely."
Madge gave Maura a knowing look. "It lasted a million years and only a second or two. Something tells me you know a little something about that."
"A little." Maura laughed.
"Lucky women do." Madge leaned forward a little. "But I guess that didn't answer your question, did it? About how many times someone can hurt you in the same way before you give up on them "
Maura hadn't forgotten.
"I broke off with George at least seven times before we got engaged. I was sure he wasn't the one for me. I was sure I was making a big mistake, that he was making a bigger one. And I wasn't nice about it, either," Madge said. "Once I told him I never wanted to see him again, that his face made me sick."
"Madge!"
"I did. I was lying, of course. I thought it was the only way to get rid of him. To hurt him so much he wouldn't want to come back. Of course it broke my heart. But I did it anyway."
Maura shook her head and toyed with the paperclip, working it free of the kinks and bends. "But he forgave you."
"Yes. You know what finally ended it? Well," Madge laughed. "It didn't end it, obviously. But it would've if I hadn't swallowed my pride and gone back to him."
"What?" Curious, Maura asked.
"I told him I loved him."
Maura's brows rose. "And that's what ended it?"
"Yes. We were arguing about something silly. It's always something silly, isn't it? But it doesn't matter, when you're so angry you'd rather spit than kiss him."
"I can't imagine you ever being that angry with George," Maura said.
"Believe me, it happens. George might be close to perfect, but he's still a man. And I'm a woman," Madge said. "Oil and water, men and women are. Lord knows why on earth we ever fit together the way we do, being so different. I was angry with him because he'd brought me flowers. Roses, as a matter of fact, my favorite. Long-stemmed red roses, a dozen. Plus a white one in the middle. It was the most beautiful bouquet of flowers I'd ever received, and I was angry with him because I'd told him we weren't going to celebrate Valentine's Day together. It was a day for lovers, that's what I'd said."
"And you weren't...?" Maura coughed delicately, insatiably curious but not wanting to get too personal.
Madge burst into gales of delighted laughter and clapped her hands together. "Oh! Oh, my. Yes, we were. Like bunnies! Constantly. Lord, lord, there were days I was sure I'd broken something. But I was trying to convince myself that all we had was just..." Madge lowered her voice. "...You know. Sex."
Maura nodded solemnly.
"That it wasn't love," Madge continued. "I didn't want to be in love with George. Not so soon after leaving Keith, anyway. I mean, I'd loved Keith, and that had been a mistake. What if I was making the same sort of mistake with George? And an even worse one, really, since Keith and I had never heated up the sheets the way George and I did."
"What did George think about it?"
"I didn't know, because I never asked. Now he'd tell you he was sure it was love from that first kiss. But he was just as nervous and scared as I was. He won't admit it, but he was. And I knew it then, which is why I threw those flowers in the trash, told him I loved him but I never wanted to see him again. I left him in front of the restaurant and walked away. I was sure that was it, that I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life, but you know what, sweetie? Walking away from him, I felt more relief than I had when I signed those final divorce papers. " Madge's eyes had welled with tears during this part of her story, and her voice trembled.
Maura, eyes stinging in sympathy, handed her a tissue. "God, Madge. Why?"
"Because I'd told him the truth, at least there was that. And if the last words I ever said to him were "I love you, well...at least I'd said it. And meant it."
"If you loved him," Maura asked slowly, "why did you tell him you never wanted to see him again?"
"First of all, I was stupid." They both laughed. Madge wiped her eyes. "But also...I knew I needed some time to think and cool down. I'd told George I didn't want to celebrate Valentine's Day, and he'd brought me those flowers anyway. To me, that seemed a lot like what Keith had always done. That what George wanted was more important than what I did. Even if my reasons for it were stupid, I wanted to know that he'd listened to me. That what I thought and felt was important."
Maura nodded. "Yes. That makes sense."
"I was proud." Madge touched the tissue to her nose and sighed. "But walking away from him, I thought, 'well. At least it's over now. At least my heart can stop breaking over and over again.'"
"Oh, Madge." Maura had to take a tissue for herself at that. "What did you do? How could you stand it?"
"I didn't see him for two weeks. Every time the phone range, I prayed it was him even though I told myself I wouldn't talk to him if it were. It never was. And the days stretched on and on, and I knew I'd lost him for good. And I was miserable. Just miserable. So. One day I just put on my best dress and did my hair and makeup, and I went on over to his house with a bouquet of red roses, one white one in the middle. And I told myself I was only going to apologize for throwing the flowers away. I wasn't going to cry or beg for him to take me back or anything like that. I was going to say I was sorry, because flowers were very expensive, you know. George had spent a lot of money on them. He was always surprising me with little treats."
He still did, Maura knew that, because Madge often came in with a new pair of earrings or a bracelet, and her desk so often had fresh flowers on it that seeing it bare was unusual. George was the type of husband who showed up on a Friday afternoon with a packed bag for both of them and whisked Madge off to some fun-filled weekend as a surprise.
Ian had never bought her anything. For a long time, obviously, it was because it would've been difficult for her to explain away new jewelry or other lovers' gifts. Maura had never minded that he hadn't showered her with presents, not even when she'd made a special point of surprising him with packages on his birthday and holidays. She'd never bought him something out of obligation -- it was always more because she'd been thinking of him when she saw a funny card or t-shirt, and picked it up with him in mind. It had always been because she was thinking of him all the time.
She looked at the flowers, now. The card, scrawled with her name in someone else's handwriting, not Ian's. Would she even know his handwriting, she thought suddenly, trying to remember if she'd ever seen it. He'd never sent her a card or a letter or a note. Maybe he had written this card, and she would never know.
"What did you do when he answered the door?" Maura asked with a dry tongue, forcing herself to pay attention to Madge's story and not the boring, silent tragedy of her own.
"I jumped into his arms and kissed him all over his face," Madge said. "And I took him into the bedroom and we didn't come out until the next day."
Maura laughed. "Hooray!"
"But we spent a lot of that time talking. About my fears. And his. We talked and talked and talked, oh, my goodness. We laughed. We cried. A few times we shouted at each other, and I thought about leaving again. But I didn't. We talked it through until we'd figured out what we both had been fighting all along. That we couldn't live without each other, and there was no better way to start our new lives than together. So. That was that. We went out the next day, when we finally couldn't survive a minute longer without coffee and eggs...George, being a bachelor, didn't have anything stocked in the kitchen, you see." Madge laughed again. "We staggered outside and had breakfast. Then he took me to the jeweler's and we picked out a ring. We were married two months later."
Maura let out a sigh so hard her shoulders lifted. "I can't be
lieve you never told me that story before!"
Madge winked and got up from her chair. "I guess it never was the right time before."
"That would make a great romance novel." Maura threw her tissue in the trash but kept the straightened paper clip.
"The man who sent you that plant," Madge said, gesturing. "He's trying to apologize to you for something. Isn't he?"
"I don't know if it's an apology."
Madge paused in the doorway on her way out. "Maybe you should read the card. Find out."
When she'd gone, Maura pulled the card from the plastic holder stuck into the pot. The envelope wasn't sealed, and it opened with only the slightest press of her fingertips. She pulled the card from inside it -- plain white, single-sided, with a beveled edge. Different handwriting from the outside, and she knew instinctively upon reading it that it was Ian's. It looked like him.
She pressed the card to her lips without reading it. Closed her eyes against the threat of spilling tears. She breathed and breathed again until she could be sure she wasn't going to dissolve. The card trembled in her shaking hands when she looked at it. One word.
Lunch?
She didn't need to look at the clock to know she'd already almost missed it, not to mention that she had a ton of work to get through today, and her chat with Madge had taken up so much of her time she'd be lucky to get out of here with even half the workload finished today. He hadn't mentioned a place or even a time.
She wasn't going to go. She'd asked him Saturday night, and he'd said no. Now he was asking her, and she was supposed to give in, because it was what Ian wanted? What about when it was something she wanted?
No.
Maura tossed the card into the trash can, along with her tear-damp tissues. The paperclip had become a thin straight strip of metal. She could bend and twist it, but it would never be a paper clip again.
Some things, she thought as she tossed the piece of metal into the trash, could never be put back the way they'd been before. No matter how much you wanted them to. No matter how hard you bent. Sometimes, you ruined things and couldn't fix them.