Chapter Five
On Friday morning, Maggie was at her studio by eight o’clock. She was exhausted after spending most of the previous three days with Rita. Her mother was doing amazingly well – she’d gotten out of bed two days after surgery – and her temperature was normal, her reflexes and vitals steady. She needed Maggie nearby, though, and Maggie had been doing her work when Rita napped, and when she left the hospital at night. It had been a punishing, stressful few days, and she knew it was just the beginning of the tense time.
Maggie made a cup of coffee and threw it back like it was water. She made a second one, considered eating one of the stale croissants in the cupboard for breakfast, rejected the idea for the moment. She’d get something at the hospital, though the idea did not fill her with joy. Chances were that the croissants here were still going to be fresher than the ones in the cafeteria. Maybe she’d get some takeaway from the café next door after Joe left.
Urgh. Joe. The thought that he was going to be back here in her studio – her oasis, her favorite space on earth, her safe place – was stomach-turning. It was also unavoidable and it was also also the first of many times to come. She’d be working here, of course, and he’d have to haul ass back to check out her progress, see the sculptures, give formal approval. She sighed and stared out the window, trying to find some energy to cope with the day ahead.
At five minutes to nine, the buzzer went. Maggie jumped: she was in the miniscule bathroom, trying to do something about her out-of-control hair. She hadn’t had time to shower that morning, and the curls were unruly and showing a spirited determination to have a mind of their own. She gave herself one last look in the mirror and rolled her eyes.
Yeah, whatever. It’s not like he’ll notice or give a damn what you look like. Also? You don’t give a damn if he gives a damn.
She buzzed him in, stood by the open studio door. She was on the ground floor, and she heard his footsteps approaching. And then there he was, in another goddamned sexy-as-all-hell suit, his blue eyes bright in the sun, his dark hair thick and tousled. He smiled at her and she glared frostily back, determined not to give an inch.
“Hi,” Joe said, stomping down hard on the memories that her wild brown curls had just evoked: she’d always looked just like this after a night of great sex. “How are you?”
She stepped aside. “Fine.”
He held up the takeaway tray and a bag. “I brought us some coffee, and a few croissants. I remember how much you love them first thing in the morning.”
“Not anymore, I don’t.” She’d die before eating one of his stupid croissants, no matter how good they smelled and how hungry she was. “I don’t eat carbs now.”
He blinked, astonished. “You what?”
“You heard me. And I’ve already got a coffee, but thanks anyway.” She held up her cup to show him, then turned her back and walked away. “The sketches are over here.”
Joe followed her, feeling surprisingly crushed by her brutal rejection of his offering of baked goods and caffeine. It really and truly seemed that Maggie wasn’t going to accept anything from him that fell outside of the terms of the legal contract… not food and not drink and not even a smile. God, she really hated him.
Joe flashed back now to that night when she’d caught him in bed with that blonde (Caitlin? Kathy? Carol? How pathetic is it that I blew up my relationship with Maggie to fuck a girl whose name I don’t recall?). Sweet Jesus, the look of pain on her face… he’d never forgotten it, and it still took his breath away when he thought about it now. It had been so sharp and raw, it had made him panic, become harsh and cruel, as though it was her fucking fault that she’d come over early and caught him. As though she’d put him in that position. As though she’d somehow been the one to inflict the pain on herself.
He’d started babbling bullshit at her, anything to fill the bewildered silence, and she hadn’t said a word the whole time, which had made him more freaked out. Finally, the words had dried up and he’d stared at her beautiful face. The betrayal and hurt were palpable, and Joe had lost the plot completely and started to laugh.
It was a helpless laugh, bordering on hysteria, and it was motivated by his absolute inability to do anything to fix this, and he knew it. He knew it was over, and he had laughed at the hopeless absurdity of being such a fucking cliché: the asshole boyfriend caught red-handed. Or red-dicked, he supposed.
God, how she looked when I started laughing… I’ve never seen pain like that. And then when what’s-her-name joined in? I think we ripped Maggie’s heart right out of her chest in that moment.
It hadn’t surprised him when she’d turned without a word and started collecting her stuff from around his place, but he was sure she’d be back. When hours and then days passed without a word from Maggie, he’d taken that as a sign that they were well and truly done.
That made him a free agent, he figured, and so off he went, picking up and screwing whoever he wanted. No hiding it anymore; no sneaking around. At the time, it had felt liberating, and – unbelievably – he’d actually felt smug and virtuous in his newfound transparency. It had been a relief to just fuck women openly and without apology, and he didn’t even miss Maggie. Not at first, at any rate.
He walked in to her warm, open-space studio now and looked around. Yeah, it was much like he remembered it, with huge windows, lots of tables scattered around with tools, materials, sketches, books. Glorious chaos, and despite her usual preference for control and organization, it was how she worked best.
The sketches were all taped up on one of her exposed-brick walls, and she stood in front of them, glancing over her shoulder at him with impatience. He felt her irritation at having him here, in the place where she felt happiest and most creative, and the sudden urge to apologize for intruding overwhelmed him. Then he remembered that he was the client, and he had the right to be here, looking at her work.
Whatever happened between us, this is business. So treat it like that. God knows, she is.
“OK,” he said, his voice crisp. “Let’s see the sketches you’ve done.”
“Fine,” she responded in the exact same tone. “Take your time.”
Joe stalked over to them, and within seconds, his resolve to be detached was in tatters. He’d never forgotten just how good Maggie was at this, but it caught him by surprise, every single time, at how easily she could surprise him. Her passion, her strength, her sheer talent never ceased to amaze and astound.
He stood there, awed by the preliminary work. It was inconceivable that he had to choose four sketches of these ten; how the hell was he going to do that? He wanted every single dancing water and cloud spirit that he saw up on the wall. He wanted them in his new restaurant, in his old restaurant, in his home. It would be nothing short of an honor to be surrounded by such stunning beauty all the time.
“So,” Maggie said. “What do you think?”
“They’re great, Maggie,” he said. “I mean – perfect.”
She was startled at his praise, but hid it well. “Oh, good.”
“Yeah. I don’t quite see how I’ll choose only four.”
“Well, I’ll go sit over here and do some work, then, and leave you to it. Let me know when you’ve made up your mind.”
Joe watched as she went to the other side of the room, sat at a table with her back to him. Her indifference was a chill that he felt even from twenty feet away, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds, cursing his younger self. What he wouldn’t give to be able to go back two years and yank the moron that he had been away from the blonde when she rubbed herself against his cock in the kitchen.
He’d tell his idiot self to push her away and just go home and wait for Maggie. He’d kick his dickhead ass up between his shoulder blades for pulling the blonde close, kissing her, stripping her almost naked in his living room before fucking her in the bed he shared with Maggie. He’d do so many things diff
erently, if he could just have the chance.
But there was nothing to be done, not anymore. So instead, he turned his attention to the gorgeous sketches, and tried to focus. This was important and he couldn’t leave here until he’d made his choice. Maggie needed to get to work as soon as possible, and he needed to get to the restaurant and deal with eleven-million things. They both just had to get on with life, as it was now. Whether he liked it or not.
**
Joe left almost two hours later, after choosing four sketches and suggesting changes based on some of the other ones. Maggie had revised the drawings on the spot, without comment. God knows, the man was paying enough to request any tweaks his little heart desired, and nothing was unreasonable. And now he was gone at last, and she was free to get to Rita.
She went to the café and got two croissants to go, smirking a bit when she recalled telling Joe that she didn’t eat carbs anymore. Ha! As if she’d ever give up pasta or bread or rice. Her thighs and ass were never going to be carb-free, and most days, she was just fine with that.
Maggie sat on the RTD, stuffing her face and examining the sketches again. Yes, if she was being totally honest, Joe’s proposed changes actually improved the sculptures quite a bit. The man had a great eye for aesthetics, a skill that numerous diners had appreciated when he’d plated up their meals. Joe Carlisle could produce small and breathtaking works of art on a simple white plate, and Maggie had always deeply admired that skill.
Credit where credit is due. He’s a cheating asshole, but he’s a cheating asshole with artistic talent.
Rita was sitting up and looking good when Maggie arrived at her bed. She smiled warmly at her daughter.
Hi, hon,” Rita said. “How you doing?”
“Really good, Mom. How do you feel today?”
“Oh, Maggie. I feel better than I have in years.”
“The doctors have already done the rounds this morning?”
“Yes. And Doctor Langston said I can probably go home the day after tomorrow.”
Maggie was startled. “Really? So soon?”
“Uh-huh.” Rita’s green eyes sparkled. “I can’t wait, sweetie.”
“God, Mom. That’s incredible.” Maggie smiled. “And will you still need some dialysis?”
“Apparently not. Everything’s OK so far.” She shrugged. “I have to watch out for transplant rejection – that can happen up to three months after the surgery – and of course, I’m vulnerable and prone to infection. So I have to be so sterile, it’s not even funny.”
“Cleaning every day?”
“And washing my hands like a raccoon with OCD, and being careful what I wash my face with… but I don’t care, hon. I’d wrap myself in cotton wool and eat nothing but organic celery for six months if Carrie told me to do that, I swear. Anything to get well. And to go to Paris with you for Christmas.”
Maggie’s eyes lit up. “You still want to go?”
“Baby girl, it’s my dream. We are going, and that is a promise.”
Maggie nodded.
“Now.” Rita’s expression turned stern. “It’s time for you to level with me, Margaret Jane.”
Maggie blinked at the sudden change in conversation, and the use of her full name. “About what?”
“About exactly where the money came for me to get this surgery.”
Maggie sighed. “Yeah. I know.”
Rita raised her eyebrows. “Well?”
“From Joe,” Maggie said reluctantly.
“Joe?” Rita looked blank for a few seconds, then the light dawned. “Joe Carlisle?”
“The one and only.”
“You’re doing some work for his new restaurant, right?” Rita said slowly. “The big, fancy one that’s getting all the press even though it’s not open yet?”
“Yep. Four life-sized apsaras made of sandstone, to be completed in a little less than six months.”
“Wow. That’s – a lot of work.”
“It is. But I’m on top of it. He just approved the sketches this morning and I get the first batch of materials delivered to the studio later today. I’ll get to work right away, and if I put in fourteen-hour days, I should get it all done.”
“Maggie.” Rita looked upset. “That’s too much stress, hon.”
“It’s OK, Mom. It’s more than worth it, and you know I’m right. It’ll all be done in a few months, then I’ll be able to lie down and sleep for a week. We can go to Paris… I won’t even be freaked out about money for a while, which will be a nice change.”
“Really?” Rita examined her daughter’s face. “You sure you can handle this?”
“One hundred percent.” Maggie knew she sounded convinced and convincing, and her mother relaxed completely. “It’s all under control, Mom. You just worry about stocking up on anti-bacterial hand soap, and leave everything else to me.”
Chapter Six
Two days later, Maggie pushed her mother out to the hospital parking lot in a wheelchair. Adam and Katie were there, waiting in Adam’s car, and he jumped out to help Rita.
She smiled up at him as he gently lowered her in to the back seat and buckled her up.
“You doing OK, Rita?’ he asked, his voice gruff with concern. “Any pain?”
“None, hon,” she said.
“OK, let’s get you home then.”
At Rita’s building, Adam practically carried her up the stairs to her second-floor apartment. Maggie walked in to her childhood home, and as always, she felt a complicated mixture of emotions: love, hurt, safety, sadness. It had been here that she’d been raised, so it was her first home – it was also where her father had died of a heart attack. He’d fallen to the kitchen floor in front of a seven-year-old Maggie, and even twenty-six years later, she still couldn’t look too long at the faded linoleum without seeing him again, jerking and struggling for air.
She had no idea why Rita stayed there, and they’d argued about it more than once. But for Rita, this had been her home with the love of her life – where they’d made love and laughed and fought. It was where they’d brought their baby daughter home from the hospital, and where Maggie had taken her first steps and danced in front of the TV.
For all these reasons and many, many more, Rita wasn’t so eager or willing to simply walk away. Maggie’s solution had been decisive and clear: she’d moved out when she was eighteen, and had never looked back. The women had had a tense relationship for a few years, but when Rita got ill, they had set all their differences aside. Maggie and Rita were now closer than they had ever been.
Adam settled Rita on the sofa and Katie put the groceries away that she’d bought. Maggie and Rita protested at the cost, but Adam and Katie waved away their concerns.
“We’re glad to do it,” Katie said as she put the apples and strawberries in the crisper. “It was the least we could do.”
“Thank you, darling,” Rita said. “You’re both wonderful.”
“We really are,” Katie agreed.
They all laughed, then Adam glanced at his watch. “We need to get going to the courthouse, guys. Things kick off in less than an hour, and I bet Reena’s scared as hell.”
“Oh,” Rita sighed. “Poor Reena. How’s she doing?”
The others exchanged looks.
“She’s OK, Mom,” Maggie said. “I think she’ll be relieved that the whole thing will finally start today. She’s been so upset about all the continuances, and she just wants to take the first step, you know?”
Rita nodded. “You give her a big hug from me, you hear?”
“I will.” Maggie stared at her mother. “You sure you’ll be OK here on your own?”
“No problem.” Rita waved her hands. “Go on, now. Reena needs you.”
“OK, well,” Maggie said. “I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you. Then I’ll head to the studio and so some wor
k. You need me, you call. Promise?”
“Promise.”
**
“I don’t understand,” Reena said, fighting to stay calm. “Who’s refusing to testify?”
“Lindsey, Janice, Keira, Violet and Emily.” Charlotte Graves had seen this all before, and far too many times, but her heart still ached for Reena’s shock and horror. “They backed out this morning. I spent two hours trying to convince them to reconsider, but they just can’t be in the same room with Yates, let alone handle being cross-examined.”
Mitch put his arm around Reena. “So what does this mean?”
Charlotte sighed. “I’ve had to ask for a continuance. I may also have to think about sitting down with Yates’ lawyers and talking plea deal.”
“What?” Reena said. “No!”
“I’m sorry, Reena.” Charlotte tried to be reasonable without being cold or detached, but it was tough. That was one of the hardest parts of doing this job: knowing how the process worked in reality, and being faced by innocent people who were being fucked over by that process.
Just because it’s the law doesn’t make it justice.
“But – I don’t understand why you’d deal about anything!” Reena said. “I mean, I’m still going to testify, no matter what… isn’t that good enough?”
“Truthfully?” Charlotte said. “Maybe not.”
Reena stared at the older woman’s kind eyes. Charlotte was smart as hell, she knew, and she’d seen more cases like this than Reena cared to contemplate, and Reena had trusted her every step of the way, so far. But negotiating with that fucking monster’s lawyers, in their expensive shoes and with their oily little smiles? No way.
“Why not?” Adam asked.
“Because one month ago, we had seven women willing to get up and testify about what Yates did to them. Now we have two, including Reena. And to be totally frank with all of you, as more time passes, the less confident I am that anyone besides Reena will actually go through with it.” She shuffled her feet. “Bethany has been wavering badly lately, and I know that once she hears about the other women pulling out this morning, she’ll most likely do the same. In fact, I’d lay money on it.”
Fighting History (Fighting For Love Book 4) Page 4