Blindsided (2 page)

“I didn't . . . I couldn't . . . I was in shock at first. Then I got angry because Gus didn't have to go. He
wanted
to go. Even in the condition he was in, which wasn't all that good health-wise. He was in constant pain, and there was nothing more the doctors could do for him. All he said was, ‘I'm a soldier. I have to do this. They need me.' He didn't think twice because some damn company wanted him as a consultant. He didn't even ask me if I was okay with it, he just agreed. We had a horrible fight, and he left. He just packed a duffel. Someone came to pick him up, and he waved good-bye. He
waved!
Do you believe that? He waved good-bye. No kiss good-bye. I didn't see it coming. I felt like I was . . . blindsided, for want of a better term. Six weeks later, the same person who picked Gus up came to the farm and gave me the news, along with his gear. They said there wasn't . . . there wasn't enough of him left to send home for burial. It was a roadside bomb.”

“Darling girl, why didn't you call us? We would have rushed to you on winged feet. Did you go through this alone? Was anyone there for you? Oh, Maggie, we are so sorry,” Myra said, wrapping the young woman in her arms. She looked up at Annie, whose eyes were wet.

“The girls. Did you tell the girls?” Annie finally managed to ask.

“No. I felt so guilty I couldn't bear to be around anyone. By then I knew I had fallen out of love with Gus. I called Ted in the middle of the night, and he helped a lot. He was there for me. He even came to see me once during . . . the worst of it. The only other thing I did was call Gus's nephew, his only living relative, and told him about Gus's death, and turned over the kennel and the farm to him. He came in a heartbeat, and things finalized the other day. I had nowhere else to go, so here I am. I need a job. Are there any openings at the paper? I'll do anything, even maintenance if that's all that's available. I kept my old house in Georgetown and paid the taxes, but there's a tenant in there I'll have to ask to move.”

“Ted knew. He never said a word,” Annie said in a disbelieving voice.

“Because I asked him not to. I wasn't in a good place, Annie. I wasn't up to making decisions. It was Ted's idea to turn the farm and the kennel over to Gus's nephew, and the sooner the better. I would like to think that I would have done it somewhere down the road, but having Ted help me was even better. He would check on me six or seven times a day.”

“Ted is a good man,” Myra said gently.

“Yes, he is,” Maggie agreed tearfully. “Don't get me wrong here. I married Gus because I loved him. Gus married me to belong to someone. He married me for all the wrong reasons. I found that out rather quickly. He wanted a partner. A business partner. Not a wife. I tried to make it work, but you can't make someone love you. If Gus hadn't gotten the offer to go off to Afghanistan when he did, I probably would have called it a day on my own because I fell out of love. It's that simple.

“I told him I would stay until he got back, then I'd file for divorce. I don't know if he even heard me; he was so gung ho on getting back to Afghanistan. That all went down during the big fight. Ted insisted I go to a shrink, which I did. What I got out of all of the sessions was that in his mind, Gus had only one love: the army. He knew he might die over there, and he was okay with it, knowing he was doing what he wanted to do. That was pretty hard to accept. Plus, the shrink said he knew that he had nothing to come home to. That's the guilt I'm carrying with me.”

“Oh, no, no, no, darling girl. That's all wrong. Gus made a choice. It wasn't your choice. You can't carry that guilt with you. You said it yourself—Gus was a soldier. It was the only life he knew from the age of eighteen as I recall. It was his choice to return to Afghanistan, and it doesn't matter in what capacity he was going; he made it knowing what he was getting into. Did the two of you communicate while he was there?” Myra asked.

“A few times via e-mail. He was happy, said he felt he was contributing. He asked me not to be angry with him. It was a roadside bomb, and the man who came to see me said he died instantly. There was a huge insurance policy. I wanted to give it to Gus's nephew, but he wouldn't take it. I doubt I'll ever be able to spend the money. I'm trying to come up with a good cause that Gus would approve of to donate it to. Something for wounded vets on their return. I don't know yet. I'm sure something will come to me sooner or later.”

“Ted?” Annie said, mentioning her new editor-in-chief at the paper she owned.

“My rock. I couldn't have made it without him, and no, I don't want his job, Annie. I laughed when he told me he had taken over my old job. He said the chair didn't fit, but he was getting used to it. He misses being out there gathering news, or in his case,
making
news. Espinosa sent me funny e-mails from time to time. He was in on it—the secrecy part. Both he and Ted are better friends than I deserve.”

“Rubbish!” Annie exclaimed. “The three of you worked well together. They missed you terribly when you left, but they both stepped up to the plate, and I know every time a crisis reared, they both would ask, ‘What would Maggie do?' And then they'd do it. It actually worked. You were on the payroll in absentia in a manner of speaking.”

Maggie smiled through her tears. “Thanks for telling me that.”

Myra clapped her hands, and said, “Now I think we should all go to lunch. Annie has seventy-three dollars she won in Las Vegas, and it's burning a hole in her pocket. We were on our way to town when you arrived. You're too thin, Maggie. The first thing we need to do is put some meat back on your bones. Or we could drink our lunch if you feel that would be more appropriate.”

Maggie blew her nose in a fresh wad of paper towels, dabbed at her eyes, and sat up a little straighter. “I'm your girl,” she said with spirit.

“And you're going to stay with me until your house is available. My roommate just relocated, and I'm all alone,” Annie said.

“Where's Fergus? Are you saying Fergus left?” Maggie asked, shock ringing in her voice.

“It's a long story, dear. We can talk about it over lunch,” Myra said, shooing Maggie out the door while she tried to hold the dogs at bay for a clean getaway.

 

 

Annie drove the way she always did, like a bat out of hell. They arrived at a local bistro that served alcoholic beverages at lunchtime with the brakes smoking and tires squealing.

Myra and Maggie exited the car on wobbly legs. Not so Annie, who smiled with satisfaction, and said, “I got you here in one piece.”

“Just shut up, Annie. It's going to take at least an hour for me to calm down after that hair-raising ride.”

“I remember this place. We got drunk here, Annie. I can't remember who drove us home, though,” Maggie said. “This is like old times. And they were good times, too.”

“Well, don't look at me; I'm
old
now and can't remember a damn thing. Just ask Miss-know-it-all Myra,” Annie said, glaring at Myra, who glared right back.

They were seated in a ruby-red leather booth in the back of the bistro. Annie suggested they make it simple and order one of everything, which she did. “Three double bourbons and branch water on the rocks. One of everything on the menu.”

“Annie!” Myra yelped.

“What? What? There are only four things on the damn menu, Myra. Burgers, hot dogs, fries, and onion rings.”

“Oh,” was all Myra could say.

“Works for me,” Maggie said. “I've been drinking to excess lately. After today, I'm going on the wagon. I smoke now, too,” she volunteered.

“Really?” Myra and Annie said in unison.

“They were just crutches to get me . . . you know, through the bad nights.”

“Did it help?” Myra asked.

“No. I'll give up the cigarettes after today, too. I hate smelling like a chimney stack, and I hate waking up with a hangover.”

“Good for you, dear,” Myra said, reaching across the table for Maggie's hand. She patted it to show she understood, as did Annie.

“So, tell me about Fergus,” Maggie said, raising her bourbon glass in a toast. The women clinked their glasses before Annie started on her story, embellishing it along the way, which was no surprise to Myra. She knew that Annie was trying to lighten Maggie's dark mood at her own expense.

Twenty minutes later, Maggie said, “So what you're saying is, you're going to miss the sex more than the man himself even though he's a really good cook.”

Annie squirmed in her chair and flushed. She shrugged and gulped at the little bit of the bourbon in her glass that remained. She held it aloft for a refill.

“I guess you're thinking there is no one else out there who will rip your clothes off with their teeth. Is that it?” Maggie continued.

“More or less. I might have to settle for a manual slow and easy. We all have to make concessions from time to time,” Annie said airily.

Myra wanted to slip off her seat in the booth, her face a fiery crimson.

“But the last time we were in here you said Fergus had a heat-seeking missile that was all yours. What are you going to replace that with?” Maggie giggled.

“A purple vibrator turned on high!” Myra said, deciding she might as well join in the fun at Annie's expense. And just maybe she'd learn something she could pass on to Charles. At some point. Just the thought made her insides all jittery and Jell-O-like.

“You little devil, you! I knew it! The word
vibrator
was never in your vocabulary, Myra, my dear,” Annie chortled.

“I've been reading
Cosmo
so I can keep up with you,” Myra said defensively.

“Myra, you are so far behind me, it would take you a lifetime to catch up. Now, if you really want the skinny on Fergus's prowess, gather close. I wouldn't want word of this to fall on anyone's ears but yours. Myra, get out your notebook and make notes for Charles.”

Maggie's eyes almost bugged out of her head.

“Tell us. Our lips are zipped. Right, Myra?”

Myra nodded. If her life depended on it, she couldn't have made her tongue work.

Maggie Spitzer knew in that moment in time that she was back home, and her life would take on a whole new meaning. Who said you can't go home again? she thought smugly. She was the living proof. So there!

T
ed Robinson looked down at the text he was reading, his eyebrows shooting up to his newly receding hairline. He read it three times, committing the text to memory. We need a ride home. We're snookered. Big-time. Come and get us at Mongol's Bistro. Maggie.

“Espinosa!” he roared. “Let's hit it.
Maggie's back in town!
”

Joe Espinosa stood up and looked around. “No shit!”

“You're driving, buddy; c'mon, shake it!”

Espinosa dangled his car keys in front of Ted's glazed eyes. “Articulate, Ted!”

He did as he raced for the elevator, his body shaking, his eyes still glazed. “She needs
me,
Espinosa!”

“Yeah, I got that part, but don't you really mean she needs a ride? Did she specifically say she needed
you?
She did not. She said she needed a ride. So don't go getting your hopes up so high I won't be able to catch you when you fall to Earth,” Espinosa grumbled.

“Whatever. The important thing is she's back. Maggie's back in town! Remember that song Bobby Darin used to sing? Damn! I hope she wants this stupid job back. I'll give it up in a heartbeat.”

Espinosa slid behind the wheel of his SUV. “Ted, just because Maggie is in town doesn't necessarily mean she's back for good. C'mon, I don't want to see you hit the skids again when she leaves.”

“You're wrong. The fact that she's here means she is back. We talked about it. She said when and if she made the decision to return, it would mean she could put the past few years behind her, and that would mean she's ready to move forward. Hey, I'm the one she called. I'm the one that talked to her during those long, dark nights. I'm the one who went to see her and bolstered her. She knew she could count on me. By the same token, I know if I had been in her shoes, she would have come through for me the same way. We have a bond between us. We both went off the rails for a while, but she's taken the next step. I'm not stupid, Espinosa. What will be, will be. In the meantime, I can hope and dream. Stop trying to shoot me down. Can't you drive any faster?”

“I'm going past the speed limit as it is. Calm down, okay? Jeez, you're like some lovesick teenager.”

Ted didn't bother to respond, his thoughts on Maggie, their history, and possibly a future with her back in it. Everyone in the whole damn world knew he was still in love with Maggie Spitzer. Even Maggie knew it. Nobody thought she was in love with him. All he could do was hope for the best.

Ten minutes later, Espinosa said, “Okay, big guy, we are here! How do you want to play this? Do we both go in? What?”

Ted shrugged. “I don't know what the protocol is for bailing out three drunk ladies, one of whom is my boss. I guess we'll just wing it, which means come with me.”

Espinosa hopped out of his SUV and followed Ted into the bistro. He spotted the happy drunken trio within seconds. They waved and shouted. Annie let loose with a shrill whistle, doing a better job than he ever could have—and he was a guy. He was impressed. His boss's prowess in all things always impressed him for some reason.

“Is the bill paid?” Ted asked, his eyes on Maggie.

“I paid it because Annie only had seventy-three dollars that she won in Vegas and I had to make up the difference because the bill was wayyyyyy higher than seventy-three dollars,” Myra singsonged.

“Can you walk, ladies?” Ted asked through clenched teeth.

“Such a silly question, Mr. Robinson. Of course we can walk. We could probably dance if we were asked to. Dance, that is. Isn't that right, girls?” Annie said, her arms flapping every which way.

“Right on,” Myra said, twirling around; she would have fallen if Espinosa hadn't grabbed her by the arm. “I have this inner-ear problem,” Myra said defensively.

“I-do-not-feel-the-need-to-dance,” Maggie said, enunciating each word carefully, her eyes crossing as she tried to focus on the two men standing in front of her.

“And I do not feel like dancing either, so there, young man,” Annie said, holding tight to Myra's arm. She leaned over and hissed into her friend's ear, “We have to stop doing this; we're too damned old to get drunk and depend on other people to get us home.”

Myra glared at Annie, her expression saying more than any words could have.

It was tough going, but somehow Ted and Espinosa got the three women into the backseat of the SUV. “Where to, ladies?”

“Myra's house. Maggie is staying with me until her tenant moves out, but I just got back from Vegas, and the house is in a shambles. Does that answer your question, young man?” Annie chirped.

All Ted heard was that Maggie was staying and would move back into her house. He mumbled something in response. Life was looking good.

 

 

Getting the inebriated ladies out of the SUV proved to be a bit harder than it was getting them in. All Espinosa could see were legs everywhere as the women tumbled over each other. Finally, they were all in the house. Espinosa looked around and decided to make coffee. Ted headed into Myra's family room and built a fire. He ran upstairs for blankets and pillows, which he spread out on the floor. Everyone needed to sleep it off.

“This isn't feeling right to me, Ted. I'm not sure it's a good idea to leave these three alone. Maybe we should stay,” Espinosa said.

“I know what you mean, and I feel the same way, but I think when they wake up they'll be happy we aren't here. We'll get them settled and leave. Five bucks says they'll be asleep in minutes. They're pretty damn drunk in case you haven't noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Espinosa said sharply. “Wonder what got into them?”

“Sometimes you really are stupid, Espinosa. What got into them is Maggie. They had no clue what she's been through. Did you forget that? Whatever their game plan was, it must have worked because Maggie is staying and moving back to her own house.”

Espinosa handed out cups of strong black coffee.

“This is just so sweet of you, Joseph,” Annie said, calling Espinosa by his given name. “Thank you so much for rescuing us. I'll make sure you both get a very nice bonus in your paychecks.”

Maggie swayed from side to side as she tried to focus on the little group in the kitchen. “Ted, I have a line on a story. I meant to tell Myra and Annie but . . . other things got in the way. It's a story the Vigilantes need to know about.”

Annie and Myra reared up at the same time. “Someone needs our help? Oh, this is just what we've been waiting for,” Myra said, clapping her hands.

“Hoorah!” Annie shouted. Then she lowered her voice, and said, “Marines always say that when something goes their way.”

“Tomorrow will be soon enough. We need to be clearheaded when I tell you. I want to go to sleep now, and I can't think clearly,” Maggie said, as her legs finally gave out on her and her eyes closed. Ted reached for her, scooped her up, and carried her into one of the nests he'd made near the fire. He made sure the glass doors on the fireplace were closed tightly.

“Ted?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for everything. I'm sorry I hurt you. You know that song, ‘I Will Always Love You,' the one Whitney Houston sang? That's how I feel . . .” she said, her words trailing off into nothing. Ted stared down at the only woman he'd ever loved, would ever love, and smiled sadly. He felt something prick his eyelids. He blinked and stalked out to the kitchen, but not before one of Myra's magnificent golden retrievers settled down next to his ladylove. In his mind, there was no greater protection than that of a dog. His love was in good protective paws.

“Maggie's asleep. If you two think you'll be okay, Espinosa and I will be getting back to the paper. Call us if you need anything.”

Annie drew herself up to her imposing regal height and fixed her gaze on her two loyal employees. “I trust this . . . this visit is between us, gentlemen.”

“What visit?” Ted grinned as he opened the door for Espinosa. “If you need us, call. Smells good in here.”

Myra's eyes turned crafty. “Do you think so?”

“Oh, yeah,” Espinosa said.

“Well, then, consider it yours,” Myra said, pulling out the electrical cord and handing the Crock-Pot over to Ted, who didn't know what to do, so he just accepted it.

Everyone waved good-bye.

“I think you just did a very dangerous thing, my dear. Charles is going to be upset, isn't he, Myra?”

“Ask someone who cares about Crock-Pots. I-do-not-care!”

“Feisty, aren't we?” Annie tittered as she made her way to the family room, where she sank down, closed her eyes, and was asleep instantly.

Myra smiled as she looked at the empty spot on the kitchen counter where the Crock-Pot had been sitting. Gremlins.

 

 

Charles Martin stepped into the kitchen and looked around. The first thing he noticed was his missing Crock-Pot, the empty cups on the table, and the absence of his beloved. The second thing he noticed was two strange jackets hanging on the wooden pegs near the back door. Guests!

He called out, and the dogs came running, which was no surprise. But they didn't approach him—the four dogs just stood in the doorway, their tails wagging furiously. “Aha! You want me to follow you, is that it?” He did, his hand flying to his mouth so he wouldn't laugh out loud. “Shhh,” he said to the dogs as he backed out of the room. In the kitchen, he opened the door for the dogs. They looked up at him as much as if to say,
Can we trust you to look after the ladies?
“It's okay, I have the picture. Go!” They did and were back within minutes as they lined up waiting for their treats, which they all carried back to the family room.

As smart and as astute as he was, Charles knew
something had gone down
while he was in the catacombs, and it wasn't his disappearing Crock-Pot, although he rightly assumed it had something to do with the ladies' afternoon nap.

Annie was back after only three days. He again rightly assumed she'd been either kicked out of Vegas as she put it or she returned because . . . because . . . Maggie Spitzer was here. He craned his neck to look out the kitchen window to see if Annie's spiffy one-of-a-kind sports car was in the courtyard parking lot. It wasn't. That had to mean someone brought them home from wherever they'd been. It could have been anyone, but if he were a betting man, which he wasn't, he would bet on either Ted Robinson or Joe Espinosa. Or both of those worthy gentlemen.

Something had happened, and he'd missed it. Whatever
it
was. He felt a momentary pang of jealousy that he'd been excluded and all because he was hell-bent on writing his memoirs, an opus that no one would ever read. Even Myra, who said she didn't care to revisit the past in any way, shape, or form.

Dinner. He'd fallen way short on that, too, using the silly Crock-Pot to give himself more time to write his equally silly memoirs. Obviously, he needed to make some changes, and he needed to make them quickly, or he was going to be standing outside the door looking in. Myra could be unforgiving. Annie more so. Maggie . . . Maggie would send him to the dogs and not even blink. Women!

Charles munched on cheese and crackers as he watched the digital clock on the gas range. His thoughts were all over the map as he waited for the time to pass. Somewhere deep inside he knew something was wrong, and the women hadn't seen fit to include him in whatever it was. And that confirmed his thought that he needed to clean up his act. He looked over at the empty space on the kitchen counter. His first clue. Myra meant business.

The minutes, then the hours, ticked by so slowly, Charles wanted to scream. He tried browsing through cookbooks to pass the time, turning the television set on the counter off, then on, then off again because there was nothing even remotely interesting. He debated about baking a cake, then negated the idea even though he'd heard or read that after a drinking bender, the drinker always wanted something sweet.

The bottom line was he was feeling sorry for himself, and he didn't like the feeling. Maybe he needed some fresh air. A walk around the garden might be just what the doctor ordered. He could gaze at the harvest moon and bay at it if he wanted to. He wanted to.

The dogs must have intuitively sensed what he was planning because, even before he could get up, they were at the door, waiting expectantly.

Charles reached for a cigar and some dog chews and let himself and the dogs out the door. The dogs immediately ran off, leaving Charles to meander through the leaf-strewn garden. He sat down on a bench by a small pond Myra had put in two years earlier and listened to the soft sounds of the pump at the far end. Such a peaceful spot. But he wasn't feeling peaceful at the moment. He was feeling angry. Not at the ladies but at himself.

The wind whipped up suddenly, and within minutes, the pond was covered with leaves. The gas lamp at the far end cast a hazy yellow glow over his surroundings. It looked eerie to his eyes. He looked up at the beautiful harvest moon and wondered if he should make some kind of wish. What would he wish for? Happiness for all his loved ones. What could be better than that? He made his wish and didn't feel silly at all.

“Wake up and smell the roses, Sir Charles,” he muttered to himself as he fired up his cigar. His thoughts took him everywhere and yet nowhere as he puffed on the cigar, blowing perfect smoke rings that rose high in the air and skittered across the yard on the wind.

The dogs, not understanding this strange behavior, raced around the yard, yipping at each other as they tried to catch the swirling leaves. From time to time, they would stop and look upward at the night, which was suddenly like daylight to them. Finally, exhausted, they settled down by Charles's feet. He handed them all a chew. He smiled in the moonlight. The dogs were his and Myra's children and treated as such.