MAGGIE
In the giant pile, she finds two cards addressed just to her in the same handwriting as the letter from today. In all the blur of fall and winter, someone—Mimi or Aunt Dana—must have just thrown them in this pile instead of giving them to her. She rips open the first one, sent back in December.
I’ve been thinking about you, and I hope you’re okay. Can you give me a call at the number below? I have some things to tell you, and I hope you’re ready to hear them. I hope I’m ready to tell them.
Yours truly,
Vicky
717-555-1146
And then another from January.
Maggie,
Here’s the number again in case the last note didn’t make it to you. I’m sorry I’ve stayed away, and I hope you aren’t angry. 717-555-1146. I imagine the house must be way too quiet without him there. I hope you’re getting through your senior year all right. Call me, okay? Lots to talk about.
You have all been on my mind. I wanted to call your parents at Christmas, but when I think about them, my mouth gets dry, and I know I can’t. I feel so guilty or something. Anyway, please call me.
Happy New Year.
Vicky
Maggie’s hands shake, and she runs up to her bedroom to dial Vicky’s number as quickly as she can.
She hears their voices that evening, her mother almost laughing, her father humming “All that Jazz.” Birdy Girl barks, and when they open the door and see her there, her mother shrieks.
“Maggie!” She runs to her. “Is it really you?” She wears a blouse Maggie has never seen before, and her eyes, though tired, though pained, have something else in them. “What a nice surprise.”
Maggie hugs her and doesn’t want to let go. Her mother smells like Chanel and Avon, two scents that are imprinted on her brain forever. “I just needed to see you two.”
“Don’t leave me out.” Her dad joins the hug. “What a nice thing to come home to.” He shakes his head and she realizes he’s wiping tears from his eyes. “The house is glowing with you.” He looks around. “I don’t see suitcases though.” He frowns. Birdy Girl wags her tail and stands by them.
“I’m going back to the Poconos for a few more weeks.”
He steps back and nods.
“Of course,” her mother says and wipes her eyes. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.” She looks around. “I don’t think I have a thing for dinner.”
Maggie puts up her hand. “No, no. I thought I could pick up a pizza. My treat.”
Her dad reaches for his pocket. “Your treat?” He smiles.
“Of course.” He goes to hand her his car key and then pauses for a minute.
He looks at her mom. “You know, you were late getting your driver’s license, and in all the distraction of last summer, we never got you a car.
” He rocks back on his heels. “Why don’t you take the Mustang?
” he says. “I just got it inspected and put air in the tires. I couldn’t stand to see it collecting dust, you know? ”
“To get the pizza?”
Her mother smiles and looks at her dad. “No,” her mom says. “For wherever you need to go. It’s yours now, Maggie, if you want it.”
She doesn’t put the top down. She hasn’t thought about his Mustang in so long.
So often, she would avert her eyes if she had to get something in the garage because she hated to see it sitting there, looking forgotten.
When she walked out to the garage tonight, it felt like she was being reintroduced to her brother.
She saw the paint smudged on the headlight, the minuscule dent near the handle.
She opened the car door and smelled the familiar smell, and her eyes burned.
Now she backs out of their long driveway slowly, as if she can reverse time, as if when she gets to the top of the driveway, it will turn into that evening when Chip and her dad brought this car home. When she passes their mailbox, the sun is still strong, and her neighborhood looks pleasant.
All of this survived, she thinks. The world, this beautiful world, kept spinning.
Maggie remembers wondering what the future held when she sat as a passenger in this car, how her brother was the dream, wasn’t he? So promising as he sat high in that seat and put his foot on the gas and took them wherever they wanted to go.
She rests her arm on the window and thinks of her parents keeping his car safe and sound all this time. She has so many questions, and they crackle inside her as she drives to Pizza Village.
She wonders what someone would think if they saw her driving. Does she look like she knows where she’s going? Does she look like she’s getting by?
That night, she picks up the phone in her room to dial the number Vicky gave her again. There was no answer earlier. Now it rings and rings. She wishes Vicky had given an address. She would go there tomorrow, wherever it was.
Her mother knocks on her door and comes in with a cup of tea. “Thought you might like this,” she says.
“Ooh.” Maggie sits up in bed, Birdy Girl passed out in front of her dresser, and sees there’s someone behind her.
“And you have a visitor.” Her mother beams, and Maggie’s grandmother steps into the light.
Maggie jumps out of bed. “Mimi! She rushes over to her, and her grandmother’s face lights up. She kisses her cheek over and over, and Maggie can feel the lipstick there but doesn’t care.
“What a sight for sore eyes.” Her grandmother has a string of large beads around her neck and big turquoise earrings. “My goodness, what a lady you look like. Gramps would burst his buttons.” She holds a small bag. “He had his park board meeting, or he would have been right here beside me.”
Maggie’s mom hands her the tea, and Maggie looks around the room. “We can go downstairs. My room’s a mess.”
Her grandmother swats her hand. “Nah, honey. I’m only staying a second. Just wanted to see you for myself.” She shakes her head, and she has tears in her eyes. She bends down to scratch Birdy Girl’s ear and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
Maggie’s mom nods. “I’m going to help Dad fold the laundry.”
“Save some for me.” Her grandmother waves to her and looks down at the bag she holds. “When your mom told me you were home, I wanted to give you something.”
Her grandmother opens the bag and takes out the small music box from her living room.
Maggie suddenly remembers the time she dropped it and it stopped working.
She and Chip put it back where it had been, their cheeks red, her stomach twisted.
They tried to forget about it, but it hung over their heads until they were leaving and Chip marched over to it one more time and turned the winding key.
They couldn’t believe it had somehow fixed itself, found its one song.
“I always loved this.” She holds it in her palm and lets it play.
“I want you to take it back to the Poconos with you. And these.” Her grandmother hands her a new pair of crocheted slippers. Yellow, her favorite color.
“I love them. Thank you,” Maggie says. She hugs her, and Mimi pats her back. The music stops, but she rests her head on her grandmother’s shoulder and still hears the song.