Save My Soul (22 page)

“For instance?” He slid a finger inside the folds of skin between her legs.

“My mother. She needs to know.”
And Carlos. You need to know.
Maggie shuddered, unsure if the reaction was in response to Jordon's fingers moving inside of her, or the unpleasant thoughts marring her pleasure.

“So call her. Tell her. Now. Then we can fly to New York.”

Tempting. So tempting. But … “I need to see her, talk to her face to face. Some things can't be settled over the phone.” He nodded, and she knew he understood. “You go to New York. I'll go to Idaho, and we'll be back soon.”

Then they could face the future together.

• • •

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, Maggie was in Idaho, staring at a river running through a picture-perfect landscape. The ribbon of water stretched until it dropped into the grayish horizon. She'd never seen anything more beautiful — except maybe Jordon's smile. She missed him, but coming here was the right thing.

“Magpie, breakfast!”

A tow-headed girl ran past and disappeared around the corner of the cedar shake farmhouse wearing nothing but a soft pink nightgown and a pair of too-big moonboots. Her name was Roselyn, and Maggie admired the gleam in her green eyes. More moxie lurked inside the five-year-old than most people collected in a lifetime.

Magpie.
She'd been in Idaho long enough for the troops to refer to her with Crystal's pet name. Long enough for Maggie to realize she'd spent weeks behaving badly, judging people she didn't know and tuning out the people she did.

The trip turned out to be cathartic, and now she couldn't wait to get home to Jordon — and Carlos, where she would fix the final piece of the proposal puzzle and claim her own happy ending.

Maggie pushed her leather-covered toes into the flaky snow and shuffled toward the house. She smelled grilled potatoes wafting on the chilly wind and her stomach grumbled. She would be leaving Idaho soon, and with all the children under foot, she still hadn't found the right moment to tell Crystal she accepted her new lifestyle. She also hadn't talked about Jordon. After breakfast, when they washed dishes by hand and sang more than they talked, Maggie would try again.

She pushed the screen door open and offered a smile to the crew gathered around the rustic table.

“Fresh squeezed juice?” Crystal held out a hand-blown glass.

Crystal seemed more enamored with the workings of the herb farm and Paul's silver-haired father, Sander, than she did with Paul and Katherine, which helped Maggie relax.

“Magpie sits here.” The little boy named Buck patted the end of a wooden bench.

A purple sprig of lavender rested on the white chipped plate in front of Maggie. Paul and Katherine's teenage daughter, Laurel, slid the flower behind Maggie's ear.

“It's flower communion today.” Her voice was breathy and sweet. She looked pale and willowy like Paul, but with Katherine's mousy hair and complacent eyes.

“Thank you.” Maggie wondered what it would feel like to see herself in the face of another living person. She looked at her mother and caught her own reflection in the dirty glass of a peeling hutch.

The rainbow of smells pulled her attention back to the table. Apples. Cinnamon. Toasted bread.

“Magpie, steel cut oats and almond milk?” Sander passed a fat bowl in Maggie's direction. He had hands like Paul's, long and pink, and while his eyes were the same opaque blue, the lines around them gave him an aged wisdom.

“Thank you.”

Chatter lit the crowded room and mixed with the clangs of mismatched silverware on glass plates. They weren't traditional, but they were certainly family.

“How are you sleeping, Maggie?” Katherine smiled.

The high-pitched voice startled Maggie, even though she heard it often and without reservation on the farm. Katherine was nothing like Maggie imagined. Yes, she was submissive and open to alternative living arrangements, but she was also kind, intelligent, and selfless beyond the bounds of anything Maggie had ever witnessed.

Maggie had been wrong about her mother, too.

“How are you sleeping in the North bedroom, darling?”

“I'm sleeping well.” Maggie stifled the urge to address Crystal as Mom.

Crystal smiled. “I know how you are about feng shui.”

How I was.
Maggie cast her gaze toward the bowlful of oats. Crystal expected the same Maggie. How could she not see the dramatic differences?

As if on a wave of telepathy, Crystal slid her chair from the table, stood and extended a hand to Maggie. “Come, love.”

Protest built in Maggie's throat, but her lips pressed together and her hand slid into her mother's hand. Maggie expected a talisman, a lecture or incense burning to cleanse the troubled look of her soul. What she got was a story that changed her life.

When Crystal finally stopped talking, Maggie tried to process the information. “I imagined he died of an LSD overdose or still roamed the Himalayans as a sherpa,” Maggie said, thinking back over decades of concocting grandiose stories to explain her missing father.

Crystal settled on the bed next to Maggie and pulled her hands into her lap. “Your father was a business man, and we met at the bank.” A weak smile touched her wrinkled lips. “I was withdrawing my money from the hallmark of American greed, and he was depositing.” Her chuckle tinged with sadness. “I told him he was exactly what was wrong with this great country, and he asked me to dinner.”

“You went? With a stuffed suit?”

Crystal shrugged and her eyes turned dreamy. “He was … handsome. Tall, dark and powerful. He had the most ominous aura I'd ever seen, but something about him made it hard to say no.”

Maggie gripped her mother's hands to steady the sway of irony threatening to toss her off the bed.

“I loved him, Magpie. I attached to him, threw myself at his feet and offered to give up everything to spend a single lifetime in his arms.”

A horrible understanding grew beneath Maggie's rib cage and cut off air to her lungs. She recalled years of Crystal's preaching about the need for detachment. Maggie never realized the lectures came from experience. “What happened to him?”

Crystal cackled with despair. “He was married. He had a wife and kids on the other side of the country and came to San Francisco on business. I was the other woman, and I had no idea.”

Crash.
Crystal's words exploded in Maggie's ears. The ringing was unbearable. She stuffed her fingers against her drums and tried to block out her mother's pain.

Crystal smoothed a hand along Maggie's hips. “Magpie, you need to hear this. I need to tell you. From the moment you arrived at the farm, I knew you couldn't leave without knowing the whole story. I should've told you long ago, but I wanted to protect us.”

All those years. All those lessons. The spiteful words about romantic love. The distance Crystal cultivated with everyone she knew. Understandable results of an unbearable pain.

A tear slipped down Maggie's cheek, and she wished for Jordon to catch it.

“Darling, talk to me. Don't shut down. It's not good for you. Open.”

“I love him.” Maggie's chest heaved.

Crystal flinched. She didn't seem to understand Maggie's words. Her face scrunched and her head tipped to one side. “It's okay to love your father. He helped create you.”

“No. I'm in love with Jordon Kemmons. I want to marry him.” Maggie held her breath and braced for Crystal's reaction.

Crystal's face softened. “How wonderful. I'm so happy I didn't scar you for life.” She pulled her into a hug. “Maybe we can have a double wedding right here on the farm. You, Jordon, me and Sander.”

Maggie croaked on the emotion in her throat. “Sander?” And then she cackled. “Are you serious?”

Maggie's heart returned to the same steady beat, as she stared into a face she'd known for a lifetime, but didn't recognize.

Crystal laughed softly. “Yes, I am. If you'd given up on your prejudice against Paul and Katherine weeks ago, you wouldn't be so surprised.” She kissed Maggie's nose. “I've been wrong about so many things, and I don't want you to struggle like I did. Being here with Sander helped me see that I was hiding from a pain that no longer existed. Time healed me, and if I hurt in the future, time will heal me again.”

Maggie looked into her mother's warm eyes, deeper than she'd looked in a long time. “Where's my father now?”

“He died.” Crystal's voice broke. “You were three months old. He was killed in a car accident on his way to the airport. That's how I found out about the wife. I expected to spread his ashes, but his body was returned to her.”

Maggie imagined her beautiful mother with a baby on her hip and a gaping hole in her heart.

Crystal shrugged and squeezed Maggie's hand. “He's buried in Baltimore. I could find out the details if you want. You could visit.”

“I don't want to.”

“Not now, but maybe later. You have two half-brothers, Kyle and Clark. They look like you.”

More stabbing. “How do you know?”

“They came to a coffee house concert a few years back. Their mother told them about me, and they thought it was cool that their father was associated with a famous singer.” Crystal shrugged as if none of it were particularly important. “You should meet them. They're your flesh and blood, your family.”

Loud laughter erupted from behind the closed door. Maggie imagined the Stratton kids playing tag around the kitchen table while Paul and Sander plucked on their guitars. Crystal smiled at the noises.

Maggie knew that look. It was the look of belonging, of wanting to be a part of something, of wanting to live and learn and laugh and grow with a group of people who knew you better than any other people on the planet. Connection. Family.

Kyle and Clark may be Maggie's flesh and blood, but they weren't her family.

She already had one of those.

Maggie unpacked her suitcase, returning her clothes to the drawers in Jordon's walk-in closet. She took a deep breath and drew in his smell, holding it in her lungs with her hands to her heart. She was home. She tried not to cry, but it wasn't easy. The monumental events of the last several days made her weepy.

When she'd finished unpacking, she adjusted the thermostat to seventy-two and pulled a sweater around her shoulders. She checked the clock every five minutes. Jordon's flight was delayed by bad weather in New York, and anxiousness stirred the hunger in her belly.

She made a bowl of rice and topped it with a handful of cherry tomatoes and slivered almonds. She missed the farm food. She missed Crystal. She even missed the rest of them. When she left for the long ride to the airport, they were gathered around a tree behind the house, hanging edible decorations from the boughs.

Taking in the neutral tones of the large walls around her, Maggie imagined a Christmas tree next to the fireplace and one on the deck strung with bird-friendly treats. A smile warmed her lips when she imagined the fit Jordon would pitch when her feathery friends dive-bombed his wood planks.

With the bowl in hand, she made her way around the kitchen island, passed between the dining table and hutch, and eased her exhausted body onto an oversized chair.

The front doorknob jiggled, and she whipped her head around to see two shadowy figures on the other side of the privacy glass. Her latest mouthful of rice caught in her throat, and she fought convulsive coughs rising from her chest. She stood, coughed some more and came face to face with Carlos and Bernie.

“You okay, Maggie?” Bernie rushed to her side, pounding her back a couple times.

She covered her mouth to stop her teeth from scattering on the floor. “I'm good.” She stepped away from him before he could whack her again. “You guys scared me.” She turned to Carlos who was already heading up the stairs. His face set in a blank stare and his knuckles whitened around a carryon bag. “You're home early.”

He didn't speak as he disappeared.

She turned to face Bernie, letting an errant cough slip past her lips. “What's going on?”

“Who knows?” He shrugged. “I don't ask questions. I just give you people rides.”

After Bernie left, Maggie knocked on Carlos's bedroom door. Talk about déjà vu. She wondered if this called for
House Hunters
and molding clay.

“Open, please. Let's talk. Why are you home early? Did you tell your family?”

Silence. She leaned against the door and knocked again. “I can help you, but I can only help if you help yourself. Come on, Carlos.”

Nothing. She yawned and pressed a fist below her breast bone where a nagging burning sensation lingered from her Olympic-sized coughing fit. Forget it. She was bone tired.

“Don't worry about it, Carlos. I'm going to bed. We'll try again tomorrow.”

She limped down the stairs and into the master bedroom where she undressed and crawled beneath the covers, taking care to use every last blanket folded at the bottom of the bed. Weeks of heavy emotion loosened their grip on her heart as she drifted off to sleep.

Maggie expected Jordon to rouse her with kisses, but instead she heard crying. Who was it? She stilled inside her darkened mind and listened. Was she dreaming?

When she felt a presence, her eyes shot open. A shadow loomed in the doorway.
Carlos.
His wails filled her with fear.

“What's wrong? What happened?” She wrapped an arm around the blankets and sat.

Moonlight sparkled on a stream of snot dripping from his nose. “What happened?” She was yelling, like Jordon.

“He … he … .”

“He who?” She scrambled for a robe, not caring one bit if he glimpsed a bit of flesh in the process. “Did something happen to Jordon?” She raced toward Carlos, a heavy cramping in her gut.