I love Maggie Byrne.
At last, we part, and she whispers, “I don’t need a Maggie Day wish. I got what I wanted.”
I smile a real smile for the first time since arriving in Ireland, maybe for the first time here ever.
We share a slice of cake.
“This has to be the happiest Maggie Day I’ve ever had. Much better than any birthday.”
“But there’s more. It’s only just begun,” I say.
“I took an hour off work. I don’t think I should take any more time.”
“That’s okay. I have to go on a shopping spree because my coach packed light. You’ll have to help me. I’m looking for clothes that are—” My gaze trails the length of Minnie Maggie, sizing her up. “Well, your size.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
My shrug is pure innocence.
She cocks an eyebrow, “So you’re saying that you have a pet llama who wears my size clothing?”
I bend over with a laugh. “I like this playful side of you.”
With a giggle, she says, “It’s Official Maggie Day. I’m trying to let my hair down. But you can’t take me on a shopping spree.”
“I can,” I say with a wink. “Go on, get ready. I’ll have the car pick us up in thirty minutes.”
Her sigh in reply suggests she thinks that’s as appealing as falling in a fountain while dressed as Cinderella and having it captured on film. But she disappears to the adjacent flat nonetheless.
A half-hour later, I sweep Maggie into a day in Dublin. But first, we stroll through Howth along the harbor. Like the moon the night before, the sun sparkles on the water in the harbor.
When we reach the car, I say, “I’ve always liked it here. I’ll have to show you around later. It doesn’t seem like a whole lot has changed.”
“Why don’t we do that now instead of shopping?”
“But it’s Maggie Day.”
“I don’t need anything,” she counters.
“I came from the humblest beginnings and I want to spoil you.”
Her expression flickers like a candle guttering in an ill wind.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She gazes out the car window.
“Let me treat you. It makes me happy.”
She still doesn’t turn back to face me.
I lace my fingers around hers, drawing her away from whatever dimmed her light, and toward me.
At last, Maggie says, “It’s just that receiving this kind of attention isn’t easy for me. Birthdays are especially hard. In fact, I stopped telling people when mine was a long time ago.”
“But I knew,” I say, recollecting our phone passwords. “Does that mean you trust me?”
She bites her lip and nods.
