Chapter 19
19
“Do you have Scrabble in this establishment?”
Maggie blinked in surprise at the sight of Henrietta Starr in the doorway of her café. She was dressed magnificently in a tweed skirt suit, a moth-eaten fox fur, head intact, draped around her bony shoulders, and a broad-brimmed hat trimmed with ostrich feathers perched on top of her head. Clearly she’d made something of an effort.
“Yes, we do have Scrabble,” she replied warmly. “It’s so nice to see you again, Miss Starr. Would you like to sit down? I can get you the game?—”
“My dear,” Henrietta Starr replied haughtily, “if you know the game at all, you must realize one cannot play Scrabble by oneself.”
“That’s true,” Maggie acknowledged. Ben was upstairs doing his schoolwork, and she was alone in the café. Was the town’s matriarch implying she wanted to play Scrabble with her ?
Henrietta arched one thin, silver eyebrow. “Do you play?” she demanded.
“Er… I know how,” Maggie replied. Scrabble was one of the few games she’d known how to play before opening the café, although not many had asked to play it. Over the last few weeks, while they hadn’t had the flood of the customers they’d experienced on the first day, they’d still had a steady stream of gamers coming through the doors—families, teens, older couples, little kids. Your Turn Next had become something of a gathering point for the community, for which Maggie was very grateful.
“Would you like me to play with you?” she asked Henrietta, who sniffed in response.
“If you must , I suppose,” she replied on an aggrieved sigh, “but by all means, please don’t put yourself out on my account.”
Maggie choked back a startled laugh. Laurie had warned her about Henrietta Starr’s acerbic manner, but it was another thing to experience it herself. “I’d love to play,” she stated firmly, and went to get the game.
Over the last month, she’d been doing her utmost to say yes to just about everything. Yes to bringing library books to Barb Lyman and chatting with Annie; yes to helping out with the spring festival that Starr’s Fall Business Association was putting on; yes to her mother-in-law’s surprising request to visit Ben next weekend; yes to finally getting in touch with some old college friends; and yes to playing Scrabble with ornery old ladies.
For too long she’d been hiding behind her grief and guilt, saying no to the world and everything in it because it had been easier. Safer, too, and ultimately more selfish. Her harsh words to Zach might have been a wake-up call to him, but his to her had been one, too, no matter what he’d said about it being him, not her. Mostly .
What Maggie knew was that she never wanted to be accused of not doing the heavy lifting in any relationship again. She didn’t want to stew in the juices of her own emotions and not consider other people’s, especially people she cared about, like Ben, or Lynn, or yes, Zach. Even if he’d chosen not to care about her. Accepting all that had been a bitter pill to swallow, but then most medicine was. And like most medicine, what Zach had said to her had been needed. She’d needed someone to shake her out of her determined stupor.
She and Zach had reached something of an equilibrium over the last month that Maggie accepted without truly enjoying. He played RainQuest online with Ben some evenings, and he came around to the café a couple of times a week, often for no more than a brief, friendly check-in, the same as Joshua Reed or Zoe Wilkinson would do, a quick hello, a swift smile, a perusal of the games, a teasing remark about her espresso-making skills. It hurt, the quickness of that smile that never reached his eyes, the friendliness that felt anodyne, but she understood it. Sort of, anyway.
Several weeks ago, he’d told her, in a matter-of-fact way that did not invite either questions or judgment, that he’d moved out from his parents’ house and was renting a little log cabin on the edge of town, near the waterfall that had given Starr’s Fall its name. He’d reduced his hours at the store and was considering some other options, although Maggie didn’t know what those were, and, judging from his careful tone, she hadn’t felt she could ask. Zach was clearly figuring himself out, and she knew she needed to let him do it.
Of course, Starr’s Fall being what it was, none of these decisions had gone unnoticed. Maggie had lost track of the number of conversations she’d determinedly stayed silent through as everyone marveled and made conjectures about Zach’s sudden life changes.
“Is it a crisis, do you think?” Liz Cranbury had asked, her blue eyes wide. “Is he in trouble ? I feel like maybe I misjudged him.” She’d leaned forward, dropping her voice to a loud whisper. “It’s as if he’s suddenly become sensitive , and no one ever knew. Did he ever say anything to you?”
“No,” Maggie had replied firmly. “Not a word. And whatever he needs to do, well, he should do it.”
She had, despite her own disappointments, come to believe that quite strongly. Zach needed this time, this space, to do whatever he needed to do to make a life for himself in this town… and Maggie wasn’t a part of that. She had learned to accept it, but she still didn’t like it. A thousand times or more she’d wished she had just thought for a moment before she’d rushed in with her accusations and angry judgments, even as she accepted that those had been no more than flimsy excuses for the far deeper fear she’d felt about her own feelings. It was all too late now, anyway, she reminded herself more than once, and really, that was just as well. Or it would be. Hopefully. Maybe.
“Here we are,” Maggie sang out cheerfully as she forced her thoughts of Zach to the back of her mind. She took the lid off the Scrabble box and lifted out the bag of tiles. “I bet you’re really good,” she told Henrietta, whose lips twitched in response. Had that been a smile, Maggie wondered, or a sneer?
“I play tolerably well,” she replied with dignity, which Maggie suspected meant the elderly woman was going to wipe the floor with her.
It soon became achingly apparent, however, that that was not going to be the case at all. After carefully arranging her tiles, and then drawing the lower letter to go first, Henrietta spent several minutes staring at her letters and then, very carefully, arranged the letters P-A-T. She straightened, clearing her throat, and then gave Maggie a beady look as if to dare her to say anything.
Maggie did not. She played I-L-E off the P to make pile and then smiled encouragingly at the older woman. “Your turn next,” she quipped, but maybe Henrietta had forgotten the name of the café because she simply stared.
Then, after a few agonizing seconds, she made E-N-D off Maggie’s E. The game continued apace, with each of them making pitiful, single-digit scores on every turn. Maggie felt the urge to both laugh and cry. Here was this dignified and clearly proud woman, playing the best she could, and daring Maggie to say anything about it.
Maybe that was all you could do when life came at you hard, Maggie reflected. Hold your head up high and try your best.
They were halfway through the tiles, the board a maze of three- and four-letter words, when Henrietta admitted stiffly, “I’m afraid my memory’s not what it used to be. I once regularly scored seven-letter words in this wretched game.” A sigh escaped her, long and trembling. “‘Like the ghost of a dear friend dead/is Time long past.’” She glanced up, her lips pursed. “That’s Shelley.”
“Mary or Percy Bysshe?” Maggie asked, and Henrietta’s nostrils flared.
“Certainly not Mary,” she replied.
“I guess not,” Maggie agreed, although to be fair she didn’t really know. “But I gather the gist of that poem is that time flies.” She smiled wryly. “And it kind of stinks.”
Henrietta let out a rasp that was not quite a laugh. “Shelley had a bit more of a way with words,” she replied, and placed T-A-B-L-E down to make her best word yet. Sometimes, Maggie thought, you just had to take what you were given and go with it. “You seem to be making something of yourself in this town,” Henrietta continued as she replaced her tiles. “By all accounts.”
“Oh, well…” Maggie couldn’t tell by her tone if this was considered a good or bad thing. “We’re trying, I suppose, to settle in. Starr’s Fall has been a welcoming place.”
“And something of a place to hide away,” Henrietta replied with a narrowed, shrewd glance.
Ouch. How had this woman, who had never met her before, seen that? “Yes,” Maggie agreed as she put down A-R-L-Y to make EARLY, the Y on a double letter space. “Sometimes in life you need to hide away for a little while.”
“I hid away for about thirty years,” Henrietta replied baldly. “Not that I recommend you taking that much time. You look like you’re on the wrong side of forty already, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You aren’t,” Maggie agreed with a laugh. Henrietta Starr looked like she was on the wrong side of eighty. “Who says it’s the wrong side, anyway?” she added with some defiance, and Henrietta merely arched an eyebrow. Maggie decided not to press the point. “Why did you hide away?” she asked her instead.
“Well.” Henrietta pursed her lips as she rearranged the tiles on her stand. “Typically, at first it was because I was hurt. And then it was because I was scared. And finally it was because I couldn’t be bothered.” She glanced up, the shrewdness in her pale blue eyes replaced by a compassion. “Try not to get to the third stage, if you can.”
They finished their pitiful game of Scrabble without any further deep talk, and Henrietta left, promising to come again. “I also play bridge,” she told Maggie. “But you need four players for that.”
“I’m sure we can rustle some up,” Maggie promised her. Alone in the café, she tidied up before sinking into the window seat next to Penny, who purred comfortably as Maggie sank her fingers into the feline’s fur. Spring had finally sprung, and outside the late afternoon sun was sending buttery rays over the cherry trees that were reaching peak blossom, every single branch sporting a plethora of pink puffballs. The sky was pale blue, a few sparrows streaking across it. Maggie was content—mostly—but she wished she felt happy. She missed Zach, she knew. A lot.
A sudden, urgent tapping at the door had her turning. Laurie stood there, her face pale with anxiety.
“It’s open,” Maggie called as she rose from her seat. Laurie flung the door open and closed it behind her with a rattle of glass. “Laurie, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Not exactly. I just…” She sighed and shook her head. “I heard from my mom again.”
“You did?”
Laurie nodded. “I haven’t told anyone yet. Joshua went to New York for some book thing and Jenna and Annie… well, they’re my dear friends but they don’t always get it, you know? Jenna thinks I should just cut my birth mom off totally and Annie can’t talk about anyone’s mom without getting grumpy or tearing up. It’s so hard for her.” Laurie shook her head, looking caught between misery and excitement.
“It is, but we’re talking about you now,” Maggie reminded her. “Let me make you a coffee and you can tell me all about it.”
The story came out over lattes, complete with a frothed fern that Maggie was particularly proud of. Rose, Laurie’s mother, had written her a letter—brief, to the point, asking her to meet.
“I couldn’t tell the tone at all,” Laurie admitted, her hands cradling her cup. “I mean, is she sorry for trying to pay me off or is she worried I might make trouble for her? It’s been over six months. Why now?” She shook her head. “At first I was so happy that she’d reached out, but now… now I’m wondering if it’s better not to meet. To protect myself, you know?”
Maggie took a sip of her own coffee. “I’ve generally found that protecting yourself doesn’t work out too well. You get hurt anyway, and you also have to live with regrets, never knowing what could have been.”
Laurie’s eyes widened as she lowered her mug. “Okay, I have to ask… is this about you and your husband… or about you and Zach?”
Maggie grimaced in rueful acknowledgment. “What does this town know about me and Zach?” She’d been doing her best not to listen to the gossip, and so far she’d succeeded. Mostly.
“I think everyone is wondering,” Laurie told her. “I mean, Zach spent so much time here, and then he just didn’t , you know? And now he’s having this complete life revamp—which I don’t think is a bad thing, by the way—and no one knows what’s up with him.” Laurie paused, her smile turning playful. “And no matter how much you tried to play it down, I could always tell you really liked him. Your eyes gave it away. They lit up at his name. They still do.”
“They don’t,” Maggie cried, appalled that she could be so revealing, even now.
“They do,” Laurie assured her. “And I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”
“Oh, heavens.” Maggie pressed her hands to her now flaming cheeks. “That is seriously embarrassing.”
“Only if you let it be. Zach’s a good guy, Maggie.” Laurie’s smile faded. “Sometimes I’ve felt people here have given him a hard time. I’m a newbie, so I didn’t live through his history, but it was all in high school, so…”
“There’s nothing going on with me and Zach.” Maggie cut her off before Laurie could give her the hard sell. “And that’s not by my choice,” she added quietly.
“Oh, Maggie…” Laurie reached for her hand. “What happened?”
“Nothing much,” she confessed on a sigh. “I was stupid and scared—trying to protect myself—and Zach decided he didn’t want to play those games anymore, which was totally fair. We’re still friends, so—” She found she couldn’t go on. There was a lump the size of a golf ball forming in her throat and Maggie had the horrible suspicion she was about to start bawling. “I really miss him,” she finished on a sniff, and then had to wipe her eyes.
“Oh, Maggie…” Laurie said again, helplessly. “Have you told him how you feel?”
“Yes, basically, and he was… appreciative, I guess, but he said it didn’t matter at this point, which it doesn’t. Anyway.” Now she had to wipe her damp cheeks. “Let’s talk about you and your mom. Are you going to write her back?”
Laurie was quiet for a moment, pensively gazing into her coffee cup. “Yes, I am,” she finally said. “And maybe you should give Zach another chance, too.”
Maggie was already shaking her head. “I’m not the one who needs to give chances here, Laurie?—”
“Give him a chance to reconsider,” Laurie told her. “If you miss him that much, what, really, is the risk?”
Humiliating herself yet again, Maggie thought wryly, not that she even cared about that anymore. “I don’t think so,” she told Laurie. “Not yet, anyway. Zach needs some space. I need to give it to him. When he’s figured out what he wants to do with his life…” She let that thought trail away into nothing. When Zach did that, she feared, he might very well walk away from her and Ben for good.