Sisters in the Wind(71)

“Oh, sweetie,” Nancy begins. “You look good. I was so worried about you.”

“I was worried about you,” I reply. I want to add how sorry I am, but Daunis and Jamie have cautioned against revealing I was the target.

“Well, we are both on the mend now,” Nancy says.

I don’t know what to say to her, so I just nod and try not to burst into tears again.

“I remembered about your mother. I don’t know why it came to me in the parking lot.” She pauses. “Do you recall right after the explosion?”

I nod again.

“My second husband was a handyman for a property management company. He did basic maintenance and repairs for many student rentals. I tagged along now and then. One of the houses was rented by a group of boys from the baseball team. Most athletes lived in Thorpe Hall—that’s the one closest to the athletic complex. But there are always some that want to be in a house. Some like it because it’s cheaper, and others like the freedom of being off campus.”

Nancy mimes drinking a mug of beer.

“Those boys could be trouble in the off-season. Lots of parties. They asked my husband about housecleaning, and he said I might want a side job if it paid decent. So I’d clean up on a Sunday morning. Did it regular enough that I started bringing ingredients for homemade chicken soup. It was easy enough to get it going and then do my cleaning. By the time I was done, the boys would be showered and coming downstairs to eat something good. They were good boys.”

We order our food. Nancy sips her coffee before continuing her story.

“Sometimes they had girls over. Most of the young ladies left while I was cleaning and didn’t pay me any attention. But there was one I remember who joined me in the kitchen and asked if she could help with the soup. Pretty Indian girl. Native American, I mean.”

Nancy looked around as if expecting someone to correct her on proper terms.

“She was handy with the vegetable peeler and knife. Wasn’t scared to grab a clean rag and wipe a counter. We got to talking. I can’t remember her name, but she was dating one of the ballplayers.”

“Maggie?” As soon as I say the name, Nancy’s eyes light up.

“Yes. Maggie. That was her name.” She puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh, sweetie, that was her, your mother, right?”

“I think so,” I say. “I never met her.”

“Really? Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Nancy goes silent as our sandwiches arrive.

I don’t feel like eating, but don’t know what else to do. My grilled-cheese sandwich is one of those fancy ones with half a dozen different types of cheese oozing out of thick slabs of buttery grilled sourdough bread. It’s served with slices of tomato, bacon, and avocado filling the plate. I manage a bite of sandwich; the gooey cheese is still hot like lava.

“Strange that I can remember this now, but Maggie asked about my family. Did I have children? I said I did, a daughter with my first husband and a son with my second. She said the oddest thing … ‘Did your second husband accept your daughter?’ I told her, ‘Of course, sweetie, or else he wouldn’t have become my second husband.’”

Nancy carefully slices her sandwich, but doesn’t pick it up. She shakes her head, smiling as she tears up. “It’s so serendipitous … crossing paths with Maggie’s daughter after all this time.” Nancy dabs her eyes with the cloth napkin. “What are the odds?”

“Well,” I point out, “outside of the cities, Michigan is kind of small.”

Nancy laughs. “You’re right about that.”

The grilled cheese has cooled to the perfect temperature. It tastes pretty good.

“I wish I could remember more about Maggie,” Nancy says. “I don’t remember seeing her after that. Maybe I did and I forgot. Or maybe she stopped coming around.”

“Thank you for telling me what you do remember,” I say. We finish lunch and hug again before parting.

“You really are her spitting image. I hope that’s all right to say.”

“It’s okay.” It comes out like a sob, which makes Nancy hug me again. She wraps both arms around me. Even her injured one. It takes everything not to say, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

I hope Tim and Tara are okay. She probably got a different job with no problem. But the diner was Tim’s.

“The diner’s for sale,” I say, fighting back tears.

Nancy doesn’t miss a thing. “Oh, Lucy. Don’t be sad. Tim is just fine and plans to stay that way. The diner was insured. The lot is in a prime location. We’re all on the mend, sweetie. Some of us need a little more time than others. You’re on your way.”

After Nancy and her daughter leave, Daunis asks if I’m okay. I start to nod out of habit but then reconsider being honest.

“No. Nancy remembered meeting Maggie back in the day. Before me, I mean.”

Daunis waits until we’re in the elevator to say anything.

“Would you like to write or call Maggie?”

“No,” I say, before realizing it was another knee-jerk response. “I don’t know, Daunis.”

She nods and we enter the apartment. It’s still hard for her to accept, but she is trying. That’s more than I can ask for.



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