New Year's Resolution

Part Thirteen

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Part Thirteen

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Margaret had returned from a day's work at the bookstore to an empty apartment with a note from Edith that she was out with Max and would not be home until late. If there was one good thing about confessing the whole sad truth to Edith, it was that she no longer attempted to persuade Margaret to come out of a Friday night to hit the town and 'cheer up'.

It seemed like the ideal night to curl up in her favourite pair of track pants (the ones which were at least two sizes too large) with her tattered, well-loved copy of Jane Austen's Persuasion. She thumbed through it, rereading her favourite scenes and lost herself in the story of Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth. Finally she reached her favourite part, the letter. Only in books, she thought sadly, did the letter seem to work – she knew that through bitter experience. Then she shook her head, resolutely trying to push all such thoughts out of her head, trying to concentrate solely on Captain Wentworth's beautiful, heartfelt words:

'I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it–'

There was a knock at the door, interrupting Margaret in her reread. She sighed, somewhat irritated at the timing. There was a second knocking, sounding more frantic this time. Margaret rolled her eyes – why Edith was back again so early she didn't know, but it seemed she had forgotten her key again. Taking her time, Margaret reluctantly got up from the couch, copy of Persuasion still in hand. Grumbling under her breath, she opened the door.

John Thornton was there. Her brain froze.

The man she'd been longing for a word from or glimpse of for months, the man who invaded her thoughts far too often. He was here, and he was standing on her doorstep in his office clothes, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

For maybe as long as a minute, they both simply stood staring at each other, but then John's eyes dropped to her chest. Margaret flushed with embarrassment as she realised she was wearing the T-shirt Edith had once given her as a joke, the one with the words 'STOP STARING AND TOUCH THEM ALREADY' emblazoned in bold letters right across the front. Clearing her throat, she hastily crossed her arms across her chest and somehow managed to open the door wider at the same time to admit him.

Red-faced, he complied, following her into the same room where he had proposed so many months ago. Margaret was somewhat relieved that he seemed to feel as discomfited as she did, but he still had the advantage over her in knowing what he had come for. For the first time in months a shoot of hope sprung up in her heart, but she quashed it fiercely. She had heard for herself John's cold voice as he had said that he would initiate the divorce proceedings. Nobody who had heard him could have imagined that he could possibly care for her, even a little.

She darted a glance at John, who was twisting his hands about in his lap and who seemed to be working up the nerve to say something. Comprehension dawned. 'You want me to sign them, don't you?' she said flatly, and he looked up at her suddenly, his eyes clouded with uncertainty.

Margaret sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. The fact that he seemed so concerned about hurting her feelings even now was painful, causing her heart to beat thick with longing, making her only love him the more for it. 'You needn't look so worried,' she said tiredly, trying to smile, but not quite succeeding. 'I won't cause a fuss – I'll just sign everything so that we can get this over with.' She looked around curiously for a briefcase or something which he might have the divorce papers in, but he appeared to have come empty-handed. 'Do you have the papers with you?'

He had been watching her with wide eyes the whole time she had been speaking, and with every word his face had grown paler. Finally he spoke, his voice sounding utterly despondent. 'You've... you've changed your mind?' For a second he dropped his forehead to his hand, but then taking a deep breath he stood. 'Fine,' he said in a hollow voice, 'if that's what you want, we'll do it.'

He turned as if to leave, but Margaret stopped him with a forceful hand on his arm. 'What are you talking about, John?' She was tired, she was confused, she was angry and she was sick to death of being thrown into emotional turmoil by him. 'When have I changed my mind? And when have you ever asked me if this is what I want?'

For a moment he looked taken aback, but then he shook his head. 'What else am I supposed to think?' he muttered dejectedly, determinedly not looking at her. 'When I found your letter, I –'

'Obviously didn't care much, since you never answered or spoke a single word to me until now,' Margaret interjected heatedly, glaring daggers at him because it was the only way she could prevent herself from doing what she really wanted, which was to break down and cry her eyes out.

He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. 'I only found it an hour ago,' he said softly.

Suddenly the room seemed deafeningly quiet, and Margaret's hands began to tremble. When he next spoke she hung onto his every word, heart in her mouth. 'I finally decided that I had to do what was right by you and give you the divorce you had seemed to want. I'd been avoiding sending off the divorce papers for the past three months–'

Margaret's eyes widened. 'I thought you'd find it the next day,' she defended weakly.

John ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky laugh. 'In that case, you chose the worst possible place to leave it.' He stepped closer, a tentative smile emerging on his face. 'You're talking to the man who was so desperate to avoid those papers that he slept in the guest bedroom in his own house.'

'That day when I brought up the divorce,' Margaret said softly, the tears she had been fighting ever since she had seen him on her doorstep now welling up into her eyes, 'it was to confess that I didn't want one.'

John swore softly under his breath. He stepped closer still until she could feel the heat radiating from him and was able to clearly see her own reflection in his pupils. 'I think we're going to have to make a list,' he said quietly, 'of ten reasons why I deserve a huge kick in the bum.' He slowly, hesitantly brought a hand up to her face, caressing her temple with his thumb.

She leaned into his touch, a single tear slipping down her face as she closed her eyes. 'That is possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,' she smiled.

When she opened her eyes, he was close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her lips. His eyes were dark with longing and his voice when it came was rather unsteady. 'Margaret,' he whispered hoarsely, 'please come home with me.'

In reply she simply closed the distance between them to bring her lips to his.

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THE END

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