Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story (8 page)

Luke smells like
Brendan.

Wearing his
clothes, I can smell my husband all around me. It’s the same, but
different. It’s Brendan mixed with Luke, and it’s a horrifyingly
wonderful combination that has me wanting to lean in closer and
press myself further into the wall at my back at the same
time.

“
Why
not Maggie?” Luke asks again, much more sombrely now that I have
lost some of my fight.

Looking to my
feet I mumble, “Because it’s from Brendan’s law office. It’s from
one of the associates.” My words catch as I begin to
sob.

“
Ahh,
Maggie Mae… it gets easier. Never better, but easier, I promise,”
Luke whispers, his soft lips gently rubbing against my forehead as
he pulls me into a firm embrace. Slowly he sways us from side to
side, shifting our feet like we’re slow dancing.

With him wrapped
securely around me I can’t seem to be able to help myself. I inhale
as deeply as I can, holding the mixture of scents in my lungs and
savouring them for as long as possible. I release the air, then do
it all over again - knowing that I’ll pay for it later when I’m
resting on the floor by my bed pretending to sleep. The memories I
try to keep at bay will come and shatter me into dust.

“
We’re meeting Joe Reynolds at two, Maggie Mae. I know you’re
angry with me and that’s ok, but we’re going.” Luke’s voice is both
gentle and firm at the same time, a tone that broaches no argument
but doesn’t sting.

“
Why
are you here Luke? What are you waiting for?”

In my heart of
hearts and no matter what I’ve said, I really don’t want him to
leave. But he had a life before all of this, so what makes now so
different? I know Luke’s finance company is based in New York. He
came here on a whim with Jon, to my house to share a meal, and has
stayed ever since. Why?

Tightening his
hold and pressing his lips into my hair, he offers me an
explanation that confuses me.

“
I’m
waiting for when fine isn’t fine anymore.”

But isn’t being
fine a good thing? Every day I wake up and inhale and act. And I am
fine, I’m functioning. Doesn’t that mean I’m coping through all of
this mess, dealing the way everyone expects me to?

THE RISE OF the
elevator leaves me feeling nauseated. I used to dread having to
travel in one when I was pregnant.

Pregnant. Seems
like a hundred years ago. I hate that.

It’s the part of
the ride when you reach your floor and the car rises that bit too
far, then drops with a spongy bounce, always leaving my stomach
bottoming out and my legs wanting to fold underneath me. The more
flights I have to travel up, the closer my stomach drops to the
ground floor when we stop. This afternoon, it’s eight.

Luke walked with
me to the front entrance of
Appleby, Brenner and Associates
,
the law firm Brendan worked for. He wanted to come up with me but I
wouldn’t let him, especially after he dismissed another call on his
mobile phone without looking to see who the caller was. He has a
business to run and I have to man up and do this on my own. I told
him as much and though he did protest, Luke understood. And yes I
feel like a bitch for pushing him away when he has been nothing but
nice, thanks for asking.

The solid
stainless steel doors glide flawlessly open to reveal a smiling
Mitchel chatting to a laughing Maryanne. Both stop mid chat to take
me in as I stroll out of the lift.

Mitchel’s hands
fly to cover his mouth as he makes his way around the cumbersome
reception desk. “Oh my God, Maggie. God woman, how are you?” he
sings, folding his long thin arms around me.

“
Fine, Mitchel. Sorry it’s taken me so long to get here,” I
reply into his neck, hugging him. He pulls back to take me in,
flicking one of his hands in dismissal of my comment. Maryanne
leans past Mitchel to press a kiss on my cheek with her
hellos.

He steps and
holds me at arm’s length. “We need to get you some lunch girl,
you’re losing too much weight.”

“
Leave the woman alone, Mitch,” Maryanne chastises. “You look
great Maggie, don’t listen to him. He’s only jealous. He was just
sayin’ that he wants to lose some weight.”

Rolling his
eyes, Mitchel turns me away from Maryanne. “Joe’s waiting for you
in his office,” he says to change the subject, glaring over his
shoulder. “And I will talk to you later, Ms Meyer. This
conversation about my waistline is so not over.”

He threads his
arm through mine and casually walks me down the carpeted hallway to
a stained redwood door that’s struggling to support the weight of
the attached brass handle.

“
Can
I get you anything? Sandwich maybe?” Mitchel asks, pressing into my
side. I love that he’s treating me like I’m still human.

He raps on the
door twice before I can respond and waits for Joe to call before
turning the handle.

Mitch flips into
lawyer mode. “Joe, Maggie Cartwright.” He leads me to a large
leather armchair facing a robust redwood desk.

Joe rises out of
his seat and comes to the front of his desk to greet me with an
awkward hug and three pats on my back. Joe’s not comfortable with
people getting into his personal space and that’s fine, because
frankly, I’m not that comfortable with Joe being in
mine.

He’s a stout,
bookish man with a few… quirks. I’ve always found him odd, but
Brendan insisted that he’s fantastic at his job, and that he was
glad to be working with him, not against him. Brendan said he would
lose every time, Joe’s just that good.

Joe taps the toe
of his right shoe on the floor three times before returning to his
seat, where he taps the spotless blotter pad three times with his
right index finger before settling into his chair, which he scuffs
forward three spaces before he’s completely satisfied with its
position. He adjusts his metal framed glasses three times, then
rests his elbows with clasped hands on his desk and offers me a
closed mouth smile.

“
Hi
Joe, it’s good to see you,” I say evenly, mirroring his
smile.

“
Hello Margaret, are you as well as can be
expected?”

“
I
think so. Sorry it’s taken me so long to come see you.”

“
Understandable, understandable… understandable” Joe replies
in a nervous tone, rocking back and forth in his chair before
opting to sit back. He’s clearly upset with the direction of our
conversation and it’s exacerbating his quirks. Time to get to the
point.

“
Thank you for taking the time to see me, Joe,” I offer
calmly.

“
You’re welcome Margaret. Brendan was a very good man, very,
very good.”

“
Thank you Joe, I think so too. You had Maryanne call me at
home. May I ask why?”

“
Yes,
of course Margaret. Brendan asked to sit with me, and together we
discussed and penned a Last Will and Testament. This document was
originally drawn up after you birthed your first child. We then
re-convened and consequently amended the document after the birth
of your second.

“
Brendan came to me approximately sixteen and a half months
ago. We further discussed you and your children, and as a result of
our exchange, we made further amendments.”

My stomach sinks
nauseatingly. Brendan’s Will. Of course this is about his
Will.

The thing is,
though, I didn’t even know he had one. It never occurred to me that
we’d need one, but he did. He thought about death and wanted to
take care of us from beyond the grave. And even after all of my
loss, I still hadn’t, until this very second. What kind of parent
does it make me for not
even thinking
about taking care of
my family? To be so arrogant to
not think
that something
could happen to me?

“
The
amendments,” Joe continues, oblivious to my internal turmoil,
“include the total payment of your current residential dwelling,
which will be implemented by the end of the month. Trust funds are
in place to cover the full costs of all future education for your
offspring and an additional personal cover has been taken out on
your behalf Margaret, so you are now completely covered should
anything untoward impacts your future. However, given the current
circumstances, all trusts will be transferred into your name and
established for your personal benefit. You will be placed on an
extremely generous monthly allowance.

“
Brendan also discussed and drafted a Last Will and Testament
for yourself and I would be delighted to discuss this with you.
However I can assure you that all details have been taken into
consideration and thus, should you feel uncomfortable at this time
to delve into details you can feel confident to sign this
document,” he says, tapping the index finger of his right hand
three times, indicating where I am to sign, “here.” I robotically
pick up a pen that’s already laid out for me and scratch my name
without question. I trust Brendan and therefore I have faith in
Joe. “Thank you for your confidence Margaret. Here also, please,”
he adds, pointing with his pen and tapping three times. I write
again.

“
Will
you be keeping your current surname or changing back to your maiden
name?” Joe asks casually, flowing into this new direction without
missing a beat. His enquiry is so blasé I would have almost missed
it if it hadn’t slapped me in the face. “And lastly here,” he taps
three more times. I scribble, digging the ballpoint pen into the
thick parchment with far too much pressure.

My
name?

Do I need to
change it? Can I keep it? Am I even allowed to keep it?

“
No
matter, we can make all necessary adjustments as you see fit.
Simply contact Maryanne for an appointment time.”

My indecision,
my ignorance beings to irk me. All this being organised behind my
back starts to grind. My lack of organisation, my lack of
forethought, my lack of care for my children straight out pisses me
off.

I understand
that this is Joe’s way, but Brendan - what’s with him keeping me
out of the loop? What was the big deal to not tell me? And how dare
he place me on a freaking allowance? Am I not smart enough for his
holier than thou lawyer brain? Me - just a poor, lowly house wife -
am I not intelligent enough for more than cutting off bread crusts
and tying shoelaces?

And I thought
I
was being arrogant in not thinking into far enough into
the future. This,
THIS
organising around me is beyond
arrogant.

Joe moves back
and picks up more documents, taps them on his desk three times and
lays them in front of me, turns pages, explains their contents and
taps over and over again. We perform this routine until Joe’s three
times satisfied that everything’s in order for me to be able to
‘proceed with my life with minimal
interruptions’
.

Minimum
interruptions
.

What the hell
does that even mean?

By the time I’m
descending in the lift, I’m fuming. I’m so angry with my husband, I
want to hit something so hard it breaks.

Joe was kind
enough to inform me that Brendan’s office has already been
‘attended to’ and he’ll organise to have Brendan’s belongings
couriered to me the day after tomorrow, but not tomorrow as that is
‘far too short a period of time to expect compliance’ scheduled for
the afternoon as to allow me to ‘attend to errands in the morning
hours’.

How considerate
of him to allow me to get my jobs done in the morning instead of
the afternoon, because I couldn’t have organised my day on my own.
The poor uneducated housewife couldn’t possibly think for
herself.

God, I need a
drink. 

Chapter 5

“
WHERE ARE YOU, Maggie Mae?” Luke’s
gentle voice sounds worried as it carries through the small
speaker.

“
The
Pub Bar. Why?”

I don’t care
that he sounds all tender and caring. He’s the reason I’m here in
the first place. It’s his fault that I’m annoyed. He forced me to
see Joe so he can suck up my sucky-ness.

He chuckles.
“The Pub - where?”

I hate that
stupid laugh. He does it all the freaking time and it’s dumb. He’s
dumb.

“
Pub
Bar. It’s a place people go to drink,” I spout like a petulant
child, “What do you want, Luke?”

“
You
were going to call me when you were done with Joe?” Shit, shit,
shit. I start laughing at my own joke. Three shits,
three
.
It’s freaking hilarious.

“
Something funny, Maggie Mae?”

“
I
swore the same word three times”

“
Wow,
yeah I can see how that could be funny.”

“
I
know, right?” I agree, laughing louder. Okay, maybe Luke’s not that
dumb.

“
Can
you give me the address so I can come by-”

“
Not
if you want to drag me to that house,” I interject bitterly, my
mood shifting back to angry with enough force to cause
whiplash.

“
I
was going to say to have a drink, if that’s ok with
you.”