to keep her voice even, June explained: “Exactly my point . I don’t want to remember her by listening to a whole bunch of people coming together , weeks after she died, to tell us how special she was . Because then they will all talk about how she died and why she died. A nd , Martin, I don’t want to continue to go through that. ”
Martin heard her pause and take deep breath before continuing.
“ Maggie was our beautiful and lovely daughter . I don’t care how senseless and horrible these last few weeks have been . I don’t care that we’re divorced . No matter what else happens, she will always be that brilliant spark that we made and raised. I just don’t want the public spectacle of it all.”
Martin was silent . He felt the all-too-familiar tightening in his throat and stifled the tears threatening to escape from his eyes . He did not want his former wife to hear him crying again. Several silent seconds passed . Both clung to the phone, neither speaking , yet n either wanting to hang up.
W ith a sniffle, June continued , “I don’t want us to forget her , Martin . I don’t want you to forget her b ut let’s do it in our own private way.”
“I know , June,” said Martin, struggling to hold it together , “ b ut I miss our baby. I can’t let her go.”
June was openly sobbing now. She breathed deep and spoke through her sobs. “You have to . You have to let her go. You have to move on . We’ll always remember our sweet Maggie , but we’ve got to let her go now.”
Martin shook his head . He could no longer speak. He mustered enough voice to end the conversation. “Okay, thanks . I have to go,” he said , and punched the button on the cordless phone without waiting for her reply.
He shuffled to the desk and turned on what Maggie had dubbed his “ancient PC . ” His preferring to spend his money on expensive kitchen appliances like a bread - maker and a professional mixer , while his computer grew long in the tooth , had been a foreign concept to his daughter. Nowadays those appliances and the computer were getting very little use.
He reached into the bill basket on the desk and pulled out the crumpled handwritten note he had found on the pharmacy counter. It wasn’t June’s handwriting, but had she sent it to him?
He wasn’t going to call her back to ask . That would only make things worse . Whenever he called June , he thought about Maggie , and when he thought about Maggie , it reminded him of how lonely he was . It had been a year since their divorce had been finalized . They both had known it was coming for some time, but they had made an unspoken pact not to act on it until Maggie was out of the house and off to college . Somehow, her being old enough for college had seemed like the “right” time to drop the sham that their marriage had become .
A few years back, the district attorney’s office had promoted June to senior litigator . She had always had a rare gift of being able to think on her feet and out- argue anyone who dared to lock horns with her, including Martin . She lived by the law of black and white —t here was right and there was wrong , no room for an in - between . If you did wrong, she would p ro secute you to the fullest extent of the law, with vigor. Martin categorized her as an extreme Type A , reserved but tenacious, professional yet at times unyielding .
“It’s the career , Martin,” she’d argue. “Being detached and methodical is a job requirement.”
A s her career took her further up, it also took her further from home and family . Martin had been at the same drugstore for 22 years . He knew the names and the faces of his customers . He knew their preferences, the names of their grandchildren, and even their finances to a degree . To him, that was loyalty, quality and customer service . That was success .
“You can be so much more than that, ” June had said, during one of their many
Martin heard her pause and take deep breath before continuing.
“ Maggie was our beautiful and lovely daughter . I don’t care how senseless and horrible these last few weeks have been . I don’t care that we’re divorced . No matter what else happens, she will always be that brilliant spark that we made and raised. I just don’t want the public spectacle of it all.”
Martin was silent . He felt the all-too-familiar tightening in his throat and stifled the tears threatening to escape from his eyes . He did not want his former wife to hear him crying again. Several silent seconds passed . Both clung to the phone, neither speaking , yet n either wanting to hang up.
W ith a sniffle, June continued , “I don’t want us to forget her , Martin . I don’t want you to forget her b ut let’s do it in our own private way.”
“I know , June,” said Martin, struggling to hold it together , “ b ut I miss our baby. I can’t let her go.”
June was openly sobbing now. She breathed deep and spoke through her sobs. “You have to . You have to let her go. You have to move on . We’ll always remember our sweet Maggie , but we’ve got to let her go now.”
Martin shook his head . He could no longer speak. He mustered enough voice to end the conversation. “Okay, thanks . I have to go,” he said , and punched the button on the cordless phone without waiting for her reply.
He shuffled to the desk and turned on what Maggie had dubbed his “ancient PC . ” His preferring to spend his money on expensive kitchen appliances like a bread - maker and a professional mixer , while his computer grew long in the tooth , had been a foreign concept to his daughter. Nowadays those appliances and the computer were getting very little use.
He reached into the bill basket on the desk and pulled out the crumpled handwritten note he had found on the pharmacy counter. It wasn’t June’s handwriting, but had she sent it to him?
He wasn’t going to call her back to ask . That would only make things worse . Whenever he called June , he thought about Maggie , and when he thought about Maggie , it reminded him of how lonely he was . It had been a year since their divorce had been finalized . They both had known it was coming for some time, but they had made an unspoken pact not to act on it until Maggie was out of the house and off to college . Somehow, her being old enough for college had seemed like the “right” time to drop the sham that their marriage had become .
A few years back, the district attorney’s office had promoted June to senior litigator . She had always had a rare gift of being able to think on her feet and out- argue anyone who dared to lock horns with her, including Martin . She lived by the law of black and white —t here was right and there was wrong , no room for an in - between . If you did wrong, she would p ro secute you to the fullest extent of the law, with vigor. Martin categorized her as an extreme Type A , reserved but tenacious, professional yet at times unyielding .
“It’s the career , Martin,” she’d argue. “Being detached and methodical is a job requirement.”
A s her career took her further up, it also took her further from home and family . Martin had been at the same drugstore for 22 years . He knew the names and the faces of his customers . He knew their preferences, the names of their grandchildren, and even their finances to a degree . To him, that was loyalty, quality and customer service . That was success .
“You can be so much more than that, ” June had said, during one of their many
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