Maggie's Legacy

by Laura Berry

He reached for her hand; she drew back as though it were on fire. Music played in her head, a tune she couldn't quite name, and voices chattered in cheerful oblivion somewhere in the darkness behind her. Sweat trickled down her belly, little rivers that felt like the tiny feet of fire ants. She wanted it all to go away, sensory overload. Most of all, she wanted him to go away.

"Carla, please."

"No."

"I just want to help you up. You can't sit there all day."

She glanced at the hot asphalt beneath her, at the steaming trash cans and the beast of a building towering above them. Once again, she wondered how she had allowed herself to be brought to this place. Not the physical place, not even the emotional plane. To this marital discord, this divorce game.

"I never meant to hurt you," he had said, like it made everything better. Nice is not better. Nice makes him the bigger person, whatever that might mean. She wanted to be bigger than him, wanted to be the one people admired and said, "She handled all that so well." Instead, they all talked about the doormat she had become.

Carla stood without his help and brushed her hands on the silk bottom of her new suit. It was his money she smeared with grease and dirt; she wanted to see a grimace on his handsome face. Instead she saw fear and sadness in the familiar depth of his eyes. He felt sorry for her. Nothing could be worse than that.

"I went by the old house today," he said.

The words hit her slowly, a grenade that had yet to explode.

"Why would you do that?"

He shrugged those broad shoulders she once loved to lay her tired head against. "Curiosity, I guess," he said. He leaned back against one of the trash cans, unconcerned by the stink that might rub off onto his power suit. "I've been thinking about the past a lot lately. About you and Maggie, everything really."

Carla tipped back on her heels, briefly concerned that she might find herself on the ground again. And this time it wouldn't be an invisible pothole she could blame.

"Remember how Maggie used to beg us to let her play in the tree house after dark? She loved to stare up at the stars."

"Don't, Roger."

"I miss her," he whispered.

The world dropped off its axis and turned upside down. Carla grabbed his arm to keep from sliding over the edge and found everything righted in his arms. No slippery slopes, no crumbling mountains, no disappearing oceans. The world hadn't come to an end anymore today than it had a year ago.

"Roger—"

"Where did we lose our direction? I thought moving out of that house, destroying everything that hurt too much, would help us move on. But I'm glued to the floor, I can't move." His cheek pressed against hers, his breath tickled the tiny earring that dangled from her ear. "Hate me," he whispered. "Why don't you hate me?"

A tear escaped the edge of her eye. "I can't. There's no room for all the hate I have for myself."

He pushed her back and stared at her as if she'd spoken an alien language. "I drove the car. I am responsible." A shudder broke through his body. "I abandoned you."

"We abandoned each other. We let each other down, we let her down. If I hadn't been too busy to run to the store myself—"

"Stop."

"I miss her too."

A slow sigh, like the air escaping a balloon, whistled between his lips. "What have we done?"

Carla closed her eyes and felt herself fall again. She fell into his arms, into his heart, and she dug in so she couldn't fall anymore. This was where she wanted to be.

The music grew louder in her head. She recognized the tune now. It was a favorite of Maggie's, something about dancing despite knowing how it would end.

"Keep your head up, Mom," she used to say. "Enjoy this moment and don't worry about later."

"I can now, Mag," Carla whispered.

Copyright © Laura Berry 2004