With her lips pressed firmly together in the semblance of a smile, she nodded once. But she refused to commit to anything. TJ was far from fragile; at ten years old he was a stocky, slightly uncouth brute. But he was still her baby. And he was broken in the worst possible way. Four weeks ago, he would have jumped at the chance to go see a Red Sox game. Now, he could barely make it out of bed in the mornings, not even when the new little league season began. What was once an obsession with baseball, bordering on unhealthy, was suddenly no more than a dusty mitt and a grass-stained ball he used to throw around in the backyard with his dad; a ball and a mitt that now sat tucked away in a darkened corner of his bedroom.
James and Maggie stopped in the sleek foyer. She could feel the curious gaze of the blonde receptionist bore into the back of her head, but she managed to ignore her. She didn’t like to be rude, but she couldn’t handle yet another look of pity accompanied by a sad, contrite smile.
“I’ll get everything filed by the end of the week.” James looked down at Maggie, placing a hand on her arm. He squeezed gently, steadying her with an imploring gaze. “Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. Any time, day or night, I don’t care.”
When the threat of tears started to burn her eyes, Maggie averted her gaze, looking down at the shiny marble floor. She nodded, but then she felt a pair of strong arms come around her as James pulled her in close, embracing her unexpectedly. He was just doing what most friends would do in such a situation, she knew that, but she couldn’t stop herself from recoiling, her arms lax at her sides, hands balling into fists. He needed this more than she did. So, she allowed it.
After an awkward moment, Maggie stepped out of the embrace. She forced her chin up, meeting his eyes, and she smiled tightly when he told her he’d be in touch. She responded that she’d give him a call. But the likelihood was that she wouldn’t give him a call. James was Tom’s friend, Tom’s colleague. The sleek foyer in which they stood, in the sky-scraping building on the busy city street, was Tom’s life.
Without Tom, Maggie didn’t have any reason to exist in James’s world. But she smiled anyway. And, with a slight wave, she turned and continued out through the glass doors to the elevator bank, desperate to be alone even if only for the twenty seconds it took to return to the ground floor.
Outside, Maggie was met with a dreary afternoon which matched her mood, the threat of rain looming heavily above in the low-hanging clouds—March weather at its finest.
She navigated the busy sidewalk, hurrying to catch the flashing walk signal to make it across the street to the parking garage. As she started down the concrete stairwell to the basement level where she’d parked, her cell started ringing from the bottom of her handbag. She struggled with the contents of her purse, finally retrieving the vibrating device just in time. But when she noticed the familiar number flashing on the screen, she stopped abruptly, cursing under her breath.
“Maggie speaking,” she answered with a blunt, knowing tone.
“Maggie, it’s me, Brian.”
What now? Exhaling a heavy breath, she closed her eyes and counted to three before she allowed herself to speak.
“You’re going to have to come pick him up,” Brian continued over the phone. “Principal Hendry’s suspended him for three days.”
As anger caused her blood to boil just beneath the surface of her skin, she shook her head to herself. “What’s he done this time?”
“Another fight, I’m afraid.” Brian sighed heavily; he sounded almost as defeated as Maggie felt. “Broke a kid’s nose.”
“Jesus …” She closed her eyes a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
***
Maggie’s grip on the steering wheel was tight. So tight she could feel the dry skin around her knuckles stretch and strain, turning a stark shade of white. As she pulled up to a stop in the faculty parking lot of the high school, she forced herself to take a moment to compose what she could of her emotions. With a few deep breaths, she watched as the rain drops trickled haphazardly down the windshield in chaotic streaks, an accurate representation of her mind’s state.
Out of the three of them, Tom’s passing had affected Jack the most. Before, he was so kind and thoughtful, selfless and gentle. He was a great kid. Now, he was almost impossible. His mood swings were unpredictable and terrifying. He snapped at Maggie, at TJ. He’d quit the baseball team. He skipped school at least once a week and journeyed into the city to do God knows what with God knows whom. His grades had dropped significantly. All he did now was sit in his bedroom every night—and all day on the weekends—playing video games while listening to offensive heavy metal music. Lately, he’d been violently lashing out. Never at Maggie, and never at his little brother. But he’d been getting into fights at school with boys who used to be his best friends.
Maggie tried to get him to go to therapy, to talk about the warring emotions that were ravaging him from the inside, but he refused. Brian, the student counsellor, had been keeping an eye out for him at school, but now that Principal Hendry had stepped in and enforced a suspension that would likely remain on Jack’s transcripts, Maggie was at a complete loss about what to do.
With a fortifying breath, she forced herself out of the car and hurried through the rain and up the front steps of the administration building.
***
After a long discussion with Brian and Principal Hendry, Maggie walked ahead with Jack trailing sheepishly behind her. He refused to look at her, and she chose not to look at him, not to say a word. She didn’t know if she could trust herself to say anything. She needed to let the proverbial dust settle. She was far too angry right now, and ashamed. And she hated that; she’d never been ashamed of either of her kids before.
As she drove the short distance from Belmont High School to the elementary school, she could feel Jack’s fleeting glances in her direction from across the silent car, but she refused to indulge him by meeting his eyes. She didn’t give anything away as she concentrated on the wet roads ahead while her mind raced a million miles a minute, her jaw fixed tight.
She didn’t really know what to do. She was at a loss. TJ was a shell of the vibrant boy he was. Jack was quickly beginning to lose his damn mind. Maggie was trying to keep it all together for the two of them, but deep down it really didn’t feel like she had much left to give. She was terrified that her family—her whole life—was falling apart, and there was nothing she could do about it. And at that thought tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away, willing herself to stay strong. Just long enough to collect TJ from school, take him to his appointment, make it home, cook dinner, tidy up and drag herself upstairs to crawl into bed where she could finally cry the tears she so desperately needed to release.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
Maggie blinked once at the sound of Jack’s timid, broken voice. She knew she shouldn’t get into it right now but she also knew she couldn’t ignore him.
“You broke a boy’s nose …” was all she could manage, still shocked by what had happened at the school. She glanced briefly at him before turning back to the taillights of the car in front.
“Why?” She shook her head, exasperated, incredulous and everything in between because she couldn’t for the life of her begin to understand. Violence had never been condoned in their household. TJ and Jack had been taught at a young age to use their words, that violence is wrong. This was so unlike him. It had to be some kind of dangerous combination of the unrelenting anger coursing through him and those damn video games he spent all his time playing.
Jack sighed loudly, and she could see him crack his knuckles from the corner of her eye.
“Why, Jack?” Maggie pressed, a little louder and slightly incensed as she grew increasingly impatient for an answer.
“He looked at me the wrong way.”
She gaped at him, her eyes wide. “He looked at you the wrong way?” A humorless laugh slipped from her lips. “What does that e
ven mean? How does somebody look at you the wrong way?”
She noticed his jaw tightening. He was clenching his teeth, staring straight ahead with a sullen look on his face, and she was taken aback by just how much he looked like his father right at that moment. He was the vision of Tom; just as stubborn, too.
“Do you think this is fun for me?” Maggie continued before Jack could even attempt an answer. “Do you think I like having to come pick you up because you’ve been suspended for fighting? For breaking a kid’s nose?” Her voice was shrill as it rang through the silence, cracking with emotion. “Do you think I like calling TJ’s therapist and telling her we’re running late, that I can’t bring my ten-year-old son to his appointment on time because my other son, who’s old enough to know better by the way, is getting into fights at school because some kid looked at him the wrong way?”
Jack turned away, staring out the window. “It’s always about TJ …”
Maggie snapped her mouth shut at the sound of his murmured words. She doubted he had meant for her to hear him. But she did. Loud and heartbreakingly clear. She inhaled deeply, the breath shuddering through her as she stared out at the gray afternoon, the red stop light casting an ominous glow over the busy intersection.
She wanted to say something to him, but she didn’t know what. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong. That it wasn’t always about TJ. That it was about both of them. That they were her whole world equally. But the signal turned green and the traffic started creeping forward. So, without saying anything, she continued driving through town toward the elementary school, realizing now more than ever just how much her sons needed her.
Chapter 3
After an almost silent dinner with the boys, the air thick and weighty with palpable tension, Maggie found comfort in a glass of cabernet once they’d gone off to bed. She locked up downstairs and tiptoed back up with her wine, careful not to make a sound as she moved past TJ’s room.
She continued into the master suite at the end of the hallway and closed the door quietly. With a sip of wine, she stood looking over the bedroom she’d once shared with her husband.
Not so long ago this was a space she had loved. One filled with so many beautiful memories. It was all theirs—their escape from the boys when they needed it. But now, without Tom to hide out with and watch movies or read books, or just lie together and talk about their day, the master suite suddenly felt far too big, too empty and cold. In fact, nowadays, the entire house felt empty and cold. It was no longer the home it once was.
Bed was calling Maggie’s name, but after a day like today she knew the minute she crawled beneath the covers there was no way she would be able to sleep. She’d spent too many nights lying in that bed, staring up at the ceiling, and watching shadows cast from outside as they danced across the room. Mocking her with every minute she was left sleepless and wide awake. And with nothing but her own haunting thoughts to keep her company.
Tonight, she wanted to be close to Tom. She wanted to feel him, smell him, touch him one last time. She wasn’t completely deranged and knew she couldn’t. So, for the next best thing, she walked through to the closet and paused in the doorway, glancing at his clothes. Racks of impeccably tailored suits stared back at her. Rifling through the collection, she pulled a charcoal suit jacket from its hanger, catching a waft of that painfully familiar scent. Tom’s scent. Painfully familiar because she missed it like crazy, and every time she caught a whiff of it in the house or on a random stranger passing her on the street, her traitorous mind would trick her into thinking that he was still there, that the last month had never happened.
Lifting the lapels of the jacket to her nose, she breathed in deep, closing her eyes as fond memories of her husband flooded through her. For as long as she could remember, since the day she’d first met Tom on that blustery fall day back in college, he’d smelled the same. Spicy with the slightest hint of cocoa. It was a scent she’d memorized, one she could smell from a mile away, even more so now that he was gone.
She looked down at the jacket, gently trailing a fingertip along the lapel, and she managed a sad smile. Thankfully, it hadn’t been dry cleaned since he last wore it. Perhaps she could add this to her stash. The stash no one knew about which contained a few items like the T-shirt he’d last worn to bed that she kept tucked under her pillow, so she could hold on to it on the loneliest of nights. It had long lost his scent, but it felt like him; if a T-shirt could feel like another person. That T-shirt was also the last thing she’d seen Tom wearing before he died. He’d left so early that morning, before Maggie had woken up. She couldn’t possibly bring herself to let go of it, whether it smelled of him or not. But now that she had this suit jacket, and it still held his comforting scent, perhaps she could cuddle it at night instead, so that when she closed her eyes and breathed in that intoxicating aroma, she could pretend Tom was still right there with her.
Basking in the scent it provided, her eyes fluttered closed as she imagined Tom’s eyes, his beautiful smile. She cuddled it close. But then she felt something in the breast pocket. She reached inside, feeling something with her fingertips before pulling out what appeared to be a cocktail napkin. She checked it to make sure it wasn’t anything important, noticing the familiar logo of the Empire, a boutique hotel downtown.
At first, she didn’t think anything of it. The Empire had one of the best cocktail lounges in Boston. It wasn’t unusual for Tom to catch up with clients and colleagues for drinks there after work every now and again. But when she turned the napkin over and caught sight of the unfamiliar handwriting on the back, instantly she felt her heart lodge itself at the back of her throat.
The Oakmont. Room 612. B xoxo
What the hell? Maggie stared at the napkin for an unreasonably long moment, trying to make sense of the words written in a neat, obviously feminine scrawl.
It had to be a mistake. Surely. Perhaps it was just trash, a discarded napkin he’d picked up by mistake. Maybe it was meant for someone else. She racked her brain as she continued staring down at the napkin, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
Who the hell is B? She frowned as her mind began to get carried away with itself.
Placing the jacket and the note aside, she pulled the matching slacks from the hanger, rifling through the pockets for something, anything, but she came out empty-handed. Nothing. Not even an errant ball of lint.
B xoxo. The delicate lettering glared back at her from the Empire napkin, goading her. And of course, she immediately thought the worst. What was she supposed to think?
Suddenly her heart was racing at a violent pace. She clutched the napkin in her hand and hurried out of the stifling closet to the sitting area by the bay window.
She fell to her knees beside the archive box of Tom’s belongings that had been delivered to the house from the office a few days earlier. She hadn’t gone through it yet. She assumed it contained no more than a few old picture frames he used to keep on his desk and maybe a planner. And when she lifted the lid, that’s exactly what she found inside. But, beneath the photo of her and Tom on their shotgun wedding day, and another of her with the boys, and Tom’s gilt-framed university degrees, at the very bottom of the box, Maggie found his personal laptop.
With a tremulous breath, she pulled the MacBook out and placed it onto the suede ottoman, staring at the device for an excruciatingly long beat. She knew she shouldn’t think too much into it. Surely, it was nothing more than a misunderstanding. It was more than likely some random napkin left on the table. Probably left there by the person before Tom. Perhaps he didn’t even know it had anything written on the back of it, and maybe he just tucked it into his pocket without thinking.
But Maggie couldn’t ignore the dread dwelling in her chest. She felt sick. Like she might actually be sick. Panic coursed through her at warp speed, mixing uncomfortably low in her belly with anxiety and trepidation.
Was this actually happening? Was she really on her knees right now, with a racing heart trappe
d at the back of her throat? Staring at her dead husband’s laptop while wondering if she could possibly hack into it and find out if this B person was of any relevance to him? And what if they were? What if she found what she was desperately hoping she wouldn’t? What then?
With a hand pressed against her churning stomach, Maggie racked her brain, wondering if her inkling could in fact be real. Tom was the love of her life. He was her one and only true love. They had been meant to be together ever since they literally ran into one another all those years ago. She glanced down at the note in her hand. Had it all been a lie? Could Tom really have been doing something unimaginable, unforgivable, behind her back?
With a deep breath, Maggie opened the laptop and powered it up. The screen illuminated to a background shot of the turquoise ocean from their last family vacation in Puerto Vallarta over the New Year, a few months before Tom passed.
When his name appeared on the screen above the password box, she lifted a hand to her mouth and idly chewed on her pinkie fingernail while she considered every single possible password option. Who knew what she would find? If she’d even find anything. All she knew was that she had to know the truth, whether she liked it or not.
***
The sun was beginning to rise, painting the sky with its rays as they broke through the looming clouds smattered with mauve, pink and peach. And Maggie was still sitting on the floor, staring bleary-eyed at the laptop screen in front of her. Caught deep within the darkness of the rabbit hole that had consumed her for the last six hours. A rabbit hole which led to the heartbreaking confirmation of her husband’s infidelity.
Months and months of messages and email correspondence between Tom and the firm’s beautiful blonde receptionist, Rebecca Holmes—or Becca, as she seemed to be affectionately known to him—glared back at Maggie. Obscene text messages. Explicit picture messages. Flirty emails. It went back at least six months before Tom’s death. Her husband had been cheating on her, living some sort of secret double life.
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