MAGPIE (10 page)

“I didn’t know you guys flew planes? How cool is that!” I said with animation. They beamed and I grabbed them again, giving even a tighter hug. “Let’s get out of this crazy place, what do you say?” I stood up, threw my bag over my shoulder, and took Timmy’s hand in my left and Lisbeth’s in my right. Both were equipped with backpacks, which they slipped on with impressive proficiency.

We took the train to the main terminal to collect their luggage, which might as well have been an amusement-park ride the way they squealed getting on and off the car. I’d decided not to tell them Katie had come along because I knew it would elevate their already super-charged excitement. Instead, she and I had planned a surprise in the baggage area.

“Katie! Katie!” Lisbeth cried out when Katie hopped out from behind the over-loaded carousal. Both kids ran into her open arms.

I welled with sadness as I watched their reunion. Michael would have loved seeing them like this. I often wondered if I held back because my grandchildren were a constant reminder of my own son, the child I lost. Timmy, the spitting image of Michael, had steel blue eyes and a brilliant shock of black hair. Lisbeth, who had softer features and lighter hair, still managed a resemblance through her eyes and crooked smile. A sharp pang of grief struck me, and I gasped.

“Nana? What’s wrong?” Lisbeth, an intuitive little girl, wasn’t fooled.

I looked directly into her sweet face and said, “Oh, honey. I’m just remembering your daddy because you and Timmy look so much like him. It’s a good, thing, really. Memories are so good to have, Lizzy. They’re like really cool pieces of colored glass you find walking along the beach. You hold each one with care and keep them safe in a pretty jar, so you can always see them.”

I kissed her forehead and took her little hand in mine.

“Okay gang, let’s go get your luggage and head home,” I directed.

We walked to the baggage area and looked for her tangerine-colored case and Timmy’s lime green one, bags I’d purchased for their very first trip to Colorado. Originally, I’d picked out the colorful bags to spot them quickly at the airport. Over time, they’d become the twin’s signature colors for clothes, furnishings and accessories—at home and at Nana’s house.

Katie sat in the front seat while Lisbeth and Timmy goofed around behind us. In the rear, their luggage was stacked on top of several bags of mulch I’d forgotten to unload over the weekend. Traffic wasn’t too bad, and we managed to make it to the neighborhood well before rush hour. I dropped Katie off, but not before she invited herself over for dinner, promising to help out in the kitchen…and bring a bottle of Prosecco. We blew kisses, knowing she’d be back soon.

Jack and I had put a doggie door in the wall next to the back door when we first brought Cody home. Since then, he’d taken full advantage of his in-and-out privileges. Hearing Beater pull up, Cody sat at the side gate in customary anticipation of me, but when he saw the kids, he romped in circles like a pup.

“Cody! Cody!” Lisbeth called out in her sweet, high-pitched voice.

She was at the latch first and opened the gate. Timmy helped push her through, straining against the lovable, 85-pound pooch. They ran out to the lawn, Cody at their heels, and found the tire swing that hung from my beloved ash tree. Twins don’t compete, at least not these two. They climbed into the tire together, and it began moving with perfect coordination. It was breathtaking to watch the twins’ connection, and I stopped in my tracks to observe the special moment.

The twins were old enough to be left outside with Cody as their caretaker while I dragged their bags inside. I looked at the clock and was amazed it was already half past two. Concerned about the heat and altitude, I called the kids inside for a glass of freshly infused honeydew water, gulping a glass of the delicately flavored nectar myself.

I glanced toward my dining room and recalled the exchange I’d had with Brett earlier. I was furious with myself for thinking that he and I had potential. Brett was a good time and a great fuck. That’s it. I hadn’t even found out why he worked at Home Depot after he’d bragged about being a commercial real-estate broker for over 20 years, having done “pretty damn well.”

Probably fucked his boss’s wife and got dis-brokered
.

Straying outside my comfort zone these past few months had exposed emotions I’d avoided for a long time. Mostly, I was angry—angry with Jack for getting sick when we’d planned to grow wrinkled, grumpy and achy together. And I was so damn mad at Michael for joining the friggin military. Jack and I had set up a college fund before he was born. Seeing the way he fixed things and worked in the garage, we knew he’d make an excellent engineer. But he wanted to help rid the world of bad guys. I couldn’t get over how the world had lost one helluva good one in the process. Then there was Katie, who lived such a carefree life with little regard for the consequences. It wasn’t lost on me that I envied her a little.

As I listed my reasons for being angry, I couldn’t stop. I was pissed at my boss for moving on, opening up his position to a real bitch; mad at my neighbor’s dog who kept chewing through the fence; furious with my friends who couldn’t see that I was still quite sane and just happened to be having a thrilling affair with a guy who lived several states to the east. Most of all, I was angry with myself for opening Pandora’s Box without knowing how to call back what had escaped.

Maggie’s box
, I smiled at the irony of the metaphor.

***

It took very little time for the twins to get settled, and only slightly longer for me to get accustomed to the goings on of little people. The biggest hurdle was food. Carrie and her parents were health conscious, far as I knew, but I’d found out that Timmy and Lisbeth were regulars at McDonalds and Chick-fil-A. My heart went out to their mom, wondering what it must be like raising two babies alone. I imagined she was overwhelmed and filled with a sense of loneliness not unlike my own. Keeping to my no-fast-food rule, I compromised and baked some sweets, stowed several tubs of ice cream in the freezer, too.

The morning of the Fourth of July, I scurried to make a special breakfast: Blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, fruit salad and fresh-squeezed orange juice—a favorite in the Garrett household.

Standing at the breakfast bar with a coffee cup in hand, I shared stories about Michael with his children as they kneeled on the barstools. I knew very little of his work in the Navy, so I crafted little stories of heroism to fill in the gaps. They were captivated and I didn’t want that moment to end.

We cleaned up the kitchen together and moved to the living room where I’d brought a trunk from the basement. It was Michael’s, and the kids knew it. Rummaging through the top shelf, Timmy found a brown, camouflage cap that he plopped on his small head, proudly smiling at his effort. Lisbeth slowly pulled a U.S. Navy SEALS bandana from under a stack of books and tied it around her small waist. Both artifacts were permanently affixed for the duration of their stay.

It was getting late, so I ushered the kids out the door. We stopped off to pick up Katie, then took the bus downtown and found a shady spot to watch the parade. I stepped back, allowing Katie to blaze a trail through the crowds, the twins just steps behind. Timmy and Lisbeth were having a great time, as was I, watching my two adorable grandchildren experience the joy of patriotic music and fanfare.

With a lump in my throat, I whispered, “Michael, we love you and miss you very much.”

After the parade and a well-deserved lunch, I herded everyone to the bus stop, making our way home through throngs of cheerful spectators. Katie had plans for the evening, so she said goodbye and walked home after helping me in the house with the kids.

We had a light supper and enjoyed it outside, where the air was beginning to cool and dragonflies swooped around the gardens. Afterward, the three of us crawled into my giant hammock that stretched between the ash tree and detached garage. I’d set Pandora to my John Denver station, music flowing softly through the outdoor speakers that hung from the garage soffit.

“Nana, why do you live alone?” Timmy asked.

“Well, I don’t now do I? Cody lives with me, the birds, bunnies and squirrels live in my back yard, and Katie comes over and spends the night lots of times. And you two come visit me and stay a long time. I’m lucky to have so many people and animals in my life.” I nuzzled my grandson and tickled Lisbeth.

Timmy continued, “But that’s not the same. Granny and Poppie live together, and Mommy and Harry live together, too.” A sharp pain ricocheted through my chest, leaving me struggling for air. A few innocent words spoken from the mouth of my grandson informed that my daughter-in-law had moved on with her life.

When Michael brought Carrie home, Jack and I were thrilled. A lovely girl from a San Diego, she was sweet, bright and most of all, she loved Michael very much. She’d moved to Colorado for college but decided against it when she met Michael; she understood his career would send them all over the world and she wanted nothing more than to make a home for him. He was equally enamored, and they married six months later. Nine months after that, she delivered twins—a son and daughter he’d never meet. When he died, Carrie moved back to California with the babies to be with her parents. My pain turned into resentment, though I knew I would have done the same thing. Like two survivors of a car crash where everyone else died, we were bonded by grief, an excruciating awareness that prevented us from facing it together. Instead, Carrie left, leaving me feeling like the sole survivor of the deadly wreck.

“Harry and Carrie,” I whispered, hoping the twins wouldn’t hear. It sounded preposterous, and the image of their written names was even more so.

Stop it Mags, be happy for her,
I urged myself, simultaneously wishing for my own steady stream of happiness.

After some time, Lisbeth chimed in, “Mommy didn’t want us to tell you about Harry, but he’s so nice and we really like him, Nana. She said it would make you sad. Are you sad, Nana?” Both sets of eyes locked onto mine, waiting for the answer that would validate their love of a man who had taken the place of my son.

“You two shouldn’t be worried about this kind of stuff. I’m glad your Mommy is happy and I’m glad you two like Harry. He sounds very nice. Now, shush! Let’s listen for ‘Al the Owl’…” I pulled them closer, ignoring the tears beginning to well, and told them the story of an old hoot owl that had flown into my yard the day Jack and Michael died. Al, I explained to my attentive audience, perched himself atop my massive ash tree, staking his new claim, and watched over Cody and me year after year.

The temperature had dropped significantly, so we made our way inside where I led the twins through their nighttime routine: a good soak in chocolate-scented bubble bath, two rounds of the alphabet song as they brushed their teeth, and a quick change into jammies. Afterward, we settled into our ritual of bedtime reading. I’d asked Carrie if I could begin the Harry Potter series, and she agreed. Lisbeth devoured books and Timmy, while not as voracious a reader, loved hearing stories read out loud. I wanted to be the one to introduce them to one of Michael’s favorite books, and I was thrilled that it began that night.

By the time I tucked the twins in, I was exhausted and ready for a cool shower. First, however, I made my way to the kitchen for a much needed glass of wine. Savoring the first sip, I reflected on the day, which wasn’t just a celebration of our country’s independence; rather, it was a day filled with deep emotions and bittersweet memories. Torn between the warmth of my grandkids’ love and the deep desire for uncontrollable passion, I was uncertain if there was a place in my life for a lover; after all, I was a widow, hard-working professional and dutiful Nana—how much more could I give?
Independence, my ass,
I thought, realizing I was more dependent on things
and people
than I’d like. Just then, my phone went off, clearing my thoughts like the delete button on a keyboard. It was Daniel and I couldn’t unlock the screen fast enough,

Today, 9:16 PM

DANIEL: Rough day?

MAGS: Sorta

DANIEL: Thought of you

MAGS: Me 2, u I mean

DANIEL: Fun with kids, tho?

MAGS: Tons of fun, thx for asking…really

DANIEL: Had a disaster of a date

MAGS: Real live date?

DANIEL: In the flesh

MAGS: Enjoyable flesh?

DANIEL: No, nope, nada

MAGS: Wanna talk about it?

DANIEL: Text ok with you?

I had a flashback of my earlier exchange with Brett and hesitated. I pictured Daniel secretly texting me in bed with a Miss Flesh lying next to him, naked,

DANIEL: U there?

MAGS: Ya, just thinking

DANIEL: About what?

MAGS: Why text and not a call

DANIEL: Dunno

Fuck! That stupid word again. Why do men resort to pre-pubescent speak when they feel cornered by a woman?

MAGS: Heard that word today

DANIEL: What word?

MAGS: Dunno

DANIEL: More…

MAGS: Cocky jock’s been into more than me

DANIEL: Oh no, mags

MAGS: Ya, and I was having so much fun, really liked the guy

DANIEL: What a let down

MAGS: Ya

DANIEL: So, you worry that I’m into more than just you?

MAGS: U r diff, we know this isn’t real

DANIEL: Isn’t it?

MAGS: U know what I mean

DANIEL: No, what

MAGS: We do our virtual thing but have real lives

DANIEL: So this isn’t real

MAGS: Not in the physical sense

DANIEL: Don’t u feel anything physical?

I was beginning to feel interrogated and didn’t like it. My head was swirling with images, words, thoughts and feelings about Daniel, Brett…even Bill. I wanted the fling with Daniel to remain simple and easy. His questions opened up an emotional portal I didn’t want to access…not now. Was he falling for me?

MAGS: Oh yeah I do

DANIEL: Me 2, so it’s real

MAGS: You know what I mean!