Moments In Time (9 page)

8

“
C
ORRECT ME IF
I
’M WRONG, BUT WASN’T IT THAT
friend of yours, Linda something or other—I can’t quite recall her name—who was involved with Rick Daily all those years?” Hilary directed the question to Maggie, who all but froze at the thought of discussing that particular ghost on this particular occasion.

“You mean Lindy. Lindy Burton.” Even with the microphone, Maggie’s voice was barely perceptible.

“That was certainly a very tragic set of circumstances,” Hilary continued sympathetically, hoping one of them would elaborate. There’d always been something unsettling in Hilary’s mind about that whole episode, something that had seemed not quite right, but even her sharp instincts could never quite pinpoint what it was.

“Yes, it was, for everyone involved.” J.D. attempted to draw the attention from his wife, knowing how painful the subject was for her.

“You know, I met her several times some years back in London, with Rick,” Hilary went on, inwardly reflecting on the image of Rick Daily that had flashed through her mind.

Now there was one exceptional man.
“They were the most striking couple I’d ever seen, he so tall and handsome, and she so stunningly beautiful. Why do you suppose they never married?”

J.D. merely shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I’ve never asked him.”

“There was something about her that I could just never get a handle on,” continued Hilary. “I don’t know. Maggie, how would you have described her?”

“Lindy was a very complex person,” Maggie said evenly.

Complex? The word barely scratches the surface where Lindy was concerned. Manic-depressive was the clinical term, but screwed up more often came to mind. It hadn’t been her fault, of course; she’d had it rough from the beginning. And she tried sometimes to break through that wall she’d built around herself, tried to open up and let someone else in.

Those times, Maggie recalled with a chill, were few and far between, and the glimpse that was permitted only served as a reminder that Lindy was the loneliest person she’d ever known. At times it had been so very difficult to be her friend; at times the bits of herself that she sh
ared all but broke your heart…

“
L
indy, come into the kitchen with me. I need to find something for us to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Maggie called to the figure reclining in the living room.

Upon arriving at Maggie’s apartment after the weekend in Richmond, Lindy’d crawled onto the sofa, nursing the remnants of a fierce hangover. Lindy groaned and pushed herself up. “God, I feel like shit.”

“You deserve to feel like shit, all the drinking you did this weekend,” Maggie teased, then added, “I hope it was worth it.”

Lindy’s response was slow in coming. “Yes, it was worth it.”

Maggie watched out of the corn
er of one eye. Lindy had seated herself at the small kitchen table, busying herself picking at her nail polish, a nervous habit she’d had for as long as Maggie had known her.

“Well, you know, the band has almost a whole week off next week. Jamey’ll be here Friday through the following Wednesday. Maybe you could ask Rick if he wants to—”

“No” was the simple, sharp reply.

Maggie turned and looked at Lindy in surprise.

“No.” Lindy was still peeling her nail polish off, leaving tiny chips of dark rose dust scattered like tiny petals on the table. “I don’t want to see him next weekend.”

“
I
thought you said—”

“It doesn’t mean I want to see him next weekend. Or maybe any other weekend.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Maggie turned her back, resumed measuring coffee grounds into the white paper filter, poured the water into the coffeemaker, and removed two cups from the shelf.

“Maggie
…
” The voice was so low it was almost inaudible. “Maggie, I don’t understand me, so I can’t expect anyone else to. I don’t even make sense to myself sometimes.”

“We all feel that way from time to time, Lind. Right now, you’re tired, you’re hungover and hungry and, let’s face it, you’ve spent the last few days with a mad man.”

“Rick’s not really that bad, you know
…
” Her voice trailed off. “We spent a lot of time fooling around, but we spent a lot of time talking, too.” She looked up at Maggie. “It was nice.”

“What did you talk about?”

“All kinds of things.”

“Did you tell him about—”

“About the fact that I’ve spent two-thirds of my life visiting a shrink twice a week? No, Maggie, I did not.” Lindy toyed with the spoon, stirring the coffee round and round in continuous swirls.

“Lindy, you weren’t re
sponsible for what your father
did,” Maggie said gently, well aware of the burden Lindy carried in her soul.

Lindy raised her head slightly, pulling the long blond hair back with both hands, the frantic look of a lost child crossing her face for the briefest of moments, then disappearing as quickly as it came.

“Lindy, if this therapist hasn’t been able to help you to understand that much, after all this time, maybe you should look for someone else who can,” she suggested. It hurt deeply to see her friend in such pain, knowing she could do nothing to help heal the wounds.

“Changing doctors means that I have to sit down and start at the beginning and talk about the whole thing all over again. And I just don’t want to go over it again and again. I can’t deal with it anymore. I’ve had to do it so many times over the past seventeen years, Maggie.”

“But maybe you could learn how to stop shutting people out of your life.” Maggie rested an elbow on the table, her chin in her hand. “You know, you’ve dumped more guys than I’ll ever even meet.”

“Maggie, I just don’t want to be in a position ever where it matters to me if someone stays or goes. And I’ve never had a problem attracting guys.”

“That’s great while you’re young and gorgeous. What about when you’re seventy?”

“I won’t live that long, so I don’t worry about it.” She shrugged indifferently.

“Why do you say that? What do you think will happen to you?”

“Oh, I don’t know exactly how it will happen, but I won’t make it to thirty-five. I’ve always known it.” Lindy appeared to be totally unconcerned. “It’s okay, Maggie. It doesn’t scare me.”

The steady matter-of-factness of her voice and the cool, level, blank look in her eyes chilled Maggie all the way through.

“Everyone dies eventually, Lindy, sooner or later. Most of us just hope it’s later.” She tried to make a joke but was unable to muster the lightness that she’d intended.

“Sooner’s okay,” Lindy replied with frank nonchalance.

“Lindy, isn’t there anything in your life that you feel really strongly about, anything you think is worth living for?”

Lindy was pensive. Finally, she answered, “No.”

“But that doesn’t mean there won’t be—”

“I don’t want there to be, Maggie. That’s the whole point.” Lindy was becoming agitated. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand. You grew up in a real family, with two parents who loved you and gave you a wonderful home life and enough security that you could grow up to be a person who knows how to give and how to take.” Lindy lit a cigarette, her hands shaking. “Do you have any idea what it’s like for a little kid to deal with an alcoholic mother? And God forbid anyone outside the family should know that the beautiful, talented Andrea Burton had a drinking problem. How the woman ever managed to get paint onto her canvases is still the greatest mystery of my life. Other than why she had me or my brother in the first place. God knows she never wanted either of us.” She paused and took a sip of her coffee, carefully replacing the cup into the saucer before continuing.

“My father took care of us and took care of her and arranged her showings and made excuses for her when she didn’t show up. I hated her. I have never, in all these years, shed a tear for her. And I’ve never felt sorry or guilty over it either. The woman gave me life, for what that’s worth, but as far as I’m concerned, she abandoned me the day I was born.”

Her voice, so low and steady through her litany, had stopped. Maggie wondered if she was all right.

“And then, I guess my dad just snapped. I had never been aware of how much he must have loved her, you know, it never had occurred to me that he did. But three weeks after she died, I walked into the garage, and there he was, hanging t
here. No note. No explanation…”

“Lindy
…
” Maggie fought hard for words that would not express her horror at hearing it all, the same horror she’d
felt the first time she’d heard it. How the nine-year-old Lindy had climbed onto the roof of the car and cut his body down with hedge clippers before calling the police, carefully shielding her six-year-old brother from the sight. And how she’d spent the next nine years in a clinic for mentally ill children, not speaking a word for the first twenty-three months.

“Lindy, I don’t think your father made a rational decision to leave you and your brother. I think he just overloaded. People do that sometimes. They get to a point where they can’t take anymore. If he hadn’t been so unnerved by your mother’s accident—”

“It wasn’t an accident. She had every intention of driving into that wall.” Lindy’s voice was harsh and bitter.

“If he hadn’t been so despondent over losing her, he never would have put you two in that situation. As difficult as it must have been for him to live with her, apparently he couldn’t live without her. Lindy, you don’t know what went on between your parents—you were a little girl. You don’t know what forces wer
e at work between them…
”

“Well,” she said, wiping the tears, “those forces will never be at work in me.”
She sat motionless for a few moments, then whispered in a tiny voice, “I’m sorry, Maggie.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“I always seem to dump the craziest shit on you.”

“I’ll always be there to listen to you as a friend, but I can’t help you. I don’t know the best way for you to deal with all this.”

Lindy had made a pile out of the shavings of nail polish, her fingernails all bare now. “Mags?”

“What?”

“Can we eat now? I’m about to pass out.”

Maggie opened a can of soup and threw a salad together. They ate quietly, both deep in their own thoughts. Finally an exhausted Lindy gathered her things to leave.

“You going to be all right tonight?” a concerned Maggie asked.

“I’ll be fine. I think I just need some sleep.” Lindy fished in her jacket pocket for her keys. “And thanks, Maggie. I know it’s not
always easy to be my friend…
”

"I just wish I could help you.”

“No one can help me, Maggie.” Lindy smiled sadly, turned, and walked down the steps.

9

A
ND NO ONE EVER COULD,
A DOLEFUL
M
AGGIE
recalled.
Not
me,
not Rick, though God knows we both tried.
Friendship was never enough, nor was love, to ease the sorrows of Lindy’s soul. She shook off the memory and attempted to tune back in to present, to chase the gloomy thoughts away.

“I’m just a bit curious,” Hilary was saying, “as to why, if you and Rick had such glaring artistic differences, you remained together after Daily Times broke up. Why you formed another group together instead of going your separate ways at that time.”

“That was entirely different, Hilary,” J.D. explained. “We put Daily Times to rest specifically to start a new band. Daily Times had been a tremendous commercial success, but we felt we wanted to do some things that would be very different from what we’d done in the past. We decided to start from scratch, so to speak, and change the name of the band and most of the support personnel. We changed the sound, adding more jazz arrangements, some elements of blues, which is, of course, Rick’s specialty. Later on, we agreed to disband Monkshood because we were both ready to pursue solo careers. Fortunately, our friendship never
suffered, and of course, Maggie and Rick have remained very close.”

“Yes, well, we’ll get back to your wife’s relationship with Rick Daily before the night is over, I’m quite sure.” Hilary smiled at Maggie, using that invisible barometer to gauge her reaction. Maggie met Hilary’s gaze without a blink. Being a pro, Hilary never missed a beat. “It’s been rumored throughout the years that Rick and Maggie have had, shall we say, a very special sort of friendship. But right now, we have to take a commercial break, so don’t go away
…”

When the cameras were turned off, Hilary turned to her guests, instructing them with a smile, “And don’t you go away” before stepping into the hallway for a word with the assistant producer.

Maggie relaxed only slightly, knowing there was still a long night ahead of her. She didn’t want to talk about Rick, didn’t want to discuss their friendship publicly. How to explain that she had been his confidant, his strength, through the darkest days of his life but never lovers as had been alluded to from time to time over the years in silly stories spre
a
d by shallow reporters who could not begin to fathom what bound them together. There were too many elements of pain running through that relationship, the full disclosure of which would most likely land Rick in jail for a very long time.

She realized her husband was leaning toward her, about to speak. She cut him off before he could open his mouth.

“Could we please move this interview along and somehow avoid discussing my relationship with Rick?” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“I sincerely doubt she’d let us. Just answer any question casually and keep it all very
…”
He’d
thought perhaps if he sounded supportive and reassuring, she’d soften a bit. He was wrong.

“I don’t need you to tell me how to react, thank you very much,” she snapped, straightening her back and turning toward the window once again.

An incredible moon had begun its ascent into the night sky. Glowing gold, it was already backlighting the hills.

Under other circumstances, on another night, she would have called his attention to it and begged him to accompany her out into the garden to enjoy it’s enchantment. Tonight, she merely looked away.

The encouragement he’d felt earlier when she had appeared to have come around somewhat vanished, yet he could not help but speak to her, to make her respond to him, if only in anger.

“Maggie, calm down. If you get rattled, you’re liable to say almost anything, which is exactly what the little viper wants. Just be very nonchalant—”

“Just get your ass out of the seventies, okay? I don’t want to talk about the past.” She crossed her legs, the foot resting on the floor tapping out her agitation.

“Maggie, the longer we talk about the past, the less opportunity there will be to discuss the present, unless, of course, that’s what you want.”

He paused and looked into the face that had held him captive for the past fifteen years, knowing her hold on him was as strong as it ever had been. The thought that he was losing her terrified him. Loving her had put his life together, had kept it together. To be without her was unthinkable. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, wanted to hold her and kiss her the way he’d done countless times, but he dared not touch her.

“Maggie
…
” He leaned toward her, caressing her with the sound of her name, begging for an opening.

“Save it.” She refused to give an inch.

“Maggie, listen to me, it’s not what you think
…
How could you ever seriously think
…
Look, you’ve completely
misinterpreted the situation…”

“Misinterpreted the situation?” she snarled sarcastically, “Well then, let’s put our heads together and see if we can’t come up with a somewhat more creative explanation of what two naked adults could have been doing—”

“Maggie, listen, I was in the shower—”

“Stuff it, J.D. It’s you who taught me how to do it in the shower, remember?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Maggie, just
…
just look at me,
will you? Can you honestly tell me that you don’t love me anymore?” He made no effort to mask his desolation.

“Jamey, love is not the issue.” Her voice revealed more than a little exasperation. “I do not wa
nt to discuss this anymore.”

“Maggie, please, I swear it’s not what you think
…”
he
pleaded with her.

“Well, ready to resume here?” Hilary had seemed to
come
out of nowhere. How much had she heard? “Cameras, folks. And
…
we’re back. Glad you stayed with us. We were discussing, I believe, the differences between the two bands—between Daily Times and Monkshood, that is—and the reasons why both h
ad folded.”

“Well, you know, Hilary, Rick is a phenomenal blues guitarist, and my taste in music is much more eclectic. It was good for both of us when we finally broke away from each other and pursued our own careers.” He tried to sound confident, hoped that she nor anyone else would discern the
J
unsteadiness of his voice. His wife had shaken him to his core, and he was trying desperately to keep his mind clear on two levels, keeping the interview going and gaining her
attention.

Maybe I should just throw caution to the wind and get
down on my hands and knees, right now, and blurt out the
whole story. Sit on her, literally, and refuse to get up until she
agrees to hear me out. It’s a crude technique, but judging by
the response I’ve had from her so far, it may come to that.
Talk about a showstopper
…

“And we had started to go our separate ways on a personal level as well, because I spent so much time at Maggie’s that spring. Every free weekend, every time we got a
few days off,
I headed for Philadelphia. I got to know the area and grew to love it—you know, of course, that our home is in the suburbs there—and I’d bought a keyboard and installed it
J
in Maggie’s apartment, so
that I could spend some time
writing while Maggie was at work, so I’d be ready to go on
my own.”

And spent the rest of the time just falling in love with Maggie, he could have added,
just loving her and riding the
roller coaster of the painful separations, the joyous reunions. Looking to the future and savoring the magi
c of those days and nights…

“
W
hat’s on the agenda today?” he asked with a yawn. They’d slept late and were still entwined, arms and legs.

“Well, I thought I’d take you on that tour of Philadelphia I promised you. It looks like a lovely day. It’ll be fun,” she coaxed him, “and you could use a little exercise as well as a change of scenery.”

It was a great day for walking, sunny and warm and just slightly breezy. They played tourist all day, from Independence Hall to Old St. Joseph’s Church, a particular favorite of Maggie’s. They stopped for lunch at a small restaurant, then resumed their stroll through the tiny side streets of Society Hill, where block after block of homes, dating from the 1700s, were being restored. They walked into Head House Square, where new shops had opened on the site of the old open-air market place that had operated during the Colonial days.

They decided on dinner at an Italian restaurant not too far from Maggie’s apartment. J.D. enjoyed the meal but noted, “This isn’t exactly like the Italian food you get in Italy, you know.”

“I guess it’s tailored to American tastes,” she said with a shrug.

“You know what we should do sometime, Maggie? We should go to Italy and rent a car, then drive up through the country into France and then down into Spain and Portugal. You’d love it. It would be a wonderful holiday. Nothing to do but eat and sleep and make love. What do you think?” He gazed lovingly at her, watching the light from the candle dance across her face.

“I think it sounds very romantic.”

“It will be. I’ll tell you what. We’ll do it next year.”

“Next year?” she asked with a smile of surprise.

“Yes. By the time I go home, I should have enough new songs for an album if I work on it while I’m on this tour, you know, when you’re here and I’m traveling around. Then
when I get home, I’ll get the recording done and tend to the details, and by then I’ll be more than ready for a long romantic holiday with the woman I love.” He studied her eyes as his words registered, then said softly, “You do know that I’m hopelessly in love with you, don’t you, Maggie?”

“Good” was all she said, eyes twinkling, a small teasing smile on her lips.

“ ‘Good,’ ” he repeated flatly. “I pour my heart out to you and all you can say is ‘good.’ ”

“Yes.”

“Well.” He leaned across the table, taking one of her hands in his. “What exactly does that mean, ‘good,’ in Callahanese?”

“It means I’m glad, very happy, actually, to hear you say that. I wanted you to fall hopelessly in love with me.”

“You did, did you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And why is that?”

“Because then you’d always come back to me.” She spoke in a hushed, emotional voice. “I want you to always come back to me.”

“I always will, Maggie. You have my most solemn word on that. No matter where I go, no matter what happens, I will always come back to you. There’s never been anyone else for me, Maggie. There never will be. Wherever you are is my home. And I will always come home to you.”

“Good,” she said again, and they both laughed softly.

“Say it.” He looked directly into her eyes. “I want to hear you say it.”

She played with her fork, making parallel indentations with the tines on the red tablecloth.

“I do,” she replied quietly. “I do love you.”

“And to think that I always thought love at first sight was an impossibility.” He smiled.

“Oh, it happens,” she said, grinning. “We always tease my mom and dad about it. See, he went to her house to pick up her sister for a blind date. Took one look at my mother and that was that. My dad did take Aunt Jane to the movies that night, but he brought her back by nine and by nine-fifteen
had a date with my mother for the next night. They were married three months later on my mom’s eighteenth birthday.”

“Would you like anything else?” the waiter returned to inquire.

“Maggie? No? I guess not,” J.D. replied.

When they’d returned to the apartment, she said, “Come into the kitchen with me while
I
make some coffee.”

“Why didn’t you have some at the restaurant?”

“Because I wanted to curl up on the sofa with you while I drank it. Want some?”

He declined, and she brought her cup into the living room, nestling next to him.

“And what have we planned for tomorrow?” he teased. “Another ten-mile hike?”

“Well,” she paused thoughtfully, “maybe you could come for a run with me early, and then we could—”

“Forget it,” he laughed. “If you’re running, you’ll be running alone.”

“How ’bout a long walk then?” she coaxed.

He groaned. “You nearly walked the legs off me today. How much more of the city is there to see?”

“Lots. But I was thinking of a walk here, around town. There’s lots of interesting old homes, lots of trees. You’ll like it.”

And the next day, when they walked down the wide streets, past the old Victorian houses, many of which looked as if they could use some major renovations, he found he did like it. Maggie pointed out the tiny Quaker meeting house, built in the late 1700s, and a two-hundred-year-old house that was said to be built from a ship’s ballast. She pointed out elements she found interesting on a number of the old places they passed, a turret with a small porch here, unusual stonework there, spectacular stained glass on yet another. It was, she told him, much like the town where she’d grown up, a family town with a real sense of community where people spoke to strangers and no one was too busy to return a smile. She felt at home here, liked its proximity
to the city and the feeling of living in the country. It was the best of both worlds.