“I went to her door, but she seemed to be sleeping, Bryant. She looked so peaceful,” she says, and that’s when my Maggie, who I’ve always thought was tough as nails, breaks. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was going to check on her after I finished my homework. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she cries, the words so steeped in grief that they mark me.
I don’t need her to finish the story. I know what happens next. I came home early the next morning. I drove all night and made it home just as the sun was beginning to rise over the hills. We lived in an apartment over Mom and Dad’s garage—that was just one mistake of many I made with Maggie.
Apparently, I’ve made even more than I knew.
I found Maggie asleep on the couch with her text book on the floor beside her, lying down with the pages crushed because it had fallen to the floor. I remember taking the time to close the book. Then, I went to check on our daughter. That’s when I found her…
What happened next is a blur of calls, tears, and sirens. Right now, one thing sticks out that I wish like hell that I could take back.
“Maggie why didn’t you check on our baby. Why didn’t you check on her?”
As I said the words to her, I didn’t mean for it to feel as if I was blaming her. I was lost in the shock and the pain. Now, I see it in such a different light, and I want to kick my own ass over and over…
At this moment, however, I don’t know what to say or do, so I just hold her close, murmuring in her ear that it’s going to be alright.
I don’t know how I will deliver on that promise, but I’m going to try.
32
Maggie
“Here you go, sweetheart,” Bryant whispers so softly that I have to strain to hear him.
I take the warm coffee mug from him and try to drum up a smile for him. I don’t think I succeed. I feel so embarrassed. I don’t know how to act or what to say. I think I’m still in shock. In all of the scenarios that I imagined would happen when I told Bryant the truth, him carrying me to bed and holding me while I cried wasn’t it.
I swallow down the steaming liquid thankfully, unsure of what to say. My eyes close as Bryant kisses the top of my head. He’s been doing that a lot. He did it while he held me and let me cry. I apparently dozed off because when I woke up, he was dressed in pajama bottoms and kissing my head again, while his fingers drew imaginary lines on my arm. Even the damn cat was being nice to me and laid on my feet while I napped.
Because I feel hopelessly awkward and not sure of what to say, I sit in silence as I watch Bryant sweep up the glass from a broken lamp. He unhooked the head board and cleaned the bed off earlier. I didn’t help. I wasn’t sure what to do. So, I watched. When he sweeps the last of the debris into the dust pan, he looks up at me, his face full of concern and sadness.
“How you doing, sweetheart?” he asks, and again, his concern seems to wrap around me.
“I’m feeling a little lost,” I admit.
“Don’t worry, baby. We’ll find you again.”
“I don’t understand why you’re being nice to me. You should hate me,” I murmur.
“The only person I’m hating in this room is myself, Maggie. I hate that I made you go through all of this alone and I wish you could grasp how horrible I feel that I helped add to your guilt.”
“Bryant, stop. You lost Brylee, too,” I tell him, because the last thing I want him to feel is guilt.
“I left you to face everything while I went on with my life, Maggie. You were struggling being a full-time mother and going to school while I went to school full time in another state, Maggie. We had a baby, and basically, I didn’t let it change any of my plans. I left you alone, trying to do it all.”
“You had a scholarship, and you had a career in mind. I had no idea what I wanted to do at the time. I was just taking basics and trying to figure things out,” I remind him.
“I was a selfish asshole—your mother was right.”
“We were young,” I tell him with a shrug. I can’t deny a lot, because most of the time during our short marriage I felt like a forgotten part of his life.
“I don’t know why you still love me, Maggie May,” he responds. He stands and comes over to the bed.
“I think that’s my line. I’m still having trouble figuring out why you haven’t kicked me out,” I tell him truthfully, so confused about everything that I can’t quite grasp what’s going on.
“Sweetheart, I know you feel like you’re to blame here, but what you need to understand is that you’re not. The same thing would have happened if I was home, and you were gone.”
“You can’t say that Bryant.”
“I can, but I think the problem here is that you won’t let yourself believe it.” I want to respond, but I can’t really. He’s right. “I think we both need to talk about seeking therapy, Maggie.”
“Therapy? Like couples therapy?”
“We never truly dealt with the loss of Brylee as a team, Maggie, and we need to.”
“It won’t change the facts,” I whisper.
“It won’t,” he agrees. “What it might do is get rid of the guilt we’re both dealing with so that we can see the truth.”
“You’re forgetting something,” I tell him, refusing to allow myself to feel hope with his words.
“What’s that?”
“You’re talking like we have a future—”
“And we do, Maggie.”
“Bryant…”
“Jesus, Maggie with all the love between us, don’t you think we can beat whatever comes our way? Look what we survived without working together? I don’t have a doubt in my mind that if we stand hand in hand, we can beat anything.”
“I wish I had your optimism.”
“Then borrow some because I will tell you right now, I am not the idiot I was when we first got married. I’m a man—”
“I’ve never doubted that,” I tell him, trying to reach for my humor. I think I only half succeed, but I’m still rewarded with Bryant’s smile.
“Smart ass,” he laughs. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it does lighten the heaviness in the air. “I was saying, I’m a man who understands what it’s like to lose the woman who owns his heart, and I’m never going to let her go again.”
“Bryant,” I breathe because what he says floods over me, and I can barely breathe.
“Take a chance on us again, Maggie. I promise you I will work like hell so that you don’t regret it.”
“What if you’re the one that regrets it, Bryant?”
“That will never happen.”
“Bryant…”
“Never, Maggie.”
“So, I guess you’re taking me to Dallas in the morning,” I whisper.
“Damn straight. Do you have a problem with that?”
I think about it, but I just shake my head no. “I don’t deserve it, but honestly, it will be nice not to be alone.”
“Then, it’s decided.”
“I guess it is,” I answer, but I must not keep my fear out of my voice.