Page 17 of Requiem
With a sigh, I take the box of high school memorabilia down from its shelf and head back outside, dropping the garage door as I do. I’ll leave Owl Bridge in the morning to rejoin the Walton Quartet on tour. After being here with Maggie and my mother for a week, the thought of it fills me with both relief and dread.
“Hey! What ya got there?”
I look up to find Maggie sitting on the front porch swing. The late afternoon sun casts a halo around her dark curls, reminding me of the day we met …the day she held my head in her hands while we waited for an ambulance to take me to the hospital.
“Angel head,” I utter softly, and feel a smile come to my lips. It’s mirrored on her face.
“Angel head. I haven’t heard that in a long time, Mr. Corrigan.”
“That was the day you saved my life,” I tell her as I move down the walkway and up the porch steps. I put the box down and sit next to her on the swing, putting an arm around her
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far …” she murmurs softly, shaking her head.
“I would. And I’m not talking about my injuries, Maggie. I – I don’t know what I’d be doing or thinking or how I’d be acting right now if I hadn’t met you.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but I press a finger to her lips.
“No, Mags, I don’t think you understand. You changed me. You snapped me out of the funk I was in …” I take a deep breath and close my eyes against the tears I can feel coming. “Because of you, my father died knowing that I was a decent guy. That I wouldn’t spend my entire life enabling Jeremy to do …whatever the hell he does. It was a gift that I was able to give him because of you.”
Maggie reaches up and puts a soft hand to my face, her brilliant blue eyes holding me hostage to her gaze.
“Listen to me, Brett. You have always been a decent guy. More than that, you’re a good man. A caring and compassionate man.”
I tear my eyes away from hers. I can’t look at her when I say this.
“Sometimes …” I begin in a whisper, “Sometimes I wish I was more like him.”
“Like who? Jeremy?” she confirms, her tone turning brittle with alarm.
“Not the crazy shit,” I explain, “but …Christ! Maybe if I could be a little more ‘heartless bastard’ and a little less ‘mama’s boy’ I could get over whatever the fuck this is with me. This fucking inability to just cut him out of my life. For good …”
Maggie takes a deep breath and takes my face in both of her hands, her grip more forceful this time.
“Okay, so, first of all, I could never love a heartless bastard, so scratch that. And second, have you met your mother? In this instance, being a ‘mama’s boy’ is not synonymous with ‘pussy,’ if that’s what you were implying.”
I can’t suppress the smile that’s making the corners of my mouth twitch. I put my hands around her waist and pull her close to me. She lets go of my face and puts her head to my chest, as if we’re slow dancing, right here on the front porch of my childhood home.
“I just … I hate myself for not hating him more.”
There. I’ve managed to sum-up the biggest quandary of my life in less than ten words. And I can’t hold back the tears anymore. They spill down my face in earnest as she shushes me and rubs comforting circles on my back.
