MAGPIE (25 page)

Finally, peace and serenity had begun to set in.

Our Christmas Eve open house had exceeded all my expectations. My folks’ presence aroused good cheer, as did the twins’ exuberance. We saved the tree topper for Dad to place—a crocheted snowflake, somewhat yellowed and floppy from the degraded starch used to stiffen it decades ago.

As soon as Mom shed her coat, she’d stormed into the kitchen to check on the food, lifting lids and sniffing the contents, looking through the glass window of my oven to see if the ham was on schedule—an annoying behavior I learned to ignore…sort of.

A few hours later, the rest of the guests had arrived, which enhanced the already festive atmosphere in the house. The evening had been perfect; the food was delicious and the company, enjoyable.

Spirits still high, Christmas morning had been intoxicating. I’d kicked the twins out of the guest room for a couple of nights so my folks wouldn’t have to sleep on the pull-out in the den. Timmy and Lisbeth made no objection, particularly since Cody squeezed nicely between the two on the bed. Of course, they were the first to wake and had squealed with delight over the colorful packages Santa had quietly laid at the foot of our spectacular tree. Mom and Dad, thrilled to wake to the commotion stirred by the twins, had cherished having the family together for Christmas.

There’d been no room for Katie and Kevin to stay the night, but they’d promised to return bright an early—which they did, with a basket full of pastries. Arriving a short time later, Bill made a beeline into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I’d put on my robe—a new Pendleton with a tartan plaid in hues of deep blue and green. (I’d vowed never to get rid of the red robe Jack gave me, but it was time to retire it.) He’d grabbed me as I made my way through the commotion and kissed me square on the mouth. Mustering as much stealth as I could, I scanned the living room hoping no eyes had found mine, when I spotted my parents’ gaze boring straight through me. My face had burned with embarrassment, I recalled, positive it wore a color to match the heat.

To my surprise, Mom had smiled sweetly, followed by a classic wink from Dad, as if to say, “You caught a good one, Magpie, don’t let ’em go!”

Sifting through Christmas memories brought a smile to my face. Remembering was an exercise with which I’d developed great proficiency…

Sending the twins back home wasn’t a sad event, nor was saying goodbye to my folks, for that matter. For the first time in years, I knew I’d be seeing them again. The fear of loss—the permanent kind—was losing its grip on my soul, and I had no intention of baiting it back. I was glad to have the house back in order (kind of) and equally pleased to be alone. The stillness of my home in early January reminded me of snowshoeing in the forest; deafening silence and exquisite scenery stirring self-reflection. Like a perennial that appears dead at the first hint of spring, I’d given myself a little more time before declaring my life over; new growth had begun to bud, roots tickling life back into my emaciated soul.

It was very different for Bill. The holidays provided a sort of sensory shield from his devastating loss, but as soon as New Year’s Day came to a close, his wounds reopened—shredded and bloodied. Attempts to console him were met with emotional barriers that I was unable to break through. At first, I tried to reach him with stories about Michael, thinking that familiarity would be the soothing balm needed to accelerate his healing. The blockade only grew thicker, though, so I backed off, avoiding the topic altogether. Instead, I put on a cheerful face and suggested fun activities, hoping things would return as they had been just weeks before.

Regrettably, sorcery was not a skill I possessed, and we coasted a bit longer, then slowly—almost deliberately—my lover and I drifted apart. There was no sunset, no crescendo; our break up was as unremarkable as our first date.

***

Typically, January is one of my least favorite months. Returning to school after Christmas break was torture, even in college. Likewise, tearing down decorations, stowing cherished knickknacks and hacking up a dried up Christmas tree was something I resisted, even as a child; it was like going to a funeral, painful memories the only thing connecting sad onlookers.

This year, however, I decided to take a different approach. The tree stayed put, as did the decorations. I piled the nativity set, an ancient and somewhat dilapidated
Christmas Town
and other seasonal adornments on the dining table, and studied them one at a time. After a tranquil jaunt down memory lane, I carefully swathed each curio in bubble wrap, placing them in assigned plastic bins easily accessible for the next holiday season.

Memories of Bill received the same handling; gentle recollection not efficient archiving like I’d ordinarily do. Sadness and grief had set the tone of our last exchange—a mixture of my own and Bill’s,

Why can’t you share more about Nathan? What happened, Bill?

For Christ’s sake, Maggie, can’t you leave it alone? I don’t want to talk about him, ever.

No, Bill, I can’t. It’s getting in the way of us, are you okay with that? There are lots of things I don’t want to talk about, by the way. I lost a son, too.

You lost a hero.

What is that supposed to mean?

I lost a pathetic excuse for a human being.

Bill, what are you talking about?

My son, Nathan. He was a criminal. Sold drugs. He died in prison, after being beaten by a gang of thugs who first raped the hell out of him. He was always a small kid, picked on at school, didn’t like sports.

But you said he was in the Navy! You told me officers came to your front door, holding a letter just like they had with me. You made me think we shared an awful experience, Bill.

We did, Maggie. He enlisted but was discharged—dishonorably. I lied about the officers at the door. I was and still am so damn embarrassed. We grew apart after that. My son didn’t fit the mold and we both paid a price. After Nathan was convicted, I shook his hand, said goodbye, and never saw him again. I killed my son ten years before those fucking assholes did.

Bill stood up from my sofa that day, dropped his coffee mug in the sink and left through the side door. He didn’t say a word on his way out. Surprisingly, I had no urge to chase after him. He needed space, as did I. His grief was insurmountable. As much as I hated to admit it, I didn’t feel like joining him on his journey, he’d have to go solo.

Katie’s call interrupted my flashback, “Hey, sis, whatcha up to?”

“Just putting Christmas stuff away. Actually, I’ve decided to leave the tree up for a bit, just wrapping all the little stuff up. I think I’ll keep it all handy for next year, though. I could get used to a holiday season like this last one.”

“Me too, Mags, me too. Hey, do you have a minute?” Katie’s voice became pensive in a matter of seconds. She could be so impulsive, and I braced myself for anything.

“Sure, what’s up?”

Please, God, make it be just one minute.

Katie squealed, “Kevin and I are getting married!” A few too many seconds ticked by and Katie asked, “Mags, you there? Did you cut out?”

“No, I’m here. Sorry, I cut my finger on an ornament.” In reality, I choked on a sip of coffee just as she announced her engagement, forcing me to mute the phone to conceal my reaction.

“Wow, that’s great Katie. When did he propose?”

“You sound as excited as a dead horse…Sorry, I know you like horses. Can you be a little more happy for me, Mags?”

“Katie, come on, I
am
happy. You just have a way of crash-landing news onto me. It takes time to soak it all in, honey, that’s all. Of course I’m happy!” This time I meant it. I would have thought a man would have scooped her up years ago—Katie intoxicated everyone with her veracity, quirky character and simple beauty. “Can you stop by? I want to hear everything.”

“Really? You have time?”

“Of course! Just bring me a bagel with loads of cream cheese.”

A quick sprucing up before Katie arrived was in order, which took all of ten minutes. The coffee pot was half full and still warm. Cody was resting and the house looked fine, so why the hell was I pacing the floor? Before I could stop myself, I texted Daniel,

Today, 10:12 AM

MAGS: Happy new year!

I stared at my phone as if I had the power to call forth Daniel’s reply. Unbelievably, it worked and he texted back in seconds,

DANIEL: U 2, Mags! How the hell r u?

MAGS: Good, Danny, u?

DANIEL: Getting used to life alone

MAGS: I’m so sorry, when did Sami leave?

DANIEL: Before x-mas, needless to say the holidays sucked

MAGS: Can you go there to visit? Don’t they play tennis in Germany? U could write the trip off

DANIEL: Funny you should say that, I’m leaving in feb to cover a tournament in Dubai, followed by another tourney – lots of travel, ugh

MAGS: What?? Dubai? Ok, u have no idea what image just came to mind!

DANIEL: Players volleying in thawbs?

MAGS: Ed zachery!

DANIEL: What??

MAGS: Goofy thing my sis says for “exactly”

DANIEL: Oh! LOL

MAGS: Speaking of my sis, she’s getting married

DANIEL: That’s good, right? Like the guy?

MAGS: It’s good, just strange

DANIEL: ?

MAGS: She’s been single her whole life, been avail 24/7- could I be jealous?

DANIEL: Possibly, I think sibs can become too close, gone thru that with my bro

MAGS: Really? Was that sad for you?

DANIEL: Not like Sami

MAGS: Well, of course not

DANIEL: Plus, sisters are usually closer

MAGS: Ya, we sure r

DANIEL: I miss u

MAGS: Me 2

DANIEL: How’s your guy?

MAGS: No more

DANIEL: I’m sorry

MAGS: How’s your gal?

DANIEL: No more

MAGS: I’m sorry

DANIEL: Wanna play?

MAGS: Can’t now, sis is coming over, but later…

DANIEL: It’s a date

MAGS: Mmm

DANIEL: Ta-ta

***

Katie arrived within minutes of my exchange with Daniel. I think my face was still red from the heat I felt thinking about cavorting with him later.

“You okay, Mags?” Katie asked as she plopped a huge bagel on a plate for me.

“Yeah, yeah. Just out of breath lugging a box downstairs. Wow, that looks yummy…”

Pouring a cup of coffee for herself, Katie said, “I can give you a hand with the others if you want, but for now, let’s chow.”

Apparently, my aptitude for lying—and pulling it off—had increased significantly.

“Okay, start from the beginning,” I said while stuffing a wad of bagel in my mouth.

“Just so you know, there was no ‘popping the question,’ Mags. Believe it or not, Kevin and I have pretty interesting conversations. He’s a deep thinker, something I really love about him. So, we’ve been talking a lot about how our friends are all married with litters of kids and how we really don’t fit in. Do you know what he does, Mags? He’s a rocket scientist, literally! He designs electronics for space shuttles but those are being retired, so he’s working on new stuff, like SLS…shit, I forget what that stands for, but it’s the new stuff NASA is doing.”

Katie could hardly contain herself. Kevin had captured her heart, mind and soul, and I couldn’t have been more thrilled for my baby sister.

With a mixture of immense joy and just a pinch of sadness, I sunk back into my sofa, polishing off my bagel. I listened to how two very different yet compatible people just committed to a lifetime together.

“You know what he told me after we agreed that marriage was a good idea? He said, ‘Katie, you make me want to get up an hour earlier in the morning and stay up an extra hour at night.’ I know that sounds corny, but I knew after that, he was the guy for me.” Katie was crying, just barely, and I grabbed her hand.

“You know what Jack said to me? Oh, and by the way, Jack never officially ‘popped the question’…I did.” A tear ran down my cheek as I reflected.

“Was it in true Jack form?” We giggled, recalling how Jack would simplify things in a way that rivaled a periodic table.

“In fact, it was. After I suggested that we get married, Jack did that thing with his mouth—you know? Twisting it, the way he always did when he had to mull something over, then sat back on his chair causing the damn thing to rock on its two back legs, and said, ‘It makes sense, Maggie, it’s like I’ve found the exact part for my truck in a giant junk yard… what are the odds?’”

“Holy shit! That is hilarious!” Katie cracked up and I joined her. Reminiscing had become very effective medicine these past few months, and I savored another few doses.

After a round of guffaws, I continued, “I know, right? So, I said, ‘Honey, did you just compare me to a spark plug?’ to which he replied, ‘Of course not. You can buy those at any auto parts store. I was thinking more like an intake manifold.’” Concerned that our bagels and coffee would find their way back up, we laughed our way to the kitchen, leaning on the counter to chase side cramps.

Catching my breath, I said, “God, Jack was so damn funny. He never set out to be, but he just was.”

Still giggling, Katie said, “Mags, that is the funniest damn story I’ve ever heard. Why am I just now hearing it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, really, maybe things get funnier as time passes.”

Or when people pass…

We talked for another two hours. Wedding dresses, locations and guest lists made up the majority of the conversation. Still, stories of Jack and our wedding occasionally surfaced and plenty of happy tears were shed.

***

My stomach ached from all the snorting, giggling and guffawing. Laughter may be the best medicine but the after effect is excruciating. Still musing over our sidesplitting afternoon, I cleaned up the kitchen and resumed my post-holiday organizing.

Sting’s “Brand New Day” blared from my iPod while I finished packing the last of my Christmas curios. I’d lost track of time, oblivious to the waning sunlight and growing shadows in the house. Still bloated from the bagel I gobbled up hours earlier, I decided to forego solid foods for dinner; a nice Malbec left over from the Christmas Eve bash was more appealing. I opened the bottled and let it breathe while I showered. Daniel came to mind as I rinsed my hair, and I remembered our date.