Maggie's Dad (11 page)

Sally had turned to alcohol to numb her pain, and once she'd started, she'd become an alcoholic.
Powell had sent her to one doctor after another, to treatment centers. But nothing had worked. His total rejection had devastated her, and even after she'd died he hadn't been able to mourn her.

Neither had Maggie. The child had no love for either of her parents, and she was as cold a human being as Powell had ever known. Sometimes he wondered if she was his child, because there seemed to be nothing of him in her. Sally had hinted once that Powell hadn't been her first lover. She'd even hinted that Powell wasn't Maggie's father. He'd wondered ever since, and it had colored his relationship with the gloomy child who lived in his house.

He tossed his suitcase onto the floor in the hall and looked around. The house was empty, or seemed to be. He looked up the staircase and Maggie was sitting there, by herself, in torn jeans and a stained sweatshirt. As usual, she was glowering.

“Where's Mrs. Bates?” he asked.

She shrugged. “She went to the store.”

“Don't you have anything to do?”

She lowered her eyes to her legs. “No.”

“Well, go watch television or something,” he said irritably when she didn't look up. A thought struck him. “You didn't get in trouble at school again, did you?” he asked.

Her shoulder moved again. “Yes.”

He moved to the bottom step and stared at her. “Well?”

She shifted restlessly. “Miss Hayes got fired.”

He didn't feel his heart beating. His eyes didn't move, didn't blink. “Why did she get fired?” he asked in a soft, dangerous tone.

Maggie's lower lip trembled. She clenched her hands around her thin knees. “Because I lied,” she said under her breath. “I wanted her…to go away, because she didn't like me. I lied. And they fired her. Everybody hates me now. Julie especially.” She swallowed. “I don't care!” She looked up at him belligerently. “I don't care! She didn't like me!”

“Well, whose fault is that?” he asked harshly.

She hid the pain, as she always did. Her stubborn little chin came up. “I want to go live somewhere else,” she said with a pathetic kind of pride.

He fought down guilt. “Where would you go?” he asked, thinking of Antonia. “Sally's parents live in California and they're too old to take care of you, and there isn't anybody else.”

She averted her wounded eyes. He sounded as if he wanted her to leave, too. She was sick all over.

“You'll go to school with me in the morning, and you'll tell the principal the truth, do you understand?” he asked flatly. “And then you'll apologize to Miss Hayes.”

She clenched her teeth. “She's not here,” she said.

“What?”

“She left. She went to Arizona.” She winced at the look in his dark eyes.

He took an unsteady breath. The expression in his eyes was like a whiplash to Maggie.

“You don't like her,” she accused in a broken voice. “You said so! You said you wished she'd go away!”

“You had no right to cost her that job,” he said coldly. “Not liking people doesn't give you the right to hurt them!”

“Mrs. Bates said I was bad like my mama,” she blurted out. “She said I was a liar like my mama.” Tears filled her eyes. “And she said you hate me like you hated my mama.”

He didn't speak. He didn't know what to say, how to deal with this child, his daughter. He hesitated, and in that split second, she got up and ran up the stairs with a heart that broke in two, right inside her. Mrs. Bates was right. Everybody hated her! She ran into her room and closed the door and locked it.

“I'm bad,” she whispered to herself, choking on the words. “I'm bad! That's why everybody hates me so.”

It had to be true. Her mother had gotten drunk and told her how much she hated her for trapping her in a loveless marriage, for not looking like her father, for being a burden. Her father didn't know that. She couldn't talk to him, she couldn't tell him things. He didn't want to spend any time with her. She was unlovable and unwanted. And she had no place at all to go. Even if she ran away, everybody knew her and they'd just bring her back. Only it would make things
worse, because her dad would be even madder at her if she did something like that.

She sat down on the carpeted floor and looked around at the pretty, expensive things that lined the spacious room. All those pretty things, and not one of them was purchased with love, was given with love. They were substitutes for affectionate hugs and kisses, for trips to amusement parks and zoos and carnivals. They were guilt offerings from a parent who didn't love her or want her. She stared at them with anguish in her eyes, and wondered why she'd ever been born.

 

Powell got into his car and drove over to Antonia's father's house. He didn't expect to be let in, but Ben opened the door wide.

“I won't come in,” Powell said curtly. “Maggie told me what she did. She and I will go to Mrs. Jameson in the morning and she'll tell the truth and apologize. I'm sure they'll offer Antonia her job back.”

“She won't come,” Ben replied in a lackluster tone. “She said it was just as well that things worked out that way, because she didn't want to live here.”

Powell took off his hat and smoothed back his black hair. “I can only say I'm sorry,” he said. “I don't know why Maggie dislikes her so much.”

“Yes, you do,” Ben said unexpectedly. “And you know why she dislikes Maggie, too.”

His chest rose and fell in a soundless breath. “Maybe I do. I've made a hell of a lot of mistakes. She
said I wouldn't believe the truth because I couldn't admit that.” His shoulders shifted. “I suppose she was right. I knew it wasn't true about her and George. But admitting it meant admitting that I had ruined not only her life, but mine and Sally's as well. My pride wouldn't let me do that.”

“We pay a high price for some mistakes,” Ben said. “Antonia's still paying. After all these years, she's never looked at another man.”

His heart jumped. He searched Ben's eyes. “Is it too late?”

Ben knew what the other man was asking. “I don't know,” he said honestly.

“Something's worrying her,” Powell said. “Something more than Maggie, or the past. She looks ill.”

“I made her go see Dr. Harris. She said he prescribed vitamins.”

Powell stared at him. He recognized the suspicion in the other man's eyes, because he'd felt it himself. “You don't buy that, Ben. Neither do I.” He took a long breath. “Look, why don't you call Dr. Harris and ask him what's going on?”

“It's Sunday.”

“If you don't, I will,” the younger man said.

Ben hesitated only for a minute. “Maybe you're right. Come in.”

He phoned Dr. Harris. After a few polite words, he asked him point-blank about Antonia.

“That's confidential, Ben,” the doctor said gently. “You know that.”

“Well, she's gone back to Arizona,” Ben said hotly. “And she looks bad. She said you told her all she needed was vitamins. I want the truth.”

There was a hesitation. “She asked me not to tell anyone. Not even you.”

Ben glanced at Powell. “I'm her father.”

There was a longer hesitation. “She's under the care of a doctor in Tucson,” Dr. Harris said after a minute. “Dr. Harry Claridge. I'll give you his number.”

“Ted, tell me,” Ben pleaded.

There was a heavy sigh. “Ben, she's taking too long to make up her mind about having treatment. If she doesn't hurry, it…may be too late.”

Ben sat down heavily on the sofa, his face pale and drawn. “She needs treatment…for what?” he asked, while Powell stood very still, listening, waiting.

“God, I hate having to tell you this!” the doctor said heavily. “I'm violating every oath I ever took, but it's in her best interest….”

“She's dragging her feet over treatment for what?” Ben burst out, glancing at Powell, whose face was rigid with fear.

“For cancer, Ben. The blood work indicates leukemia. I'm sorry. You'd better speak with Dr. Claridge. And see if you can talk some sense into her. She could stay in remission for years, Ben, years, if she gets treatment in time! They're constantly coming up with new medicines, they're finding cures for different sorts of cancer every day! You can't let her give up now!”

Ben felt tears stinging his eyes. “Yes. Of course. Give me…that number, will you, Ted?”

The phone number of the doctor in Arizona was passed along.

“I won't forget you for this. Thank you,” Ben said, and hung up.

Powell was staring at him with dawning horror. “She refused treatment. For what?”

“Leukemia,” Ben said heavily. “She didn't come home to be with me. She came home to die.” He looked up into Powell's white, drawn face, furiously angry. “And now she's gone, alone, to face that terror by herself!”

P
owell didn't say a word. He just stared at Ben while all the hurtful things he'd said to Antonia came rushing back to haunt him. He remembered how brutally he'd kissed her, the insulting things he'd said. And then, to make it worse, he remembered the way she'd kissed him, just at the last, the way she'd looked up at him, as if she were memorizing his face.

“She was saying goodbye,” he said, almost choking on the words.

“What?”

Powell drew in a short breath. There was no time for grief now. He couldn't think of himself. He had to think of Antonia, of what he could do for her. Number one on the list was to get her to accept help.
“I'm going to Arizona.” He put his hat back on and turned.

“You hold on there a minute,” Ben said harshly. “She's my daughter…!”

“And she doesn't want you to know what's wrong with her,” Powell retorted, glaring over his shoulder at the man. “I'll be damned if I'm going to stand around and let her do nothing! She can go to the Mayo Clinic. I'll take care of the financial arrangements. But I'm not going to let her die without a fight!”

Ben felt a glimmer of hope even as he struggled with his own needs, torn between agreeing that it was better not to let her know that he was aware of her condition and wanting to rush to her to offer comfort. He knew that Powell would do his best to make her get treatment; probably he could do more with her than Ben could. But Powell had hurt her so badly in the past….

Powell saw the hesitation and relented. He could only imagine how Ben felt about his only child. He wasn't close enough to his own daughter to know how he might react to similar news. It was a sobering, depressing thought. “I'll take care of her. I'll phone you the minute I can tell you something,” he told Ben quietly. “If she thinks you know, it will tear her up. Obviously she kept it quiet to protect you.”

Ben grimaced. “I figured that out for myself. But I hate secrets.”

“So do I. But keep this one for her. Give her peace
of mind. She won't care if I know,” he said with a bitter laugh. “She thinks I hate her.”

Ben was realizing that whatever Powell felt, it wasn't hate. He nodded, a curt jerk of his head. “I'll stay here, then. But the minute you know something…!”

“I'll be in touch.”

 

Powell drove home with his heart in his throat. Antonia wouldn't have told anyone. She'd have died from her stubborn refusal to go ahead and have treatment, alone, thinking herself unwanted.

He went upstairs and packed a suitcase with memories haunting him. He'd have given anything to be able to take back his harsh accusations.

He was vaguely aware of eyes on his back. He turned. Maggie was standing there, glowering again.

“What do you want?” he asked coldly.

She averted her eyes. “You going away again?”

“Yes. To Arizona.”

“Oh. Why are you going there?” she asked belligerently.

He straightened and looked at the child, unblinking. “To see Antonia. To apologize on your behalf for costing her her job. She came back here because she's sick,” he added curtly. “She wanted to be with her father.” He averted his eyes. The shock was wearing off. He felt real fear. He couldn't imagine a world without Antonia.

Maggie was an intelligent child. She knew from the way her father was reacting that Miss Hayes meant something to him. Her eyes flickered. “Will she die?” she asked.

He took a breath before he answered. “I don't know.”

She folded her thin arms over her chest. She felt worse than ever. Miss Hayes was dying and she had to leave town because of Maggie. She lowered her eyes to the floor. “I didn't know she was sick. I'm sorry I lied.”

“You should be. Furthermore, you're going to go with me to see Mrs. Jameson when I get back, and tell her the truth.”

“Yes, sir,” she said in a subdued tone.

He finished packing and shouldered into his coat.

Her wounded blue eyes searched over the tall man who didn't like her. She'd hoped all her young life that he'd come home just once laughing, happy to see her, that he'd catch her up in his arms and swing her around and tell her he loved her. That had never happened. Julie had that sort of father. Maggie's dad didn't want her.

“You going to bring Miss Hayes back?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “And if you don't like it, that's too bad.”

She didn't answer him. He seemed to dislike her all over again now, because she'd lied. She turned
and went back into her room, closing the door quietly. Miss Hayes would hate her. She'd come back, but she wouldn't forget what Maggie had done. There'd be one more person to make her life miserable, to make her feel unloved and unwanted. She sat down on her bed, too sad even to cry. Her life had never seemed so hopeless before. She wondered suddenly if this was how Miss Hayes felt, knowing she was going to die and then losing the only job she could get in town, so she had to go live in a place where she didn't have any family.

“I'm really sorry, Miss Hayes,” Maggie said under her breath. The tears started and she couldn't stop them. But there was no one to comfort her in the big, elegant empty house where she lived.

 

Powell found Mrs. Bates and told her that he was going to Arizona, but not why. He left at once, without seeing Maggie again. He was afraid that he wouldn't be able to hide his disappointment at what she'd done to Antonia.

He made it to Tucson by late afternoon and checked into a hotel downtown. He found Antonia's number in the telephone directory and called it, but the number had been disconnected. Of course, surely she'd had to give up her apartment when she went back to Bighorn. Where could she be?

He thought about it for a minute, and knew. She'd be staying with Dawson Rutherford's stepsister. He looked up Barrie Bell in the directory. There was
only one B. Bell listed. He called that number. It was Sunday evening, so he expected the women to be home.

Antonia answered the phone, her voice sounding very tired and listless.

Powell hesitated. Now that he had her on the phone, he didn't know what to say. And while he hesitated, she assumed it was a crank call and hung up on him. He put the receiver down. Perhaps talking to her over the phone was a bad idea, anyway. He noted the address of the apartment, and decided that he'd just go over there in the morning. The element of surprise couldn't be discounted. It would give him an edge, and he badly needed one. He got himself a small bottle of whiskey from the refrigerator in the room and poured it into a glass with some water. He didn't drink as a rule, but he needed this. It had occurred to him that he could lose Antonia now to something other than his own pride. He was afraid, for the first time in his life.

He figured that Antonia wouldn't be going immediately back to work, and he was right. When he rang the doorbell at midmorning the next day after a sleepless night, she came to answer it, Barrie having long since gone to work.

When she saw Powell standing there, her shock gave him the opportunity to ease her back into the apartment and close the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, recovering.

He looked at her, really seeing her, with eyes dark with pain and worry. She was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans and socks, and she looked pitifully thin and drawn. He hated the pain he and Maggie had caused her.

“I talked to Dr. Harris,” he said shortly, bypassing her father so that she wouldn't suspect that Ben knew about her condition.

She went even paler.
He knew everything.
She could see it in his face. “He had no right…!”

“You have no right,” he snapped back, “to sit down and die!”

She took a sharp breath. “I can do what I like with my life!” she replied.

“No.”

“Go away!”

“I won't do that, either. You're going to the doctor. And you'll start whatever damn treatment he tells you to get,” he said shortly. “I'm through asking. I'm telling!”

“You aren't telling me anything! You have no control over me!”

“I have the right of a fellow human being to stop someone from committing suicide,” he said quietly, searching her eyes. “I'm going to take care of you. I'll start today. Get dressed. We're going to see Dr. Claridge. I made an appointment for you before I came here.”

Her mind was spinning. The shock was too sudden, too extreme. She simply stared at him.

His hands went to her shoulders and he searched her eyes slowly. “I'm going to take Maggie to see Mrs. Jameson. I know what happened. You'll get your job back. You can come home.”

She pulled away from him. “I don't have a home anymore,” she said, averting her face. “I can't go back. My father would find out that I have leukemia. I can't do that to him. Losing Mother almost killed him, and his sister died of cancer. It was terrible, and it took a long time for her to die.” She shuddered, remembering. “I can't put him through any more. I must have been crazy to try to go back there in the first place. I don't want him to know.”

He couldn't tell her that her father already knew. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at her straight back.

“You need to be with people who care about you,” he said.

“I am. Barrie is like family.”

He didn't know what else to say, how to approach her. He jingled the loose change in his pocket while he tried to find ways to convince her.

She noticed his indecision and turned back to him. “If you'd made this decision, if it was your life, you wouldn't thank anyone for interfering.”

“I'd fight,” he said, angry with her for giving up. “And you know it.”

“Of course you would,” she said heavily. “You have things to fight for—your daughter, your wealth, your businesses.”

He frowned.

She saw the look and laughed bitterly. “Don't you understand? I've run out of things to fight for,” she told him. “I have nothing! Nothing! My father loves me, but he's all I have. I get up in the morning, I go to work, I try to educate children who'd rather play than do homework. I come home and eat supper and read a book and go to bed. That's my life. Except for Barrie, I don't have a friend in the world.” She sounded as weary as she felt. She sat down on the edge of an easy chair with her face propped in her hands. It was almost a relief that someone knew, that she could finally admit how she felt. Powell wouldn't mind talking about her condition because it didn't matter to him. “I'm tired, Powell. It's gaining on me. I've been so sick lately that I'm barely able to get around at all. I don't care anymore. The treatment scares me more than the thought of dying does. Besides, there's nothing left that I care enough about to want to live. I just want it to be over.”

The terror was working its way into his heart as he stared at her. He'd never heard anyone sound so defeated. With that attitude, all the treatment in the world wouldn't do any good. She'd given up.

He stood there, staring down at her bent head, breathing erratically while he searched for something to say that would inspire her, that would give her the will to fight. What could he do?

“Isn't there anything you want, Antonia?” he
asked slowly. “Isn't there something that would give you a reason to hold on?”

She shook her head. “I'm grateful to you for coming all this way. But you could have saved yourself the trip. My mind is made up. Leave me alone, Powell.”

“Leave you alone…!” He choked on the words. He wanted to rage. He wanted to throw things. She sounded so calm, so unmoved. And he was churning inside with the force of his emotions. “What else have I done for nine long, empty damn years?” he demanded.

She leaned forward, letting her long, loose blond hair drape over her face. “Don't lose your temper. I can't fight anymore. I'm too tired.”

She looked it. His eyes lingered on her stooped posture. She looked beaten. It was so out of character for her that it devastated him.

He knelt in front of her, taking her by the wrists and pulling her toward him so that she had to look up.

His black eyes bit into her gray ones from point-blank range. “I've known people who had leukemia. With treatment, you could keep going for years. They could find a cure in the meantime. It's crazy to just let go, not to even take the chance of being able to live!”

She searched his black eyes quietly, with an ache deep inside her that had seemed to have been there forever. Daringly, her hand tugged free of his grasp
and found his face. Such a beloved face, she thought brokenly. So dear to her. She traced over the thick hair that lay unruly against his broad forehead, down to the thick black eyebrows, down his nose to the crook where it had been broken, over one high cheekbone and down the indented space to his jutting chin. Beloved. She felt the muscles clench and saw the faint glitter in his eyes.

He was barely breathing now, watching her watch him. He caught her hand roughly and held it against his cheek. What he saw in her unguarded face tormented him.

“You still love me,” he accused gruffly. “Do you think I don't know?”

She started to deny it, but there was really no reason to. Not anymore. She smiled sadly. “Oh, yes,” she said miserably. Her fingers touched his chiseled, thin mouth and felt it move warmly beneath them as he reacted with faint surprise to her easy admission. “I love you. I never stopped. I never could have.” She drew her fingers away. “But everything ends, Powell. Even life.”

He caught her hand, pulling it back to his face. “This doesn't have to,” he said quietly. “I can get a license today. We can be married in three days.”

She had to fight the temptation to say yes. Her eyes fell to his collar, where a pulse hammered relentlessly. “Thank you,” she said with genuine feeling. “That means more to me than you can know, under the
circumstances. But I won't marry you. I have nothing to give you.”