She was quiet, and briefly, I wondered if I'd gone too far. But saying it felt good. Two weeks earlier, I never would've. The consequences wouldn't have been worth it.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," I continued when she didn't say anything.
"So you said." She cleared her throat, and it sounded full, like she was fighting tears. "But you still did. I never saw it coming, Tucker. I think that's what hurts the most. We never fought. Never argued," her voice trailed off.
"Don’t you think that's part of the problem?" I asked. "We just … existed in the same space for so long. Longer than we should have."
"I know." At her admission, I breathed out a sigh of relief. "And I never thought he'd hurt your family for this. I promise."
"I know." I did know. But that didn’t make it easier to wrap my mind around. J.T.’s actions were the number one reason why I felt like I had to draw a heavy, black curtain around my blossoming relationship with Grace. Something that, yes, would block the sun from coming in, but it would protect us. Protect her.
The last thing she needed was to become a target for the gossips and the anger being directed at me. Because of me.
"I tried to talk to him. So did Momma. But he's … well, he's as mad as I've ever seen him. Like you lit his puppy on fire and tossed it on our doorstep or something."
I laughed under my breath at the morbid comparison to the end of our lukewarm relationship. Nothing about that analogy fit the truth. "I had no idea he was so invested."
"I think," she paused and thought for a moment. "I think he had a picture in his head. Of how my life would play out. The kind of person I'd marry, the way it would strengthen our family's role in the city, the kind of legacy it would leave for me and my future when he was gone someday."
Now that I could understand. I thought of my father, down the hall, cursing and breaking lamps or whatever he was choosing as an outlet for his frustration. The frustration was well-deserved, but his intentions toward his only offspring did hold more than a few similarities to J.T. MacIntyre.
"It just seems crazy that you and I can talk civilly about this, and they can't," I said. "It was our relationship, not theirs."
She huffed a laugh. "I guess this is the downside of no siblings for either us. All their carefully plotted eggs are in our baskets."
That made me sigh heavily, the unrelenting truth of it. It was the reason why, for all intents and purposes, I felt handcuffed to the big, wooden desk in front of me, destined to stare up at that damn map for the rest of my life. The freedom to do something that I was passionate about felt like a wispy idea that I couldn't grab onto, couldn't take control of, because there were so many ramifications to the people I cared about.
If my mom was crying about this, I couldn't imagine her reaction if I walked out the door and never walked back in. They'd probably cut me off, in all honesty. Haywood and Haywood would get chopped in half, like a sick tree in need of pruning, with my father headed around the corner to retirement.
"Either way," Maggie continued, her voice softer and sadder, "I wanted to say I'm sorry for what he did. I think he'll come around, but … I can't say how long it'll take."
"I think the damage is done." I spun a pen on my desk in a slow circle. "Maybe I'll get lucky and my dad will fire me because he can't afford two lawyers."
"Why would that make you lucky? You're so good at what you do."
Her shocked question made me smile. That was the bottom line, one that was completely separate from Grace. And it was as much my fault as it was Magnolia's. I couldn't hold her accountable for the thoughts that were kept locked safe in my head. But after seven years, she still couldn't see what this job did to me.
"Being good at something doesn't mean you love it," I said gently. "We were good at being together, Maggie. That doesn't mean we really loved each other. Not the way we should've."
The nickname slipped out, and I winced after I realized it. There was no rebuke though, as she quietly processed what I said.
"I think you're right." She sighed shakily. "I want you to be happy, Tucker. I really do."
"I want the same for you."
She sniffed. "I’ll … I guess I’ll see you around."
"Bye." I hung up and carefully set the phone on the desk. That one conversation felt like more in the way of closure than we'd had when I went to her apartment. A little bit of time, and mutual confusion about the actions of one's parents could help build a bridge between any relationship rift.
My dad blew through the closed door, opening it with such force that it bounced against the wall. "Your mom tell you?"
I nodded. "I'm sorry, Dad. I had no idea he'd really switch."
"That selfish little shit. He was always too big for his britches, thinking he's the benefactor of Green Valley, bestowing all of us peons with his hard-earned money."
It was said with such sarcasm that I almost laughed, because everyone in town knew that most of his money came from his wife's family.
"Want me to talk to him again?" I asked.
He shook his head, smoothing a hand over his mussed hair. "No. It won't do any damn good. I'm going
