"Terrible." He stared into the distance, his expression bleak. "I don't think you want to hear about it."
Something about the way he looked made her say softly, "Tell me."
The sound of the can being crushed in Matt's hand made her jump. "Anger ruled my childhood, Margaret. My earliest memory is of my mother and father shouting at each other. They both smelled of liquor all the time, and they were always angry. She used to throw things when she was mad. When she left, I was actually relieved for a while because the house was quiet without her. Susan, Patricia, and I were cared for by an army of servants, and, as long as we stayed out of my father's way, we could have anything we wanted."
The sun sank lower, bathing the back porch in the orange-gold light of pre-dusk. Margaret didn't remove her gaze from Matt's face.
"Each time my father got married, he told us kids we would be a happy family, that he was doing this to give us a mother. The pattern was repeated twice, before I realized nothing was going to change. None of the women cared about us kids. As I grew older, I realized not one of them cared for my father either, only for what he could give them." Matt's laugh held no humor. "I grew up thinking love was a word a woman tossed at a man to get her own way."
"That's terrible," said Margaret quietly.
"I've never loved anyone. To me, loving someone means handing over control of your life to them and I don't think I can ever trust anyone enough to do that. So, you see, I have my own personal cage, Margaret, one that has made it impossible for me to trust any woman emotionally."
Margaret swallowed the lump in her throat, not sure what to say. Inane words couldn't heal Matt's mental wounds. She hadn't been through what he had...she could only guess at the extent of his pain. Reaching for Matt's hand where it rested on his knee, Margaret covered it with her own. After a while, he turned his hand upwards and linked his fingers through hers. They sat there in silence, while darkness ushered in the stars.
A week later, Margaret sat across the kitchen table from Aunt Jan. On top of the stove bubbled a huge pot of stew. It had taken the last hour to prepare the vegetables and meat for it, and the aroma was just beginning to seep into the kitchen. Annie, the assistant cook, had stepped out for her break, and Margaret poured coffee into two mugs, "I'm going over to Gina's after lunch. Do you want me to take anything over?"
Aunt Jan nodded. "I'll give you some stew for Gina, and some for Joe. I'm glad her parents and Jack's, come over often to visit these days."
Gina’s visit home had done some good. Both grandmothers had fallen in love with Mikki.
"Gina's worried about Jack. She says he's very quiet around her."
Aunt Jan's brow wrinkled in thought. "I wonder what's wrong. They were so happy before the baby got here."
"Jack's taking Gina out to dinner tonight, and she plans on talking to him then," said Margaret. "I'm going to set her hair for her this afternoon."
"Margaret, are you enjoying your vacation?"
"Very much," Margaret said firmly. She could sense the anxiety behind Aunt Jan's question.
There was always something to do. In the mornings, Margaret helped Aunt Jan in the kitchen. Since Gina and Mikki had come home, Margaret spent part of every afternoon with them. In the evenings she read, or worked on a new dress she was making. The change of pace from the demands of her job was just what she needed. If only things were better between Timmy and her, Margaret's happiness would be complete.
A picture of Matt flashed into her mind.
Not quite complete. She wanted something more now since that evening Matt had opened up to her and yet she didn’t. The turmoil inside her, Margaret told herself would subside when she was back in Washington DC.
Aunt Jan sighed. "I'm glad. There's nothing worse than boredom."
"Remember what you told Timmy and me when we were younger?" Margaret reminded her aunt. "Only boring people complain of boredom."
Aunt Jan smiled as she got to her feet, pleased by her niece's words. "I'm glad you decided to come home, Margaret," she said.
Janet had let Margaret think things at the restaurant were getting her down, knowing concern would bring her niece home. Once she had gotten to know Matthew Magnum Janet had decided nothing else would do but Margaret and Matt should meet. She had done her bit, bringing them together. The rest, she felt, was up to them.
Margaret's thoughts turned to Matt as she set the kitchen table for the evening meal. The last time she had seen him had been at the grocery store, the day after he had finished the crib. He had mentioned he would be away in Los Angeles for a while, and she had nodded casually. A week had gone by, and there was still no sign of him.
Margaret told herself Matt's departure had come at the right time. The last few days she had thought things out carefully and decided he was dangerous to the self-control she had cultivated so carefully over the years. The sensations Matt aroused in her was a result of her lack of experience with men. Just because Matthew Magnum qualified for Kissing Champion of the World was no reason to view him through rose colored glasses suddenly. Every day, since he had left, Margaret added a new line to her defense of why she should have nothing more to do with Matthew Magnum.
Matt's involvement with trucking was enough reason for her not to have anything more to do with him. Remembering truckers were nice people didn't alter the fact that the work they did was stressful and dangerous. She could never allow herself to fall in love with a trucker.
Margaret raised a hand to her mouth. What was she thinking of? She did not want to fall in love with anyone, period. Love left one wide open to pain. Margaret lined up her reasons carefully. She had to strengthen her defenses before Matt's return, remind herself of the lessons the past had taught her.
"It's Aunt Jan's night with her International Food Club isn't it?" asked Timmy, coming into the kitchen. Shower fresh, hair neatly slicked back, he looked very grown up. "Do we have to eat green noodles and sushi tonight?”
"No." Margaret smiled at her brother. The members of Aunt Jan's club experimented with dishes from different countries each month. "This is Italian month. We've got lasagna for dinner."
"Oh good!" Timmy handed her his plate, and she placed a generous helping on it, as he helped himself to the salad. "Going out, sis?"
Margaret was surprised. "How do you know?"
"Well, you're usually in shorts and a top, but tonight you're wearing a skirt. Your hair is down, not tied up, and you've got lipstick on."
Timmy bent his head over his food while Margaret stared at him in amazement. There was a time he wouldn't have noticed if she'd worn a toga to the dining table. Timmy's powers of observation had certainly improved.
"I'm going to babysit Mikki tonight," she said.
Gina had only agreed to go out with Jack because Margaret had offered to watch the baby. With a typical new mother's fears, she didn't want to trust Mikki to just anybody.
"How are things going at the truck stop?" Margaret asked Timmy casually, serving herself a square of lasagna. The low fat cheese she used, ground turkey, and Aunt Jan's special sauce made the dish a nutritious and tasty favorite in the restaurant.
"Great," Timmy said. "I made my first run today with Bert, one of Mr. Magnum’s best drivers. It was just to Barstow and back, but it was neat. The new rigs are something else."
There was a small clatter as Margaret set her fork down. Timmy didn't seem to hear it.
"Mr. Magnum came back this morning from Los Angeles." he said, vigorously shaking pepper over his lasagna. Looking up to discover the reason for her silence he said, "What's wrong?"
Margaret didn't say a word and Timmy's expression changed, "Let me guess. The news that I went for my first run today is too much for you to handle." Angrily he pushed his chair back and stood up. "You're not a good actress, sis. I'll admit you did a fair imitation of accepting it all but deep inside nothing has changed, has it? You still hate the fact I'm involved with trucking. You want me to stay away from trucks because you've never gotten over what happened to Mom and Dad."
"Trucking is dangerous," said Margaret, her head filled with memories of the night Aunt Jan had received the call from the hospital telling her their parents had been in a serious accident.
He stared at her and Margaret realized how stubborn the set of his mouth was. Timmy ran his hand through his hair and turned away to stare out of the kitchen window. "It is not more dangerous than any other profession, and I'm sick of you telling me what to do with my life."
Margaret stared at him. Timmy had never used that tone with her before.
"Timmy, we've got to talk."
"What's there to talk about?" he asked. "I'm not going to listen while you try to change my mind. You're scared that I might end up a truck driver like Dad. I'm sorry I can't make things easy by being the nice safe engineer you want me to be. I'm not sure I even want to be a truck driver. All I know right now is that I enjoy being around trucks and when the time comes I'm going to choose my own career, whatever it is, not you."
He was gone before all he'd said had fully registered with Margaret. As pain flowed in to replace numbness, Margaret balled her napkin in one hand. Timmy was right. At his mention of going on a run today all her old fears had returned in full force. She stood up and reached for plastic wrap to cover Timmy's plate with. Her own she scraped into the trash.
The table cleared, Margaret leaned against the kitchen counter and stared blankly around. It was the first time she had seen Timmy so angry. She couldn't change the way she felt about trucking and if she didn't accept Timmy's love of the work he did she was going to lose her brother completely.
Margaret swallowed the lump of hurt lodged in her throat. Timmy was entitled to make his own decisions. Getting herself to stop worrying, was a hurdle she had to overcome by herself.
It was a while before Margaret glanced at the clock. She had promised Gina to be there early.
If only, thought Margaret, as she walked over to Joe's house, Matthew Magnum hadn't chosen Inchwater for his truck stop.
"Hi Margaret! You're looking very pretty tonight. Want to marry me and live happily ever after?" Joe stood on his front porch. His proposal was in the same tone he had asked her to sell his quota of candy in fifth grade, to raise money for the school band.
"No thanks, Joe. I'm not in the marrying mood tonight," Margaret said, whisking past him, and into the house with a smile. "I'm here to babysit for your tenants."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Hi, Margaret," said Jack, answering her knock on the door. "Come on, in."
"Is oo going to say hello to Margaret?" Gina cooed to her daughter, who put two fingers into her mouth and began to suck on them.
"Hello Margaret!" said Matt, unfolding his length from a chair in the corner to tower over her. "How have you been?"
The foot soldiers, the big guns, and the reserve guard of Margaret's defenses, so carefully marshaled this past week, melted under the heat of Matt's gaze. The color drained from her face. For a moment she forgot all about Timmy and her recent wish that Matthew Magnum had never heard of Inchwater. Emotion pulsed in her throat. She hadn't ever felt as vibrantly alive as she did at this moment. The black and white checked shirt Matt wore, with black jeans, molded his frame, and she wanted to hurl herself into his arms and be held.
Margaret swallowed hard as a picture of Timmy's angry face flashed into her mind. The reminder turned the heat pooling in her stomach to ice.
"Hello Matt." Her voice held one part reserve, two parts shake.
"Mikki's fed and bathed, so she should fall asleep without a fuss. I've put her in her crib."
Margaret forced herself to look at Gina and concentrate on what she said. "We will be back by eleven at the latest. If she's hungry..."
"I'll feed her," promised Margaret. "If she's wet, I'll change her, and if she cries, I'll hold her."
Gina nodded and turned to her husband. "Jack, have you left the telephone number of the restaurant..."
"Yes," her husband cut in. "I have, and of the paramedics, the police, your mother, and my mother. I would have left Joe's mother's number as well, only she lives in Arizona." He winked at Matt and Margaret, before turning to Gina. "Mikki's going to be fine. Now let's leave them to it, Babe. 'Bye everybody and thanks."
Them? Margaret looked questioningly at Matt, as Jack whisked his wife out of the room.
Matt raised a brow and smiled. "Gina almost changed her mind about going out tonight, until I told her I would be on hand to help you with Mikki."
The baby's cry cut off the objections Margaret wanted to voice and she turned toward the bedroom. Matt's hand on her shoulder stopped her, and she looked at him.
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.
"What do you mean?" Margaret made no attempt to keep the stiffness from her voice.
"When you came in you gave me a glad-to-see-you look. Then suddenly it was as if someone reached out and turned a light switch off inside you, and you could barely stand to look at me. What have I done now?"
Margaret looked at the second button of his shirt. "Timmy went on his first run this morning."
"Ah, I see," Matt's nostrils flared as he removed his hand and stepped back. "You're giving in to all your old fears that something will happen to him just as it did to your parents. You want a fall guy and I'm the one you've decided to pin the blame on for what Timmy is doing."
She stood there, transfixed by the intensity of Matt's gaze. He had guessed right. Mikki's wail, louder and more indignant, brought Margaret back to the present. Hurrying into the bedroom on unsteady legs she picked the baby up and cuddled her.
"Aren't you sleepy yet, huh?" Margaret asked a silent Mikki. The baby stared at her, content now that she had established who was boss.
In the living room, Matt shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans and admitted the truth to himself. He hadn't been away on business, this last week. He'd left to give himself time to get a handle on a strange situation. He couldn't understand the way he felt around Margaret...the longing to hold her, the need to be held by her. His urge to make her aware that she had a life of her own to live, had more to it than simply the desire to help another human being.
His interest in her was getting a shade too personal. He had thought being away from Inchwater would give him time to regain complete control of himself. It had worked till Margaret had walked through the door and smiled at him as if he was the best thing that had happened to her all week. It had taken their little argument to cool the heat surging in him.
Returning to the living room, Margaret sat down in the rocker and patted Mikki's back. If she and Matt were to spend the rest of the evening together it seemed important to establish some kind of normal tone to their conversation.
Sensing Matt's gaze on her, Margaret said quickly, "Mikki's a very good baby unless she has a touch of colic. Jack and Gina are really lucky. She just wakes up once at night."
"They seem very attached to the baby."
"They are. They argue over who should bathe her or whose turn it is to pick out what she's to wear."
"How many parents do you know who really enjoy their children nowadays?"
Mikki gave a huge burp, and Margaret said, "That's what was bothering you, wasn't it, sweetheart?" Matt's remark had surprised her. "Most of the parents I know do enjoy their babies. What's not to like in a baby?"
"I don't know," said Matt. "But where I come from I've seen couples separate soon after a baby is born, or fight over whose turn it is to change the baby's diaper or hold it. Besides Gina and Jack are young…they might not have accepted the responsibilities of parenthood being forced upon them."
“You’re right,” said Margaret. “It could have all gone the other way. I guess the way people react to children runs in families. Gina’s Mom and Jack’s both said they were happiest when their babies were young.”
“ Aunt Jan talks of both of you with so much love too."
Margaret nodded. "I asked Aunt Jan once if it was very hard on her raising us, and she said Timmy and I gave her life focus. The only time she wanted to give us up for adoption was the time we wrote a letter to our doctor, asking him if he would marry her and come and be our Daddy."
Their laughter mingled in the quiet room, and the baby stirred in her sleep. Margaret patted Mikki's back as she said, "You should have seen Aunt Jan's face when she received a letter from Dr. Bernard, enclosing ours to him. She asked us why we had done it. Timmy said married people had babies, and he wanted Aunt Jan to get married and have a baby, so he wouldn't be the youngest anymore and have to listen to everybody. Then Aunt Jan asked for my reason, and I said...." Margaret's voice trailed away as she recalled what she had said. Standing up, she patted Mikki's back and began to walk to and fro with the silent baby.
"What was your reason, Margaret?" Matt asked quietly. She sighed; aware she had gotten herself into deep waters again. She should have known better than to think Matt would let the matter drop.
Margaret turned away from him and said, "I told her I needed a Daddy to give me away when I got married and someone to take care of Aunt Jan when I left."
There was a silence, and then Matt said, "It must have been very hard, losing your parents so early."
Margaret swallowed. When her parents had died, she had dealt with the pain by bottling it. Over the years she had refused to uncork the container, fearing the pain once let out would rule her like some malevolent genie. Somehow tonight she could no longer keep the lid on the memories.
"It was," Margaret's voice was barely above a whisper.
Leaving the room, she laid Mikki in her crib and stood by it. The pain she had feared to let out threatened to drown her as Margaret recalled Aunt Jan's face as she had turned from the telephone on that fateful day thirteen years ago.
"There's been an accident," Aunt Jan had said putting her arms around Margaret and Timmy, her lips white.
A light sweat broke out on Margaret's forehead.
One minute she had been a little girl drawing a picture for her mother and father, the next she had turned into some kind of statue, determined not to feel. All she could remember doing was placing her arms around Timmy and saying over and over again. "I'll never leave you, Timmy. I'll never leave you."
"Margaret."
A warm hand was placed on her back. She didn't want Matt to see her like this. Margaret kept her face turned away, conscious it was wet with tears. She felt Matt's hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. His voice soft and steady reached out to her. "It's okay to cry."
The simple words, on top of the tension of her argument with Timmy, were her undoing. No one had said them to the stoic little girl Margaret had been. They had all told her to be brave, to take care of Timmy, to be a good girl and help Aunt Jan. No one before Matt had told her it was okay to cry.
The dam of self-control burst, and the pent up grief of all the years rushed out in full spate. Matt held her close as sobs tore through Margaret. Incoherent words mingled with her tears describing the awful day, the pain, and the shock.
Matt's stomach clenched as he listened to Margaret. As she cried in his arms, he wondered if he had done the right thing by forcing her back to this point.
When the sobs stopped and she moved a little away from him, Matt grabbed a couple of tissues from a box on top of Mikki's chest of drawers. Handing them to her, he looked at the sleeping baby. Mikki hadn't stirred through the storm of Margaret's weeping.
"Sometimes, Gina says, Mikki wakes up if anyone sneezes in the other room. At others, a band could play in her room, and she wouldn't hear a thing." Margaret's voice sounded husky, but the quiet humor behind her words filled Matt with gladness.
"Let's go into the other room," he suggested.
He could sense Margaret's embarrassment as she turned away from him. He’d passed through all the outer protective layers she had piled on over the years and was on the precarious threshold of her innermost feelings. One wrong word and she would slam the door in his face.
Matt watched her sit down in the rocking chair, her face sad, and her eyes shadowed with memories. He wanted to hold her, but knew it would be better not to touch her just yet.
"You and Timmy were lucky to have Janet," he said. "Nothing can take away the pain of losing your parents, but you have other good memories of your childhood, of growing up with an adult who loved you."
Margaret nodded.
"My best memory is the day I ran away from home," Matt hoped talking would give Margaret the time she needed to calm down. "Susan and Patricia were in boarding school, courtesy of my father's third wife. I had never been lonelier, yet a part of me was glad they had gotten away from it all. There was a big party at our house one night, and my father introduced me to his latest girlfriend and said, "Meet my son, Matthew. He's a chip off the old block."
"I stood there shocked by the words. I was nothing like him, but he couldn't see that. I'd told him time and again I wasn't interested in real estate development, but he couldn't see that either. He was very sure that in time I would do exactly as he wanted. Suddenly, I knew if I stayed there any longer I wouldn't be able to stop myself becoming like him. The thought of being like my father scared me more than anything else in the world. I went to my room, threw a few things together and slipped out. I hitchhiked to the freeway, more lonely and scared than I had ever been in my life. A truck pulled up after about an hour, and the driver looked down and said, "Where are you headed, kid?"
"Wherever you are," I said, though my teeth were chattering with fright.
He told me to hop in, and I did, huddling close to the door. "Don't be afraid, kid," he said, "I had a brother who died in an accident when he was your age...you kind of reminded me of him standing there at the side of the ramp. What are you running away from?"
I don't know if it was the darkness or the fact I had never talked to anyone about how I felt, but when I started talking I couldn't stop. I let it all out: my father's lifestyle, how I felt about the women he brought home, about our huge house filled with servants, and money, and emptiness. He listened without saying a word, and, when I stopped talking, he pulled up at a truck stop and said, "We eat and sleep here. First thing tomorrow, you and I are going to talk."
The next morning, he told me we had to talk before he could take me anywhere. He said I could run away from my home, my father, everything, but I couldn't run away from the memories, because they were inside my head. The only thing to do, he said, was to face them and realize what could be changed and what couldn't. My father couldn't be changed; neither could his habits, which only left one possibility. I had to change, realize my life and my father's life were not one and the same thing.
"Do you have a dream, boy?" he asked me, and I told him my dream was to have a house of my own and live in it with my sisters and take care of them. I didn't want anyone controlling me.
"As far as achieving your dream is concerned, you're setting yourself back about ten years by running away," he said. "Do you know what's waiting for a runaway in the world? More misery and hardship than you've ever thought possible."
"I'm going to find a job and take care of myself," I told him stubbornly.
"No honest employer will hire you because you're underage," he said bluntly. "The ones who'll give you work will underpay and overwork you. I don't want to tell you the rest of what could happen to a boy your age out there. Besides your father's going to use all his money and power to look for you, and you'll have to keep hiding and running if you don't want him to find you. Is that how you want to spend the next few years of your life?"