“That’s not fair,” he said. “Would you have wanted me to lie? When you told me you were pregnant, I told you the truth. I have a daughter and a crazy ex-wife and no, I was not planning to have more children. It was one of the first issues we talked about when we started seeing each other. You said you understood completely.”
“I wasn’t pregnant then!”
“Be reasonable—it wasn’t planned,” he said.
“Just go!”
She turned and walked around to the back of the store and in the back door. She ducked into the bathroom beside the storeroom and looked in the mirror. Sure enough, she was crying. Again.
In medicine, everyone worships stoicism, thus her hiding in stairwells. She once sneaked into a bathroom and sobbed her brains out when she lost a young woman and her unborn child, even though saving them had been a long shot. GSW. Gunshot wound—so tragic. Then there was a mass shooting at a high school, several victims and they pulled them through, all of them, and it had almost the same effect on her—she cried until she was sick to her stomach. That was back when she was in Chicago doing her fellowship with Walter. The sheer violence and cruelty of a school shooting had nearly gutted her. By the time she was practicing, she’d figured out how to hide it, the overpowering emotion. But she hadn’t cried over a man since she was sixteen.
Not the man, she reminded herself. The relationship and the baby.
Andrew, the sensitive ER doctor, left her because she was having trouble coping with her loss. She really and truly had not known he was that inflexible, that cold. There must be a lesson in there somewhere. And she was damn sure going to find it.
She splashed cold water on her face, dried it, went back into the store. And of course who was standing beside Sully wearing a look of concern but Cal.
“Well, Calistoga, you’re just everywhere, aren’t you?”
“You okay, Maggie?” he asked.
“I got a little pissed, that’s all. Ex-boyfriend.”
“Gotcha,” Cal said. He looked at his watch. “Why don’t you go home and see what you can find for dinner for you and Sully. I’ll hang out here till closing.”
She sniffed. “Would you like to join us?” she asked.
“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”
“It’s early,” she said.
“It’s okay, Maggie,” he said. “Take a break. Get some alone time.”
“Sunday night can get a little... Ah, hell. I’m going,” she said.
No legacy is so rich as honesty.
—William Shakespeare
When Maggie had gone, Cal looked at Sully. “I bet she doesn’t get like that very often,” he said.
“Like what?” Sully said. But he was frowning.
“Teary. Splotchy. Shook up. What did he do to her?”
“I have no idea, but I bet I wouldn’t like it.”
“How long was he the boyfriend?”
“Couple a years. I didn’t think he was that much of a boyfriend.”
“Did you ever mention that to Maggie?”
Sully laughed, but not with humor. “Maggie look like the kind of person anyone tells what to do? She’s contrary sometimes. I try to stay out of her business. She doesn’t return the favor, either.”
There was a lot of cleaning up, putting away, sweeping and organizing to do after the last of the weekend campers pulled out. Those who were leaving had settled up and were on the road by six at the latest. There were five campsites and one cabin still engaged and according to Sully all of them were planning to stay longer.
“Should we restock?” Cal asked.
“Let’s not do it tonight,” Sully said.
“I bet you don’t ordinarily leave the store until it’s ready for morning,” Cal said.
“I don’t ordinarily get tired. In summer and warm weather me and Tom give the place a nice face-lift on Wednesdays, slowest day. When Enid’s in the store I spend more time on the garden and grounds but weekends find me right here, ready for anyone. Nights I patrol a little before I go to bed but hardly get any trouble. A year ago I got laid up with the pneumonia—things got pretty sloppy around here but we were running real low on weirdos or drunks so it was at least quiet. Don’t know why I’d get the pneumonia when the weather finally gets warm, but I never ran high on good luck, except for Maggie. Maggie’s about the luckiest thing a man could get and I wasn’t even trying. Imagine what I could do if I was trying?”
Cal smiled. The pneumonia made him grin. If you didn’t pay close attention to someone like Sully you would think he wasn’t terribly smart. But Cal did pay attention. Sully was sharp as a tack and had that enviable insight into people so few possessed. “Where’s your wife, Sully?” he asked boldly.
“Phoebe? She’s in Golden, married to someone who deserves her.”
“Are you still...you know... Do you miss her sometimes?”
“Miss Phoebe? Oh, Jesus, boy. Hell no, I don’t miss Phoebe! She’s the biggest pain in the ass I ever met. She’s everyone’s pain in the ass. Poor Maggie, that’s all I have to say. She tries to take care of her mother. Phoebe.” He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I must’ve been drunk.”
Call laughed with him. “Well, what do you suppose it was?” Cal asked. “No man gets that drunk. She must have been beautiful. Or sweet. Something.”
“Oh, I could put a dent in the keg back then, but that Phoebe, she was mighty pretty. And funny and sweet but God as my witness, it sure didn’t last long. I shouldn’t’a brought her here—it was a bad match. She found fault with every breath I took. She was difficult. Miserable, unhappy.”
“What do you think was wrong?” he asked.
Sully thought for a moment. “Well, son, it’s mostly my fault, I’m sure of that. I’d been to Vietnam and it didn’t leave me right, if you know what I mean. I had settling to do, in my head and other places and I just hadn’t taken the time. I hadn’t stopped making noise enough to listen to that inside voice. I was listening to the voice in the bottle sometimes. Phoebe would bitch that I was drinking and I’d just drink more. And Phoebe? She’s one of those people who’s always hungry, if you know what I mean.”
Cal frowned. “Hungry?”
He shook his head. “She couldn’t be satisfied. I believe she tried, but she couldn’t. I didn’t understand until she left and took Maggie with her. Then I understood what that felt like. It’s a miserable feeling, wanting something you can’t have.” He put a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “You go on, Cal. It’s a nice evening. Cool but clear. There could be rain ahead so enjoy it now while you can.”
“If you need any help, you know where to find me.”
Cal watched Sully put the closed sign on the door and went to his camper. He had the impression that Sully had just confided more in him than he had in his daughter, whose absence a long time ago had filled him with an aching hunger. He believed Sully might never have told Maggie she was the greatest thing he’d ever done. It wasn’t a facial expression or inflection in his voice. It’s the way we don’t tell the most important people in our lives the most important things. It was how men tended to be.
He