Moments In Time Read online

  “What?”

  “Can we eat now? I’m about to pass out.”

  Maggie opened a can of soup and threw a salad together. They ate quietly, both deep in their own thoughts. Finally an exhausted Lindy gathered her things to leave.

  “You going to be all right tonight?” a concerned Maggie asked.

  “I’ll be fine. I think I just need some sleep.” Lindy fished in her jacket pocket for her keys. “And thanks, Maggie. I know it’s not always easy to be my friend…”

  "I just wish I could help you.”

  “No one can help me, Maggie.” Lindy smiled sadly, turned, and walked down the steps.

  9

  AND NO ONE EVER COULD, A DOLEFUL MAGGIE recalled. Not me, not Rick, though God knows we both tried. Friendship was never enough, nor was love, to ease the sorrows of Lindy’s soul. She shook off the memory and attempted to tune back in to present, to chase the gloomy thoughts away.

  “I’m just a bit curious,” Hilary was saying, “as to why, if you and Rick had such glaring artistic differences, you remained together after Daily Times broke up. Why you formed another group together instead of going your separate ways at that time.”

  “That was entirely different, Hilary,” J.D. explained. “We put Daily Times to rest specifically to start a new band. Daily Times had been a tremendous commercial success, but we felt we wanted to do some things that would be very different from what we’d done in the past. We decided to start from scratch, so to speak, and change the name of the band and most of the support personnel. We changed the sound, adding more jazz arrangements, some elements of blues, which is, of course, Rick’s specialty. Later on, we agreed to disband Monkshood because we were both ready to pursue solo careers. Fortunately, our friendship never suffered, and of course, Maggie and Rick have remained very close.”

  “Yes, well, we’ll get back to your wife’s relationship with Rick Daily before the night is over, I’m quite sure.” Hilary smiled at Maggie, using that invisible barometer to gauge her reaction. Maggie met Hilary’s gaze without a blink. Being a pro, Hilary never missed a beat. “It’s been rumored throughout the years that Rick and Maggie have had, shall we say, a very special sort of friendship. But right now, we have to take a commercial break, so don’t go away…”

  When the cameras were turned off, Hilary turned to her guests, instructing them with a smile, “And don’t you go away” before stepping into the hallway for a word with the assistant producer.

  Maggie relaxed only slightly, knowing there was still a long night ahead of her. She didn’t want to talk about Rick, didn’t want to discuss their friendship publicly. How to explain that she had been his confidant, his strength, through the darkest days of his life but never lovers as had been alluded to from time to time over the years in silly stories spread by shallow reporters who could not begin to fathom what bound them together. There were too many elements of pain running through that relationship, the full disclosure of which would most likely land Rick in jail for a very long time.

  She realized her husband was leaning toward her, about to speak. She cut him off before he could open his mouth.

  “Could we please move this interview along and somehow avoid discussing my relationship with Rick?” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  “I sincerely doubt she’d let us. Just answer any question casually and keep it all very…” He’d thought perhaps if he sounded supportive and reassuring, she’d soften a bit. He was wrong.

  “I don’t need you to tell me how to react, thank you very much,” she snapped, straightening her back and turning toward the window once again.

  An incredible moon had begun its ascent into the night sky. Glowing gold, it was already backlighting the hills.

  Under other circumstances, on another night, she would have called his attention to it and begged him to accompany her out into the garden to enjoy it’s enchantment. Tonight, she merely looked away.

  The encouragement he’d felt earlier when she had appeared to have come around somewhat vanished, yet he could not help but speak to her, to make her respond to him, if only in anger.

  “Maggie, calm down. If you get rattled, you’re liable to say almost anything, which is exactly what the little viper wants. Just be very nonchalant—”

  “Just get your ass out of the seventies, okay? I don’t want to talk about the past.” She crossed her legs, the foot resting on the floor tapping out her agitation.

  “Maggie, the longer we talk about the past, the less opportunity there will be to discuss the present, unless, of course, that’s what you want.”

  He paused and looked into the face that had held him captive for the past fifteen years, knowing her hold on him was as strong as it ever had been. The thought that he was losing her terrified him. Loving her had put his life together, had kept it together. To be without her was unthinkable. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, wanted to hold her and kiss her the way he’d done countless times, but he dared not touch her.

  “Maggie…” He leaned toward her, caressing her with the sound of her name, begging for an opening.

  “Save it.” She refused to give an inch.

  “Maggie, listen to me, it’s not what you think… How could you ever seriously think… Look, you’ve completely misinterpreted the situation…”

  “Misinterpreted the situation?” she snarled sarcastically, “Well then, let’s put our heads together and see if we can’t come up with a somewhat more creative explanation of what two naked adults could have been doing—”

  “Maggie, listen, I was in the shower—”

  “Stuff it, J.D. It’s you who taught me how to do it in the shower, remember?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Maggie, just… just look at me, will you? Can you honestly tell me that you don’t love me anymore?” He made no effort to mask his desolation.

  “Jamey, love is not the issue.” Her voice revealed more than a little exasperation. “I do not want to discuss this anymore.”

  “Maggie, please, I swear it’s not what you think…” he pleaded with her.

  “Well, ready to resume here?” Hilary had seemed to come out of nowhere. How much had she heard? “Cameras, folks. And… we’re back. Glad you stayed with us. We were discussing, I believe, the differences between the two bands—between Daily Times and Monkshood, that is—and the reasons why both had folded.”

  “Well, you know, Hilary, Rick is a phenomenal blues guitarist, and my taste in music is much more eclectic. It was good for both of us when we finally broke away from each other and pursued our own careers.” He tried to sound confident, hoped that she nor anyone else would discern the J unsteadiness of his voice. His wife had shaken him to his core, and he was trying desperately to keep his mind clear on two levels, keeping the interview going and gaining her attention.

  Maybe I should just throw caution to the wind and get down on my hands and knees, right now, and blurt out the whole story. Sit on her, literally, and refuse to get up until she agrees to hear me out. It’s a crude technique, but judging by the response I’ve had from her so far, it may come to that. Talk about a showstopper…

  “And we had started to go our separate ways on a personal level as well, because I spent so much time at Maggie’s that spring. Every free weekend, every time we got a few days off, I headed for Philadelphia. I got to know the area and grew to love it—you know, of course, that our home is in the suburbs there—and I’d bought a keyboard and installed it J in Maggie’s apartment, so that I could spend some time writing while Maggie was at work, so I’d be ready to go on my own.”

  And spent the rest of the time just falling in love with Maggie, he could have added, just loving her and riding the roller coaster of the painful separations, the joyous reunions. Looking to the future and savoring the magic of those days and nights…

  “What’s on the agenda today?” he asked with a yawn. They’d slept late and were still entwined, arms and legs.

  “Well, I thoug
ht I’d take you on that tour of Philadelphia I promised you. It looks like a lovely day. It’ll be fun,” she coaxed him, “and you could use a little exercise as well as a change of scenery.”

  It was a great day for walking, sunny and warm and just slightly breezy. They played tourist all day, from Independence Hall to Old St. Joseph’s Church, a particular favorite of Maggie’s. They stopped for lunch at a small restaurant, then resumed their stroll through the tiny side streets of Society Hill, where block after block of homes, dating from the 1700s, were being restored. They walked into Head House Square, where new shops had opened on the site of the old open-air market place that had operated during the Colonial days.

  They decided on dinner at an Italian restaurant not too far from Maggie’s apartment. J.D. enjoyed the meal but noted, “This isn’t exactly like the Italian food you get in Italy, you know.”

  “I guess it’s tailored to American tastes,” she said with a shrug.

  “You know what we should do sometime, Maggie? We should go to Italy and rent a car, then drive up through the country into France and then down into Spain and Portugal. You’d love it. It would be a wonderful holiday. Nothing to do but eat and sleep and make love. What do you think?” He gazed lovingly at her, watching the light from the candle dance across her face.

  “I think it sounds very romantic.”

  “It will be. I’ll tell you what. We’ll do it next year.”

  “Next year?” she asked with a smile of surprise.

  “Yes. By the time I go home, I should have enough new songs for an album if I work on it while I’m on this tour, you know, when you’re here and I’m traveling around. Then when I get home, I’ll get the recording done and tend to the details, and by then I’ll be more than ready for a long romantic holiday with the woman I love.” He studied her eyes as his words registered, then said softly, “You do know that I’m hopelessly in love with you, don’t you, Maggie?”

  “Good” was all she said, eyes twinkling, a small teasing smile on her lips.

  “ ‘Good,’ ” he repeated flatly. “I pour my heart out to you and all you can say is ‘good.’ ”

  “Yes.”

  “Well.” He leaned across the table, taking one of her hands in his. “What exactly does that mean, ‘good,’ in Callahanese?”

  “It means I’m glad, very happy, actually, to hear you say that. I wanted you to fall hopelessly in love with me.”

  “You did, did you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because then you’d always come back to me.” She spoke in a hushed, emotional voice. “I want you to always come back to me.”

  “I always will, Maggie. You have my most solemn word on that. No matter where I go, no matter what happens, I will always come back to you. There’s never been anyone else for me, Maggie. There never will be. Wherever you are is my home. And I will always come home to you.”

  “Good,” she said again, and they both laughed softly.

  “Say it.” He looked directly into her eyes. “I want to hear you say it.”

  She played with her fork, making parallel indentations with the tines on the red tablecloth.

  “I do,” she replied quietly. “I do love you.”

  “And to think that I always thought love at first sight was an impossibility.” He smiled.

  “Oh, it happens,” she said, grinning. “We always tease my mom and dad about it. See, he went to her house to pick up her sister for a blind date. Took one look at my mother and that was that. My dad did take Aunt Jane to the movies that night, but he brought her back by nine and by nine-fifteen had a date with my mother for the next night. They were married three months later on my mom’s eighteenth birthday.”

  “Would you like anything else?” the waiter returned to inquire.

  “Maggie? No? I guess not,” J.D. replied.

  When they’d returned to the apartment, she said, “Come into the kitchen with me while I make some coffee.”

  “Why didn’t you have some at the restaurant?”

  “Because I wanted to curl up on the sofa with you while I drank it. Want some?”

  He declined, and she brought her cup into the living room, nestling next to him.

  “And what have we planned for tomorrow?” he teased. “Another ten-mile hike?”

  “Well,” she paused thoughtfully, “maybe you could come for a run with me early, and then we could—”

  “Forget it,” he laughed. “If you’re running, you’ll be running alone.”

  “How ’bout a long walk then?” she coaxed.

  He groaned. “You nearly walked the legs off me today. How much more of the city is there to see?”

  “Lots. But I was thinking of a walk here, around town. There’s lots of interesting old homes, lots of trees. You’ll like it.”

  And the next day, when they walked down the wide streets, past the old Victorian houses, many of which looked as if they could use some major renovations, he found he did like it. Maggie pointed out the tiny Quaker meeting house, built in the late 1700s, and a two-hundred-year-old house that was said to be built from a ship’s ballast. She pointed out elements she found interesting on a number of the old places they passed, a turret with a small porch here, unusual stonework there, spectacular stained glass on yet another. It was, she told him, much like the town where she’d grown up, a family town with a real sense of community where people spoke to strangers and no one was too busy to return a smile. She felt at home here, liked its proximity to the city and the feeling of living in the country. It was the best of both worlds.

  They walked down a side street, and Maggie stopped in front of a large property, the house sitting far back from the street, the front yard sadly overgrown with a jungle of shrubs and vines. She leaned on the black wrought-iron fence that surrounded it and announced, “Someday I’m going to buy this house.”

  “Have you ever been inside?” he asked, stepping aside to permit a puffing jogger to pass.

  “No.”

  “How do you know you’ll like it?”

  “I just do,” she said, grinning.

  “It’s falling apart,” he observed. “It’s old and the outside’s not in good repair. It’s probably a mess inside.”

  “Probably,” she agreed, undaunted.

  They stood looking over the fence at the large pale pinkish stucco house, its four massive chimneys rising through the roof at various places. A rounded glassed room jutted off the one side, probably a conservatory added during Victorian times. The house seemed to ramble a bit in several directions, as if it had been added onto over the ages, each subsequent owner never quite knowing the course its growth should take.

  “What about it appeals to you so?” He studied its angles, noting the stained glass windows staggered across the right side. Must be the staircase there.

  “I don’t know, Jamey. It just looks like a romantic place to live. All those windows and gables and curves.”

  “I think it looks spooky, all overgrown and secluded and neglected. It’s likely to be haunted,” he teased. “Is it for sale?”

  “No. Not now. But someday it will be.”

  An elderly couple passed, arm in arm. They nodded a greeting that Maggie returned with a smile.

  “Ahh, Maggie, it would be a big job to revive this place.”

  “I could handle it.”

  “No doubt you could.” He chuckled and put his arm around her shoulder, leading her back to the sidewalk to resume their stroll. He turned once to look back at the tall, wide rectangular chimneys rising through the trees. “It is a nice property, I’ll give you that. I like the way it slopes down a bit on the side there, and I like the wooded area in the back. Too bad it’s such a mess…” And he promptly dismissed it from his thoughts.

  10

  “WELL, IT ALL SOUNDS VERY COZY AND VERY romantic.” Hilary realized she’d gotten absolutely nowhere with him, had not gained a glimmer of what was going on between th
em. Perhaps a shift in gears was called for. Perhaps the wife… If, she thought wryly, I can get her attention and keep it long enough to have any meaningful conversation with her. She appears to keep slipping off someplace. “We’ve heard so little from you this evening, Maggie, and you’ve kept so much in the background all these years. I’d be remiss in my duties to my viewers if we didn’t take this opportunity to get to know you a bit better.”

  “And what exactly would you like to know?” she asked stonily.

  “Well, let’s start by having you tell us what the wife of an internationally renowned performer does with her time.” Hilary hoped her smile gave her the appearance of one who was truly interested.

  “We travel a bit when Jamey has free time.” She shrugged. “Spend our summers here, at his mother’s. The rest of the time I mostly keep up with the children and their activities.” She thought of the many pleasant sunny afternoons spent at the park or in the yard, watching the children on the swings, the little ones in the sandbox, or sitting in the grass making clover rings to grace a young daughter’s hair. Maggie realized how fortunate she’d been and had never ceased being grateful that she’d been afforded the luxury of being able to enjoy every moment of their childhoods, that they’d been able to hire someone to do all the chores she could never seem to find time for. She wondered if that would change with her leaving him, if she’d have to give up the house.

  “Well, I would suppose that’s a full-time job,” Hilary cooed. Why anyone would want to have such a brood was beyond her. “And someone has to keep the home fires burning. Keep up with all those little domestic details of everyday life…”

  “Hilary, Maggie hasn’t a domestic bone in her body,” J.D. interjected, “if by domestic, you mean cleaning and laundry and cooking and that sort of thing.”

  “Well, certainly with such a large family, a large home, one would expect a housekeeper.” Hilary thought perhaps if she appeared to come to Maggie’s defense, it would pay off later in the discussion. “One could hardly be expected to raise seven children, keep a home, and cook.”