Season of Sisters (12 page)

A muscle worked in Ben's jaw. He wasn't ready to give in yet. He stared at Maggie. "My concern is that she'll overtire herself and not have resources available when she needs her strength."

"I'm not a child to be ordered about by an overprotective parent. I can judge my own strength or lack thereof."

He braced his hands on his hips and faced her. "You have gotten to be so stubborn."

The pain and frustration in his voice pierced her to the marrow. Poor Ben. This situation was so hard for him. Hadn't she often mused that being a patient's loved one was sometimes more difficult than being ill oneself?

She took a step toward him, placed her hand on his arm. "Isn't being stubborn a good thing, honey? Isn't stubbornness a sign of strength?"

His glare softened, then his mouth twisted in a rueful half-smile. "In that case, you should be able to tote the entire Dallas Cowboys football team around on your back."

Maggie grinned at his joke, then turned on the charm. "Ben, you should know something about me. If Grace is with me, she won't overdo. I can promise that. I'm delicate. I may be Southern, but I'm no steel magnolia. Except for when I'm shopping for shoes, and then I can go for hours. Still, I'm sitting down most of the time."

He let out a long, harsh sigh. "All right. I'll allow it. But Maggie, I'm taking you at your word. You keep an eye on her and don't let her wear herself out."

Grace traded looks with Maggie in silent communication.
See? See what I meant the other day? Constant coddling. He's driving me crazy.
Then, just as Grace dropped her head back to let out a silent scream, Ben added, "I love her so much."

"No need to say more, Ben." The gaze Maggie settled on Grace brimmed with understanding. "No need to say more."

* * *

Holly was late. She absolutely hated being late. It was one of her pet peeves. Her reputation at school for being the Tardy Slip Teacher was honestly earned.

Her phone call to her dad had delayed her only a little, but then she couldn't find her keys. Once she gave up the hunt and dragged out her extra set, she'd been ten minutes late leaving home. Then traffic was a mess, and she'd had trouble finding a parking space. She'd ended up in the high-dollar garage on Commerce Street, and she'd been lucky to find a spot there. Seemed like half the population of Fort Worth had decided to attend the Arts Festival today.

She arrived at the Ashford a full quarter hour late. The apologies spilled from her mouth the moment she spied her two friends seated on a small sofa, a dessert tray on the coffee table in front of them.

"Oh, hush." Maggie dismissed Holly's tardiness with a wave. "No harm done. Except to you, because we began sampling the fare without you and you missed out on the chocolate torte."

"Chocolate torte? Have you noticed that anytime the three of us get together, chocolate eventually becomes part of the equation?"

Grace slid the desserts toward Holly. "You have a problem with that?"

Choosing a petit four, Holly popped it into her mouth and grinned. "Not one little bit."

The hotel manager showed them around. The reception room was lovely, decorated in gold and silver and white. It had an intimate feel that Holly liked. When she mentioned it, she saw Maggie pull a small notebook from her purse and make a notation. Holly shot her a curious look, and Maggie blinked her lashes with an innocence Holly immediately found suspect.

"I can't plan a party without my notebook. I'd get kicked out of the Junior League. I've learned to write down every little thing."

They had some trouble with Grace, who kept tugging on Maggie's sleeve and fretting about costs. Finally, Maggie asked the manager to excuse them, then she launched into a long-winded explanation of how and why she could negotiate a rock-bottom rate. Grace's sensibilities were soothed. Holly didn't believe Maggie for a minute.

The woman was up to something and she intended to find out what. Her opportunity arrived when Grace wanted to call Ben and ask his opinion about the number of guests they might expect.

"Okay, so spill it."

"Spill what?"

"You are not going to get cheap prices because you're a Junior Leaguer and your husband's corporation does a lot of entertaining."

"Well, maybe not, but I do think it will help."

"What are you up to, Maggie Prescott?"

Maggie told Holly how she'd contacted the Pink Sisterhood Foundation and arranged to pay for Grace's wish herself. She explained about the surprise "wedding" and touched on a few of her ideas.

"Sounds like an event more suited for royalty than the Hardemans."

Maggie drew herself up, affronted. "You doubt my taste?"

"No. I doubt the intelligence of going behind a friend's back."

"It's not going behind her back. It's a surprise party."

Holly pursed her lips. Maggie had a point there. Still, something about the entire enterprise troubled her. "Are you sure Grace will like it? Look how she worries about spending the foundation's money. Aren't you afraid she'll have a fit about spending yours?"

Maggie folded her arms. "Well, if so, she can just get glad in the same pair of panties she gets mad in. It's my money and if I want to spend it on my friends, I will."

"But Maggie, this is such a special occasion. Are you certain you want to do anything that could spoil the day for her?"

"Holly, trust me. I won't spoil anything. I want to make it the best day of her life."

"Why? You hardly know her. Why does it matter so much to you?"

"Mike and I have money, Holly. What I spend on Grace's golden anniversary won't be a drop in our bucket. I can't do anything about her cancer, but I can make this wish of hers more than she dares to dream. I need to do this. Not just for her, but for me, too. I've taken care of other people nearly all my life. Right now, those other people don't seem to want to have anything to do with me. I need somebody to help."

"You need somebody to mother," Holly said, her eyes going soft with understanding.

"Yes. Yes, I do." Maggie flashed her a crooked grin. "Watch out or you'll be next."

"Hmm... in that case, I like my cars red and my vacations at a beach."

Maggie looped her arm through Holly's. Grace ambled across the lobby toward them. "So, will you tell on me or will you help me? I want you to help, Holly. I'll let you choose the flowers for the sanctuary."

"I'll help. And I'll keep your secret." Holly just hoped they were not making a really big mistake. "But I want to test the Ashford's chocolate torte before we go any further."

They finished their meeting and dawdled on the way to the garage where, it turned out, both Maggie and Holly were parked. Holly bought a beautiful wooden whirligig from a California artist. Grace found a leather wallet for Ben.

"Why don't I take you home instead of Maggie," Holly suggested to Grace. "I'm going by my dad's place and it's right on the way."

With travel arrangements settled, they returned to the garage. They exited the elevator on the second level, then made their way toward Holly's car. Grace and Maggie were in the middle of a heated debate on the best Cary Grant movie, so Holly didn't hurry them along upon reaching her Mustang. A couple minutes later, she wished she had.

A little girl's squeal echoed through the parking garage, a man's laughter on its heels. Maggie obviously noticed, too. She straightened and dropped her purse when the child giggled. "Uncle Mike, you're so silly."

"Uncle Mike?" Maggie muttered.

Holly felt as if she were watching a traffic accident in the process of happening. The man walking toward them was Mike Prescott. He carried a preschool girl on his shoulders and a pretty, petite woman in her late twenties or early thirties walked beside him. Smiled up at him. Clearly besotted.

The trio didn't notice Holly, Grace, and Maggie, whose face had now drained of all color. At least, they didn't notice them until Maggie stepped into their path and chirped out a bright, "Hello, Uncle Mike."

"Maggie." Dismay and what looked to Holly like guilt flashed across Mike Prescott's face.

Holly wanted to punch him in the nose. Maggie slashed him with her tongue.

"I've been meaning to call you about a few little problems." She ticked each item off on her fingers. "Let's see, the kitchen compactor is on the blink. Also, the commode in your bathroom is stopped up, and I think you must have taken the dog's pooper scooper with you when you left. Since these are all subjects... well... how do I say it? Dear to you? Close to your heart? Part of you? Yes, that's it. Since these subjects are all part of you, I wanted to have the opportunity to tell you about them to your face."

As she talked, he lifted the little girl from his shoulders and set her on the ground. His face turned as red as his wife's toenail polish. "Maggie—" he warned.

"That's all I have. Y'all enjoy your date." She finger waved and walked back onto the elevator. "Ta-ta."

"Ta-ta?" Holly muttered, scrambling with Grace onto the elevator just before the doors shut.

Maggie fell back against the wall, pale and trembling. "Oh spit. Oh spit. Oh spit."

They rode the elevator to the very top of the parking garage. When the doors opened, Maggie rushed outside, crossing to the waist-high concrete guardrail around the perimeter of the building. She turned her face into the breeze. "Oh spit. Oh spit. Oh spit."

Then she started to cry and Grace took her in her arms, holding her, stroking her hair and crooning, "Cry it out, sweetheart. It's okay. Let it go."

Holly had a knot in her throat. She didn't know what to say to Maggie. How to act. Did she make excuses for the man? Cuss him out? At a loss, she patted her shoulder and made a totally inane observation. "I didn't know you had a dog."

"I don't," she wailed.

No dog? Then what was the pooper scooper comment all about?

Holly thought back over what Maggie had said. The answer came to her and she began to giggle. Grace glared at her, but Holly couldn't help it. "My God, Maggie. You are a true Southern woman. I'm so proud of you, and I am proud to be your friend."

Grace was now totally confused, but the words seemed to work on Maggie. Her tears dried and she stepped away from Grace. A hint of a smile played about her lips.

"I don't understand," Grace said.

Holly explained. "Think of what she said to him. The trash compactor. The commode. The pooper scooper. In that sweet Southern way of hers, Maggie just called her husband garbage and a piece of shit. Am I right?"

"Oh." Grace pursed her lips in thought, then nodded. "You go, girl."

Chapter 6

Maggie was a mess.

Oh, she'd put up a good front with the girls. She'd pulled herself together in under twenty minutes and had sent them home with a smile and a wave. They hadn't wanted to leave her, but she'd insisted. She'd needed to be alone.

In her contrary way, being alone meant returning to the crowds on Main Street. Now, despite the fact she shared the street with probably seventy-five thousand other people, she'd never felt more lonely in her life.

The good thing was she didn't need to worry about running into Mike again. He'd been leaving when she saw him, so the Arts Festival was the one place in Fort Worth where she could feel safe. If she ever felt safe again, that is.

Mike had a girlfriend. His girlfriend had a little girl. A little girl who wore hair bows and a sundress with watermelons and ruffles on it and called him Uncle Mike.

If she hadn't seen the proof of it with her very own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it. She'd considered the possibility, of course. Under the circumstances, she'd have been a fool if she hadn't. But up until an hour ago, she thought she knew the man. She'd have bet her most comfortable bra that Mike had never cheated on her.

She felt like such a fool.

She wandered the street for the better part of an hour and purchased three paintings, four sculptures, two pieces of furniture, and seven pairs of earrings, arranging to have everything except the earrings delivered the following week. All the shopping didn't make her feel better. In fact, it made her feel worthless. It reminded her how useless she was these days.

All she knew was how to be a wife and mother. Only now she had no one at home to be a wife to, no one to mother.

Heavens, she didn't want to go home. But she didn't want to stay here, either. She didn't want to shop anymore, she didn't want to listen to music. She didn't want to watch the dancers.

A voice—her mother's voice—sounded in her head.
Didn't. Didn't. Didn't. Didn't. Girl, what's the matter with you? Let's hear a "do" or two.

"But that's the problem, Mama. Haven't really felt any 'dos' since you died."

Maggie did an about-face and headed once again for her car. As she approached Alan MacCraken's booth again, she pointedly turned her head away. That's when she spied the line of tables decorated with the banner: COOKS CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL. At the table farthest on the right, seated behind a sign saying HELP FIGHT CHILDHOOD DIABETES, Dr. Justin Skipworth handed a brochure to a young couple pushing twin two-year-old daughters in a stroller.