Season of Sisters (31 page)

In shock at the new cruelty, Maggie stood gaping at his back as he walked out. Again. Moments later, the front door slammed shut behind him.

Maggie stood barefoot in the kitchen with her pottery, her heart, and her marriage lying shattered on the floor around her. "Well," she said, testing her voice, her ability to breathe. "That was fun."

She kicked at a four-inch piece of pottery. It sailed across the floor and banged against the baseboard, leaving a scratch in both the wood and her big toe. As she stared down at the tiny pearls of blood beading on her skin, the door opened and Mike marched back inside and stomped across the tile.

"I bought the boat months ago. It was supposed to be your anniversary gift. I'd planned for us to take a trip together. I meant it as
our
second wind, not mine. Our second wind for our second half of life."

Numb, she watched him stride out. This time, the door shut gently behind him.

For a long moment, Maggie waited, braced, listening, but this time, he didn't return. At some point her jaw began to hurt and she consciously unclenched her teeth. With deliberate calm, she pulled the trash can from beneath the sink, then removed the two remaining plates and three cereal bowl from the dishwasher. One by one, she threw them at the hard tile floor. They broke with a sadly satisfying crunch.

The phone rang just as she retrieved the broom from the utility closet, followed almost immediately by the chime of the doorbell. She grabbed the portable phone's receiver on her way toward the front of the house. "Hello?"

It was Grace talking a mile a minute about Holly and a decision and a girls' night out on Tuesday. She finally finished by saying, "You'll come, honey. Won't you?"

Maggie frowned, realizing she'd only caught about every third word of her friend's soliloquy. Come
where?
"Um, sure. But Grace—"

"Wonderful. We'll pick you up at seven. See you then. 'Bye now."

"'Bye," Maggie replied as the doorbell rang again. Her heart began to race. Mike? No, he wouldn't ring the bell. Not now. Would he? Maybe. She yanked open the door. "Mike, I—"

"Afternoon, Mrs. Prescott," said the UPS driver as he held out his electronic clipboard. "Can I get you to sign for these, please?"

He gestured toward the small mountain of packages at his feet. Maggie counted, then let out a groan. Eighteen.

She stood in the doorway until the driver climbed into his big brown truck and roared off. Only then did she reach down and lift the top package off the stack. What would this one be? Jewelry? A small appliance? An item of apparel that probably wouldn't fit?

The return address read Maguire's. "Maguire's," she murmured, searching her memory. "Maguire's."

When it came to her, she let out a rather desperate giggle. She tore off the packing tape and yanked open the box. She sank down onto her front porch like a Halloween scarecrow and laughed until she cried.

Inside the box, white Styrofoam worms cradled a brown plastic bottle with a label that read: Maguire's No. 45.

Boat polish.

* * *

Holly and Grace had just exited the freeway on their way to Maggie's house when Justin called Holly's cell. She pulled into the same Wal-Mart parking lot where she'd encountered George the Drooling Boxer while talking with her darling doctor.

When she answered, Justin told her the patient who had him worried, a four-year-old asthmatic girl now battling pneumonia, was showing improvement, but that he thought he'd bunk down at the hospital tonight just in case. They exchanged teasing endearments, then Holly hung up, smiling.

"You're getting married, aren't you?" Grace asked. "That's what this big decision of yours is."

"What makes you think that?"

"Your cat-'n'-cream smile. Something happened when Justin took you home on Sunday, didn't it?"

Holly's grin turned wistful. "Something happened, but no, Grace, we're not engaged."

"Then you made love, didn't you? The first time since he asked you to marry him at the Pink Sisterhood wedding gown sale."

"Grace," Holly protested, embarrassed despite the fact this woman already knew details about her sex life like the fact she'd intended to make love with Justin in a storage closet at the Greystone Hotel.

"Am I wrong?"

"Just look at the scenery, would you?"

Grace laughed, but thankfully quit her pestering as they drove the rest of the way to Maggie's.

Maggie's home was a stately, three-story red brick manse built on a two-acre wooded lot, larger than the suburban norm. White begonias bordered the winding brick walk that led up to a front porch where big clay pots flanked the carved oak double doors.

They were halfway up that walk when the door opened wide and Maggie appeared wearing loose fitting white capris, an oversize cotton candy pink shirt belted at the waist, and a truly ugly pair of shoes. Shocked because this was the first fashion crime Holly had seen Maggie commit, Holly lifted her wide-eyed gaze to Maggie's face. Immediately, she saw that her friend's eyes were too bright, her smile too lively. Something was seriously wrong.

Holly and Grace shared a concerned look as Maggie greeted them in a voice brimming with false cheer. "Hi, girls. I'm so glad you're here. Y'all come on inside and let's visit a little before we go."

Inside, Maggie led them to a pretty, glassed-in garden room that overlooked the backyard pool. "Oh, honey, your yard is beautiful," Grace declared. "I didn't notice the magnolia trees before. Look at all the blossoms. The perfume in your backyard must be divine."

"It's nice."

Holly didn't look at the trees, her attention having been captured by the dessert buffet set up against one wall. "Maggie? Are you having a party?"

"I always serve refreshments to guests."

Holly quickly counted. "Fifteen desserts, Maggie?"

She shrugged. "They're all chocolate."

"Oh, my," Grace said, her eyes rounding at the sight.

"That's it." Holly pulled a padded chair away from the wrought iron table and gestured for Maggie to sit. "Tell us what's wrong."

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong." Maggie ignored Holly's unsubtle demand and handed her a dessert plate instead. "I recommend the torte. I'm a bit disappointed in the butterscotch brownies. Thank goodness I ordered three different kinds. It'd be terrible not to have a decent brownie to offer."

Holly shot a pointed look toward the dessert table, then at Maggie's feet and her pink, purple, and orange shoes. "If your taste in chocolate can in any way be compared to your taste in your footwear, I believe I'll pass."

Grace frowned. "I don't recall anyone mentioning bowling."

Maggie winced and wiggled her toes. "They are awful, aren't they? I don't know what possessed me to order bowling shoes. I have a pair in red, blue, and yellow, too."

While Holly tried to smother a grimace, Grace asked, "Do you bowl?"

"Not since third grade when my Girl Scout troop took lessons."

Generously, Grace said, "I remember reading a year or so ago that bowling shoes were a fashion fad for teenagers and young adults. People actually stole rental shoes from bowling alleys. It became such a problem they hired extra security to watch departing feet."

"Yew." Maggie wrinkled her nose. "I refuse to do rental shoes. I raised four boys, and I know from personal experience that Lysol cannot work miracles."

The three women studied Maggie's feet. Holly shook her head. "Those shoes are definitely not you, Maggie."

Like a perpetual motion machine, Maggie touched up flower arrangements and rearranged forks. "I know."

"Why are you wearing them? Why don't you just take them back?"

"Send them back. I ordered them from QVC or HSN or one of those networks, but I'm not going to send them back and I am going to wear them because Mike would totally, positively hate them."

Ah hah, thought Holly. Now we are getting somewhere.

"Is he back?" Grace asked. "Has he seen the boat? In hindsight, I admit I've had doubts about the appropriateness of our actions. I'm not certain what got into me. I was caught up in the fervor of the moment. Please, Maggie. Tell me we didn't make things worse for you."

"No, you didn't make it worse. Yes, Mike saw the boat. He came by and we... fought... and I really don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, dear." Grace reached blindly for chocolate, seizing a truffle. "I should never have tried to be wicked. It obviously backfired and I'm a terrible friend."

When Maggie laughed, Holly concluded she'd just seen her friend's first honest reaction since they'd arrived.

"Sugar, you're a wonderful friend. The best. I'm glad y'all painted that stupid ol' boat, not only because it was darned funny, but because it gave Mike and me the opportunity to air out our differences. We needed to do that, and now I need to think but I don't want to do it now. Right now, I want to sample one of those sweets and go shopping. That is where we're going, right? I have to confess I was a bit distracted when Grace called the other day."

Holly shared a look with Grace before saying, "Actually, we asked if you wanted to try that new coffeehouse downtown because Grace had heard they serve a selection of chocolate desserts."

"Oh." Maggie glanced at the buffet and winced. "Now I know where my idea came from."

"It doesn't matter. We can go anywhere, do anything, as long as it's quiet. Mainly, we wanted to get together because Holly has something she wants to discuss with us. Maggie, are you certain I didn't make things worse for you?"

"Positive." Maggie patted Grace's hand. "Now, what would y'all think about just staying here? I have peace and quiet and plenty of chocolate. Plus, if we get our talking done, I could use some help opening packages that have stacked up on me the past few days."

"Here sounds great," Holly said, eyeing the fudge. Good thing she'd run an extra mile this morning in anticipation of tonight's decadence. Hanging with these women could be hard on the waistline. "The privacy will be nice, in fact. The things I need to talk about are personal, and I'd just as soon not have strangers overhear."

"Personal?" Maggie repeated.

Holly fumbled for a way to get started. What had sounded like a good idea on Sunday was less appealing now. Grace must have sensed her discomfort, because she chirped up, "I thought she was going to tell us she'd finally agreed to marry Justin, but she says no. Now I suspect that the two of them made love."

Maggie folded her arms, sat back in her chair, and studied the younger woman. "I suspect you're right, Grace. Now that I look, it's written all over her. The sparkle, the glow. Justin took her home and tucked her in and she's as happy as a clam. I'm going to take credit. I knew it was right to call him and send him up to Lake Texoma. You were ready. So, was it delicious?"

"I'm not going to talk about it." Holly paused, then added, "He was an animal."

Grace choked on her tea. Maggie sighed. Holly burst out in a laugh that carried a twinge of hysteria. "Oh, y'all. I told him why I can't marry him. I told him all of it. We talked about it for a long time."

"It, Holly? What is it?"

She took a deep breath and told them. Neither Grace nor Maggie appeared surprised to hear of the fears she harbored. In fact, she suspected her tale only confirmed their suspicions.

She did manage to surprise them, however, when she got to the heart of the matter and brought up the idea of genetic testing. "Justin says the majority of daughters of breast cancer patients overestimate their risk."

"He's right," Grace said. "This is a question I researched on my daughter's behalf. Somebody published a study that found among women of all ages with a first-degree relative with cancer—"

Maggie interrupted. "What's a first-degree relative?"

"A mother or sister or daughter," Holly replied.

"—eighty percent estimate their lifetime risk to be fifty percent or higher. The fact is that the lifetime risk for that group is about one in eight, which is the average risk for women in the general population."

"So Holly's risk is no higher than mine?"

"Well, no," Holly answered. "Possibly, but I don't know that. I haven't been tested and I'm not certain I want to be. That's the big decision I have to make, and I'm looking for advice from the two of you."

"Grace I understand, but why me?" Maggie asked. "You could fit what I know about genetic testing on the tip of a mascara brush. It seems to me that Justin's the one to give you guidance in this. He's the doctor, after all."

"But he's a man."

Maggie sighed heavily. "Now that is a definite drawback."

"What I meant is that no matter how hard he tries, he'll never be able to understand completely the emotional implications of this entire question. Add to that the fact that he has a vested interest in whatever I decide and... well... I need my girlfriends for this one. I just need to talk it out, to decide what to do. I don't want to make the wrong decision."

"Oh dear." Grace took a slice of torte and a chair. "I don't believe it's a question of right or wrong decisions. This is a difficult subject. It's a highly personal journey and only you can decide what information you need as you travel. I learned that in facing this question with my daughter."

"So she's had testing done?"

"No. We don't have a family history extensive enough to warrant it. However, in researching the question, I discovered no easy answers exist when it comes to gene testing for breast cancer."

"Why not?" Maggie asked. "If a simple blood test could tell me whether or not I'm destined to get it, I think I'd want to have it done."

"It's not a simple blood test, for one thing. It's a very complex, very expensive blood test that is most likely to be inconclusive and uninformative for Holly."

"But must she have conclusive results? Wouldn't any scrap of information be helpful to her? Like they say, information is power. Holly needs every particle of power she can muster at this point in her life to deal with her fears. That's all she has now. Fears, not facts."

"You've just made my point for me. Testing won't provide facts, just probabilities."