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Maggie always wanted a girl. It’s not that she doesn’t love Richie (she has too, he’s her child ), but she always yearned for a daughter. Someone pink and pretty, to go shopping with, to take out for ice cream. She tries with Richie, but he’s so standoffish towards her, hiding behind silly voices and impressions. She couldn’t tell you the first thing about her own son.
Still. At least she’s not Sonia Kaspbrak.
Maggie knows all the other moms from prenatal classes, bouncing on exercise balls with their swollen stomachs sticking out in front of them. Maggie remembers the little cliques that formed, herself, Andrea Uris, and Sharon Denbrough rhythmically bouncing as they complained about their husbands, the morning sickness, and the fact they could no longer see their own feet.
Sonia Kaspbrak stayed far away from them, one hand protectively on her stomach as she badgered the class leader about trapped wind and snot suckers.
Maybe Maggie should have tried harder. Should have reached out with cookies and coffee, a listening ear for Sonia’s fears about the baby not getting enough oxygen at birth, or tongue ties. Instead, she bitched to Andrea and Sharon about the price of diapers, what blinds worked best for a nursery, and how heartburn meant the baby had red hair.
And now Eddie Kaspbrak has a broken arm. God knows how much that costs in hospital fees. The Toziers aren’t poor by any means, but still. If Richie broke his arm, it would put a dent in their savings.
The basement laundry room is cold. She never normally does laundry this late, but it completely slipped her mind today. There had been food shopping this morning, and calling in on Wentsworth's mom who recently had a fall, and then making dinner. By the time that Maggie remembered that the laundry was still in the washing machine, it was pitch black outside.
Maggie stamps her feet in her slippers, trying to get some feeling back into her toes. The slippers were a present from Wentworth, along with a matching robe. She’d have much preferred a gift card to a mall of her choice, but Wentworth is into practical presents. It’s a miracle he didn’t present her with toothpaste and a note about flossing.
She hates this room. It’s too cold, too creepy. She knows that the Denbroughs keep their odds and ends in the basement, away from Bill and G-.
Maggie swallows, collecting the clean laundry into the basket. She mustn’t think about it. She mustn’t remember.
The basement stairs creak as she walks up them, holstering the basket on her hip. She used to carry Richie like this, talking to him in the way you were supposed to talk to babies. He used to try and pull her earrings out of her ears, fascinated by the sparkle. It’s why she only wears studs now, the fear of small sticky hands.
Wentworth is sitting in his chair by the television when she passes the living room.
“Washerwoman!” He calls. “How much do your services cost?”
“Nothing you could afford,” Maggie says, and he laughs, turning his attention back to The Young Ones.
She thinks their relationship is good. Not like Andrea and Don, who still act like high school sweethearts, but there’s still a spark between them. Sharon and Zack apparently sleep in separate bedrooms now, but she doesn’t like to pry and ask.
Maggie checks the laundry basket. A lot of Richie’s shirts and socks need to be sorted and folded. Richie’s old enough to be doing his own laundry, but Maggie doesn’t like asking him. He’s been strange recently, stranger than usual. Maggie totes it up to the recent happenings in Derry, but she can sense there’s something else.
Maggie walks up the stairs towards Richie’s room. He’s been spending a lot more time outside, which she’s grateful for. There are all things in the papers about children locked inside their rooms playing video games, but Maggie’s seen less of Richie this summer than Bigfoot. She’s quietly pleased that he’s spending time with friends, no matter how odd they are.
She can’t believe he’s friends with the Marsh girl. She remembers when the Marsh’s rolled into town, smelling like cigarette smoke and despair. Her mom was a skinny thing, could never look you in the eye. She once didn’t have enough money at Walmart to pay for cough medicine, and Maggie had paid the tab for her, telling Elfrida not to worry about it. She doesn’t think Elfrida ever paid her back.
The funeral had been a quiet affair, but Maggie remembers little baby Beverly, with unbrushed hair and red-rimmed eyes getting into the funeral wagon. Her heart hurts thinking about it. She wishes she’d reached out. Why hadn’t she?
Richie’s bedroom door is shut, and Maggie takes a moment to look at the stickers that he’s plastered all over it. SINGLE & READY TO MINGLE, MINE IS USED IS YOURS, I’M A CABBAGE PATCH KID, GIRL SCOUTS ON PARADE. Oh, to be thirteen and not worry about politics.
She raises her hand to knock at Richie’s door and pauses. She can hear voices, Richie’s yes, but someone else. Eddie.
Maggie checks her watch on her right hand. It’s late – too late to have friends over. Still, it’s not like she’s been enforcing the rules recently, not in the summertime. Truth be told, both she and Wentworth have been letting Richie run wild this year.
She remembers being thirteen once, angry at her parents, angry at the world. She remembers one fight where she stormed out of the house and walked the Derry streets at night, kicking her way through puddles.
Something had called her name through the darkness. A high-pitched giggle of a voice, promising fun and games.
She’d run all the way back home, unable to shake off the feeling of something running after her. Maggie didn’t have keys to her front door, so she’d climbed through the window, heart pounding in her chest.
It’s strange, the things that scare you as a child.
Maggie presses her ear to Richie’s bedroom door. She supposes this would constitute spying, but she’s not going to be investigated by the FBI anytime soon.
“Tell me a joke” Eddie Kaspbrak says. He sounds desperate, like he’s hanging off a cliff edge, and Richie is the only one who can save him.
“Knock, knock,” Richie says. His voice hasn’t broken yet, and Maggie can still hear the little kid behind it.
“Who’s there?” Eddie says. Maggie thinks he might have been crying.
“Little old lady”
“Little old lady, who?”
“Hey, I didn’t know you could yodel,” Richie says, and Maggie smiles.
She taught Richie that joke. He used to think it was the funniest thing in the world, hysterically giggling before he could even get to the punchline.
“Nother one,” Eddie says.
“What’s the difference between a pickpocket and a peeping tom?”
“What?” Eddie asks.
“One snatches your watch; the other watches your snatch.”
Maggie definitely didn’t teach him that joke.
Eddie laughs at that. “Keep going.”
“What do you call someone who refuses to fart in public?”
“If you say me-“ Eddie starts, but Richie interrupts.
“A private tutor.”
Both boys burst into laughter, which is quickly muffled by either a pillow or a hand. Maggie can’t believe that toilet humour still amuses her son, but it’s good to hear him laughing, Eddie too.
Maggie likes Eddie, she thinks he’s sweet. He’s always polite when they cross paths, and she knows he’s good at his schoolwork. She’s been praying for years that he’ll rub off on Richie, but it doesn’t seem to have happened yet.
“Knock knock,” Richie says again.
“What?” Eddie says. “I mean, who’s there?”
“Orange.”
“Orange who?” Eddie asks.
“Orange you glad we have each other?”
Maggie pulls away from the door. That’s a joke that Wentworth tells her whenever she comes back from grocery shopping, normally accompanied by a kiss. Maggie wishes she could open Richie’s bedroom door and look at the two boys, but she can’t –
She’s concerned about what she might see.
Not that she’s homophobic – She’s never even thought about it before. She knows she has a cousin in New York who likes women, but she’s never discussed it. She hasn’t even spoken to Wentworth to hear her husband’s opinion.
Maggie’s sure he’ll be fine. It’s Wentworth. He likes everyone. But does he?
Maggie tries to think if they’ve ever seen two men in public before. Not in Derry. Nothing like this ever happens in Derry.
She adjusts the laundry basket, carries it into her bedroom and sets it on the bed. Richie’s socks look up at her from the top of the pile, still unsorted. She picks one up and turns it right-side-out.
Maggie sits down on the duvet, smoothing it out with her hands. She thinks about Eddie Kaspbrak and his broken arm.
It would be fine, she thinks quietly to herself, if what she overheard was true. She won’t say anything to Richie, but she’ll be welcoming.
Maybe everything will be okay.