Moments In Time (34 page)

“Well, don’t be playing matchmaker with your two best friends. That rarely works out. And besides, they’ve known each other for years. I’d think if either of them had any serious interest, they’d have made it known by now.”

“I’m not so sure they haven’t.”

“Well, you keep out of it, Maggie. Do not go poking around in other people’s lives.”

“Oh, speaking of poking around in other people
’
s lives, we got a phone call today from Geoff Fox.”

“Who?”

“Geoff Fox. Remember we met him and his wife at that benefit auction back in July, in London? The guy who produces that TV show with that snoopy woman who tries to get people pissed off on the air when she’s interviewing them so that they’ll say something stupid and make fools out of themselves?”

“Oh,” he laughed, “you mean Hilary Gates.”

“Yes.”

“I do remember him. Nice chap. What did he want?”

“He wanted us to go on her show.”

“Forget it.”

“That’s pretty much what I told him.”

“I hate stuff like that. I hate giving interviews. Why anyone would want to know that much about anyone else’s life is beyond me.” He slid the letter he’d been scanning back into its envelope. “Of course, if my mom finds out we’ve been asked, there’ll be hell to pay if we turn it down. She loves that show.”

“That’s the rest of the story,” she continued, pulling out a chair and seating herself across from him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it seems Geoff called your mother for our number here in the States.”

“Oh, no,” he groaned, knowing what was coming next.

“Oh, yes. She called not ten minutes after Geoff, proud as a peacock and wanting to know when the sho
w would be. She’s enthralled.”

“Oh, God,” he grumbled, “how do we get out of this one? That woman is notorious for digging up the most outlandish dirt.”

“Jamey, we’ve nothing to hide. What in our past could possibly qualify for the type of junk she likes to talk about?”

“Well, I can’t think of much,” he conceded.

“I can’t think of anything. The closest she could come would be to poke at my relationship with Rick, you know, the way the newspapers did there for a time when Lindy would go off and I’d be at the house with him or when he’d visit here when you were elsewhere, that sort of thing. But
no one ever took any of that seriously. At least, no one with any sense.”

“Glory. She could talk about Glory.”

“What about her? That she throws herself at you every chance she gets? That she’s been throwing herself at you for fifteen years? That she’s a sarcastic bitch who is going to get her face slapped someday?”

“Whoa, Maggie,” he laughed again. “Still touchy, I see.”

“She makes me more than touchy. If I had a dime for every time she has cornered me over the years to inform me that she was still on the case, if I ever thought for one minute that you’d—”

“I wouldn’t. I have the sweetest, sexiest, most loving woman in the world. Why on earth would I want Glory Fielding or anyone else, for that matter, when I have you?”

“Haven’t you ever gotten tired of the same old lady after all these years? You know, in July, next year, we’ll be talking fifteen big ones, Jamey. That’s a long time.”

“Not long enough,” he told her quietly, “and no, I’ve never gotten tired of you. Never wanted anyone else. I love you more than I ever thought it would be possible to love anyone, Maggie, and I will until the day I die.”

“Which hopefully won’t be for a long, long time. It’s all been so good for us, Jamey. We’ve taken a lump or two from time to time, but our life together’s been wonderful. It’s been so right.” She had gotten up and walked around the table to where he sat, and at her approach he had pushed back his chair and opened his arms to her. She sat on his lap and snuggled close. “I wish sometimes that it would never end.”

“It never will, sweetheart,” he told her solemnly, “it never will.”

“
G
eoff Fox called again this morning,” he told her several weeks later.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him no. Twice. He told me to talk it over with you and call him back toward the end of the week.”

“Do you want to do it?”

He shrugged.

“We’ll be boring as hell,” she said.

“Probably. I’ll tell him no.”

Geoff had not agreed that they’d be boring. He loved J.D.’s music and thought Maggie was adorable. After three more conversations, J.D. gave in on the condition that the interview wait until the following summer when the family would be in England for their annual holiday.

“That gives us plenty of time to change our minds,” he told Maggie.

They pretty much forgot about the commitment until May when Hilary called them to confirm a date in mid-August. Maggie shrugged it off, unconcerned about it. If Hilary thought she could find a skeleton in their closet, she was welcomed to try. She wasn’t about to waste any time worrying about it. There were dance recitals to plan for, the boys were busy with their softball games, and the end of the school year was fast approaching. Life was full and good and busy—too busy to look ahead to August. What was the worst thing that could happen?

25

A
ND
SO IT GOES ON…
F
ROM THAT DAY ON THE
parkway to the
present.
And here we sit,
Maggie thought,
not speaking, not touching. Has the last memory been made, and is it this, this silence, this pain? Is this then the sum of fifteen years?

She tilted her head so that she could look at J.D., and he met her stare with sadly resigned eyes, conceding defeat. He seemed all but dazed, no longer able to make any further effort to appeal to her, but the evidence of his submission brought her no sense of triumph. Rather it stabbed at her someplace deep within, and she felt the depth of his anguish. She recalled the strength of his hands as they had held her up moments before, how he had come to her when he had known she needed him, no longer concerned with keeping score in this senseless game they’d played all evening. Jamey had always been there when she needed him, she acknowledged, and with that admission, the distance between them seemed to narrow.

Maybe,
a tiny voice inside suggested,
you could at least listen to what he has to say. Maybe,
it continued cautiously,
one indiscretion, in the context of a lifetime, isn’t enough to
negate everything that's come before. Maybe it’s not too late to put it back together again.

Hilary announced a brief commercial break, the last of the evening and, with an abbreviated nod in the direction of the sofa, walked out of the room. She had to regroup her thoughts, to plan her final onslaught.

J.D. wanted to weep; his frustration and the sheer exercise of his will to hold on had left him exhausted. He had given it his best shot, but he had not succeeded. He had not found the key, and so it was done. The show would conclude, and Maggie would leave him. The entire evening had come down to these last few minutes, and he had run out of time, out of memories.

Maggie shifted slightly to face him, was about to speak when he turned to her, unbearable sadness in his eyes.

“Maggie, I know this has been rough on you, and I’m sorry. I want you to know it was never my intention to bring back the pain.” He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, then continued. “I thought maybe if I brought back the good times, made you think about how good our life together has been, that you’d give me a chance to explain. All I wanted was to make you see how much there is between us, how happy we’ve been. And it would seem I’ve failed miserably, that all I’ve managed to do is to resurrect those things that have been our greatest sources of sorrow over the years. And I’m so sorry, Maggie.”

“Jamey, I
…”
she
whispered, but the words that could ease his suffering and hers died in her throat. All of the emotion of the past few days, the past few hours, seemed to choke her.

“Well, then, last segment.” Hilary signaled to the cameraman, glancing at the couple briefly as she sat down, then glancing back again. What had happened in her short absence? What had she missed?

They sat in exactly the same place, J.D.’s arm still rested on the back of the sofa behind his wife. But where she had previously leaned forward and away from him, she now leaned back, her neck pressed against his forearm. As Hilary watched, Maggie slid her right hand behind her to rest upon
his, and he touched her neck with the side of his thumb. She did not pull away as she had done earlier in the show, and some unspoken communication passed between them, her to him, as they locked eyes. Gone was the hostility, the bitterness, the anger.

Well, goddamn it, what the hell is going on?
Hilary glared at the both of them, neither seeming to notice. In the remaining ten seconds Hilary made the decision to go for the jugular. They had been the worst guests she’d ever had. These people had been uncooperative all evening, shutting every door she’d tried to open. J.D. had directed the course of the interview as if it had been his show, boring her half to death with the boring little snippets of their boring little life, so artfully steering away from the areas of his life he wished to avoid.
I’ve had enough,
Hilary told herself angrily.
I’m going to finish this show with a bang.

“Well, we’re winding down tonight’s show,” Hilary smiled. “You know, J.D., all things considered, you’ve shown us a very ordinary life tonight.”

“We’re very ordinary people, Hilary,” he said simply. “We’ve always tried to keep things very low key.”

“Why is that so important to you?”

“Because it’s what we are. Small-town people, both of us. We enjoy our family and have always made our children, our homelife, our priority. And because we never wanted our children to think they were special simply by virtue of what their father does for a living.”

“How very admirable,” she said dryly. “So tell us, what does the coming year hold for you? Any new music we should watch for?”

He relaxed, anticipating the show’s conclusion.

“Well, I’ve been playing around with some song
s
I wrote over the years for the children, lullabies and such, and I’d thought maybe I’d record them and release those next year.”

“How charming. A kiddie album.” She smiled acerbically, then added innocently, “Any political causes you’re supporting these days? Any superstar benefit concerts you’ll be participating in?”

He froze, realizing how prematurely he’d dismissed her.

That’s why she’s played along all night, why she let me ramble about the unimportant things. She was waiting
…

“J.D.?” she said his name to tell him she expected a response.

“I do not get involved in political issues, Hilary.” He was suddenly sweating, his head pounding as if some tiny drummer had moved into the space between his ears. “And I do not participate in benefit concerts.”

“Not since 1988.” She deliberately held it before him. “Since Anjjoli.”

“I have nothing to say,” he told her flatly.

“Come now, J.D.” She smiled her sweetest, giving a little coaxing one last chance.

“I have nothing to say,” he repeated, making eye contact with her but refusing to blink.

“Look here, J.D., I’ve been uncommonly kind to you this evening.” Her voice rose slightly, the patience forced, an exasperated mother veiling her anger as she reprimanded her child in a public place. “You didn’t want to discuss Lindy Burton? We didn’t discuss Lindy Burton. Maggie doesn’t want to talk about the child she lost? We let it drop. Rick Daily’s drug abuse—which you know as well as I do was more than rumor—I let that slide. But not this, J.D. The concert at Anjjoli became an international incident. Twenty-two of the most prominent musicians from eight different countries were held hostage by terrorists. The entire world held its breath for twenty-four hours to see who would walk out alive. Every other survivor, including your buddy, Mr. Daily, has spoken publicly about the experience. So when J.D. Borders—and only J.D. Borders—continues to say ‘No comment,’ one has to ask why.”

She spoke rapidly, firing off the barrage of words, which he met with the blankest of expressions.

“It is none of your business.” And with no further explanation, J.D. rose from the sofa, turned his back on the room, and walked through the French doors into the garden.

Hilary sat in shock, absorbing the fact that he had, in fact, walked off the show before its conclusion. She regrouped quickly and turned to Maggie, who, to Hilary’s horror, was
herself rising, a faraway look on her face as she searched through the darkness outside for a glimpse of her husband.

“Sit down,” growled Hilary, no longer concerned with appearances. “This interview is not over.”

“It would appear that it is,” Maggie told her absently as she started toward the open doors.

Hilary signaled frantically for a commercial break.

“You agreed to a two-hour interview,” Hilary screamed at Maggie’s back, “and the two hours are not over. You may not walk off this show. You have no right—” Hilary stamped her foot like a child in the throes of a tantrum.

“You have no right,” Maggie spun to face her, “to open wounds that took a very long time to heal.” Her calm was the starkest of contrasts to Hilary’s furor. “You may remove your equipment and your people and yourself from our home.”

Maggie passed from the brightly lit and now chaotic scene into the warmth and fragrance of the night. She stopped at the end of the first row of roses, acclimating herself to the dark. She scanned the garden, then sighed with relief as she saw him seated on a bench in the shadow of the far wall. He was leaning slightly forward, his head in his hands.

She knew with absolute certainty that he wa
s reliving it all over again…

T
he concert at Anjjoli had been organized by Artists for International Relief, a group comprised of recording artists who performed annually to raise funds for Third World countries that were experiencing undue hardship, whether due to famine, drought, or other devastating acts of nature. The organization was in its fourth year, and upon the suggestion of the current president, Hobie Narood, Anjjoli would be the proud host of the prestigious event.

It had been the most heavily publicized concert in history, and the tickets, priced outrageously high, had sold like hotcakes. The new luxury stadium in the capital city was completely sold out. The Anjjolan president, Makubo, was delighted. What better way to show off their new city with its fine hotels and gourmet restaurants? The international
crowd would discover that Anjjoli had indeed come into the twentieth century, its new resort areas as glamorous as Monte Carlo and Rio.

The chartered plane from London carrying musicians and their wives and equipment had a ca
rn
ival
-
like atmosphere. Rick had suggested a full Daily Times reunion onstage, and it had been billed as a headline act, eagerly awaited both by longtime fans who had loved the group in its heyday as well as the younger rock aficionados. The video that was to be taped promised to be a best-seller.

J.D. and Maggie found their hotel
accommodations
to be heaven. The huge suite overlooked the beach, the deep blue ocean a stone’s throw from the balcony. J.D. had thought it would be good for both of them to have some time away together, the past year having been hectic and emotionally trying. Maggie, in particular, had had a rough time of it; both of her parents had been hospitalized for life-threatening conditions. Now J.D. hoped Maggie would be able to relax and have some fun, see some old friends, and forget her worries for a bit.

They ran into Hobie at rehearsal on the morning of the concert. Oddly, he seemed surprised to see her.

“I had not realized you would attend,” he said stiffly.

“Now, how could I pass up the opportunity to see my three favorite guys perform together?” she said with a grin as she embraced him. “The one and only Daily Times reunion. And of course, I’m dying to see Aden.”

“Aden is not here,” he told her.

“Not here? How could she not be here?” Maggie was genuinely disappointed at the unexpected news.

“My wife left the city this morning.” He appeared preoccupied all of a sudden. “A sickness in the family, an aunt. Aden is tending to her.”

“Will she be back in time for the concert tonight?” Maggie asked hopefully.

“I fear she will not, but I will, of course, tell her you had asked for her.” Kissing her cheek, Hobie excused himself.

“Well, honestly, Jamey, did you ever
…”
She stood in shock at the brusque departure.

“He was a bit abrupt,” he muttered, then added, “but I’m sure it’s just the pressure, Maggie. Hobie’s organized this thing; he’s responsible for pulling it off. There are probably a million things on his mind right now. He’ll be his old self once this is over. Look, maybe we can hang around for a few extra days, maybe Aden will be back in the city by Monday and you can have a nice visit.”

Hobie’s odd behavior was dismissed.

The concert, which lasted almost sixteen hours, was an incredible success, both musically and as a fund-raiser. The finale, which brought all the performers together for a series of all-star encores, went on for a full thirty minutes. When the last note had been played, all those onstage were escorted onto a bus that would return them to the city for a party that promised to last all night.

What a night this has been,
J.D. thought as he settled back into his seat.
What fun to be performing all those old songs again with the original group. Wasn’t sure I could still hit those high notes in “Thief in the Night,
”
but it was all right. Actually, it had sounded great. Makes me wonder why I resisted it all these years, every time Jack or Colin had suggested we all get together again. And I hadn't realized that neither of them had fared quite so well as Rick or Hobie or I had. Well, maybe their luck will change.

He closed his eyes, thinking about the evening ahead. He’d arranged to meet Maggie back at the hotel, where he’d take a quick shower, then they would spend the rest of the evening dancing in the moonlight. Maggie had hitched a ride back to the hotel with Maura, Colin’s wife, and hopefully was already there, waiting for him.

The bus lurched suddenly to one side, catching everyone off guard, as the tires had seemed to leave the roadway and embark upon bumpy terrain. Seconds later, the interior lights, which had blazed festively as the jubilant group had begun their celebration en route, were extinguished. The passengers became awkwardly silent in the unexpected darkness.