Continuing up the staircase, Maggie wished with all her heart she would have taken Steve’s room instead. Angry as she was, she decided to switch bedrooms. Joan wouldn’t care. Even sleeping in a room that had once been Nick’s was more irritation than she needed.
With her door closed, Maggie didn’t hear the discussion between Nick and Joan, and she was grateful to be left out of it. She paced for several minutes until her temper cooled.
* * *
—
At around six, Joan called Maggie to dinner. The buttered, salty popcorn that had been a rare treat hadn’t settled well in her stomach, no thanks to Nick and his accusations. She came downstairs, grateful to find he’d left.
Joan was busy getting out bowls from the cupboard.
Maggie stopped her. “I’m not hungry, but thank you.”
Joan frowned and studied Maggie. She’d set two places at the table, and a kettle of stew in a cast-iron skillet simmered on the stove.
Any other time, Maggie would have enjoyed the meal. It was perfect for such a dreary Sunday afternoon.
“I know Nick upset you,” Joan said. “I apologize for the things he said. I’ve rarely seen him jump to conclusions like this.” Joan seemed to be mulling it over, and after a moment shook her head as if she couldn’t make sense of it even now. “Frankly, I don’t understand my son.”
Maggie dismissed Joan’s apology. “It’s fine.” The problem was with Nick and not his mother.
Worry clouded Joan’s face. “You aren’t considering moving, are you?”
“No way!” She refused to give Nick the satisfaction.
Nodding approvingly, Joan murmured, “Good girl. Give Nick time and he’ll come around.”
It didn’t matter to Maggie if he did or didn’t; she wanted nothing more to do with him.
Being Monday was a holiday and she got paid time and a half, Maggie chose to work an eight-hour shift. She didn’t have any specific plans and the money was good. Any extra income automatically went into her fund for school.
Starbucks was busy with a steady line of customers from the moment she clocked in. After the rain on Sunday, the weather report had forecasted afternoon sunshine and it seemed everyone in the Seattle area had decided to take advantage of it.
Maggie was assigned to take orders from the drive-through, which was one of the areas she enjoyed working. She made sure she greeted everyone with a welcoming smile and wished them a good day after delivering their order. Starbucks made it a policy that all employees could work any station, which was a good business practice. Every position could be filled in a pinch, and no one was irreplaceable.
At around ten, Maggie leaned out the window to collect the money before she handed over the iced chai latte to a woman in a blue Tesla when she noticed Nick’s truck. He was waiting for his order directly behind the woman with the latte.
The coward.
He hadn’t come into the building as he normally did. Instead, he’d placed his order through the drive-through, as if to avoid her. Fat chance of that. Nick Sample was in for a big surprise.
When he rolled up to collect his Americano, he couldn’t hide his reaction. His eyes rounded when he saw Maggie, and he immediately avoided meeting her gaze.
“That will be four-twenty-five,” she said in a businesslike tone, without a smidgen of friendly overtures.
He handed her a ten. “Keep the change.”
In the past he’d been generous, but never quite this generous. She resisted the urge to tell him he couldn’t buy an apology, if indeed that was what he intended.
“Thank you,” she returned flatly, and then because she was feeling generous herself, she said what she did with every customer. “Have a good day.”
Nick Sample had a long way to go if he intended to get back in her good graces.
Chapter 20
Joan had done her best to ignore the holiday weekend, with minimal success. She phoned Steve in Arizona, but the conversation was brief. He was on his way into work. On a holiday, no less. Memorial Day. On Jeopardy! the night before, the question—or rather the answer—had been the original name for the holiday.
Decoration Day.
Joan had missed the question. She seemed to be missing a lot these days. The workbook Dr. O’Brien had given her had brought to the surface a lot of memories she’d struggled hard to forget. She’d dreaded holidays, choosing to ignore them rather than face them alone. All of what had been happy times became painful reminders that she was by herself. The workbook’s pointed questions had forced her to face the distracting measures she’d taken rather than dealing with her grief and anger. Several times while going through the exercises, she found herself growing irritated to the point she could barely hold in the rush of negative emotion.
Mary Lou had mentioned how much journaling had helped her. Joan had taken her newfound friend’s words to heart. After their talk and following the prompts, Joan wrote down her thoughts. She realized that, for at least the first six months after Jared’s passing, she’d been numb, forgetful, and confused. She’d bottled up and ignored any emotion she felt as best she could rather than face reality, because when she did, the pain was so sharp she found it difficult to breathe. In the process, she’d unintentionally lost sight of the most important relationships in her life, those with her sons. And somewhat with Emmie, too, although her sister hadn’t made herself easy to ignore.
Her concentration skills had faltered, which was one reason she’d taken up putting together jigsaw puzzles and working through books and books of Sudoku. They’d been a wonderful distraction. Lately she’d lost interest in both, and she knew why. For the first time in four years she was looking grief in the face and not backing down.
The flood of emotions was overwhelming, but she refused to go back. From now on, with determination, she was looking ahead instead of falling into the trap of memories.
Once again, she felt the sting of anger, felt it grow to monstrous proportions. Joan was furious with Jared for his lackadaisical attitude toward his own health. For a time, she’d blamed herself, thinking she should have insisted he get his annual checkup. She’d reminded him, wanted to make the appointment, but he’d continually made excuses. Twice that she remembered he’d mentioned having headaches, a sign that he’d chosen to ignore, claiming he was too busy to take time away from his practice.
The anger brewed inside her until it felt like a volcano about to explode. For four long years Joan had left everything that had belonged to her husband exactly where it was. His clothes remained in the closet. His personal items, golf clubs, tools…Everything was exactly where he’d left it. In retrospect, she accepted this was her way of holding on to him, as if her need for him was strong enough to bring him back to life. How sad, how ridiculous. How wrong. She’d cheated herself out of four years. Four years in which she could have broken ground to a new life for herself.
Joan wasn’t holding on to Jared any longer. Joan wanted every bit of him gone.
Tossing her pen down on the table beside the journal, she raced into their room with a vengeance. Sensing her urgency, Edison followed behind, barking loudly. Stepping into their shared walk-in closet, she wrapped her arms around Jared’s dress shirts, lifting ten at a time and then tossing them down on the floor. Unable to satisfy her anger, she stomped on them. She continued until every piece of his clothing that had hung in the closet was discarded in a giant pile.