The Deepest Blue (14 page)

At that moment my stomach lets loose with an amazing gurgle, and we both allow ourselves to laugh.

“How does pizza at Luigi's sound?” Maggie asks.

My stomach lurches and growls.

“I take that to mean you like the idea?”

“Somebody in there does,” I say. A little smile creeps across my face.

We head out in the Subaru, heading up the island about five miles to Luigi's for pizza and root beer. Pepperoni, black olives, mushrooms, and extra cheese arrive at our table, and even though I should be stuffing my face out of hunger, I can only manage a few bites. Maggie pulls the toppings off one at a time and eats them with her fingers. Then she pulls the cheese off in gooey clumps and takes small bites, licking her fingers when she's done. Finally, she nibbles at the crust, working from the small point of the triangle to the crunchy edge, which she folds in half and chews slowly.

“That's weird,” I say after watching the entire process.

“You've seen me eat pizza before,” Maggie says, smiling lightly.

“I guess I never really paid attention before,” I say. “I mean, that's so . . . uh . . . methodical?”

She lets out a laugh. “I guess that's one way of looking at it.”

I grab a wide slice and take another bite without thinking about it. Before long I've polished off two pieces, and I start to feel closer to normal, or what I think might be normal. I'm not sure I can tell what that is anymore.

Maggie licks tomato sauce off her fingers and then wipes her hands on a white paper napkin. “Better?”

“Better.”

“At some point, when you feel up to it,” she says, and I immediately get a knot in my stomach, “we need to talk about a few things. Important things.”

“Mom things?”

She nods. “I don't know when the right time is going to be, so I need you to sort of help me out with that.”

Next year,
I think, but I know that won't fly. “What's wrong with now?”

Maggie looks around. “You sure you're up to it?”

I shrug. “As good a time as any.”

She folds her hands on top of the table and looks down at them for a moment. “Mike, this is all new to me.” Her voice is low, and she sounds a little nervous.

“Well, that makes two of us.” I'm instantly sorry I'm such a smart ass.

Maggie's head jerks up. She looks confused—not mad— just like she isn't sure how to take what I said.

“Sorry.” I lower my head because I can't look her in the eye right now.

“This is big, Mike,” she says in a serious tone. “I mean, I've never been a mother. The most I've been around kids—other than you, mind you—is at work. And even with you, your dad was there a good part of the time.”

I nod.

“This is all new to me, and I don't know the rules. I don't know what the right thing to do is most of the time,
and I'm afraid I'm going to make some huge mistakes that wind up hurting you.”

My heart speeds up, and I swallow back against that feeling of wanting to run again. “You mean, you don't really want to be my mom.” The quiver in my voice gives away my anxiety.

“No,” Maggie says, her hand shooting across the table to grab mine. “No, I'm not saying that at all.”

Now I'm confused. “So what do you mean?”

“I'm scared, Mike. Terrified. You're a teenage boy, a young man. You're practically grown, and all of a sudden I'm supposed to step in and try to be your mom. It's a big order, and . . . I'm scared to death.” She takes a deep breath and holds it a second, then lets the air slowly leak out in a
puh
sound between pursed lips. “All I know is that I love you. I loved your dad, and I really wanted all of us to be a family one day, but it clearly isn't going to be like I had it in my head.”

No kidding,
I think, but I keep my mouth shut.

Maggie releases my hand. “I guess what I'm trying to say, Mike, is that we've got our work cut out for us. We have to figure out the rules as we go along. We have to figure out how we're going to be a family of two. We have to figure out how we're going to live in the same house together, work out the shower schedule so no one uses too much hot water, decide who's going to take out the garbage. That sort of stuff.”

“Where are we going to live?”

Maggie pauses for a minute and thinks. “Where do
you want to live?”

I think for a second. “At my house. Dad's house. But I know that might be weird for you.”

“Maybe,” she says, “but maybe not. We could do a little rearranging, make it ‘our' house. I could sell my place and put the money into fixing up our house the way we want it.” She emphasizes the word
our
like I might miss the point.

“Rearrange how?”

“I don't think I could stay in your dad's room.” Her body shudders just a bit as she thinks through the idea. “But if you would be willing to move into his room, I'd be okay taking your room.”

I let the idea roll around in my head. There is something comforting about the thought of living in my dad's room. “I think I could do that,” I say. “But my room is a certified disaster area. It'll take a lot of work to make it suitable for you.” I think about the holes in the walls, the broken closet door, and the pervasive scent of stinky guy feet.

“I think I can handle it.” Maggie says with a smile.

“I'll have to help. It's my disaster.”

She takes a long drink of root beer and then spins the ice cubes around in her glass. They rattle and tinkle as she sets the red plastic glass on the table. “I'll call a realtor next week, then.”

I weigh this thought, and I decide it feels good to have resolved where we will live. And it feels good to know Maggie listened to me, and I listened to her.

“There's something else we need to talk about,” she says. Her voice is softer, firmer.

“Okay,” I say, hesitating just a little.

“Like I said, you're a young man, practically an adult. But we need to talk about Rachel.”

I guess I knew this was coming.

“Nothing happened that night,” I say, a little too defensively.

Maggie's eyes snap to my face. “Mike, I trust you. Just hear me out for a second.”

I hold her stare, trying to read where this might be headed. With Dad I could always stare him down—or at least figure out how deep the crap was that I was in. Maggie gives nothing away. A knot tightens in my throat. My hands begin to sweat.

“Part of me wants to say that it's none of my business, but the fact is, it is my business now.”

Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. I rub my palms on my shorts and grab the cool glass of soda to try and calm myself. She looks away for a split second, then stares at me right between the eyes. “Mike, this is a tough time for you. For both of us. I know you're going through a lot of emotions that are painful, confusing, and overwhelming.” She is quiet for a moment, but she doesn't look away. “The thing is, running away isn't going to take care of the problem, and right now isn't the time to making life-changing decisions like having sex with a girl.”

“Nothing happened.” I say the words slowly. “I swear it.”

“And I believe you. Really.” Maggie reaches out and takes hold of my hands again. “I want us to be able to talk openly about anything.
Anything,”
she says, stressing the
word. “That may take time, I know, but Mike, I will never judge you or tell you something that isn't true. I promise you that you can trust me.”

I believe that Maggie is being sincere, but the thought of talking about sex with her? Not so much. “I don't know,” I say. “That sounds so weird to me.”

“I'm sure it does. And I don't expect you're going to jump right in with both feet and start pouring out all your secrets. It will take time. But I just want you to know that I trust you, and that you can trust me.”

I nod and then look away. “Really, Maggie, nothing happened between Rachel and me.”

“I told you I believe you. I've known you long enough to know when you're lying.”

I slouch a little in the stiff chair. “How do you know?”

Maggie smiles. “I just know. Like with your dad. I always knew when he was up to something.”

“Did you know about the ring, his trip to Raleigh?”

Maggie draws another deep breath but lets it out quickly. “Nope. That time he got one over on me.” She smiles, but it's a sad smile, like her face doesn't want to cooperate.

She isn't wearing the ring.

“Maggie, I'm sorry for being such a brat.”

“You're not a brat. You're a great kid in a horrible set of circumstances, and just like me, you're doing the best job you can.” Tears sparkle in her eyes, but they don't spill.

“I'm just glad you're willing to be my mom, or my guardian, or—okay,” I say, exasperated. “Whatever it is
you're going to be, I'm glad you're going to be it.”

Maggie chuckles, stands up and brushes crumbs from her shorts, then comes around the table and hugs me. “Me, too.”

We box up the rest of Luigi's pizza to take home, not that we need any more food. We drive back to Maggie's house and I'm caught somewhere between relief for how things happened, and some weird kind of guilt. I don't know why or where the feeling comes from, but it keeps me from being able to enjoy the evening. It's an awkward feeling, like having your shoes on the wrong feet and trying to walk. I'm off balance, and I wonder if I'll ever figure out how to straighten it out.

chapter 11

I decide not to go to the movie, and instead, Maggie and I rent movies and hang out eating popcorn with Rocket. The phone rings once in a while, but we check the caller ID and decide not to answer it unless it's Chuck, which it never is.

I sleep at Maggie's for the next few nights, Rocket by my side like a giant stuffed animal. It's comforting to have him next to me, and I'm glad I decided to stay over. I call and check in with Rachel. She is disappointed we don't get together much, but she seems to understand.

Sunday morning I find Maggie drinking coffee at the table and looking over more documents from Chuck.

“Did I wake you?” Maggie asks.

“Rocket woke me. That dog farts something foul.”

Maggie smiles, but it's a weak expression that sags as quickly as it rose.

“I have a question about tomorrow,” I say.

She looks at me over the top of her mug as I take the chair next to hers.

“I'm supposed to get up and say something.”

“If you don't want to—” she says, but I interrupt her.

“It's not that. I do, but I don't know what I'm supposed to say.”

Maggie sips her coffee, sets the mug on a white paper napkin, and runs her fingers along the grain of the wooden table. “Say what you need to.”

I look at her, waiting for something a little more helpful. “Like what?”

“Whatever it is you need to say.” She looks at me as if this is such a simple concept.

“Well, should I talk about him and the boat? Or about him and me?”

Maggie picks up her mug, wrapping both hands around it. I watch a ribbon of steam curl up and away as she looks at me. I wait for something, some clue as to what it is I'm supposed to do. I've been to only one funeral in my life, when I was seven or eight, and I barely remember it. I didn't know the person; it was someone from the docks that Dad knew. I just remember everyone crying, and I didn't understand why.

“If you could tell the people who're going to be there something about your dad, what would be the most important thing for them to know about him?”

I take in this idea and let it float through my brain a second. “That he was an amazing guy because of everything he did for me.”

“Then that's what you should say.” Maggie swallows a gulp of coffee. “You should tell people about the things Rich
did for you, and what that meant to you.” She tilts her head from side to side. Her voice sounds strained and tired.

“Okay.” I spend most of Sunday in my room at Maggie's, writing and rewriting things about my dad, but what I write sounds stupid, hollow. I ball up sheet after sheet from the legal pad, wadding the wasted words into a sphere and chucking it at the trash can.

Maggie pokes her head in every now and then to make sure I'm all right, to wonder if I'm hungry, to ask if I want to go for a walk with Rocket. I nod or shake my head, saying little.

The day drags. An electrical storm creeps in from the ocean. The sky darkens, and lightning slices through the air, flashing in the corner of my eye as I stare at the blank lines on the legal pad.

Around five o'clock the phone rings. Maggie comes to the door. “It's Rachel,” she says, keeping the receiver covered with her hand.