What We Find

“Maggie,” he said in that calm, deep, lovely voice. “You’re crying.”

“Shit,” she said, wiping at her cheeks. “We’re done. It’s non-negotiable. I wouldn’t take you back if you begged me. I can’t be with a man as selfish as you.”

“That’s not fair,” he said. “Would you have wanted me to lie? When you told me you were pregnant, I told you the truth. I have a daughter and a crazy ex-wife and no, I was not planning to have more children. It was one of the first issues we talked about when we started seeing each other. You said you understood completely.”

“I wasn’t pregnant then!”

“Be reasonable—it wasn’t planned,” he said.

“Just go!”

She turned and walked around to the back of the store and in the back door. She ducked into the bathroom beside the storeroom and looked in the mirror. Sure enough, she was crying. Again.

In medicine, everyone worships stoicism, thus her hiding in stairwells. She once sneaked into a bathroom and sobbed her brains out when she lost a young woman and her unborn child, even though saving them had been a long shot. GSW. Gunshot wound—so tragic. Then there was a mass shooting at a high school, several victims and they pulled them through, all of them, and it had almost the same effect on her—she cried until she was sick to her stomach. That was back when she was in Chicago doing her fellowship with Walter. The sheer violence and cruelty of a school shooting had nearly gutted her. By the time she was practicing, she’d figured out how to hide it, the overpowering emotion. But she hadn’t cried over a man since she was sixteen.

Not the man, she reminded herself. The relationship and the baby.

Andrew, the sensitive ER doctor, left her because she was having trouble coping with her loss. She really and truly had not known he was that inflexible, that cold. There must be a lesson in there somewhere. And she was damn sure going to find it.

She splashed cold water on her face, dried it, went back into the store. And of course who was standing beside Sully wearing a look of concern but Cal.

“Well, Calistoga, you’re just everywhere, aren’t you?”

“You okay, Maggie?” he asked.

“I got a little pissed, that’s all. Ex-boyfriend.”

“Gotcha,” Cal said. He looked at his watch. “Why don’t you go home and see what you can find for dinner for you and Sully. I’ll hang out here till closing.”

She sniffed. “Would you like to join us?” she asked.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”

“It’s early,” she said.

“It’s okay, Maggie,” he said. “Take a break. Get some alone time.”

“Sunday night can get a little... Ah, hell. I’m going,” she said.

No legacy is so rich as honesty.

—William Shakespeare

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