42. Maggie

CHAPTER 42

MAGGIE

I said I would wait. I didn’t say I’d do it patiently.

That’s what has me ringing the doorbell of my former home at eight a.m. on a Saturday.

I’m expecting Jules to answer, since she should be back in town by now, but my uncle is the one who opens the door.

He looks older, though it’s only been a month or so since we met for an overly-polite lunch at the dining hall. He’s got a few days’ worth of beard on his face, and there’s a bit of gray in it. His faded sweatshirt is wrinkled, as though he slept in it, and his eyes are tired. I have no doubt he was up late watching film or whatever they call it, but I can share my newfound love of hockey later. Right now there’s a problem to solve and I can’t do it on my own.

“Maggie, are you okay?” His brow furrows with worry, and though I’m tempted to tell him I’d go see a doctor, not my hockey coach uncle, if something were wrong, now is not the time for teasing, and that’s not the kind of relationship we have .

“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Your great-niece or nephew is fine, too, but I need to talk, if you have a minute.”

Uncle Hudson nods, as though he’s resigned himself to a conversation with me. “Of course, come in. I’d offer you coffee, but I know you hate the taste. Hot cocoa? Are you watching your caffeine? I don’t think there’s much, but I think Jules left some decaf tea, if that sounds better.”

This rambling, disheveled man doesn’t sound or look like my Uncle Hudson. “Cocoa is fine, thank you,” I hear myself say as I pull out a stool. Before I can hoist myself onto it, he’s pushing it back under the island.

“The chairs in my office are a lot more comfortable, I promise. Do you want to head in? I’ll be there as soon as the milk heats up.”

I nod and walk through the living room to the French doors that conceal his office. It takes a minute, and I’m blaming the sweet baby who’s sucking all my brain cells out, but I put some pieces together. Uncle Hudson said Jules might have left some teabags behind, but she’s back in town now. The first episode of her DIY Decorating show already aired. Plus, this room is a mess. If I didn’t know better, I’d think JT’s teammates moved in. Take out boxes cover every flat surface and coffee cups litter the floor. Jules’s carefully selected throw pillows have been thrown to the ground, and the shades are drawn so it looks more like a cave than a cozy living room.

My uncle walks up behind me and opens the door to his office. “Take a seat,” he offers. “This place isn’t quite so bad as the living room.”

I eye him skeptically as I move a pair of sneakers and hoodie off the chair he offered me.

“What’s going on? Where’s Jules?” I ask, taking the mug of cocoa and setting it on one of the few empty spaces on his desk .

“She’s in Vancouver doing another shoot,” he hedges. “We’re taking some time apart from each other.”

“You split up?” I blurt the words out and the stricken look on his face has me wishing I could swallow them back up.

He clears his throat and nods. “Yeah.”

“But…but you love each other,” I sputter.

“I’ve loved Jules since the night I met her,” my uncle says, his voice sad. “But we…no, not we . I. I fucked it up. I didn’t realize what I had, and I drove her away.” He fiddles with some papers on his desk before looking at me again. “Anyway, I’m guessing you didn’t come here to discuss my marriage woes. What do you need, Maggie?”

“I’m not here for myself. I’m here for JT. Something’s wrong, and he won’t tell me what it is. God, that sounds juvenile to my own ears. You must be thinking I brought middle school drama to your door, but that’s not it. Before I got here, before I met JT, you two were close. That’s what he’s always said. I had no clue he was the Norris guy you were constantly talking about. I think he’s in trouble, and?—"

Before I can finish my sentence, the doorbell rings. Uncle Hudson glances at his phone and smiles. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen from him seen since early last fall.

“Wait here, Maggie,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

As I watch him leave the room, it occurs to me that he hasn’t called Margo once since I’ve been here.