MAGPIE (13 page)

“You do the same for me, Mags.” Daniel’s tone was not as euphoric as mine; sultry tension coated his words, “I am transfixed, irrationally wooed by your passion. You’ve cast a spell that I can’t break away from.”

My juvenile statement paled in comparison to how Daniel characterized his feelings. He intrigued me more than ever, yet a flash of panic ripped through me. I was the one that always fell first in relationships; had Daniel upset that pattern?

“I’m tired, Danny, completely spent, courtesy of your vivid imagination,” I said with partial sincerity. I needed to hang up and make sense of what he’d said. I announced with no warning, “By the way, I’m going away.”

“What? When?” Daniel said with unexpected concern.

Casually, I answered, “On a road trip…‘MGroadie,’ remember?”

“Ah, yes, I do. Alone I assume?” he said, seemingly half joking.

What the hell?

“No, I’m taking my man, Cody. He protects me and keeps me warm.” I tried to lighten things up, but it wasn’t working.

“Will you be in range?”

Fuck if I know
.

“Sometimes, though I will be in the wilderness part of the time. Don’t worry. I’ve done this before, I know my way around Wyoming.” Even more annoyed, I wondered if Daniel noticed the shift in my mood. “I better get some shuteye, I leave at five in the morning. Thanks, Danny, for a wild ride tonight.”

Dammit, take the bait!

“Okay. Be safe, Mags. I’d say call if you need anything, but I can’t really come to your aid, now can I?”

Hook, line and sinker.

Glad the conversation was coming to an end, I said, “I’ll shoot you a text every so often. We might be able to squeeze in a date or two, who knows.”

“Sounds good, Mags. I really enjoyed tonight. I’ll miss you.” His tone finally lightened, though the idea of him “missing” me was irksome.

“G’night Danny, I will too.” I said with less conviction.

***

I left the house at 5:07 Sunday morning. Heading north on I-25, I took US 287 just past Fort Collins. I made great time, reaching Laramie a few minutes before seven, and stopped for a coffee refill at Shari’s, a familiar truck stop for anyone traveling this stretch of the Interstate. I didn’t travel with a thermos; I scheduled my coffee stops at 24-hour diners and truck stops so I could mingle with the locals—real salt-of-the-earth types. I made sure Cody had a chance to relieve himself and sniff around, something he never tired of.

I jumped on WY 130, which became Snowy Range Road about thirty miles later. Approaching the tiny town of Centennial at the base of Snowy Range teased my memories, and I deliberated pulling onto an old logging road to find a place to camp. It seemed too early in the day though, so I kept going until I came to the WY 130/WY 230 junction; 230 led to Encampment and 130 to Saratoga, which was home to a dog-friendly hotel, so I turned in that direction.

The hay fields had dried to golden yellow and scattered cattle grazed on meadow grass; the lucky ones sipped along the North Platte River. I pulled into the Riviera Lodge, a large “We Love Dogs” sign hanging above its entrance. It was a few minutes after nine o’clock and the front desk clerk was a bit surprised to greet a guest checking in at that hour. Still, there was a room available, and I handed her my credit card. Minutes later, I began unloading Beater.

I was unusually sleepy and stretched out on the worn but neatly made bed. Pulling Cody’s throw from his bag, I crumpled it on the floor next to me. Though Cody was invited onto my bed at home, I respected the hotel’s policy and kept him off theirs. I snoozed for a little over an hour, waking to memories of Jack, which led to memories of Michael. Tranquility encased me, not profound grief I’d feared would sit shotgun the whole trip. I felt my whole body relax and couldn’t wait to get out in the Wyoming air.

My six-day excursion was rejuvenating and provided a much-needed respite from my routine back home. Cody and I hiked rugged trails off Snowy Range Road and strolled along the Platte’s banks. Driving through the tiny town of Encampment, I discovered a little diner that served excellent pulled pork sandwiches; I’d leave with a napkin filled with small pieces of the tasty grub for my dear old dog. I spent guiltless mornings on the river’s edge, entranced by the ripples caused by stones I tossed with little care.

At the end of each day, I felt restored—physically, mentally and emotionally. I cried very little; instead I smiled, remembering my family’s early camping trips in Wyoming. One in particular stood out: The very first time Jack and I took Michael on a rugged hike. He was seven and already competitive—we were amazed at our son’s ability to keep up
and
enjoy it. Memories like those fluttered about like the beautiful butterflies that danced around the river’s edge.

I woke to a beautiful sunrise the morning I left Saratoga. Staring out my small hotel window, I decided not to call Jack and Michael back. I’d spent seven years hoarding memories of them; as if the massive cache would, in some way, bring them back to life. I’d come to realize they’d been with me the whole trip—and the last seven years. Accepting they were gone somehow made their presence more…
real
. As I loaded the last bag into Beater, I sensed a blanket of love all around, feeling Jack and Michael, knowing they would never leave me entirely. I walked to the North Platte River’s edge and silently released them, encouraging a route along the river’s bend up to the intersection of the Oregon and Bozeman Trails. I trusted they’d find their way to Montana—a place we loved almost as much as Wyoming.

***

I’d taken my time driving home, and it was late Friday afternoon by the time I pulled into my driveway. The yard looked the same, maybe even a little better. “Good job, Sean,” I said out loud as I got out of Beater, my joints stiff from the hours of driving. Cody made a beeline to the side gate, and, taking the hint, I opened it. Chuckling, I watched him run to his favorite patch of grass and begin to roll around with unfettered joy.

I unpacked the gear, stowing it in the garage. Hauling the duffels inside, I noticed that thick, stale air had enveloped every square inch of the house. I dropped the bags in the hallway and, quickly making the rounds, opened all the windows to entice fresh air from outside. I stripped off my nasty clothes and raced to the shower, where I stood for a good ten minutes, rinsing road trip grime from my skin and hair.

I replenished Cody’s water and poured a heaping bowl of kibble—he’d earned it. My thoughtful sister left a note on the breakfast bar,

Hey sis – Left you a present in your super empty fridge (hint: it’s white, cold and refreshing!). Drove by the house every day as requested. Apart from the frat party and hooligans ransacking your place, things went just fine. Hope you come back happy, healthy and horny for Greg … yummy! Katie

Katie, it seemed of late, had an appetite for the details of my love life. My sister had been single her entire life, and I wondered if she would ever marry. She lived for the chase and, once caught, easily got bored. She’d had a string of boyfriends but none good enough for marriage, or so she claimed.

Our folks had reluctantly accepted the fact that Timmy and Lisbeth would be their only great-grandchildren; since then, they’d focused on their daughters, showering us with love, praise and occasional gifts that, though well intentioned, really didn’t suit our tastes. We joyfully accepted them, hoping for re-gifting opportunities along the way.

I cracked open the bottle of wine and poured a glass, making my way outside to the deck. I scanned the yard, hoping Sean had cared for the back as he had the front. Everything looked fabulous, and I silently thanked him. I wiped off my chaise and plopped down. Cody was busy decoding all the new scents along the back fence, and I watched in amazement at how he delighted in the simple things. Tilting my glass, I said, “Cheers,” imagining Jack raising his glass, too.

My official travel itinerary ran through Sunday night; I didn’t want people bothering me while I decompressed from my trip. Halfway through my glass of wine, however, Greg came to mind and I wondered if he was still interested in me. Oblivious to the notion that I could be bothering him at that hour, I sent a very quick “hello,”

Today, 7:19 PM

MAGS: Howdy stranger

I placed my phone on the table and picked up my glass, not expecting a response anytime soon. A few minutes later, it buzzed,

Today, 7:23 PM

GREG: Hello! How was your trip?

MAGS: Amazing… perfect, actually

GREG That’s how trips should be, right?

MAGS: Indeed

GREG: What r u up to?

MAGS: Hangin on my deck, glass of wine

GREG: Jealous!

MAGS: Why?

GREG: Cleaning out my garage

MAGS: So sorry LOL!

GREG: Wanna come help?

MAGS: No way, not for hire

GREG: Dinner included

MAGS: Hmmm – not too hungry

GREG: Tomorrow then?

MAGS: U don’t have plans?

GREG: Only finishing the garage

MAGS: Delayed spring cleaning?

GREG: Classic procrastinator, my only flaw

MAGS: Your ONLY one?

GREG: Perhaps u will find more

MAGS: Casual ok?

GREG: The only way to go, for now

MAGS: Where and when?

GREG: Varsity, around 8:00?

Holy shit! The place where Brett and I first met. It didn’t feel right at first, but then I decided I didn’t want Brett to control where, when and with whom I had dinner.

Fuck it!

MAGS: Sounds like a plan! Still look like my pics, do u?

GREG: Yup! Look for jeans and t-shirt

MAGS: Look for something else

GREG: Nice – ok! G’nite Mags, sleep peacefully

MAGS: U 2

I woke early the next morning to birds chirping and the realization that I had, indeed, slept peacefully. It was Saturday, and I had chores to do. My backyard beckoned, so I raced through my housework. By eleven o’clock, I was on my way outside. I grabbed a book I’d started before my road trip and fell into my hammock. I wanted to be rested for my date with Greg, so I committed to a relaxing afternoon. I didn’t need any more color, either. My days in Wyoming were spent outside, and I’d come home nicely tanned. I opened my book and read for the next couple of hours, falling asleep for a couple more.

Cody’s bark woke me, and I saw Katie walking through the gate.

“Living ‘La Vida Loca,’ I see,” she joked.

“Hey, sis. Yes, I am.” I gave her a bear hug, and we walked into the house for a glass of water.

“Meet anyone on the road?” Katie asked.

“Nope, wasn’t my plan. But you know what?” I was eager to share all that happened in Wyoming.

Gulping her water, Katie said, “What?”

“I had the coolest experience, Katie. You know how Wyoming makes me thing of Jack and Michael? Usually, I choke back my feelings and memories. I think because I’m afraid that I might lose them forever.” My eyes began to water—not with sadness, but tender reflections. “This time, I really let my feelings out, when I was hiking, resting, sleeping. I wanted to really
feel
my guys. Then, on the last day, I let go. Out loud, I mean.” I was crying now, and Katie reached out and touched my hand. “I told Jack and Michael that I was okay and that they didn’t have to be locked up in my head anymore. I told them to follow the river to Montana…and then said goodbye.”

I began sobbing, and Katie came over and held me. She was crying, too, and we stayed locked in each other’s arms for several minutes.

Breaking away, she said, “Oh Mags,
you
deserve to be free. I’ve been hoping for this, honey. I’ve watched you try to move on, but I’ve never seen you let go. I’m happy, sis. I’m sad, too, because I know how much you love and miss them, but you need to live your life. I’ll always be here for you, you know that?” Smiling through tears, Katie found a couple of my curls to play with, like she’d done her whole life. It was such a soothing feeling, one that I needed at that exact moment.

“It feels good, Katie, it really does. I have no idea why I’m crying, but I really feel like I’ve closed a chapter. As silly as this sounds, it’s like I’m giving birth to a new me. Does that sound weird?” I recalled my labor pains followed by the joy of giving birth to Michael and was struck by the similarities.

We hugged, stepped back from each other and gave a little laugh.

“By the way,” I said, “I have a date tonight…”

***

The giddiness that normally accompanied my preparation for a date was surprisingly absent. In its place was a sense of self-assurance, and I walked up the steps of the Varsity Grille with poise. I’d chosen a colorful summer dress and tan, low-wedge sandals. Makeup was minimal, as usual, and my lips were glossy with a light pink tint. I felt every part a lady.

True to his words, Greg was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Unlike Brett, however, his jeans were European cut, and his t-shirt was a crisp V-neck in a beautiful shade of blue that matched the color of his eyes. I glanced at his shoes and was surprised to see very expensive-looking, closed-toed leather sandals that made me think of Italian male models.

“Hi Maggie, it’s wonderful to meet you in person,” Greg said as he reached to give me a light peck on the check. I didn’t return the kiss but smiled and offered a warm hello.

Greg escorted me inside, not asking where I wanted to sit. I rather liked it. “We have a table. They normally don’t take reservations, but the owner is my neighbor. I called in a favor after watching his dog for a long weekend last month.” I caught my breath as a flash of perfectly aligned teeth shone from a very handsome face.

As we made our way, I blurted, “Tell me again what you do for a living, Greg. Can’t recall if your profile included that.” I hadn’t a clue where that question came from, and was a tad embarrassed.

Pulling my chair out, Greg responded, “Didn’t mention my job on my profile. Don’t really think it’s who or what I am. It’s just what I
do,
you know?” He sat down, looked at me and smiled as he finished his sentence. “You didn’t go into detail about your work, either, Maggie. Wondering if it’s for the same reason?” He left it open for me to respond.