Because of you, I'm home

Chapter 8 - Understanding and red liquorice...

"Love..." Nothing.

"Dear,,," Silence.

"Mags..." Still no response.

"Marguerite!" Al's large hand closed over his wife's own frail, shaking fingers that clasped for dear life to the bone handle butter knife. It was coming mid-day and Maggie still looked as pale as she had the moment she'd read the horrid letter. Al couldn't stand seeing his loving wife so stricken, the life sucked from her eyes and replaced with a terrifying emptiness. She didn't respond to his coaxing, though her slim fingered further tighten to the knife as if it were her only lifeline.

"Dear... perhaps you should take some time-"

"I don't need time." Al relaxed a touch, Maggie had at least spoken which was more than he'd been able to coax from her all morning.

Breakfast had been quiet with Jarrod opting for coffee, and buttered biscuit for himself and Alice. The weekend had seen father and daughter heading into town together, while Claire had yet to rouse from her room – much to Al's relief.

"What do you need?" Faded blues implored her to give him some hint or indication on what he could do for her. The situation was tearing him apart, not that he would ever let it show.

"I need to fix lunch, then launder the sheets, has Claire woken yet? Oh dear, maybe I'll just leave a plate of salad sandwiches in the fridge. The girl must have returned awfully late." Maggie's usual lively tone was flat, as if she'd suddenly morphed into a robot right in front of Al's eyes. Where had his wife gone?

"Love, stop-"

"Alma Ephraim McMoore! Do NOT tell me to stop." Emotion finally flashed through the woman brown eyes, granted it was cold fury, but Al was just relieved to see something.

Anger. Anger was good. He could work with anger. Al dropped his hand slowly from his wife's and place is cautiously upon her soft cheek and into her fading red hair, dragging his rough thump along her cheekbone leisurely. "Dear, let me help you. For better or for worse."

Brown eyes roamed the weathered and aged face of Maggie's husband. The man who had been there, survived all her heartbreaks with her, shouldered her family through great difficulty. She wasn't mad at him. How could she be mad at such a man? No, she was hurting, grieving. A familiar lump formed in the aged woman's throat for what would feel like the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours.

"Oh Al." Leaning into his hand she closed her eyes to try and precent the tears from slipping down her cheek. "I don't know what to do anymore... is there even anything I can do?"

Unable to bear the crushing sadness on Maggie's face, the greying male pulled her flush against his chest, tucking her frame beneath his chin. "We do this together, you're not alone. We take it one step as a time, as always, my love."

Shaking in her husbands embrace, Maggie came apart at the seams. Her heart bled and her soul cried once more at the final loss of someone she'd once classed as family. Though they'd been gone for such a long time without so much as a word, the prospect of the world still turning in the absence of such a bright light shattered her. God had gain another angel. But there was so much more to the story, in death more questions arose. Oh, how to tell Luke.

After sometime Maggie gently pulled herself from the warm embrace that brought her a small amount of comfort. Though her eyes still watered, there was a steely determination behind the desolation. "We need to inform Luke."

Apprehension suddenly coiled in the pit of Al stomach, such a move went against his better judgment. Involving his long time friend in such devastation seemed unnecessary, wasn't it enough that his wife was riddled with grief?