The Magic of the Heart

Serious Note: Caution - do not read if discussion of addictions offends you or causes discomfort. This is a serious issue that steals and destroys lives.

Thanks: To my friends who have not seen my face for two years while I plodded through graduate school and who have now discovered I was writing fiction in between studying, working, and going to school; to the many of you readers who have taken the time to let me know you are reading this and enjoying it - at 2 a.m. in the morning, it's nice to know you are out there; to the mad Brazilian and the Drama Queen who continue to pick at me to finish this - it's done!!! Now let me get some sleep. And especially to Carla and Bett who have been my friends and role model for all that is good about loving another person.

Comments may be directed to CheyenneCJ@attbi.com

Chapter 22

The first week home my sister arrives and establishes herself as the resident expert. I love my sister, but she is a better pediatrician than adult negotiator. She and Mom battle daily over my care. What my sister fails to accept is that there is little that is logical about Mom. So, after ten or more minutes of trying to explain something to Mom, she gets frustrated, raises her voice and repeats what she has said, as if louder words will penetrate Mom's illogical world. Mom sits patiently and says, "How nice." She "unlogics"-that's we call her reasoning-and offers whatever advice comes flowing out from that pixie-driven mind. At the end of the day, Mom is still calm and unperturbed. My sister and I, with our order and organization, must be a trial to her. She is to us!

This daily drama is nothing, however, compared to what Gina Perry encounters two or three times a day when she calls or knocks on the front door. Betsy hangs up on her or shuts the door on the reporter's face, but not before being subjected to the kind of intensive cross-examining that even the military would be proud of. Mom, in her inimitable way, uses her unlogic and leaves Gina even more bewildered. The poor woman usually ends up standing there, speechless.

I also wonder what the neighbors are thinking-media trucks pulling up to the house day after day. Print and electronic media swarm up and down the street searching for every bit of gossip. Mom videotapes a news segment showing the front of the house. Apparently, Gina Perry, true to her word, does a television segment in front of the house, ensuring everyone knows where M.J. Carson's special friend lives. Two days later, I am re-watching the tape when I notice the curtains behind Gina part and my small Irish mother making a very unkind hand gesture. I laugh so hard, my bruised sides hurt even more. Betsy and Mom come running in wanting to know what is going on. Mom's only response, "Well, she's no lady." At which she turns and struts out of the room.

Ed calls or comes by every day. He is kind, gracious, but unsure. He stands awkwardly until I remind him to sit. We have the questions and answers well rehearsed now. I don't even have to think about what I will say next. And, for the first time in my adult life, I am dreading going back to work. Ed talked with the staff. They have sent flowers and "get well" cards, but I have been elevated to star status and am not sure I can meet their expectations, much less deal with being publicly outed. The Orlando Sentinel carries a front page story with pictures, not complimentary, but very clear. I shudder, seeing my unconscious body held by Maggie, crying hysterically. Gina's byline has been picked up by the national networks and she is included on everyone's Friday gossip panel. Too late I begin to understand some of Maggie's fears. How could I be so naive?

With Thanksgiving five weeks away, Betsy offers to come down to Orlando. I love her. We move the festivities to the big house, as we now call the house in Seminole County. Sounds more like a prison-the big house. But there are enough rooms to keep even my family safe from each other. And from inquiring eyes.

I am surprised how much I miss Betsy after she leaves. Having her around reminds me of the time we spent together in college. Her leaving has left a void. Now thoughts of Maggie, and other women, come easily and painfully to haunt me. I miss her. Cady misses her. Mom talks too much about her. I wish this madness would just go away. I don't know which I want more, the numbness that often settles in during the day and makes my life bearable or the emptiness and pain that creeps in with the night and lets me know I am alive, but not much.

My hands are finally adjusting to use of the crutches, but I still don't go very far very fast. The day I walk out into the front yard to get the morning paper Gina Perry and a camera person are sitting at the curb waiting. Hobbling back into the house with the paper under one arm, I stumble in just in time for a leprechaun to fly out with a large wooden spoon in her hand. The camera person requires two large leaps before he is safely in the television van. He ought to consider the standing long-jump. He is good. Gina just grins and remains out of Mom's reach. I dislike that woman and resent the continuing invasion. Oh, Maggie, I am so sorry. I hobble back to my room and refuse to talk to anyone. Tears flow unchecked. What have I done? I am on a treadmill going nowhere fast. I can't seem to move forward and I don't want to go back.

My first doctor's appointment-a week after the accident-we are followed by two television crews and a radio station reporter. Mom decides she has become the coach for the Andretti family and can elude any one. I close my eyes and pray. The only time I consistently pray is when she drives. I pray for my safety and that of everyone else on the road. The fates are with us, but not with the poor people who are trying to follow us. The radio station car hits a light pole. Gina Perry's van slides around a corner too fast and ends up going the wrong way. The third vehicle probably gives up in fear.

A week later during a short trip to the grocery store, we are accosted by a teenager who asks for an autograph. Unsure what she wants, I mumble something and try to hobble away.

"Wait. Aren't you M. J. Carson's girlfriend? I saw a picture of the two of you in this magazine." She points to the cover of a tabloid at the check out counter. There is a picture of Maggie and me in a rather seductive embrace. My face has instant sunburn. The pose is obviously good photo editing. "Please. My girl-friend will be really impressed." Stunned, I take her pen and paper and scribble something. "Thank you," she mutters, "We...I...we think you're really rad. I can't tell you how much this will mean to my girlfriend." Store clerks stare as I try to slink out of the door. It is impossible to slink on crutches!

"Well, dear, you have become a role model. How nice."

Thank you, Mom!

As we ride home, I begin to wonder again what the neighbors are really thinking. It is not just the media parked day and night in front of the house, I have been publicly outed by Gina Perry. My parents have lived in this neighborhood most of their married lives. The older neighbors knew me as a little girl. The younger ones have brought their children to Cady's birthday parties, including the one in July.

"Mom, what are the neighbors going to think? They know I am a lesbian. I know their conservative views drive you crazy, but they are your friends. They may even believe what they are seeing and hearing on television or in the papers."

Her "yes, dear" is not very comforting. I almost pick an argument with her just to have something to deal with other than these cycles of numbness and pain. The thought scares me.

Things have been relatively quiet the last two days. We suspect the media people have been warned about the 'crazy old lady' and they only appear for a few hours each day. Or Gina Perry is off to another crusade. Or national news briefing. I can't believe the stories she's published about me. Or about Maggie. I used to believe journalists had to tell the truth. Sunday evening Mom brings up Maggie. Enjoying this peace, I don't want to talk about her, but Mom does not accept that.

"Susan, we need to talk about her."

We? What is we? "Mom, what are you talking about?"

"Well, it is almost Thanksgiving and we need to know if Maggie and her family will be joining us."

A searing pain lands in the area around my heart. I had forgotten. It has been a year since we met.

"Mom, after everything that has happened, how can you ask that?"

"Well, dear, we need to let Betsy know how big a turkey to get."

I don't know if she is intentionally being obtuse or just being her normal self. This has been one of my challenges growing up.

"You still love her. She loves you. Derek and his friend and the two children will be at the house..."

"Love is not enough," I interrupt.

"What is enough, Susan?" Mom sits quietly, her hands busy with a ball of string in her lap. She looks sad, almost haunted. Something is wrong. It is rare that she is this confrontational. I briefly wonder if I have put that pain there.

"How about trust, faithfulness," I answer. She looks as if she wants to ask me something. "The one time I call her, she's playing around with some other woman. Probably lots of them. You wouldn't understand. You and Dad were so lucky. You never had to deal with trust problems with Dad."

Mom sits quietly for so long I begin to believe the topic has been dropped. A heavy sigh proves me wrong. She answers, "You are right. You and your dad are very much alike. Sometimes, I look at you and wonder what there is of me in you. You are all your father. So precise, so definite in your heads, so career-centered, so little in your hearts. And so intolerant," she adds angrily. The last comment challenges my own feelings of fairness. Before I can respond, Mom says, "I loved your Dad and I love you." She pauses before continuing, "That doesn't mean that your father didn't have to deal with it."

A bomb has been dropped and shrapnel is flying everywhere. I am not sure how to respond. My world is falling apart-piece by piece. I ask, "What are you talking about?" My heart is shouting, "I don't want to know."

During the second year of marriage, Mom begins, she had an affair with a teacher at the school where she taught. Dad worked long hours, getting his first promotion six months into his new job. She started spending more and more time at school rather than sitting home alone. Many teachers stayed after school to get ready for the next day. The fourth grade teacher, separated from his wife, began to offer the first year teacher advice and to just listen to her. The following year they both attended a conference in south Florida and began an affair that lasted three months. "Your Dad was so busy, he didn't even notice the flowers I received on my birthday, or the cards, or the bracelet." Tears decorated the edges of those wise eyes. "He didn't even talk to me when he came home. He did notice if dinner was late or some furniture had been moved. I probably would have gotten more attention if I was a lampshade." Mom, unable to handle the deceit ended the affair and told Dad.

"I really hurt your dad. He was doing what he thought was right for us. I just wanted someone to talk to. I didn't love this other man. He let me talk and listened to me and I felt important. In fact, most of the time we spent with each other, that was all we did. Talk. Usually about the people we loved-his wife and my husband." Tears pool in Mom's eyes. "Your dad was so hurt. He moved out for a couple of months. I was lost. You see, I really loved him. I didn't know how to get him back. I was afraid I had lost him. And I was too hurt and too proud to even make an effort. One day he called me at school and asked me to have dinner with him. I immediately said yes. He came by and drove me to this house. Imagine my surprise when he opened the door and there was dinner."

Looking intently at her daughter, Maureen continues, "Your Dad had numerous promotion offers. He turned down most of them because they would require moving and he would have to work longer hours. I felt guilty. He would just say, 'Maureen, no job is worth taking me away from you. I nearly lost you once. I won't do it again.'" Tears flow freely down her freckled cheeks. "I was the fool who nearly lost him. Your father was the most loving, most forgiving, and most courageous man I've ever known. I miss him." She pauses, wipes away the tears, and asks, "Do you love her?"

How do I answer? I have avoided thinking about her because the indecision hurts. "I don't know anymore, Mom. At times I think Maggie is just an addiction, that I don't know what love is about. I am so angry about her drinking and jealousy and affairs. Other times, I feel..." I search for the right words, "I feel like a part of my life, my soul has been ripped away and I am so empty without her. She is easy to talk to. And playful. And gentle. There is incredible beauty inside her, and so much talent." Susan looks deep into her heart, "Whenever I am around her, I feel so alive, so...." Embarrassed, I stop.

"Aroused?"

"Mom!"

"Dear, how do you think you, your sister and brother got here? Maggie still loves you. Whenever you weren't around, you were all she could talk about, think about. She asked questions about you, wanting to know what you liked and didn't like. I know you and your sister think I'm batty, but I think I'm a good judge of people. I don't think she is capable of cheating on you. Have you talked to her about it?" Susan shakes her head 'no.' "Sometimes I think you are adopted. Why don't you go to the family counseling? It starts next week. Ask her."

There is a part of me that wonders if this whole conversation is a devious plan just to get to this point. Seeing the concern and pain on Mom's face, I feel guilty for thinking that. I am not ready to answer and mom accepts my silence. Bless her. The treadmill, however, speeds up. I am now jogging to nowhere.

Chapter 23

Maggie sat in the chair and for the first time wondered how the hell she had ended up here. The older woman sitting across from her waited. "I'm sorry," she said, "I forgot what you asked."

"I asked you what are you afraid of. You told me you didn't think it was worth asking Susan to come to counseling with you. If that is what you wish, we won't force the issue. But what is the worst possible thing that could happen if she did come?"

This was the shadow they had been dancing around for the last three days. Fear gripped the star, the same life threatening feeling she felt when her mother died, when her brother and sister each left her, when the child welfare people came to get her. She didn't belong to anyone then. She stood up and paced.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know what she'll do? Ask her, not me?"

"No, Maggie, I won't even ask her until you have decided what you want to happen. Otherwise, no matter why she may or may not come, you'll do everything in your power to push her away."

The star turned and lashed out, "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because it's easier to push her away then risk rejection or being left. You control what happens and when."

She wanted to throw something. She wanted a drink. She wanted to be on her bike flying down the road. She wanted to be anywhere but here. She went back to the chair and sat, leaning her head against the back. A strange wariness filled her center. And fatigue. Both emotional and physical. "Except for Derek, I've been on my own since my mother died. Why should I care what she does or doesn't do? I can take care of myself. Derek and I were a couple of misfits who found each other and became friends. He is the only one who has never left me."

"Has Susan left you?" the psychologist asked.

"Damn! You are worse than a little kid picking the same scab off every day. How in the hell should I know?"

"Did she refuse to go with you the day of the accident? Did she tell you she didn't want to be with you?"

Maggie glared. These were the same questions Dr. Ryland had asked everyday for a week. She finally shot back, "Did she agree to visit me while I was on tour? Did she even bother to call me? Did she come and find me when she was in Los Angeles and let me apologize? No, no, and no!" Rage was finally seeking recognition and Maggie was giving it freedom.

"Did you ever tell her how you felt?"

"Why? She knew."

"How did she know?"

"Oh, come on," the entertainer was up again and pacing, "she had to know. I gave her a ring. I gave the earrings. I bought the house. I was there as often as I could. I told her that I cared." Like the caged wild animal, Maggie stalked her prison. The emotional bars stronger than the physical ones. "How could she not know?"

"Did you ever tell her that you love her?"

"Not again! What the hell is so fucking important about those three damn words? I've always taken care of myself. I've never needed anyone to tell me they love me. I never needed anyone. Hear me? Anyone!"

Dr. Jane Ryland watched her patient pace and waited. She was conscious of the rapid shift in emotions her volatile client was undergoing and wondered if the younger woman ever really heard her own words. "Never?"

"Never!"

When the pacing stopped, the psychologist spoke in a concerned voice, "I guess that means you don't want her to come."

"What are you trying to do?"

"I'm trying to get you to make a decision, Maggie. One way or the other. You have ten days left here. At the end of that time, I will need to report to the court on your progress. You are here because you were operating a motor vehicle while intoxicated and were involved in an accident. You're here because you are an alcoholic. You are the reason you are here. Once you learn that you will have taken the first big step to recovery."

"I thought I had."

"You've started, but you are not anywhere near finished. Why are you afraid of her?"

"I'm not!"

"Then ask her to participate!" They had gone over this repeatedly in the last several days, generally ending at an impasse. Like all addicts, Maggie preferred to delay consequences and ignore choosing, allowing her world to crumble into emotional shards that pierced both the tender heart and the hardened armor of all around.

"I don't know what she'd do. Probably not come."

"If you don't ask her, what do you think will happen?" In Maggie's world, if you don't ask, you are not responsible for any consequences. If you don't share any feelings, you are not responsible for being hurt or hurting someone else. It is lonely, but it is safe and familiar.

"Is there no end to your questions?" Maggie made no attempt to hide the irritation.

"Maggie, whether or not I ask the questions, sooner or later you have got to make some choices. This is not your first bout with self-destructive behavior. At some point you either start answering some of the questions and move forward or you keep sliding and keep avoiding until you're dead. Then you won't have to worry about Susan, your kids, Derek, anybody."

"Christ, don't give me any hope," Maggie spit out the anger roiling inside her. "I thought we were supposed to be fixing me."

"There is no ‘we', Maggie. Only you. I'm merely here to guide the process. But you have to want to get fixed and then you have to decide to do whatever is necessary to be fixed. So, what do you want to do? We have ten more minutes. We can stop now or we can go on, but sooner or later you need to start making some choices."

"Ten minutes!" she exploded. "You push me around and then expect me to change my whole fucking life in ten minutes."

"Maggie, you've been here almost three weeks. By five o'clock today, I need to schedule your family counseling sessions. Do you want Susan there or not?"

Her voice quiet, the rage giving way to the familiar fear, she asked, "Suppose she says ‘no?'"

"Suppose she agrees?" Silence filled the room. Seeing the agony stretching across the strained face, the counselor added, "Susan has agreed to be here if you want her."

"You spoke to her? What did she say? What did you tell her?"

The look of surprise spoke volumes to the older woman. "It is customary to inform family members and significant others that family counseling needs to be scheduled. I didn't discuss anything else with her. I can't without your permission. She did ask about you. I explained that I was not free to discuss anything over the phone, but she agreed to come."

For the first time, Maggie felt hope. She couldn't remember when the light had dimmed, but a sliver of hope pierced the black emptiness enough that she felt she could begin to move forward. The tiny ray is a life saving strand that she may begin to build, if she can just have the courage to hold on.

Chapter 24

Three days later Derek invites us to come up to the Big House for the weekend. We decide to arrive early and stay longer. I am finally appreciating the privacy the place offers. A helicopter flies over on Sunday, but there is no one parked in the yard and we can walk outside without fear of the bushes being alive with cameras. I don't like my celebrity status and hope interest in me will pass quickly. From the calls at work this week, I doubt it. I even had an agent call and offer to represent me.

On Sunday, Derek and I are watching the kids play in the pool. Something is on his mind and I wait. "Susan, Maggie has asked if you would come to the family counseling." This is not what I expected. "I told her I would ask, but I would not persuade you one way or another. She was not happy, but she accepted the decision. She wants you to come of your own choice, not persuaded by me. If you choose not to attend, I think we all will understand. She asked that I give you a message, though. She said, 'About the phone call, nothing happened. Nothing has ever happened.' I am not sure what she is talking about but I can guess."

I've tried so hard to be angry at Maggie and to call her not-so-nice names. It was the image of her making love with someone else that hurt the most. The betrayal. My throat feels tight and I have trouble swallowing. Maybe my pride is caught in there.

Pausing, Derek searches for the right words, "I've talked to her counselor. We seem to pose a creative challenge, I think is the term she used, for the staff. Usually the family counseling includes the spouse/significant other and children. Well, technically, I am the spouse, but you are the significant other. Paul is my S.O.-new term I learned this week-and we are all involved in the kids life. After all, it is the twenty-first century." I laugh and wonder if that is what my neighbors are saying. "If you want to think about it, that's okay, too."

"Her counselor called a couple of days ago and mentioned it. How is she?"

"She's doing better. The first two weeks were rough. She tried to commit suicide the first week, but they have her in a fairly safe environment. She hasn't forgiven herself for the accident. She's feeling pretty guilty and still having difficulty with not drinking. But she is honestly trying. What did you tell the counselor?"

"I said I would come if Maggie wanted me to."

"She's hurting, Susan, and probably won't ask. But I know she wants you there."

He puts on his sunglasses and walks away. I don't know what to say. The last two days have been nice. No media. Good friends. Why can't life be like this all the time? I want to talk to Betsy.

She is very loving and supportive. Whatever I want to do is fine. Just let her know how big a turkey to get. Practical Betsy. Is there any of Mom in her children? My brother, but he is not here anymore. I hang up and start to cry. New tears and old tears flow out uncontrollably. I am sorry I never knew my brother. I am sorry Mom and Dad hurt each other. I am sorry that there is so little of Mom in me. I am sorry I am not able to always protect the people I love. But most of all, I am sorry that love hurts.

My stomach has been practicing 360 degree flips for the last half hour. The cast on my leg is light compared to the guilt and fear doing somersaults in my stomach.

Derek and I are waiting to be called into the counselor's office. Maggie is already inside. I haven't seen her since the accident and I don't know what to say or do. Derek said she was happy I agreed to come, but that she is aware I may not return for any other sessions. That's nice, I guess.

The door opens and we walk in. Maggie has lost weight. She looks gaunt and pale. She remains in her chair, her legs curled under her. I've seen her sit that way many times. A pin prick tries to break through the numbness I have felt for the last few months. Derek and I sit on the couch.

Introductions over, the counselor begins, "While Maggie is the alcoholic, alcoholism affects the entire family. That is why we require family participation as part of the treatment process. We have worked with other gay and lesbian couples, we just haven't had a husband, a girlfriend, a boyfriend and a wife." I feel myself relax and see the first smile slide onto Maggie's face. She's beautiful. Her long, slender hands are busy playing with the fabric on the chair. I watch enchanted. Her fingers ruffle the textured flowers and briefly change their color. She picks at a piece of lint and gently replaces it in the midst of flower stems. How many times have I watched those hands? How many conversations have been emphasized with a gesture? How many times has my body been led to wonderful places by those hands? How many times have we held each other and talked and those hands have put me to sleep with their gentleness and love? More tears come. I am having trouble listening to the counselor. She offers a box of tissues and turns towards Maggie.

"I think Maggie has something to say and then you each may respond or not, as you choose."

The bruised look is familiar. I have seen this shy, vulnerable woman many times. Her voice so low I strain to listen, she says, "I owe you both apologies. There are many people I need to make amends to, but I need to say I am sorry to you two first." She looks up and talks to Derek, "You have been my friend, my family, my companion, my support for so long, I had forgotten what it was like before you came into my life." Tears escape, finding freedom as they run down her cheeks. She lifts a hand and wipes them away, but more follow. She cannot stop the flow. "You loved me and never asked me to do anything or be anything other than what I was. I lied to you, deceived you, and hurt you. And I hurt you in the cruelest way-by attacking Paul and hurting our kids. I'm sorry, Derek. No one ever loved me until you did. I am so sorry. I don't know if, or how, you could forgive me, but I am truly sorry." I pass the tissues to Derek as he puts his head into his hands, choking on his own emotions.

"Maggie, I never wanted anything from you but your friendship. When my parents confronted me about my boyfriend my freshman year, you were the one who saved my life. I gave up my boyfriend and I wanted to give up football and run away. You sat up with me for four days and nights. You kept telling me how important it was to love myself. But it was your love that saved me, that taught me to love me. For almost all my adult life, you have been my anchor. What you have done has hurt more than you can possible know." Sobbing, Maggie lays her head on the arm of the chair. The pain is so real I want to leave. "Paul is not more important in my life, but just as important. I love him and I love you. I am tired of being hurt and watching you hurt others." Unable to continue, he looks away from Maggie.

"I'm sorry. I know how selfish I've been. I didn't mean to hurt anybody."

Derek looks up and there is a strange smile on his face. "That's what Paul keeps saying. Through this he has been your biggest critic and biggest supporter." Hesitating, he makes his decision. Going over to Maggie, he puts his arms around her. "You are my family Maggie. And my dearest friend. That doesn't change. I don't like some of the things you've done. But we are family. I want this to work. I want my family back. I want you back, and the kids do too. I love you."

Listening to the sobbing come from Maggie's soul hurts. I want to find something to fix so that she doesn't hurt. But that is why we are here, because I can't fix her or anyone else. I can only fix me. And so far it has been more bandaids that fixes.

The counselor's voice breaks through the fog of pain surrounding us. "Maggie, do you have anything to say to Susan?"

The look on her face reveals more than any words. This is the hardest thing she has ever done. I want to reach out to her, but I hesitate. Why can't I make the first move? What am I afraid of?

Maggie says, "Thank you for coming today. If the roles were reversed I'm not sure I would have. But I have always thought you were the braver and stronger one."

And I always thought you the braver and stronger. Maggie has changed. I wonder if I can handle this person.

"Susan, you are a breath of sunshine in my life. You have been open, loving, caring, care-taking. You walked into my crazy life, at times under duress, and you just loved me. For me." She pauses, closing her eyes, struggling. When she opens them again, she avoids looking at me. "But even from the first time I met you I have not been completely honest or very loving, with you or with me. At times, I have been a bitch and didn't even deserve your friendship. I know you told me you loved me, but I kept waiting for you to want something from me...or to leave me. Just about everyone else has. I don't deserve someone like you in my life. I'm sorry for hurting you. I wouldn't blame you if you don't want to ever see me."

Tears come, uncontrolled, and threaten to choke off any other words. A lifetime of lies and pain melt and flow out, looking for some safer place than Maggie's heart.

I too look away, knowing I cannot stop my grief. My own fears have kept me from reaching out and holding on to someone I love. Afraid to trust; afraid of passion; afraid of being out of control.

I don't need to look to know she is coming over to where I am sitting. Kneeling in front of me so close that a deep breath would cause us to touch, she continues, "Susan, there has been some truth since I met you. One, in the last five years, I have been involved with one, and only one woman. The only woman I ever want in my life. Second, this is hardest for me, I do love you. It's stupid it should be so difficult for me to say that to you. I used to say it so easily to others. But I never loved anyone the way I love you."

Tentatively, she reaches for and holds my hand. "Every breath I take is you. Any plans, dreams I have are about you. Any fears or nightmares I have are about you, or losing you. You have the power to make me happy or destroy me. You could leave me or hurt me. That really frightens me. I am ashamed for the way I have treated you. And especially for the accident. I can't forgive myself and I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't know if...."

Maggie stops and turns away but is encouraged to continue by her therapist. Looking at me she says, "I have no right to ask anything of you, but I...I would...if you can forgive me, I would like to...please, don't leave me, Susan. I don't want to think about what life is like without you. But I will if that's what you want. I'm not fixed and I know I am a risk. I'm an alcoholic. And I have hurt you. I'm still learning about love. I'm still afraid of being hurt. I don't come with any guarantees, but I would like another chance." Her words rush out, free at last from their own prison.

I'm at war. This seems to be a constant state when Maggie is around. She is only inches away but it seems like the Grand Canyon between us. I try to imagine life without her. It is not hard-that is what I have been living with these last few months. I imagine what life would be like with her. Chaos, unpredictable, hills and valleys. And magic. My own prison begins to crumble.

Then Maggie says, "I love you, Susan Hettinger. With all that I am and ever hope to be, I love you. I want you in my life. For the rest of my life. I want to wake next to you and grow old with you. I want to watch our children grow up happier than we did and enjoy their non-traditional family. I want to play in the sunshine with you and hold hands under the stars. I want to watch lines settle around your beautiful eyes and hear you complain about getting old. I want to wake up next to you until it is time for me to go to sleep for the last time. And then I want to lie in your arms and know I have been loved. The thought of you leaving scares the hell out of me. The thought of never seeing you again is worse. I want to make our life work. Whatever it takes."

Suddenly I understand the depth of that word-magic, and the freedom. I don't know who moved first, but we are both standing. She touches the side of my face and electricity shoots through me. I remember Maggie singing to me in Atlanta and realize she has been saying 'I love you" through her music. Through so many little things she did every day. The phone calls, the notes, the time she would find in her chaotic days to make time for us. I take her hand and hold it, looking at her wonderful, gentle, loving hand. I have demanded she say it the way I wanted. I speak first, "Have I ever told you that it was your hands that I fell in love with first?" She shakes her head.

"I don't know if I can be everything you want me to be. Right now, I am not even sure who I am, Mags. And I'm afraid, too. I realized recently how much you are like my mother and I have struggled to be just the opposite. To have control, to be in control. And you..." I pull her hand up to my lips and hold it there, feeling her pulse race as mine has so many times. I wonder if she has ever felt like a Grand Prix rushes through her. If she has ever struggled for control when I am around. A shiver runs through her arm, up to where my lips touch her hand. She places her other hand on top of mine and I can feel her trembling.

Her touch, her voice, her hands. The passion, the gentleness, the playfulness, the friendship. The magic. There is so much about Maggie I love and so much yet to know. She won my heart that night on the plane. And now I hold hers in my hands. There is something magical about her and I don't want to loose that in my life. Maggie has forever changed my life and I don't want to go back. I can't go back.

I do believe in fairies!

I surprise myself. I pull Maggie closer. She hesitates, questioning, then allows herself to be pulled into an embrace. We are in each other's arms. A sob escapes and she whispers, "I love you."

I do believe in fairies!

She keeps thanking me and saying, "I love you." But she has been saying that all along. I just didn't know how to listen.

I am just as big a risk for Maggie-me and my need for control. Her chaos, my control. We might be able to make it work. How nice!

I do believe in fairies!

The end.