Page 56 of Playing for Keeps in Starr's Fall
Of course, Starr’s Fall being what it was, none of these decisions had gone unnoticed. Maggie had lost track of the number of conversations she’d determinedly stayed silent through as everyone marveled and made conjectures about Zach’s sudden life changes.
“Is it a crisis, do you think?” Liz Cranbury had asked, her blue eyes wide. “Is he introuble? I feel like maybe I misjudged him.” She’d leaned forward, dropping her voice to a loud whisper. “It’s as if he’s suddenly becomesensitive, and no one ever knew. Did he ever say anything to you?”
“No,” Maggie had replied firmly. “Not a word. And whatever he needs to do, well, he should do it.”
She had, despite her own disappointments, come to believe that quite strongly. Zach needed this time, this space, to do whatever he needed to do to make a life for himself in this town… and Maggie wasn’t a part of that. She had learned to accept it, but she still didn’t like it. A thousand times or more she’d wished she had justthoughtfor a moment before she’d rushed in with her accusations and angry judgments, even as she accepted that those had been no more than flimsy excuses for the far deeper fear she’d felt about her own feelings. It was all too late now, anyway, she reminded herself more than once, and really, that was just as well. Or it would be. Hopefully. Maybe.
“Here we are,” Maggie sang out cheerfully as she forced her thoughts of Zach to the back of her mind. She took the lid off the Scrabble box and lifted out the bag of tiles. “I bet you’re really good,” she told Henrietta, whose lips twitched in response. Had that been a smile, Maggie wondered, or a sneer?
“I play tolerably well,” she replied with dignity, which Maggie suspected meant the elderly woman was going to wipe the floor with her.
It soon became achingly apparent, however, that that was not going to be the case at all. After carefully arranging her tiles, and then drawing the lower letter to go first, Henrietta spent several minutes staring at her letters and then, very carefully, arranged the letters P-A-T. She straightened, clearing her throat, and then gave Maggie a beady look as if to dare her to say anything.
Maggie did not. She played I-L-E off the P to make pile and then smiled encouragingly at the older woman. “Your turn next,” she quipped, but maybe Henrietta had forgotten the name of the café because she simply stared.
Then, after a few agonizing seconds, she made E-N-D off Maggie’s E. The game continued apace, with each of them making pitiful, single-digit scores on every turn. Maggie felt the urge to both laugh and cry. Here was this dignified and clearly proud woman, playing the best she could, and daring Maggie to say anything about it.
Maybe that was all you could do when life came at you hard, Maggie reflected. Hold your head up high and try your best.
They were halfway through the tiles, the board a maze of three- and four-letter words, when Henrietta admitted stiffly, “I’m afraid my memory’s not what it used to be. I once regularly scored seven-letter words in this wretched game.” A sigh escaped her, long and trembling. “‘Like the ghost of a dear friend dead/is Time long past.’” She glanced up, her lips pursed. “That’s Shelley.”
“Mary or Percy Bysshe?” Maggie asked, and Henrietta’s nostrils flared.
“Certainly not Mary,” she replied.
“I guess not,” Maggie agreed, although to be fair she didn’t really know. “But I gather the gist of that poem is that time flies.” She smiled wryly. “And it kind of stinks.”
Henrietta let out a rasp that was not quite a laugh. “Shelley had abitmore of a way with words,” she replied, and placed T-A-B-L-E down to make her best word yet. Sometimes, Maggie thought, you just had to take what you were given and go with it. “You seem to be making something of yourself in this town,” Henrietta continued as she replaced her tiles. “By all accounts.”
“Oh, well…” Maggie couldn’t tell by her tone if this was considered a good or bad thing. “We’re trying, I suppose, to settle in. Starr’s Fall has been a welcoming place.”
“And something of a place to hide away,” Henrietta replied with a narrowed, shrewd glance.
Ouch. How had this woman, who had never met her before, seen that? “Yes,” Maggie agreed as she put down A-R-L-Y to make EARLY, the Y on a double letter space. “Sometimes in life you need to hide away for a little while.”
“I hid away for about thirty years,” Henrietta replied baldly. “Not that I recommend you taking that much time. You look like you’re on the wrong side of forty already, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You aren’t,” Maggie agreed with a laugh. Henrietta Starr looked like she was on the wrong side of eighty. “Who says it’s the wrong side, anyway?” she added with some defiance, and Henrietta merely arched an eyebrow. Maggie decided not to press the point. “Why did you hide away?” she asked her instead.
“Well.” Henrietta pursed her lips as she rearranged the tiles on her stand. “Typically, at first it was because I was hurt. And then it was because I was scared. And finally it was because I couldn’t be bothered.” She glanced up, the shrewdness in her pale blue eyes replaced by a compassion. “Try not to get to the third stage, if you can.”
They finished their pitiful game of Scrabble without any further deep talk, and Henrietta left, promising to come again. “I also play bridge,” she told Maggie. “But you need four players for that.”
“I’m sure we can rustle some up,” Maggie promised her. Alone in the café, she tidied up before sinking into the window seat next to Penny, who purred comfortably as Maggie sank her fingers into the feline’s fur. Spring had finally sprung, and outside the late afternoon sun was sending buttery rays over the cherry trees that were reaching peak blossom, every single branch sporting a plethora of pink puffballs. The sky was pale blue, a few sparrows streaking across it. Maggie was content—mostly—but she wished she felt happy. She missed Zach, she knew. A lot.
A sudden, urgent tapping at the door had her turning. Laurie stood there, her face pale with anxiety.
“It’s open,” Maggie called as she rose from her seat. Laurie flung the door open and closed it behind her with a rattle of glass. “Laurie, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Not exactly. I just…” She sighed and shook her head. “I heard from my mom again.”
“You did?”
Laurie nodded. “I haven’t told anyone yet. Joshua went to New York for some book thing and Jenna and Annie… well, they’re my dear friends but they don’t always get it, you know? Jenna thinks I should just cut my birth mom off totally and Annie can’t talk about anyone’s mom without getting grumpy or tearing up. It’s so hard for her.” Laurie shook her head, looking caught between misery and excitement.
“It is, but we’re talking about you now,” Maggie reminded her. “Let me make you a coffee and you can tell me all about it.”
The story came out over lattes, complete with a frothed fern that Maggie was particularly proud of. Rose, Laurie’s mother, had written her a letter—brief, to the point, asking her to meet.
