The Beginning, Next Section
Section 1
Every morning I wake up and shuffle to the bathroom to begin my day. Comb hair, brush teeth, wash face.
I consider shaving. I've had my beard for the last ten years or so, and while it is starting to go grey in some areas, I'm rather attached to it. Perhaps it would be more accurate that it is attached to me, but nevertheless, it stays.
The rest of my routine is quickly expedited, with nominal time spent studying myself in the mirror. I'm no narcissist. True, in younger days I wished that I resembled Cary Grant or Clark Gable, but now it doesn't matter. I'm a bachelor again, and I will most likely be one for the rest of my life.
Considering I'm almost 40, that's a depressing thought. I would like someone to spend my life with, but who would take me, poor scholar and ugly mortal that I am? No, I'm content to live the single life. Perhaps I'll get a dog.
I make coffee and breakfast. Nothing special; cereal and eggs, sometimes bacon or sausage. It's enough to keep me going until lunch, which is taken in the school's cafeteria and gagged down with a Coke. Then football practice, a workout at the gym-I'm losing a battle with my paunch-and home again for a simple dinner of whatever's around.
As mentioned before, I am a poor scholar; a professor of English literature, to be more exact. I'm still paying off the loans that helped me through graduate school and my doctoral studies. Just a few more years, and my education, which was completed some 12 years or so ago, will be paid for.
I suppose you would like to know my name. Brian Teague Campbell, at your service. There is a Doctor in front of that, usually, but that's only used on special occasions. Most people just call me Brian.
I've heard that the only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth. Before now that hasn't bothered me. But every day brings me closer to death, I sometimes think, and for a moment I consider changing my routine. Perhaps this day will be different, I think, and my life will change. It hasn't happened yet, but I remain optimistic.
Early September
I was on my way to the music wing for Men's Ensemble the first week of classes, and admittedly, I wasn't looking where I was going. My attention was focused on a proof of a syllabus. Introduction to Literature, a class I could teach with my eyes closed.
They must have been closed when I reached the door to the Performing Arts Centre. One hand was holding my music folder while the other opened the door. As it happened, someone else was coming out at the same time I was going in. I didn't have much time to react-in half a second the music folder was clattering to the ground and I found myself holding a very beautiful young lady. I was unable to speak for a moment as I set her back on her feet.
"I guess I should look where I'm going," she said, shrugging a little and grinning. I nodded mutely as she continued speaking. "M'name's Maggie Mitchell."
"Brian Campbell," I managed finally, offering my hand. I felt like such an idiot. There I was, an English professor specializing in classic and Romantic literature, and I couldn't come up with anything better than my name.
Thankfully, Maggie didn't seem to notice my blunder. She simply shook my hand. Even outside, I could hear Cheryl Urich pounding out the vocal warm-ups. I was going to be late, but since I was a member of the faculty and a long-time member of the Men's Ensemble, I felt I could be forgiven.
"Are you heading to class?" I asked, picking up the music folder. Please tell me you're not a student.
"From class, actually. I have to go get ready for work."
She tucked a strand of wavy brown hair behind her ear as I made a mental note to be early for choir every day. She was beautiful. I tried not to stare, but it was difficult. Maggie was shorter than me, not necessarily petite, but well proportioned; her features symmetrical; her eyes were warm and brown, her mouth given to smiling.
"Ah. Where do you work?"
"Bradley and Marker, law offices. I'm a secretary."
It was probably because I wanted to continue talking to her that the music seemed so demanding and insistent. But she had to work, and I couldn't keep her from that.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't detain you," I said, defeated by the university's fight song.
"No problem. Maybe we'll run into each other again." She smiled, and I could only nod, once more struck dumb. "Okay then. See you around."
I watched her walk away, still chastising myself for my inept attempt at conversation. Somehow, I managed to get into the building and to the choir room, where I slipped into line beside Max Parker, friend and colleague. While Cheryl shuffled papers, looking for the music she wanted to hand out, he leaned over and muttered:
"She must've been one hell of a woman."
"What are you talking about?"
"Why else would you be late?"
I spent the rest of the day in a daze. As predicted, I could teach Introduction to Literature with my eyes closed, since I ended up doing just that. I wanted to see her again-Maggie Mitchell had done something to me, had awakened something deep in my being, lit some fire that had long lain dormant.
Why was this happening? I hadn't felt like this in years, and hadn't expected to ever again.
Later that week
"So, Brian. First week of classes. How're you holding up?"
Stephanie Parker slid a platter of cut vegetables onto the counter. I took a carrot and considered her question.
"Fine. Nothing unusual has happened."
"Bull sh*t," Max said, coming into the kitchen armed with barbecue tongs. "He was telling me about this chick he saved Tuesday. A total babe."
"Watch your mouth, Max. No swearing in front of the kids."
"How would you know?" I asked. I hadn't mentioned the fact that Maggie was beautiful when I told him about her.
"Miss Maggie Mitchell is in my Intro class. Sits in the corner, takes copious notes, and is far too good for you, my friend," he replied, handing me a beer. This from the chauvinist with an angel for a wife.
"Maggie Mitchell. That name sounds familiar. Where have I heard it?"
"I dunno." He shrugged. I didn't know. But Stephanie figured it out almost after she asked the question.
"She's Dylan's mom. She's also in my massage therapy class."
"Oh, right! Dylan. Who?" Max has a memory like a sieve. His eyebrows shot up, as did mine. "Massage therapy?" She ignored us.
"He's in Tommy's first grade class," Stephanie said. A blank stare from Max. "God, Max, don't you remember? You're coaching the kiddie soccer league. There was a meeting with kids and parents last week, and you met everyone. Dylan Mitchell. Short, skinny, brown hair and eyes. Great kick."
Max absently rubbed his shin. This was interesting. Maggie had a son. I admired her all the more for it, really. Apparently she was a mother, with a son who played football. Interesting. She didn't look old enough to have a 7 year old son.
"Uncle Brian! Uncle Brian! Guess what!" Tommy, my godson, bounded up to me, his little sister not far behind.
"What?"
"Come on, you have to guess!" Tommy was persistent.
"You found a dragon in the basement."
"No!"
"Daddy said we can get a puppy!" Lisa squealed. Tommy scowled at his sister, upset because she had ruined the game.
"Is that so?" I picked Lisa up and set her on my knee. "What are you going to call it?"
Tommy was my godson, Lisa was my pet. Bethany, the eldest, was her daddy's girl, and too cool for me.
"Well, I want to call it Princess, but Tommy says that name's stupid."
"It is!"
"No, it's not!" Lisa was close to tears-big, fat, crocodile tears, too.
"Now, hold on. Tommy, why is that name stupid?" I knew Stephanie was watching me.
"Princess isn't a cool name," the boy said grudgingly.
"What's a cool name?"
"Spike."
"That's a good name for a boy dog. What if it's a girl, though? Princess is a good name for a girl dog."
"Dad, it's gonna be a boy dog, right?" Tommy asked Max.
"I don't know yet."
"What do you think, Uncle Brian?" It was my turn, again, to bear the pleading looks of the two children. Max had returned to the great outdoors with a rather dangerous looking fork.
"It depends on the dog, really. I'd say wait until you find the dog you like before choosing a name."
And the kids were satisfied. Lisa kissed my cheek and scampered off, leaving me under the penetrating gaze of Stephanie Parker.
"They love you," she said. "You are really great with them."
"It's a gift," I answered, grinning.
"So you like Maggie, huh?" Very sharp, Stephanie.
"How can you tell?"
"The dreamy, far off look you got when Max mentioned her name."
"Is it that obvious?"
"Mm-hmm." She smirked. "I suppose that means you'll be helping Max out with the kiddie league."
"She's a student, Stephanie. It would be unethical for a professor to pursue a relationship with a student."
"But she's a non-trad. It's not quite the same."
"It's not quite different, either."
"What are you going to do about it?" I swirled the beer around in the bottle, staring at the liquid as is sloshed against the dark glass.
"Nothing."
"That could be dangerous."
"So is a lawsuit."
Stephanie didn't press further, thank goodness. I barely knew Maggie, although I wanted to know her better, and I wasn't comfortable talking about her. I kept reminding myself that it was simply a passing infatuation. Within a few days, a week or two at most, it would be gone.
Mid September
I'm not sure what the purpose of the children's soccer league is. No matter how much the coaches try to organize a practice session, it ends up being a melee, with children running in all directions.
Max, however, decided to teach the basics of good, solid football to 7 year-olds anyway. I suppose this would be a good time to point out that I started learning football at the age of four, but I think that my circumstances were a bit different.
A few of the kids were good, as far as first graders go; Dylan Mitchell and Tommy being the two most dedicated and talented, and I'm sure Tommy's dedication came from Dylan's influence. The rest were trying, but I believe that their parents put them in the league to help get rid of excess energy and not to learn how to properly play.
I had been coerced into helping out. As predicted by the very astute Stephanie, it had not been difficult. Max simply reminded me that Maggie would have to pick Dylan up from practice and that would be an optimal time to talk to her. He didn't believe me when I said that it was only an infatuation. Why should he? I didn't quite believe it myself.
Maggie was late. Max was putting the equipment away, and I was left to watch Dylan, waiting for Maggie at the door. It was getting dark out, not helped by overcast skies and drizzly rain.
"Where's your mother?" I asked. Not that I minded the wait. Dylan was a remarkably well behaved child, very mature for his young age.
"Coming," he said.
I heard her car before seeing it. The low rumble of a failing muffler made the presence of a beat-up white Blazer known as it rolled into the parking lot, headlights shining on the wet pavement. It came to a screeching halt and Maggie cut the engine. She hopped out and made her way into the building, dodging raindrops on the way.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she said, flipping a lock of hair over her shoulder. "I hope he wasn't too much trouble."
"None at all."
Max and Tommy appeared, ready to leave.
"Oh, good. I was afraid you'd forgot him," Max said, grinning.
"Never. I could never forget my baby." She ruffled his hair, making the boy squirm.
"Mo-om! You're embarrassing me!"
"Dyl-an! I'm allowed to embarrass you. You're my son."
Max laughed.
"Anyway, I'm due home five minutes ago. I'll catch y'all later."
The boys said goodbye and Max and Tommy left.
"Are you ready to go?" Maggie asked Dylan.
"Yeah. Mom, I'm hungry."
"We can stop for pizza, how's that?"
"Can we go to Pizza World?"
"I guess so. Yeah, sure."
"Can Brian come?"
That I had not expected. Maggie didn't either, apparently.
"Uh, sure, if he wants to. Ask him."
Dylan looked at me and grinned. The cheeky tyke! He at least had subtlety, I'd give him that.
"All right."
Pizza World is one of those overly noisy places that combined arcades and restaurants. I'd been there before, for Bethany and Tommy's birthday parties, and it was a favourite with children-and Max.
We were shown to a table and Maggie ordered-big surprise-pizza and salad. Then we had half an hour until it was ready, give or take. I knew exactly what Dylan wanted to do. Maggie handed over the ten tokens given to her by the waiter and he bolted for the play area. She wasn't far behind, and I wasn't about to sit alone.
Dylan had headed straight to the Skee-Ball machines and more active, ticket-spewing games. I purchased a roll of tokens and joined Maggie, who had wrested one from Dylan's grasp and was playing next to her son.
"This game is addictive," I heard her mutter, presumably to me.
"Apparently."
"So tell me, Brian Campbell, International Man of Mystery, how did you get roped into helping Max with the kiddie league?"
"International Man of Mystery? I haven't heard that one before."
"Just answer the question," she growled playfully.
"He asked me to."
"Brian plays football too, don't you, Brian?" Dylan said, looking up from his own game. "And he's really good, too. Mom, can we go to one of his games?"
"Maybe. We'll see. I'm not making any promises." Dylan was satisfied. "I've had two weeks of Brian this, Brian that. He takes this soccer thing seriously."
"Football, mom! It's called football." I laughed. Dylan looked at me, exasperated, while Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Tell her, Brian."
"Don't talk to your mum like that," I said. "But it is called football where I'm from."
"And where is that? Aside from Ireland, I mean."
"Dublin area."
"Why in the world would you leave Ireland for here? I'd give anything to go there."
Oh. Wow.
"Maybe you'll get there someday." I'll take you. We can leave now...
"Not likely. Not on my salary, at any rate."
We followed Dylan from game to game. How in the world could he have so much energy right after practice?
"What does your mother think of your being over here?" Maggie asked, grinning, while Dylan scampered around inside child-sized gerbil habitat.
"What would your mother think if you were in Ireland?"
"I don't think she'd care," she scoffed. "I'm the second of three, all girls. Middle child syndrome all the way. What about you?"
"Second of four, oldest male. I have one older sister, and one each of younger."
"I wish I had a brother. I have a brother-in-law, and he's alright. But it's not quite the same."
"I suppose not."
"How did you end up teaching at Smith Union?"
"What is this, Twenty Questions?" I asked, amused. She was certainly inquisitive, to put it nicely.
"Sure."
"Ah, I was offered a job teaching. I had just earned my doctorate and sent out a resume. Someone saw it here and made an offer. It was much better than what I could have expected there, but I hadn't taken into account living expenses."
"It's still gotta be more than I make, and I have a kid. You have a nice car, I noticed. I'm still driving the Chief."
"You named your car?" I raised an eyebrow.
"You didn't?"
"It didn't occur to me that I should."
She shrugged. "I didn't plan to. It just came to me-he's old and deserves respect. I figure in car years, he's close to a hundred."
"How do you figure car years?" I was almost afraid to ask.
"Take the actual age of the car-the Chief's about 10-and multiply by the number of oil changes, then divide by the number of times important parts have been replaced. His muffler's been replaces 3 times, and the brakes twice."
"If you changed the oil every 3 months, that would make 'the Chief' 8."
"I never said it was a perfect system. Besides, his original owner lived way up north and was a smoker. It took me a year and half and two big bottles of Febreze to get the smell out of the upholstery."
"That whole thing was a spectacular load of bullsh*t."
"Basically. Except for the Febreze and cigarette smoke thing-that's true. And he did come from the boonies. Lots of dirt roads and salt in winter. Does horrible things to the undercarriage."
"I'll take your word for it."
"You'll have to. How do you know Max? I take it you two are pretty good friends."
"We are. He was my first advisee at Smith Union. He was just starting his graduate work. I joined a football program and he was on the team I was assigned to, and that's about it. Been friends ever since."
"Has he always been so... chauvinistic?"
"Yes. But he adores Stephanie, and she has him firmly under her thumb."
"How long have they been married?"
"As long as I've known them. 13 years, perhaps? They married right out of university."
"Must be nice," she muttered. I don't think she meant for me to hear, but I did. I chose not to investigate.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a waiter carrying a large tray to our table.
"I think our food's ready," I said lamely. She was trying to find Dylan in the maze of tubes.
"All right. I'll be right there."
Before I said anything else, she kicked off her shoes and was climbing into the plastic jungle after her son. I shook my head and went to the table.
"Mom, I don't want salad!"
"You need a vegetable."
"There's vegetables in the pizza."
"No, there's not."
"Yes, there is! Tomatoes. Tomato sauce. That's a vegetable."
"Not enough-" Maggie closed her eyes and sighed. "Tomatoes are technically a fruit. It's not going to work, kiddo. I tried this same thing with Gramma when I was your age, and she made me eat a whole stalk of broccoli."
I tried not to laugh. Similar scenes were playing in my memory. I recognised myself in him. My own mother had used a very good tactic on me once, and I thought it might be a good idea to use it here.
"Did you know Beckham eats a big salad with dinner and supper?" I asked, nonchalantly scooping lettuce onto my plate.
"Really?"
"Yes. How do you think he got so good?"
And it worked. Maggie set a salad in front of her son and he ate every last scrap.
"Who's Beckham?" Maggie asked quietly. Dylan dropped his fork; I had a little more control.
"Only the best player in the world!" he cried, outraged that she didn't know.
"I thought you said Brian was the best player in the world," she teased. I felt my face go warm at the compliment-which had come from Dylan originally, but still sounded good from Maggie. Dylan rolled his eyes.
"Fine, the best professional player!"
"This is all your fault, you know," she accused jokingly, pointing a finger at me. "Filling my kid's head with soccer-oh, sorry, football. It's all yours and Max's fault. Beware the finger-waggle of shame!"
"Guilty as charged, but not ashamed. My plan is working perfectly," I said, rubbing my hands together in my best impersonation of a mad scientist. Dylan laughed and Maggie hid her head.
"I'm surrounded! Completely surrounded!" she wailed, trying not to laugh herself.
"Join us, join us!" Dylan and I chanted. Maggie broke down and started laughing. She's so beautiful when she laughs.
"How much do I owe you?" I asked when Maggie pulled out her purse later.
"Don't worry about it," she mumbled, sifting through the overstuffed bag in search of her wallet. I had an eye on Dylan, who was trying to decide what prizes to get with his hard-won tickets.
"Are you sure?"
"Don't worry about it," she repeated, pulling out a worn leather billfold. "Hand-me-down from my father," she explained. "Though I might ask you to babysit Dylan some time. Steph tells me you're great with her kids. And from tonight, I believe it."
"Sure. But I warn you-I don't 'babysit.' I 'watch.'"
"Fine, then," she said, rolling her eyes. "You can 'watch' him sometime."
Now for a question I was loath to ask, but needed to. She didn't wear a ring, but that didn't mean much today.
"And what does your boyfriend think about that?"
She snorted.
"Brian, I work full time and attend classes part time. On top of that, I'm a single mother. Dylan is my life. I don't have time for a boyfriend."
So much for passing infatuation...
Late September
If there is one thing I enjoy outside of teaching and football, it's Renaissance Festivals. Luckily, Max and Stephanie also enjoyed them, and we frequently went together.
That year is was no different. It was the last weekend for the annual festival, and nothing had changed. I still enjoyed going, to see the other people in garb, the displays, and the acts. All of us threw ourselves into it, the three of us adults dressing in period garb and sometimes taking on roles. What can I say; We like that kind of thing.
We were minding our own business when Tommy, in his own simple tunic-over jeans and a tee-spotted a friend from his first grade class.
"Dylan!" he shouted, running toward him. My heart stopped for one moment. Was Maggie here?
I followed him, naturally, and my hopes and fears were confirmed. Maggie stood by the entrance, investigating the brochure. Thank God for little boys. With her was a young boy and another woman-a sister perhaps, judging from the resemblance. She looked up and smiled.
"Oh, hi, Brian! I didn't know you were going to be here."
"Yes, well..." I looked down at the ground, plucking at the sleeves of my tunic. Why had I come in garb? She must think I'm an idiot.
"Hello, Maggie," Stephanie said. She and Max had come to my rescue.
She gave me a sly look, and I swear I must've gone bright red.
"Hi, Steph! Max. Oh, this is my sister, Sarah."
Introductions were made, and I slowly stopped panicking. I knew Sarah was silently appraising me, and doubtless would give Maggie her full opinion.
"This your first time at a Ren Fest, Maggie?" Max asked.
"Yup. Sarah finally talked me into coming."
"A virgin, then! Whaddaya say, Brian? We'll have to do something special to commemorate the occasion."
I was ready to punch him-did he have any idea how lecherous that sounded? Luckily, Maggie laughed and Stephanie rescued me yet again.
"Be nice, boys," she said. "No, we girls are going shopping. Can you watch the kids?"
"Sure. Don't put too big a dent on the card, though, honey. Please." There were times when Max could sound so very pathetic.
Stephanie just laughed at her husband, linked her arm through Maggie's, and started to walk away.
"Be good for Max and Brian, okay?" Maggie called to Dylan, looking back over her shoulder.
"Yeah, mom," he replied, rolling his eyes. From what I had seen of Dylan, behaving was never a problem. Well, rarely.
He and Tommy quickly found a toy shop that featured wooden swords and shields. As Max was busy investigating some art prints in the next stall, I was left to supervise the two young boys and Lisa, who was herself inspecting a bin of softer toys.
The boys chose their weapons and were duelling-in the middle of the shop.
"Hey, mister! If you can't control your kids, you'll have to leave," said the acne-infested clerk in a breaking baritone. The few customers in the shop snickered at the boys, who were challenging and insulting each other in turn.
"They're not mine," I said, pulling out my wallet. The only way he'd stop being a nuisance would be if we bought something, and the toys were moderately priced. It was the end of the season, after all.
Tommy and Dylan charged out of the toy shop, brandishing their new swords , meeting Max just outside.
"You owe me," I grumbled, handing Lisa off to him.
We continued on, wasting time, trying to avoid spending copious amounts of money on souvenirs and food. The latter was the more difficult. Finally, after an hour of aimless wandering, we met up with Stephanie, Sarah, and Maggie. Just in time, too. Dark clouds were gathering and threatening rain. I had long ago learned not to trust meteorologists-they were invariably wrong.
It must be unhealthy for a man's heart to stop as often as mine seemed to; Maggie was in full garb, burgundy and gold and cream. Even her hair was braided full with matching ribbons. A better example of a Renaissance lady could not be found. I heard Max snort at my reaction.
"Mom, look what Brian bought me!" Dylan shouted, running straight for Maggie. She grinned.
"How much do I owe you?" she asked quietly, while Sarah wrested Tommy's sword from his grasp and challenged Dylan to a duel.
"It's nothing," I muttered. Dylan stopped, having overheard, and commented.
"But you made Max pay for Tommy's!"
Max coughed and reddened, but recovered quickly.
"Are you so much a knave that will not kneel before a lady, sirrah villain?" he growled, kicking at my knees.
With only a small backwards glare, I knelt obligingly. Maggie took a cue from Stephanie and held out her hand; I was amazed at how small it was compared to mine. Could she feel how badly my hand was trembling?
"Milady, I stand in awe of your beauty," I said, wondering where these words were coming from-they weren't mine! "If you ever have need of me, I pledge my hand and arm for your use."
I heard Max and Sarah snicker as I kissed the knuckle of Maggie's hand. She looked at Stephanie, who only smiled indulgently. Bethany cooed. Tommy and Dylan pulled faces. At least Lisa and Maggie shared my confusion. What was going on?
"I thank you, sir knight," Maggie replied, baffled.
Before I could ask, the sky opened and threw down buckets of rain. The wind whipped icy drops into our faces as we bolted for the nearest tavern with the last few festival goers. The women and children crowded around the fires, and I was able to corner Max.
"What was that all about?" I asked, trying to squeeze water out of my tunic. It proved futile.
"All what?"
"Back there-That stunt. You put me up to it, then laughed at me!"
"You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Aww, man, I would've thought you'd know all about hand-kissing etiquette. You kissed her knuckle. That's a promise, dude!"
"A promise of what?" He gave me an incredulous stare.
"Think about it."
Oh Dear God.
"Does she know that?" I asked quietly, concerned.
"She does now. Her sister probably told her."
Oh Dear God. This was just getting worse.
Later, after the rain had abated somewhat, we all headed over to the tournament field for the joust. I managed to pull Maggie away for a moment, hoping to explain.
"Maggie, about that kiss-"
"It's okay. I don't expect you to keep that 'promise' since you didn't know you were making it." She grinned. Obviously she enjoyed the joke.
"Oh."
"It's an innovative come-on. It certainly is an interesting way to say 'I'd like to get to know you better.'"
"Yes." I would... much better.
"And I may need your arm and hand at some point, Sir Knight," she said impishly, adopting the more formal tone Max and I had used earlier.
"Really?" Why?
"Yeah. My ex is back in town, and he accepted a position at Bradley and Marker. I may need you to keep me from attacking him."
"And why is that?"
"Jimmy Walker is a jerk-off to the nth degree. He's turning on his charm, and I'm determined not to fall for it again."
Right then would have been the perfect time to say something very witty and charming, but nothing came. Not even the bluntest appreciation of her beauty, wit, and sweetness. I could say nothing to promote myself that would not sound like something Max would say.
"Jimmy Walker? Is he-?"
"Dylan's father? Yup. I haven't seen him in about 7 years. I'll let you fill in the details."
Dylan was almost 7. Did that mean? The cad! Abandoning the mother of his child like that... I hadn't even met the man and I didn't like him. I must have snorted or something, since Maggie continued.
"Exactly."
She didn't have time to continue farther, since Dylan ran up to us, apparently sent to shepherd us back to the group. I caught Max's eye-he smirked and nudged Stephanie, who grinned. It was going to be a long day.
Section 2
Late October
Max had dropped Tommy and Lisa off at my house while he was home caring for a violently ill Bethany and Stephanie was away on a mini-vacation. It wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, but as ordinary as this occasion seemed, it was far from it.
There was a bite to the air and a nip at my ankles. The dog Max had promised his children turned out to be a golden retriever puppy, named Sandy, and he was teething. For some reason, my socks were a favourite treat.
Our job for the afternoon, Tommy's and mine, was to rake the front yard and make it presentable. So far, leaves were still scattered around, with two areas that somewhat resembled piles of leaves. Sandy and Lisa were running around, scattering leaves everywhere and ruining our hard work. Perhaps this had been a bad idea.
"Uncle Brian?" Tommy said, leaning professionally on his rake. "Can we call Dylan and see if he can come over? This is boring."
"Sure," I sighed. The work would never be done.
Then I realised that there would be a good chance that Maggie would come too. At the very least, I would be able to talk to her on the phone.
As calmly as I could-which wasn't remarkable, I had been exercising great control from the start of this bizarre relationship-I looked up and dialled her home phone number.
"Maggie," she said, distractedly. I swallowed.
"Hullo, Maggie," I started, not letting my voice shake. "It's Brian...Brian Campbell."
"Oh, hi! What's up?" She sounded a bit more cheerful.
"Um, I'm watching Max's children, and ah, Tommy was wondering if Dylan would like to come over and...play." I felt a little silly asking. If Maggie noticed, she graciously didn't say anything.
I heard her talking to Dylan, and a moment later she was back on the phone.
"Yeah, sure. We'll be over in a few minutes."
I carefully gave her directions and turned the phone off, sighing in relief. She was coming...to my house.
Once again, the arrival of Maggie and Dylan was preceded by the roar of The Chief. I had come to recognise the sound of his engine and exhaust once I realised that she drove past my office on her way to class. I liked that I knew when she was on campus.
Dylan barrelled out of the car as soon as it stopped. He and Tommy ran straight for the backyard, Sandy fast on their heels. Lisa hid behind my legs, peeking out as Maggie stepped onto my lawn.
"Oh, wow, Brian," she exhaled, looking at my modest Victorian. "This is your house? It's gorgeous!"
So are you.
"Thank you. I'm rather proud of it myself."
Lisa looked out from behind my knees. She picked the strangest times to be shy.
"Hello, Miss Maggie," she whispered.
"Well, hi there, Lisa!" Maggie said, beaming at the little girl. "I didn't see you there. Are you helping Brian rake leaves?"
"Yes."
"You cheeky little liar!" I laughed. "Tell Miss Maggie what you've really been doing today."
"Playing with Sandy."
"Is Sandy your puppy?" Lisa nodded; I felt a slight tugging on my trouser leg, which was firmly grasped in two small fists. "Your mommy told me about him. Is he a good dog?"
Lisa nodded again. Too much of that, and my trousers might end up around my ankles. That would be embarrassing. I picked Lisa up and swung her around, making her shriek with laughter.
"Now, why are you being so shy?"
"I dunno!"
"Don't you like Miss Maggie?"
"Not as much as you do!" she giggled.
I quickly set her back on the ground and tried not to die from embarrassment. I think it would have been less humiliating to be seen in my underwear.
Maggie pretended not to have heard.
"So you don't like me?" she asked instead, not quite able to look me in the face. Ah, well. There were worse things than dying a bachelor. I couldn't think of any, but I was sure there was at least one.
"I do!" Lisa said, gravitating to Maggie and taking her hand. "Do you like me?"
A three-year-old with self-esteem issues. They were starting young. It took 12 to develop mine.
"Of course I do!" Maggie said. "How could anyone not like you? You are adorable."
A few shouts and a sharp puppy bark reminded me that there were two small boys and a dog in the backyard. Maggie and I looked at each other and nearly ran around the house. Tommy and Dylan were sprawled out on the ground, a tangle of arms and legs. Sandy was running around them, worrying a shoe that I think belonged to Dylan and was still on his foot.
"What happened?" Maggie asked, frantic.
"I tripped on Dylan's foot and we fell onto Sandy," Tommy grumbled, untangling himself from the pile. Sandy nearly attacked him, jumping and showering the boy with affection.
"Are you all right?" she continued.
"Yeah, Mom. My shoe was untied."
Sandy realised that someone new was in the vicinity and near his other friend. He rolled over to us-he was still a very young puppy, very fat and fluffy-and began sniffing Maggie in earnest.
"Oh, you're so cute!" she exclaimed, the chaos with her son momentarily forgotten.
"Mom, can we get a dog?" Dylan asked, a note of sincere wistfulness in his voice.
"Oh, Dylan. We don't have a place to put one-not even a very small dog-and they won't let us have one at the apartment anyway."
"Nuts."
"I'm thinking about getting a dog," I heard myself say. Since when?
Since I realised how much Dylan's face lit up and saw the smile that spread across Maggie's lips when they saw Sandy. Besides, I'd been toying with the idea for a while.
"Really? Cool! When?" came the excited chatter from three small children.
"Are you really thinking about getting a dog?" Maggie asked later, as a furious game of chase progressed around the yard.
"Yes. It's a bit lonely, knocking around this old house by myself." It's made for families, not single men.
"How did you get it? I mean, on a teacher's salary-" Maggie flushed, catching her slip.
"I inherited it. When I first came to America, the lady who lived here let me rent the flat above the garage. She didn't charge much, and I volunteered to perform some maintenance for her. I painted, mowed, raked, shovelled, even when I found another place. When she passed a few years ago, she left everything to me."
"That was nice of her," she said quietly.
"I've thought about selling it." Not really.
"Don't you dare!" she cried. I was slightly taken aback by her vehement response. A small flicker of hope flared up.
"Why?" I challenged.
"Well," she faltered, "It would be like insulting the memory of the lady who left it to you."
"Maybe. Why does it mean so much to you?"
"It's a beautiful house."
She was evading the question! Why?
"It's made of brick, wood and plaster."
"But it's so much more than that!" she insisted. "It's a home; you have space; you have a backyard! Sell this house and someday you'll regret it."
"It's not a home, it's a house. I sleep here. That's about all." There's no love here, not without you.
"Still. Someday, then, this will be a home, and you'll be part of it. Don't sell this house!"
"I won't." Marry me and come live here too. We'll make this a home, you, me, and Dylan.
I wanted to kiss her, to take her in my arms and pledge my life to her, but I didn't. I couldn't. It was like my arms were pinned to my sides, my feet locked into the ground. My tongue was a lead weight in my mouth when it came to saying anything appropriately romantic. I was powerless in her presence, held captive by my own uncertainty.
Why would a young, beautiful woman like Maggie want to be with a man like me? Why was I torturing myself?
Because you love her...
Later That Week
Within days of admitting to Maggie-and Dylan, Tommy, and Lisa-that I was planning on getting a dog, a friend of mine contacted me.
"I hear you're thinking on a dog," Amy said brightly. She had been trying to get me to adopt a dog for years.
"I was about to call you, actually, yes." Not really, but eventually.
"What size are you thinking about?"
"I'm not sure yet," I said. I could just see her mind whirring with possibilities.
"You should come down and take a look. We're not busy now."
Neither was I. I checked the clock and the schedule posted on my open office door. It was almost three on a Tuesday afternoon. I didn't have office hours, technically, or any appointments, and my Intro class was over. I was free for the rest of the day.
"I'll be over in a few minutes," I said. What harm could looking do?
Amy Marlowe and her husband live just outside of town, on a huge plot of land that used to be a farm and was now Marlowe Kennels and Pet Adoption Services. They specialise in dogs, but have been known to house cats and rabbits, as well as the odd llama and emu.
I got out of my truck and was greeted enthusiastically by Amy's dogs, the ones that belonged to her and were not for sale or available for adoption. They knew me well enough, as every once in a while she would bring one or two of them into school. Amy worked as a secretary in the English department to supplement the income from the kennel, which her husband, Doug, ran full time.
Upon hearing the commotion in the yard, Amy appeared, decked out in coveralls, and the dogs converged on her. She took Tuesday afternoons off to give Doug a little time away from work.
"Well, hello there!" she beamed. "Long time, no see! Come on back, they're waiting for you."
"I'm just looking," I cautioned, but to no avail. It was hard to resist Amy's perpetual good mood. If she had her way, I'd leave with at least one dog, if not two.
I had to hand it to the Marlowes. They ran a fantastic kennel service; everything was clean, comfortable, and well taken care of. The dogs resembled that as well; they were bathed once a week, groomed daily, and checked for ticks and burrs every time they came in from the dog run. It was a labour of love for Amy. Those dogs were her children, and she took care of them.
At that time, Amy and Doug had little over half a dozen dogs, well, dogs that I could see myself owning. They ranged from a cocker spaniel to something that resembled a Newfoundland, a great mass of black and brown fur on a dog that could have been a small pony.
I liked her. Her name was Tarragon, so named because she was found sleeping in Amy's tarragon patch. Apparently she had been abandoned as a pup and found her way to Marlowe Kennels after being dumped by the side of the road. Aside from being very energetic and loving, Tarragon was deathly afraid of moving vehicles, to the point where she had to be tranquillized before Amy and Doug could take her anywhere.
Tarragon was my kind of dog; large and furry. People say that eventually, dogs and their masters tend to look alike. That was all ready the case with her and I, so it would make sense for me to adopt her. However, something held me back.
She would knock Dylan over. He was a small kid, even as first graders go, and Tarragon at a year and a half was almost twice his size.
"I'd have to think about it," I said to Amy, my hands buried in Tarragon's fur. It was soft and thick; I wondered vaguely if Maggie's hair felt similar.
One of the volunteers rang a bell, and all the dogs took off. It was feeding time, apparently.
"Come on, let's get some coffee," she offered.
Amy led the way back through the small dog enclosure to the house. Anything smaller than a cocker spaniel was kept in a separate area from the big dogs during feeding time, to save them from being trampled by dogs like Tarragon. Most of them were of indeterminate origin, half-breeds or just plain mutts. There were a few that might have been purebred, but that was hard to determine.
I paid no mind to the dogs in that area. Well, I didn't consider any of them for adoption. I'm not one for small dogs; I was acutely aware of how ridiculous a man my size looked with a dog that size. Harvey, the scene shop foreman at Smith Union, had a dachshund.
We were almost to the door when the most pitiful whimpering assailed my ears. Against my better judgment, I investigated, fully aware that Amy was smirking at me.
It was coming from a decently sized cardboard box, and in it was a single puppy. He was whining miserably, even though his tiny food dishes were full of puppy chow and water.
"Poor little guy," I breathed, picking him up. "All alone."
"Yeah, his brothers and sisters have all been placed. His previous owners hadn't expected Mama to have another litter, but they think he's pure. Jack Russell terrier. No pedigree of course, but what did you expect?"
"Why isn't he with the others?"
"You tell me! He'd be squished by the smallest of them. He's only two months old."
"I don't want a small dog," I said, even as the pup was licking my palm. Amy grinned.
"Uh-huh. What're you going to name him?"
"I don't know."
My younger sister Regan called me from London later that night.
"You got a dog?" she asked, unbelieving. "You really can't find a decent girlfriend, can you?"
"I'm ignoring that."
"You are going to die a lonely old man, you know that? With a dog."
"I understand that. Aren't I supposed to be picking on you, as your elder brother? What's up?"
"Davy and I are getting married."
"Congratulations."
"I know you're not going to ask when, so I'm telling you. Next August. You have to come."
"I'll be there. Marking off the whole month so I can come and torment you."
"So long as you bring a date. And dogs don't count."
"You're hurting my poor pup's feelings now," I said, grinning.
"What kind of dog is he?" As much as Regan professed to hate dogs, I knew she loved them.
"A Jack Russell terrier, so I'm told. Two months old."
"What's his name?"
"He doesn't have one yet."
"So what have you been calling him? Dog?"
"Pup, actually."
"Brian!"
"What? I can't think of anything at the moment."
I heard her ranting to Davy, her boyfriend/fiancé, about my lack of creative ability. He interrupted and she returned to the phone.
"Davy says you should call him Keller."
"And why's that?"
"He says it's from a word that means Little Companion."
Davy is a linguist and a charming young man from northern England, the quiet, sane, polar opposite of Regan, an artist and personification of 'free-spirit'.
"Keller. Tell Davy thank you. I think I will."
The dog in question, now named Keller, was sitting on my lap and chewing on the arm of the chair. He looked up at me and I swear he smiled.
"So when are you coming home?" Regan whined. "I haven't seen you in ages!"
"When are you coming here? Nobody's come to visit me."
"It's not our fault you moved to bloody America! I can at least get home on a weekend."
"Why don't you take a week off and come visit. It's been a while."
I chuckled to myself while Regan hemmed and hawed, discussing the possibility with Davy. She'd get along well with Maggie.
"Who?"
"Did I say something?" Had I thought out loud?
"Yeah, something about how I'd get along well with Maggie. Who's Maggie?" Yes, apparently I did. She jumped on it.
"A woman I know."
"You do have a girlfriend!"
"No, it's nothing like that."
"But you like her! I hear it in your voice. You like her. Come on, who is she?"
"A friend! That's all."
"Brian, you're hopeless. How do you know her?"
"I ran into her on campus-"
"She's a student? Brian, that's sick!"
"She's a non-trad, about 25 years old."
"Better. What's she like?"
"A single mother, works as a secretary at a local law firm. She's very spontaneous. Sweet-tempered. Absolutely loves her son."
"What about the kid?"
"Smart as a whip. Plays football."
"A kid after your own heart!" she cooed. I heard her pull a pad of paper and pencils out of the warren she called a studio; a crate of art supplies stuffed under a drawing desk. "What does Maggie look like?"
"She's beautiful."
I knew exactly what Regan was up to. She was testing to see just how far my heart was gone. Rather than try to dispel or discount the idea that I was in love with her, or falling, I went with it and faithfully described Maggie Mitchell to my sister. The shape of her face; the curve of her lips when she smiled; the colour of her eyes; how her hair fell around her shoulders when she wore it down.
When she was finished, Regan gave a low whistle.
"She is. So why haven't you asked her out?"
"Max asks me that almost every day."
"Are you still hanging out with that Neanderthal?"
The first time Max and Regan met resulted in some fantastic and furious name-calling, where she gave him that coarse, if fitting, title. He retorted with "Gypsy Broad." Ever since then, they referred to each other by those names and resumed their sparring matches, almost from where they left off. It was really quite amusing.
"Yes. He named me godfather to his son, after all. I owe him my friendship." Regan snorted.
"Anyway, I'm coming. Sometime before the end of the year I will come, if only to meet this Maggie chick."
"Because seeing your loving older brother is out of the question."
"Naturally. I've got to go. Davy's pouting 'cause I'm not paying attention to him."
"Funny, so's Keller."
"Goodnight, smart ass."
"Goodnight, sweet pea."
The Next Day
Wednesday morning I made the mistake of trying to leave my house without Keller. I had almost forgotten about him, but he made his presence known bright and early by somehow climbing into my bed and p*ssing on the sheets. Why did I get a puppy?
I cleaned the mess up while the mongrel happily ate his breakfast. I finished my morning routine, left Keller in the kitchen with a bowl of water, his box, and a towel, and tried to set up the gate Amy had lent me. After struggling with that for fifteen minutes at least, I had it set up. Childproof? The stupid thing was adult-proof was well!
I was almost out the door when he started bawling. It was amazing how much noise could be generated by such a small animal. In the end, I relented, scooping him into his box along with a can of food and a few dishes.
"This is only because I like you," I grumbled.
"Hello, Serpico!"
It was Cynthia Berry, the journalism instructor. She had been calling me that since I let my hair grow out; according to her, all I needed was a Technicolor van and some magic mushrooms to make the image complete.
"Hello, Cynthia. How can I help you?"
"My journalism class is running out of ideas, so we're running profiles on professors. Who they are, what they teach. That kind of thing. Care to be one?"
"Sure."
"Good. Are you free this morning?"
"Um, yes."
"Okay. I'll send someone up now."
"Who?"
"Maggie Mitchell. She asked for you personally. I think she might have a crush on you! Add another one to your little harem."
"My what?!"
Cynthia laughed but didn't offer any further explanation. It was a little disturbing that a sweet lady like Cynthia was insinuating that I had anything like a harem, but the thought of Maggie in the midriff-baring costume was appealing.
Very appealing. But she would be in my office in a matter of minutes-even coming from the dungeons of the school newspaper, so I did my best to get rid of the mental picture. Blue would be a very good colour on her, I think...
"Hello, Amy. Is Brian in?" I heard Maggie arrive. Damn! I wasn't ready for this.
"Maggie! Yes, he is. He's waiting for you."
She stopped in the door of my office, wearing a suit the same colour blue I had pictured.
"Hello, stranger. What's in the box?" she asked, grinning.
"A puppy." I picked Keller up and held him out to her. He fit in one hand.
"Oh, how cute!" She took him from me, her hand brushing mine for a short instant. "What's his name?"
"Keller."
"You named such a sweet little dog Killer? Going for irony?"
"No, I named him Keller. I'm told it means Little Companion."
"I'm sorry. It fits." She held him up to her face and looked him straight in the eye. "You are adorable."
"I was told you were here for an interview," I teased. "Not to gush about my dog."
Maggie raised an eyebrow, smirking, and sat down, closing the door behind her. I envied Keller. He was curling up in her lap, apparently getting ready to fall asleep. Traitor.
"Cynthia gave us a list of questions, and I have to ask them all. She's checking."
"I'm not surprised."
She took a deep breath and grinned.
"I feel silly. Have you seen Inside the Actor's Studio? Cynthia gave us those ten questions and a few others. Ready?"
"Are you?"
"I'll take that as a yes. All right." She exhaled, her mouth pursing into a small O. "First question. What is your full name?"
"Doctor Brian Teague Campbell. That's t-e-a-g-u-e." I watched, interested, as she wrote down my answers on a steno pad perched on the arm of the chair.
"Thanks. What is your title?"
"English Department Chair."
"What do you teach? Stupid question, I know."
"I think she means what classes, Maggie. I have Intro Lit, Romantic Literature, and Irish Poetry classes right now."
"Sounds like fun. Where are you from?"
"My family is from the Dublin area; my parents still live just outside the city, and my elder sister and younger brother live in the area as well. My youngest sister, Regan, lives in London."
"It must be awkward to not have them around."
"It is, a bit. But we talk often; in fact, Regan phoned last night. She's getting married in August."
"How nice!"
"Yes, well, she insists I bring a date."
"You've got ample time to find one. August is almost ten months away."
I'd rather take you.
"I suppose so. What's the next question?"
She looked down at her notes, flushing a little.
"Uh, where would you like to be ten years from now?"
Anywhere you are.
"I'd like to think I'm still teaching, here or elsewhere. I'm still paying off loans, after all. And I like teaching. I can meet a lot of interesting people."
"Like Max?"
"Yes, like Max, although I also meant students and random women walking backwards out of buildings."
She laughed again, scratching Keller behind his ears.
"What's your favourite word?"
Love. Especially when it comes from your mouth, directed to me.
"Please, as in Please and Thank You. My mother taught me to be polite."
"If only all mothers did that," she grinned. "Least favourite word?"
"Uh, a toss-up between No and Goodbye. I have a hard time handling rejection."
"You're preaching to the choir, sweetheart. I think we all do, at some point. What turns you on, creatively, spiritually, or emotionally?
Beautiful women in blue suits who call me sweetheart.
"Laughter. Real, honest to goodness laughter."
"What turns you off?"
"Dog p*ss in my sheets."
"What?" Maggie asked, trying not to laugh too loudly. "Did he-? This morning?"
"Yes."
"Keller!" she admonished, making the dog look up. She smiled and patted his head. "Well, I'm sure it was an accident."
"Accident my foot."
"He's just a puppy! Don't get too angry with him. He has to learn. Look at him; how can you stay mad at a face like that?"
"I don't believe you're siding with the dog."
"Well, here's the next question. What's your favourite curse word?"
"Bulls**t. Nicely expressive but not too offensive."
"What sound or noise do you love?"
The sound of your voice, your laughter.
"White noise. Static. It's very calming for me."
"Really? I'll have to try that sometime. What sound or noise do you hate?"
"Angry silence."
"Come again?"
"It's when two people aren't speaking to one another, because they fought or something. That's angry silence. It's very harmful. And the opposite is amiable silence, when nothing needs to be said and you're just comfortable with the other person."
I watched as Maggie wrote furiously, then paused to think.
"Are you afraid of silence?" she asked.
"Not especially. I prefer conversation, but I can deal with silence."
"Oh. Anyway, what profession other than yours would you like to try?"
Being your husband.
"A professional singer, probably."
"What profession would you not like to try?"
"Police officer, I think."
"Are you a coward?" she asked impishly.
"No. I don't want my loved ones to worry that I might be killed in the line of duty, as honourable as that is."
"I was just teasing," she said nervously.
"I know."
"Okay. Last question: If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?"
"Heaven does exist, and I think God will say 'Yes, Yes, No, Yes, and She'll be here soon.' He's a man of few words."
"Who's 'she'? Your girlfriend? Wife?"
Was I hearing things? Was she trying to find out if I was single?
"I don't know yet."
Again, some redness came into her face as she looked down at her paper, scribbling my answers. Keller yawned and stretched, rolled over and stood up, looking down at the floor and trying to decide if he wanted to jump down. Yeah, he's a cute dog.
Maggie set him on the ground and watched as he began to sniff around her ankles before tucking the notepad and pen back into her purse.
It happened very quickly. I couldn't stop him, only watch, horrified, as Keller lifted one leg and marked Maggie as his territory.
"Oh!" she cried. I cringed.
"I'm so sorry!" I said, picking Keller up and placing him in his box. "I think he likes you, anyway."
"Yeah, I think so too. Have any paper towels?" She didn't seem too angry, at any rate.
"I think Amy does. I'll buy you another pair of shoes. I'm terribly embarrassed-" I retrieved a small stack of napkins from Amy, who was almost doubled over with laughter.
"Don't worry about it. These are old anyway. I've got an extra pair in the car." She sat back down, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. "Keller, please don't do that again."
"I'll work on training him," I said lamely. Maggie grinned.
"I've got to go. I'll send you a proof before I hand it in," she said, stuffing a handful of napkins into her shoe before standing. "I'll see you later."
"You don't have to include any of that in the article," I offered.
"Oh, no! It's going in there. I've been claimed by a puppy."
Maggie walked out of the office as Max walked in. He tipped an imaginary hat to her and plopped down in the chair she had just vacated.
"So!" he started. "What was delectable Maggie doing here? Is Saint Brian getting up to any hanky-panky in the office?"
"It's none of your bloody business," I chuckled. Now that would have been an appropriate time for Keller to piss on someone. I looked in the box; he was fast asleep.
A few minutes later Maggie reappeared, armed with a digital camera. She was wearing a pair of ratty sneakers that looked a little out of place with the neat suit.
"Cynthia insists."
"Oh, no, Maggie. No photos."
"I told her you had the most adorable puppy, and she wants pictures."
"I look like a criminal in photos." And I do.
"Not with a puppy!"
"He's asleep!"
"He's a dog."
"You sound like a married couple," Max said with a wink.
"Remind me to give you my pee-soaked shoes," she retorted. "I'll make you wear them."
I quickly filled Max in on Keller's urinary escapades. Naturally, he found it very amusing.
"Anyway, Cynthia insists on photos. Pick up the box and angle it so I can at least get a shot of you and Keller."
"Killer?" Max asked, his eyebrows trying to meet his hairline.
"No, Keller. You're going to have a problem, Brian," Maggie said.
"So I see."
Keller woke up again. I almost felt sorry for him, but he had sat in Maggie's lap for half an hour, so I didn't feel too bad.
In the end, Maggie managed to get a few good shots of Keller and myself. They were attached to an email containing my profile.
Tucked away on the third floor of Holwith Hall is a very small office, piled high with books and stuffed with papers. There is barely enough room for a small desk and chair, but somehow Dr. Brian Campbell manages to fit inside and still make it a comfortable space. I think it is helped by the most adorable Jack Russell terrier puppy-named Keller-he adopted this week.
I found Dr. Campbell staring off into space, possibly contemplating new and challenging essay assignments for unwary English majors. It is not hard to see why half of the women on campus swoon when he's around. The combination of a genuinely nice guy, a soft, melodic Irish accent, and a cute puppy is almost too much to resist. Somehow I managed, and in the end was rewarded by an enlightening interview and Keller's seal of approval.
What? Somehow I missed "half of the women on campus" swooning over me. You think that would be something that's hard to miss. And the only woman I wanted swooning over me was Maggie, but that was unlikely. Although...Could that introduction be considered flirting?
I wanted a second opinion, so I forwarded the article to Stephanie for a professional judgment. The message I received made me laugh.
Hey-Yes, that's flirting. But ... I hate to burst your bubble, but Maggie's admitted to flirting with everything that moves. No wonder Keller peed on her.
BTW, he's a cute dog! Sandy would eat him for lunch.
Steph
I closed the email program and left Keller in the protective care of Amy as I went to my Romantic Lit class, still wondering about Maggie's article.
Section 3
End of October
For the month or so after the Renaissance Festival, Maggie had not once mentioned Jimmy Walker, at least not to me. And why should she? It was really none of my business.
Naturally, I was curious. I wanted to know why any man would abandon a woman who was carrying his child. I wanted to know the circumstances; not minute details, but the general picture. I wanted to know if she still had feelings for him.
So I did what any self-respecting man would do in my situation. I called her friend. In this case, I called Stephanie.
"Dr. Stephanie Parker."
"Hello. It's me."
"Hello, Brian. What's up?"
"I have a question for you."
"One usually does. Is it very, very important, or can it wait?"
"Are you busy?"
"I will be in half an hour."
"Tell me about Maggie."
"I thought you were the expert on that subject."
"Funny. That's not what I meant."
"I know. What's your question?"
"Does she ever talk about Jimmy?"
"Every once in a while. Oh! Oh. Okay. I know what you want. I'm not sure-"
"Please," I asked in my most pathetic tone. I heard her sigh; I had learned that technique from Bethany a few years ago and it nearly always worked.
"All right. But you really need to talk to her. Second hand information isn't the best, you know."
"I thought I'd get your professional opinion."
"I charge, remember."
"I'll take the kids one night this weekend."
"Fine. From what I understand, she's not interested in getting back with him. At least that's what she's told me. I think she's pretty confused, actually. Jimmy just showed up one day, no warning, and since then he seems pretty interested in getting back with her."
"So you've met him, then?"
"Once or twice. Yes, he's handsome."
"Right." Of course. Naturally my rival would be young, handsome and rich. If I were in Maggie's position, I knew exactly what I would choose.
"Look. I know things don't really look good from your point of view. As charming as Jimmy Walker is, he doesn't hold a candle to you. You need to ask Maggie for full details, but the gist of it is when he found out she was pregnant he washed his hands of her. I think he had been looking for a way to break up with her anyway, and that gave him the best excuse."
"Then why does he want her now?"
"My best guess is because she doesn't want him. If you're so concerned about this, take the initiative and ask her out. I don't know why you haven't all ready."
Rather than answer directly, I offered a different explanation.
"If you had to choose between Jimmy Walker and myself-"
"I would choose you. And if Maggie didn't, I would have to hurt her for being an idiot. Now, I'd love to sit and discuss your particular neuroses, but I'm afraid you'd have to make an appointment. As it is, my next one is coming in now."
"Thank you, Stephanie."
"You're welcome. Still coming by for dinner tonight?"
"Yes. I'll talk to you later."
"Okay."
That conversation had been less than helpful. I sat back and studied the telephone, nibbling at the nail of my index finger. Stephanie was a professional, I could trust her judgment. I could. I just had to convince myself.
Halloween
Max is insane. He likes to throw parties. Not just any parties, mind you. Themed parties. Especially at Halloween. Thankfully, Stephanie only allowed him to throw his themed parties at Halloween, saving us all from his malady.
This time he was acting in conjunction with the school's theatre program. They funded it, he organised it and allowed it to be held in his house. It was a very good thing that Max has a large house. Of course, given my close ties with Max and the theatre group, I was roped into helping set up. Unfortunately that meant that I, as the tallest member of the set-up crew, had the unenviable job of hanging the thousands of strings of coloured lights. And the mirrored disco ball, retrieved from the Special Prop closet that theatre major Tessa Kowalski had recently excavated and organised.
Stephanie was scattering cheap plastic beads around the house, leaving piles of necklaces everywhere. Tessa shaded lamps with colourful squares of cloth, which I hoped were flame-retardant, while Max helped the DJ unload his truck and set up the equipment.
"Okay, I think we're ready. Looks good, Brian!"
Stephanie killed the main lights, leaving lamps and twinkle lights on. Max and the DJ looked up at her; they weren't quite done. Tessa had gone to change, and my costume was waiting in my truck. I didn't have much experience with pimps, so I was going with a simple black suit. Understated and inconspicuous.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," I said, stepping out of the bathroom. "The majority of these people are my students. What will it looks like, me acting like a pimp?"
"It'll look like you're having fun. Did you see the sign Max posted? 'This is Vegas. What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas.' Just don't cross any lines." Stephanie looked at me, finally. Her brow furrowed. "You're not wearing that, are you? You look like a mob hit man!"
"Thank you. That was the idea."
"No, you need to look like a pimp. Come on." Stephanie grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the master bedroom. "Tessa raided the costume shop, too, and found some real gems."
She handed me a royal purple tuxedo shirt and matching scarf.
"Here, put these on. And make sure the top two buttons are undone. Show that broad, manly chest!"
"Careful, Max might get jealous."
"Use that kind of flirtation with Maggie. It'll work."
That was an order. I ignored her, and she knew it.
"Be careful, Brian. She's starting to slip. Jimmy's wearing her down, buddy!"
I chose to ignore that, too. It was not what I needed to hear.
Stephanie was waiting for me when I re-emerged from the bathroom. She had a handful of gold chains and a hideous purple panama hat.
"No, no hat."
"You're wearing the hat. It's perfect!"
"I'll look like an idiot." It was her turn to ignore me.
She rearranged the scarf, fluffing out the ends and pulling the collar of the shirt outside my jacket. The chains went around my neck and the hat on my head.
"Perfect!" she said, smiling.
There was something about that costume that really inspired confidence. I made my pimped out debut, swaggering down the stairs, to a room full of college students and faculty members, all similarly dressed.
I didn't see Maggie in the assembled group, but people kept arriving, and there was a cluster by the front table.
"Hey, Brian!" Tessa sashayed up to me, holding out a drink.
"I hope this isn't spiked," I said.
"It's not. I'm in charge of drinks. Go get your pimp name."
"Pimp name?"
"Yeah. Max found of couple of internet pimp and ho name generators, so we're all going by pseudonyms. I'm Tessa Doll."
A few minutes standing in line yielded the name Daddy B. Fresh and a couple of raised eyebrows. But it was the name I was given, and there were half a dozen pimped-out young men waiting for their monikers. I scratched out the name on a sticker and pasted it on my jacket.
"This is fabulous!" Maggie said, stepping into the house amid a swirl of coloured lights and glitter.
My mouth went dry. She was dressed just as any ho would be, I suppose. Knee-high black boots; black fishnet tights; short, shiny black skirt; red mesh shirt; black satin elbow gloves; black brassiere; topped off with a cherry-red wig and little black satyr horns.
"Hello," I said, finally regaining the use of my tongue. My imagination was working overtime.
"Hel-lo, Daddy!" she grinned, giving me the once-over, grinning. "Looking pimp-tastic, as usual."
"Thank you. You're looking ... well." Fantastic.
"Thanks. Where do I get a funky name like that?"
"There are name generators at the front table."
She returned a moment later, carefully applying the nametag to the hem of her skirt. Thankfully her handwriting was large enough to read from a respectable distance. Fine Maggie Sweet. An appropriate name, I think.
Max stood on the landing, a foot taller than the rest of the assembled group.
"A word for all my fellow pimps and hos!" Max shouted above the music. "It is time to get this party started! I am your host, Wicked Maxwell Fly. If you haven't gotten your pimp or ho name yet, mosey on over to the name generators and get one! Then, if all the hos would get their booties upstairs, we'll get the Playa's Ball rolling with a Ho Auction!"
What the hell?
He continued.
"I ask you, gentlemen! What good is a pimp, without a ho? So break out your bankroll and get ready to bid on the ho of your choice! (We'll go with penny ante.) Hos? You ready?"
The last few women scurried upstairs, giggling madly. I resisted joining the group of men congregating around the old, beat up sofa that graced the back wall of Max's living room.
"Come on, Daddy B. Fresh. You get the seat of honour."
Damn you, Max!
A few of the boys made room for me in the middle of the sofa and I was sucked into the monstrosity the party was turning into. I wanted nothing to do with that auction, even if Maggie was one of the hos on the block.
But with Max-or Wicked Maxwell Fly-as auctioneer, things were interesting. His running commentary was side-splittingly funny and infectious, and by Maggie's turn, I was almost ready to participate.
"Next up is Fine Maggie Sweet. Mm! Fine doesn't even begin to describe her, and Sweet doesn't do justice to this little devil. Who'll open the bidding at five cents?"
Within seconds of Maggie stepping lightly down the stairs and striking several provocative poses, bidding was furious and catcalls were loud. Chris Tucker, a senior theatre student, called out "5.27!" and was immediately outbid by another seven cents. Maggie was by far bringing in the most money; the other girls had brought in on average 2 dollars each.
"Come on, pimps!" Max crowed. "Are you going to let your fellow men outbid you on this delectable ho? What about Daddy B. Fresh? He's been awfully quiet."
All the men looked at me, and the women too. They were waiting for me to bid.
"20 dollars."
Even the music came to a screeching halt.
"Got a big spender here," Max said, grinning. Maggie raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Anyone care to raise the bid?"
Silence.
"All right then. Fine Maggie Sweet, you belong to Daddy B. Fresh. Next up is Sugar Lady Steph-"
Maggie sauntered over and sat on my lap. I had to fight to pay further attention to Max while she looped one arm around my shoulders.
Stephanie gracefully slunk down the stairs in her costume, giving a come hither look to her husband. His eyes widened, and he quickly stopped the auction.
"And that's it. Sugar Lady Steph is mine. Good evening, folks."
Max kissed his wife. There was a fair bit of laughter mixed with booing, but that game was over, thank God. A few of the people crowding the sofa left, making room for Maggie to slide off my lap (somewhat) and sit beside me.
"Enjoying yourself, Daddy?" she asked, still smirking.
"I've been worse," I said. I was still very uncomfortable with the whole party concept, and having a rather scantily clad woman sitting so very close to me didn't help at all.
"Come on! You need to relax. Stop worrying about reputations. We all knew what would happen at this party. If anyone had a problem with it, they didn't come." She smiled reassuringly. "And here I thought you were a wild and crazy guy. Max was telling me about things you two got up to when you first came to America."
"That was a long time ago," I muttered. "I wasn't much older than you are now." Just what I needed, a reminder that Maggie was so much younger than I am.
"Keep that up, buster, and your ho'll leave you." Maggie stood up and straightened her skirt. "I'm going for a drink. Want one?"
I nodded and watched her walk away in those ridiculously high heeled-boots, mincing along across the faux shag carpet Max had dragged in just for this event. I tugged loose the scarf and ran it through my hands. Maggie was right. How had I changed so much in thirteen years?
You're conveniently forgetting Emily... I suppressed a shudder when my mind brought up that unpleasant subject. Thankfully, Maggie returned and presented a plastic martini glass filled with red slush. She proved very distracting.
"Virgin daiquiri. It's what Tessa Doll has at the moment." She sat on the edge of the sofa, looking at me strangely. "What's that?"
"What's what?"
"That," she said, pointing at my neck. She set her drink on the floor and proceeded to unbutton a few of the buttons of my shirt. "Oh, wow. That's fantastic. I didn't know you had a tattoo!"
"Oh, yes. My sister Regan designed it." It was a rather large tribal and Celtic knot inspired tattoo spanning the width of my chest. I manage to hide it most days. "She was having fun drawing one night and I liked the design."
"How long have you had it?"
"Five or six years."
"Wow. You don't seem the type to have a tattoo."
"Well, I promised Regan that the moment she became a tattoo artist, I would be her first victim. I never actually thought she'd do it."
"Guess she proved you wrong. Must've hurt like hell." I nodded; that was a bit of an understatement. "I've only got one, but it's nowhere near as big as yours."
"Where?" I asked. I was intrigued.
"Right about here," she said, lifting up the back of her shirt. There, about an inch or two above the waist of her skirt, was the name Dylan written in spidery script. She dropped the edge of her shirt and returned her attention to me. "So, when do I get to meet this Regan?"
"Sometime before the end of the year." You want to meet my family?
"Good."
I thought she would stop once she determined what it was she was looking at, but Maggie kept undoing my shirt. Obviously she was intent on seeing the whole thing. That wouldn't have bothered me too much, if she wasn't sitting once again on my lap.
"You do realise you're undressing me," I said as nonchalantly as possible. She didn't even flinch.
"I'll pin a rose on anything I haven't seen before."
"Maggie, it would be a very good idea if you got off my lap."
She looked up at me, her eyes wide, but she complied.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, tucking a bit of her wig behind her ear. However, with a mischievous glint in her eye she added, "But you know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, and for tonight, this is Vegas."
"I don't care about that. I'm more worried about embarrassing myself. As it is, I won't be able to stand up for a while."
"Hey, Maggie," Chris "Fly Master C" Tucker approached and tapped her on the shoulder. "Your coat's ringing."
She swore and made a mad dash for the coat stand. Chris ambled away, arm in arm with his own "ho."
"And she's off like a prom dress," Max snickered. "Should I be finding you two a room?"
I glared at him. Maggie returned, shrugging on her jacket.
"I'm sorry, I gotta go. Dylan's got a stomachache. Mom let him have too much candy, and he's puking everywhere." She rolled her eyes and sighed.
"That sounds appetising," Max said, grimacing.
"Yeah, well. I'll catch all of you later."
"But...you're leaving your pimp ho-less."
"Not going to work, Max. I'm sure Brian will be fine."
And once again, I watched her walk away. I seemed to do that a lot.
First Week of November
Midterms were over. I had done my duty and administered three sets of exams, which took me at least a week to read through and grade appropriately. I didn't see any women swooning over that, at any rate. I heard more groans than anything else, but those who did the groaning were the ones who weren't keeping up with their work, and they got what they deserved. My only hope was that they picked up their slack and tried a little harder.
It was about the time when the theatre program was getting ready to put up their second show of the season, the farce Noises Off. Somehow Harvey had managed to fit the revolving set on our incredibly shallow stage, and it promised to be an incredible show.
Maggie appeared in my office the Friday before the show opened, decked out in paint spattered shirt and jeans. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail and there was a smear of paint on her cheek. Absolutely beautiful. Keller greeted her enthusiastically, and I smiled.
"I need to call in a favour," she asked meekly.
"That depends on the favour."
"I need someone to watch Dylan next week. Are you busy?"
"For how long?"
"Monday through Saturday nights, from six to eleven."
"That's a pretty big favour."
"Harvey's got me on the costume crew for the show, and it'll be too late for Dylan to stay up."
"I had planned on actually seeing it next weekend," I said. "But I think I can sneak in tomorrow and catch it."
"Maybe Saturday Dylan could come and sleep in the green room, then."
"Don't worry. I've seen the show before, and if I can see it tomorrow I'll be fine. Besides, there's strike Saturday night, and I don't think he'd be able to sleep through that."
"Oh, you're right!"
"Don't worry. I'll watch Dylan."
For a week I got to pretend that Maggie and I were married, or at least living together, and that I was Dylan's father. If I could only work up the nerve to ask Maggie out. Perhaps I was a coward, too afraid of rejection to act.
Keller and Dylan took to each other immediately, which did not surprise me in the slightest. I was still unable to leave the house without him, and managed to smuggle him into Maggie's apartment, past the ever-watchful eyes of the doorman, by placing him in the pocket of my overcoat. Dylan thought it was brilliant. Maggie hid her shoes.
"I'm sorry, I can't leave him home yet."
"Too afraid that he'll go in your sheets?" she grinned.
"Yes. But he is a bit better behaved, now," I said sheepishly. "He comes when I call, and can roll over if given the right incentive."
I love her laughter.
"I'm sure. Now, Dylan needs to be in bed by eight and asleep by nine. He's had a bath all ready, and he's been fed, but it wouldn't surprise me if he gets hungry again, so feel free to cook. Emergency numbers are by the phone. Try not to call my mother; no matter what you'll say, she'll get the wrong idea. Alyson or Aunt Sofie are better bets. I'll be back as soon as I can. Any questions?"
Would you like to go to dinner sometime?
"No. Everything will be fine. Have fun," I teased. Maggie rolled her eyes and left.
Every night she came back, exhausted and ready to drop. She never did, but I was there to catch her anyway. She would look in on Dylan and Keller, curled up together in bed. When I left, I would carefully extract my puppy from his friend's arms, being very careful not to wake the boy.
"How did it go?" I asked, as usual, after opening night.
"Fantastic," she replied, as usual, sinking into an overstuffed armchair. "Any problems?"
"None."
"Mom?" Dylan's sleepy voice wafted out from his room.
Maggie pulled herself out of the chair and shuffled down the hall. I could tell she was stiff and sore, and I got a glass of water and some Motrin from the kitchen.
"Thanks," she said, taking the pills and swallowing them before going into Dylan's room. "Hey, sweetie. What's wrong?"
I watched as she sat down on the edge of his bed and brushed a piece of hair from his forehead.
"Is Brian still here?"
"Yeah."
"Tell him I want to teach Keller to play dead."
"Okay. What did you do today?"
"Took Keller for a walk. Brian let me hold the leash, and we tried to teach him how to heel. It didn't work to good."
"I'll bet it didn't."
"We watched The Princess Bride. Would you believe he's never seen it? And Brian taught me how to talk in garlic."
"You mean Gaelic? That was nice of him. What did he teach you?"
"Just stuff to say when people are mean to me. And some swear words."
"Oh, did he?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and looking back to where I was, lurking in the doorway. Oh, damn. I was in trouble. "Why did he teach you Gaelic in the first place?"
"We were talking about The Lord of the Rings, and Brian said that Elvish was based on Old English. I wanted to learn some, but Brian doesn't know much Old English. He knows Gaelic, though, so he said he'd teach me some."
I was in deep trouble.
"Why did he teach you to swear, though?"
"I thought it would be cool."
"Uh-huh." She didn't sound happy. Chances were I wouldn't be coming back.
"Mom, let Brian keep watching me. He's cool, and besides, he's reading The Hobbit to me. You can't let him go before he finishes. It's a really cool book. Please?"
"Yes, he can come back. I don't think I could find another babysitter on such short notice, anyway."
Thank God for little boys.
Maggie kissed her son goodnight and left, closing the door behind her. She walked quickly to the living room, arms crossed. She was angry.
"You taught him how to swear in Gaelic?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," I answered.
"Why?"
"I'm not entirely certain." A slow pounding started at my temples. This could not be good.
"He's seven, Brian. That's a little young to be swearing. If he gets in trouble at school for using that language, you get to explain it to his teacher and the parents of his classmates."
"Gladly. But really, only ten percent of the people in Ireland speak Irish Gaelic, so the chance of anyone here knowing what those few words mean is almost nonexistent."
"With my luck, his teacher would, and the last thing I need is her calling me up because my son is teaching other kids to swear."
"I promise, if anything happens, I'll take full responsibility."
"You'd better."
"I will. Just lay on the charm and show just how nice a guy I am, and maybe I'll actually see a woman swoon."
Maggie grinned.
"You don't believe what I wrote, then, in that article?"
"Not really."
"You've never wondered why the majority of your students are female?"
"The male to female ration at Smith Union is 1 to 6, of course my students are going to be mostly female. And you're not in any of my classes." Thank God.
"I have sources, and they asked around. The majority of your female students take your classes because of you. The same thing goes for Max; they think he's cute, they think you're dead sexy."
I snorted. That was ridiculous.
"Why do you think you have so many business majors and theatre majors and volleyball players?"
"Maggie, you shouldn't be telling me this."
"Oh, they still love your classes. They learn a lot. But it's your reputation that brings them in."
"What about you?" I managed to ask.
"I'm not the swooning type. And besides, I wouldn't have to take a class to swoon over you. I've got you here and now, watching my son. But no more Gaelic swear words."
"No more Gaelic swear words," I promised. I promised her that I wouldn't teach her son to swear in Gaelic, and I promised myself that I would someday make her swoon.
The Next Weekend
It was a rainy Saturday afternoon in early November, the weekend after Max's eventful "Pimps and Hos" party. I was spending it under the sink in Max and Stephanie's kitchen, tearing apart their garbage disposal. It seemed that something was interfering with the In-Sink-Erator and I had been called in to put my limited plumbing knowledge to work.
Sandy and Keller were bonding, violently tumbling around the house and threatening to destroy anything they could get their puppy paws on. At first Sandy had thought my little dog was a toy, but Keller proved him wrong with a baring of teeth and high-pitched bark.
"Hey, anybody home?" I hadn't expected to hear Maggie's voice coming from outside and sat up quickly, hitting my forehead against one of the pipes.
"You gotta be more careful, Brian," she said, kicking at my shoes as she passed through the kitchen. I heard Dylan and Tommy thunder up the stairs to Tommy's room. "You might dent the pipes."
"Hello, Maggie. I think Stephanie's upstairs."
"I'm down here now, Brian." There was laughter in Stephanie's voice; I couldn't see much from my vantage point. "We'll be in the living room."
I don't usually eavesdrop on other people's conversations, but this one was hard to ignore.
"How's the Jimmy issue?" Stephanie asked, quite bluntly.
"Same old story. Took me out to lunch the other day, and for once he didn't talk about himself. He talked about the car he bought."
"And?"
"A Jaguar. S type, I think. Dark green."
"Max's dream car. Can he afford a Jag?"
"I doubt it, but he's got one."
To her credit, she didn't seem too impressed. I tried to focus on my work, but it was increasingly difficult. The ladies' conversation was too intriguing, and the whispering I was hearing from Tommy's upstairs room was very enlightening.
"I have not once heard you talk about anybody you're interested in. Not even actors. What do you look for in a guy?"
Maggie snorted.
"I'm not looking."
"Come on! Celebrity crush."
"I don't have one. I don't have time to go to actual movies with real actors. I don't even watch real TV."
"Not even ER?"
"Okay, I sometimes catch ER."
"And?"
Damn, Stephanie! What are you doing?
"I like Luka."
"So you like foreign guys, then?" Her tone was unmistakable. I dropped the wrench I was using; it missed my ear by about an inch.
"I guess so, yeah."
I missed the rest of the conversation. A few twists of a nut, and the puzzle was solved. I replaced the garbage disposal, removed myself from under the sink, rinsed off the offending article, and approached the living room just as Bethany stormed down the stairs.
"Mom! Tommy and Dylan took my Barbies!"
Now would not be a good time to show my prize, the item I had spent the last two hours trying to extricate from the garbage disposal. It would only upset her more.
Stephanie hauled herself upstairs, ostensibly to retrieve the errant children and bring them down for judgment. Maggie looked at me, an eyebrow raised, and I held out the somewhat mutilated head of a fashion doll. She stuffed her fist in her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
"My son did not do that," she gasped, once she could get enough oxygen to speak.
"No, this was in there for a while. But I think he and Tommy are planning something else."
"I'm not surprised. How much did you hear down there?"
"Almost everything." Maggie blushed furiously and stared down at the table. "That you like foreign actors and don't watch much real TV. You can stop blushing. Stephanie is acting on her own. She seems to think you might be interested in an old grump like me."
"You're not an old grump. You're at least not old."
"But I am a grump? Praise indeed." I rolled my eyes and sat in Max's favourite recliner. I noticed that she didn't say that she was interested in me; she also didn't say that she wasn't.
"You're a grump that fixes garbage disposals. That's an invaluable talent. Will you come over and fix mine when it's broken?"
"As soon as Dylan stuffs a doll's head in it, I'll be there."
"No, I will not let you fire up the grill!" Stephanie grumbled, dragging two protesting boys down the stairs, ears pinched. They had a Barbie in each hand.
"But Mom!" Tommy said, "Bethany tried to massacre my Pokemon!"
"I did not!" Bethany squealed. "You left them in the hall and I put them in a box. It's not my fault Dad put it in the trash!"
"Yeah, right!" he scoffed.
Stephanie sat the two boys on the sofa. Dylan was strangely silent.
"What did you have to do with this?" Maggie asked. He looked sheepishly at her. "What is the plot?"
"They were going to barbecue the dolls."
I cringed. That smell...
"Ah, come on now, boys!" Maggie said. "Barbecueing is so overdone."
We all looked at Maggie.
"What you need to do is cut along the back of the doll and stuff some fireworks... I shouldn't be saying this to little kids."
"Why do you know this?" I asked, transfixed, lost somewhere between mortification and awe.
"Project in high school. A group of us made a stop-motion animated movie, and Jimmy and I stuffed a Barbie full of fireworks, doused her in lighter fluid and lit a match. It was a real blow out."
"I'll bet," Stephanie said. The boys looked on with supreme admiration. Bethany was horrified. She must have thought Maggie sympathetic to her cause, but not anymore.
"Yeah, and if I ever catch you doing anything like that," Maggie said, fixing a stern glare on the boys. "Without proper adult supervision, you're dead. Both of you. Jimmy burned his eyebrows off, and he was 18. You're seven."
"Did his eyebrows grow back?" Tommy asked in a whisper.
"After a while. But he didn't have them for his senior prom, and I had to pencil them in. I wasn't happy with that."
"But they did grow back, right?"
"Yes, they did. And he looked like he was sunburned in the middle of January. He got chewed out by his mother for doing that, too, without permission or supervision. Just like I'll chew you out if you do anything involving gasoline or explosives."
"Without supervision," Dylan said. Maggie nodded.
"Stop giving them ideas, Maggie," Stephanie sighed. Bethany quickly snatched her dolls away from the boys and bolted for the stairs, Tommy and Dylan hot on her heels.
Mid November
I don't know the purpose of children's soccer leagues. Indoor children's soccer leagues, at that. But there I was, holding a clipboard at our team's second to last game. Assistant coach. Glorious title. My main job, once they started, was to make sure all the little tykes were there and that parents didn't bother them during the match.
Naturally, I didn't have any problems with Stephanie or Maggie. I did have to take a few mothers aside and remind them that their children were only seven years old and not expected to be the equivalent of David Beckham or Mia Hamm.
As it turned out, Dylan was a natural leader. He would take the ball and everyone would follow, even the goalie. I was ready to beat myself to death with the clipboard.
Finally, halftime. Stephanie brought out oranges and sports drinks and the kids pigged out while Max gave a rousing pep talk. I don't think they needed it; we were up three to zero.
"Jimmy, you can't-"
"I can't what? Go tell my son he's doing well?"
"Don't call him that-"
"I'm his father, aren't I? Or are you changing your tune again?"
"Stop it, Jimmy. You're making a scene."
"Can I help you?" I asked, trying my best to be impressive and looming. Didn't work, he's the same height as I am, if only a little shorter.
I had thought Dylan resembled his mother, but I was wrong. When Dylan grew up, he would look exactly like his father. Jimmy was slender, tall, with sharp, well-defined features. In a word, handsome. Thankfully Dylan had inherited his mother's good nature.
"Who are you?" the one called Jimmy asked, upper lip curling in disdain. No, I didn't like him, and I certainly didn't like how he talked to Maggie.
"I'm the assistant coach." I'm on the Brute Squad, I wanted to say. Get out, leave. You're not welcome here. "I'm currently in charge of keeping things under control."
"'Currently in charge?' That's rich. I want to talk to my son."
"I'm sorry, the coach is talking with the players now. You can talk to Dylan later, after the game."
"How do you know my son's name is Dylan?"
"I overheard your conversation with Maggie. It was rather hard not to." I managed to deliver it in a monotone, returning and barely concealing the contempt he was freely dispensing.
Maggie pulled him away, rolling her eyes. Whatever did she see in him? Perhaps he was more charming seven years ago. This encounter with Maggie's former boyfriend did nothing to help alleviate my mood. In fact, the children avoided me for the rest of the game.
"I'm sorry about Jimmy," Maggie said, appearing by my side late in the fourth quarter. "He's not used to being told no."
I snorted. Not even Maggie could make me feel better.
Well, maybe.
"You shouldn't be here right now," I muttered, trying to watch the game.
"Yeah, well. I'm giving him something to be jealous about."
So much for feeling better.
"I thought you said you didn't have time for a boyfriend?"
"I don't. When he's jealous, he doesn't talk to me."
Well, if I put my hand on her buttocks... I'd get slapped. No, that was not a good idea, as agreeable as that sounded.
"Do what you need to," I said instead. "Just be careful. I don't like how he treats you."
"I know," she replied, brushing my arm with the back of her hand. My arm tingled. "I'm not a fan of it either."
"Why do you put up with him?" Maggie sighed.
"He's Dylan's father and I work with him. He's not always like this, really. He's just in a bad mood."
"Don't make excuses. I don't want to hear them."
The muscles in my jaw tightened. I knew Maggie wasn't watching the game any more, even though her son was about to score another goal. She was watching me, I saw in my peripheral vision, her mouth slightly agape.
"Oh, my God!" she whispered. It was almost lost in the roar from the crowd; Dylan scored. "You're jealous."
Of course I was. I looked at her, my face expressionless. She backed away slowly, not looking away from me, confusion written plainly on her features.
If Maggie had had her way, she would have avoided me for the rest of her life. That's probably an exaggeration. A week, perhaps a little more. Instead, Jimmy Walker dragged her up to me, his hand around her waist, to talk. The game was over, our team had won. Dylan was celebrating with the team. Maggie didn't look me in the face.
"Hey, old man. I'm sorry for my behaviour earlier," Jimmy said, pulling Maggie closer to him. I resisted the urge to punch him square in the face. "Maggie talked some sense into me. No hard feelings, all right?"
His smile reminded me of a shark's.
"None," I said, shaking his extended hand. It was a lie, but what was I going to say?
"Maggie tells me you're the reason Dylan's such a good player."
"He's naturally talented. Max and I simply fostered his abilities."
"Whatever," he scoffed.
I wanted Maggie to say something, anything. Instead, she stared at the ground.
"Excuse me," I said, bowing out of an uncomfortable situation. The whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth. His condescension, her compliance and excuses.
Max and Stephanie dragged me along to dinner afterward, a pleasant diversion but not lasting. I was still a little angry with Maggie. Actually, it was more confused with her motives. At any rate, I was not in the best of moods, a holdover from my earlier encounter with Jimmy Walker.
I did not see the Chief in my driveway, or on the street, so I was frankly surprised to see Maggie sitting in my kitchen when I returned home. I was stunned and a little pleased. She had just made herself at home, perched on the counter with glass of water. I resisted the urge to say "Honey, I'm home," like some 50's TV father.
"Hello. How did you get here?" I asked, dropping my keys on the counter.
I heard Keller in the hallway, his claws clicking on the hardwood floors. He stopped square in the middle of the kitchen floor and looked from Maggie to me, cocking his head from one side to the other. I wondered if he had peed in my bed again.
"I walked."
"I take it you found the key."
"Yes. Might want to try finding a better hiding place."
"I'll consider it. Where's Dylan?"
"Jimmy has him for the night. Trial visitation."
"Ah. Why are you here?"
"I wanted to talk to you."
"All right."
I searched for a beer in the fridge while she picked Keller up. He was a very lucky dog, and he apparently knew it.
"That dog acts like I never pay attention to him," I said, trying to put off the inevitable.
"He's just a baby," she said as Keller stretched out and rolled onto his back. "I'm sorry about Jimmy. He's trying to convince me to go out with him again."
"So I've heard."
"Talked to Stephanie, I take it?"
"Yes."
"Look, I don't have time for a relationship. I just don't. Not with work, and Dylan, and classes. I can't sacrifice any of them, least of all Dylan, for a boyfriend. I don't have time."
I don't know what was worse, what she was saying or what I was imagining. I do know that it aggravated me, and I had to say something. Unfortunately I started yelling.
"Then when will you? When Dylan's grown and moved out? When you've finished your degree? If you keep waiting, you'll end up like me, old and alone! With a dog for company!" Oh dear God, Regan was right. "Now is the time to find someone, dammit! If you can't manage to make time now for someone, who's to say you'll have time ten years from now, or twenty?"
She looked at me, her face expressionless. She stopped petting Keller, who started licking her hands in an effort to get her to resume.
"Do you have time?" she asked softly. "You teach full time. You coach the kiddie league. You work out and play in your own league. You spend as much time with Bethany, Tommy and Lisa as Max and Stephanie. Do you have time for a relationship?"
"I'd make time." Especially for someone like you.
Why couldn't I say that? Why wouldn't the words come out? They were there, ready, sitting on my tongue, just waiting to be said. She calmly looked up into my eyes, and I could have sworn those warm brown eyes read my mind.
"I'm sure you would," she said. "But how can you know for certain? Something would suffer. I have precious little time with my son, and I don't like taking any time away from him that I don't have to. Yes, he spends plenty of time with his cousins, but that's because they live in the area. Having a relationship now would mean taking time away from him."
"I-I don't have an answer for that," I replied. The swell of anger ebbed, leaving me feeling cold and empty. She had a valid point, but so did I. If I said anything else, however, the argument would start all over, and I was not in the mood for that.
"I think you do, but you just can't say it." Maggie handed Keller to me, and I set him on the floor. She hopped off the counter. "I should be going."
"I'm sorry, you just caught me at a bad time."
"It's all right. Everyone's allowed a bad day now and then." She wanted to add "Jimmy too," I know it. It was right there, unsaid.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. Tomorrow will be better."
"Will it?" Stay. Please.
"If you want it to be." She retrieved her jacket from the back of a chair and pulled it on, stuffing her hands in the pockets.
"I'll give you a ride," I offered quietly. Stay. Don't make me spend another night alone.
"I can walk. I'm a big girl."
"I know that. But it's dark out, and raining. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."
"Brian-"
"I insist."
It was a very quiet ride to her apartment. I suppose we were just absorbed in our own thoughts.
"Brian," she said suddenly, "Is this angry silence?"
"Come again?"
"The sound you hate, angry silence."
"Oh." I paused for a moment to consider. "Yes, I think it is."
"I'm sorry. I don't want you to be angry."
"I'm not angry at you. More at myself."
"Why?"
"Because-" Because I want to ask you out, but I can't. "I'm just having a bad day. That's all."
A stoplight. I pulled a necklace from around my neck. It was simply a stamped brass disk on a leather cord.
"I want you to have this," I said, handing it to her.
"What is it?" she asked, inspecting it in the reflected glow of streetlights. "What's this symbol?"
"It's a rune, Uruz. It means Brute Strength, and the number two. It's my lucky number. The other side's a guardian angel."
"Thank you," she said, a little amazed.
She slipped it around her neck as I pulled into the parking lot, stopping next to the Chief.
"I'll see you later, then," I said, staring at the steering wheel.
"Yeah, after practice on Monday."
She unfastened her seatbelt while I waited for the door to open. For once I was not being a gentleman and holding the door for her. The building was all of twenty feet away, after all, and the rest of the parking lot was relatively empty.
Instead of exiting the truck, however, Maggie took me quite by surprise. Before I knew what was happening, she leaned over and kissed me quickly on the mouth.
"Thank you," she whispered.
I was too stunned to react. Within moments she was gone, sparing me a look over her shoulder as she disappeared into her apartment building.