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Section 10

Posted on Saturday, 17 July 2004

December 29th. Monday.

"Brian? You better come quick! Mum's hurt!"

The next ten minutes were a blur. I sprinted from the house, with Keller hot on my heels, and made it into my car without managing to grab my car keys. I silently cursed my younger sister for leaving a rather new, nice Ford Escape unlocked as I ran back inside and snatched the bits of metal off the hall table. With Keller acting as navigator, I reached the apartment complex in record time.

I slammed the truck into park, vaulted over a few low shrubs and reached the lobby, panting just as much as my dog. Sarah had an elevator waiting, since I wouldn't make it up the three flights at the pace I had set myself.

"What happened?" I asked as I tried to catch my breath.

"I don't know. She just came in and went straight to the bathroom, locked the door and wouldn't speak to us. She was hiding her face, but I think she was bleeding."

A heavy weight fell in my stomach. What had happened, and why did he hurt her? I didn't want to think about the possibilities, but I had done a lot of things in the past I didn't want to do.

Dylan came out of his bedroom, his face pale and his eyes red from crying. Keller ran to him and leaned against his legs.

"I'm scared," he said.

"It'll be all right," I answered. "I'll take care of it."

I tried the bathroom door. It was still locked.

"Go away!" Her voice was muffled by more than the door.

I swallowed and steeled myself for what was coming. "Maggie, it's me. Open the door."

"No!"

"Maggie, I can and will force the lock if you will not open the door!"

The lock clicked, Maggie opened the door. I stepped inside and was horrified at what I saw. There was blood everywhere, the floor, the sink, her dress and face. Her nose was broken, dark circles already forming around her eyes; a long gash cut across her cheek just under the eye; and her lip was swollen and bleeding. The towels in her bathroom were a royal blue. The one she held to her wrist was turning purple. I didn't have to ask to know the bracelet was gone.

"Dear God! What happened?"

"He hit me," she said, her voice a plaintive whimper. My fears were confirmed. The weight in my stomach increased and started a slow burn. How dare he!

"Come on," I said. "We're taking you to hospital."

"No! I'll be fine."

"You need to see a doctor. Your nose is broken and I'm not about to try to fix it." I took her hand in mine and gently peeled back the blood-soaked towel. It was as bad as I had thought. A fresh surge of anger flowed through me. "And you need stitches."

I dropped the towel in the sink and wrapped a fresh one around her hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, without looking at me.

"Can you move your hand?" I asked. She wiggled each finger in turn. At least no damage had been done to the nerves. "Where is he?"

"Smokey's, I think. Why?"

All ready my mind was working overtime. I lead Maggie out of the bathroom and into the living room, where Dylan and Sarah were waiting, silently perched on the sofa. Dylan tried not to flinch.

"Sarah, take Maggie to the hospital. Call your mother, tell her what happened, and take Dylan there."

"I want to stay with Mom!" the little boy said. "I don't have school tomorrow, I can stay up late."

I crouched down to be at his level.

"No, Dylan. I know you want to be with your mother, but right now she doesn't need to worry about you."

"But Brian-"

"No." He fixed me with a steely glare that I thought only stodgy old English professors used. "All right. I'll tell you what. If Sarah can't get in touch with your grandmother, she can take you to the hospital. I'll meet you there when I'm done."

"You're gonna beat the tar out of that bastard, aren't you?" Sarah asked. It was my turn to glare at her. For Maggie I was willing to become a stodgy old English professor.

"I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Why aren't you taking me to the emergency room?" Maggie asked.

"If I show up with a badly injured woman, me looking like a big brute, we'd have every cop and social worker in the county in to arrest me for spousal abuse, and they'd take Dylan away from us. It's better if Sarah takes you. I'll be there soon enough."

"Where are you going?" I looked at Maggie, unwilling to answer her question outright. It took a moment, but she eventually understood. "Be careful, Brian. Don't do anything stupid."

I squeezed her uninjured hand, then left with promises from Maggie and her sister that they would follow my instructions.

Before I knew it I was pulling into a small, unpaved parking lot. Some kind of autopilot had kicked in, directing me through the empty streets to my destination.

I had time, on the way to Smokey's Sports Bar and Grill, to calm myself down and develop a plan. I wanted to know why he would hit her, why he would rip a bracelet off her wrist, why he wouldn't take no for an answer. It was very possible that Jimmy Walker would be drunk and irrational, which would make matters interesting. At any rate, I could not be the one to start a fight, as much as I wanted to. Leaving him a bloody pulp in some back alley was a very appealing notion, but one that would undoubtedly see me arrested for assault.

Smokey's lived up to its name. It was a cheap, seedy bar just outside of the city, frequented by a dubious bunch and known for having horrible food. There was always a blue cigarette haze and the smell of stale beer and urine. But the beer was cheap, and there was always something going on. Especially on a Monday night in the middle of the American football season.

By the time I arrived, however, the place was nearly empty. The man behind the bar, perhaps Smokey himself, looked up as I entered. I suppose I didn't prove interesting enough for a more thorough study, or his task was too pressing, since he couldn't spare a glance as I approached and returned to whatever task was at hand.

"What'll it be?" he asked, wheezy with emphysema.

"I'm looking for someone." I tried to not look around too much. The place was utterly disgusting. "Jimmy Walker. I was told I could find him here."

"Whaddaya want him for?" The proprietor was suspicious. Apparently Mr. Walker was a good customer.

Might as well be honest.

"He hit my girlfriend-"

"And you want to return the favour," he said, breaking into a smile. He was missing several teeth. "He's over there."

As surprised as I was that he was actually condoning an act of revenge that would most certainly damage his property, I followed Smokey's gesture. There was Jimmy Walker, leaning unsteadily over a billiards table. A nearby table was covered in empty and half-empty bottles. I wondered how many were his.

I asked for and was given a beer, not that I intended to actually drink it. The bottle would help give me some credibility.

The drunken snort of a slumbering trucker drew Walker's attention up. He saw me and a dark scowl marred his handsome face.

"Oh, it's you. Come to get your bracelet back?"

I looked down. His hands were clean, except for some small traces of blood in the grooves of his fingernails. The bracelet was there, on the table, blood dried in the links and dulling the shine of the metal. I bit my tongue while anger built at an exponential rate.

"Go ahead, take it. You've won. You get Maggie."

I didn't respond. Instead, I picked up a cue and judged the best shot. He was watching me carefully, if a bit dazed and befuddled by the liquor. The ball landed in the pocket with a gratifying "thunk."

"I don't know why she would want you," he continued. "Big hairy ugly bastard. I'm sure you'll be disappointed, though. You'll have to get the better part of fifth in her before she'll put out. But I suppose you know that. How else would you get her to screw you?"

My grip tightened on the pool cue. It was the only outward sign of how repulsed I was. He was trying to get me to take a swing at him, and I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

"Then again, you give her a diamond bracelet, and that's almost as good. Maybe if I'd thought about that, we wouldn't be here right now. Maggie and I would be at my place, and you'd be none the wiser."

There was a smugness to his words that pushed my control to the limits. He had no remorse. Not two hours ago he had severely injured the woman he was speaking about, and he was not concerned about what had happened after. It was very tempting to crack the heavy end of the cue against his temple and be done with it. It would be so easy...

"Oh, by the way, how is Maggie? I'm afraid I may have been a little rough with her earlier. Sometimes you have to be. She's awfully insistent."

My jaw clenched. He was going too far, but I wouldn't do anything. Not yet. I would let him make the first move.

"And about Dylan. He's my son. You can do whatever the hell you want to do, but I'm filing for full custody start of business the fifth. And I'll get it. I can prove Maggie's an unfit mother. I can prove anything. I know he likes you, but he'll like me too. Anyway, I'm his father, and you're not. You'll never be his father."

Finally I had heard enough. It was easy enough to understand his motives. Maggie wouldn't sleep with him; she had accepted the bracelet from me, which aggravated him because he hadn't thought of it; and Dylan preferred me to him. She didn't want him anymore, and that's why he had acted as he did. It was the reaction of a child who was refused a new toy and in turn destroyed the one he had.

"You couldn't have come all the way out here, just to leave without saying anything. Not even a token threat? Not that you'd be able to act on it. Even you're not that stupid."

We stood about the same height, even if he was swaying a little. He was itching for a fight, just waiting for me to give him a reason. But he was right. I wouldn't leave without saying something.

"You can say anything you like about me, or Maggie, but if you so much as touch either of them again, you'll answer to me."

He snorted. "Like you could do anything to hurt me."

I shook my head, smiling. He was egging me on, and I was determined not to react how he wanted. I realised how stupid this whole scene was. I was in a disreputable bar, listening to the ravings of a drunken ---hole while my girlfriend was in the hospital, put there by the jealous actions of the same drunken ---hole.

He wasn't worth a farewell. I turned and walked away. I wanted to be with Maggie, to do what I could to ease her pain, and this wasn't helping. I had said my piece and learned what I wanted. Jimmy Walker wasn't worth my time.

"We're not finished yet!" he screamed, once he realised I was leaving.

The drunken ---hole took a swing at me and missed. I caught his wrist and twisted it up behind his back.

"Yes, we are," I growled, taking a grim satisfaction in his whimpering. I threw him forward, and he was barely able to catch himself on the edge of the billiards table. "Like I said, touch either of them, and your mother won't recognise you."

"I'd like to see you try," he sneered, trying not to look completely dishevelled.

Rather than answer him directly, I chose to demonstrate. The billiards cue I had been using was nearby; I grabbed it and with steady pressure, snapped the rock-hard maple like a matchstick. There is something to be said for adrenaline after all.

"Pray you don't."

I watched as his face drained of colour and saw fear for the first time in his eyes. And I left. As I passed the bar, I tossed a handful of bills on the stained surface.

"He ---- hisself!" Smokey crowed. "Hoo-ee, mister, that's something I ain't seen in a long time." I was a bit surprised by the old man's comment. I hadn't expected it in the slightest. Or what he said next. "I hope your girl's okay. The bastard won't get away with it."

"Thank you," I said, not sure what else to say.

I vaguely recognised the woman who entered the bar as I exited, Tabbi Sloan, another student and acquaintance of Maggie and Sarah. I wondered what she was doing there...

Devon-Oakham General was my destination. Sarah had done just what I asked, and was waiting for me at the hospital, to change the guard, perhaps. Very medieval. She was tired, and I sent her home. After she took me to Maggie.

She was sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed, thumbing through an outdated magazine, her wrist neatly bandaged and other wounds cleaned and mended.

"Where have you been?" she asked, holding out her good hand. Exhaustion hit full force, the adrenaline I had been running on having run out. I sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand.

"Out," I said. "Taking care of a bit of business. Nothing you need to worry about."

Her eyebrows lowered as she turned my hands palm up. Thin lines of red and pink crossed the pads; I hadn't realised there had been after-effects of my act of bravado. Either fatigue or thick calluses had dulled the pain of a dozen good-sized splinters. I believe it was probably a fair mix of both.

"What happened?" she asked.

"It was either the billiards cue or his neck, and I don't much fancy going to prison for murder." I would have liked nothing better than to curl up with Maggie and fall asleep right then and there, but it wouldn't have been appropriate. Maybe later.

"Brian!"

"I didn't do anything stupid. He's the one who messed his pants."

Maggie paged the nurse and asked for tweezers and other items to tend to my hands. She didn't speak to me as she dug out the maple shards.

"Did you call the police?" I asked after too many moments of silence.

"Yes," she answered.

"Are they coming?"

"Yes."

"Are you angry with me?" I didn't like that she was being so quiet.

"I wish you would have been here. Sarah dropped me off, and I had to do everything alone. I don't know why you had to go in the first place."

I didn't have an answer for her right away since I wasn't sure myself.

"I suppose I wanted to protect you," I said. "I wanted revenge. He hurt you, and that's unforgivable."

"But you didn't hurt him," she said slowly, to make sure.

"No. I acted only in self defence."

"I'm glad to hear it," a different voice said. Two uniformed police officers, a man and woman, entered the room and stood at the end of the bed. It was the woman who spoke. "Miss Mitchell. You must be Dr. Campbell. I'm Dana Mowbray, and this is John Tennison. We are responding to your complaint."

I don't think I would have been able to tell the officers what had happened if Brian hadn't been there with me. I could tell he was exhausted and would like to be home, and I felt the same way. But there were still things to do, and the presence of Officers Mowbray and Tennison were a reminder of the most unpleasant. I had lived through that night once all ready, and I didn't like the idea of doing it again...

We had gone out to dinner and he managed to completely avoid the reason we had agreed to go out; that is, custody of our son, Dylan. I've had full custody for the past seven years, and now he wanted joint custody.

"Why did you have sole custody?" Mowbray asked.

"He denied that he was Dylan's father once I found out I was pregnant." I shrugged. The scene had replayed in my mind so many times that I was unaffected. But I could feel Brian watching me.

After dinner, we went to a show. I don't even remember which one. By then I had realised that Jimmy considered it to be a date and did my best to discourage him. He doesn't back down easily, though. That's part of what makes him a good lawyer.

Tennison was taking notes, scratching them out on a small pad of paper.

I wanted to go home after the movie, since it was late and I wanted to talk to Brian. So I asked him to take me home. We ended up in a parking garage downtown, about halfway between my apartment and his.

"Jimmy, take me home."

"Not until you tell me why you won't give me another chance."

I crossed my arms across my chest and looked out the window. "Because you don't deserve one. You've had seven years to fess up and take responsibility, and you didn't. Now I'm in a good relationship with someone who's willing to take on the responsibility you abandoned, and I'm happy."

"The noble and virtuous Brian Campbell," he sneered. "Good God, Maggie, the man's fifteen years older than you! Doesn't that tell you something?"

"Yeah, that he was born in 1964, and that you're a jealous little man. Why does it bother you so much?"

"He's a dirty old man looking for a pretty piece of ass. I deal with scum like him every day, remember? I'm looking out for you, Mags, since you obviously can't do it yourself. How do you know he isn't some kind of predator?"

"Jimmy was just trying to make me doubt myself, which wouldn't happen, since my Uncle Shawn had all ready run a background check on Brian back in November." Brian looked at me, eyebrows raised, as did the two cops. I shrugged, a bit embarrassed. "He's a cop out in New London. My dad asked him to."

I walked away then, or tried to. He grabbed my elbow and jerked me back, pinning me against his car.

"Stop it! Let me go!"

I tried to push him away, but I couldn't. He kissed me, and was pushing himself against me.

"Come on, Maggie. I love you. Come home with me. I'll make you forget all about Campbell."

Except he didn't want to wait until his apartment. Something about his words bothered me, and then I realised it. He didn't love me, he only wanted me because I had moved on and he hadn't. He had been using Dylan as a means to get back with me and that rankled.

"No!"

I got away from him, but again I didn't get far. This time he grabbed my hair and spun me around. I just saw the back of his hand raised, then a close-up view of the pavement. I was in pain ... Very intense pain, across my cheek and nose. It was difficult to stand, but I managed.

"Thank you," I said, stumbling over to the nearest support. Blood was pouring out of my nose.

"For what?"

"For giving me Dylan. Without him, I probably wouldn't be with Brian now, and I might actually be back with you. Thank you."

I touched the bracelet Brian had given me. Keep the bracelet as my promise that this is real and good, he had said. I trusted and believed him. However, I drew Jimmy's attention to it, and he was not happy. He came up to me, slipped two fingers under the bracelet and yanked it off.

"You're welcome," he snarled. He got in his car and drove away, with the bracelet.

Now my wrist was bleeding, and I was two miles from home. I stayed in the parking garage for a little while. I ripped part of my skirt off and wrapped a section around my wrist, and tried to plug my nose with the rest of it. When I was sufficiently cleaned up, I caught a cab. I had my purse, thankfully, and sunglasses in there, so I could cover my eyes; I could call the bandage around my wrist as an accessory; and that I'm prone to nosebleeds. The cabbie didn't ask any questions and I was home in five minutes. Then Brian came and sent me to the hospital.

"Where's the bracelet now?" Mowbray asked. I put my hand over my bandaged wrist, where it was supposed to be.

"He still has it," Brian said. His brows twitched, a telltale sign that he was berating himself. "Either that, or it's at Smokey's Bar out in Westfield."

Officer Tennison excused himself and went outside to make a phone call, presumably to ask for assistance from the station.

"We're sending someone to the bar where he was last seen," Tennison said when he reappeared. "We've had complaints about Mr. Walker before."

"Would you like to press charges?" Mowbray asked.

I looked at Brian, who gave me a helpless expression.

"Yes."

It had been difficult to listen to Maggie's story. I did my best to remain calm for her. Not that I had much energy to get angry or haul off and find Jimmy Walker again. I'd let the cops find him and deal with that problem. By the time everything that could be done at the moment was finished, it was past one a.m., and all of us were worn out.

The doctor signed Maggie out after pressing a small vial of painkillers and prescription for the same into her hand. She leaned against me as we left, with my arm around her waist.

Sirens were blaring outside the emergency room. An ambulance came to a shuddering stop and unloaded the damaged cargo. Maggie and I stopped to let the gurney pass, and I had to raise my eyebrows. Jimmy Walker was moaning and writhing in pain, a bag of ice on a sensitive area and a certain part of his anatomy in a separate bag.

"She actually did it," Maggie whispered. "I thought she was joking."

"What do you mean?"

"Once upon a time, Tabbi threatened to separate Jimmy's best friend from him if he did anything to me. Sarah must've told her what happened."

I sighed. Officers Mowbray and Tennison were approaching us again. Maggie and I were pulled in for another round of questioning, this time with the benefit of coffee. It seemed that the night would never end.

We were finally allowed to leave at 2:30. The painkillers given to Maggie were working, and she was groggy and stumbling. I was tempted to carry her out to the truck but I knew she would not have appreciated that.

Someone had been to her apartment and cleaned up the mess in the bathroom. The towel and makeshift bandage Maggie had used earlier were gone, and there was no evidence that anything had happened. That was good. We didn't need to be reminded.

"What I wouldn't do for a cup of tea," I muttered, heading straight for the kitchen and the teapot. Maggie and Dylan may spend a lot of time at my house, but I make it a point to keep good tea at her apartment.

"What wouldn't you do?" Maggie asked. She was smiling, a good sign.

"Grand theft auto," I answered. "Gasoline and oil make it undrinkable."

She chuckled, wobbling a little as she advanced down the hall to her room. I was at her elbow in an instant to guide her.

"Me, I want a shower," she said.

"No. I won't allow it. You could fall and hurt yourself further."

"But Brian! I feel so dirty." She rubbed at the bandage on her wrist. "And these stitches itch."

"But nothing. I'll draw a bath for you, but that's all. And the doctor said the stitches need to stay in for at least four weeks. Now. Bath?"

She pouted but agreed. I left her long enough to start hot water running in the bathtub, not hot enough to scald, but enough to help muscles relax. I found a bottle of lavender bath oil on the ledge and poured some in. The scent was a welcome relaxant, and I was sure it would help.

Water was boiling in the kitchen, which probably wasn't welcome in the neighbouring apartments, and I let the tea steep while I perused the photos on the walls and scattered on tabletops. Dylan's baby pictures; school photos; family portraits. Candid shots and posed.

I could easily pick out Maggie's mother and father. I would be meeting them at her family's New Year's Eve party, and I wanted to know who to look for.

There was one photo that I was particularly drawn to. It had probably been taken the summer previous, on vacation at the beach. Maggie and Dylan were sitting behind a sand castle, grinning and squinting against the sun. They weren't quite centred in the frame, however, and there was a bit of space to their left. Enough space for one more person. And maybe a dog.

Maggie left her room and padded on bare feet to the bathroom. If it had been any other time, I would have reacted differently. The robe she wore was short, coming to just above her knees, and though it was tightly tied shut it was not hard to see that there was little or nothing between it and her skin.

My attention was pulled back to the photo at the beach. What would happen this summer? I would be teaching an Introduction to Literature course in June, and the summer football league would go into July. I would probably be spending most of August at home in Ireland. Would Maggie and Dylan want to go? She had said once that she would like to visit someday, and with her friendship with Regan and Dylan's seeming attachment to his new "Auntie," it might be a possibility.

I was nodding off. Maggie's sofa was very comfortable, very deep and very soft. I didn't want to fall asleep before she did, though. I wanted to make sure everything was fine. If I was falling asleep all ready, I could only imagine that Maggie would be too.

Only she was taking a bath. If she fell asleep in the tub, she could easily slip under water and drown.

"Uh, Maggie? Is everything all right in there?"

"Yes, dear." She sounded ready to drop.

"Don't fall asleep."

"I don't plan to."

"It's three a.m. and you're on pain medication. It might happen. I don't want to take that risk."

"You worry too much," she said.

"I think I have a right to," I muttered. Then, louder: "If you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming in after you."

There was a small pause.

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

A little while later, Maggie toddled out of the bathroom in her pyjamas, her damp hair piled on top of her head and a new bandage wrapped around her wrist.

"Scootch over," she said as I made room for her on the sofa.

She curled up beside me and closed her eyes. I thought she had fallen asleep, but after a moment she spoke.

"Remind me to call my dad tomorrow," she said, stifling a yawn. "He'll be worried."

"What about your mum?"

Maggie smiled. "She won't be as worried as he will," she said. "And I need to ask him a favour."

"Oh?"

"Take on Tabbi's defence. She'll need a good attorney, and Dad's one of the best in the state."

Of course. Richard Mitchell would be Maggie's father. I had seen the name in the newspaper a few times, but I never thought he would be a relative, let alone her father. At one time I wondered which parent I would have to impress the most, and had decided prematurely on the mother. I had yet to meet either, but what Maggie said next would prove my earlier decision wrong.

"Do you think he'll do it?"

"If I ask him, yeah. I'm something of a Daddy's girl."

"Oh."

I had the distinct impression of a man who would come after me with a meat cleaver, or some other form of violent weapon, if I hurt Maggie in any way. I could only imagine what he would have done to Jimmy Walker that night if Tabbi Sloan hadn't gotten to him first.

Maggie took the mug of tea from my hand, drank, and set it on the coffee table. She snuggled closer to me, my arm wrapping around her quite of its own accord. I vaguely thought of Quigley the Piggly, and how I seemed to be cheating him out of his usual night-time companion once again. Maggie should have been in her own bed, not sharing the sofa with me. Perhaps it was a good thing that I didn't have the energy to protest; she most likely would have argued, and we were both too tired for that.

"Good night, Maggie," I murmured against her hair. It smelled very good.

"Mmm," she said. "G'night. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For staying."

December 30th. Tuesday.

I was awake well before Maggie the next morning, despite the late night. I busied myself in the small kitchen. Pancakes, I thought. A good breakfast, with coffee, juice, fruit and bacon. Have to have bacon.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Maggie woke up, and we ate in relative silence. There was so much to do. Phone calls to make, a child to retrieve, parents to face. Makeup to buy.

"You're going to have to run to the store for me," Maggie said. "I'm not leaving the house looking like this. I'll scare Dylan!"

I didn't remind her that he had seen her the night previous, before going to the hospital. It wasn't necessary.

However, I wasn't the most comfortable with her request. But I also was not about to deny her anything. She made up a small list, taking care to be very specific about what she wanted while I tugged on my coat. I gave her a small kiss before heading out.

I opened the door and stopped dead in my tracks. I had come face to face with Celia Mitchell, Maggie's mother.

Section 12

Posted on Thursday, 19 August 2004

January 1st. Thursday.

It was very, very late when we left the Mitchell homestead. I dropped Regan off at my house, as she was nodding off in the car, then continued on to Maggie's apartment. Myself, I was still riding a rush of adrenaline provided by a midnight kiss. I could go for another hour at least and longer if given another such kiss. My mouth was still burning and I had just gotten my breath back.

Dylan was asleep and had been for a while; I carried him upstairs and laid him in his bed. I had done it so many times that it was second nature. All I had to wait for was when I could carry him upstairs to his room in my house instead of that old apartment building. Carrying Maggie over the threshold was my first priority.

"So that's my family," she said, flicking on the lamps in the living room. "I don't expect you to like them. It's a plus, but not necessary."

"I like most of them," I replied. "Your father is not what I expected."

"Did he give you the 'Make her cry and I'll break every bone in your body' line? It's one of his favourites."

"Not in so many words, but yes. It was more along the lines of 'I know every major crime boss in the tristate area.'"

"And he does. He has yet to actually make good on any of those threats, but with everything that's happened in the past week, I wouldn't be surprised if he does."

"He did give me a good bit of advice, though."

"Did he now?" She sat down, pulling her legs up underneath her. "And what was that?"

I sank into the couch next to her and played with her hair. This encouraged her to move closer and I continued to run my hands through her gorgeous mane.

"Elope."

She laughed very loudly, getting a groan from Dylan's room.

"Sorry, honey," she called. Then, back to me, "He didn't really say that!"

"Yes, he did. It seems that planning a wedding, or dealing with your mother planning a wedding is not high on his list of favourite things. All he asks is a little warning, perhaps twenty minutes, so that he can tell your mother."

"Now that I can believe. But you really don't want to elope, do you?"

"Not yet. It's not something I really want to do. I like just dating right now."

"Me too. That's not to say that I don't want to get married, but I don't think we're ready for that yet."

"Exactly. We've only been dating for-"

"Two weeks. Totally too soon to think about getting married."

She was finishing my sentences!

"I like the idea, though."

"Me too."

A few moments passed in silence. It was wonderful-I detest the word "nice"-to be in her company, and also wonderful to be free of the need to talk. I did, however, have a very good and rather devilish idea that I decided to share.

"Las Vegas is only about three hours away by plane. We could go and be back before anyone knew."

"You sly dog!" Maggie said, her head shaking in disbelief. "I was thinking the same thing. Mom'd have your head on a pike if we did that, though, because it would invariably be your fault that she was deprived of planning another lavish wedding."

"We can forget that idea, then. I rather like my head where it is."

Maggie relaxed further, snuggling close. I was curious all of a sudden; what were her expectations for that day of days?

"Do you want a lavish wedding?" I asked.

She took her time in answering. "I'd be lying if I said no, but I don't think I've ever thought about it seriously. I mean, I want a dress, and flowers, and a church, and a big party afterwards. But I wouldn't say 'lavish.' Tasteful and elegant, yes. Why? Are you planning to propose soon?"

"No," I said. "But the thought has crossed my mind." Several times, in fact.

"Really?" She leaned up and kissed my chin through the beard. "That's sweet. I remember ... Aunt Sofie tells the story best, but apparently my father proposed to Mom after their second date, diamond ring and everything. He was just getting started as a lawyer then, and Mom was still in college. They were engaged for four years before they got married."

"Just out of curiosity, how long could you wait between engagement and marriage?" May as well find out.

"Up to a year, I think. Depends on what's going on in my life, really. I know I wouldn't want to wait four years. I guess if it looked like it would take that long, I'd opt for Vegas first, then a church wedding as soon as possible. Don't act so surprised. You did ask."

"I was just amazed that you'd have this all planned out. I suppose you have all the details figured out too."

"Not all the details. I'm waiting until I need to know to actually plan. Then I figure I'll know what's right."

"Everything will fall into place?" I rubbed her shoulders and back, easing out a few knots.

"Mm-hmm."

"How are the state of things now?"

"Severely unbalanced."

It was very, very late when I left Maggie's apartment that night, or morning. I mean 5 a.m. when I say late. In some circles that's considered early, and whenever I'm with her it feels like that. It's always too early when it's time to part company with her.

Naturally, being January, my truck was cold when I got into it. A note about my truck: I leased the dark blue Ford Escape a year ago. I love my truck. I much prefer it to the little Honda sedan I had been driving since I came to America. There is more room for my things and me, and now more room for me and Maggie and Dylan and Keller.

When I first got the truck, I moved everything from the glove compartment in the Honda to the one in the Escape. Maps, pens, a notebook or two, they all made it into the new truck. So did half a pack of Camel cigarettes.

I hadn't smoked in five years at least. I had started while working on my doctorate and under an insane amount of stress. It had helped me relax then, and had provided a small escape when Emily was being unusually malicious. I stopped dead a year or so after she passed and the cigarettes had been in my car ever since.

A light snow was falling, just a dusting, while I drove home. Everything was peaceful and quiet, a picture postcard of suburbia bathed in the sterile glow of streetlamps. How did I know it wouldn't last?

"So you met Mommy and Daddy, huh?"

The ghost of Emily was seated next to me, in much the same way Maggie sat. But this was so very different. The spectre beside me was almost corporeal; I was sure that I could touch her if I reached out. I didn't.

"You're such a loser, Brian. You're trying to impress the dad while you tiptoe around the mom with your tail between your legs. Not that it's much of a tail."

Even from the spiritual realm she continued to berate and belittle me. I was too tired to listen to her unrelenting criticism. Every action, thought, reaction was thoroughly dissected and commented on. Each word she uttered dropped like a small lead weight, as usual calculated to leave the maximum damage, and meant to leave my ego and self-esteem all over bruises.

I did my best to ignore her. She's a figment of my imagination, I told myself. She's not real. The dead cannot hurt the living. I repeated the words like a protective mantra, even as I felt the crushing weight of depression settle on me.

"And you were discussing marriage, too! How quaint. You don't remember what marriage did to you, though, do you? If you think what happened was my fault, you're sadly mistaken. You like your freedom. What makes you think you'll like being saddled with a wife and kid. You won't like it!"

"That's not true!" I said, unable to stop myself. All I got in return was a cackle of laughter.

In the past I had been able to fend off the cravings rather well. Not this time. I needed a cigarette. This wasn't a passive or suggested want. It was a need, a sudden, real need for the nicotine. My hand was shaking as I reached for the pack of Camels and took one out. I almost burned myself lighting it. That first drag, even on a stale cigarette, was magic.

I opened the window a few centimetres and exhaled. Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought heard Emily laugh as the smoke wafted out into the January air.

January 2nd. Friday.

Regan caught me smoking. One cigarette, later at night, out on the back porch of my house. She chewed my rear out so badly it truly hurt to sit down.

"I don't believe this, Brian!" she said. "If I can't smoke, you sure as hell can't!"

"It's not my fault Davy's allergic!"

"Does Maggie know?"

"No, and she's not going to. This is a temporary thing."

I put the cigarette back in my mouth in an act of stubborn defiance. Regan took it and stamped it out on the porch.

"Right, temporary. Like teaching in America. Wasn't that supposed to be two or three years? It's been what, thirteen, fourteen?"

"This is different."

"Damn right!" She rifled through my pockets and found the crumpled pack. She waved them in front of my face. "These can kill you. Relocation only makes it difficult to invite you for dinner."

"Are you finished?" I asked. I wanted my cigarettes back.

"I don't know how you'll be able to keep this from her," she said. Obviously she wasn't finished. "I mean, you know as well as me that the smell sticks to anything and everything. If she doesn't smell the smoke, she'll smell whatever you'll use to cover it."

"I've realised that, thank you. I've got more faith in Maggie's intelligence than you apparently think."

I reached for the cigarettes still clutched in Regan's hand. She crushed them without much effort; after all, the pack was almost empty. But to add insult to injury she threw the packet out into the snow, just inside the circle light provided by the floodlights.

"I know creative people like us are more susceptible to addiction, but you're above this, Brian! Stop now before it gets worse. You gave it up once, you can do it again."

"I will. Just not now."

Regan groaned and stormed back into the house, locking the door after her.

January 3rd. Saturday.

I took Regan to the airport early Saturday morning with only a slight pang. I probably wouldn't see any more of my family until August, but it was nice to have my house to myself again. I could have Maggie over at any time without the snarky comments from my little sister.

Maggie and I met her parents for lunch. Her mother was barely civil to me, and I think that was only because we were in public. The meal was finished and the women had gone shopping, leaving Mr. Mitchell and myself to ourselves. We adjourned to a billiards table to discuss more weighty matters.

"What are your intentions for my daughter?" Richard Mitchell asked point-blank. He gave me time to answer by lining up a shot and sinking it.

"Nothing but honourable," I replied. I refused to be intimidated by him, which I didn't think was his intention in the first place. "I hope to marry her someday, if she'll have me."

I took my turn and missed. It could safely be said that I had other things on my mind more important than a game of snooker.

"Bit soon to be thinking about marriage, isn't it?" It was a very quick reply; he had been expecting me to say something like that.

"Pardon me, sir, but I did say someday, not tomorrow or next week."

"Good answer. I'm sure you can appreciate my concern. She is my little girl, and I want to make sure she and Dylan are taken care of."

"I can, sir. I love your daughter and your grandson very much. I will do everything in my power to keep them safe and happy."

There was a fair pause as we studied each other.

"I believe you. I don't want to, but I do." He sunk his next three shots without saying anything. "Someday you'll understand what it feels like when your princess finds a new hero. You're not what I expected."

I wondered at this; did Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell have similar expectations? It was probably best to go with the obvious answer.

"I'm sure."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Maggie chose you over that snot rag Walker. But guys like him, I call 'em Ken dolls, guys like that have always been her type. When she started talking about this guy she was interested in, Brian Campbell, I figured he was like them. An air-headed supermodel type with more bleach on his head than in his bathroom. I'm glad you're not like that."

"Me too. I imagine it would make being taken seriously somewhat difficult."

He chuckled as he set up another game.

"I like you," he said.

"Thank you. It takes a load off my mind."

He laughed again. "I'm sure it does. Maggie tells me you're something of a soccer fan."

The tension disappeared for the most part as the conversation turned to less sensitive subjects. The differences between American and European football, for instance, and the similarities between followers of both. It would be too much to hope that we left that afternoon as friends, but I was confident that there was a significant amount of mutual respect.

January 5th. Monday.

There was a pattern developing. Monday afternoons were spent in Vera Stevens' office, hashing out my psychological problems. This was my second visit.

"Anything new you'd care to report?" she asked, her large green eyes glinting from behind glasses. I didn't know she wore glasses, and I suspect she doesn't need them.

"I met Maggie's parents, started smoking again, and have started seeing Emily's ghost at least once a day."

Vera paused in her writing.

"That's a bit of a development," she said, "Smoking. Is this a welcome change?"

"That is a rather stupid question, Vera," I said, letting the contempt show. "Of course it isn't. It's been pointed out to me several times that by continuing to smoke, I am slowly committing suicide."

"You quit once, apparently, since you said that you started again. Why not try quitting again?"

"Because I don't want to! I am an adult. If I want to smoke, it's my choice. This is helping me relax and deal with everything that's going on right now."

"Was meeting her parents really that bad? Did anything else happen that you forgot to mention?" Her voice was pitched a little higher than normal.

I waited a moment to allow her time to calm down, then told her a severely edited version of what had happened a week before. She had a very vivid imagination, and she filled in many of the details I left out.

"I can see how that would be very stressful," she exhaled. "Especially combined with the continued visions of your late wife. But I would prefer you find a different way of dealing with the stress."

She held up a hand to stop my protests.

"I can't condone it. I can't make you stop, either. That's your choice. You're an intelligent, loving man. I just can't understand why you're doing this to yourself. If or when you want to stop, I can help you."

"Thanks."

The conversation continued. I told her about what Emily had said.

"Do you really think marriage is what made you so insecure?"

"No. Yes. I'm not sure of anything anymore."

"What's the one thing you want most in this world, Brian? The one thing that would make you the happiest man on earth?"

"Being married to Maggie and having Dylan for my son. They're a package deal, can't have one without the other."

"I would hope so," Vera said, making more notes on her scrap of paper. "Do you think Maggie would act the same way Emily did? Have you told her about Emily yet, or the smoking?"

"No to all three. I'll tell her when I'm ready, and I'll be quitting soon enough. I don't plan on this becoming a steady habit again."

She didn't believe me. "Well. You know 'the best laid plans,'" she said, leaving off there.

"'Of mice and men often go awry.' Yes, I'm familiar with the phrase. I've got control over this situation, though."

"I'm sure you do," she said, still sceptical. "You need to be careful, and you need to talk with her about this. She'll begin to think you don't trust her, and that's very bad for relationships, especially ones that look to be as serious as you hope this one is."

"I am aware of that, thank you," I grumbled. Why must everyone criticize my choices?

That afternoon, after my eventful second therapy session, I stopped at Max and Stephanie's for a bit of a pick-me-up. That family was usually good for a bit of good cheer, but not that day.

Max was out, which was only slightly unusual, since I couldn't think of any good reason why he would be gone. The children were upstairs and in the living room, playing dolls and video games. Stephanie was in the kitchen savagely chopping vegetables for dinner.

"I don't want you near my children," she said without looking at me.

"Beg pardon?" I asked, sitting down abruptly on a stool.

"You've started smoking again. I don't want you to influence my children."

"I'm not smoking now. May I remind you that I was smoking when Bethany was born?"

"And you quit before she knew. That was also seven years ago, and need I remind you that there are two more additions to my family, both of which are very observant and good at asking pointed questions?"

"They take after their mother," I said. I was doing my best to diffuse the situation. Having someone like Stephanie angry with me is not fun.

She sighed. "I don't know what you're thinking, Brian, and frankly I don't want to know. I do know that Maggie doesn't like smokers and it won't take her long to find out. Then she'll go ballistic."

"You won't tell her, will you?" I asked. "Please tell me you won't."

"I won't have to! She'll smell it. She might even taste it. I've kissed smokers before. It's disgusting, really like licking an ashtray. Even with gum and mouthwash and all that crap. You're on thin ice."

"I've heard. It was one of Emily's favourite remarks."

Stephanie muttered something under her breath that I chose not to hear.

"It was very passive-aggressive of you to continue when the woman you lived for said she hated it," she said aloud, shovelling diced potatoes into a hot skillet. The smell of garlic was becoming apparent. "What will you do when Maggie says it?"

"I'll be quitting soon enough. This is temporary." I had been saying that a lot recently.

"You had better make sure that none of my children catch you smoking. Or Dylan. You know as well as I do that he'll follow whatever example you set. You scratch your butt a certain way, and he'll do it. You have to be careful!"

"I know. I'm not smoking much, just one or two a day, and only outside."

She sighed again. Why did no one believe me?

"Where's Max?" I asked, quite innocent as I changed the subject.

"I don't know," she snapped. The steaks she was preparing shuddered as her fist slammed into them, one punch for each word. "I'm not my husband's keeper."

The most moronic village idiot could pick up on the verbal and physical clues she was giving, practically handing them out on a silver platter with clever garnishes and carefully drawn calligraphy.

"What's wrong?" I asked, not so much an idiot as to ask 'is everything all right?'

"Everything's fine," she replied. Her voice was firm and was definitely covering something. "We're both good at denial, Brian. I'll know when I can't take it any more, and I hope you do to."

Rehearsals for A Midsummer Night's Dream started that night with a read through with the whole cast. The cast was huge, even with some doubling. All the fairies were doing double duty as King Theseus' court, mainly to be set dressing.

"Okay, people!" Jack Musorsky trilled, calling the assembly to order. "I hope everyone has a handle on their lines."

A general murmur rose from the gathered cast. We were all in the plush red seats of the theatre, completely disorganised but comfortable. That was how Jack worked.

He began to pass out rehearsal schedules and a floor plan of the proposed set, and the murmuring increased.

"Now look," he said, more a whine than anything else, "Here's what Jerry and I decided on. It's like a 1920s speakeasy. The king's court will be here, Titania's bower here, and we'll use the bandstand for the stage for the mechanicals. But we'll start blocking tomorrow or the day after. Let's get through the read-though first."

We got to the third act. When a large group of actors get together, strange things happen. Time seems to slow down and speed up at random intervals as conversation and improvisation picks up. Jack was frustrated, but handled it well. It was the beginning of the semester, after all, and everyone wanted to catch up.

"That was interesting," Maggie said later as we walked out to the parking lot.

I was carrying Dylan, which had become my task since the Madrigal dinner. He was fast asleep, slumped against my shoulder, one arm around my neck.

"And it will only get more so," I replied. "Jack's picked a very eccentric cast."

"I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

"I hope so. We have six weeks to get this right."

"Then we'd better run lines. How about we get together tomorrow night after rehearsal?" She grinned up at me, a little starlight sparkle in her eyes. Obviously that wasn't her only intention.

"Only to run lines?" I asked as one eyebrow raised. She just smiled. I didn't object to a deviation in the plans. Any time spent with Maggie was time well spent.

Maggie opened the door to the Chief and I gently set Dylan inside. Oh, for the time when we could take one vehicle to and from one house, when we wouldn't have to say goodbye!

She kissed me and pulled away. "Goodnight sweetheart. Get some sleep. You'll need your energy for tomorrow."

My imagination raced ahead, and my face must have registered some of what I was thinking because Maggie laughed.

"You're a dirty old man," she said, still laughing.

"You're the one who said it, not me," I said. Another kiss, long and sweet. "I love you."

"I love you too. Good night."

She swung up into the truck and was gone.

January 6th. Tuesday.

Before my first class of Classical Romance for the semester, Amy Marlowe handed me a message from the president of the university, Alexander Kirkmont. I was to meet him directly after class or 10:15, whichever came first. It was imperative that I be there; the message didn't say as much, but I knew it had to do with Maggie.

It was customary to let students go early that first class, once syllabi and calendars were handed out. There was little else to do.

Even though I was at the president's office at 9:25 that morning, it was still nearly ten before his secretary told me I could go in. The door closed behind me, pulled shut by the secretary, sealing me inside.

Mr. Kirkmont was on the phone but gestured for me to sit. It was another five minutes before he could speak to me. He leaned forward over his desk, his fingertips pressed against each other.

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to handle this," he said after a pause. "We've known each other for what, ten, fifteen years? I've seen you go through a lot, and I'm glad you've finally found someone. But. Maggie is a student, and you know how that looks."

"Will I lose my job over this?" I asked. My whole body had gone cold. If I lost my job, how would I be able to someday provide for Maggie and Dylan?

"No. You shouldn't, provided a few precautions are taken. It would be best if you didn't advertise that you two are seeing each other. Please, no public displays of affection on or near campus. Don't give the gossip mills any material to work with."

I relaxed, exhaling and settling back into the chair. I still had my job and I could take care of those I loved.

"Understood. I'm not about to go shout it from the rooftops, as much as I'd like to. Max Parker, on the other hand-"

"I've already talked with him," he said, a wry smile crossing his face. "But I suspect Maggie won't need the lecture. And the theatre department has been warned. I don't want to have this talk again. Next time, legal will be involved and things will get ugly."

I nodded. This was what I had expected and yet not. So long as Maggie and I kept our relationship low-key, and for the most part out of the public eye, everything would be fine. For the time being.

"Ah- Um, what if, in the distant future, things were to progress in a more serious vein?" I asked, halting and unsure.

"How distant a future?"

"I don't know. Three months, a year. Four or five. I don't know."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. You're up for a sabbatical next year, aren't you?"

"Next fall. 2006, I believe."

"That would be the optimal time for anything to happen. Either that or wait until she's finished here."

It was unwanted advice, but still useful. President Kirkmont was looking out for the reputation of the school, naturally, but I didn't like being told when it would be best to marry. If I had fallen in love with anyone else, any non-student, there wouldn't be a problem. But Maggie was a student and so there would be complications. Nothing we couldn't handle.

The read through that night was uneventful. As uneventful as possible, given the company; it is difficult to get a group of thirty some odd theatre people together and not have something happen. That night saw little activity, just the ordinary chatter and inattentiveness.

I was sitting, lounging rather, in Maggie's apartment later that evening. We had been running lines for what seemed like hours but was really only one and a half; it was midnight and Keller was in Dylan's room, presumably sleeping with him, a breathing teddy bear. Maggie was getting a snack and would hopefully curl up with me on the sofa; I was trying to read the notes in the Midsummer script. Why the printers have to make them so small confounds me.

"I didn't know you needed reading glasses," she said, sitting down beside me with a pint of ice cream and one spoon. I quickly took them off. "No, no, don't. If you need 'em, use 'em. Cherry Garcia?"

She held the pint out to me and I just looked at her.

"I don't like wearing them," I said, setting the glasses on the side table. Maggie didn't say anything, just held out a spoonful of ice cream. I have a soft spot for Cherry Garcia and beautiful women feeding it to me. "Thank you. President Kirkmont had a little talk with me today."

"Oh? And what did our fearless leader have to say?"

I was sorely tempted to forget all about it, what with Maggie settled in next to me.

"Not to advertise the fact that we're seeing each other. If some kind of scandal erupts, I could lose my job. If we are to get married, it should happen while I'm on sabbatical next fall or when you've finished your degree."

She was quiet, eating her ice cream while formulating a reply.

"I expected as much," she said finally.

"Come again?"

"I work for a lawyer, sweetheart. I asked Mr. Bradley what would happen if a college professor were to date a student, and he said basically the same thing. It would be overlooked for the most part, so long as it wasn't talked about or anything happened; and if for some reason there was a scandal, like if the student got pregnant, broke up with the prof, then sued the school, the prof could be fired. I didn't know about this sabbatical thing."

"It hasn't been officially approved yet," I grumbled. "Not this coming fall, but the one after."

"You'll get it," she said, passing the spoon back to me for another mouthful.

We sat together in amicable silence for a few minutes longer, finishing off the pint of ice cream and enjoying each other's company.

"I don't want to go home."

"So don't. There's plenty of room here on the couch for you."

"With that kind of hospitality, it's a wonder I haven't left already."

"Aw, come on. Christmas was a fluke, and as much as I enjoyed it, we must both remember that I have a young, impressionable son who would love to take any sign of cohabitation as an indicator of something more serious. Right now, that's a bad thing. You falling asleep on the sofa is much easier to accept and write off than to find you sleeping in my bed."

Maggie rolled off the couch, leaving me alone while she put the now empty carton in the sink.

"I should be going," I said, gradually lifting myself from the oh-so-comfortable sofa. I imagined feeling every joint pop as I stretched.

"If you want to stay, go ahead. You're welcome to. But with Dylan here, anything more than my living room is unacceptable."

"I understand. I'll go tonight, leave Keller here, and you can drop him by my office tomorrow morning. Is that all right?"

"Fine. I love you," she said, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing my mouth.

"When's the next time we can ship Dylan off to your relatives?" I asked after some time. Maggie grinned and shook her head.

Section 13

Posted on Thursday, 26 August 2004

It took a bit of juggling but I arranged my schedule so that I could pick Dylan up from day care an hour earlier every day. We went to the apartment and would have dinner ready by the time Maggie got home. Then we'd go on to rehearsal and afterward back to run lines until all we heard was nonsense. Elizabethan English can be mind-numbing at times.

Rehearsals went well, or well enough, considering the cast. Again, it is important to keep in mind that the majority of the actors in that particular performance were theatre students from Smith Union, and they all had some hang-up that interfered at some point. I cannot speak for every theatre student or actor, but it has been my experience that they are mostly insane, or at least a substantial mix of that and brilliance.

Take for example a run through of the final scenes, where the Mechanicals are preparing to present their play to the Duke and his bride. Jack had them changing into their costumes while the Duke and his steward were discussing the order of entertainment; Drew was playing Flute/Thisbe, and without the luxury of a decent temporary prop was miming his way through the costume change. Tessa waved something at him from offstage. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a very short and very revealing plaid something (perhaps a rug?) wrapped around his midsection. All action stopped for a moment as everyone stared. Then, with all the dignity and courage he could muster while wearing the makeshift kilt, Drew bolted across the stage shouting "Freeeeeedom!" at the top of his lungs.

We were all helpless with laughter. Drew was a fan of Mel Gibson, and in some respects looked like the actor, with dark hair and blue eyes. Maggie would say Drew has his charming, mischievous smile, but I didn't see it. Perhaps I wasn't looking for it. At any rate, Drew kept the thing on through the rest of the scene, even up to notes, and it was difficult to not stare as he flopped around on stage and still managed to stay decent. It was like a train wreck.

Another time, Jack was in despair about the set being finished on time; he had walked into the scene shop to find three workers there, two of which were playing a game of table tennis on the main workstation. The table had even been painted green and quadrants marked out with masking tape. Jerry Haller, the scene shop foreman, technical director, designer and occasional director for the New Civic Theatre was nowhere to be seen and the set wasn't even halfway built. When one of the workers suggested that Jack join the game, he nearly had a nervous breakdown and had to be lead away before he dissolved into a twittering, twitching shell of his former self. Jerry was quickly found and set things to rights, smoothing over the incident with his usual charm and the assurance that no matter how things looked at that time, the set would be finished by tech week and would be to his usual standards.

Everyone got a lot of enjoyment out of calling Max the Fairy King. He played to them and at least off stage made Oberon a flamingly gay character. It was painfully obvious at times that he was mocking Jack whenever he was safely out of sight. Then Jack would be making fun of Max and his habit of drooling after any woman old enough to vote. It was all in fun, though; as long as I've known them they have always had that rivalry. Jack never advertised his preference, but it wasn't difficult to determine once he was introduced. It was something most everyone liked about him, that and his incessant need for coffee.

Rehearsals were going well. I much preferred what went on afterward of course, but as always the reward was much sweeter when it had been earned. One afternoon I calculated that I spent as much time at Maggie's apartment as I did at home, if not more.

"Okay," Maggie said one night, sitting cross-legged in a large, over stuffed armchair. "So I've lived here all my life, and you've been here for thirteen some odd years. Alyson went to Smith Union and met her husband there. Sarah just graduated from there. Bradley and Marker do business with Smith Union on occasion, and my parents are friends with some of the professors there. We shop at the most of the same places and probably have attended some of the same social functions. How have we not met before?"

"An amazing twist of fate?" I suggested from my place on the couch. I had long since made a note to make sure that couch made it into the family room at my house.

Maggie threw a pillow at me, which I caught and tucked behind my head.

"I'm serious!" she said. "This has been bugging me for a while. I mean, Alyson practically lived in the English department and she never once mentioned the foxy Irish professor. Sarah was all over the place and definitely would have said something about meeting someone like you. Why didn't we meet before?"

"I don't know. I never had either of your sisters for class, at least I don't think I did. What I think is that whatever higher power in charge of these things kept our paths from crossing until we needed to meet. There is an Italian proverb that says that the right man comes at the right time. I'm sure the sentiment holds true for women."

"So the Powers That Be decided to keep me from meeting you until I needed a steady, dependable man. I'll buy that. And you needed a spunky woman like me."

More like I needed a woman to snap me out of the rut I had gotten into, I thought, and the responsibility of a family.

"You could say that," I said. She came over and I made room for her on the sofa. "I think what I needed most was a change. Becoming involved with you was a big change, one that I am fully glad to have made."

"No matter how long it took to make?" she asked, grinning impishly and poking my stomach. I grabbed her hands to stop the attack.

"You were the one who said you didn't have time for a relationship, then turned around and kissed me not an hour later."

She blushed and pulled away. "I had hoped you would forget about that."

"Not bloody likely. It gave me hope. Otherwise I might have given up."

Maggie fidgeted and pulled something from around her neck. It was the stamped coin I had given her that night in November, now dulled from long wear. I touched the warm metal, Maggie covering my hand with hers.

"I'm glad, then," she said quietly. "I've only taken it off once, that night at the hospital."

"Maggie-"

"Shh." She put a finger to my lips to stop the flow of words. "Let's not get into that. It's in the past."

Would she say the same thing when I told her about Emily, and everything entailed with her?

Therapy was something else. Vera and I were making little progress as far as Emily was concerned. By the end of January she was constantly in my periphery vision, scowling and dogging my every step. I was reluctant to accept the help offered by Vera Stevens, as much as I needed it, and so naturally relief was long in coming.

One thing we had agreed on was that those visions were an embodiment of my insecurities and doubts about my own abilities, a result of the years of abuse at Emily's hand. They had lain dormant for the years after her death and had been reawakened when things became serious with Maggie.

It was stressful, not telling Maggie about Emily. But I didn't want to scare her away. I thought that if she knew I had been married, and to a woman like Emily, that she would want nothing to do with me. I felt myself to be tainted goods, and so long as Maggie didn't know, she wouldn't think the same.

I continued to smoke. It started with one or two a day, and I would immediately brush my teeth and rinse with a strong mouthwash. I would smoke only outside and make sure I had changed my clothes before meeting with Maggie and Dylan. Gradually, as pressure mounted between the play, teaching, therapy and my relationship with my girlfriend and her son, the number of cigarettes increased. I smoked outside my house late, late at night, well after leaving Maggie's apartment; I smoked in the morning in a secluded corner of the university, where the other smoking members of the faculty gathered. I could easily write off the scent then as having picked it up in casual conversation.

"You can't go on like this," Vera said one afternoon. "You're killing yourself with stress and nicotine. I have a very good feeling that you'd feel much better and be able to deal with everything if you'd just tell her."

"No!" I cried, gripping the back of a chair so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Why? Couldn't she handle it?" Vera made notes while she spoke.

"Of course she could," I muttered. "She shouldn't have to, though."

"Tell me about Maggie," she asked. "What's she like?"

I sat down and conjured a mental picture of my girlfriend. Her smile, her eyes, the wisps of hair that always escaped the tie holding the rest back.

"Maggie is... the most wonderful woman in the world. Beautiful, intelligent, caring. She makes me feel invincible. She's creative and spontaneous and would do anything for her son."

"So she's a Mary Poppins kind of woman, practically perfect in every way. It sounds to me like you have Maggie on a pedestal. That's not necessarily where a woman wants to be."

"I don't have her on a pedestal," I said. "Do I?"

"I think so. You don't want to bother her with mundane, worldly things like your marriage to Emily. It seems like she's a goddess and you're the schlub that worships her, and you only want to offer her what's pure and good. That's okay. But I think she'd much rather be with you on the ground, helping you work through this."

"With respect, you don't know Maggie. You can't be sure she wouldn't leave me."

"I am certain she won't leave you. Brian, being a widower isn't a horrible thing. I know that if I were Maggie I would be concerned if you hadn't been in a serious relationship before me. I think you should tell her about Emily sooner rather than later, before stress eats you up alive. The longer it takes, the more likely she'll get mad. You've been together for more than a month, and with the relationship progressing as you say it is, she will probably find it insulting that you didn't say something sooner."

January 30th. Friday.

Maggie and I had gone out to dinner on the last Friday in January, a rare night off from rehearsals for Midsummer. It was nothing special, just a casual restaurant then a mediocre movie. Dylan was at his Aunt Alyson's house with his cousins, which gave his mother and I a few precious hours alone.

"When's your birthday?" Maggie asked, digging into an ice cream sundae after dinner.

"Why?" I countered slowly. My fortieth birthday was not something I was looking forward too, and it was coming up fast.

"I'm just curious."

"I don't want a party, sweetheart," I said. "I don't want to be reminded I'm turning forty."

"Who said anything about a party?" She was intently studying her dessert, which did not do anything to reassure me. "Maybe I want to treat you to dinner or something."

"I don't believe you."

She pouted.

"And I'm surprised you didn't call Regan or Mum to find out. Wasn't that with the information your Uncle Shawn found out about me?"

"He was just looking to see if you had a criminal record."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. Now you're being mean. Daddy had him run the check."

"I'm sorry. It just- It seems to be a bit of an invasion of privacy. I could have told you if you had asked."

"It's much easier to run a background check. Anyway, I didn't even know about it until he told me, and I said the same thing. And you're getting off topic. When is your birthday?"

"February 5th. No parties! Dinner with you and Dylan will be fine."

"Okay."

I still didn't believe her.

I didn't stay at her house that night, or she at mine. Keller had been sick all day, having eaten a packet of beef jerky Sarah had left at my house the previous afternoon; she picked Dylan up before rehearsal. I didn't want to take the dog to Maggie's apartment, and it was easier to clean up messes made on a hardwood floor. That and the rugs were already stained at my house, and she would have to pay extra to have hers cleaned.

No, come midnight I was home alone, getting ready for bed and an early rehearsal the next day. Keller was lounging on a cushion of old towels, occasionally emitting a foul belch or fart. The poor dog. I suppose it taught him to not get on the counter in the future. One can hope, right?

Quite suddenly there was a frantic pounding at my front door. As a sign of his illness, Keller only whined and whimpered. I finished pulling on my pyjamas and went downstairs to investigate.

Max was the one attempting to beat down my door. He pushed past me, his usual good cheer gone. He had a suitcase with him, which he threw down in the living room before flopping onto the sofa.

"I messed up," he groaned, without preamble or any form of greeting.

"Hello to you too. How?"

"I kissed someone who was most definitely not Stephanie."

There was a man on my sofa known for his epic flirtations and often suspected of letting his eyes do more than rove. He had just admitted to committing a major sin, one that could ruin his life and marriage. His manner suggested severe remorse, which was unexpected given his reputation; but then, those who knew him also knew that much of his behaviour was affected, and that he was completely devoted to his wife.

"Was this planned, or-?"

He was incredulous. "Hell no! Would I plan something like that? I was ambushed."

"Ambushed?"

"Yeah, ambushed. Got any beer?"

"Always. But I don't think you need any right now. Your options are water and soda. Or milk."

Max chose water. I retrieved a glass for him and a few aspirin. I couldn't be certain, but I believed he had been crying at some point. Naturally I said nothing to that effect, as he was already wounded in spirit and to admit to crying would hurt more. A man's pride was at stake.

"Did Stephanie kick you out?"

"Stupid question, Brian!" he said. "Practically had a bag packed for me when I got home not a half hour ago."

"What were you doing that you got home so late? We didn't have rehearsal tonight."

He fidgeted. I waited, staring. He folded.

"I was at work. Not at school. I got a second job at Legends, you know, that ritzy department story. It's just janitor stuff."

"Do you need money that badly?" I asked, fearing the welfare of my friends and their children.

"No, not like that. Mine and Steph's anniversary is coming up, right? I got the job to make some extra cash so's I can take her on a nice cruise before the little one comes. You'd think I could get something better than a janitor, what with having a Master's in contemporary lit and composition. Anyway, tonight I was making my rounds at closing, and I stopped at one of the makeup counters. There's this perky little blonde chick who works there, Lucille. She's got loads of... personality, she's been hitting on me since I started, and really, who can blame her?"

"You're getting off topic."

"Right. So tonight I stop by to ask about a bottle of perfume for Stephanie. Lucille sprays a load of this stuff, Summer Evening or something, right in my face, and it's everywhere, my eyes, nose, in my mouth. And it smells like a flower shop exploded in a candy story, really sweet and flowery. And like it was brewed in a dirty bathtub. Steph wouldn't like it one bit. So I said 'No, thank you,' and went about my business."

"That sounds perfectly innocent. How were you 'ambushed'?"

"I'm getting to that. So I was done at about 10:30, and heading out to my car, when who do I see but Lucille. Her car had died, and could I take her home? And me being stupid, I didn't check to see if it really was dead and I told her I could take her home. Oh, and did I mention she lives in that trailer park off Gresham? So we went, and when we got to her trailer (cheap trash that it/she is) she wouldn't get out of the car. It's nice and warm, she said, and she really doesn't want to go outside just yet. She sits in the car for a full ten minutes at least. And not just sit. She starts touching my hand and my arm, and is laying on the schmaltz with a trowel, which is also apparently how she applies her makeup, I found on closer inspection. I ask her to stop, and she leans in and lays a kiss on me that would make a monk reconsider his vows. God help me, but I kissed back. Then I practically pushed her out of the car. I couldn't get the lipstick off, even with the makeup remover stuff Steph's got. So I got home, and Steph saw the lipstick and smelled that cheap perfume and the rest is history. I think she's been suspecting it for a while, but this was the first time, ever ever ever that anything like this has happened."

"Are you sure?"

I had apparently grown a third eye and my beard must have turned a violent shade of puce if his expression was to be believed.

"Would you ever cheat on Maggie?" he asked. I shook my head. "I didn't think so. I would never cheat on Stephanie, not on purpose. That chick's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"You need to tell her that, then," I said. "Go home and apologise."

"I don't think she'll talk to me. She sure as hell wouldn't listen to me earlier. I think it'd be better if I waited a couple days, let her cool down. Can I crash here?"

"Yeah. You know where the spare room is."

"Is that the one the Gypsy Broad stayed in?"

"Yes. Don't worry, it's been properly fumigated and the bedclothes burned."

"Good. Don't want any of her craziness to rub off on me."

Max stomped up the stairs, lugging his suitcase behind him. Rather than follow, I called his wife.

"Hello?" she asked. She had certainly been in better moods before. I didn't blame her one bit.

"It's me."

"Oh. I take it he's there, then?"

"Yes, your wayward husband is here, safe and sound, fully repentant and wanting to talk to you, but will wait a few days to give you some time to calm down."

"Did he try to feed you that line about being ambushed?"

"Yes, but I've picked up a few tricks from you and watched for other things. I think he's telling the truth, and he really is sorry. Give him a chance."

She grumbled.

"You don't need to do anything now. Like I said, he'll be here for a few days. Think things over a bit, and if you want to talk to either of us, you know where to call. Give my love to the kids."

Another grumble, this time about dogs and flea baths, and the conversation was finished. Goodbyes were said, the connection terminated, and I was free to sleep.

February 5th. Thursday.

Max moved back into his house the Monday previous. He was still apologising and making grand gestures of regret and remorse days later. Stephanie also made a token apology, claiming to have acted under the influence of a particularly vicious swell of hormones. Max accepted it gratefully, and I wondered vaguely what Maggie would be like when she was four months pregnant.

I made it through most of my natal day without being reminded of my age. Yes, there was a cake waiting in the English department, complete with ice cream and that nice whipped icing. There were cards. Dylan had drawn a picture for me which I pasted on my office door. But there was no word from Maggie other than the promise of dinner after rehearsal.

I should have known something was up when no one at rehearsal acknowledged that it was my birthday. No one. Not one soul said anything, which really should have struck me as odd, what with Maggie, Dylan, and Max in the cast. Still, I never saw it coming.

"We have to go back," Maggie said. "I left my purse in the theatre."

"It's all right. I'll drive."

"But my money's in there. I can't treat you without money."

We went back into the oddly dark theatre. Maggie and I had been two of the first people out not five minutes earlier. Somewhere in the back of my mind this registered as strange.

"Got it. Let's go."

That must have been the cue. A bright white spotlight flipped on, the sharp circle of light focused on a large foam tombstone left over from a Smith Union alum's production of "Sleepy Hollow, the Musical," which had been rather good.

One by one, the cast of A Midsummer Night's Dream, as well as a few others, filed out of the wings. They were all dressed in black and carrying bouquets of silk flowers. A few of the men carried a large casket, which still wouldn't have fit me. If I wasn't mistaken, Drew followed wrapped in toilet paper, apparently playing the role of a mummy. Dylan was last, crying hysterically.

"Very funny," I said, walking down one of the aisles. "You can stop now, I get the joke."

I got a good look at the tombstone. It had been altered to read "Here lies Brian Campbell, who died of embarrassment on his fortieth birthday."

"What the-?"

Someone let go of a fly line and a screen lowered onto the stage. A data projector appeared.

"Oh, God!"

There was a picture of me, no more than three years old, standing in a pasture on my family's farm in Ireland. There were several sheep around me, and I was naked as a jaybird.

"I had nothing to do with that, sweetheart, I swear to God." Maggie said. She was doing her best to not laugh, but the corners of her mouth were twitching uncontrollably.

"This has Regan written all over it," I said.

"Not entirely." Max pointed to the lower corner of the photograph. There was a caption.

"Just remember that no matter how old you get, you'll always be my little boy. Love, Mum."

"Regan just gave it to me," Max said.

"I'm gonna kill her."

"No, you won't," Maggie said. "You were an adorable child."

"I'd rather the world not know that, though." Then the compliment sunk in. "Adorable?"

"Oh, yeah. You had the cutest cheeks."

"Which ones?"

"I'll let you choose. At least now I can say that I've seen you naked and was very impressed."

"I was three!"

"So? It's still the truth. I just leave out a few details and let my audience believe what they want." Maggie slipped her arms around my neck and I kissed her.

"So you liked what you saw?" I asked, a bit of the rogue coming through. Maggie grinned.

"Oh, yeah. I mean, if three year old you is any indication of forty year old you, I've got no complaints."

We had discussed the issue of sex. A few times. We were going to wait a while longer, which suited both of us ... most of the time.

"Was your birthday as bad as you thought?" she asked.

"No. The picture was an unpleasant surprise, but it wasn't horrible. You still owe me dinner."

"Tomorrow night, love. We can order take out and stay in. Max and Stephanie will keep Dylan over night."

"That's very suggestive," I said, wrapping an arm around her slender waist.

"That's the idea."

February 14th. Saturday.

"This is a fine way to be spending Valentine's Day," I grumbled. We were still in rehearsal the first day of tech week.

"There will be other Valentine's Days," Maggie said, sighing. "How much longer until this one's over?"

"I thought it was," Tessa said. "We've gone through it twice all ready. Not that I've got anything better to do," she added once Maggie and I glared at her.

"Brian, can you talk to Jack?" Caesar and Drew approached. "We've been here since ten this morning, and it's almost ten now."

"Our brains have turned to mush. I'm going to have to get a ride back to campus. I've forgotten how to get there!"

"You're exaggerating, Drew," Tessa said. "It's just up the street."

"Maybe. I was supposed to meet Jen three hours ago to go see a movie. It's our two year anniversary."

Tessa's smile became fixed at the mention of Drew's girlfriend. It was a well known fact that she had had a crush on him since her first year.

"But Jack'll listen to you," Caesar said, changing the subject somewhat and refocusing the attention on me. "We're not going to get any better tonight. Probably would be best to call it quits before we start babbling incoherently in Elizabethan English."

"You mean we haven't all ready?" I asked, looking at Maggie. She rolled her eyes. "Here methought we didst speaketh thusly ... naturally."

There was a groan from the assembled cast.

"Yes, I'll talk to him. I can't guarantee results, but I'll try." I added a rather loud aside to the students. "I want to get home too. I've got a dozen roses waiting for Maggie."

They laughed while Maggie struck me with her script.

Jack was stationed in the back of the theatre, coffee carafe in one hand and prompt script in the other.

"Jack, do you have a minute?"

"Yeah," he said, looking frantically between the set design and actual set, which was still lacking in many things, namely walls.

"Do you know what time it is?"

"I broke my watch this morning."

"It's nearly ten. P.M. At night. We've been here for twelve hours. Is there any chance that we might be getting out soon?"

"What?"

"Jack, we've been here half the day. We want to go home. Half the cast has dropped from pure exhaustion. Dylan's been asleep for two hours at least. You'll have a mutiny on your hands if we don't get out soon."

"What?"

This clearly wasn't registering with him. His eyes were glazed over, and no amount of caffeine would snap him out of it. I looked down at the prompt book; it was all over smudges from changed blocking and coffee dribbles. And it was twelve pages off from where we had stopped.

"You need to sleep. I'll give you a ride home. That way we'll give Jerry a bit of time to get more of the set finished. I'm sure there'll be walls tomorrow."

Jerry had appeared behind Jack and gave me a thumbs up. A few of his set crew were behind him yet, all ready to start work.

"Right. Okay."

He fell forward onto the table and started snoring. I made the announcement to the cast, which was met with whoops that failed to wake the sleeping cast members.

Max and I lead and/or carried Jack out to my truck while Tessa cleaned up his mess. I helped Maggie get Dylan into the Chief and told her that I would be at her apartment as soon as possible. We left Jerry and his crew of carpenters to work their magic and went home.

Keller scampered into the apartment before me and launched himself into Dylan's room.

"Well, I know who he prefers," I said, presenting Maggie with a bouquet of slightly wilted roses. "Happy Valentine's, my love."

"Happy Valentine's. Thank you."

She pulled a plate out of the refrigerator. On it was a perfectly round cheesecake.

"Cheesecake? Did you buy it?"

"Nope. I made it." My scepticism showed. "It's one thing I can make without your help. And you have my word that it's the best damn cheesecake you'll ever have."

A bowl of strawberries followed, not the freshest, but not bad. And I conceded that it was very good cheesecake.

I slept on the sofa that night.

Continued In Next Section