Page 33 of The Me I Left Behind (Tuckaway Bay #4)

Maggie shrugged. “Not sure. It’s no one’s birthday I know of, or any other significant day, but June 18 is something… I just need to think about it longer, probably.”

“Well, if you remember, let me know. Okay?”

“Sure.”

Julia reached for something behind the desk. “So, now that the kids are all upstairs, and hopefully down for the count until morning, how about if we open this bottle of wine I found in your kitchen and ponder some next steps?”

“I’ll get the glasses.”

When Maggie returned from the kitchen, she found Julia sitting cross-legged on the desk, opening the Bordeaux. She approached and set the glasses on the desktop, then joined Julia, facing her. “Max’s favorite. Let’s drink to the slimy sucker.”

Julia laughed. “You drink. I have this diet pop over here. Remember? I’m the alcoholic in the room.”

“And I’m just the woman who lost her way somehow. But you know what? I’m determined to find my way back.”

Julia popped the top on her canned soda and poured some into her wineglass. “I have no doubt that you will, Maggie Oliver. In fact, I see you getting stronger every day.”

Smiling, she squared her shoulders. “You know what? I feel stronger.”

“Awesome.”

Maggie took a sip of the wine. “Yum….”

Julia ran her hand over the top of the desk. “You know, this is a very nice desk.”

“It’s mahogany, I think. Heavy sucker.”

“Expensive sucker, too.” Julia threw her legs over the side and hopped down. “And it’s in excellent condition.”

Maggie shrugged. “Max took care of things. Besides, no kids were allowed in here to ding it up.”

Julia smiled. “Right. Let’s sell it.”

Laughing, Maggie shouted. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m not. Max will never know. We can sell it on social media.”

“But I don’t know how to do that and besides, Max and I are connected everywhere.”

Grinning, Julia took a tour around the desk, still looking it over. “I bet you could get seven hundred for it. Maybe a thousand even.”

“Seriously?”

“I could do it for you. I could post it in the marketplace. They could pay me, pick up here, and then I’ll pay you.”

“I do need cash.”

“Yes, you do.” Julia glanced toward the office door. “And you have a lot of crap in the garage, too. You could do a cash only, one day, flash garage sale.”

“I don’t think the homeowner’s association allows for random garage sales.”

“Then we’ll use the marketplace again. Or eBay.”

Maggie thought about that. “I wonder what a set of Bentley golf clubs would bring? Used, of course. They are in the back of the Escalade.”

Julia’s eyes grew wide. “Probably enough to get you through this thing and then some. I think we may just have solved your money problems.”

A quick breath whooshed out of Maggie’s mouth. “Well, that would be a good way to end this day.”

“Right?”

“I’m pouring more wine.”

Julia looked past her, focused on something.

“What is it?”

“Not sure.” She headed for the window. “Someone just parked in front of your house. Looks like the car is still running because the lights are on. Wait….”

“What?”

“They’re putting something in your yard. A sign, maybe?”

Maggie jumped up. “What the fuck?”

Both women headed for the front door. By the time they got outside, the car was gone. But the “For Sale” sign tucked in between her mailbox and her driveway was not.

“Fucking cocksucking bastard,” Maggie hissed. “He’s put the house up for sale.”

“It says ‘Coming Soon’ though, so it’s not officially listed yet.

” Julia hooked her arm in hers and led her toward the door.

“He’s just scaring you. Come on. You have wine to drink, and darlin’ it’s been one hell of a day already, so you deserve it.

Don’t let this throw you. I’ll get on it first thing in the morning. ”

“You know it’s retaliation for today, right?” Maggie felt the anger rising inside her for the first time today.

“Of course. That’s the way he rolls.”

“I want to roll his fucking head.”

They entered the house and shut the door behind them. “No head rolling. Let’s just sell his fucking golf clubs.”

“And anything else I can get my hands on,” Maggie added.

The next morning, Maggie deliberated over making breakfast, but made no moves toward preparing anything, while waiting for the kids to come downstairs.

Julia was up too, sitting on the family room sofa, her nose in her laptop.

She’d been there since before Maggie got up, apparently, and had already made a full pot of coffee.

“Thanks for the coffee. Much needed this morning.” Maggie yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “You’re up early.”

“Doing a bit of research,” Julia said.

“Oh? For…?”

“This and that. The McDowell case. The autopsy report. The value of those golf clubs. Louise at the storage unit. You know, stuff like that.”

An interesting list, to be sure. Maggie smiled and let her be. Her friend was in her element and would likely have answers before noon.

The kids straggled down on their own time frame, so she was glad she’d waited to make breakfast. No use cooking things they didn’t want.

Chloe came first, asking for chocolate pops cereal and a banana. Frowning, Maggie said, “We’re fresh out of chocolate pops, sweetie. How about some granola instead?”

“Okay, fine.” Chloe sighed.

Maggie grinned, watching her settle into her seat. “This granola is my favorite.”

“Mom,” Chloe said, dismissing the cereal discussion. “I have to take the selfie project into school today, so it’s ready for Monday. Don’t forget you have to come for selfie show-and-tell then.”

That’s right. There were so many things going on, she couldn’t forget about Chloe’s art debut. “I won’t forget, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see you to show your art to the world!”

“I have to talk about it too, why I drew myself the way I did.”

“You’re going to be great. I’m excited.” She turned to the magnetic calendar on the refrigerator and added a reminder for Monday. “Got it inked in right here.”

She glanced at Chloe, who beamed.

Jason stumbled into the kitchen, complete with bedhead and still wearing the sweatpants and a T-shirt he’d worn to bed.

“Can I have coffee? It smells good.”

“Coffee?”

“To wake me up.”

Maggie stared at him and thought, what the hell? He looked like he could use a caffeine jolt.

“How about if I make you a coffee drink with protein powder and some cocoa—sort of a mocha thing. You want it hot or cold?”

“Hot. I stayed up too late last night.”

Maggie eyed him while pulling the blender closer. It wasn’t like him to actually confess something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. “Why?”

He hesitated. “Playing video games with a friend.”

She stayed silent for a moment and went about her task. She pulled down the cocoa and protein powder from the cabinet, then measured and added them to the blender. “Well, tonight, to bed early. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

She added some sugar and hot coffee, whirred the contents for about thirty seconds, and asked Jason again. “You sure you don’t want this over ice? I could make a frappe.”

“Hot, please.”

Carol skipped into the room. “Oh, that looks good. Could I have one? But cold, please.”

“Of course.” She eyed Carol. “No makeup? You feel okay?”

Her daughter straddled a bar stool and leaned into the island. “I’m fine. It’s just a half-day today because we have graduation practice in the afternoon. God, I can’t believe graduation is only a week away. I dressed down today. Besides, Logan says I’m prettier without makeup.”

Those were words she’d never expected coming out of her daughter’s mouth. Maggie tossed a quick glance at Julia, who caught her eye, and then back to Carol. “I think you are beautiful either way. It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not wear makeup to school.”

Carol shrugged. “Logan says he thinks makeup makes a girl look trampy.”

Logan says, Logan says… What the fuck?

1992

She chose the red tube.

It was the least expensive one. She only had so much money. Mary Margaret figured if she liked it, if her eyelashes looked good with mascara, she could save up more money for the ultra-pink tube later on.

The lighting was better in the bathroom than in her room, so she lingered extra-long in there, until she got the hang of how to apply the dark tint to her lashes.

She had a magnifying mirror, too. A hand-held one that she used to see up close and then looked into the big mirror to see the overall effect.

She liked it. Except for the smudges underneath her eyes. Avoiding the smudges was the hardest part, but a cotton swab helped.

Her thin, short lashes actually looked longer. Would the kids at school notice? Would anyone say anything to her? Or would she just look…prettier?

“The bus!” Her mom yelled from the kitchen.

Mary Margaret rushed out of the bathroom, stashed the red tube in her underwear drawer, grabbed her backpack, and sprinted toward the front door. At the mirror in the entryway, she stopped, looking once more at her eyes.

She smiled again. Perfect.

Jack pushed past her, gave her a thumbs up, and headed for the road.

Her mother rounded the corner, took one look at her, and gasped. “What the goddamn hell did you do to your eyes? Good God, Mary Margaret, you look like a slut.”

The shock of her mother’s words rippled over her. Slut? She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. “It’s just mascara, Mom.”

“Did your dad say?”

“Yes. I asked him.”

“Well, you didn’t ask me if you could wear it to school. That looks awful.”

Jack yelled from the driveway. “Come on, Mary Margaret!”

“Go wash it off.”

“I can’t. I’ll be late and you’ll have to take me to school.”

Her mother huffed. “Such an embarrassment. Go to school looking like a goddamned slut. See if I care, Mary Margaret Brennan. Just go.”

She ran from the house. Ran past Jack and as soon as the bus door opened, trotted up the steps. She took the first empty seat, scooted all the way to the window, and buried her head in her hands.

By the time she got to school, she prayed she had all the mascara rubbed off her lashes. But when she went to the bathroom, she realized all she’d done was smear it and make her eyes red.

Sue Martin stepped up beside her, staring at her reflection in the mirror, and grinned wide. “Oh, Mary Margaret. Soooo pretty.” She giggled and skipped back to a group of girls behind her.

She watched them in the mirror, staring, mocking. A sickening thud landed on her stomach, like a punch to the belly with a dodge ball.

She wanted to cry. Wouldn’t.

Then she heard their words. White trash. Slut. Ho. Tramp.

She wanted to go home. Couldn’t.

“Here.” Deni came up beside her, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She carefully wiped away some smudges under her eyes with a paper towel, giving the other girls a backward glance. “Don’t listen to them, Mary Margaret,” she whispered. “You’re beautiful.”