Alex Kava - The Soul Catcher

“You never believed in me.”

Maggie continued to stare at her. How could the insertion of one little word like “in” make such a world of difference? “I’ve never said that.”

But her mother didn’t seem to hear her. She was going back around the room, opening the window blinds that she had just shut, one after the other. “It was always him. Always him.”

She was ranting, and Maggie knew it was too late to have any semblance of a conversation with her now. But she had no idea who she meant by “him.” This was a new rant. One she didn’t recognize.

“Maybe I should go,” Maggie said, but made no attempt to leave. She only wanted to get her mother’s attention. But her mother was no longer listening. No longer paying attention. This was a mistake.

“It was always him.” This time her mother stopped in front of her, facing her with accusation. “You loved him so much, you have nothing left for any of the rest of us. Not for me. Not for Greg. Probably not even for your cowboy.”

“Okay now, that’s enough.” Maggie wouldn’t put up with this. It was ridiculous. The woman didn’t know what she was even saying.

“He was no saint, you know.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Your father.”

Maggie’s stomach took a plunge.

“Your precious father,” her mother added as if she needed clarification. “You always loved him more. So much love for him that there was never enough left for the rest of us. You buried it all with him.”

“That’s not true.”

“And he was no saint, you know.”

“Don’t you dare,” Maggie said, immediately disappointed to find the quiver return to her lower lip.

“Dare to tell the truth?” Her mother managed a cruel smile.

Why was she doing this?

“I need to leave.” Maggie turned toward the door.

“He was out fucking his girlfriend the night of the fire.”

It was like a knife had been thrust into her back, stopping her in her tracks, making her turn to face her mother again.

“I had to call her house,” she continued, “when the fire department’s dispatcher called looking for him. Everyone thought he was up sleeping in our bed, but he was in her bed. Her bed, fucking her.”

“Stop it,” Maggie said, but it came out as a whisper, because all the air had suddenly been sucked out of her.

“I never told you. I never told anyone. How could I after he went out that night, ran into that burning building and died a fucking hero.”

“You’re making this up.”

“He got her pregnant. She has a son. His son. The son I never could give him.”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you making this up?” Maggie said, trying to keep the twelve-year-old hurt little girl from surfacing, though in her head, her voice sounded exactly like a child’s. “You’re lying.”

“I thought I was protecting you. Yes, I lied then. But not now. Why would I lie now?”

“To hurt me.”

“To hurt you?” Her mother rolled her eyes, the sarcasm having overpowered any other emotion or response. “I’ve been trying to protect you from the truth for years.”

“Protect me?” Now the anger began to unleash itself. “You call moving me halfway across the country protecting me? You call bringing home strange men to fondle me, protecting me?”

“I did the best I could.” The eyes were darting around the room again, and Maggie knew she had said what she wanted to say and was now looking to retreat, searching to escape.

“You lost a husband that night. But I lost both my parents.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I lost both my father and my mother. And what did I get in their place? A drunken invalid to take care of. A drunken slut instead of a mother.”

The slap came so suddenly, Maggie didn’t have time to react. She wiped at the sting and was more unnerved by the tears already dampening her cheek.

“Oh, Jesus! Maggie.” Her mother reached for her and Maggie pulled away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“No, don’t.” Maggie raised a hand in warning. She stood straight, avoided her mother’s eyes. “Don’t apologize,” she said, allowing one more swipe at the tears. “This was the perfect response from you. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

Then she turned and left, making it to her car, managing to drive through the blur before stopping at the entrance to I-95. She pulled off on the side, killed the headlights and switched on the car’s flashers, shoved the emergency brake into place, left the engine running and the radio blaring while she let the sobs pour out of her. While she gave in and let those damn leaky compartments burst wide open.

Gwen needed to slow down, but she gulped the remainder of her wine, anyway. She could feel Tully watching her from across the small round table with a polite look of concern while he fumbled with his spaghetti and meatballs.

He had chosen a lovely Italian restaurant with crisp white tablecloths, candles in every window and an array of wait staff that treated them with a kind and friendly manner, then screamed at each other in Italian as soon as they got behind the swinging kitchen door.

She had barely touched her fettuccine Alfredo with fresh cream sauce and portobello mushrooms. It smelled wonderful; however, right now the wine and its anesthetizing effect was all she wanted. She needed something to wipe away the feel of that pencil stabbing into her throat and the desire to kick herself for being so stupid. She was beginning to understand why Maggie resorted to Scotch so often. Maggie had a much longer and more grisly list of images to wipe out of her memory bank.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “You probably should have left me in my hotel room. I’m afraid I’m not very good company tonight.”

“Actually, I’m used to women not talking to me at the dinner table.”

It wasn’t at all what she expected him to say, and she found herself laughing. He smiled, and it only then occurred to her how awful this afternoon must have been for him, too.

“Thanks,” she said. “I really needed to laugh.”

“Glad I could help.”

“I certainly messed up this trip. We didn’t get anything.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Pratt thought that Father Joseph sent you. He said it. That’s more than we knew before, and it may be all we need to connect him and the others to Reverend Joseph Everett. It will be a wasted trip, though, if you don’t eat something.”

He smiled at her again, and she wondered if he wanted to forget about this afternoon as much as she did. He was still looking at her as if expecting an answer.

“If you’d like, we could go somewhere else, if this isn’t quite what you had in mind,” he offered.

“Oh, no, this is fine. It smells wonderful. I’m just waiting for my appetite.”

She hadn’t told him she helped herself to a glass of champagne while she changed for dinner. The hotel had mistakenly sent up a newlywed basket to her room. When she called down to the front desk, the clerk was so embarrassed, he insisted she keep and enjoy it, that they would send another to the intended couple. Well, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy all of it. The basket included massage oils and an assortment of condoms. She’d have to settle for the champagne and chocolates.

She watched Tully wrestle with his spaghetti, mutilating it into small pieces instead of wrapping it around his fork. It was painful to watch.

“Mind if I show you how to do that?” she asked.

He looked up, saw what she meant and immediately turned red. Before he could answer, she slid her chair over, so that she was sitting next to his right arm. Without making a big deal or fuss, she gently put her hand over his, barely getting her fingers around his large hand in order to show him how to hold his fork.