Part 35 (1/2)
Yes, hissed the voice. Yes, come, my son. Come, Therron. Come see for yourself that hatred cures love. And in the absence of love, there is no pain. No pain...no pain...
Kor's eyes glowed hot and red and he followed the voice, followed where it led to leave the pain of losing Maggie behind forever.
”I can't believe he's gone,” Maggie said dully. ”I can't believe I'm going home.”
”You're not just going, my dear-you're there. Look-the Kindred Mother s.h.i.+p.” Salix pointed out the familiar shape of the vast white s.h.i.+p orbiting Earth's moon.
They had just come through the fold in s.p.a.ce-a red gash that Maggie knew was a carefully controlled tear in the s.p.a.ce-time continuum which allowed the Kindred s.h.i.+ps to travel anywhere in the known Universe in no time at all. She and Kor had traveled using worm holes that were known to be stable but that wasn't necessary for the Kindred.
”Home,” she whispered, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
”Now, now-no crying in my s.h.i.+p,” Salix said, frowning. ”You should be happy. Just look at you, all decently dressed in a nice outfit that doesn't show off your naughty bits.”
”Yes...” Maggie looked down at herself. After all the bizarrely tight and s.e.xy outfits she'd been forced to wear the past six months, she was officially back to normal. The bounty hunter had thoughtfully synthesized her a pair of jeans and a baggy gray t-s.h.i.+rt along with a pair of tennis shoes and some white socks. A plain white bra and some granny panties were part of the deal, too.
Maggie couldn't imagine anything less s.e.xy or provocative. Anything more blah and boring and normal. The outfit was the kind of thing she'd always worn but now it felt wrong, somehow, even though the clothes fit her perfectly. Jeans and t-s.h.i.+rts and tennis shoes belonged to the life she'd left behind-the life she used to have before she met Kor.
I'm not that person anymore, she thought, twisting her fingers in her lap. I'm different now...changed.
”And you're about to see your loving family again,” Salix continued cheerfully, unaware of her inner monologue. ”Not to mention your fiance.”
”My...my fiance,” Maggie said and another tear rolled down her cheek.
”Well, maybe I shouldn't mention him, then,” Salix said doubtfully. ”My apologies, lovely lady. Did you truly care for the big felon I found you with?”
”Care for him? Yes...yes, I cared.” Maggie swiped at her eyes. ”But I couldn't just go off with him, could I? Not when Donald just got hurt and he needs me.”
”That would be for you to determine,” Salix said neutrally. He sighed. ”For now, we're almost there. I suggest you try to pull yourself together.”
Maggie sniffed and sat up straighter. There was no point in being upset. No point in letting herself dwell in the past. No matter how exciting her time with Kor had been it was over now-he was gone and she was sure he wasn't coming back.
Chapter Thirty-three.
”Margaret, could you pa.s.s me the bedpan? All these fluids they have me on are running right through me.”
Maggie tried to repress her irritation at Donald's whining, nasal tone. He was, as she knew from nursing him through hay fever and numerous colds, not the most pleasant person to be around when he was sick. Still, he was her fiance and she was going to stick with him no matter what-if he still wanted her after hearing what she had to say...if she ever had the nerve to say it.
It had been three weeks. Three long, grueling weeks since she'd returned to the Mother s.h.i.+p and then back home to Earth. Her family had welcomed her with open arms and had taken her directly to see Donald who was still in Tampa General at the time. He had a long recovery ahead of him but he was getting better, slowly but surely.
The first two weeks hadn't been so bad, Maggie thought. Donald had been in the hospital and knocked out on pain meds most of the time. But the third week they finally sent him home...back to his apartment which he kept immaculately neat and extremely organized. Or he had until he'd broken his leg. Now it was up to Maggie to see that everything went where it was supposed to be.
They had never gotten around to moving in together but she was staying with him for now and sleeping on the couch because Donald claimed she wiggled too much in bed and jostled his hurt leg.
Maggie told herself she was nursing him back to health... although really it felt more like she was waiting on him hand and foot.
”Here you go, Donald,” she murmured, pa.s.sing the small plastic basin. ”Do you need help?”
”No, I do not,” he snapped irritably. ”Just because I have an external fixation device bolted to my femur does not mean I cannot relieve myself without a.s.sistance.”
”Sorry.” Maggie sighed and turned her head away as he took care of business. ”I didn't mean to insult you. I just thought-”
”Here-take care of this.” He was already pa.s.sing the half-full basin back to her. It sloshed as Maggie took it, making her want to gag. Still, she took it dutifully and went into the bathroom to empty it and wash it out.
It's no more than I deserve after what I did, she thought as she washed her hands afterwards with the hottest water she could stand. After the way I cheated...and the way I still haven't told.
At first she'd put off telling Donald because he was out of his mind on pain meds. Plus, she told herself that admitting her infidelity when he had just been hit by a bus would be cruel-kicking him when he was already down.
Now, however, she had to admit she was just keeping quiet out of pure cowardice. After all, she'd already lost Kor. What if she told Donald and he hated her? What if he ordered her out of his life and out of his apartment and said he never wanted to see her again? What would she have left if that happened?
Well, you'd have your self respect for one thing, pointed out the snarky little voice in her head. And a lot more free time you didn't have to spend dumping bedpans.
”Margaret?” Donald called from the other room, setting her teeth on edge. ”While you're in there, would you please be certain the mouthwash bottle is back in its proper place at a forty-five degree angle to the toothpaste? I know you moved it last night. I've asked you again and again to put things back where you find them as long as you're staying here.”
Maggie took a deep breath. ”Sorry, Donald,” she muttered, turning the green Listerine bottle a fraction of an inch to the left. During her adventures in s.p.a.ce, she'd somehow forgotten what a perfectionist her fiance was. Really, his need to have everything in the exact location he wanted it bordered on OCD-it was driving her crazy.
”And another thing,” he said as she returned to the bedroom with its blue pinstriped bedspread and matching curtains which also matched the pajamas he was wearing. ”I noticed when we were eating supper last night that you de-alphabetized my canned goods. Creamed corn does not go before cream of celery soup as you very well know. Please fix it.”
”You mean you noticed while you were eating the meal I fixed you? The meal that met your exact specifications down to the one-fourth teaspoon of salt and the napkin folded into a perfect isosceles triangle?” Maggie demanded, exasperated.
”Yes, exactly.” Donald nodded without a trace of irony. It irritated Maggie to no end that he either didn't get her sarcasm or chose to ignore it.
She thought with longing of the meals she and Kor had shared on the little s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p he'd stolen from Lady Pope'nose. They had cooked together, using exotic alien ingredients in the tiny kitchen-laughing and stopping often to touch and kiss. Then, when the meal was done, they had sprawled on the couch and watched a vid or simply talked as they ate. It was lovely and so relaxed.
Maggie hadn't realized how much she enjoyed that informality until she came back to her fiance and his precise rules for dining. All meals had to be made exactly to specification and served on a proper china plate at a perfectly set table. There must be only minimal conversation and no other outside distractions during mealtime because it interfered with digestion, according to Donald. Afterwards, dishes had to be done immediately-by hand-and put back in their proper order. It was a joyless routine, one she could never get exactly right-or not right enough to please Donald, anyway.
”What do you feel like for dinner tonight?” Maggie asked, trying to keep her voice even and the conversation light. ”Maybe we could try something new.”
Donald looked at her as though she was crazy. ”It's Tuesday. We're having pasta primavera with exactly three meatb.a.l.l.s each.”
”Oh, right.” Maggie sighed. ”I just thought maybe it would be fun to switch things around some. Maybe order a pizza?”
”Pizza is Friday night.” Donald frowned. ”You know that.”
”Friday. Right. Sorry, how stupid of me.”
”You're not unintelligent, Margaret, just lacking in attention to detail,” Donald said seriously. ”Speaking of which, when you make the meatb.a.l.l.s please be sure each one is exactly an ounce and a quarter. Last time you made them they were all over the place-one and a half...one and three quarters...one was even two ounces! I measured it on the food scale.”
Suddenly Maggie felt like her head was going to explode. She opened her mouth, not certain what was going to come out.
”Donald,” she heard herself say. ”I slept with someone else while I was gone. I...I cheated on you.”
”What?” He stared at her blankly and Maggie clapped a hand over her mouth.
Oh my G.o.d, I can't believe I just spit it out like that! What a horrible way to tell him! Why did I do it?
But for whatever reason, it was out now. Her dirty secret. The thing she'd been trying to hide. Maggie lifted her chin. Now it was time to face the consequences of what she had done, to be responsible for her actions. She would have to tell Donald everything and let the chips fall where they may.