Track 12 Should I StayShould I Go
Track 12
Should I Stay or Should I Go
Maggie
So far, Maggie was pretty sure this entire adventure was a colossal mistake. Her primary criterion in deciding whether or not to introduce herself to her birth mother—assessing whether she would be a positive addition to her life—was looking highly unpromising. If Beatrix was the woman she’d seen at the market, she seemed completely undone. Maggie despised undone. She needed a second look. From the little she had witnessed, there were more theatrics surrounding these people than you’d find on a Broadway stage. Not that she’d ever seen a Broadway stage.
The “Inn” that Maggie had paid for in full up front was equally disappointing. Its description on the website, which included mention of a delightful sea breeze wafting in from the bedroom window, was clearly written by someone who had never inhaled there, let alone slept there. Maggie breathed in a potpourri of stale cigarettes and mold. The photos proved misleading as well and must have been taken decades earlier. She pushed away thoughts of what may have gone down on the queen bed that barely fit in the tiny room, and she removed the bedspread, using as few fingers as possible and shoving it out of sight. The pièce de résistance, the shared bathroom down the hall, made her want to cry. If she were going to make it through her stay, she needed to spend as much time away from the “Inn” as possible. She had noticed bikes chained outside. She went down to the desk to inquire about borrowing one in order to traverse the car-free island.
“You can’t ride in town,” the old-timer behind the counter explained. “But you can ride anywhere through the towns to our east and west.”
The home of the betrothed couple seemed like a good place to start. Maggie pulled the wedding invitation Jason had snagged from Beatrix’s office out of her backpack.
“Do you possibly know where Renee Tucker or Jake Finley live?”
“The bride and groom! Not exactly.”
“But you know them?”
“Everyone knows them. Jake Finley is the ferry captain, and when she was young, Renee was the island’s unofficial beauty queen. She’s still quite beautiful. It’s a surprising match—right out of the wife’s romance novels.”
The man noticed Maggie’s blank expression.
“You know, big-city lawyer throws it all away and moves full-time to a summer island, where she falls in love with a local. I have an old Bay Harbor Directory with a map around here somewhere. Give me a minute.”
She was soon pedaling east.
As Maggie rode from Ocean Beach to Bay Harbor, she noticed the sidewalks change from traditional concrete to fancy pavers. The houses looked fancier too, bigger and with more space between them. It was obvious that Bay Harbor was the posher of the two towns. Maggie did not consider herself posh, and between the ritzy aunt on the boat and the upmarket town they hailed from, she worried even more about fitting in.
She passed the market and the ferry terminal she had arrived at, the marina, and eventually the playground where the “innkeeper” had instructed her to hang a right.
She heard them before she saw them.
“Come down off that roof immediately,” an old man’s voice demanded.
Maggie intuitively followed the shouting. She knew, she just knew. She pulled the bike over on the corner and took cover behind a juniper bush to bear witness to the family reunion from hell.
“What is V doing here? How could you set me up like this—again!”
The woman, the same woman from the market, clearly Beatrix Silver, her birth mother, was screaming from the roof.
Whatever went on between these two must have been a Britney and Jamie Lynn Spears–level feud.
“I was invited this time, Bea. And I’m sorry I slept with your stupid fucking boyfriend thirty stupid fucking years ago!” Veronica yelled up at her sister.
And there it was. A million thoughts blew through Maggie’s mind, from Is that stupid fucking boyfriend from thirty years ago my father? to RUN!!!! But she couldn’t pull herself away. It was like reality TV, live.
The old man (her grandfather?) lightly punched her aunt in the arm, and she took it like a champ. She calmed down, a little, and turned to face her father.
“Daddy, do you remember when I arranged the baby naming at the synagogue for when Bea would be here?”
“I do.”
“And do you remember that she found out and left on a water taxi ten minutes before my boat arrived?”
“Please, Veronica,” he begged, hand to his heart.
“Beatrix. I’m truly sorry. Please come down from there. You’re going to give Daddy a heart attack.”
Beatrix stood tall, precariously so, and Maggie thought, hoped, that she would head back through the open window. But she didn’t. She stood even taller and in a gut-wrenching voice screamed at the top of her lungs:
“You ruined my life!”
Veronica wasn’t having it. It seemed she had already given what she could with her last apologetic plea. She stood equally tall, and shouted equally gut-wrenchingly:
“What life?”
And with that, the old man grabbed his chest and fell to the ground, just as Veronica had prophesied.