The Friends We Keep(97)

“It’s not just you.” Maggie swallowed. “I wasn’t in a place where I could be with people for quite a while. After Ben died, I thought . . .” She stopped, seeing Emily’s eyes well up. “Emily? Are you okay?”

And Emily started to cry, this time properly, with heaving shoulders, gulping for air. Maggie’s first inclination was to put an arm around her shoulders, but she didn’t want to overstep her boundaries. She got up and brought over a box of tissues from the kitchen counter, placing it in front of Emily. This small act of kindness seemed to have a calming effect, and blowing her nose hard, Emily hiccupped a little, then looked at Maggie.

“I am so sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t mean to collapse in tears. It’s not just that he slept here. I mean, it is that, but we’ve been having problems for a while. He’s been staying in London quite a bit recently, he says for work, late meetings, but I thought maybe there was someone . . .” She sighed. “And then when he said he was here, I didn’t know what to think. I’ve seen a bunch of people staying here and I just thought I’d find him in bed with someone. I thought maybe he was having an affair with you. I know, it’s stupid. It sounds so stupid.”

Maggie smiled. “I know I probably shouldn’t say this, but I love that you think I’m someone your husband would even look at. I’m an old, boring widow. That’s the last thing you need to worry about. But your concerns sound valid. Not that I think he’s having an affair, but it doesn’t sound stupid. It sounds like you’ve been really concerned, and you have every right to be angry.”

She stared at Maggie. “I do, right?”

“Yes. Ben used to disappear all the time. I’d have no idea where he was, and I’d be a mess. I once spent all night driving around Bath looking for his car.”

“Did you find it?”

“No. Which is lucky because I think I would have destroyed it. I don’t want to be patronizing, but as someone who’s a few years older, the best advice I can give, if you’re willing to take advice . . .” Emily nodded. “Well, the best advice is to communicate. Ben and I stopped communicating long before he died, and I always wonder if things would have been different if we had been able to talk to each other properly.” She smiled. “On the bright side, I’m glad this gave you a reason to come over. It would be really nice to not be at war with you anymore.”

“This is nice,” sniffed Emily. “I’m really sorry about the trees. I’ll have them cut down.”

“Don’t worry about it. Honestly? There are far more important things in life to worry about than having a view.”

“I don’t mind at all. I wanted the privacy when the children were small but I’ve got a teenager now. Can you believe it? Skylar’s a teenager! Where does the time go?” Emily shook her head.

“I know,” said Maggie, thinking about all the time she spent trying to find happiness. “I’ve been asking myself the same question for years.”





forty-four


- 2019 -



Topher was out in the garden, raking the leaves and pausing every few minutes to breathe in the crisp air, grateful that the pounding headache had finally gone, and that he was doing something to contribute to the household.

They hadn’t been very good at designating jobs, treating this more as an extended vacation than a permanent living arrangement, but all that was about to change. Topher had now officially taken on the gardening, including clipping the dreaded hedgerow.

“Have you ever done it before?” asked Maggie dubiously, taking him into the shed and pointing out the hedge trimmer.

“How hard can it be?” Topher had said, immediately taking the hedge trimmer and doing a beautiful job on two small yew pillars, by the end of which his arms were so sore, he was rethinking doing anything else for the rest of the week. Although, he told himself, he hadn’t been to the gym since he moved here, and this would get his arms in wonderful shape.

He was fascinated by the garden, and by Maggie’s gardening books, which lined the shelves of the den. Topher had been poring over them, studying Penelope Hobhouse’s designs, Gertrude Jekyll’s color schemes, repeatedly going to the window and looking out, his brain ticking furiously as ideas came into his head.

Last week he found a landscape design course in Bath, taught by one of England’s master gardeners, and he was waiting for the brochure and application form to arrive. He had no idea if this was what he had been waiting for, but had a strong suspicion it might be. He wasn’t telling the others until he’d been accepted.

Evvie and Maggie were out looking at a building in Frome. It had been a butcher, and was now for sale. Topher was the one who saw the For Sale sign and contacted the estate agent. He went to see it and declared it a distinct possibility for the café they were still talking about.

Topher stayed home, determined to get the garden cleaned up before they returned, when he heard a car pull into the driveway.

It was a Toyota Prius, not a car that belonged to any of them. He wandered over to see who it was, assuming it was either a wrong address or a delivery, perhaps.

The back door opened, and a young man got out, turning immediately and leaning in to the back seat to pull out a large suitcase.

“Thank you,” he called to the driver in an American accent. “Have a great day.”