Our Song Returns: Falling In Love At The Wrong Time (2 page)

The next night Maggie put the finishing touches on her makeup and slid vintage beaded earrings into her ears. Shattered by a night of looking at Bill with his new wife, she agreed to a blind date with a friend of Patrick’s. It had been a panic move, one that she was regretting more and more the closer it got to the date time. What had she been thinking? She was a wreck. She barely slept, and when she had, her sleep had been tormented by dreams of Bill dancing, kissing his bride every time the wedding guests tapped their glasses and (something she had only seen in her imagination) the two of them enjoying a wildly passionate wedding night.

She shook her head to clear it. It was pointless to be thinking about this. Bill was married, and she would probably never see him again. It was just as well. The timing just had not worked out for them. She dabbed a little more concealer under her eyes, then grabbed her purse and headed out to meet Patrick’s friend. His name was Dale, and she knew only that he was a freelance graphic designer who painted community theater sets in his spare time. On paper, he seemed interesting enough. Maybe it would work out.

She had half an hour until she was due to meet him, so she decided to take the train to Park Street again and walk from there. They were meeting at Maurizio’s, her favorite restaurant in the North End. She was relieved when he texted her the time and place of their meeting. At least she knew the food would be good. She wondered if Patrick had tipped him off about the restaurant. It seemed a bit unlikely that he landed on her favorite restaurant out of the hundreds in the city by pure chance.

When she got off the train, the wind was blowing fiercely, causing the lit trees on the Common to sway violently. She hurried down Tremont Street and cut across City Hall Plaza, muffling a curse as the wind instantly whipped her hair into a rat’s nest. She ran down the steps, through Faneuil Hall, and across the street into the North End. She was a few minutes late, but even though her hair was a disaster she was glad she had walked. The fresh air had helped to clear her head of thoughts of Bill, and she promised herself that she would give Dale a fair shot.

He was waiting for her right inside the restaurant door, which was protected from the bitter cold by an unromantic sheet of thick plastic.

“Maggie?”

She held out her hand. “Hi Dale, nice to meet you.”

When they got to their table and took off their coats, Dale ran his eyes over her body in a way that brought a blush to her cheeks. It was not that she minded it when a man looked at her body, but his open leer was a bit much for the first two minutes of a blind date. She forced a smile on her face and said, “Patrick tells me you’re a graphic designer. That must be interesting. What kind of things do you design?”

“Oh, all different things, logos for local companies, theater bills, ads for charity events, but nothing I design is as beautiful as you are.”

“Thanks.” Maggie managed to suppress the eye roll she wanted to give. Why couldn’t men ever just talk? Why did everything have to be a come on? She knew it was a date, but did that have to mean that every sentence was loaded with innuendo? Couldn’t they just be people for a minute? She decided to take the bull by the horns. “Can we just dispense with the flirtation and talk like two ordinary people?”

“Don’t you like being told that you’re beautiful?”

This time Maggie did not bother to control her facial expression. She was trying to connect with this guy, and he was not getting the message. He was handsome enough, but if that were all she was looking for from a man she would have been married ages ago. It was not that simple. Unbidden, she thought back to her first date with Bill. Admittedly, they had been in high school, but she could still remember the way they talked for hours. They had just gone out for pizza, but they had been so absorbed in conversation that she missed her curfew and been grounded for a week. She had not minded at all.

“Listen, I think you’re a good-looking guy—“

“Thank you,” he interrupted her.

“… but I’d like to know if we have anything in common before we start groping each other.”

“Well, sweetheart, my philosophy is grope first and get to know each other later. What’s the point of spending a ton of time getting to know each other if we’re not physically compatible? Come on, let’s have some dinner – and hey, don’t order something with a ton of garlic, okay – and we’ll head back to my place. I live right around the corner.”

Maggie gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

“I never joke about sex.”

This was too much. She shook her head in disbelief and looked down at her menu to collect her thoughts. Was this guy Patrick’s friend? For real? She could only assume that Patrick had no way of knowing how much of a creep this guy was on dates. Did this actually work for him? Did he actually get women to have a non-garlicky Italian dinner, a feat in and of itself, and then just hop into bed with him? She decided to think about it as anthropological research and pressed on with it.

“Do women actually respond to that? How often do you convince someone to hop into bed with you like that?”

“Often enough. But I’m not promiscuous.” He smirked at her. “I’m clean; you don’t have to worry about that. What do you say?”

She felt her stomach churn, and she slapped her menu closed. “I say, no thanks. I’d say that I appreciate the offer, but I don’t really. I’m going to go.” She stood up and slipped her arms into her coat as their waiter approached with champagne, which Casanova must have ordered in advance.

“Is there a problem, Ma’am?”

“No, no problem. I’ve just lost my appetite.” She gave Dale as imperious a glance as she could muster and said, “Good luck. I think you’re going to need it.”

She turned and headed out the door, tying her scarf over her head as she went. The intense cold hit her as she left the restaurant, and she resisted the urge to look back and see the expression on her date’s face. She thought of herself as being relatively modern, and she certainly was not a prude, but that kind of a direct jump into sexuality made her intensely uncomfortable. She fumbled in her pocket to find her cell phone and sent Patrick a quick text: “Thanks for setting me up with your creeper friend.” She knew he would want a full explanation, and she’d give him one later, but for now she just wanted to get home.

Back in her apartment she put on fleece pajamas and sat on the bed with her laptop. She knew she should not do it, but she opened up Google and typed “William Nackley” into the search box. When the results came back, she saw the usual things: Facebook and Linked In profiles. The third result was interesting, though, it was a website for a shelter for homeless teenagers, and it was here in Boston. She clicked on the link and ended up on a page that listed Bill as the shelter’s executive director. Over to the side was a button that said, “Volunteer this holiday season.” She clicked on it, and a form appeared. They were looking for volunteers to help out at the shelter’s Christmas Eve party. She thought of how hard it must be to find people willing to give up Christmas Eve with their families, and without giving herself time to think about it she typed in her name, cell phone number, and email address with a note saying that she would be happy to help. She clicked send.

The next two weeks were a blur of Christmas parties and weddings for Maggie and Patrick, and anxious anticipation for Maggie. She had gone back and forth on her decision to volunteer at the shelter party hundreds of times. On several occasions, she had even gone to the website intending to opt out of volunteering, but when she saw that the calls for volunteers were becoming increasingly urgent, she decided not to do so. No matter what, the kids at the shelter deserved a Christmas party. It was not their fault she was a sentimental fool. Regardless of her feelings for Bill, he was a married man, and she was not the kind of woman who would get involved with another woman’s husband. She would go because it was the right thing to do, not out of any sense of expectation or anticipation regarding her old boyfriend. That was what she kept telling herself, but every time she thought about the party she could not suppress the flutter of anticipation that flooded her body.

December 23
^rd
was her last gig of the season, until New Year’s Eve, of course. She and Patrick were playing a private party at one of the big brick townhouses on Beacon Street overlooking the Boston Public Garden, one of Boston’s wealthiest neighborhoods. The home had twenty-foot ceilings, marble floors, and a gilded guest bathroom so atrociously ornate that she and Patrick had not been able to look at one another after they took turns using it. The hosts of the party were one of Boston’s most successful real estate moguls and his wife, and the guest list read like a Who’s Who of Boston society.

After she and Patrick had been done with the sound check, he turned to her and said, “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

She smirked. “Why? Do you have another pervert friend you want to fix me up with?”

He swatted her arm. “You are never going to let me live that down. Are you?”

“No way. It gives me too much leverage.”

He grinned at her. “Well, if you’re not doing anything why don’t you come over? We’ll roast chestnuts and watch The Ref, and if you’re lucky I’ll let you put a candle wreath on your head.”

She had to admit that sounded like fun. She hesitated to tell him about her volunteer job, only because it would lead to questions. Eventually, she told him, and he scolded her gently. “You’re not the mistress type.”

“I know, but apparently I’m not the marrying type either or I’d already be married and not going on blind dates with creeps.”

“Plenty of people get married late in life.”

Maggie grimaced. “Late in life. Great. Now I’m an old maid.”

They continued bantering quietly as the hostess instructed the wait staff on how to pass the hors d’oeuvres. She signaled that they should start the music, and Patrick launched into the opening chords of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

The next night Maggie stood outside the shelter entrance, her entire body a bundle of nerves. She was wearing jeans and a red sweater. She had briefly considered wearing a clingy velvet dress, but it was freezing outside, and she was not looking to seduce Bill anyway. She knocked, and Bill opened the door. She had thought she was prepared to see him, but his presence still forced the air out of her lungs. He was so handsome, and his eyes were absurdly blue.

“Maggie! Come in. I saw your name on the volunteer list, and I was hoping it wasn’t another Maggie Brennan. I imagine there are a few in this area.”

“Yes. Not the most unique name in the world. How’s married life?”

“Good.” He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “It’s really good to see you. I had no idea you’d be performing at the wedding, but we were lucky to have you. Your voice is so beautiful.”

His compliment warmed her, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “Thank you. How long have you been working here?”

He took her coat and hung it on a hook near the door. “Oh, about three years. I was working at a shelter in New York, but then I met Michelle, and after we’d been dating a while I moved here. I thought about looking you up….” His voice trailed off.

“I understand. It would have been awkward to introduce me to your new girlfriend. I’m glad to see you now, though.”

He smiled, and she noticed the tiny laugh lines around his eyes, a sign of age, but one that made him even more handsome in her eyes. “Come on. Let me introduce you to the kids.” He led her to a room dominated by a huge Christmas tree that twinkled in the darkness. He cleared his throat. “Everyone, this is Maggie. She’s an old friend and she’s here to help out tonight. Make sure you say hello and do what she says.”

A chorus of hellos and groans erupted from the two dozen teenagers crowding the room. Maggie smiled and gave a little wave, then turned to Bill. “What do you need me to do?”

“You can help bring out the food, for starters. The kitchen’s back there.”

She headed in the direction he pointed and thought about how happy he seemed to see her at the door. It hurt a little to be near him, but not because she did not enjoy his company. He had always been so kind and supportive to her, and maybe they could be friends.

She spent about half an hour slicing cheese, arranging crackers on plates and pouring store-bought eggnog into a gigantic punch bowl. Then she and the other volunteer, a young woman named Khadija, carried the food out to a big buffet table. The kids flocked around as soon as the first plates of food arrived, jostling one another as they dished the food onto their plates. The noise level was unbelievable, as if someone had dumped a packed Fenway Park into a closed subway car. She locked eyes with Bill and he motioned for her to join him near the Christmas tree.

“How is it possible that two dozen kids can make this much noise? It’s against the laws of nature.”

He laughed easily, his eyes crinkling as he looked at her. Her mouth went dry. Maybe she could not be friends with him because all she could think about was grabbing him and kissing him forever. She shook her head to clear it and glanced up to find him looking at her quizzically. “Everything okay?” She nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but her thoughts were interrupted by a loud shriek from the near the buffet table.

They turned and saw two teenage girls locked together, each screaming unintelligibly. Bill murmured a quiet “Damn” and headed over to investigate. As he walked, he raised his voice. “Tasha! Maria! Break it up, girls!”

They ignored him and continued pulling at each other’s hair and screaming. He waded into the fray as Maggie watched, unaware that she was holding her breath. She knew that they were just kids and probably prone to dramatic outbreaks, but it was still stressful to watch. The way they were flailing around, it was not impossible that Bill could get hurt, even though he was significantly bigger than they were.

He caught the girl named Tasha by the shoulders and pulled her away from Maria, who was being restrained by another shelter worker. Tasha was shaking with fury, and Bill handed her his handkerchief and said, “What happened?”

Tasha struggled to catch her breath. “She called me a… a…” She couldn’t get the words out. “How does she know anyways? She doesn’t know anything about me!”

Suddenly she tore away from Bill and toward the door, giving Maria a huge shove that sent her sprawling back into the punch bowl. Eggnog flew everywhere, and the whole room froze for a minute. A cold blast of air came in from the door, which was swinging open. Bill hurried over to check on Maria, and Maggie followed, grabbing napkins from the table to try to clean up the eggnog. Maria was upset but not hurt, and Bill strode to the door, grabbing his coat from its hook. He was clearly going out to look for Tasha and without thinking Maggie went over and joined him, putting on her own coat.

"I’ll help.” She said it quietly, and he flashed her a quick smile of gratitude as they went out into the cold, snowy night.