by KT Morrison
“I have to get it,” she giggled. “Cole, I have to. What if it’s Max?”
He released her, the phone now in its fourth ring. He ran his hands up her calves but she got to her knees and retrieved the phone. She flipped it over and looked at the screen and saw who was calling. She said, “Ugh,” and turned it to face Cole, showing him the screen of her phone, saying, “Speaking of ‘Margaret.’” On her screen the word Carol floated over a picture of her mother, an executive portrait where she wore a crisp suit and a stern face.
Cole smiled and lay back, humming Flight of the Valkyries.
Maggie, still upright on her knees, answered, said, “Hello?”
It was like walking in on a conversation midway. After a curt, “Margaret,” a confirmation she had on the phone the person she intended, Carol was right into business, leaving Maggie wondering why she answered when she could have easily stayed play wrestling on the bed with Cole.
“Your father and I have been spending time on the paperwork needed for your applications.”
“Yes,” she said, feeling a bureaucratic entanglement settling on her and robbing her of the fun she was having. She settled down to sit on her heels now.
Carol continued. “You understand the effort required to attend?”
“Of course.”
“I mean your obligations, Margaret.”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“You have too much going on, Margaret. We worry about your focus.”
“My focus?” she said, exasperated, rolling her eyes for Cole who watched her intently. “I’m studying for the LSAT right now. I’m confident I will be accepted.”
“I’m confident you will as well.”
“You are?” she said, hating the automatic bolstering she felt, a lifetime of conditioning in the Becker household pumping chemicals of acceptance and appreciation into her bloodstream.
“Margaret, you’re capable of much more than even Law School.”
“I am? Like what?”
“Listen, Margaret, have you considered you would be married when you attend?”
“I know,” she said weakly, that endorphin rush quelled by sudden dread.
“What does Max say about this?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Would he be opposed to postponing the wedding?”
“Max? No. I don’t know. I don’t want to, I—”
“Would you and Max visit next weekend?”
“Why would we postpone the wedding?”
Cole’s jaw dropped, and he made a Holy Shit! face, scooting closer to her and resting his hand on her knee. She felt her posture slump, the effort of staying upright a chore now and she fell back to sit in her pillows, Cole stroking her foot and watching her expression with concern. But Cole kept his expression bright, and he mouthed, Don’t worry, and the warmth from this made her feel so good inside.
“Your father and I would like to meet you and Max next weekend.”
“Okay,” she said, hating her phone and the fact that she could be reached. “I can be at Law School and married. I have no doubt.”
Cole scooted closer, his thumb on her foot coming close to tickling her and she flinched. He did it again, making her jump, and she made a mean face to him, mouthed Stop, but she had to cover her mouth to stop her mother from hearing her mirth.
“Is something funny, Margaret?”
“No,” she said, a tremble in her face as she took her foot out of Cole’s grip while he winked at her. “I’m going to Law School and I will be married.”
“If that’s what you want, but you should consider what it may do to your school year. Harvard isn’t easy. And you’re not going unless you’re top in your class.”
Those words put a sick dread in her stomach like she was back in high school, and insurmountable pressure was on. Somehow the idea of marrying Max—being out of the Becker household, maybe working at a gallery dabbling at painting while Max earned a living, which he would certainly do, grew more appealing. And she hated that her mother had made Max that escape, mad that Carol had made Max something that was easy to settle for. The truth was he was easy to settle for. Marrying Max would be like slipping on a water slide, rushing along an easy groove, something with no friction. It was a terrible thought.
She said, “I’ll think about it,” though she knew she wouldn’t.
Carol said, “You should talk to Max. Come next weekend, and I’d like you to bring Cole as well.”
“Okay, mother, I have to go, my study partner just arrived. We have a lot to do,” she said and got to her knees again, ran her nails through Cole’s hair just above his ear and he leaned his head to her touch. They said their curt goodbyes, and she tossed her phone to the bed and groaned.
“Bad?” Cole asked as she collapsed theatrically into his arms.
“Next time I try to answer my phone I need you to fight harder to stop me.”
“Deal,” he said. “You okay?”
“I’m fine but I want to have fun right now. I don’t want to study any more.”
“But Margaret, your study partner just got here,” he laughed and held her.
5
Valkyries
Saturday, October 21st
Max said, “Are you kidding?”
Ken said, “No, I’m not kidding, Max, just tell me what you’re talking about.”
“Your house has security cameras—”
“It does?”
“—that caught what we did.”
Ken sighed, turned his palms up and shook his head, facing difficulty expressing what he wanted to say. “Max, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know anything about it.”
“You didn’t do anything ... didn’t erase the security camera ... the footage?”
“Listen, I’m not surprised Martin has a security system, I just don’t know the first thing about it. That can’t surprise you.”
“No,” he agreed.
“Why do you think there’s a recording?”
He stared at the floor, lost in bewildered thought. “I know there is.”
Ken sipped his coffee, turned his phone to check the time. “How come Maggie isn’t here asking me for this?”
“She doesn’t know you saw us.”
Ken raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Really.”
“I didn’t tell her.”
“What did you want to do with this security footage I was supposed to give you? Show her?”
He nodded, and Ken frowned and shook his head in admonishment. “What?” Max said.
“Max, I love my sister. She can do what she wants. You know what she’s like, you know how smart she is, she’s a smart person. Whatever it is she wants to do I’m fine with it. I don’t want to know about it. And I didn’t like what I saw. But I’m not one to judge. What I don’t like is subterfuge.”
“I wanted it to help her.”
“Show her what she looked like? Show her as I saw her?”
“Not like that.”
“What you’re telling me, Max, I don’t believe. Maggie wouldn’t force you into that ... what I saw. I saw what I saw with my own eyes, you were laughing, enjoying it. Until you saw me. I don’t know what it is you’re up to, but you could probably leave me out of it. That would be for the best.”
It hurt, and he felt rejected. But he’d prepared for this. “I’m worried about what’s happening to her, that she’s being led somewhere dark. She’s changing ...”
“Max, where we came from, the way we were raised, it will take a lot for us to figure out who we are. It’s not easy for me and I don’t talk to Maggie about it, but I imagine it’ll be hard for her too. She doesn’t know who she is. Maybe she’s just finding out. We were raised like computer programs, Max. Now we’re AI, out in the real world, trying to mate who we are inside with reality.”
“I want that, too, Ken. Look, maybe the truth is I wanted it. Maybe I wanted her to find out who she is—”
“Now you don’t like who she is?”
&
nbsp; He shook his head and set his coffee cup down on the floor, rubbed his hands through his hair. Never had he anticipated such antagonism from Ken. Saw this going a lot smoother. Even the truth now seemed like arrows launched at a castle wall. All his resolve, all his craft now being eroded by a dreadful realization that someone had probably seen the three of them together on video and he had no idea who.
Cole said, “So, what did Carol want?”
“Carol? First name basis?”
“Carol and I go way back.”
“What was she like back in the good old days?”
Cole laughed, said, “She was a lot like you.”
“I’ll bet,” Maggie said. “Just wedding stuff. She hadn’t bugged me in a while, figured I was due.”
“She worries.”
She regarded Cole at the foot of the bed, sitting with his legs up, watching her, warbling shadows on his face from the sheets of rain that quivered down her windows.
He eyed her speculatively. Then he said, “We email.”
“Who emails?”
“Carol and I,” he said, barely containing the humor this was giving him.
“You and Carol?” she exclaimed.
“Sure, we keep in touch.”
“Fuck off.”
“We like to plot Maggie’s path.”
“You do not,” she said, sitting upright now, leaning forward, putting her palms on the mattress.
“Sure we do. She loves my dick pics.”
She couldn’t help laughing, crawled to him and hammered the heel of her fist in the middle of his stomach. “Don’t send my mother pictures of your dick.”
“Tell her to stop asking for them,” he laughed.
She sat on her heels and rested her hands on her knees. While he practically trembled with held back laughter, there was something telling in those flashing blue eyes. “Do you? Do you talk to her?”
“Of course. I really do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do, Maggie.”
“What do you mean?”
“Relax. She bugs me now, too. Stuff about the wedding. Things I need to remember, things I need to do.”
“For real?”
“What do you think?”
“It does sound like something she would do,” she said seriously, eyes shifting across the room as she considered it.
“She does. I don’t mind. Recently, she’s been sending me articles on cases she thought I might find interesting.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I think she’s fishing for dick pics.”
She laughed again, threw herself on him, wishing she didn’t have the strength to fight the incredible urge to put her lips against his. Instead, she curled up in his lap, and rested her ear against the center of the ‘F’ on his sweatshirt.
Cole put a hand on her shoulder, whispered, “Don’t worry, the plans we make are for your own good.”
She knew he was kidding, but she wondered if he was aware of the pain those words delivered. Sure it was good humor now, all fun and games, but this idea that her mother was a Machiavellian force in her life wasn’t untrue. And while she laughed, cuddled against him, her insides tightened again, and a dread worked sinuously from her past to slither its way through her insides and grip her heart. A mild grip, weak fingers circling, giving her heartbeat something to fight against, letting her know it was still there.
She brought her knees a little higher and wrapped an arm around his waist. It felt good to lay on him, and she silently watched out the window at the mottled green-gray out there, the angry discontent of the outside world.
She was warm. Too warm. A dampness now under her arms, even dotting her upper lip. An uncomfortable wave washed up her back and settled on her like a weight. She groaned and got up, stood at the side of the bed.
“Where you going?”
“Nowhere,” she said, then something came over her and she didn’t resist. Thumbs hooked in her waistband and she slipped the sweatpants down to the floor and stepped out of them, her back to Cole, her long sweatshirt draped to the top of her thighs but showing him all of her legs.
“Oh, come on,” he said behind her.
She bent over, showed him her panties, picked up the sweatpants and threw them on her dresser. “What?”
“Really?”
“Really what?” she said as he gestured with his palms and a smirk, indicating her disrobing.
She smiled, said, “What ...? ... I’m too hot.”
He folded his arms, said, “You are too hot.”
Now she folded her arms, too, began to twist back and forth playfully. “How hot am I?”
“Somebody loves compliments.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“Sorry,” he said, adjusting himself to sit higher as if he had been reprimanded by a teacher. Now he settled his eyes on her, said, “Without a doubt, you are the finest creature that graces this earth.”
“I like that,” she said.
“More?”
She shrugged, showed him noncommittal.
He reached a hand out and she was close enough that he could lay his palm on the side of her thigh and run his thumb up and down her skin just below the edge of her sweatshirt. She liked it. He said, “I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know what you want to hear. There’s things I want to say that you don’t want to hear.”
“That’s intriguing,” she said, unfolding her arms and letting them hang at her sides, her hands tucked up in the sleeves.
“You want me to say it?”
“No,” she said coolly. Now she stepped where he couldn’t touch her. The heat was bothering her—and yes, this could be considered vampish, but some of this heat was emanating from between her legs—so she removed her panties while he watched. Didn’t let him see her sex, tried to keep eye contact with him. She flung them on the dresser and climbed up on the bed and stood, jouncing up and down.
“Playful Maggie,” he said admiringly.
She got herself bouncing, enough that her toes came off the bed, hunching her head forward so she wouldn’t bump her crown, though she wasn’t tall enough. Cole watched her with delight, and she gripped the bottom hem of her sweatshirt so she wouldn’t reveal herself. She had Cole’s full attention.
“This is my kind of show,” he said while she continued bouncing.
She stopped then, walked herself closer, looked at that smiling handsome face of his, stood on one leg and pressed her other foot between his legs, on the generous soft bulge behind the cotton. He held her ankle.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“Nothing,” she said as she slowly peeled up the hem of her sweatshirt held low. A little out from her body, curling it upward to reveal just a tiny bit of her. Cole’s eyes were intent. He watched what she showed him. She flashed it closed again, smiling. In his hand he held his phone, angled up, daring her.
She was in an adventurous mood, and a smile spread on her face that she couldn’t fight. She did it again, showed him, lifting that shirt away, feeling the cool air against her hot damp creases. He snapped a picture, a devilish and satisfied look on his face.
“Co-ole!” she chastised him and dropped to her knees making both of them bounce and heave on the bed. She slapped his stomach with both her hands. He was laughing, working on his screen, drawing his knees up to protect himself.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, though she knew what he would do. Cole worked away, his face lit up from the screen held down low, his scruffy cheeks dimpled by a mischievous smile. When he was done he set the phone face down on his stomach.
“Did you send it?”
“What do you think?”
She went down on her hip and lay at his side, put her head on his chest again. After a quiet moment, she said, “Did he answer yet?”
“Ken, please, just five more minutes ... let me be ... I want to be honest.”
Ken paused, unable to hide a certain exasperation in his
posture. He’d packed up his coffee cup, tucking the tab in the empty container and gathering his phone as if to leave. He hesitated.
“Please,” Max said.
He nodded and flashed five fingers over to Brian who still waited by the entrance to the diner. He settled back across from Max and indicated for him to continue. It was funny, as much as Ken played the poor victim, long-suffering boy from the cold and insupportable Becker household, he still had the callous Becker blood coursing through his very own veins. Max rarely saw it in his Maggie but worried that it was there, too.
“I like who Maggie is. That’s not it at all. I wanted this for her, but you know how impressionable she is. You know how she can be manipulated. She wants so much to be part of something, to be loved, to love, all the things she missed from when she ... well, you know how it was, how she grew up ... sheltered. She wants what she imagines other people have. Here,” he said, adding emphasis by putting his hand over his heart.
Ken was nodding now, still expressionless but at least his appeal was meeting less resistance.
“I love her so much and when she expressed ... a certain inexperience, a ...” he exhaled, looking for words that wouldn’t appear too graphic for his Maggie’s brother. “A curiosity for things she didn’t know ... I supported it. Out of love. Only now ...”
In perfect timing with his pause his phone buzzed with an incoming text. Expected what it may be and turned it to face him, saw it was from Cole.
He continued while huffing and his eyes turned to his screen. “You see ...” he said, flicking his thumb across the text, saw there was an attachment. “I fucked up, Ken. I let others I trusted be intimate and they ...”
The text app filled the screen. A message from Cole. The attachment was an image. He swiped it and held his screen so Ken could witness whatever it was surreptitiously without Max purposely showing him. It filled the screen of his phone. A young girl’s legs were the focus, he knew they were Maggie’s. She stood over the photographer, legs slightly apart, holding the hem of her shirt out, flashing the camera. Maggie’s face wasn’t visible, but her engagement ring was evident where she clutched the hem of the sweatshirt. Between her legs was that sweet slit, sleepy and crisply folded, but bared just the same. He sighed shakily and turned the phone face down on the tile.