Changes of Heart (4 page)

“How deep are you in, Rich? You must’ve taken a big bite if you need money for basic operating expenses.”

“Well... yeah. I’m in up to my ears.”

“How much, son?”

“I... I’d rather not give you a number. The thing is, I refinanced the house and barn, used our savings, sold what little stock we had—the whole smash. I even borrowed against the value of the insurance policy the Air Force carries on me. It amounts to nothing until I pay back the loan.”

Brad struggled to bite off his quick reply. After a moment, he said, “And you did all this without Maggie knowing? Do you feel right about that?”

“Yeah, Brad, I do. This is going to surprise her. It’ll be the biggest surprise of her life. I came into our marriage with next to nothing. It took me years to pay off my mom’s hospital bills. But now, with this opportunity, Maggie can buy more horses, buy the six-stall trailer for when she’s
campaigning her stock, and buy whatever else she needs. I owe this to Maggie. I really do—and I’m going to see that it happens for her, no matter what.”

“Rich... you’ve got to understand that I’m not questioning what you want to do for Maggie—and it’s not the money, either. I have it and you and Maggie will end up with it anyway, after Jan and I are gone. But I can’t do this behind my daughter’s back. She’s got to know about the loan, and approve of it. I’m sorry, but I can’t do a thing unless we agree to that condition.”

Again, Rich’s words were rapid. “The only way this thing can get messed up is if I drive the X-417 straight into the ground—and that’s not going to happen. I know that aircraft like Maggie knows her horses—better, probably. Animals can get nutsy, but machines can’t.”

“I’m not doubting your skills, son. I know you’ll make that plane do precisely what you want it to—just as you have with the other ones. That’s not the point. It’s just that I can’t do this behind... Look—can you hold out until Christmas Day? Jan and I’ll be there midday at the latest. Can we talk then?”

Rich’s response was a bit slow in coming. “Sure—that’ll be fine. By the time you get to our place I’ll be back from Toole, with the test flight behind me. We’ll talk then, OK?”

What sounded like a tornado approaching from the west snapped Brad Stuart’s eyes to the sky. The sound became a high-pitched, screeching, all-encompassing roar, and five jet fighters in a tight V formation blasted toward the church. Directly over the building they turned sharply upward, the
needle-noses of the planes seeking the upper reaches of the universe, the creamy white contrails strikingly defined against the cobalt blue of the sky. The space to the right of and below the lead jet was conspicuously and quite solemnly vacant—the pilot’s salute to a fallen comrade.

In the SUV Maggie moaned and hugged her head with frantic hands. Janice held Maggie, rocking her gently, as if she were an infant. “We’ll get through this, honey.”

Brad sat behind the steering wheel and thunked the heavy door closed. His eyes met those of his wife in the rearview mirror, and he wondered for a long moment if what Janice had said contained any bit of truth at all.

Maggie leaned up against the birthing stall and stared at the new foal. In his eight days of life, Dancer had shown more personality than most foals did in their first couple of months. He was a curious animal. His chestnut, almost black, eyes flicked toward every new sound or voice, and his ears were in almost constant motion, pointing at whatever caught his attention. Dancer didn’t display the natural and normal hesitancy of a very young horse. He didn’t slide behind or next to his mother when people came to their stall, keeping her body between him and those strange creatures that walked upright. Instead, he moved toward rather than away from a hand held out to him and seemed to take great delight when his muzzle was gently stroked or his poll—the spot between his ears—lightly rubbed.

Maggie spent a few hours every day at or in the birthing
stall. It was there she felt a sense of peace that she couldn’t find elsewhere. But even with her horses, she found no joy. She felt Rich’s death physically, as if she carried the invisible but ponderously weighty pelt of some huge animal on her back and shoulders. She’d lost a dozen pounds from her already lean frame, and her jeans hung from her waist like they were two sizes too large for her, even though her belt was buckled at its final increment. She lived on coffee and whatever her mother was able to get her to eat.

Maggie didn’t realize that her father had come up behind her at the stall until she felt his hand on her shoulder and heard his voice.

She turned to face him, a forced smile beginning to mold her face.

“Don’t,” Brad said. “Don’t try to smile, honey. You’ve never been phony in your life, and now isn’t the time to start.”

Maggie nodded and turned back to her horses. Dancer moved closer, muzzle raised a bit, trying the scent of Maggie’s father. When Dancer recognized it, he snuffed and moved a step closer to the man and woman, seeking Brad’s usual light touch. This time, for once, Brad ignored the foal.

“There are some things we need to talk about, Maggie,” Brad said. “I need to get back to my stores in a few days. Your mom is going to stay on for as long as she needs to. I’ll do my best to fly out on weekends.”

“It’s not necessary for Mom to—”

Brad cleared his throat. “Whether it’s necessary or not, she’s staying, and I don’t want you to try to dissuade her.
Her heart is breaking right along with yours, and she needs to be with you, needs to be your mother.” His voice became stronger. “Don’t shut her out, Maggie.”

“I’m sorry,” Maggie whispered.

“Don’t be sorry, either, baby. Believe me, I know how you feel and how you—”

“No, you don’t, Dad. Mom never died and left you alone.”

Brad sighed. “No. She didn’t. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that. But we’re worried about you. You’re losing weight you can’t spare. You’re eating next to nothing. You pace the house all night long, you won’t pray with us, and you won’t see the friends who stop by to visit you. Grief is grief, honey—and it’s the most painful thing in the world—but you’ve got to smooth some of the sharp edges away.”

“My life is over, Dad.”

Her father turned her away from the stall to face him, his grip firm but lovingly gentle. He used his right hand to lift her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “It isn’t, Maggie. I’ve never known you to be a quitter. What happened to Richie is a horrible tragedy, but you can’t allow it to destroy you. That isn’t what Richie would want, and it’s not what your mother and I want, either. I know only a week has gone by, but I—we—are really frightened by what we’re seeing. C’mon, let’s go inside and talk with your mom. OK?”

They walked together to the house, her father’s arm protectively around her waist. Halfway there, Maggie moved her own arm to her father’s midsection, and it stayed there until they reached the steps.

“I’m not a quitter,” Maggie said, her hand on the doorknob.

“I know that, baby.”

Janice was sitting at the kitchen table when Maggie and her father came in from outside. Janice had a neat stack of condolence cards and personal letters in front of her and a half dozen or so other pieces of mail that she rather clumsily attempted to cover with her arm. “I thought I’d separate the mail, honey—set aside the ones you’ll want to answer.” She stood and swept up the mail she’d been attempting to conceal into a quick, sloppy pile and picked it up. One envelope with a lurid red “Third Notice” stamped on its face dropped to the table. Before her mother could snatch up the letter, the words registered in Maggie’s mind.

“What in the world is this?” she asked, reaching toward the envelope.

“Junk mail and stuff and nonsense,” Janice said hurriedly. “You don’t need to concern yourself with it right now.” She forced a smile. “How about I put a fresh pot of coffee on?”

Maggie tore open the envelope and scanned the letter. Her face flushed with quick anger. “This is impossible! We’ve never missed a mortgage payment! Richie pays everything on the first of each month—this is a big mistake.” She looked at her father in panic. She didn’t like what she saw.

Her dad sighed. “No, it isn’t, Maggie. I’m sorry. I was waiting for the right time to discuss this with you.” He paused for a moment. “Sit down, OK?”

“Brad...” Janice began.

“There is no good time, Jan,” Brad said. “I guess now is as good as any. C’mon, honey, sit down. You too, Jan.”

“I won’t sit down!” Maggie held the letter in front of her like a challenging sword, her hot glare focused on her father. “What’s going on here? What’s this all about?”

“Calm down,” Brad said gently, easing himself into a chair at the table. “Yelling at me isn’t going to accomplish anything. Let’s talk about this.”

Maggie held her father’s eyes with her own for a long moment and then stiffly moved a chair out from the table and sat down, her posture rigid, the letter still clutched in her hand. After a moment, Jan sat too.

“I got a call from Rich about a week before Christmas. He needed money. I don’t know how else to say this. He did a very... well... misguided thing. He did it for you, honey—I completely believe that. But it was a foolish thing to do.”

Maggie began to speak, but her father held up his hand to quiet her.

“Let me tell you the whole thing. Then we’ll discuss it. OK?”

Very slowly, Maggie nodded her head.

It didn’t take long to tell.

The color of anger drained from Maggie’s face very quickly, leaving her with a sickly white pallor. Her hand released the letter, and parts of the text were smeared from
the nervous sweat of her palm. The silence in the kitchen became an oppressive force.

Jan cleared her throat. “Rich did it for you, Maggie. We all know he didn’t lust after money for itself—this crazy investment thing was to be a gift to you, to help you expand your career with your horses, to make sure you wanted for nothing.”

“Well,” Maggie said. Then, after a long moment of silence, she added, “He didn’t tell me, though. We always told each other everything, but he didn’t tell me about this.”

“That was wrong, Maggie—but you had to hear his voice at the beginning of his call to me to understand it,” Brad said. “He was as excited as I was when I bought your first bicycle and kept it hidden in our bedroom closet until Christmas morning. Your mother was sure I was going to give it away—and every time I saw you, I almost did. That’s how Richie felt—like he was doing something loving and wonderful for you.”

As Maggie began to speak, Jan leaned across the table and took her daughter’s hand. “Let me say something here. There are two ways you can go with this, Maggie.” Maggie turned to look at her mother. Brad did as well. His wife wasn’t an aggressive woman, but she was a strong and clear-thinking Christian with a rock-hard faith that made her counsel well worth hearing.

“You can torture yourself with what Richie did, and worry and cry and wonder what the man was thinking by not discussing his plan with you. You can make the whole thing bigger than it is in your mind and in your heart, and let it
chew away at you for the rest of your life. Or...” Janice paused. “Or you can accept it for what it was: a surprise gift from your husband that went terribly, tragically wrong. And you can hold that in your heart—how much he loved you—and let it bring joy to you until you join him at the end of your own life. It’s up to you, honey. Dad and I can take care of the money for you with no problem. I’m much more concerned about how you—”

“No,” Maggie said with a voice that was more alive than it had been since Christmas day. “What you said is true, Mom, and thanks for saying it. But the money is my problem now, and I’ll take care of it without a handout from you and Dad.”

Brad reached into his jacket pocket and removed a neatly folded check. “We’ve been very fortunate, honey. Business is good. This”—he gestured with the check—“won’t be missed or needed. Can’t you let us help you? Isn’t that what parents do for their children?”

Maggie pushed her chair back, stood, and stepped to her father. She leaned and kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much, Daddy—but no. I can’t and won’t accept it.” She stood straight again, and some of the color came back in her face. “I’ve got some figuring to do. I’ll be in my room.”