What We Trade Our Hearing For (a North and South Story)

26. Sam's Town

"Now, "Why do you waste my time?"

Is the answer to the question on your mind

And I'm sick of all my judges

so scared of what they'll find

But I know that I can make it

As long as somebody takes me home,

every now and then..."

-- The Killers

Maggie

Nick, Mary, and the kids had started having dinner with Maggie and her father at least once a week. The conversation was good for Mr. Hale, breaking up the monotony of their normal lonely dinners for two. It was nice to have a full table, and it made Maggie feel like she was helping out, no matter how small the contribution seemed. She smiled as she watched the kids eating, their appetite barely matched by Nick's as they all cleared their plates. Mary shook her head, smiling. "The way they act, you'd think I never feed them," she said sheepishly.

Maggie laughed, getting up to clear the table. "They must all be working hard to have such an appetite," she said. "It sounds like you've become a model employee, Nick."

"I've never done a job poorly, ask anyone," Nick said, feigning offense. "Nah, I won't give Thornton an excuse to fire me again. Besides, he works just as hard, if not harder. Sometimes, I don't think he sleeps at all, working straight through the night." He shook his head, looking worried. "And he's taken an interest in the kids, especially Tom here," he said, ruffling the boy's hair. "He says he needs a good education. Kids are the future and all that. He's a hard man to figure out. You've got to wonder what's going on in that mind of his."

The words pulled at Maggie's heart. It was strange to think about John caring about children, though it made sense. From what she knew of his childhood, he had a rough upbringing. The fact that he wanted better for other children made her smile. Maybe he even saw a little of himself in Butch's oldest boy. "You better watch out," she joked with Nick. "Don't let your friends hear you saying nice things about John, they'd come after you."

Later that night, Maggie read through her cousin's latest email again. Eden was begging her to come to visit, trying every tactic to convince her. Just the thought of formulating a response made Maggie feel exhausted. There was no way she could spend any amount of time with her cousin and her family and keep her composure. It was hard enough putting on a brave face for her father every day. No, she needed more time on her own before making that trip, no matter how lovely Boston looks in the snow. She closed her computer and set it aside, putting off replying for another night.

John

The bass didn't sound right. It wasn't something most people would notice, especially not the half-drunk and rowdy crowd that threatened to break through the floor. The whole building shook, pulsing, as if it was a living, breathing organism. In some ways, John thought, it was. The place was alive, filled with people that kept it going like cells in a body.

He tried to shake those thoughts loose. It wasn't the time to be nostalgic about the life The Mill had lived. He scanned the crowd, half expecting to see Maggie, camera in hand, snapping shots of the band and the fans, documenting the spirit that might soon be a memory. She wasn't there, of course. John knew that she hadn't shot a show in months. He picked up information here and there; she had started doing small personal shoots, engagements, graduations, simple things like that. The post boycott scene had taken its toll on everyone.

No one in the crowd seemed to notice that subpar bass quality. John made a mental note to talk to Nick about it. That would have to wait; Nick was fully involved in keeping the mosh pit under control. The last thing they needed was someone getting injured in the pit. John slipped back to his office, unable to capture the peace he usually found during a show. He worked on the schedule and accounts long after the sounds of the encore faded away.