Nine Lives - Danielle Steel Page 0,23
“Old friends, people they went to school with, or met at work. Recently divorced guys, or younger ones. Or they meet online, but that always sounds scary to me,” Helen said warily.
“I’d be terrified of meeting an axe murderer, or some guy fresh out of prison,” Maggie said grimly.
“Or just a jerk, or a married guy lying about it. That’s happened to a lot of women I know. But some of them do meet nice guys on the internet. I just wouldn’t have the guts to try,” Helen said. She was glad she was married, even if their marriage wasn’t perfect.
“Neither would I,” Maggie agreed about internet dating. But she was a long way from that. She still dreamed of Brad at night, and in her dreams he was alive. She still felt married to him when she was awake. She thought she always would. She couldn’t imagine being in love with, or sleeping with, someone else.
“Have you thought any more about a job?” Helen asked her, and Maggie shook her head.
“I haven’t worked full-time in eighteen years. I don’t even know what I can do. And I don’t want to do anything until Aden leaves for BU.”
“Why don’t you take a trip then?” She suggested it and then looked embarrassed. “If you can afford to, obviously.” She was sure that Brad must have left them some kind of life insurance. He was a responsible guy, but she also knew Maggie was selling his business, and assumed she needed the money.
“I can afford a trip,” Maggie said, “but traveling alone doesn’t sound like much fun. And where would I go?”
“Why don’t you make a list of all the places you’ve always wanted to go to and never have, and then pick? It could be really fun. Then start job hunting when you get back.”
“Maybe,” Maggie said, unconvinced. She loved traveling with Brad, but not alone.
She put the suggestion out of her mind. Three days later, she had bigger things to think about. Aden had gotten in serious trouble for the first time in his life. He and five of his friends had gotten drunk at a friend’s house, broken into a skateboard park, and were doing tricks there with their skateboards. He had sprained his ankle badly but was otherwise unharmed. One of the other boys had broken a leg. The skateboard park had agreed not to press charges since the boys were first-time offenders from decent families, but they had been given a stern warning by the police. Maggie had to pick Aden up at juvenile hall, and then take him to the emergency room again. She gave him a serious talking-to when they got home.
“What’s happening to you? You never acted like this before, when Dad was alive. Are you planning to turn into a juvenile delinquent now? Or get kicked out of school or off the hockey team?”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” He looked remorseful and embarrassed. The beer had worn off by then. They weren’t that drunk, just out to have fun. And he had a slight buzz on. “You wouldn’t believe how high I got on the loops,” he said, looking pleased with himself. “I want to go back there again sometime with my board!”
“So you can break an arm or a leg? I want to keep you alive and in one piece. You’re all I have now,” she said somberly. For an instant, he reminded her of her brother at his age, and Paul Gilmore with his skateboard before he graduated to motorcycles. She didn’t want that for her son. But every now and then she could see that thrill seeking and danger were in his blood. It always had been, like with her father and brother. Brad didn’t have that in him at all, which she had loved. “What’s going to happen when you’re in Boston and have no supervision? Are you going to go crazy, or behave? I don’t want to lie in bed every night, terrified, waiting for the phone to ring and hear you’re in trouble, or got hurt.”
“You won’t, I promise.” But she wasn’t sure she believed him. “Maybe I could be a race car driver one day,” he said with a dreamy expression, and she groaned.
“You’re not reassuring me, Aden. Maybe you should become a CPA like your dad. My mom was right about that. Thrill seekers and wild men always run into trouble. They either kill themselves or break everyone’s heart or both. My father did, my