Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story (11 page)

I press the
button on the wall by the door to open the automatic garage door
and then walk to the front of the car. The bonnet is covered in a
hazy film of dust, something Brendan would never have allowed to
happen. I go to wipe my hand across it but catch myself at the very
last moment, remembering that the dust will scratch if I don’t use
a soft cloth. Biting the inside if my cheek, I take sidewards steps
to the driver’s side, open the door and situate myself behind the
wheel. The dash and console are also dusty and the car smells
stale. This time I don’t stop myself from gliding my fingers over
the moulded surface; leaving shallow waving ruts and smile sadly
imagining Brendan scowling at me for causing such an atrocity to
his precious baby.

I glance into
the rear vision mirror and look at the two empty car seats in the
back… then have to close my eyes as my heart bottoms out and
convince myself that I’m doing the right thing. Leaving the house
to see my friends is the right thing.

I twist around
on the seat and rest my elbow on the centre console to help shift
onto one butt cheek. There is a colouring book laying open,
displaying a half-finished picture of Beauty and the Beast. Ella’s
pink plastic pencil case is sitting on top, ready to go for her
next ride that will never come.

Mattie has a
yellow and black plastic
Transformer
toy resting on her seat
converted into
Bumble Bee
, her favourite character. She used
to sit with Brendan watching the movies over and over, sharing in
great discussions on the different ways they could transform and
how cool it would be if our car could too.

Reaching further
into the back I rest my hand on the base of Ella’s booster seat and
close my eyes, praying to feel her through the cushioning. It’s
pointless, I know, but we’re all prone to silliness sometimes.
After taking a few relaxing breaths, I reach in further and pick up
Mattie’s toy, turn and shuffle my hips to sit back behind the
wheel, hugging the toy to my chest trying to feel her too, but…
sometimes silly is just silly.

Shaking away the
shivers of despair, I squeeze the gearshift into reverse, check
behind me to make sure it’s safe while attempting to avoid looking
at the back seat and make my way to the restaurant.

THE BISTRO’S
OVERFLOWING with people. Wait staff are darting around desperately,
trying to keep up with the congestion. I have to weave my way
through bumping bodies and haphazardly laid tables and chairs to
find the right group. It’s difficult, but eventually I notice them
tucked away in a far corner near the indoor play area. I plaster a
smile on my face, adjust my dress, brush off a smudge of dust and
clutch the living daylights out of my handbag.

There are about
ten or so of our closest friends chatting, laughing and eating
entrées. Passing around bottles of wine, feeding children, wiping
up spills. I step to the side and take in the scene, shyly waiting
for someone to notice me. When nobody does, I decide to search for
an empty seat at the table, thinking to sit would be a better
option, an easier way to blend into the mix, but don’t find one.
Unsure, I’m about to take a tentative half step into an opening
when someone surprises a yelp out of me by taking hold of my
elbow.

“
Maggie?” Isaac, one of Brendan’s old school friends says,
sounding shocked. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” he says,
pulling me into a hug. My arms automatically wrap around his waist.
“Lauren, look who’s here,” he calls over the ruckus, releasing his
hold and leading me to the head of the table of gawking dumbstruck
faces. “Let’s find you a chair,” he smiles, blushing scarlet,
before darting away.

My head starts
to shake in the negative as my mind scrambles for words.

They didn’t know
I was coming. They forgot I was invited.

I’m embarrassed
beyond belief. I start to step away, holding my hands up to let
them know I’m sorry for intruding.

“
It’s
fine… I’m actually here…” Twisting and pointing at a random table
of people, “we’re in the other room and I saw you…” I shrug instead
of finish my lie to a chorus of strained hellos and averting eyes.
“I can’t stay… they’re waiting for me,” I fake giggle, shrugging
again. My head starts pounding fit to explode, and my stomach
bubbles acid up my throat, causing me to hold back a
gag.

I swallow down
hard and expand the fib. “I told them I was going to the bathroom
and they want to order…”

I lift a hand to
wave, then turn to make my escape, bumping into Isaac on my way
out. I catch the look in his brown eyes and cower under the
pressure of the pity I see, then run without stopping until I get
to my car. My arms flailing, I desperately try to untangle my
handbag from my waist, only to tangle myself more. The clip sticks
at the top until my thick fingers manage to unhook it and search
frantically for my keys.

I’m about to
press the fob when I notice the car seat’s secured in the back. I
feel the sting of tears and the knife edge turning in my heart, and
take a step backwards, clutching my chest, gasping short dry pants
without exhaling. My pounding head spins as I hear people
approaching. I’m about to make a run for it when I realise it’s a
young and very pregnant couple holding hands, smiling and happy.
They instantly remind me of my overwhelming heartache. The accident
explodes into my mind, the girls bloody and broken, Brendan not
blinking, not kissing me back. All of it comes rushing in. All that
I had, all that I’ve lost.

A sharp pain in
my palm nags at my inner turmoil. I open my hand and stare blankly,
then turn my gaze to the back seat of my car to see another
reminder. Taking a calming breath, I step up to the young couple
while they unlock their out-dated sedan and pass them the key. I
open my bag to retrieve the spare, then pass that over
too.

“
You
look like you need it more than I do,” is all I offer in
explanation. “All the paperwork’s in the glove box, just fill it
out and mail me anything you need me to sign.”

“
You’re giving us your car?” The young guy spatters in
shock.

“
Yep.”

“
Why?” The young woman asks, just as dumbfounded.

I shrug. “I
don’t want it anymore.”

Don’t want
another constant reminder of what happy felt like. Of what sad
feels like.

“
This
has got to be a joke right? You’re not going to report it stolen or
something the minute we drive away?”

“
Nope. It’s all yours.” I call with my back to them, making my
way to the curb to flag down a taxi.

I don’t want it
anymore. I don’t want any of it anymore.

I WALK INTO the
kitchen and find it empty. I hate that it’s not cluttered with
life. I kick the chair Luke normally sits in so it slams back
dinting the floor boards. I hate that I hate the kitchen empty,
that Luke’s not here.

He promised he’d
be back, but it’s been weeks of nothing but me trapped all alone in
this stinking house with ghosts and memories that I don’t
want.

He’s a
liar.

Just like
Brendan.

Our friends
don’t want to remember me. You’d think hit and run accident is
contagious by the way they all stared at the restaurant. They
promised to keep in touch, to be here, only to forget.

They’re all
liars too.

Not bothering to
right the chair I fold my arms under my breasts, digging my nails
into the tender flesh of my palms and stride into the living
room.

Living room - as
in, Room for the living.

Guess that rules
me out.

Turning on the
spot, I throw my glare at the staircase. Punching an arm chair with
the side of my clenched fist, I march purposely, climb my way up
two steps at a time and barge into Brendan’s home office.
Everything’s still the same.

Same stupid
desk, same stupid chair, same stupid freaking computer mocking me.
Same fucking pictures hanging on the same fucking four
walls.

I hate this
room. I fucking hate how everything sits so perfectly. I hate that
it’s so fucking painfully empty. Worst of all, I hate
Brendan.

Right now, right
here, I hate Brendan so fucking much it makes me crazy. I hate him
for growing up with me, for always looking out for me, protecting
me. I hate him for wanting me, for kissing me first and last, for
loving me more than life, then not being here to live his, for
giving me everything I could possibly ever want, then taking it all
away. For leaving me and never being able to come back when he
promised to always be by my side.

I love him so
much, my entire being is bereaved without him. I love him and hate
him. I don’t know how to do any of this without him.

I don’t know if
I want to.

With blinding
rage coursing through me, I grab the black computer monitor off his
desk and throw it as hard as I can across the room, watching it
break against the painted plaster wall.

It’s doesn’t
help.

I take the desk
lamp and throw it in the same direction as the monitor, hearing the
sound of glass shattering as I take the stupid fucking ergonomic
chair and throw it awkwardly, not moving my leg when it nearly
lands on my foot. I watch it coldly as it topples onto its
side.

Next I’m at the
book shelf. Pulling frantically, one hand after the other at
everything I can lay my fingers on, reference books, novels,
awards, photos – everything, sending it all flying in random
directions. I’d tip the entire case over if I could, but Brendan
secured it to the wall on the off chance the girls decided to climb
on it.

Fat lot of good
that did.

When I manage to
upset the desk, I storm out of the study and directly into our –
my
– bedroom.

I throw open the
door so hard the handle pounds into the plaster and leaves a dint
before slamming back into my arm. This pisses me off to no end so I
turn and kick and kick it, over and over again until my foot is
throbbing and the handle is wedged tight in the drywall. Striding
into the wardrobe, I start ripping coat hangers off the railing,
tearing shirts and pants and jeans and jackets, red hot tears
blinding me in my madness.

“
WHY?” I scream, gurgling out the words through the claggy
liquid caught in my throat. “WHY ME? WHY DOES EVERYONE HAVE TO
LEAVE ME?” I sound manic, even to my own ears. I’m far from
caring.

I snarl at the
bed I haven’t been able to sleep in since the day they left me and
pull hysterically at the covers, hearing fabric tear as I rip and
wrench and twist at the cotton to rid him from my senses. To try to
get him out of my life once and for all.

It doesn’t work.
Nothing works.

I spin in a
circle faster and faster, taking in the disarray in a blur. My feet
tangle in the discarded fabrics, my mind’s a mess, and my tantrum
slowly fades with my energy. I fall in a limp heap and cry deep,
gut-wrenching sobs for my children, for my husband and, finally…
for myself.

MY PHONE RINGING
and vibrating in my pocket wakes me from a restless sleep. I have
to repeatedly blink my dry eyes to focus on the dark night sky. The
torn curtains offer me a perfect view of an almost full moon
encased in sparkling blue-black.

My phone stops
ringing.

I glance around
the room, unable to find the digital alarm clock that once sat on
Brendan’s bedside table. Sighing, I begrudgingly start to untangle
my limbs when the phone ringing again. I want to ignore it. I’m
really not in the mood to talk.

The phone stops,
then starts up again almost immediately.

“
Oh
for fuck’s sake,” I mumble to no-one because that’s all there is
for me, fall back on the pile, slide the mobile out of my pocket
and look the screen to see Luke’s name.

Great.

I press the go
button and place it to my ear, “Hey.” My voice is scratchy and
comes out sounding hoarse.

“
Hey,
you okay there, Maggie Mae?”

Christ, I don’t
answer his call straight away and he starts with the third degree,
really?

“
I’m
fine, Luke, just sleeping. Is there something you
wanted?”

“
No,
just to hear your voice. Wish I was there Maggie, I hate being
away-”

“
Why?” I cut him off abruptly, not interested in more of the
same BS he’s been spruiking since he left. If he’s that hung up
about it, don’t be there, be here.

“
Sorry? Why what?”

“
You
heard me. Why? Why everything?”

“
What’s going on, Maggie?” His tone is sharper. I can imagine
him sitting up in his seat the way he does when he’s paying closer
attention to something.

“
Nothing Luke, you woke me that’s all.”

There’s a long
pause filled with noisy breathing. Neither of us are brave enough
to fill the void with the words we’re really thinking.

“
I
should go-”

“
I’ll
be home soon.”