The Tender Mercy of Roses by Anna Michaels

Author:Anna Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

Fourteen

Maggie stood in her bare feet staring at the storm from her kitchen window. Jo Beth didn’t go anywhere voluntarily. At least, not in the last ten years. So why now?

The rain pounded the windows and cut a visible path through Maggie’s zinnia bed. Jo Beth must be desperate to go out in that downpour. Maggie just hoped she was sober.

She poured cream into a silver pitcher, then added two slices of apple pie to the serving tray. She always bought Mrs. Smith’s, transferred it to her blue stone pie plate and told her family it was homemade. Some people would call that a deception, but Maggie preferred to think of it as a time-saving device that did no harm, but caused guests to compliment her cooking and her husband and children to worship the quicksand she walked on.

When the doorbell rang, Maggie put on her shoes and went down the front hall to let Jo Beth in. Soaking wet, she looked like she weighed no more than the occasional stray cat that showed up in Maggie’s backyard during the harvest moon, when the air was so motionless every word you said got trapped and hung over your head like a cloud.

Maggie leaned in close to hug her. Regret clung to Jo Beth’s skin like the fine dusting of compost Maggie got when she repotted her dragon wing begonias.

She lingered over the hug long enough to determine if Jo Beth had been drinking but not long enough for the scent of unspeakable secrets and dark thoughts to rub off on her. Maggie was too light to endure such burdens. She knew that about herself. Though she was feisty and defiant, she was not built with the same strong fiber that kept Jo Beth from disintegrating, that let a tiny-boned young woman like Pony Jones ride the bulls.

Tonight, when Maggie was tucked safely in bed, she would tell James that Jo Beth had been stone cold sober today. She needed to do that, needed to justify her actions to her husband. Another example of her own soft nature. She’d be willing to bet that women like Pony Jones didn’t justify themselves to any-damn-body.

Last night James had complained that having Jo Beth in town changed Maggie, took too much out of her, made her do foolish things. He’d suggested Maggie ought to back off till Jo Beth straightened out. His very words.

Standing in the hallway now, she said to Jo Beth, “Get out of those wet clothes and I’ll throw them in the dryer. There’s a robe hanging in the downstairs bathroom.”

“What about James?”

“He’s working late tonight. Some big corporate case that’s driving us both crazy.”

After she’d put the clothes into her Whirlpool dryer, Maggie carried her heavy silver coffee service to the living room. While she waited for Jo Beth, she thought of apple pie and white lies and regret so wide it took up all the space in a room so you had to walk out onto the front porch to catch your breath.

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