High October Page 7

  “It’s fine.” Liz’s tone was surly, not because it was well over an hour to Boston or she had anything special to do, but because Maggie was insisting she had to leave.

  Maggie went back to her room. Liz sulked as she finished her coffee. Finally, she got up and knocked on Maggie’s door.

  “Come in.”

  The suitcases were open on the bed and Maggie was laying out her clothes to pack. Liz stood in the doorway instead of coming in. “Maggie, I don’t want you to leave.”

  “I know you don’t. And I don’t want to leave either. I’m enjoying it here.” Even as she said this, Maggie continued to pack, carefully folding her clothes into tidy piles. Evidently, when she wanted to be neat, she could be.

  “Please stay.”

  “I just can’t. Please try to understand.”

  Liz sighed. “Okay. Let me get dressed, and I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  Before Liz went up to dress, she retrieved her coffee cup from the porch and put it in the dishwasher. She heard Maggie’s boot clomping down the hall.

  “Liz…?”

  Liz turned around.

  “I’ll stay until the Judy Collins concert.”

  “You will?” Liz hugged Maggie so enthusiastically she knocked her off balance and had to steady her. “What made you change your mind?”

  “I was looking forward to the concert. And I’m enjoying our visit, but I don’t want my being here to make you uncomfortable. If it does, I’m going home. Understood?”

  “Absolutely. Now, come out to the porch. I’ll make you another cup of coffee.” Liz went into the kitchen.

  When Liz returned with the coffee, Maggie said, “This waiting on me hand and foot has to end. I broke my leg, but I can walk, thanks to you. And I intend to pull my weight. On the days you have office hours, I’ll take care of dinner.”

  “Then make a menu, and I’ll pick up what you need.”

  “And you don’t have to entertain me while I’m here. I have plenty of work to do on my book.”

  “Tell me more about this book,” said Liz, relieved to have a neutral topic of conversation, something that didn’t have to do with the past or their feelings.

  Maggie explained that she’d outlined the book two years earlier and had a positive response from an agent, but the whirlwind of her last year of teaching and an off-Broadway play had prevented any extended work on the project. “I wanted to get in some theater gigs before the sun sets on my career. There aren’t many good roles for older women, so it’s not easy finding parts.”

  “You’re still damned attractive.”

  Maggie gazed at Liz with a look half between sadness and gratitude. “To you, maybe, but you’re biased. I don’t have the phenomenal talent of a Meryl Streep or Glenn Close, who can get away with unconventional beauty and still be successful in their later years. That’s one reason why I opted for being an academic instead.”

  “I bet Barry preferred that too.” It had just flown out before Liz could stop it.

  Maggie gave her a suspicious look. “Yes, he liked my being an actress as long as I was only the star of community theater and occasional summer stock. My being a college professor suited him better than stage work.”

  “Too many eyes on you as an actress.”

  Maggie looked mildly annoyed. “I know you’re not a Barry fan, but he was very supportive when I said I wanted to go back to school. In fact, he encouraged it. I was getting restless, and he thought graduate school would give me focus.”

  “Good strategy. Keep wifey happy, but under control.”

  “Liz, stop it! You’d hate any man I married. But you’re wrong about Barry. He was very good to me.”

  “So why didn’t you just overlook his little affair?”

  “It wasn’t a little affair. They were in pretty deep when I found out. I was furious. I had an affair in retaliation.”

  Liz couldn’t keep her eyebrows from shooting up. “You did? That doesn’t seem like you. You’re such a good girl.”

  Maggie looked away. “She was the director of the play I was doing that summer.”

  “She? A woman!” Liz’s eyebrows rose higher and her mouth gaped open.

  “Oh, Liz, don’t look so surprised. Yes, a woman, a very special woman. And I can’t tell you her name because you may have heard of her, and she’s still in the closet.”

  Liz finally closed her mouth. “Was it serious?”

  “It only lasted the run of the play. A month, but yes, it was powerful.”

  “Have there been other women?”

  “No. She was the only one.”

  Liz sat back and stared at Maggie while she took stock of what she’d learned. Why should she expect Maggie to be the dutiful Catholic girl she remembered from college? Of course, she’d changed, just as she had.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “So now you know.”

  Liz’s stomach began to growl, and she realized she was hungry. She’d been so absorbed in the conversation, she’d ignored the twinges. “Do you want to go out for breakfast? I know a place where they make the best lobster benedict.”

  “Lobster benedict? That sounds interesting…and very fattening.” Maggie studied Liz. “Are we done with true confessions for the moment?”

  “Yes, I think so. Give me a chance to absorb it all. I’m sure I’ll have more questions, but now, let me take you out for breakfast. I’m starving.”

  Maggie struggled to her feet. “All right. I need half an hour to shower and put on my face.”

  “I’ll wait,” Liz said and picked up her iPad to finish reading The New York Times.

  When Maggie returned, she looked like a different woman. She was wearing a colorful, sleeveless sundress with a floral design. Her makeup and hair were perfect, but true to her word, it had taken only half an hour.

  Liz gazed at Maggie with frank admiration. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself…especially, when you make some effort.”

  The comment hit Liz the wrong way. She forced herself to speak in a neutral tone. “Maggie, I had to dress for success for thirty-five years. Now that I’m retired, I will dress exactly how I choose. Can you understand?’”

  “No,” said Maggie bluntly and gave her a critical look. “You’re so gray. I didn’t expect that.”

  “I used to dye my hair while I was still at Yale. The men can get away with being gray. It makes them distinguished, but a gray-haired female surgeon just looks like a little, old lady.”

  “That could be reassuring. Don’t people associate little old ladies with kindness?”

  “Not when she’s your surgeon. They expect her to be sharp, which means young. And you can’t look like an old lady when you have to put snotty young surgeons in their place.”

  They went outside. Liz reached out to help Maggie into the seat of the truck. She had to lift her a little so she could get in. “I don’t know why I’m putting you through this. We could take the Audi.”

  “You have another car?”

  “Yes, do you want me to get it?”

  “No. I’m in now,” said Maggie, strapping herself in. “Let’s go.”

  When they arrived at the diner, there was a line out the door into the parking lot. Liz went in to see what their prospects were for getting a table. The morning counter waitress caught her scoping out the place and called to her, “Don’t worry, Liz. Come to the counter. There’s a couple at the end who have their check.”

  Liz elbowed her way through the crowd at the door and helped Maggie into the counter seat. She carefully stowed the green cane in the corner, so no one would trip.

  “Who’s your friend, Liz?” the waitress asked as she slapped down paper place mats that showed a map of Hobbs and its businesses. Liz always checked to make sure Hobbs Family Practice was
listed.

  “Paula, meet Maggie Fitzgerald.”

  Paula stood straight, hands on hips and gave Maggie the once over. “Oh, I know who you are. You’re playing in Mama Mia at the Playhouse.”

  Maggie looked flattered to be recognized, but appropriately modest. “Yes, but I’m sidelined now. I broke my leg in a trampoline accident.”

  “I heard about that.” Paula shook her head. The red hair dye was fresh, so it was brighter than usual. “Those guys are too ambitious. Still dreaming of Broadway productions when it’s just summer stock. I’m really sorry, honey. What can I get you today?” She glanced at Liz. “I already know what you want. Two eggs over easy, rye toast, don’t break the yokes.”

  Liz laughed. “Well, Paula, today, I’m going to surprise you. In honor of Maggie’s visit, I’m going to order the lobster benedict.”

  “Maybe there’s hope for you yet. Coffee?”

  Liz made a face. “Oh, I think we’ve had enough coffee to float away.”

  “Paula, thank you. I’ll take some coffee.” Maggie shot Liz an irritated look.

  “Sorry. I have a bad habit of deciding for other people.”

  Maggie lightly touched her thigh in a gesture of forgiveness.

  “Did you hear about that big accident on 109?” Paula asked when she returned to pour Maggie’s coffee.

  “No, I didn’t. I’m surprised I didn’t get called in.”

  “Why would they call you, Liz?” Maggie asked.

  “I’m on call for surgical emergencies. I haven’t given up surgery. I’m a part time surgeon in a practice in York.”

  Liz caught sight of the police chief at the other end of the counter. “Brenda! What happened on 109 last night?”

  A middle-aged woman with blond hair in a French braid looked up from her meal. “Kids drag racing in the middle of the night.” The police chief left her breakfast and came down to where Liz sat to speak more discretely. “One car overturned and burst into flame. The driver burned to a crisp. Doubt he’ll make it.”

  “Holy shit!” Liz cringed as she visualized the burn victim after that kind of fire. “Anyone I know?”

  Brenda leaned over to whisper the name into Liz’s ear. “Billy Chase from Awakened Brews.”

  “Oh, no! His mother will be crushed.” Liz took a deep breath to suck in her shock and grief. She thought of Billy, his cheerful voice in the morning, his solicitous warnings about the heat of her coffee, his quick grin when she added a few extra dollars to his tip.

  Brenda nodded sadly. “I know. It’s terrible. I’m surprised you didn’t hear all the noise from your house. Called out three fire departments.”

  “Didn’t hear a thing. I was out cold.”

  Brenda glanced at Maggie. “Hey, who’s your friend?”

  “Maggie Fitzgerald, this is Brenda Harrison, our police chief.”

  “Maggie Fitzgerald.” Brenda repeated, studying Maggie’s face as she tried to place the name. “Wait! I know. I saw you in Mama Mia. You were fantastic!” She glanced down at Maggie’s boot. “A shame about the accident. Doc taking good care of you?” she asked in a confidential tone.

  “The best.”

  “Maggie’s an old college friend,” said Liz as if compelled to explain the connection.

  “Hey, watch how you throw around the word ‘old,’” warned Maggie.

  “Right?” Brenda laughed and patted Maggie’s arm. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Fitzgerald. Enjoy your stay in Hobbs. Excuse me, but my breakfast is getting cold.” She glanced at Liz. “Catch you later.”

  “Does everyone in this town know you?” Maggie asked when the police chief had returned to her seat.

  Liz lowered her voice. “A lot of the full-time residents are my patients. Obviously, the police chief and I are tight because of emergencies.”

  The lobster benedict arrived: heaps of picked lobster meat over spinach on toasted English muffins. It was topped by a poached egg and swimming in homemade Hollandaise sauce.

  “Looks wonderful. I can feel the pounds coming on just by looking at it.” Maggie put a forkful into her mouth. She chewed with an expression of profound pleasure. “It’s incredibly delicious.”

  “Told you so.”

  While they ate, they discussed plans for the day. They talked about going up to the wildlife park in Gray until Liz remembered that the terrain was extremely hilly. Maggie would find it challenging with her walking boot, and Liz doubted she’d tolerate being pushed around in a wheelchair.

  “Maybe we could go up to Portland and take the afternoon ferry cruise around Casco Bay,” Liz suggested. “If we leave now, we might just make it.”

  “Maybe we should stay home, so you can relax before you have to go back to work. Didn’t you say you had projects to do around the house?”

  “I have to weed the herb bed.”

  “That should keep you out of mischief for a few hours.”

  Liz smiled. “Don’t count on it.”

  ***

  Slathered with super-blocking sun screen and wearing Liz’s wide brimmed fishing hat, Maggie sat outside on the lounge chair while Liz weeded the herb bed, yanking out Canadian Mayflowers by the dozens. Maggie browsed The New York Times, the papers weighed down with a rock because it was so breezy. Liz had agreed to pick up the paper edition on the way back from the diner although she subscribed to the online edition and took a dim view of cutting down trees for newspapers. “It does help the Maine economy,” she conceded, “…the few paper mills left up North.”

  After a few hours, Liz cursed her age and paused her weeding because there was a spasm in her lower back from bending too much. As she stretched, she saw that despite all their precautions, Maggie’s fair skin was turning bright pink.

  Liz climbed out of the herb bed. “I think I’ve had enough for one day. How about you?”

  Maggie looked up and glanced at her arms. “Yes, I’m starting to burn.”

  “I probably shouldn’t encourage you to spend so much time in the sun. With your pale skin, you’re a skin cancer case waiting to happen.”

  “But you love the outdoors, and I like to spend time with you,” said Maggie in a warm voice.

  “I’m glad, but I don’t want anything to happen to you on my watch. We need to pace ourselves.” Liz bent to pick up her tools. When she stood up, she saw that Maggie was admiring her backside.

  “Yes,” Maggie agreed. “We need to pace ourselves.”

  While Liz was putting away her tools in the garden shed, she finally caught the innuendo.

  “I need a good scrub and a shower,” Liz said when she returned. “Would you like to see upstairs?”

  “You’re going to let me into your private domain?” Maggie’s eyes were big with exaggerated surprise. “What about the security cameras?”

  “They’ve been off since I got the video feed of you checking out the elevator.”

  “You mean you haven’t been watching me dress and undress?”

  Liz’s felt her cheeks flame. “What kind of pervert do you think I am? Of course not! There are only cameras in the hall and the elevator.”

  Maggie laughed and squeezed her arm. “Only kidding.”

  They took the elevator up to the second-floor, where the Maine theme pervaded throughout. In one room, the walls were covered with lighthouse art; the next had scenes of the North Woods, straight out of the Cabela’s catalog. The beds were covered with colorful Moose quilts. The third room had a seashore motif, complete with lamp bases made of colored glass like old fashioned fishing floats. The last room had two futons and a big TV. Liz explained that it served as a sitting room for guests and a spare room for overflow.

  “You must get a lot of company.”

  “All summer long. I had to dig a new well to accommodate all the new bedrooms.”

  “So, you didn’t build this house?”r />
  “The original house was the footprint you see downstairs. The architect determined that the foundation and the first-floor framing were strong, so we built up, not out. Come upstairs, I’ll show you why.”

  Liz pressed the button to open the elevator door. “After you,” she said with a little bow.

  When they reached the third floor, they walked down a short hallway. Liz opened a door. “My bedroom.” She enjoyed Maggie’s look of amazement as she took in the view through the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the entire wall.

  “You can see the ocean!”

  “The water is in the distance, but yes, you can see it. My neighbors weren’t too happy when I cut down all the trees on this side for the view.”

  “It’s absolutely spectacular!”

  “Would you like to sit out on the deck while I take a shower?” She led Maggie out to the deck where she could sit on a lounge chair and keep her leg up.

  “Being up so high would take some getting used to,” said Maggie, looking down.

  “I was worried that my fear of heights would keep me from enjoying the deck, but I’m fine as long as there are railings.” Liz thumped the rail. She gave Maggie the local paper to read while she took a shower.

  As Liz scrubbed her dirt-encrusted fingernails with a surgical brush, she took unexpected pleasure in the fact that her house had impressed Maggie. Although Liz no longer felt the need to flaunt her wealth, there was a time when professional success had been very important to her. The big house in Connecticut and the three performance cars in the garage would certainly have appealed to the young Maggie Fitzgerald’s social ambitions. Liz wondered if tangible signs of success still meant so much to her.

  After her shower, Liz dressed in the bathroom and headed out to the deck. “Ready to leave?”

  Maggie turned and smiled. “It’s so beautiful here, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to leave.”

  “Well, then maybe you shouldn’t.”

  Chapter 8

  Liz was long gone by the time Maggie awoke the next morning at a little past nine. She put on her glasses and the ridiculous walking boot. Now that her leg was beginning to feel better, the boot had become a real annoyance. The ankle was still livid, every color a bruise could imagine. The swelling had gone down, although the profile of the ankle bone was still only a memory.