“I will never forgive you if you tell him, do you understand me?” Maggie had gone white with rage, clenching Lindy’s pencil-thin arm in a tight grasp.
“Maggie, stop.” Lindy tried to twist away. “You’re hurting me.”
“Promise me. Swear you’ll never tell anyone.”
“I promise. I wouldn’t have anyway. I’d never hurt Rick like that. Despite what you think, I do care about him,” she whispered, “and her and you.”
Maggie released her hold on Lindy’s arm and backed away, taking a long look at her old friend. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she was unable to stop them, unable to speak. “Please, Maggie, don’t cry. I’m not worth it. Don’t think that all those years don’t mean anything to me. It’s just that things have gone too far now… I’m sorry Maggie.” She turned and walked away.
Maggie stood leaning with her back against the wall, her knees too weak to support her shaking body, watching Lindy disappear, ghostlike, through a doorway. Aden started into the hallway and, seeing Maggie standing there with an ashen face, sobbing, ran to find J.D.
“I want to go home,” Maggie cried as J.D. held her trembling form tightly in his arms, bewildered, not knowing what was wrong. “Please, Jamey, take me home.”
On a cold, stormy early March morning, Maggie stood in her kitchen, surveying the mess of mixing bowls and baking paraphernalia the kids had left for her to clean. There had been no school that day due to the snow, and Maggie had decided to let the kids bake cookies to ease their boredom. This had always seemed such a lark when we did this at home, she thought ruefully as she began to clean up. My mother always made this look so easy. She recalled many a snowy afternoon when she, Ellie, and Frankie sat at the big kitchen table, each with their own bowl, as Mary Elizabeth went from one to the other, measuring out ingredients. Vanilla and nutmeg and ginger, she mused, the smells of a winter day.
She delivered a plate of still-warm cookies to the room where the children sat before the television, engrossed in a movie, and returned to the kitchen to begin the cleanup, stacking the dough-encrusted bowls in the sink, she filled them with water and cleaned off the table, pausing to turn on the kettle to make herself a much needed cup of tea. The whistle’s shrill cry began just as she completed her chores, and she took her cup into the sunroom for a few moments of peace.
Easing herself into a big wicker chair, she shifted the pillow behind her to comfort her aching back and raised her legs onto the ottoman. The masses of daffodil bulbs she had forced into bloom lined the windowsills, giving the room the appearance of full-blown spring, though outside the storm continued to swirl the snow about in a blur of white. She sipped at the tea and closed her eyes, rubbing her greatly swollen abdomen.
Twins this time, and any day now, her doctor had told her, though the official due date wasn’t for another six weeks. Take it easy, he had cautioned, they will be premature as it is.
The sound of a ringing telephone startled her from an unexpected slumber. She blinked her eyes to rally herself, sighing deeply as she prepared to lift herself from the chair when the ringing stopped. Good, someone else got it, she smiled, sinking back into her cushions, hoping the call wasn’t for her.
“Daddy,” she heard Jesse call up the steps, “Uncle Rick wants to talk to you.”
Wonder what Rick's up to these days, she thought, half tempted to pick up the extension in the kitchen, then abandoned the thought. She was too comfortable, too weary to rise, and she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.
The day had grown darker, more gray than white, by the time the first pains had awakened her. She started to sit up, then realized that J.D. was seated next to her feet on the ottoman.
“Maggie,” he said somewhat hoarsely as she stirred.
“Oh, shit, Jamey, I think this is it.” He could not mistake the alarm in her voice. “Of all days for these two to pick…”
“You’re in labor?” His head shot up.
“Yes, I’m in labor,” she replied crankily. “How in the hell will we make it to the hospital in this mess?”
An anxious glance out the windows told her the storm had intensified.
“I can call an ambulance.” He rose quickly. “It’ll be safer. Be right back.”
It had been a full twenty minutes before the ambulance pulled into the drive and another thirty to make the one-mile trip to the hospital. The babies, however, thankfully held off for another hour. They were tiny bundles, neither of them much over five pounds, both jaundiced, but essentially healthy.
“By the way, what did Rick have to say when he called this morning?” Maggie asked J.D. as she traded babies with the nurse, handing over just-fed Susannah and cuddling Molly for the first time.
“Rick?” J.D.’s head, bent over his newborn daughter, snapped up with a jerk.
“Rick. Rick Daily,” she repeated, adding cheerfully, “You remember, tall guy, dark hair, plays guitar…”
“Oh, nothing we need to go into now,” he brushed her off nonchalantly. “Let’s just concentrate on these new young ones. Maggie, however will we tell them apart? They’re absolute mirror images.”
It had seemed to her, in retrospect, that there had been some underlying tension in J.D. over the next two weeks, something that went beyond the disruption created by having to run constantly back and forth to the hospital to tend to the babies who had been kept behind due to their prematurity. But the days had been hectic, and Maggie was exhausted by the strain of dealing with four small children at home and the two tiny ones in their isolettes a mile down the road. Her mother’s arrival helped immensely, but Maggie was greatly relieved when first Molly, then Susannah, were sent home with a clean bill of health. It had been emotionally draining to have left the hospital without them, and she was delighted to have them both in their own cribs, under their roof.
“It’s such an empty feeling to give birth and leave the hospital without the babies,” she told J.D. the night the second twin had been released, “I worried about them the whole time I was here and worried about the others when I was there.”
“Hmmm? Oh, yes, well, they’re both fine,” he agreed absentmindedly.
“Okay, what is it?” She sat up in bed and turned the light on.
“What is what?” he asked with some caution.
“What’s on your mind? What’s distracting you?” When he failed to reply, she said more pointedly, “What’s going on that you don’t want to tell me?”
“Lindy…” he began, stopped, then began again, “Lindy’s had an accident. She was driving too fast and ran the car down an embankment.”
“When? How bad?” The chill traveling down her spine sat her straight up.
“Actually, it was the day the twins were born,” he admitted. “Rick had called, and before I could tell you, you told me you were in labor and it seemed not the best time—”
“How bad?” she repeated.
He took a deep breath, then said softly, “Her spinal cord is severed, Maggie. She’s paralyzed from the shoulders down.”
“And you waited two weeks to tell me?” She began to cry, pushing his hands away as he sought to comfort her.
“Maggie, you’ve had more than your share to deal with these past few weeks. I thought I’d wait until things settled down a bit for you. And it’s not like there’s anything you can do.”
“I could call her, talk to her—”
“She’s not talking to anyone, hardly speaks to Rick, he tells me. She’s in a terrible state of depression.”
“Jamey, we have to go…”
“Maggie, you’re not ready to go on a trip and neither are the babies. We just brought Susannah home today—there’s no way you can travel with them right now. Are you willing to leave them behind after having waited two weeks to bring them home?”
She knew he was right; she could not separate herself from her newborn daughters. She leaned against him.
“Is it permanent?” she asked. “Lindy’s condition?”
“I’m afraid so,” he told her softly. “Rick has called in every specialist he could find.”
“She’d rather be dead,” Maggie whispered.
“Apparently that’s true,” he nodded, “from what Rick’s told me.”
“As soon as we can all travel, can we go?”
“Of course,” he assured her, “as soon as we can.” Maggie insisted on calling Rick the next day at the hospital number he’d given to J.D. Lindy refused to speak to her when Rick had placed the phone to her ear, shaking her head to tell him to take the phone away. It had been another ten days before Lindy would respond to her and then only to say yes, no, or uh-huh.
“We’ll be there next week, Lindy,” Maggie told her one day.
“Don’t,” Lindy replied and, breaking her habit of monosyllables, added, “Maggie, I don’t want to see anyone. I wish I was dead.”
“Lindy, don’t think that way,” Maggie pleaded.
“You’ve no idea what hell this is, Maggie,” she sobbed. “I can’t stay like this.”
“Lindy, if there was anything I could do to help you…”
“You can help me”—her voice lowered—“you can tell him to help me. He would do it if you told him to…”
“Told who to do what? Lindy, what are you talking about?”
“She’s upset, Maggie, I think she’s had enough for one day.” Rick’s voice drowned out Lindy’s sobs.
Over the next several days her conversations with Lindy had reverted to the dull yesses and noes, so Maggie was totally unprepared when Lindy got on the phone a week later and said, “You must think I’m a terrible friend… I never even asked about your new babies.”
“What? Oh, they’re fine,” Maggie managed to respond, jarred by the light tone in the voice on the other end of the line.
“I guess I should have inquired earlier,” Lindy said apologetically, “but I’ve been preoccupied…”
“It’s okay.” Confused by Lindy’s suddenly buoyant mood, Maggie asked, “Has there been a change, Lind, any improvement?”
“Nope. Never will be. I will spend the rest of my days right here, flat on my back,” Lindy assured her, a bit of the old sassiness breaking through. “Can’t even snap my fingers or tap my toes to the music anymore. Ain’t much happening among us undead.”
There was a silence then, Maggie not knowing what to say. “Look, Maggie,” Lindy said, breaking the awkward void, “I know I’ve done a lot of things that have hurt you these past few years, and I want you to know I’m sorry. And I want to thank you for all the times you cared when there was absolutely no reason why you should have. You were a better friend than I ever deserved. You’re what I’d have chosen to be, had I had a choice…”
She had paused to take a deep breath before adding, “Keep an eye on Sophie as she’s growing up, Maggie, you’ll be a better influence on her than I would.”
“Lindy, maybe in time—”
“Time won’t change what is, Maggie. I never want her to see me like this. Not ever. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, I can’t bear it. Look, you take care, okay? And tell J.D. I said good-bye. Here’s Rick…”
“Rick, is she okay?” Maggie asked tentatively. “Are they drugging her or something?”
“She’s fine,” he replied somewhat stiffly. “Look, the nurse is here, we’ll talk soon…”
Maggie was still standing next to the phone when J.D. came in through the back door.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, noting the look of confusion on her face.
“I just had the most bizarre conversation with Lindy,” she told him. “She was pleasant and talkative, almost like the old Lindy.”
“Maybe she’s finally come to terms with her condition,” he said with a shrug.
“She’ll never come to terms with that,” she said, “and she went on and on, thanking me for being her friend—”
“She should thank you,” he said, nodding. “You’ve been a better friend than she ever deserved.”
“That’s exactly what she said. And before she hung up, she told me to tell you good-bye.”
“People normally say that at the end of a conversation, Maggie, I don’t see where that’s so odd.”
“Well, it was odd,” she insisted uneasily.
“For the past weeks you’ve been upset because she’s been depressed and wouldn’t speak to you, now, when she finally engages in a conversation, you’re upset.” He reached behind her to lift an apple from a wooden bowl, rinsed it off, and bit into it, chiding her playfully, “There’s no pleasing some people.”
She gave him a dirty look.
“Look, sweetheart, we’ll be there in five days. You’ll see her and have more time to talk. And I think you’ll probably find that she’s just come to accept that she can’t change what’s happened and is just trying to make the best of it.”
"That’s not her style,” she insisted.
“Then what do you think it is?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know.”
There was a bustle of activity for the next several days, trying to pack and make arrangements for the dogs, cats, parakeets, and other assorted family pets. Two days before they were to depart, Rick called, his voice a weary whisper. “It’s all over,” he told Maggie tearfully.
“What’s all over?” She froze where she stood.
“Lindy’s gone,” he said simply.
“Gone?” she asked uncertainly. “Gone where?”
“She’s dead, Maggie.” He seemed to choke on the words.
“Dead?” She caught her breath and stumbled into the nearest chair as her legs began to shake uncontrollably. “How could she be dead? Three days ago she was fine…”
“A lot has happened since then,” he said sadly. “When will you be here? I want you to be here for the funeral.”
“I don’t understand,” she cried. “How could she be dead?”
“She passed in her sleep.” He seemed to choose his words carefully.
“Were you with her?”
“Yes,” he replied after the briefest of pauses, “yes, I was there.”
The memorial service, brief and to the point, had been arranged so that J.D. and Maggie could attend and was held on the day after their arrival in England. They returned with Rick to his home and barely got beyond the vast foyer when he immediately disappeared into his study. An hour passed, then two, and still he did not emerge.
Tentatively knocking on the door with a cup of coffee in her hand, Maggie hesitated before she called to him. “Rick?” She knocked again lightly on the heavy mahogany door. “Rick?”
When he did not reply, she opened the door cautiously. The room was in semidarkness, the glow of the setting sun through the far window and the tidy fire burning at the hearth the only light. He was seated on the small brown leather sofa, staring blankly into the fire that had been made earlier to dispel the chill. She sat the coffee before him on the table, and he nodded his thanks, looking up at her with haunted eyes.
“Can I sit with you for a few minutes?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Rick, did you ever wonder if she did it on purpose? The accident?” she asked quietly.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I suspected it, though she denied it… said if she’d planned it she would have driven into a wall at full speed. Like her mother did.”
“I still don’t understand why she died. I thought she had stabilized. How could she have taken such a turn? Did something just give out? Her heart? Her kidneys?”
“Her will,” he replied. “Her will gave out. She wanted to die.”
“Rick, as terrible as the situation was, as crazy as it made her, people don’t die just because they want to.”
“She did,” he said with a nod. “She was in complete control.”
“In control of what?”
“Me,” he said simply. “She was in total control of me.”
“Rick, y
ou’re not making a bit of sense.”
“She made me do it,” he said as he turned to face her. “She was relentless, Maggie. Every day, every night, pleading, crying, begging…”
“Oh, God, Rick,” she whispered in horror. “What did you do?”
“Exactly what she wanted me to do,” he told her. “I acquired a certain amount of morphine and put it into her IV that night… that last night…”
“Jesus, Rick, you—”
“Killed her.” He spared her the agony of accusing him. “Yes, I did. I did not want to, but I felt I had no choice. There’s no question in my mind that she wanted to die. If she’d had the means, she’d have done it herself. But she could barely turn her head, you know, and it was driving her mad. And I finally gave in. She was so much happier, knowing it would end soon, Maggie, she was happier than I’d seen her in years.”
“What if you’d been caught?”
“Little chance of that. They’d been giving her morphine every night to help her to sleep, and we figured that if they ever checked, they’d think that they had overprescribed her dosage. There was no autopsy, Maggie, and it seemed worth the risk for her to finally be at peace.”
Maggie sat in stunned silence, absorbing the shock of Rick’s revelation.
“What would you have done?” he asked.
Mrs. Gaines, the housekeeper, knocked on the door and entered to inquire about their plans for dinner. Rick gave abbreviated instructions, and after she’d closed the door behind her, he repeated the question, “What would you have done, Maggie?”
She walked to the fireplace and stood directly in front of its blazing warmth, seeking to shake off the chill that had spread through her, pondering his dilemma, recalling her last conversation with Lindy. There was no question that Lindy would have worked him over unceasingly. She had never feared death.
Moments In Time Page 27