“You scared me.”
She nods, mouthing the words “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t talk.”
Her face droops worse than ever before, and I wonder why Austin hasn’t called me back. Stuck in processing, I know it’s hard. Last time, with boot camp, there was no contact at all. What could he do, even if he knew?
“I’m going to postpone the wedding. We can’t have that wedding without you there. We need to get you better.”
Maggie shakes her head “no.”
“Yes. There’s no arguing. So don’t even try. It’s just a wedding. It’s not the end of the world. We can have it in the fall. They say you’re going to be here awhile.”
Maggie shakes her head again. I hand her the clicker. She lets it drop. She reaches for my hand instead. The strength in her grip takes me by surprise. “Have your wedding,” she says. “…Your Pappy.”
“Pappy? I don’t understand.”
Maggie closes her eyes.
I spend the next few days with her at the hospital. By the end of the week, she’s got full control of the clicker and tells me I talk too much. She sends me home, telling me I’m interrupting her shows and that the hospital makes better grilled cheese than I do. She tells me to get back to wedding planning and that I’ve got work to do. I agree, reluctantly.
“She’s right. It’s not like a wedding is an easy thing to cancel. And you have your brother and Sonya coming to town. Plane tickets are expensive…” Julie looks like she’s about to cry when I tell her I may postpone the wedding. “You’ve spent all this time planning. I’d just hate to see it all go to waste.”
I shake my head. “I’m talking about postponing, not cancelling. I wish I could talk to Austin. The caterer only needs seventy-two hours’ notice. We could get married in the fall. John won’t care about tickets. He’s got the money. And couldn’t they get a refund?”
“I’m serious, Cal. She wants this. And can’t she get out on a day pass or something?”
“I don’t know.”
“I bet that kid Drake would pick her up and bring her. Or you could ask Jason. Either of them would do it.”
“Austin hates Drake.”
“Austin hates everyone in Endings.”
“True story.”
“But seriously. Everyone would help. She’s in a wheelchair, Cal. It’s not like it would be much more of a strain than going to the hospital atrium. She does that, right?”
I give Julie the evil eye. “It’s a lot different. She’s the closest thing to a grandparent I have left. It’s just a wedding. People are more important than a party. You sound like Stixx.”
Julie looks away. “Okay Cal. Whatever you decide.”
“Sorry. I’m just stressed out. You aren’t like Stixx. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do all this. And now they want STD tests.”
“Really? Why?”
I shrug. “I have no clue. I tried to tell the court clerk that wasn’t necessary.”
“She probably hears that a lot.”
“Yeah. True. But I don’t know why that’s anyone’s business anyway.”
“I think they are trying to protect you both.”
“I don’t need protection. What I need is Austin home. This is getting old.” The minute the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. I never seem to remember how hard this must be on Julie, whose husband is in jail. For better or worse, she loves the guy. This much, I’m sure of, though she’s never given any details and I’ve always wondered… “Sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Stop apologizing! This is frustrating. I reckon Austin has no idea how much is happening here. Who else are you supposed to vent to?”
“Oh, I’m sure he has problems of his own. All the military is is ‘hurry up and wait.’ Takes ten days just to get through processing. He hates it.”
“I’d hate that, too.”
“Yeah.”
“So, whatever you decide, I think you at least have everything you need. Did you ever find your something blue?”
I smile and tell her about Stixx’s handcuffs.
“Oh, well that’s interesting!” she laughs. “That’s the kind of handcuffs I could get into!”
8
“Hi, I’m looking for Margaret Rivers. Is she home?”
The woman at the door peers over my shoulder, peeking into Maggie’s house like she’s about to walk right in. I creek the screen door open, just enough to get my body through, and join her on the front porch.
“No, she’s not here. How can I help you?”
“Where is she?”
Maggie—who rarely bothers to answer the door—would flip if she could see the pushy woman edging closer toward me, leaning in to get a peek inside the house.
I move my body to shield her view, not that I’m hiding anything—which is probably how it appears—but because I know Maggie would want me to. “How can I help you?” I repeat, bracing myself in the door frame.
The woman, who struggles to carry a clipboard and briefcase at the same time, sighs. She pulls a lanyard with identification from her blouse. She pushes a badge into my line of vision.
“Sally O’Mason, CPSW. I’m here to talk to Maggie.”
With no concept that CPSW stands for child protection social worker or why someone with that title would even be on Maggie’s doorstep, I glare at her.
“I told you, she’s not here.”
“When will she be home?”
I step back, trying to escape her onion breath and an odor coming off her body like she’s been travelling for weeks. I shrug. “I’m not sure. Do you have a card? I can tell her you stopped by.”
“No, I need to see her now. Where is she?”
“Listen, I’m technically Margaret—Maggie’s—legal guardian. Her health is, well, compromised. I am happy to leave her a message and have her get back to you. Or, maybe I can help you. I just don’t have much time. I need to bring some things…”
The woman, built like an apple, wipes sweat from her forehead in a motion so wide it causes me to forget my train of thought. She scrunches up her nose, as if she’s thinking—or maybe smelling herself—and finally says, “That might work. Do you have paperwork on the legal guardian stuff in there?”
I grip the doorway with hands on each side. Standing as tall as I can, I say, “Yes. Of course. What is this in regards to?”
“I need to see it. And, I need to get a consent release out of my car. I’ll be right back, can you go get the paperwork?”
I nod, perplexed at the situation but sure the woman, whose running car is blocking the driveway, has no intention of leaving until I emerge with the guardianship paperwork. “Yep.” I close the door, tight, behind me, turning back to lock it before proceeding to Maggie’s filing cabinet.
Ten minutes later, the woman, apparently, content with what I’ve shown her and the forms I’ve signed for permission to talk about Maggie’s affairs, asks me my exact relationship to Maggie.