The Summer He Came Home

Chapter 26



“Maggie, we don’t have to…”

A long shuddering breath escaped her lips as she nodded. “Yes. We do.” She paused and nodded. “I do.”

Her eyes misted, and a sad smile tugged at her mouth. Maggie fingered a long strand of her hair, twirling it slowly as she lay in his arm. “She had dark red hair just like mine.” Her brow furled briefly as if she was remembering. “Maybe a bit lighter, but it was beautiful, and her skin was the color of alabaster.” Cain stilled, nestled his head into the crook of her neck as she continued.

“She had freckles. Lots of freckles. She didn’t care for them, I remember that. She used to put this special lotion on her face and arms every night. Something she bought from the Avon lady. It was in a green container that she kept by her bed, and I remember the writing was pink. I think she thought the cream made her freckles less visible. My dad called them magic bits of fairy dust.” A soft sigh escaped her lips as she settled into his arms. “I used to trace them with my finger. She thought I was crazy because I loved them.”

“She sounds beautiful.”

“She was. Everyone loved her.” Maggie closed her eyes and smiled. “She laughed a lot and loved to dance. We’d crank the stereo and twirl around the living room to her favorite bands, like Pink Floyd and Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

“The classics.”

“Yes. Being from the South, my dad was kind of horrified she wasn’t all bluegrass and stuff, but Skynyrd was about as country as she got.”

Maggie shivered in his arms, and he ran his hands along her shoulders, keeping her close to him.

“‘Free Bird.’”

He barely heard the words, and when she began to sing, goose bumps erupted along his skin.

“‘If I leave here tomorrow’”—she inhaled and continued, her voice tremulous—“‘would you still remember me?’”

Cain’s chest tightened with an unfamiliar feeling, and suddenly he knew where this was going.

“She died when I was fourteen. Cancer.”

“Babe, I’m sorry.” Cain heard the pain in her voice.

“Me too,” she whispered. “It was cervical, and at first we thought she’d be all right, ya know? It was scary, all her treatments. The chemo and radiation, and then she had surgery. But she got better.” Her fingers traced circles along his arm, and for a few seconds there was silence. “She got better,” she whispered fiercely.

Cain was quiet. Hell, he didn’t know what to say, but he figured she didn’t want that. She needed him to listen.

“We had one more summer.” Maggie blew out a long breath and rested her head back against his chest. “She gained her weight back, and her hair grew into this really cute pixie cut. Mom tried to cram so much into that summer, I remember being kind of resentful. There were times she wanted to do stuff and I…I ditched her.” A long shuddering breath fell from her lips. “I ditched her,” she whispered painfully. “I wanted to chill, to hang with my friends. I mean, my mom was better, she wasn’t dying anymore…it was all good.”

She paused, and his heart broke for the little girl that she’d been.

Maggie shook her head slowly. “Except it wasn’t. The cancer came back in the fall, and it was meaner, stronger, than before. It had spread to her bones, and she went downhill so fast. I tried to help her the best that I could. I’d sit on the sofa and hold her puke bowl when she was sick, arrange her pillows so she was comfortable. I’d dress her, wash her and…when we were alone I’d crank her tunes, and we’d sing them at the top of our lungs like two crazy people.”

“Oh shit, Maggie.” She was crying now, tears flowing down her face, falling like drops of rain onto his arms.

A few moments passed, and she cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. “She passed a week before Christmas, and when she died she took my dad with her.”

“What do you mean?” Cain was puzzled.

“My father disappeared. He stopped living. He started drinking, and after a while he just gave up on everything. His job, his friends. Me.” She paused. “He hated me.”

What the hell?

“Why would he hate you? That doesn’t make sense.”

She bit her lip and fingered the edge of a throw blanket. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. “He told me once when he was drunk that he couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

“Oh babe, that’s rough, but I’m sure he didn’t mean it. People say a lot of stupid things when they’re in pain. Throw alcohol into the mix, and it’s ten times worse.”

She nodded. “I know he didn’t mean them, not really. But they hurt. Really hurt. He was broken, you know, and I…I was a constant reminder of why. Every time he looked at me, he saw her, and it must have killed him.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Maggie, we don’t have to…you don’t have to do this.”

She turned in his arms, and he was struck silent at the fragile beauty that he held, though really, he knew that was a smoke screen. Cain believed that Maggie O’Rourke was the strongest person he’d ever met.

“At first we just learned to live without communicating all that much. I threw myself into school, and he drank his way to the bottom of every bottle he came across. When we lost the house and moved into an apartment, I thought my life had bottomed out.” She shook her head. “I was wrong. He lost his job and started drinking his way through whatever money we had. I tried to help out…got a job waitressing, but it wasn’t enough, and besides, the more money I brought into the house, the more he drank. When I was sixteen he told me to go. To leave and not to come back. He said I could apply for social assistance like all the other welfare girls did and get my own place on ‘baby alley,’ which is where a lot of young mothers lived.”

Something cold thrust its way inside him—anger for this faceless man who’d abandoned his child like garbage.

“What did you do?”

Her eyes were puffy, her skin blotchy, from crying. “I left,” she whispered. “And I haven’t seen him since.”

“Christ, Maggie. I had no idea.”

“Oh God, I’ve never”—she shuddered—“I’ve never shared this with anyone, not even…”

“Who?”

“Michael’s father,” she whispered.

Cain waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. He was surprised at how disappointed he was that she didn’t trust him enough to share everything. She closed her eyes and he held her.

Later, much later, he heard her whisper, “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” His fingers pushed a long strand of hair off her wet, heated face.

“It feels good to be free of that secret.”

Cain carried Maggie back to her room and slid into bed with her. She turned on her side and settled her body against his. He held her for a very long time, listening to her breathe, and was nearly asleep himself when she murmured, “Green.”

“What was that, babe?”

“My favorite color is green.”

With that heartfelt admission, he was a goner. In that moment he knew there was no one else for him but Maggie. She’d claimed his heart without even trying.

He inhaled her scent and kept her close.

There was still a ways for them to go. Her trust was a fragile thing. Maggie was holding back. There was the whole question about Michael’s father. He knew about the violence but nothing else. Where was the guy? Had they been married? Were they divorced?

But as his mother used to say, baby steps…you have to crawl before you can walk. Damn straight.

Cain would do whatever it took to release Maggie from her demons. Even if it meant crawling to hell and back.