On Maggie's Watch by Ann Wertz Garvin

Author:Ann Wertz Garvin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

After exhaustively discussing the merits of each ceiling fan available—engine, price, and appearance—they chose one and checked out of the huge home-warehouse retail store. David loaded the box into the car. As Maggie watched him walk in front of her, she wondered if people thought they were a couple. A married pair running errands before the baby comes, laughing and talking about what to have for dinner. She was so immersed in her fantasy television commercial that when they were back on the road and discussing lunch options, she nearly called him “Honey.”

They drove to a deli and bought one fat roast beef sandwich, a pickle, and a container of fruit cocktail to share. They ate at the fountain in the center of town, watching the noontime walkers, the toddlers dipping their fingers into the cool water, and their tired mothers, who had come hoping to have an adult conversation before heading home for naptime.

“This is the fountain Beverly Finker wants to put a camera on,” Maggie pointed out.

“Because of the soap vandals?”

“Right you are. The Slippery Soap Scandal of Elmwood, Wisconsin.”

“How is Mrs. Finker these days?” David asked.

“She hasn’t called since you hung up on her the other day. Thank you again for that.”

“It won’t be your last encounter.”

Maggie stopped chewing and spoke around her bite of pickle. “Do you know her?”

“You could say that. She’s had her witch hunts going for years. I remember her when I was in high school. She’s a meddlesome hag.”

Maggie scrutinized David’s face, waited for a softening and found none. “At first I thought she might be some help with the Neighborhood Watch,” she said, “but now I’m thinking we are not of the same mind.”

David cleared his throat, shedding his impassive look, and said, “What, exactly, are you trying to accomplish with the Neighborhood Watch?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. Martin and Julia want me to give it up. They just don’t understand.”

“What do they need to understand?”

“Before my dad died, he used to drink and disappear . . . a lot. I think because I never had any say in whether he was home or not, every moment of my childhood was two-thirds full of questions, all about my parents.” She pushed her bangs up away from her face, shrugged, and went on. “So only one-third of my thoughts were ever left for me. It kept me preoccupied all the time. So, I haven’t always seen trouble before it crashes into me.”

“How does the Neighborhood Watch help you with that?” David’s eyes were calm and interested. He had stopped eating and was fully focused on their conversation.

“I thought if I organized something of my own . . . you know, a kind of lookout, a preemptive strike against potential danger . . . Maybe I would be less blindsided, more in control.”

“I’m not going to say I don’t know how you feel. Life is like Russian roulette. And you never know who has the loaded gun.” He sat without speaking, took a sip of milk, and continued.

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