Maggie went on to share with him what she’d shared with Canon on her last visit—that she wouldn’t seek to be sensational—that she might not get all the facts just right—but that she wanted to use Zeke’s story to offer a shaft of light to others.
Ollie listened and nodded, smiling intermittently. When she finished he dabbed his eyes with his napkin. “That all sounds good. Mighty good.” He blinked across the table at Canon. “Listen, I don’t have the kind of stamina you young folks have. This fine meal…” Mr. Thompson waved his hand over the table, “and this fine news has me wore out all of a sudden. I hope you’ll forgive me if I take my leave.”
“Can I send the rest of the cake with you?” asked Maggie.
“I’d love a piece or two, but send some with Canon there. He’s a strappin’ man!”
Maggie went to the kitchen to fix a plate of leftovers to send with him, along with a generous portion of the cake. She handed the foil-covered plates to Canon who carried them out to the old green pickup for him.
As Maggie stood in the doorway, the sun inching toward the horizon in the distance, she overheard Canon say to Ollie, “I told her you’d be pleased.”
“Oh, I am, Canon. I am. She’s a good one, that Maggie. I reckon you can see that. If you don’t get over your own demons and set your cap for her, I’m goin’ to.”
Maggie hid behind the door when Canon glanced back at the cabin, not wanting him to know she eavesdropped. She couldn’t hear what he muttered to Mr. Thompson as he helped the old man into the truck and swung the creaky door closed.
She was clearing the dishes as Canon came back inside. He stepped to the dining table to help her. Maggie went to the kitchen to run the soapy water. The cabin didn’t have an automatic dishwasher.
As Canon brought the last armload in and set them on the counter, he said, “You’re a blessing to that old man. How long will you be here this time?”
“Through Saturday.”
“You coming back in April?” Canon leaned his back to the counter beside her. “I notice you’re on a four to five-week pattern.”
Maggie enjoyed the feel of the porcelain plates in her hands. She was glad the cabin didn’t have a dishwasher. Everything about this place felt more tangible—more sensory—than it did back at the condo. On her first trip back in late January, she’d had trouble sleeping. Every sound in the night woke her. She’d even called out Zeke’s name once, thinking she heard someone walking. Then she realized it was one of the oak limbs knocking overhead.
“Thought I might,” said Maggie.
“The cherry trees bloom in mid-April. It’s something to see on Main Street. We have a Cherry Blossom Festival.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. And you haven’t lived until you’ve had a cherry pie from Mabel Stevens’ booth at the festival.”
Maggie laughed. Was he looking at her lips again?
“It’d be my honor to buy you one,” Canon said. “Least I could do, to pay you back for all the fine meals you’ve cooked me.”
Maggie looked back down at the suds on her hands and reached to the other side of the sink to rinse the plate. “One pie is going to balance things?” She let the water run off.
Canon took the plate from her hand, setting it in the drainer. When he turned back to her his eyes danced. “Are you doubtin’ the pie?”
Maggie laughed and reached for another plate.
“Truth is,” he admitted, “I was trying to work up the courage to ask you out to my farm. But I don’t trust my cooking next to yours.”
“I’ve seen you chop a mean pepper.”
“How ‘bout this.” Canon took the next plate from her hands to set in the drainer. “After the Festival, I’ll rig you a pole and we’ll see if you can catch us a couple of rainbow trout from the pond. If you can do that, I’ll cook ’em for you. I’m pretty good at rainbow trout. With peppers on the side.”
Maggie handed him the silverware she’d just rinsed, her fingers momentarily getting tangled up in his. A swarm of butterflies gathered in her stomach. When her hands were free, she reached into the sink, pulled the plug and let the water out. “It’s a date.”
Canon had stepped toward the living room door after putting the flatware in the sink, but turned back now. “You would consider it that?”
Maggie’s face flushed as she finished drying her wet hands on the dishtowel. “I was just…using an expression. Not if you…”
He reached for her hand as she laid the towel on the counter, bringing it up to his lips.
“Forgive me, Maggie, for not being smoother. I’ve not had a lot of practice. But I would like to consider it a date. If you’re on board with that.”
So much for holding Canon Dale at a long, long, long double arm’s length away. Maggie’s hand flashed with heat as he let it go. Unexpected tears rushed to her eyes. Canon was quick to notice and take a step back. “Did I—”
“No.” Maggie shook her head, angry at her body’s sudden betrayal of her emotions. She hadn’t been touched that tenderly in a while.
The loneliness of divorce had been a shock to Maggie. At first, she thought it was the unfortunate timing, coming so soon on the heels of empty nesting. But Zeke’s brief presence in the cabin—his prediction that she was not destined to be alone—lit a spark of hope in her. She wanted to be loved again. But she was afraid of it not being real…solid…standing the test of whatever time she had.
“No, it’s not a date?” Canon asked.
“No. I mean, yes. A date is fine. It’s just…I’ve been trying not to like you, Canon.” Heat rushed up her neckline. “And I’m not doing a good job of it.”
Canon’s brow knotted. “Am I offensive?”
“No. You’re perfectly wonderful. Just…unexpected.”
“I’m unexpected, after you had a ghost in the cabin?”
Did that mean he really did believe her? Or was he poking fun at Maggie?
“I’m so recently divorced, Canon. I feel like damaged goods. And when you figure that out, you’ll be gone.” There, Maggie said it. And she immediately wished she could reel it back in. Tears sprang to her eyes faster than she could blink them away.
Maggie suddenly wanted Canon to leave. What was she even doing here in this cabin, in this remote little county? And why was she following a story that wasn’t hers? Why was she spending so much time and effort on something that might prove to be a total waste of time?
Maggie didn’t have an agent. She didn’t have a publisher. There was no guarantee anyone would ever buy or read her story.
What is wrong with me?
Wasn’t Maggie fine a moment ago? Bantering with Canon playfully? Where did this sudden flow of emotion come from? Were mid-life hormones hijacking her best intentions?
Canon stared at her, apparently as dumbfounded as she was.
“I feel really guilty for even considering being with—I mean, dating—another man.” Maggie kept digging the hole of her shame deeper. “I haven’t kissed anyone but Tom for the last thirty years. I don’t know how it works anymore.”
“We can fix that.”
Canon was definitely eyeing her lips this time. He didn’t try to hide it. But he didn’t reach to take her in his arms like Maggie half-braced and half-hoped for. He looked down at her with a pinched brow instead. “Don’t ever say you’re damaged goods, Maggie. Nothing could be farther from the truth.”
Canon stepped to the living room and reached for his jacket. Before he went out he said, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I hope you’ll come have that pie with me in April.” Then he added, low, “Lock your doors.”
23
When your heart lies in shards around your feet you think you’ll never breathe normally again. Then one day, you feel the vital organ pumping. Like the soar of a hawk's wings lifting in the air.
Canon drove away from the cabin feeling like a fraud again. Today was Wednesday, March eighth. Canon hadn’t seen Maggie since Tuesday, January thirty-first. That wa
s five weeks and a day for a man who counted.
Five weeks and a day.
How long did he have to wait to make Maggie Raines a part of his daily life? Or would she ever want to be?
On her last visit to his office, he’d only interacted with her briefly. He’d just gotten Paul Wilkins on the line when he saw the front door to the office swing open, framing Maggie with sunshine. Her hair was almost auburn when the light hit it like that.
Canon had turned his back to compose himself, so great was the thrill that shot through him. Shirley would read him like a book. She would see how Canon felt about Maggie, then she’d pester him about it in that sisterly way she had.
He had almost driven out to the cabin again before Maggie left in January, but had already dropped by once that week. Twice felt like he was being too obvious…too aggressive. So he had stopped at Ollie’s cottage instead. Checked on the old man.
“Mrs. Raines is back in the cabin,” Ollie had said, nodding his head down the road.
“Oh, yeah?” Canon thought he was fairly nonchalant about it, but he hadn’t fooled the old man any more than he would have fooled Shirley.
Ollie’s eyes had twinkled, catching him in his false play at ignorance. “I saw you go by on Sunday. Saw you leave, too…late that night.”
Canon looked down at his watch then, knowing that he had already revealed more than he meant to. “I better get back to the station. Shirley needed a report I had.”
“You’re not going to drive down and say ‘hello’ to Maggie?”
“Naw. I just came to check on you.”
Ollie laughed. “It’s not even snowing.”
On Friday, Canon had stood in front of the big plate glass window at the bank talking to Fred Hinson after giving his annual safety tips presentation to the employees when he saw Maggie’s car go by. She parked at Brad Bybee’s. Canon hurried back to the station, trying not to look like he was hurrying, thinking she’d stop by before she left town. But she didn’t.
Shirley and Becky both asked him later that day what he was in such a god-awful mood for. That was five weeks and a day ago. And now he’d made her cry.
Canon felt awful. He wouldn’t have called it a date. He didn’t want to scare her off. Maybe he shouldn’t have invited her at all. She’d feel worse if she knew how the festival got started. Canon hadn’t told Maggie he was ever married. He wasn’t sure how she’d feel about that. But that was a long time ago. Sometimes his marriage to Rita felt no more real than the recurring dream he’d had about Maggie. He often wondered if it ever really happened.
Maggie called herself ‘damaged goods.’ That term made Canon want to hit something. If he ever got hold of the man who ever planted that idea in her head, he’d pistol-whip him. And Canon didn’t care who got it on video. It’d be worth the risk of a public scandal to sink his fist into the man who ever made Maggie Raines doubt her value.
* * *
The day after Maggie’s dinner with Canon and Ollie she was filled with insecurity. Canon obviously hadn’t meant for his invitation to be viewed as a date—she was the one who planted that idea—she was the one who called it that. And what was Maggie thinking when she mentioned kissing?
Surely Canon would be relieved now if she called and said ‘no’ to his invitation to go to the festival. Or texted. Texting would be easier. That’s how young people did it these days, wasn’t it? That way you didn’t have to look them in the eye.
Now that Maggie had revealed her insecurities to Canon, he likely wouldn’t mind if she slunk back to Nashville never to appear in the county again.
She left the dining room where she was writing and headed to the bedroom to get her phone. She would text Canon this instant, get it over with. A sudden rustle and thunk behind her caused her to jump, thinking Zeke was back.
The court report envelope lay on the floor. She must have knocked it from its perch at the edge of the dining table, brushing against it in her rush to put herself out of her own misery.
Maggie picked up the report, thick with the papers inside. She had not yet read through it.
Instead of getting her phone, Maggie sat on the couch and began reading the pages.
Marston County vs. Ezekiel Thompson.
Charges were brought by the district attorney’s office for two murders in the first degree. Zeke was represented by a lawyer named Hargrove. He pled guilty. From what Maggie could gather it wasn’t what Hargrove recommended. But Zeke had insisted.
A jury, rather than a single judge, deliberated seven hours before coming back with their ruling: guilty of two counts, but on reduced charges of manslaughter, for the killing of Tandy and a man named George Iontha.
The next two days passed in a blink as Maggie got back on her computer comparing notes from the court report to notes she had taken from reading Canon’s files and the newspapers from the eighties.
* * *
Maggie sat across from Robbie in the hipster coffee house again, clutching a Cuban. The caramel espresso in her glass was a soothing fragrance—an aromatic comfort—even before she brought it to her lips.
“Canon asked me to go to the Cherry Blossom Festival with him in April,” Maggie blurted out, thinking Robbie wasn’t really paying attention.
Robbie looked up from her phone. Maggie could see she was reading a text from Cal, but couldn’t see what it said. “When in April?”
“The fifteenth.”
Robbie’s eyebrows raised as she put the phone back in her purse. This conversation had evidently grown more interesting than whatever her brother was doing right now.
“What are you going to wear?” Robbie demanded to know.
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t think I’m going.”
“Why would you not?”
“Why would I?”
Robbie leaned in, looking at her mother as if Maggie had lost her mind. “Because a handsome sheriff asked you to, Mom!”
“But, Robbie, it’s too…”
“Soon? Nonsense. Scary? Yes, I know.” Robbie grew serious. “I was texting Cal that Mark asked me to marry him last night.”
“Robbie!” Maggie reached for her daughter’s hand—the left hand—but there was no ring.
“I told him ‘no.’”
“Why, sweetheart? I thought you loved Mark?”
Robbie’s purse began to vibrate. She started to ignore it, then reconsidered. “Let me tell Cal I’m with you. I’ll call him later.” She grabbed the phone, punched in her message, then dropped it back in her purse. “I do love Mark…I think I do.” Then Robbie shook her head. “I’m not sure anymore. Look, I hate to admit this to you, but this thing with you and Dad…I guess it’s affected me more than I realized. I wanted to get Cal’s take on how he’s doing.”
Maggie didn’t know what to say. Ripple effects. Robbie had always been the more serious of the twins. She took things to heart—deeply so—where Cal had the ability to laugh things off.
“All that therapy, huh?” said Robbie.
“Two days with a ghost in a cabin did me more good than—” Maggie stopped when Robbie looked up at her sharply.
“Ghost? What do you mean?”
Maggie looked down at the caramel swirl of her Cuban. “I shouldn’t have called it a ghost. I meant the idea for the story that I got back in December.”
“You gave me a fright for a minute.”
“That must sound crazy, to get so caught up in a story you feel like you’re spending time with ghosts. Wonder what Therapist Jim would say to that?” Maggie laughed, trying to make it sound natural.
“I’ve always thought writers were a little crazy,” Robbie admitted.
“You think I’m crazy?”
“I think you’re dreamy. Aren’t you the one always losing track of time?”
Maggie didn’t answer.
“And now you’re talking about ghosts.”
Maggie didn’t answer that either.
Robbie sighed. “We didn’t break up, exactly. But Mark is
hurt I didn’t give an immediate yes.”
“Did he have a ring and everything?”
Robbie nodded. “Bended knee, all that. And, oh! Mom. The ring. It’s gorgeous. There’s no telling what he spent on it.”
Maggie knew her daughter well enough to know a big ring wasn’t her goal, but she was an accountant. Robbie always considered the cost.
“Mark is good to you, Robbie.” He was right for her, too. If he hadn’t been, Maggie would have been the loudest one cheering her daughter’s hesitation.
“I know.” Robbie looked so miserable it broke Maggie’s heart. She didn’t mean to add to her daughter’s discomfort by pointing out the obvious. “If Mark had proposed to me eight months ago before all this happened, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. From the first few months we dated we’ve been talking marriage. But his timing really sucked. I’ve been pulling away lately, and I think he got scared.”
“So how’d you leave it?”
“I asked for a couple of weeks to think about it.”
“Why don’t you come with me to the cabin? I’ll call Mr. Thompson and see if it’s available.”
Robbie cocked her head at her mother. “I thought you weren’t going to the Cherry Blossom Festival.”
“Well, not for that—to be with you! I’d love to show the cabin to you.”
“There’s no way I could get off work right now, Mom. It’s the middle of tax season. The only reason I got this lunch hour is because I’ve worked the last three weekends.”
“You couldn’t get off for one night? What if we went up next Saturday, the eighth. It’s the weekend before the festival, but you could see the cabin and the town, then you could come home Sunday, and I might stay the following week.”
“And go to the festival with the handsome sheriff on the fifteenth?”
“His name is Canon,” said Maggie.
“Maybe I can.” Robbie thought for a minute. “I’ll have to work the following weekend for sure, but I think I could go for one night on the eighth. I would love to experience this cabin you’ve talked about so much.” Then Robbie got a glint in her eye. “But I’ll only go on one condition.”
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