"Let's go look." He moved in the direction of her car. The keys were there, hanging in the ignition. Michael cast a questioning look in her direction, complete with raised brows and a quirky grin. His hand went to the door and he pulled on the handle, locked of course. He tried the back door and then moved to the passenger side.
All locked, she could have told him. She never locked her doors, but today she had. Of course she had, bad luck always went in threes.
Bad luck number one: Michael called, ruining her Sunday. Number two: she locked her keys in her car. What would number three be? The ideas that popped into her mind were less than pleasant.
"An extra key wouldn't be a possibility, would it?" Michael broke into her reverie, his tone crackling with humor.
"Yes, on the key chain." And locked in the car. She closed her eyes as he groaned. Her day was going from one bad blond joke to another.
In her mind she pictured the flurry of e-mail forwards with the subject heading, "Did you hear about the blonde who locked the keys in her car?" She really hated blond jokes.
"So, we all ride home together in Michael's car. Later the two of you can figure out how to get that door open." Grandma had arrived on the scene after saying goodbye to her friend, and her suggestion sounded like a perfectly reasonable solution.
Pulling up in front of their home a few minutes later, Maggie glanced sideways to gauge Michael's reaction. She tried to see the small home as he saw it. Okay, it didn't look so bad. Small but well-maintained, the square house was encircled by a picket fence. The tiny yard needed mowing, but rosebushes bloomed profusely along the front, offsetting the neglect of the overgrown lawn.
Of course in her mind she could still picture the home where Michael's parents lived. And she knew he had to see the comparison, as well.
Her gaze locked on the roof. He would never know how it leaked. Roofs were really expensive to replace. She would get it done eventually. And so what if the carpet was a little threadbare? Filled with love, her home grew in dimension.
Splat
. The first drop of rain hit the windshield as they stepped out of the car. More followed. So much for "partly cloudy and a slight chance of precipitation."
Running for cover, Maggie looked up at the sky, now knowing what the third in the series of bad luck would be…the leaking roof. The three of them rushed through the rain and into the house. They were greeted by the tantalizing aroma of roast beef simmering in the Crock-Pot. Maggie forgot the leaking roof, but only for a minute.
"Maggie, you get a bowl for the living room, I'll get one for the bedroom. Michael, sit down and relax, we'll have dinner on the table in a jiffy."
Grandma's orders shot through the room. Maggie shook her head, wondering how her sweet little grandmother ever dredged up such a powerful voice. Michael stood in the living room looking just as surprised. She shrugged and offered him a smile.
"Go ahead and sit down." She nodded toward her favorite chair, the recliner, and handed him the remote. "I'm sure you can find a game to watch."
"No, let me do something. Can I set the table?"
"Set the table?" Her brows rose. "You know how to set a table?"
"I haven't been at a country club for the last four years."
Maggie rubbed a hand over her face. "I'm sorry, Michael."
"You've seen where my parents live, and you're having a hard time separating me from that place. That isn't who I am now. You can't go through what I've been through and then blithely go back. Even if I wanted that, people wouldn't let it happen."
"Well, I like who you are now."
"So, let me set the table."
"Okay, maybe, but I have to get bowls."
She rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, finding a couple of large bowls. "Here, you can go stick these under the leaks."
"Ah, a job I can do." He took the bowls and she watched him walk away. A sigh heaved out of her. This hadn't been her plan, to let him into her personal life, to allow him space in her world.
Why not? The thought nudged at her. She pushed it back where it came from. She had answers, very reasonable ones. She didn't have to explain them to herself. But the biggest— she didn't want to be let down— kept returning as a reminder.
Grandma smiled when she walked into the kitchen. With effort Maggie returned the gesture. Plates. She needed plates. Michael was back. As she pulled the plates down, he rummaged in the cabinet next to her, pulling out glasses. He didn't ask her for help, but opened the freezer and started emptying ice-cube trays.
"Turn the radio on." Grandma's quiet voice had returned.
Maggie set the plates down and reached for the small radio they kept on the counter. She found a country station and turned the volume on low.
"I like that song." Michael smiled over his shoulder as he set glasses down on the table.
She didn't need to know that he liked country songs about finding true love, the kind that lasts forever. She could have gone her entire life without knowing that. Rather than comment, she picked up the pile of plates and scooted past him to the table.
As she set the plates on the white-painted table that she'd bought her grandmother for Christmas, Michael appeared at her side holding a basket of rolls her grandmother had baked the night before. The yeasty, fresh-baked aroma wafted up, reminding her that breakfast had been more than four hours ago.
Other mouth-watering aromas filled the room, drawing the three of them to the table. Maggie moved to her chair. As she reached for it Michael pulled it out and gestured for her to sit down. When she hesitated, he nodded and motioned to the seat. What was she going to do, push it in and pull it out for herself?
She sat and he took the seat opposite hers.
"Michael, why don't you ask the blessing?" Grandma reached for Michael's hand, he in turn took hold of Maggie's. She closed her eyes, making it easier to accept his touch, the strength of his hand on hers.
When he said, "Amen," she pulled her hand from his and reached for her fork.
Outside, the rain continued with spring fierceness. Thunder crashing blended with the songs on the radio, occasional static, the clank of silverware and ice jiggling in cups.
The void of conversation grew louder.
Maggie tried to think of something to say, but she really didn't know what, not to Michael. The weather topic was out. They all knew it was raining. Politics, that conversation would only ruin their appetites.
Silence continued until a drop of rain fell on the center of the table.
"Not another one!" Grandma jumped up, moving plates of food as she did. "Get a bowl, Maggie."
Heat burning her cheeks, Maggie hurried to do as Grandma asked. Michael helped by moving food. This day would never end, not soon enough for her liking. She returned to the table with a plastic bowl and set it down to catch the drops of rain.
They all sat back down and resumed their meal. Grandma mentioned something about church. Michael told them how much he was enjoying the trailer and living in the country. Maggie pretended interest in both topics.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael move his empty plate to the side. She raised her head, her gaze locking with his. He winked and looked away.
"I'll help do the dishes." Michael aimed that comment at her grandmother.
Maggie shook her head slightly and sliced her hand across her throat to silence him. Typical male, he didn't notice. Or chose not to. A smart guy like him, it wouldn't take him long to catch on. As his hand reached to gather plates, Grandma slapped it away.
"You'll do no such thing, Michael Carson. Dishes are my job." Grandma's gaze flitted to the window and she smiled. Maggie followed her gaze. Sunshine, golden and warm, filtered in through the kitchen window. No more rain.
"I should help," he insisted, obviously not getting it.
"You can help." Grandma stood, gathering plates as she did. "You can help Maggie get the keys out of her car."
"I'd love to."
"Good boy," Grandma put the dishes on the counter and turned on the faucet.
"Grandma, I can manage to get my own keys. Michael probably has somewhere he needs to be." She gave him a pointed look. "Don't you, Michael?"
"No, actually, I don't. Come on, Maggie, this will be fun. Get a hanger and we'll go break into your car."
"This cannot be my life."
But it was her life. A few minutes later she couldn't deny that fact. She was in Michael's car and they were pulling away from her house. Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw Michael move and she knew that he was watching her.
In the close confines of his car she couldn't miss the small details. The scent of his cologne, the way it drifted through the air when he moved, and the subtle scent of the leather upholstery. He shifted gears as he pulled out onto the road, brushing his arm against hers.
It was that touch, his arm against hers, that brought back a flash of memory. Night time, a deserted park, Greg, his voice soft, seductive and then angry. The memories shouldn't be so strong, not after so many years. It had been several years since it had really bothered her.
But in the last few weeks she had been put to the test. Michael had done that. For whatever reason, or maybe for many reasons, he brought back a past she had left behind. He made her think about her mom, about the dad she didn't know and about Greg. She was surviving, though. At least she had that— the knowledge that she was moving past the fear.
"Maggie?"
"Yes?"
"Your grandmother is great. But I guess you know that."
"She practically raised me, and I wasn't always an easy kid to love."
"I can't believe that."
His quiet statement caught her attention. She turned and smiled at him. "You have no idea."
And she wasn't about to tell him.
"Here we are." His unnecessary statement came at the perfect moment. He pulled his car in next to hers. Maggie reached for the door but his hand on her arm stopped her from escaping.
He had no way of knowing what that did to her, to have her hand on the door, wanting to open it but not being able to. He didn't know about her nightmares or the memories that touch evoked.
Moments ago she had convinced herself that the fear had been put in the past. A simple touch brought it back. But it wasn't a simple touch, a kiss or a word, it was his hand on hers, keeping her from getting out of the car.
"Michael, I have to get out of the car." She pushed the door open, pulling free from his restraining hand.
Eyes closed, she leaned against the car, waiting for peace to return. Obviously the old fears weren't completely gone. Michael had joined her. The woodsy scent of his cologne hinted at his presence. He didn't touch her. She opened her eyes and tried to smile.
"What happened?"
"Happened?" She blinked a few times, clearing her eyes of unshed tears.
"Maggie, I don't know what happened to you, but I do know fear. Whatever this is, keeping it inside doesn't help. If you keep it buried, and hidden, it's going to turn into something larger."
"I'm not hiding anything."
"You are. And the only way to heal is to open the wound."
"I know that." She slid past him and walked toward her car.
"Can I help?"
"Yes, you can get the keys out of my car."
"That isn't what I meant."
"I know." She handed him the hanger she'd brought from the house. "I know you mean well, Michael, but this is something I have to deal with."
"If you change your mind…"
The sweetness in his expression curled around her heart. She wanted to touch him, to let him in. She reached up, resting her palm on his cheek, but only briefly.
"Maggie, Maggie, I don't think you have any idea what you're doing." He sucked in a breath and walked away.
No, she didn't know what she was doing, and that was the problem. She hadn't known what she was doing with Greg. She'd gotten in over her head and then she hadn't been able to get away. With Michael she was already floundering.
She watched as he worked at the wire hanger. He straightened it into a hook and held it up for her to inspect.
"Have you done this before?"
"You remember that I haven't always been a good guy, right?" He grinned as he felt around the edge of the window. "Couldn't you have made this a little easier, though? If you had just left the window open an inch…"
"That wouldn't have been any fun." Maggie smiled, relaxing as the banter between them eased the tension of a few minutes ago.
Michael held the piece of wire at different angles and then pulled it back. Maggie leaned against the door and watched.
The hanger slid between the door frame and the window. Michael twisted it and tried to turn it toward the lock. The fixed concentration gave him a cute, boyish look as he bit down on his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes to study the job at hand.
As if making that face would help the process.
"Maybe we should pray," he suggested after another unsuccessful attempt.
"For God to help us unlock my car door?"
"Hey, we have not because we ask not. Isn't that what Pastor Banks said in his message this morning? Didn't he say that God is the God of small problems and big alike? I fully believe He is also the God of small miracles, and getting into this car will be one."
"So pray."
"I have." He stepped away from the window, giving it the evil eye. Like that would make a difference.
"And?"
"I don't think I can do it."
"You tried."
"I wanted to do more than try. It's like this car is defying me to gain entrance."
"I doubt if the car has thought through its motivation."
Michael tried again, slipping the hanger expertly between the window and door, this time hitting the lock. He turned and grinned as he opened the door. Maggie applauded his talent.
"Thank you. I really couldn't have done it without you."
"I enjoyed today." He smiled with the words, convincing her of his sincerity. "Your grandmother is quite a cook."
"Yes, she is." What else could she say? She jiggled her key chain and focused on a butterfly that flitted through the air.