Grimm's Last Fairy Tale (7 page)

“I’m not sorry that I love you; I’m not sorry that I told you; I’m just sorry that you are not ready to be loved,” was all he could say before vanishing.

Maggie looked around, but soon realized he was gone—really gone. She ran back into her room and threw herself on her bed and began to sob. The furry Mr.’s prowled around, loudly voicing their concern for her. She did not know how long she slept, but she awoke from that slumber not knowing what planet she was on. Once she regained her faculties, she recounted the conversation that had thrown her into this state. She went to her desk, grabbed all of her scraps of writing, and packed them back into the wicker box and tucked them safely under her bed. She had had enough of this. It wasn’t worth it anymore.

“He’s probably not even real. Just some trick my mind is playing on me as a coping mechanism. Love has always let me down and I’m just conjuring up this spirit in order to believe that love can exist. Well, that doesn’t mean that I have to give in to the delusion. My life was going along just swell; fine as frog fur; hunky-dory; just ducky, thank you! I don’t need some imaginary boyfriend invading the sanctity of my space and monopolizing my time. I’ve got better things to do. I’m in the autumn of my life—the springs and summers of carefree love have passed and gone and I now have other more noble pursuits; loftier things to accomplish. I have my children and grandchildren to think about: my volunteer work; my job at the bookstore. I really don’t have time for this nonsense. I mean it.”

“Have you finished with your little tirade?”

Maggie gasped and spun around on her heels to find herself face to face with the very specter she was denouncing.

“What are you doing here? You aren’t supposed to come unless I beckon for you. That’s the rules, right? You told me that. I should report you! Were you just lying like every other man I’ve known?”

“I sincerely and humbly apologize for popping in unannounced, but I have to make one last attempt to reason with you, woman.”

Maggie just crossed her arms in front of her chest and took the most belligerent of stances. She was clearly ready for combat that would result in the final eviction of this phantom who had invaded her sanity.

“Look here, Margaret . . .”

“That’s Ms. Austen to you!”

This statement made her dizzy. Was she really commanding a figment of her imagination? Why didn’t she just ‘think’ him away? She squinted her eyes and pursed her lips and knitted her brow and thought to herself, “Get thee behind me! Get thee behind me!” until it became an audible chant.

“Fine! Ms. Austen, I adore you and as much as you would like to talk yourself out of something you clearly believe you may have dreamed up, I have to state emphatically for the record that I am real. I exist. I am just sadly in a different state of being. Oh, that I could make myself physically real for you. You would have no defense. I want to be with you, in whatever way we can. Do you understand this? Do you think so little of yourself that you believe that you are to blame for the distasteful behavior of the men who have come and gone before me? Do you attribute their thoughtlessness to anything you’ve done or not done? Ms. Austen, there is nothing you could have done differently to bring about another outcome. They were cads—and they were brilliant at it. You could not have known how things would have turned out. They saw to that with their criminally clever schemes. They hurt you, but I will not. I promise you that. Margaret Naomi Austen, I would never do anything to harm you or your feelings in any way. I wish you could believe me. I will do whatever you ask. I am your faithful servant. What can I do more to convince you of this? Please, bid me do anything.”

Silent tears riveted their way down Maggie’s cheeks and fell to the floor. She could not speak. When she finally tried, it was more convulsive than eloquent. Between sobs, she was able to blurt out random words.

“I . . . don’t . . . think . . . I . . . can . . . do . . . this. I’m . . . just not . . . that strong.”

Jacob approached her with and looked deeply and without guile or fear into her puffy red eyes.

“I am going to leave you now. I can see that this was a mistake I should never have made. This is too much on you and my love for you far exceeds my need to spend time with you. I care for you far too much to hurt you like this. I want you to try and enjoy the rest of your life. Find someone who can give you what you need. Better yet, let him find you. But that means you’ll have to get out there—to make yourself available—more so than you do now. You deserve the best and I know you are scared, but you must not let that stop you from trusting again. There are good men out there. Please believe me. Be happy. Goodbye, dearest Margaret.”

“Wait, Jacob, I have a question,” Maggie gulped back her nearly uncontrollable sobs long enough to blurt out. “What is the circumstance under which you can touch me? You said it was conditional. What conditions?”

“It’s not important right now. Just know this. If you ever need someone . . . anyone . . . I’ll be here in an instant. Just call.”

Maggie might have wondered what that meant, but she was completely done in from the emotionality of the day that had only begun. Though it was still early, she plopped into bed, fully dressed and teeth un-brushed, and was very shortly thereafter sound asleep. She slept through until later afternoon and kicked herself the rest of the day for doing so. She puttered around, doing odds and ends until bedtime and then crawled into bed sure she wouldn't sleep, but she did. It was the last good night’s sleep she would have for a very long time.

in which our heroine begins to question her dismissive behaviors, experiences the resulting pain, and wakes up somewhere she oughtn't to be

Maggie had trouble getting through the following day. It was a Monday and that could have been enough to make it difficult, but the thought of not seeing Jacob again and the terrible manner in which the estrangement occurred, made this one particularly troublesome.

As the week progressed, she was becoming increasingly disconnected—almost disoriented. She didn’t much care about the books. She certainly didn’t care to write. She wasn’t eating right or sleeping right and it was beginning to take its toll.

When she was able to catch some sleep, there were the nightmares; the looking over her shoulder constantly; the inconsolable pain. When she would crawl into bed, too soon after getting home from work, she would toss and turn and the furry guys would prowl around with her. They would curl up on her chest to sleep, attempting to comfort her. It felt like nothing could break the spell.

In the old days, she would pull out her Grimm’s Fairy Tales and get lost in them. But that no longer worked. She went so far as to hide her volume under the mattress. Out of sight should have been out of mind, but that wasn’t working.

Her patrons began to notice a change in her. They worried about the state she seemed unable to pull herself from. She was losing weight, but she attributed that to the erratic eating and sleeping schedule she was living by. Finally, nausea joined the growing list of complaints.

Maggie found herself doubled over one day at work. It had been a quiet day except for the scurrying and chirping of Hemingway the cat in her attempt to catch some sort of creepy crawly thing. Maggie tried to call a few people, but no one was answering. She finally determined that this needed to be addressed and turned the sign to closed, shut off the computer and lights, and tried feebly to get to her car. Her mission fell short and she collapsed in the parking lot.

“I understand. Dr. Thomas is actually here in the hospital and I know he would like to talk to you. It shouldn’t be but a few minutes.”

“Yes, of course, thank you.”

The nurse took her little ray of nurturing sunshine out of the room, leaving it a little gloomy. The minutes crawled until Dr. Thomas finally sat at her bedside.

“Miss Austen, how are you? I’m so glad to see you awake. What do you remember?”

“I remember my stomach hurting this morning at work. I closed up the shop and tried to get to my car. What is it? What’s the matter with me?”

“Well, first of all, that was not this morning. That was three days ago. You were touch and go there for a little while.”

“How did I even get here?”

“That’s the odd part. We found you lying on the sidewalk just outside the ER. We heard banging on the windows and when the orderlies went outside, there you were. There was a note pinned to your shirt giving us your name and asking us to take good care of you. It was written in the most elaborate handwriting. Do you know why someone would get you to the sidewalk and then just leave? Are you in an abusive relationship?”

Maggie felt a sob working its way up through her throat.

“No, not abusive, and, yes, I have some idea who might have done it. I have a friend. He’s from out of the area. He is a little eccentric and mysterious to say the least. I’m awfully glad he found me and brought me here, though I don’t know how I’ll ever pay for it.”

“That’s no problem. He left an envelope of money—enough to care for you and still take plenty home. I took the liberty of putting it in a safe in the president's office. I hope that's alright with you. Miss Austen, you will need taken care of, I’m afraid.”

“What is it? What’s wrong with me? Do I have a virus or something?”

“I wish it were that simple actually. You had some internal bleeding. It seems you have an ulcer and have had for some time. Were you aware of it? I don't find any reference to it in your medical records. I don't find much at all, actually.

“I’m not sure that I want one. I am not a big proponent of aggressive treatments that generally render you more damaged than they do you good.”

“I understand, but I must tell you that this is a very aggressive cancer and you are in stage three. Unless we do something, you could go very quickly. Do you have family?”

“I have more family than you could ever possibly have conceived of, if you'll pardon the pun. They have lives of their own now. I have 10 grandchildren so far.”

“Husband?”

“No husband. Two ex-husbands. We really don’t need to bring that up, do we?”

“I understand, but a brood like that, I would think you would want to be around for the kids? What exactly is going on here? I don’t mean to pry, and you certainly have the right to choose, but I just can’t imagine not trying to stick around for my family.”

“I know I must sound so selfish to you. I’m sure this is difficult to understand. It’s just that I have done a great job of raising them and they are all so self-sufficient and to be perfectly honest with you, I’m worn out. Life has been more of a chore lately than a joy.”

“You need someone to talk to. I’m going to schedule you with a friend of mine. He is a great listener.”

“Translation: head doctor. I’m not nuts. There are many who chose not to take heroic measures. This is all very new to me. Ten minutes ago, I didn’t know I was even sick. Why don’t you just give me a few days to absorb all of this and process through it? Then I’ll make a decision.”

“I get the feeling, Miss Austen, that you are dismissing me. Don’t you have any questions for me before I go?”

“How long?”

“As I said, this is very aggressive. The fact that it got to Stage 3 without you really knowing anything about it tells me that. I would give you six months to a year without treatment—longer with.”

“How will I go?”

“That is hard to determine. This type of cancer can metastasize, but right now it is isolated. You will become increasingly weak, have difficulty swallowing and eating. You will be tired. Eventually your body will just give out.”

“There is a slim chance that treatment will be effective, but a chance nonetheless. Please speak with Dr. Bentley before you make any decisions. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“I want to go home. Can you make that happen? I have cats that haven’t eaten in three days.”

“Your cats are fine. We found a note with you that said they would be cared for. I actually would like for you to stay for just a couple of day more so that we can give you some more IV fluids and get your strength back up. I could have Dr. Bentley come see you this afternoon. Will you speak with him?”