Brenda Novak - Dear Maggie

Zachman: Divorced?

Mntnbiker: No. Never married.

Zachman: Any close calls?

Mntnbiker: I’ve been engaged once.

Zachman: To the woman you mentioned in the chat?

Mntnbiker: Yeah.

Zachman: How long ago was that?

Mntnbiker: Three years.

Maggie tapped a fingernail on her front tooth, thinking. She hated to come on too strong, but she didn’t want to waste her time with a guy who was still in love with someone else. Emboldened by the anonymity of e-mail communication, she decided to get right to the point.

Zachman: Are you over her?

Mntnbiker: I think so. Are you always so direct?

Zachman: Usually. I’m a journalist, remember? It’s my job to ask tough questions. So, do you ever see her anymore?

Mntnbiker: No, she’s married.

Zachman: I’m reading between the lines here, but the break-up sounds like it was pretty rough on you.

Mntnbiker: I wish I had taken the brunt of it. Unfortunately, I think it was rougher on her. How about you? Anyone special in your life?

Zachman: Just my son, Zach.

Mntnbiker: Tell me what he’s like.

Maggie stared, disbelieving, at Mntnbiker’s words. He wanted to know about Zach? For some reason, she hadn’t expected him to ask about her son. Maybe Tim’s attitude had colored her view of what most men were like. Maybe Mntnbiker—John—was different.

Smiling, she told him that Zach had a lisp, that he was blond and big for his age and that he loved basketball. The two of them played in the backyard all the time, using a pint-sized hoop and ball. Zach could already dribble.

Mntnbiker: He sounds like a great kid. What happened to his father?

Zachman: After I got pregnant, Tim demanded I get an abortion. He said he wasn’t ready, after all. But I refused to terminate the pregnancy, and that was pretty much the last straw in our relationship.

Mntnbiker: What does Tim do?

Zachman: He’s a podiatrist now. When we were married, he was going to school.

Mntnbiker: You supported him?

Zachman: Yeah.

Mntnbiker: As a journalist?

Zachman: Not exactly.

Maggie hesitated. She wasn’t proud of this part of her life. She’d sold out, plain and simple, and she’d done it because Tim had asked her to. He had a way of making her career seem inconsequential next to his and, for a while, she’d actually bought into it.

Zachman: In order to get on at the paper in L.A., I would’ve had to intern for several years, which doesn’t pay anything. We needed money for Tim’s schooling, so he convinced me to hire on at one of the tabloids. We weren’t living too far from Hollywood, so our location was perfect for that sort of thing.

Mntnbiker: You sound like you regret it.

Zachman: I do. It certainly wasn’t the kind of writing I’d aspired to in college, but Tim can be very persuasive. He craved success more than anything, and he had a plan to achieve it. The only catch was that his plan depended on me making a sizable salary. Kids weren’t initially part of the deal, and he wasn’t happy he’d relented on that.

Mntnbiker: So is he successful?

Zachman: I guess. He has his practice, a new wife, a fancy car and a huge house.

Mntnbiker: And you have…

Zachman: An old house that needs central air and paint, a job that can eventually lead me in the direction I want to go, and Zach. Zach is worth all the cars and houses and money in the world. I actually feel kind of sorry for Tim. He’s missing out on so much.

Mntnbiker: Don’t feel sorry for him. He probably doesn’t deserve it. Does he pay you child support, have any relationship with Zach at all?

Zachman: No. He never really wanted Zach and wasn’t interested in visitation rights, so I didn’t have the nerve to ask for child support. I thought it was better to make a clean break and to do what I can for Zach on my own.

Mntnbiker: What did you ever see in this guy?

Zachman: We met in college. He was driven, ambitious, successful, confident. I fell in love with him almost right away. I fell out of love with him shortly after the wedding, for the same reasons.

Mntnbiker: And now? Are you seeing anyone?

Zachman: Oh, yeah. Lots of guys. On weekends, they form a line at my door.

Mntnbiker: How long’s the wait?

For the right man? Maggie sighed in longing. There’d be no wait for Mr. Right, but she didn’t have any hope of finding him soon.

“Mommy, you doing your e-mail?” Zach interrupted, coming into the room.

“Yeah, babe.”

“Can I have s-s-some more milk?”

“Just a minute, honey.” When her son drew close enough, she pulled him onto her lap and shifted him to one side as she considered her response to Mntnbiker.

Zachman: It depends.

Mntnbiker: On looks or personality?

Zachman: Definitely personality.

Mntnbiker: How am I doing so far?

She chuckled.

Zachman: Better than most, but we probably live a thousand miles apart.

Mntnbiker: We might live closer than you think.

Zachman: What if we do?

Mntnbiker: Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet someday. Maybe I’ll show up with chocolate-covered strawberries and coffee ice cream and whisk you away to the beach.

Zachman: Are you asking for my address?

Mntnbiker: No, because I don’t want you to give that kind of information out over the Internet, to anybody. Ever. It’s too dangerous.

Maggie raised an intrigued brow. This John guy seemed nice—caring and responsible. Maybe he was someone she could really like.

Zachman: I can trust you, though, right?

Mntnbiker: With your life.

Zachman: What do you do for a living?

Mntnbiker: I guess you could say I’m sort of a security guard.

A security guard? That wouldn’t appear too impressive on a resumé. Tim would have laughed and told her she was stupid to befriend a $5/hour rent-a-cop. What kind of breadwinner could he be?

Good thing she and Tim had never measured success the same way. Good thing she wasn’t looking for a meal ticket. She could earn her own money. She might never be rich, but she’d get by. She wanted a man who cared about life and love and didn’t forget the simple things. Someone who valued her above his new BMW.

I’m having a good time, she wrote, marveling at the fact that she really was, but I have to go to work right now. Can we talk later?

Mntnbiker: You have to go in on a Saturday?

Zachman: I usually work graveyard, Tuesday through Saturday, but this week I traded with the guy who has the day shift on Wednesday, which gave me last night off and enough sleep to tackle some things I have to get done.

Mntnbiker: Like chase down that story you mentioned? The murder?

Zachman: Yeah.

Mntnbiker: How does a journalist track a story like that?

Zachman: It’s not easy. Right now, the county coroner isn’t being very helpful. He won’t give me any information on the body that was found last week, so I’m going to head over to his house with breakfast and see if I have better luck.

Mntnbiker: Maybe the police told him not to say anything.

Zachman: I’m sure they did.

Mntnbiker: But you’re a reporter. You’re not going to let that stop you, huh?

Zachman: Sort of. It’s my job to get the truth.

Mntnbiker: What if there’s a good reason for keeping you out of the loop?

Zachman: I’m not sure I’d buy it. Sometimes the police try to manipulate the media, just to make the department look good.

Mntnbiker: Everybody has a different perspective, I guess. Are you going to send me a message later?

Zachman: If you want.

Mntnbiker: I want. Do you work tonight?

Zachman: Yeah, I start at ten.

Mntnbiker: Then log on around seven o’clock, and I’ll take you on a cyber-date.

Zachman: What’s that?