MAGPIE Read Free Page A

be set. I’d learned that, during a particularly bad spell, I could blow through a full bottle in no time. Since then, restraint and I had become friends…sort of.
    Placing the to-go container next to the stove, I took Cody for a quick walk around the block. The smell of the mouth-watering pasta lined our nostrils as soon as we stepped through the doorway, reminding me that I’d forgotten Cody’s food. I felt terrible, so I pulled out a single portion Angus-beef patty and defrosted it while I ate. Poor guy just stared at me in disbelief. I couldn’t help it; I was starving. In between bites, I fried the patty, leaving it mostly pink. I let it cool for a few minutes and placed it before the slobbering jowls that framed Cody’s sweet face.
    “Hope this makes up for it, buddy.” Cody, like most Labs, had no capacity for grudges.
    My phone buzzed, and I glanced to see who was texting,
    Today, 8:51 PM
    KATIE: Got the promotion!
    MAGS: Great Katie, really
    KATIE: Still grumpy?
    MAGS: No, just ate so I’m good
    KATIE: Mags, it’s going to be so amazing!
    MAGS: Then dinner thurs is a must, am thrilled for u!
    KATIE: What r u up to?
    MAGS: Gunna chk email then bed – u?
    KATIE: Out with friends to celebrate!
    MAGS: Ok, be safe
    KATIE: Thx MOM!
    MAGS: :) Nite
    That wasn’t so bad. Katie and I had finally figured out how to resolve our silly spats. Jack’s calm nature had an influence, I’m sure. He had a sixth sense about things, especially people. Gently inserting a comment or two (often one of his terrible jokes), he’d extinguish the heat between my baby sis and me, leaving us laughing at ourselves. I acknowledged him occasionally for his spot-on insights, but not enough. I didn’t do or say lots of things nearly enough. About two years ago, I quit asking God to give me five more minutes with him; now I just talk directly to Jack and leave God completely out of it.
    After being woken up so early, I was tired. Normally, I’d read for a bit, curled on my comfy sofa with Cody at my feet, a nice cup of chamomile tea and light jazz leavening the mood. That night, however, I skipped all that. A quick face wash and tooth brushing and I’d be ready to fall into bed, which I did with relish.
    Nearly asleep, I sat straight up, remembering the guy from Georgia. I never checked back to see if he responded to my message. I grabbed my iPad off the nightstand and turned it on. I’d downloaded the Match.com app on my phone but not this device, so I did it the old-fashioned way and entered the URL.
    “What the hell is my password?” I said out loud and rubbed my eyes as if that might help me recall the information I so desperately needed.
    “Why can’t this autofill like my fucking phone?” A funny thing happens when you live alone for a long time: Profanity flows like rain in spring.
    Finally, I entered the correct sequence of characters and noticed a red circle above “Messages,” which showed the number “1.” Tony and Katie were not available to open the message for me, and I fumbled for a few seconds wondering why it was so damn difficult to do it myself.
    “Okay, Maggie, just do it,” I whispered as though there were people in the house sleeping. The message was from setpnt58. I didn’t know when he sent it; Match doesn’t timestamp messages. I wondered if he waited to write it until he got home from work.
    No time like the present, as the notable “they” say,
    Dear MGroadie,
    It is clear to me from your gorgeous pictures that you are NOT grody. Only a fool would ask such a question. (So now you know one thing about me: I’m no fool.) My profile name is a reference to tennis, a sport I’ve played since college. I love it and attempt a game or two every week, weather permitting. Do you know what a “set point” is, MGroadie? (Will I ever know your real name?) You know my age from my profile, so you know I was born in 1958. Pretty simple. What if sixteen-hundred miles were 16? Would you care to meet?
    Have a