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Section 14

Posted on Thursday, 2 September 2004

February 16th. Monday.

Tech week lumbered on, each day melding into the next as seamlessly as imaginable. The technical issues had all been taken care of, for the most part; costumes were still being put together and finishing touches put on the set. I had to hand it to Jerry. He had gotten the look and feel of a 1920's speakeasy down. It was going to be an interesting show.

Between work and rehearsals, Maggie and I had barely any time together, and not for lack of trying. There simply weren't enough hours in the day.

"Move in with me," I suggested one night. "There's plenty of room at my house, and I'd feel better if you two were nearby."

"We're near enough at the apartment. I'm not into cohabitation before marriage. Especially where Dylan's involved. Are you just tired of sleeping on the sofa?"

"No-o. I just want to be able to say goodnight and not have to drive three miles to get home. And I didn't say anything about sleeping in the same bed. There are two spare bedrooms, and the apartment above the garage, if that's more palatable to you."

"Put it that way and it's hard to refuse." Maggie sighed and looked up at me. "The lease on my apartment is up in June. Let's wait a little while and see where this is going. I'd hate to not renew the lease and find myself without a home if, God forbid, something happened."

I admitted that that plan made sense. I didn't want it to. I wanted to find some loophole that would make better sense. Their apartment complex was very secure, so I couldn't argue for their safety; there was no chance Jimmy Walker could get to them unless he had some hidden mutant ability. She had family in the area who may or may not like the idea of her moving in with me; her mother, for one. Precious little progress had been made as far as Celia Mitchell was concerned, although I was now being included in more family activities. Especially when Richard was organising them. He, at least, liked me.

"I love you," I said. "I want you to be happy and comfortable."

"You're so good to me."

I kissed her hand, my fingers brushing against the thin, pale scar on her wrist. I traced the line on her cheek and kissed her lips, savouring the sweetness therein.

"A week and a half and the play will be over, and life will go back to normal."

"There's no such thing as normal, love," Maggie said. "Not in this day and age."

"Very true."

Midsummer would run for two weekends, Thursday through Saturday nights. That would be if the entire cast didn't come down with the modern equivalent of the plague or, as it was more commonly known, a very bad case of the common cold. Everyone was taking vitamin C drops, Echinacea pills, or other home remedies to stave off illness. Maggie, Dylan and I practically had an intravenous drip of my mum's chicken soup. She had sent the recipe my first year in Michigan, and was now calling nearly every day to make sure we were all in good health.

Despite all the provisions made, several cast members succumbed. I'm sure the local stores noticed a jump in sports drinks and anti-nausea medication; the sick cast were admirably determined to see the show through. The show must go on, indeed.

Opening night saw our Helena, one Tina Ciglioni, collapse half an hour before curtain. She had a slight fever and her blood sugar had crashed. One of the stage hands bolted, cash in hand and car tires squealing, for the nearest convenience store. She returned less than five minutes later with juice and Gatorade. Tina made a quick recovery.

Tessa, on the other hand, was visibly shaking.

"Oh, God, who's next?" she wailed. "Figures. My first time as Stage Manager and half the cast is dropping on me."

"Tess, Tina told me she didn't eat at all today because of nerves. That's why she collapsed." Maggie handed her a cup of water and two aspirin. "You've been doing fine, and you'll keep doing fine. This was not your fault."

If Tessa was nervous, Jack was positively mental. Midsummer was his first production at the New Civic Theatre; it was through the benevolence and intercession of Jerry Haller that he had been allowed to direct. Jerry was the most respected member on the staff at the New Civic, and the possibility that he would retire or resign was something everyone else tried to prevent. Jack's companion, one Mark Royster, gave him some pill and by curtain Jack was far and away above worry.

Tessa's anxiety was unfounded, and Jack lived to direct more shows. The show went off without a hitch, mostly; no actor missed his or her cue and only a few props had turned up in the wrong place. No one stumbled over their lines. Tessa called each light and sound cue perfectly. We ended with thunderous applause and luminous reviews.

February 23rd. Monday.

"How the hell am I supposed to deal with this apparition?" I blurted one afternoon. "So she is a manifestation of my fears and insecurities. How do I get rid of it?"

Vera studied her notes and came up with what could only be described as an answer.

"You need to build your confidence. I can't help you with that, not really. I can make suggestions, but it is ultimately up to you to effect change."

"What would you do, then?"

"I would start by making a list of every time Emily's spoken to you and what brought on her interaction, if you will. For example, when you met Maggie's parents and discussed marriage. Those instances will be what you need to gain confidence in, like her mother. You said that she doesn't like you and you may feel inadequate because of that. But Maggie knows you and loves you; she sees your worth where her mother does not. That is something you can remind yourself of when dealing with Mrs. Mitchell, and hopefully it will help. Some of these things are trial and error."

It made sense, and it wouldn't hurt to try. Once at home, I sketched out the list. The spectre of Emily had first spoken to me the day after my first date with Maggie; she had begun by criticising Maggie and her motives for wanting to be with me, as well as abusing me still further. I supposed that I needed to convince myself that I was worthy of being loved, especially by one such as Maggie.

The next time was the night when Jimmy attacked Maggie. She had gone on and on about what Maggie and Jimmy would be doing and how I was such a loser for letting her go. From that I figured I needed to trust that Maggie cared for me and wouldn't let her head be turned so easily. And most of all, that I needed to trust my own judgement.

Then it was when I had met Maggie's parents, and afterward discussed marriage with her. Stephanie had outlined part of it for me, to remind myself that Maggie knew my worth where her mother did not; there was also the part about marriage. I knew for a bloody fact that it wasn't marriage that had made me miserable, but the woman I had married. It was Emily's fault, and Maggie could not be any more different. I was sure that marrying Maggie would not be torture. Not a picnic, naturally, nothing was ever so simple, but it would be much nicer than living my life as a bachelor and watching Dylan grow up from afar.

So, armed with this small list of things to work on I faced the week, only to find that I didn't have any opportunities. I was making plans for two weeks after the close of Midsummer; there was a conference on new methods of teaching literature in Las Vegas, and Smith Union was sending me and Max as official delegates. I asked Maggie if she wanted to come.

"What, spend a week in Sin City with a drop-dead gorgeous man? The temptation might be too much. Is Stephanie going?"

"No, she doesn't particularly care for flying. You know, Oscar Wilde once said that the best way to get rid of temptation was to give into it."

"And didn't Oscar Wilde also spend a number of years in prison for doing just that? But I can't go. If I'm taking those two weeks off in August I gotta work in March."

"Two weeks in August?"

"Regan's wedding. Have you forgotten so soon?" Maggie asked, looking at me strangely.

"Not forgotten, just displaced. I've been busy lately."

"We all have been, dear. This is what I meant about not having time for a relationship. Being a part time student, full time secretary, full time mom, and part time actor doesn't leave a lot of time for everything else and things get pushed aside. And now you're getting a taste of it."

"Do you regret this?" I asked.

"No! Why?"

"I suppose it's just another argument for you and Dylan to move in with me. We could spend more time together if I wasn't always driving back and forth. I can think of several things I'd rather do with those twenty minutes."

Maggie's eyebrows thought it would be an interesting experiment and tried to join her hairline. I laughed and kissed her.

"Just a preamble, my darling," I said. "I think your imagination is working overtime."

"Maybe, but am I wrong?" There was that smirk, the one that unleashed her dimples and sent mischief twinkling in her eyes.

"Not completely. But you don't want to go to Las Vegas?"

"I want to, yes, but I can't. Someone has to stay behind and hold down the fort. You and Max can go raise hell in Vegas and Steph and I will be here in case of emergency. Just promise me you won't run off with a showgirl. And don't let Max go kissing any women with loads of 'personality.'

I lowered my head; naturally Maggie knew about Max and Stephanie's recent problems. She had also waited to pass judgment until she knew both sides.

"Max won't be kissing anyone other than his wife, and no showgirl could possibly compare to you."

"Aww, that's sweet. In a strange kind of way," Maggie said, kissing my cheek.

"At any rate, I'm not going to see any showgirls. I plan on going straight from the conference to my hotel room and calling you at least once a day."

Maggie laughed. "Yeah, right. Have you forgotten who you're travelling with? Max will have you going out every night to God knows what shows and casinos and clubs. I believe the calling every day part, but I sincerely doubt anything else. Go have fun! You know you want to."

"Maggie, if anyone deserves the honour of sainthood, it's you."

"Hardly. I just know how to pick my battles, so to speak. I'm sure Stephanie's given Max the same lecture, or will."

"More than likely. And probably more strict."

It was true that Stephanie had taken Max back after the escapade with Lucille, but only on her terms. They would still sleep in the same room, but he got a cot on the floor. They would go to counselling as a couple, and Max individually for his own issues regarding his obsession with sex. He confessed to working at Legends to save for their anniversary and apologised profusely for causing Stephanie pain. He showered gifts and attention on her and the children, forgoing the planned cruise in favour of a new entertainment centre for the family.

February 28th. Saturday.

The last night of A Midsummer Night's Dream went as smoothly as conceivably possible, given the cast and crew. That last cast party was one that will live in infamy for years to come, for myself if not others.

Alcohol was flowing freely for those who wanted it, the music was loud and the whole crowd boisterous. They were glad for it to be over. We had had a good run, with better than expected audiences for a Shakespeare play, and the cast had a certain chemistry that made even the most inexperienced line delivery forgivable.

That night was one of crisis for me. I hadn't seen Maggie leave early; I didn't even know she had left until I made my own exit and looked for her. I wondered at that. She hadn't said goodbye, or that she would call or meet me. Her apartment was on my way home; I stopped by, but the Chief wasn't there. I knew she often shopped later at night, and that night would be a good time to shop. After the show, Dylan had been dropped off at Max and Stephanie's with the babysitter. I tried calling her, but her cell phone was turned off. A growing sense of unease pervaded my body as I pulled into my driveway and parked next to her Blazer.

She was in the kitchen, sitting in her usual spot on the counter, not looking at anything in particular. Keller was in her lap but jumped down to come running, barking in greeting as I walked in. I gave him a treat from the box on top of the refrigerator, which he took into another room to devour.

"Who is Emily?" Maggie asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked up at me, her face pale and eyes clear. I froze, and she asked again.

I felt all the air leave my lungs. This was not how it was supposed to happen, I was supposed to tell her in my own time.

"Emily... was my wife. She died, 6 or 7 years ago. Cancer."

"When were you going to tell me?"

I could hear the control she exerted to keep calm. Her voice still trembled, her lower lip quivered. My own heart was breaking, I was sure of it. I wanted to hold her and make the world fall away, but I was certain she would pull back.

"Maggie-"

"You weren't going to, were you?" she asked. "You were going to let me live in ignorance! Not the best idea, Brian! I had to find out from someone else that you had been married."

"Did you think that you would be my first?" I asked, incredulous that she would be so offended. "I'm forty years old, for God's sake!"

"I know! I arranged your birthday party! And no, I didn't think for one moment I was getting involved with some greenhorn. I could handle finding out about past girlfriends by accident, but a wife? Marriage is a big thing, Brian! Not something you can easily hide, so I will give you props for keeping it from me for this long, but you really should've told me sooner. I shouldn't have had someone else tell me. And therapy! That's not something to be ashamed of. But you kept it from me!"

"If you knew the circumstances, you'd understand!" I shouted.

"Yes! And if you'd discussed this with me, we wouldn't have this problem! Don't you trust me?" she asked.

"So I was married! She died. It's over and done with!"

"Why didn't you tell me? You knew about Jimmy almost from the time we met. You knew what you were getting into, with me and Dylan and Jimmy. You could've done the same for me, at least. Instead you lead me to believe that you just hadn't found 'The One,' as far as partners went."

"I didn't lead you to believe anything! You jumped to your own conclusions. It wasn't until we started dating that Emily was even an issue!"

"Oh, so now it's my fault!"

"That's not what I said!"

"Subtext!" she snapped. "Anyway, the issue isn't that you were married at one point. The issue is that Stephanie's the one who mentioned it and not you. She seemed to think you all ready had. Instead you lied to me about her, this Emily person. I can't understand why! Help me with that."

"I never lied. I just told selective truths. I told you that I had been in a bad relationship and that she wasn't in my life any more. That's not lying."

"Yes, it is!"

"You do the same thing. Need I remind you about a certain photograph?"

"That's different! It's not even on the same scale! And another thing. I know you're smoking. I've ignored it this long, but no more. How did you ever think you could keep something like that a secret? Not only do you smell, but you taste like an ashtray. I found an empty pack in your car last week, and that extra-strength mouthwash in the bathroom."

"Then why wait until now to bring it up?"

"Because I can't take it any more. Dylan asked me 'Why does Brian smell like James?' the other day. James is my cousin, not to be confused with the scum known as Jimmy. Next to you, James is his favourite person. And he doesn't like how James smells. Keep this up and you might lose your number one fan."

I didn't know who she meant, Dylan or herself. By then I was numb and didn't care. Correction: I cared, but not about whom. I couldn't fathom losing either.

"Is that a threat?" I asked.

"No. It's a reality. You lied to me, about Emily, smoking, therapy! By keeping it from me you lied to me. I don't know you any more. I don't know who you are, because everything I knew was a lie."

"You're being unreasonable, Maggie! I'm still me, I haven't changed! How am I different now than I was a day ago?"

Maggie whirled about the kitchen, doing everything but looking at me. I almost knew what she would say next; this scene was almost directly out of Jane Eyre, a recent adaptation of which Regan had made me watch a few years before.

"You're a married man!" she screamed. I was right.

"No, I'm a widower. There is a difference! I'll take you out to see the headstone if you like. She's buried in her family plot in Highland Cemetery. I'll wait and save the explanations for when you're not so damned emotional."

That was the wrong thing to say. I had always rolled my eyes whenever I saw clichéd phrases about emotion being visible through the eyes, especially anger. That time, however, I was dead certain I saw sparks of fire in those dark brown eyes as she turned to face me.

Soft you, a word or two before you go.
I have done the state some service, and they know't-
But no more of that.

"Emotional? I think I've got a right to be emotional. My world's just been turned upside-down. Everything I knew, what I built my understanding on, has just been thrown out the window. I'm sorry, I'm not made of stone, I get emotional. God forbid I love something, put my heart into building a relationship, then cry when it's destroyed in front of my face."

I pray you, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice.

I didn't like the sound of that. Who could?

"It hasn't- Maggie- We can't-"

"No. I can't be with a person who would lie to me. Not on this scale. Get your act together and we'll talk. Until then- I've gotta find a way to explain this to Dylan."

Then must you speak
Of one that loved not wisely, but too well;
Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought,
Perplexed in the extreme;

She walked away, down the hall to the door. Her coat was hanging on the hook; she took it down and shrugged it on. Something in me snapped and I knew. It was like the world had stopped spinning. The room bucked and jerked around me as I tried to make sense of everything.

Of one whose hand threw a pearl away
Richer than all his tribe;

"Maggie, wait! You can't- You can't be serious!"

She looked at me, now completely calm and paler than I had ever seen her.

"Get your act together and we'll talk," she repeated. "Goodbye, Brian."

Of one whose subdued eyes
Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Dropped tears as fast as the Arabian trees
Their medicinable gum.*

I didn't cry, not then. Instead I watched her from the door; she slipped on the walk but didn't appear to be injured. She got up and made it to the Chief with a slight limp, and as much as I wanted to I knew she wouldn't accept my help. The tires squealed and threw gravel as she drove away.

It took a while before the complete realisation sank in. She was gone. And she wouldn't be coming back, not that night, not for a while. We had just fought, and broken up. She had left me.

Half an hour later and I was sitting on the back porch, flicking ash into an old coffee can. My third cigarette hung from my lips, almost finished, but strangely enough I wasn't getting any relief from it. Usually I felt better after one or two, but now I felt nothing. I shook a fourth one from the pack and held the end to the embers of the third. It caught and I dropped the butt into the can.

"Well, you screwed up again, true to form." The now familiar voice of Emily hardly startled me. "And now you're alone. No one else will have you."

"I'd have no one else," I said, giving up on trying to ignore her.

"He speaks! This is what I meant, Brian. I've always meant it. There's no room for Noble in this world. Try to protect her, and you end up hurting yourself. How did you ever think she'd stay with you?"

"How did I ever stay with you?" I asked, looking up at her. She leaned against the railing; I could see the two-by-four construction behind her. "I loved you. I can't remember why, but I did. And I love Maggie. We fought, like couples do. It's not the end of the world."

"Looked like it to me. We fought."

"No, you screamed at me and I gave in. I don't remember why." I contemplated the burning cigarette, now halfway gone. Did I want another one? "Anyway, I'm through with this. I'm through with you. You're dead. And because of you I may have lost the one woman I truly love. You have no power over me anymore."

The ghost blinked.

"What?" she asked.

"You died seven years ago, just after Dylan was born. You were out of my life then, and you're out of my life now. I'm through mourning for you. I've finally moved on. I want to start my life again and I can't do that with you hovering in the background. Goodbye."

She spluttered with righteous indignation, but I was past feeling anything. I watched as her transparent blue shape faded until there was nothing there but the faintest tint, and that was blown away with the last small thread of cigarette smoke. I went inside and shoved the last of the pack of cigarettes down the garbage disposal before going upstairs and falling into bed.

February 29th. Sunday.

At three a.m. I woke up craving a cigarette. I didn't have any more, and I wasn't about to purchase any, but I did go to the nearest all-night drugstore and picked up a pack of those stop-smoking patches.

I tried calling Maggie first thing that morning but there was no answer. Calling her mother's house was unthinkable, although it was the most logical place she would be. The wrath of her father was an immediate possibility and I believed that he would make good on his threat of bodily harm. And her mother... I hated to think of what her mother would say.

Stephanie stopped by very early. I was still in the clothes I had slept in. Keller lacked his usual energy and didn't move from his cushion.

"God, you look like hell on a stick."

"Thanks."

"I'm so sorry," she said, dropping her purse into a chair. "I thought you had told her."

"I was about to. Another week or so. But that doesn't matter anymore."

"So it's over then? Just like that?"

I nodded.

"She came over last night."

"How was- is she?" I asked. "She was deadly calm when she left." Coffee percolated, the bubbles breaking the silence.

"She was distraught. Worried more about Dylan than herself. It took a while to figure anything out, she was crying so hard. She doesn't want to speak to you, Brian."

"You were right. Go ahead, say it. You want to."

"I'm not going to say 'I told you so,' at least not mean it. I didn't expect this. I had no idea she would react like that. Wait a while and she'll calm down."

"You think so?"

"Yes. Brian, she loves you. If she didn't, she wouldn't have made such a fuss."

"I'll take your word for it," I said. "It didn't seem like that last night. She's gone, Steph. I've ruined it."

Stephanie came over and put her arms around me.

"Give it time. You incurable romantics are always thinking in absolutes. You're lucky Maggie's not like that. She's just scared and upset. She'll be better in a few days and you'll be able to work everything out. Trust me. I'll bet you twenty bucks."

"I'll take that bet. And I hope I lose it."

"I'm dead certain you will."

March 1st. Monday.

We had fixed the date for Wednesday. If Maggie still wouldn't speak to me by then, I would win the bet. If Monday afternoon was any indication, I would win.

I had been picking Dylan up from day care for two months. It was a special arrangement between myself, Maggie, and the lady who ran the Little Angels day care.

That Monday was different. I left the school just before four, as usual, and made the ten minute trip to the day care. But this time, instead of Dylan waiting for me on the front steps, Georgia Mathison was there, twitching and twiddling her thumbs.

"Where's Dylan? Is he all right?"

The girl shook her head.

"He's fine, but I'm sorry, Dr. Campbell, but I can't let you take Dylan today."

"What?"

Georgia flinched. "Miss Mitchell told us that you're not allowed to pick Dylan up until further notice. Please, don't be mad at me, Dr. Campbell. I'm only the messenger."

"No, I'm not mad," I said. I could see Dylan peeking out from behind the curtains. "Thank you."

I was numb. I should have expected something like that. If I was persona non grata to Maggie, naturally I would be so to her son. He had ways to reach me, though; phone numbers, email and street addresses. If there was some sort of emergency he could contact me.

The return to my truck was slow and laborious. My world was falling apart, and I could do nothing to stop it.

I collected the twenty dollars from Stephanie when she dropped Max and I at the airport. Maggie had not answered any of my messages or emails; she wouldn't allow me into the apartment building; she wouldn't come near the English department offices during my office hours; she had told the day care that I was not to take Dylan home. I had won the bet I had hoped to lose.

The flight to Las Vegas took four hours. I listened to Max alternate between singing and humming "Viva Las Vegas" for over three hours, finally hitting him half an hour before landing. Picture a large plane beginning its decent into a reddening sky. A few snatches of words are heard, forming into the refrain of "Viva Las Vegas." Max is singing the words he knows and humming those he does not. The plane continues, the setting sun painting the metallic coat a shining orange.

"Stop it!" I am heard to say. Max simply continues humming, albeit quieter. Then:

"Viva Las Vegas! Da da da dada da! Viva Las Vegas!"

I hit him with a rolled up magazine.

"Why'd you do that?" Max whines. And fade out.

*Othello, V.ii.347-360, by William Shakespeare.

Section 15

Posted on Wednesday, 15 September 2004

March 8th. Monday.

Any possibility of having fun in Las Vegas had been squashed. Max and I had been in the city since Friday night and I had not put one foot outside of the hotel until Monday morning, when the convention started. Maggie wouldn't return my phone calls and Max was threatening to drag me out of my room if I wouldn't leave voluntarily.

"You're really scaring me, man," Max said as we walked into the convention centre. "Moping around because you and Maggie fought is not healthy."

"Your wife is still talking to you."

"It's only been a week and a half!"

"Exactly! She won't speak to me. It's over. I've lost her."

"Pessimist! It's ain't over till it's over. Maybe she just needs more time to cool off. Steph didn't speak to me for a month when we was still dating and we been married for almost fifteen years. Just wait it out. In the meantime, we can go to a strip club and see half a dozen sexy women shake what God gave them."

"I don't know what's more appalling, that suggestion or your grammar. I have no intention of going to a topless bar now or in the future and don't make the suggestion I see forming in that thick skull of yours. The most I'll do is visit a casino. Las Vegas is a ridiculous place to hold a convention."

We did go to a bar that night, but not a strip joint. It was a jazz club just off the main street with waitresses that were fully clothed and the best music in town, so the sign outside said. Despite being a Monday night the place was crowded, smoky, and dark, despite the best efforts of more than a dozen neon lights and the constant hum of large exhaust fans.

There were two stools at the bar just waiting for Max and myself and within a few minutes drinks were in our hands. Max had chosen a martini in keeping with his recently adopted Rat Pack attitude. The bartender took pity on me and handed me a scotch and soda, since The One Trick Pony didn't serve beer.

The band picked up a swing number and the dance floor soon filled. Max abandoned his drink in favour of a pretty redhead. Shelly was engaged, but her fiancé didn't want to dance and Max looked like a good candidate. Her friend, a stunning brunette, gave me a once-over and asked me why I wasn't dancing.

"I don't," I said. I was reminded of Maggie and her insistence on our first date. Joan wasn't deterred.

"I'm a good teacher. Come on, I see your foot tapping."

"Thank you but no. I'm not interested in dancing."

"Fine, but you're missing out on something great," she said over her shoulder as she walked away, her hips swaying in their own provocative dance and just asking me to follow her.

"I am," I said quietly. I was thinking of Maggie and Dylan, wondering how they were coping with the sudden change in our lives.

"You just break up with your, what, wife or something?" The bartender half-heartedly swabbed at the bar. The stereotype of the advice-dispensing bartender was proving to be true. I chuckled. A more mirthless sound I have yet to hear.

"Girlfriend. Why?"

"It takes a lot to turn down a woman like that. Joanie's been in here every night for a week now, and nobody's said no to her yet. How long?"

"Little more than a week."

"Ah. And let me guess, the most beautiful woman in the world."

I nodded. "You don't know the half of it. You'd need equal parts Doris Day, Marilyn Monroe, Nicole Kidman and Kate Winslet to even begin a comparison, and you'd still be off."

The barkeep blinked.

"You're with that Lit convention, aren't you?" It was more of a rhetorical question. "What happened?"

I gave him an edited version of the story; that I had been married and she had died, that I met Maggie and immediately fell in love with her, that I kept my previous marriage a secret, that I had started smoking and kept that a secret, that we had fought and broken up. I told him about Dylan.

"She overreacted," the bartender, who I had learned was named Zach, shook his head. "You should've told her sooner, yes, but she definitely overreacted. You obviously want her back, which is cool, but there's something fishy about this. Do you think she might've been looking for a reason to dump you?"

There was a pause of at least a minute while I stared at him. He was a young man, no more than a year or two older than Maggie, short in stature and very muscular, very clean cut with short curly hair and blue eyes. He was playing Devil's Advocate and did it very well.

"No. She never gave any indication that she was unhappy. We had just discussed moving in together a few days before we broke up. She's cautious, but she loves me. Loved me."

"All right. Just making sure that base was covered." Zach began filling a few orders and walked away for a moment. When he returned, "I mean, I've heard horror stories from guys like you. The worst was just last night. A professor was dating a student, things were going well, then the girl got pregnant. They broke up because he wouldn't leave his wife for her, she sued him and the school for as much as she could get and she won. It was a huge scandal in his area. He lost his job and now works at a high school. This guy was teaching at a top university, you know? And here's the kicker: They did a DNA test and the kid wasn't even his. You're lucky your situation just imploded like it did."

I nodded again. This wasn't helping as much as either of us hoped. I wanted to be with Maggie.

He sighed. "You've probably heard this more than you'd like, but just give it time. A week's not very long. It seems like forever when you're not with your girl, I know, but she'll probably come around in a week or two."

Before I could answer, Max barrelled up to the bar.

"We gotta go before I do something stupid."

I looked at him.

"Again," he added.

"Thank you," I said to Zach.

"No problem. I'm cheaper than a shrink and in what doctor's office can you get booze and good advice? Come back any time."

March 9th. Tuesday.

I hit the gym in the hotel for a fierce workout later. It was nearly deserted, which suited me fine, and I was able to work out a lot of the tension that had been building over the past week and a half. The hour spent there was a worthy investment; I left feeling better than I had going in.

When I returned to my room, however, I found five messages on my cell phone. They were all from Regan.

"It has occurred to me that you might just be avoiding me," she said on the second message. "But I'm going to call every hour on the hour until you get sick of it and talk to me. I want to know what happened between you and Maggie and why she called me at four Sunday morning. Either call me as soon as you get this message or wait until I call again."

The last message was at midnight; it was almost one. The phone rang in my hand.

"I'm amazed she didn't call you sooner," I said quite dryly. "We broke up a week ago."

"You're such an idiot!" Regan fumed. "What did you do to her?"

"According to my therapist, I put her on a pedestal and didn't want to trouble her with the more ugly aspects of my past. She found out from a third party, we fought and broke up."

"Why did you do that?" she wailed. Regan is very dramatic.

"I was afraid she'd do exactly what she did. I now get to call my therapist and tell her that she was wrong, that Maggie did leave me when she found out about Emily and that I will no longer need her services; I've stopped smoking and no longer see the ghost of my dead wife."

I had managed to stop Regan from speaking for a good two minutes.

"You never told me you were being haunted!" she whispered. "That's so cool!"

"Perhaps to hear about it, yes, but not to live it."

"Anyway, what are you going to do? You're not going to give up just like that, are you? You can't. You and Maggie are perfect for each other, and I like being called Auntie Regan."

"You've been called Auntie Regan for years."

"But not by a completely charming boy who I'm sure is just like you when you were that age. Our other nieces and nephews aren't as sweet as Dylan."

"They can be. I'm going to follow all the advice I've been given on the subject and wait it out. There's not much else I can do. She's not answering her phone, and I'm in Las Vegas. But I'm sick of playing games. I need to talk to her and when I get back I'll do everything in my power to do that. If I have to lie and cheat my way into her apartment building, I will. I'll not give her up without a fight."

The conference wasn't a complete waste of time. Whenever I was alone or in one of the tedious workshops or panel discussions I wrote letters to Maggie.

I love you, and I can't bear the thought of living without you. I relive our argument each night, and each night my heart is torn afresh; I had hoped to save you from certain unsavoury aspects of my life but I realise my error in doing so. I never meant to hurt you, my darling.

I felt certain the hotel staff wondered how one person could use so much paper, but every day there was a new pad on the desk and every night all that was left was the cardboard back. I wrote on napkins, paper towels, the back of receipts and coffee filters.

Every day is an eternity when I am away from you, dearest Maggie. I should never have let you leave that night, not while we were still angry with each other. My pride interfered, and my dread of losing you. I love you, Maggie, with every fibre of my being, as clichéd as it is. You are as much a part of me as my hand or my heart. I have made many mistakes, my love, and I ask for your forgiveness.

I wrote because I couldn't talk to her. I never meant for her to see them, they were just a way of saying what couldn't be said. But I didn't destroy them as I should have. Instead they all ended up stuffed into envelopes and jammed into my suitcase.

The lights of Las Vegas don't sparkle for me. In truth, I find it a dull place, with little allure and no charm. I cannot complain about the accommodations; this is one of the best hotels available, the food is excellent and the rooms are beautifully decorated. I don't see any of it, however, because the two people I love best aren't with me. If you and Dylan were here I might see things differently, but not now. Until I am at your side again the world is barren, a wintery wasteland waiting for spring to come.

The hardest letter to write was one of explanation, the one I would send to her.

Dear Maggie;

I don't know if you'll read this letter; the most I can do is send it to you and hope. That is what I've done a lot of for the last ten years, hope. Now I hope that you will read my explanations.

I met Emily Stewart ten years ago, at a party given by a friend. I fell in love with her immediately. I don't know why, perhaps a pretty face and shapely body dazzled me; it wasn't the first time but until I met you it was the last. She and I married not two months later. Looking back, I don't know why she was with me, and it hadn't occurred to me to ask. In those days I was much like Max; not as chauvinistic, but single-minded in the pursuit of pleasure and something of a playboy.

Things went from good to bad very quickly. She began to alienate me from things I enjoyed; football, partying with friends. I allowed it, because I loved her and wanted her to be happy. Then she began to keep me from my friends, the people who cared about me here. She never met my family, never wanted to, and she kept me from even talking to them. Emily was very controlling and abusive, and I took it because I was crazy about her.

I had started smoking when I was in university, working on my doctorate, and it intensified throughout my marriage. Stephanie finally intervened, with Max and Regan and our friends. Emily was ruining me. They convinced me to file for divorce; it was difficult, but even I had begun to realise what she was doing to me. Then Emily laid the news on me: Cancer. It had started in her uterus but by the time it was found it had spread throughout her body.

The doctors fought it with chemo and a few surgeries, but she wouldn't live. She knew it, and she used my complete adoration of her to lure me into staying. I watched her die, Maggie. I held her hand. And I shut down. I threw myself into work, let myself become absorbed with Scott and Byron and Shakespeare, but most of all Marlowe. I stopped smoking. I didn't go out much; nothing serious, nothing lasting more than two dates.

Then I met you, and everything changed. I came back to life because of you and Dylan. Things should have been easy, but they weren't. Suddenly I had to deal with things I had locked away, the result of the abuse I suffered at Emily's hand. I had her example still before me; meet in September, marry by December. I've always been one to fall in love easily, and I couldn't handle being hurt again.

That night, that magic night at Bonhomie, I saw Emily again. I was seeing her ghost, a manifestation of my insecurities. But things went beyond that. She began to speak to me, and I immediately went into therapy. I'll never be sure what I was seeing or hearing, aside from that it looked a hell of a lot like Emily, it acted just like her, said much the same things.

I didn't want to hurt you. I meant to protect you from the darker parts of my life. I was wrong. I did hurt you, and in the end I couldn't protect you. I regret it. I regret the decision I made, I regret what I said. Please forgive me.

I'm ready to talk, Maggie. I've given up smoking, forever now. You have my word that I have kept nothing else from you; I know you also have no reason to trust me, but you can ask Max and Stephanie, or Regan. They know everything about my life and will not sugarcoat anything. They know that without you I'm nothing. I love you, Maggie. Please, forgive me.

Ever your
Brian.

March 10th. Wednesday.

Max found me at a blackjack table Wednesday night. I was slowly losing what little I money I had brought, a series of losses punctuated by a few minor wins. I didn't care. The letter was in my pocket, the one I was going to send to Maggie. I was waiting to send it until I got home on Friday. I wanted to make sure I had written everything as eloquently as I could, stated my case as best as possible. Besides, it wouldn't have made it to Michigan before then anyway.

"This is not where I would expect to see you, dude," Max said, sidling up to the table. "I had you pegged for a roulette man."

I snorted.

"What's up?"

I handed him the letter, which he read while moving his lips. It was a habit he'd never been able to break. His eyebrows rose a few times before folding the paper and handing it back.

"Hit me." I had a Jack and a two; the dealer handed me a ten and the house won. Again.

"You're going to send it to her?" Max asked. I nodded.

My next hand was a ten and a King; I stayed and won a modest sum.

"Then what?"

"I don't know. It's up to her." A nineteen. The house won with a twenty.

"You know, I've always looked up to you. You made it through hell and came out with only a few scars. The whole thing changed you, yes, but you kept going. Then you met Maggie and things got better still. Thing's'll work out. You two belong together, I know it. She's not Emily, man. She's not a raging bitch. Yeah, she's got her hang-ups, but who doesn't? What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure." I hit a good streak and walked away from the table with a couple thousand dollars.

"Not good enough! You need a game plan. We go home in two days. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to send her the letter and wait for a response."

"Come on!" said Max. "You're better than that. That's too passive. You want her back, you gotta take her back. Sweep her off her feet... again."

"And how should I do this?"

"Find out her class schedule. Show up at her office with roses. Throw pebbles at her window. I don't know, you're the Romantic, I'm the Contemporary."

Literature aside, Max had a point. It happens rarely and is to be celebrated on those occasions. I bought him a drink and sent him back to his room. I had a lot of thinking to do.

I started walking through the enclosed mall, staring at the floor and mulling over everything. Maggie wasn't Emily. That much was certain. Emily hadn't wanted children; Maggie had a son. Emily didn't like my friends; Maggie was friends with mine. Emily wouldn't let me have my own life; Maggie encouraged mine and sometimes participated.

Losing her was not a possibility. I'd have to do something spectacular, though, since she still wasn't speaking to me. I had also promised I wouldn't do anything recklessly romantic without her permission, but this was an emergency.

I looked up and the answer was staring me right in the face.

March 11th. Thursday.

The last official day of the conference was the longest on record. I was getting antsy; there was a thousand dollars of diamonds and gold in my pocket and I wanted to get home.

The last speaker droned on and on. Chaucer had never been so boring! I was saved, however, by my cell phone. Of all the ring tones I had expected to hear, Right Said Fred was not one of them. I had kept I'm Too Sexy as a specific tone for Maggie.

"Maggie! Hello!" I sank down in my chair, since cell phones were supposed to be off as a general courtesy. Need I say I didn't care?

There was a small whimper at the other end of the line.

"Maggie? What's wrong?"

"Dylan's gone," she said.

Those words put a spike through my soul. The boy I loved as a son, who I secretly called my son, was missing? The terrible possibility that Jimmy had abducted him was foremost in my mind; after all, he had made the point that he was unable to have any more children after the events of December 29th, and he was well on his way to being denied custody and visitation rights. On top of that, he seemed hell bent on ruining Maggie's life, and kidnapping Dylan would be devastating.

"He ran away, I found a note in his room, but he's been gone for hours all ready! Please come home. I need your help."

She was frantic, near hysteria or the false calm of shock. I cursed myself for being in flaming Las Vegas for a useless conference on the different methods of teaching literature. Hadn't I promised to be there whenever she needed me? Why should that promise be void if we were no longer together? I still loved her, and Dylan, and I needed to be back there with them.

"I'll be on the next flight home," I said.

"But this is an emergency!" I said. The girl at the ticket counter was less than sympathetic.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, "But there aren't any seats available on this flight."

"Thank you." I sent a sharp glare over my shoulder as I took matters into my own hands. I needed to get home.

So I found two empty seats in the waiting area and jumped up on them, planting my feet as firmly as possible on the soft vinyl. This drew the attention of the waiting passengers and I made the most of it.

"I beg your pardon," I said in my best, most resonant voice, "But I have a problem that could use your help. My son's run away from home and my wife's frantic. I need to get back there right away, but there aren't any seats left on this flight. If anyone is willing to give up their seat I would most appreciate it, and I'm willing to reimburse them. Please."

"How old's your kid?" someone asked.

"He's seven."

"Where do you live?" another person said.

"Just outside the city. He's already been gone a few hours, and we're beginning to fear the worst."

"How much are you willing to part with?" one man asked, only to be hit on the arm by his wife.

In the end, a handful of people stepped forward; a college student, a band manager and his band, a retired couple. The band had a gig in the city the next afternoon, and the couple had to connect at the airport to a flight home to Traverse City. I sent the college student to a hotel with 75 dollars in cash and a check for 125; he tipped his hat and disappeared, but not before pressing the money back into my hand.

I spent the flight home a fidgeting wreck. The band manager, a young man a little older than Maggie, engaged me in conversation partway through. I thought I had recognised him; he was one of her many cousins, and I had met him briefly at New Years. His name was James and was one of Dylan's particular favourites. He agreed to help look for him once we landed, and in the meantime did his best to distract me. The ever-present reminder of cigarettes helped immensely.

"That was a neat little lie you told back there," he said, grinning past the ring in his lower lip. "I'm sure Auntie Celia would have made an announcement on the Today Show if Maggie got married."

"I don't doubt it," I said as I reached into my jacket pocket. "But it wasn't a complete lie."

I showed him the ring I had bought just the day before. He whistled.

"Classy. I heard you made her faint."

"Once upon a time, yes. I just hope she'll have me. I left on a bit of a sour note last week. I wouldn't be surprised if she said no."

"Ah, don't sweat it. I mean, she told you Dylan was missing. If she was still mad at you, she wouldn't have said anything. Maggie couldn't hold a grudge if it had handles, all right? She loves you. I saw you together once and I could see it. Just relax. We'll be home in an hour, tops; we'll find Dylan; you'll propose to Maggie, get married and have lots of babies. Just name one after me and I'll be happy."

He got a laugh out of me, which seemed to be his objective, and ran his hands through his blacker than black hair. That time it was tipped in purple. A couple of moments later he pulled a few of his band mates over and set about teaching me to play euchre.

Maggie and Stephanie met us at the airport; James had called her as we taxied and waited to deplane. She seemed unresponsive to me; her eyes still hurt and haunted. In fact, she didn't look at me more than once, choosing instead to go to her cousin for comfort. I felt the blow, my hand closing around the jeweller's box in my pocket. I wondered how much I could get for a diamond ring, never worn.

"I've got to get the guys to the hotel," James said, letting Maggie go from the circle of his arms. "I'll meet you at your place in, what, half hour, forty-five minutes? We'll figure out where to go from there."

"Yeah," she said, her voice flat and tired. I could tell she had been crying, and I wanted so badly to hold her and let her cry.

"Good luck," James said as he passed me.

I nodded and he was gone, directing the band to the baggage claim. We were left in an awkward silence.

"I'll go get the car," Maggie offered, taking the keys from Stephanie before she had a chance to protest. "I'll meet you out front."

And she too was gone, lost in the flood of people coming and going. I wanted to go after her and watched as far as I could.

"Don't worry about her," Stephanie said. "She'll be fine, now that you're here. She was afraid you wouldn't make it until tomorrow."

"What happened?"

"She got home from work and he wasn't there. He had stayed home this morning, complaining of an upset stomach, and when she got back he wasn't there. I think he found out that you and Maggie had fought and broken up so to speak, and was upset. That's a lot of stress on a little kid, especially one like Dylan. He took a pillow, a blanket, a change of clothes and a few peanut butter sandwiches. We've been combing the city ever since. She called you right away."

"Then why this?" I asked, gesturing in the direction she had gone.

"She doesn't want to get hurt again. What happened last week really shook her up, and she's beating herself up about it. She's afraid she lost you, that you only came back because of Dylan. Put her out of her misery, please."

"As soon as I can."

James showed up as promised, half an hour later, with the band in tow. They wanted to help and we needed it. Maggie gave us a quick briefing as to the places they had searched and the people they had called. She would stay home in case he came back, and Stephanie would stay with her. The searchers would check back in every half hour until Dylan was found.

I would search my neighbourhood first, and I had a good idea of where to start. There was a playground near my house. It was very nice and well-kept, and the main playscape was a massive castle, with cubbies and hiding places scattered around. It was the perfect place to run away to. Dylan and I had played there on several occasions, with Tommy and Lisa and Max and Maggie. I would start there.

It was dark and nine o'clock, and the frost had set in. The night was clear and cold. If Dylan was out there, he would most likely have frostbite by morning.

Armed with a flashlight, I began my search.

"Dylan? Are you out here? It's me, Brian. Are you all right?"

I heard a muffled thumping come from one of bolt holes, and I hoped it was Dylan and not one of the alternatives.

"Dylan Mitchell?"

"Brian?" It was him! I knew it, I knew he would be there. "I'm stuck!"

"Where are you? How did you get in there?"

"I don't remember! I'm cold and scared, and I wanna go home!"

"Don't worry, Dylan, I'll get you out."

Easier said than done, I'm afraid. Somehow he had climbed into a four by two foot box that wasn't intended to be a hiding place. Aside from a slightly loose one by eight inch board, however, the construction was solid. Three inch screws and nails, easily.

"Uh, Dylan. I have to go home and get some tools. Sit tight."

"NO! Please, don't go! I'm scared!"

"All right. I won't. I'm going to try to pull this board back, though. Sit back a little."

I flexed my hands, warming them up before working my fingers into the opening. It was solid construction and the board would not move. But I tried, and after a few minutes of steady pulling, managed to wrench it off, the screws ripping out of the wood.

"Can you get out?" I asked.

It took a bit more work, but Dylan wedged himself out, scraping his ears a little in the process. I sat back in the snow, holding him close while his arms wrapped around my neck. He sobbed with relief.

"Oh, Dylan, Dylan. Don't ever do anything like this again. You scared the living daylights out of me, and your mum."

"I thought you weren't coming back!" he wailed. "I thought you didn't want me any more!"

"No. Whatever happens between your mum and me, I'll still be here for you. That's a promise. Now, let's get home and call your mum."

"Is Keller there?" he sniffed, pulling away to look at me.

"I don't know," I said. "He might still be at Tommy's house. We'll go get him."

"Okay."

I fished his things from his prison, then picked him up with everything and carried him the two blocks to my house.

"I'm glad you're back," he said.

"Me too."

"Are you and Mum still mad at each other?"

"I don't know. I haven't been able to talk to her yet. She called me as soon as she found out you were missing, and I was out looking for you almost as soon as I got here. Your cousin James is even out there looking, with his band. I think he's going to have words with you once we get back."

He was starting to fall asleep, which I didn't think was a bad thing. We had all been under an inordinate amount of stress, and sleep had to be helpful. I put him in my truck, retrieved my keys, and started back for Maggie's apartment. I heard cheering on the other end of the line when I called to tell her that Dylan had been found.

The nightmare was over. Dylan was safe, sleeping in his own room, Keller curled up beside him. James had retrieved him from Max and Stephanie's, a special request from Dylan.

Maggie and I were alone in the apartment. Everyone else had gone home; it was late, and we were tired.

She stood in the doorway to his room and watched him sleep. I was next to her, my attention divided between her and her son. I touched her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, trying not to cry. "Thank you for coming home, and finding him. I don't know what I would have done!"

I pulled her to me, something I had longed to do from the moment the plane touched down. First there had been the search, then the impromptu party when he was found. James' band had even sung Dylan to sleep. She had avoided me the whole time. But now she put her arms around me and lay her head on my shoulder.

"Marry me," I said.

"What?" She pulled away and stared at me, her fingernails digging into my back.

"Please, Maggie. Marry me. Don't make me spend another night alone. Tell me I haven't lost you."

"You haven't! Do you mean it?"

"Yes. I want to marry you, and I want to adopt Dylan. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep with you in my arms every night. I love you, and that won't ever change."

"I love you too," she said. "Yes, Brian, I'll marry you."

There are no words for how I felt at that moment. Relief, elation, joy; they were all inadequate. Everything and nothing.

I took the ring from my pocket and slipped it on her finger. It was a perfect fit.

"Brian!"

"Did you think I would come unprepared?" I asked, a corner of my mouth lifting.

"I never know with you," she said, answering my smirk with one of her own. "Can you forgive me?"

"If you'll forgive me. I should have told you sooner."

"And I should have respected that you were having a hard time dealing with it. I think we cancel each other out."

"I suppose so. Now what?"

Just as the ring had been a perfect fit, so were Maggie and I. We stood quietly in the hall, wrapped in each other's arms, with no real need for conversation. If I had been paying more attention, I would have seen Dylan open one eye and look at us.

"I think we should get some rest," she said after some time. "Will you stay tonight?"

I nodded. "Yes. I wouldn't leave you tonight for the world."

"This is going to take some getting used to." Maggie flipped back the covers on one side of the bed. "I've slept with a stuffed animal every night since I can remember."

"Not every night," I said. "I can think of a few where you haven't."

Maggie looked away and bolted for the bathroom. Why do women run for the bathroom? It made no sense to me.

"Is this the infamous Quigley?" I asked when she returned. The pig was in my hand. She fidgeted. "Maggie, I can sleep out on the sofa. I can even go home if you want."

"No, I want you to stay. With me."

I set Quigley down on a chair. "There are certain benefits to sharing a bed with a human being, preferably one of the opposite gender, as opposed to a stuffed toy. You see, a stuffed toy cannot put its arms around you, as I am doing. A toy cannot tickle you, like this," I brushed her lower back, just along the spine. She shivered. "A toy cannot leave a trail of kisses, like so," I kissed her from shoulder to neck, then skipped to her lips.

"But I can get whisker burn," she said. I shrugged.

In a soft whisper, I added: "No toy could ever love you as much as I do. And one more thing-"

It was a suggestion rather left to the imagination, but it made her weak with laughter. I kissed her again and felt her arms go around my neck.

"I can get used to this," she repeated. And smiled.

Section 16

Posted on Sunday, 3 October 2004

March 12th. Friday.

It was the greatest thing, waking up next to Maggie that morning, and I could only think how lucky I was.

Maggie nestled against me, a bar against the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the blinds.

"It's morning again."

"If you say something like 'it's the first day of the rest of our lives,' I'm shoving you out of my bed," she grumbled.

"I was just stating the obvious," I said, bringing her hand to my lips and kissing her fingertips. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever met."

"And you're not so bad yourself, lover boy. I can get used to this."

"I'm glad for that. I love you."

"Me too." Sounds of life came from outside the bedroom. "Oh, God! Dylan!"

"I locked the door," I whispered, trying to keep her in bed.

"That won't stop him!" she shot back. She wriggled out of my arms and into a bathrobe. "You should be getting dressed."

"Why? I'm perfectly comfortable."

"I don't want him-"

"Maggie darling, I'm sure he's figured out I stayed. Your windows overlook the carport and my car's right next to yours. Maggie, we're engaged. We will eventually be getting married and I will be adopting him. He stands a very good chance of seeing me in pyjamas several more times."

"Yes, but-"

"I have two words for you. Christmas Morning. He saw us in bed together then and seemed perfectly fine about it. Dylan's a very intelligent, mature child. That and I think he was awake last night when I asked you to marry me. Yes, I'll get dressed, but only because I wouldn't look good in one of your bathrobes."

Maggie laughed. I pulled on a shirt, as requested, and we went out to face the world.

"Mum, I'm hungry!" She hadn't even stepped out of the bedroom and Dylan was accosting his mother for food. He hadn't seen me yet.

"Good morning to you too," I said, grinning. Dylan launched himself at me.

"Will you make pancakes?" he asked, his arms tight around my neck.

I nodded. "If your mum has the ingredients."

"There's frozen blueberries in the freezer," Dylan offered. Maggie was flitting around the living room, phone in hand, arguing with someone. I hoped it wasn't her mother.

"No, Dylan will not be in school today... I've all ready spoken with his teacher... I don't see what the problem is, Mr. Renke. I'm taking a personal day and want to spend it with my son and my fiancé ... Thank you, sir. Good bye."

The phone rattled back into place on the receiver.

"Next time I'm not going to call in. Let them think the worse."

"What does fiancé mean?" Dylan asked, very confused.

I leaned in and whispered, "It means someone who is engaged to be married."

He is an intelligent child, really, but recent stress had affected his deductive skills. Dylan grew alarmed.

"It means I asked your mother to marry me last night and she accepted."

I could almost see connections being made in his brain. His eyes went wide.

"Really?"

"Ask your mum."

Maggie smiled and nodded. Dylan was ecstatic. It took at least five minutes to calm him down. And Keller ... he was naturally an excitable dog, being a Jack Russell terrier, and he wouldn't settle down for love or money, or dog biscuits.

Max's flight arrived at five. I picked him up while Maggie and Stephanie made dinner; we were eating there and sharing our news with them first, as a treat for Max bringing my luggage back from Las Vegas. Unless, of course, anyone called while we were out of her apartment. I wrote out a new out-going message and Dylan recorded it.

"We're too busy celebrating my mom's engagement to answer the phone right now. Leave a message and we'll get back to you as soon as the honeymoon's over."

Maggie's mother wasn't happy finding out that way. No one was surprised about that.

"Okay, so what was the big emergency that you had to leave a day early for?" Max slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

"Dylan ran away from home," I said. Max stared. I told him the whole story, from getting the phone call to finding him and taking him home.

"And?"

"And what? That's what happened."

"What about Maggie? You found her son and took him home! Did you give her the letter? Did she even thank you?"

I focused on the road and smiled.

"Don't hold out on me! What happened? You look like- Oh, man, did you get lucky?"

"I'm the luckiest man in the world. I asked her to marry me and she said yes."

Max let out a whoop and punched the roof of my car.

"Oh, my God, Brian, how can you afford a ring like that?" Stephanie asked, flinging her arms around me when we entered the house and nearly squeezing my breath from my body. "Ooh, congratulations! I'm so happy for you! I knew it would work out for the best."

Yes, the ring was spectacular. Three emerald cut diamonds set in white gold, purchased with the winnings from the blackjack table in Las Vegas. It had caught my eye from the other side of a plate glass window; then I thought it couldn't sparkle any brighter, but on Maggie's hand it was like a firecracker, glittering and shattering light into a million fragments. It was perfect.

The children were upstairs, wreaking their usual havoc, but they descended when they heard us arrive. Dylan clung to his mother; Tommy and Bethany ran to their father; Lisa clambered into my lap and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Maggie looked around her son's head at me, and I would have given anything to read her thoughts. I suppose she saw future days, when we would hold our own children late at night. That was what I saw.

No, Maggie's mother was not happy to find out about our engagement, especially by hearing it on the answering machine.

"Margaret May Mitchell, have I got a bone to pick with you! You had better call me as soon as you get this message or by God you'll regret it!"

Maggie snorted and erased the message.

"May?"

"Yes, May. You're thinking correctly, I was named after that song. It was my dad's favourite. I'm not particularly fond of it, being named after a whore, and I've got half a mind to severely injure Rod Stewart if ever I meet him."

"I like that song too. And I must say I've been tempted-"

"Yeah, well, resist it."

"Are you going to call your mother?" I asked.

Maggie shook her head. "It's too late. Let her fume a bit more. This is my news. Well, ours. We can tell her when we want."

"She's all ready found out."

"Officially, then. Are you always going to be this argumentative, or do I have to train you?" she teased.

"That depends. What are the training methods?"

"I don't know yet. I'll be creative."

March 13th. Saturday.

Celia and Richard Mitchell had a spare key to Maggie's apartment. They were concerned when Maggie didn't call and decided to come by first thing in the morning. Normally that would not have been a problem, but ever since Maggie agreed to marry me things had not been normal.

No, the problem that Saturday morning was that Maggie and I were still asleep, in the same bed. While we were not in a compromising position, it was still awkward to have the bedroom door thrown open by her parents.

"Hi Mom. Hi, Daddy. What time izzit?"

It was nearly ten, but that wasn't the answer she was given.

"Time to tell me what the hell is going on!" Richard fumed.

They allowed us a few minutes to dress and make ourselves presentable; James arrived in the meantime under the pretence of taking Dylan to a hockey match, but I think it was more to lend Maggie support. It was too early for any game and the boy was still asleep. Richard went outside to blow off some steam. For all his talk of being ready to give Maggie over to me, Richard Mitchell was still not resigned to it.

Her mother fixed me with a sharp eye from the moment the bedroom door closed behind us. Maggie sat beside me on the couch, our hands clasped between us, while James lounged in an armchair. Mrs. Mitchell paced, glaring at myself and Maggie. I felt rather like a small boy who had been exceptionally naughty. Finally Richard returned, somewhat cooler in mood and ready to listen.

"Now. What is going on?" Richard asked, his voice carefully under control. "Why did we find you in bed together?"

"Because that's where we fell asleep," Maggie said right away. "It was late when we got back last night."

"Maggie!" her mother cried.

"Nothing happened! Geez. I'm twenty-five years old, Mom! I'm not in high school any more. I'm an adult, I'm allowed to make adult choices."

"You have a small son, Margaret!" Celia continued. "What kind of message are you sending him, sleeping in the same bed with that man?"

I bit my tongue to keep back an automatic cry of outrage; that insult could be borne. Celia Mitchell would have to bear the knowledge that her daughter would marry that man and would have to deal with that on her own. There was just the chore of telling her.

"Dylan knows that there are two people who love him very much," Maggie said quietly, her hand squeezing mine in betrayal of the immense control she exerted. She is much like her father. "Brian proposed Thursday night and I said yes."

She held out her free hand, the diamonds on the ring sparkling in the early morning sun. The shock that ran through both parents' faces was in some ways amusing and others pitiable. Celia had heard the message on Maggie's answering machine and knew the truth, but for some reason hearing it officially and seeing the ring made the fact all the more real; Richard finally had to admit that he was losing a daughter to another.

"Congratulations," James said, grinning. He looked at me. "I told you."

Both Richard and Celia glared at him.

"You knew about this?" Richard asked.

James nodded, then shook his head. "Yes and no. I sat next to him on the plane from Vegas and he showed me the ring. I knew he was going to propose."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Mr. Mitchell said. Celia was still spluttering and trying to be suitably dramatic. "Why the message on your answering machine? I don't like all this sneaking around."

"We weren't sneaking around, sir," I said finally. "I proposed late Thursday night; Friday was spent quietly here and with our friends the Parkers; this morning you burst in on us unannounced. We have barely had time to adjust to being engaged."

"Honestly, we were going to call you later today or tomorrow. It's our news," Maggie said. "Our choice when to tell it."

"But why?" Mrs. Mitchell wailed. "Why him? He's so much older than you are, and so scruffy!"

"Mother!"

"Mrs. Mitchell, I love your daughter and your grandson," I said, standing up abruptly. I couldn't take it any more. "I can care and provide for them. Yes, I'm older than she is and I'm not a clean-cut blond prep-school pinup, but if Maggie can see past it why can't you? I'm just as amazed as you are, but she's chosen me. She wants me to help raise Dylan. Don't you trust her judgment?"

"Auntie C, he found Dylan when he ran away. He knew where he went. He made an ass of himself in the Vegas airport trying to get back here after Maggie called him. I know Maggie's made some stupid choices in the past, but Brian isn't one of them. Aside from Dylan, Brian's the best thing that's happened to her in a long time."

James finished speaking and was met with silence. Mrs. Mitchell was flabbergasted; no one had ever spoken to her like that. Richard stared at nothing in particular, instead he seemed to be rationalising and debating the issue. Time passed, seconds or minutes, no one was certain. James picked up a magazine; Maggie leaned against me.

"I want to talk to you," Richard said after a while. He was looking at me.

Mr. Mitchell and I went outside. March was a slushy month, icy and cold. We were bundled up against the wind as we walked out of the apartment complex and down the street.

"So you want to marry her," he said. It wasn't a question, merely a fact.

"Yes."

"You broke up with her two weeks ago. You went to Vegas, came back and proposed. Why the change of heart?"

"We fought. Sir, as you undoubtedly know, I was married once, a long time ago, to a woman who was emotionally abusive. I watched her die of cancer. And yet those two weeks I was without Maggie were the most miserable of my life, even more so than those three years I spent with my late wife. I decided then that I would do everything within my power to win her back, and the thing I most wanted was to marry her. It was obvious to me, sir."

"And if she said no?"

"I would have most likely gone home to Ireland. Sold everything, resigned."

Richard kicked a chunk of ice out of the way.

"When are you planning on getting married?" he asked.

"I don't know yet. We haven't discussed it. Not until next year, I think. Next spring. I go on sabbatical next fall, and I hope to do some travelling."

"Go home to Ireland," Richard echoed. "I suspect you want me to pay for everything?"

"I'll ask for nothing more than you're willing to give, sir. If you like, I can pay for the whole thing."

"That won't be necessary. She's my little girl, after all."

"Mr. Mitchell, I would have asked for your permission first, had things been different. I would still like to know we have your blessing."

Richard took his time in answering. We had turned back toward Maggie's apartment.

"You have a house?" Richard asked, continuing without answering.

"Yes, on Delaford Court. Three bedrooms, one and a half baths. There's also a small apartment above the garage. There's enough room for the three of us, and any other children." It was awkward discussing children at that point. He was Maggie's father, after all, and probably didn't want to think about his daughter having sex.

"You know that Walker won't be able to have any more kids. He wants full custody of Dylan, and will most likely stop at nothing to get it."

Mr. Mitchell didn't look at me, instead choosing to gaze at the frozen wasteland around us. Our breath came out in small puffs of cloud.

"Yes. That was my first thought when I was told Dylan had run away. I wouldn't put it past Mr. Walker to kidnap him."

The apartment building was in sight.

"If I had had my way, Maggie would still be living at home. There's only so much security this place offers. If Walker wanted to, he could waltz right up and take either of them."

"I offered ... I asked Maggie to move in with me. Not what you think; I offered her the apartment above the garage. It's attached to the house and no one can get to it without the alarm system going off. The alarm system ... being ... Keller."

He laughed. That was a good sign.

"Really. He barks at anything. A squirrel walks across the yard and he's barking like nobody's business. Nothing goes by without him knowing. I'll ask her again, and this time I'll insist. I'd feel better if she were with me. The final decision is up to her, naturally."

Richard nodded and pressed the buzzer to be let into the apartment.

"It's better than being here," he said. "I'm still not completely happy with that arrangement, and Celia certainly won't be, but I'll deal with her. Run the idea past Maggie. Yes. Marry her, make her happy. If you don't, I'll break your kneecaps."

"I don't doubt it. Thank you, sir."

"One more thing. You're going to be my son-in-law. You can call me Richard. No more of this 'sir' crap."

The atmosphere inside the apartment was electric. Maggie and her mother were standing at opposite ends of the living room, with Dylan and James huddled on the large armchair. The former bolted for me as soon as Richard and I entered.

"Richard! We're going home!" Celia shrilled. She made a beeline for her husband and attempted to pull him back out the door.

"No, we're not." Richard pulled away from her. "I think I'd like to take Maggie, Brian and Dylan out to breakfast. You're welcome to join us, Celia, James."

Dead silence.

"Sure," James said. There were tears standing in Maggie's eyes as she went to embrace her father.

"Thank you, Daddy," she said.

All attention turned to Celia, standing alone in a corner. She was still imperial but knew she was losing the battle against me. So with what dignity she was able to muster, she resigned to her fate as future mother-in-law to Brian Teague Campbell, Irishman, educator and hopeless romantic.

Breakfast was an interesting affair. Loud with a fair bit of flying food. Celia was silent for most of it, observing and criticizing, though we tried to include her in the conversation.

Later, after the Mitchells had gone and James had taken Dylan to the promised hockey match, Maggie and I went back to her apartment. Keller was waiting for us, curled up on the couch until we stepped through the door.

"So, what next?" she asked, flopping down in the spot Keller had vacated. "Mom and Dad will be organising a party for the announcement, probably tomorrow night. That's the least of our problems."

"We have problems?"

"Yes. Wedding planning and my family aside, we have a lot of problems. The majority of them are named Jimmy and one's called Smith Union. You're a professor, I'm a student. We're definitely not in a relationship that can stay quiet. Can you say 'Big fat juicy scandal'? I think I should withdraw."

"Maggie, that's not something we need to talk about right now-" My concern were the problems named Jimmy. Anything relating to my fiancée's ex boyfriend and father of my future son was a first priority; whatever was left over was not important.

"School starts Monday. I can still withdraw and get money back. We've officially gone into illegal and/or unethical territory. If I withdraw, we only have to deal with the minor scandal of my dropping out to pursue a relationship with a professor."

"Then it's a scandal either way-"

"Brian, Jimmy could use this against us. Sexual harassment, preferential treatment (although I've never taken one of your classes), and/or, uh, coercive use of authority. Remember, I work in a law office. I've seen stuff like this happen. Once he finds out that we're engaged it will be all over the papers and you could lose your job. I know Kirkmont's all ready talked with you about it."

I sighed. The reality of the situation was what Maggie had said; once Jimmy found out we were getting married, he would do whatever he could to ruin our lives.

"You could transfer," I suggested.

Maggie shook her head. "Not in the middle of the semester. I thought about that. I'll apply at Kierny for next year and pick up where I left off. Or maybe not. Things are going to get really crazy in the very near future. Don't look at me that way, Brian! I'll finish college. I know you'll make me."

She stood up and walked over to my chair, took my face in her hands and looked at me.

"Brian, I love you. You're the romantic idealist I wish I was and am kinda glad I'm not. I hope our kids are like you. But before we get to that point we have to make it through the next few months. You want to adopt Dylan. That means we have to get Jimmy to relinquish his rights and you know full well that he's not going to want to do that. Things are going to get crazy and stressful. I've watched people going through divorce and custody battles and it gets ugly. This will be ugly. There's no way around it."

"I know," I said. I didn't know. I had a vague idea. In the fullness of time, I realised just how vague that idea was.

"We'll get through this," she added. "Remember, Daddy's the foremost criminal attorney in the southeast. He knows people, and judges. And I work for some of the best divorce attorneys in the state. It'll be ugly, maybe even fugly, but we'll get through it and Jimmy will end up as someone's bitch in a high-security prison."

The idea made me laugh, and for a little while I entertained the thought. It beat anything else at the time.

"But, to change the subject," Maggie said, sitting in my lap and curling against me, "You know what we're going to be asked the most. When are we getting married? Any ideas?"

"Next May. It's fourteen months from now and right before my sabbatical. There's plenty of time for planning a wedding, and we can take an extended honeymoon."

"To Ireland! Go to Charleville Castle and see the ghosts!"

"I've been. It's not all it's cracked up to be."

"I still want to go."

"Then we will. God help the ghosts."

A change in subject was welcome, but neither of us believed it would work. The obstacles facing us were monumental. Maggie was a witness in the criminal assault case between Tabbi Sloan and Jimmy Walker; there was a second assault case between Maggie and Jimmy, where I was a witness as well as the one-and-only Smokey; then there was the custody battle, Maggie Mitchell (soon enough to be Campbell) and Brian Campbell versus Jimmy Walker.

As much as I hated the idea, Maggie withdrawing from Smith Union would probably head off any legal problems at that end. At the very least, we had the fact that she was an adult and a non-traditional student in our favour, as well as my exemplary record. I had suggested that she might remove her engagement ring and continue quietly as she had before, but Maggie would hear none of it. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops as I did; however common sense ruled. A formal announcement would wait until school let out for the year, and until then Maggie would simply cite the custody case as her reason for withdrawing. Those who were very observant, however, or privy to our little secret knew better.

March 15th. Monday.

The ides of March. Julius Caesar was assassinated on that day. Emily Anne Stewart died that day too, eight years ago. Maggie officially withdrew from Smith Union that Monday, with condolences from faculty, staff and students with regards to Dylan and the ensuing custody case. It was a black day for me.

We had called my parents the day before, waiting until Sunday dinner to talk to them and share our news. My brother and sister were there as usual, and my nieces and nephews (all of them still in primary school, around Dylan's age); Regan and Davy were still in London. They got a special call from Maggie. I was in a separate room, well away from the telephone, and I still heard Regan's squeal.

Telling the rest of Maggie's family was an event too. Dinner on Sunday night, relatively impromptu, still saw most of her relatives. Dylan's favourite cousin James was still in town, with plans to leave Monday morning. There were dozens of people crammed into the Mitchell homestead, and it was very intimidating to stand in the midst of the crowd and tell them I had proposed to Maggie and was accepted.

Celia was slowly warming up to me, meaning that she did not once refer to me as "Brian the Barbarian" while in her company and actually called me by name, with a few small attempts at civility. Gaining her acceptance would take a long time.

But. Monday morning. Spring break was over; the majority of my students came back from such exotic places as San Francisco, Miami and Cancun, Marquette and Escanaba. I had been in Las Vegas, my first spring break trip since my own university days. No one wished to be in class that day, myself included. I would rather have been at home, in bed, nursing the hangover I was not hiding very well. I had gone out after dinner with James and a few of Maggie's other cousins and uncles, and the rest can be imagined.

"Hey, Brian, got something for ya," Max said, altogether too cheery, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a Monday afternoon. He sank into a chair and held out a fat envelope. "Registration info for the summer soccer league. Still gonna play, or will you be too busy playing house with Maggie?"

"Shh!" I hissed, shutting the office door with more force than needed. The resulting slam rolled around my head far longer than it should. "We're keeping that under wraps, remember?"

"Someone partied too hard last weekend. How long has it been since you've had a hangover?" Max couldn't hide his glee at my discomfort.

"Too long," I said. "I forgot what Hell was like."

"Nonono. Hangovers aren't Hell. They're Purgatory. Hell is reserved for ... other ... people. This just goes to show you need to get out more. Get in a few good hangovers while you're living and shave a few years off when you're dead."

"I don't want to think about that right now, thank you," I grumbled. "I'd like to focus on being alive and not muzzy-headed. I've got a lot of things I need to worry about now. More than I'd thought."

"And you won't have your foxy fiancée hanging about much anymore during the day, will you? I heard about Maggie leaving. Good thing you weren't too public with your relationship. Otherwise the whole place would be buzzing, we'd have a hive of stinking bees."

I groaned. The mere thought of bees started a low buzz in my head, which naturally grew to the same volume as the still-reverberating door slam.

"If you could go away now it would be good," I said. "I don't want to force you out bodily."

"Hey, no need to get violent. Take a couple aspirin, get some coffee. Don't go home to wifey in such a crappy mood."

"Out!"

By that evening the pounding in my temples had abated somewhat. It had mellowed from fire-and-brimstone Viking rowing music to a softer, duller timpani background. I don't know what that bartender put in the drinks, but I had long since made the note to not go out drinking with James and his friends, or if I did, to be the designated driver. I am too old to spend my mornings with my head in a toilet.

I went home first, fed and watered Keller before bundling him up and dropping him at Max and Stephanie's. Maggie and I were going out to dinner, and they would watch both Dylan and the dog for the evening. Dylan had gone home with Tommy on the school bus.

"I'm gonna start charging you rent, Campbell!" the landlord shouted as I keyed myself in. Ah, the luxury of being a fiancé. I waved at him, he laughed.

"Maggie?"

She appeared in the bedroom doorway, simultaneously trying to pull pantyhose off one ankle and the pins out of her hair.

"I just got home! No fair being early. You can't gripe about how long it takes me to get ready now."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said, following her back into her room. "Would almost rather stay in. I'm still working off last night."

"Poor baby. I did warn you, though. I told you they like to party."

My coat landed on the bed, which was right where I threw it, right next to the outfit Maggie had laid out. She sat at her vanity, such as it was, and continued to remove pins and clips from her gorgeous hair. I watched for a while, then stood behind her chair and took over that task, letting the softness of her hair fall through my fingers.

"You really don't feel good, do you?"

I shook my head, kneeling beside her chair. She brushed some hair out of my face, her touch as gentle and light as a cloud.

"You have the most beautiful eyes," she whispered. "Such a soft green. You shouldn't hide them."

Very carefully, one by one, she picked up various pins and began clipping my hair back.

"Put my hair in pigtails and I shall have to kill you," I said. She grinned and kissed my nose.

"I'm going to draw you a nice, hot bath, and while you're soaking I'll order out some Chinese, go get a video and we'll stay in."

"I made reservations, though."

"So we'll cancel. We'll have plenty of opportunities to go out. And besides, it might be some couple's first date tonight. I don't want to go out with a cranky boy anyway."

"You'd rather stay home with one?"

"Yup. Much easier to deal with them in a one-on-one situation. And I think you'd look good with pigtails."

She gathered two handfuls of hair, one at either side of my head and studied the effect. I stared at her with what I hoped was a baleful expression. For all I know I looked like a discomfited basset hound.

It became very important to kiss her then. I broke the grasp she had on my hair and did just that. It didn't help my hangover any but it still felt good.

"I'll go see about that bath then," she said quietly, very reluctant to leave. "I'll stop by the house and pick up some clothes for you. Any preferences?"

I shook my head again. "Jeans and a sweater. Don't expect me to be any more specific. Have I told you how much I love you today?"

"No, but you don't need to. I already know."

Continued In Next Section