Prom Night in Purgatory (Purgatory #2)(26)

“But she was right,” Maggie contributed quietly.

“Yes....she was. I wonder how things would have been different if she’d been able to move on. But she never could. She wasn’t a bad mother, but she was distant and distracted. She even named me Jillian in honor of them--John and William combined.” Jillian shrugged like she’d come to terms with it. “My dad loved her madly, and she loved him, but she wasn’t ever what I would call a happy woman, though she devoted herself to making him a happy man.”

“Your dad was a good guy, wasn’t he?”

“He was the best.” Jillian spoke fiercely, and it was her turn to get emotional. “He looked for Johnny too, you know. He said there were just too many loose ends. It always ate at him. I wish they could be here now. I hope somehow they know, wherever they are.”

“And Billy?”

“And Billy.” Jillian smiled a little. “Billy didn’t haunt my mother the same way Johnny did, though she grieved for him too. Whenever she talked about Billy she could smile. Death is a pain that we can heal from. Not knowing is an open wound that never heals.”

“It’s the not knowing that is making this so hard for Johnny,” Maggie whispered.

“But that’s where you come in.” Jillian reached for her hand. “You are the miracle that will fill in the blanks...”

“I can’t make him remember.”

“But you can help him forget.”





~8~

A Time to Mourn





Two days later, Johnny was waiting for Maggie when she exited the school. She was tired and hungry; lunch had been hours ago, and her afternoon janitorial duties had taken longer than usual. Her feet were sore, her back was stiff, and her glasses had been giving her a headache since the morning of the ghostly promenade in the school gymnasium. Maybe it was because she had been too nervous to take them off, even when she slept; they seemed to keep her in the present. She slipped them off now and rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily, closing her smarting eyes to the blushing pink of the sunset.

“Do you need a ride?” he said, his voice coming out of nowhere.

Maggie’s heart leaped in traitorous joy at the familiar voice and then plummeted almost as quickly when reminded of the unrequited nature of her feelings. Her eyes snapped open and her head shot up to see him leaning against the pole she’d chained her bike to almost ten hours earlier. He looked like an ad from a fashion magazine, so nonchalant and carelessly good looking against the backdrop of the setting sun.

“How did you know where to find me?” she stuttered out ungraciously, slipping her glasses reluctantly back on her nose. She preferred the days when she could only see him without her glasses.

He shrugged noncommittally, not breaking eye contact, but not answering her question. “Do you need a ride?” He said again.

“No, actually.”

“Come on. I’ll take you home.”

I don’t need a ride. That’s my bike.” Maggie pointed to the bike at his feet. He didn’t look down at the bike, which made Maggie think he was aware all along that it was hers.

“It’ll fit in my trunk.”

“No, thank you. I’ll ride it home. It’s a big bike.”

“It’s a big trunk.”

Maggie stared at him, confused by his sudden appearance and his even more sudden interest in spending time in her company.

“Why?”

“It was made that way. Most of the cars made in the ‘50’s had decent sized trunks.”

“Ha ha, very funny. That’s not what I meant and you know it. Why do you want to take me home?” Maggie almost smiled at his dry attempt at humor. But she didn’t. It still hurt too much to look at him, to be near him, and her smile stayed dormant.

“I want to talk to you.”

“I had the very distinct impression the last time we were together that I made you angry. Plus, I’m thinking your driver’s license is long expired. You shouldn’t be driving.”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Johnny mimicked her. “Have you always been such a goody-two shoes?”

“Nobody says goody-two-shoes anymore!” Maggie said crossly and walked to her bike, squatting beside it to undo the lock.

“Maggie,” he coaxed. “Maggie?” She really tried not to look up at him. “How do you drive a blonde crazy?”

Maggie’s head shot up, and her eyes locked on his.

“You put him in a round room and tell him to sit in the corner,” Johnny quipped, but his eyes were serious.

“Not bad, Kinross. Did you make that up yourself?”

“It’s not really a joke, I guess.” Johnny shifted his weight. “It’s the way I feel...like I’m stuck in a place with the wrong instructions. I’m making a mess of things.” He halted, shrugging his shoulders. “Come on, Maggie. I’ll buy you dinner. Whaddayasay?”

Maggie sighed and stood, pulling her bike upright as she did. “I don’t know if my heart can take it, Johnny. Plus, I eat like a horse. I doubt you’re prepared for the price of today’s cheeseburgers.”

Johnny gazed down into her upturned face for several long heartbeats. “My heart’s a little battered too, Maggie.” His voice was low and soft, and Maggie’s anger dissolved like a snowflake on her outstretched tongue. His heart was battered too. She groaned and shook her head. He’d lost everyone and everything. They had a great deal in common, didn’t they?