John
There were butterflies in his stomach as he rang the doorbell, which didn't make much sense. He'd come to the Hale's plenty of times before, rang the doorbell in exactly the same way. There was no reason for this time to be any different. But he wasn't fooling himself, he knew why he was nervous. He smoothed down the front of his pinstriped maroon button up as he waited for someone to answer the door.
Dinner was delicious, simple but tasteful. Mr. Hale boasted about Maggie's talents as a chef when John complimented the meal. It made him smile to imagine her in the kitchen, putting so much effort into something she knew he would eat. The conversation flowed easily, with only a few awkward moments. For all their differences, the Hale's and the Thornton's had a lot in common. A love of music, of course, but also other interests and hobbies. John and Maggie were able to joke about their childhoods, and she seemed fascinated as he talked about his adventures in the woods with his childhood friends.
After dinner, they adjourned to the music room, sipping on wine, chatting, and fiddling around on the piano. It was revealed that Maggie played the cello, but she cried off an impromptu performance with the excuse that she was tired from cooking all day. She curled up in a chair in the corner, absentmindedly plucking at the strings of her father's mandolin while John and her father discussed ticket sales and profit margins.
He noticed that the soft music she had been playing stopped and saw when he glanced over that Maggie had dozed off, her head precariously positioned on the side of the chair. Smiling, he said to Mr. Hale, "I think we're boring Maggie over here with our business talk."
At the sound of her name, Maggie startled awake. "Oh no, I'm sure it's riveting" she responded, "I'm just a little sleepy. It's the heat, I think. Would you like a drink? I was thinking some lemonade sounded refreshing." At John and Mr. Hale's acceptance, she went to the kitchen to get the drinks. As she handed John his, their fingers brushed, sending sparks up his arm. He looked up quickly, to see if Maggie was similarly affected, but she swiftly turned away, walking back to her chair. He wondered if he'd imagined the flash of recognition in her eyes, before she withdrew.
Maggie
Becca and Nick had given up on "easing her in slowly" and decided to take her to one of the quintessential Atlanta places for lunch, according to them, at least. "Now," Becca was saying as they walked from The Mill to the restaurant. "This isn't one of those places that you want to eat at all the time, or even that often at all."
"Or ever," Nick cut in. He had been doing some work on the lights at The Mill, taking advantage of the lull between shows to do a few upgrades. "It's not a place you really go for enjoyment, it's more the experience that's important. So, don't focus on the food, or the weird feeling in your stomach, just soak in the atmosphere."
None of that sounded very appetizing to Maggie. She had to be honest, they weren't doing a very good job selling her on this place. Wary as they walked through the door, she examined the restaurant. It was a normal kind of retro style drive in hot dog place, with a greasy smell and an old school vibe. Overall, nothing too menacing. It was a little loud and a little crowded, but the line moved fast. Becca insisted on ordering for her, so Maggie just stepped back to appreciate "the experience."
As they sat down with their food, Nick tore into his chili doused hotdog with a groan. "I'm going to regret this. Damn you, Maggie, we only eat here with new friends and visitors." He said, devouring his hotdog.
Becca laughed, "Don't blame anyone but yourself, Nicholas, you choose your own order and always get the same thing, no matter what the end result is." She turned to Maggie. "So, the old bulldog is coming over for a real dinner this time, huh?"
Swallowing the surprisingly tasty bite of her hotdog, Maggie responded, "I guess. I actually need to get home soon to start cooking dinner."
Nick had already polished off his own meal and was in the process of sneaking some of Becca's onion rings. "I'd better get back to work, too, while there's still work to be had."
With a confused glance at Becca's suddenly disheartened face, Maggie asked Nick, "What do you mean?"
"Well, business has been slow lately, and the owners are squabbling among themselves, making the whole situation worse." He sighed. "There's been talk of a boycott among the scene, though I don't know how much good that would do."
Maggie wasn't sure she understood. "Wouldn't the owners want to do whatever is needed in order to bring more shows to the city?" She'd heard murmurs among Becca and her friends, and from her father, of problems within the concert industry, but hadn't quite connected that with how it could affect her friends and even her family.
Shaking his head, Nick said, "the problem is, we disagree with the owners on what even is the best thing to do. The whole music industry is changing, Maggie. There's more money to be made than ever, but we have to be willing to change with it. Everything is going digital, even the music itself. But people can't afford these outrageous ticket prices, and if they keep rising then there won't be anyone left able to buy them. And guess what happens when no one buys tickets?"
"No one books any shows." The thought was disheartening, both as a concert junkie and a photographer. She also thought of John, and her father, and the roadies, bartenders, and bouncers she had met so far. If the downturn in the concert business continued, it would have far reaching consequences.
The turn in the conversation put them all in a somber mood. It was with these things on her mind that she walked into her parents' house. She wasn't prepared for the chaos that greeted her there. Her mom was in a tizzy, fretting over the drabness of the curtains and the state of the carpet. And aunt Dixie, who had arrived late the night before, was adding to the pony show.
Dixie was standing on a stool, trying to pull down the curtain rod. "I don't know what is so important about this man that we have to go through all this trouble. From what I understand, he's been here loads of times. Beyond all that, he's just a businessman. Who is he that we need to roll out the red carpet?" She said with a huff, finally wrenching the rod loose and almost tumbling to the floor in the process.
"Ah, well," Mrs. Hale stammered, trying to find a valid excuse for her anxiety.
Maggie interrupted, "He's father's friend, and he's been very kind to us since the move." She was trying to be as gracious as possible, though she herself was asking the same kinds of questions as her aunt Dixie.
That apparently was an invitation to pursue the subject. "The move, indeed. Why your father felt the need to drag your mother down to this cesspool in the first place, I'll never understand. For the weather! For the doctors! A trip to the seaside would have worked just as well, and as if we don't have world class doctors at our finger tips, and easy car ride away in Boston. I'll have you know, people back home have been saying your father has all but lost his mind!" Once Dixon got started on a tirade, it took an act of God to stop her.
It wasn't quite an act of God, but as Maggie's already foul mood heightened, it was a force to be reckoned with. "Dixie! I know you are like family to my mother, but I will not let you talk like that about my father, especially not in his own home. He is just doing what he thinks is best for his family, and we support him. If you are indeed a part of this family, you will not speak like that again." With that, Maggie whirled around and made her way into the kitchen to get started on dinner.
John
Mrs. Hale and her friend Mrs. Dixon meandered into the room, having been in the front room chatting, after saying that Mrs. Hale preferred to enjoy the piano music from afar. John hadn't quite gotten a good read on this Mrs. Dixon, and he hadn't been expecting an extra person at dinner. Maggie explained earlier that 'aunt Dixie', as she called her, had come to stay for a while. John wondered privately how long 'a while' was, since he wasn't overly fond of the woman so far, finding her strangely aloof and uppity. He tried not to be too quick to judgement, though.
"I was telling just John, Maria, how much we appreciated the new paint in the front room." Mr. Hale said to his wife as she settled in on an ottoman stacked with pillows.
Mrs. Hale smiled, "Oh yes, it's just the perfect shade of blue. It almost reminds me of the color of our living room back home. Such an improvement over the previous color, for sure."
Cutting in, Mrs. Dixon said, "Yes, but not quite like your old living room. This one is a little a grayer, I think, and not nearly as bright."
Something about the tone of this statement rubbed John the wrong way, but he tried to shrug it off, saying to Mrs. Hale, "Well, I am glad that at least something in our fair city could remind you of home."
"You like living here very much, then, it seems," Mrs. Hale said, looking as if she couldn't imagine why. "Richard has been enjoying it as well, I know. You're all very busy, very industrious, not at all like life in the countryside back home."
As if being industrious is something frowned upon, thought John. Out loud he responded, "True, I prefer to be occupied with something that I feel is worthwhile. I can't imagine going back to the slow days of country life."
Maggie perked up at that, looking irritated. "So, you think there is nothing worthwhile to be done in the country? I bet you feel the same way about all of the north, too. Meanwhile you southerners with your guns and your profits, thinking you're so superior all the while."
The outburst seemed to come out of nowhere, though John wondered if it was something that had been brewing for a while. Maybe they were getting to the bottom of their disagreements with each other. "I feel like it's safe to say you don't know much about the south. You want to lump us all together as a bunch of gun toting fanatics, but we are not all the same." He wasn't sure he liked the way this conversation was going, but he intended to explore these opinions she held, if only for his own benefit.
"Oh, aren't you? I've seen your brutality in action at The Mill, you think you can take justice into your own hands!"
He tried to control his anger as it flared at her accusations. "No, that's not true—"
"You have all the power and the money," she cut him off, "You're lucky that you haven't had to endure the hardships that some have, but that doesn't give you the right to be judge and executioner!"
John felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head and struggled to catch his breath for a moment. His thoughts scattered, while he considered standing up, walking out, and never returning to this house again. But he didn't want to do that to Mr. Hale and thought he should at least try to resolve this situation peacefully. So, he took a deep breath and prepared himself to reveal a part of him that he preferred to keep hidden deep inside.
Maggie
Between making dinner and helping Dixie finish up cleaning the house, Maggie was exhausted before the evening began. She wondered to herself why her father had made these plans, why he wasn't content just having Thornton over as a pupil to play piano. Then she felt guilty, realizing that he had also left all of his friends and acquaintances in New England, just as she had.
As she got cleaned up after cooking all afternoon, she made the mistake of looking at her laptop. Buried within multiple emails from Henry, she found a response to her earlier message to Eden.
Oh Maggie. If you would just answer our messages and calls, I'm sure we could sort this whole thing out. This must be some insane misunderstanding between you and Henry. He's mega upset but won't talk to me or even his brother about it. You're missing some of the best shows of the season! I'm sure nothing in Atlanta can compare to the stellar lineup we have this year. Did you hear we got a puppy? We named him Sholto, it's a name I heard while we were in Scotland last year. Isn't it perfect? I'm attaching a picture, so you can see how well it fits him! Please come home, Maggie. Mama was very upset that you missed my housewarming party. I'm sure she'd forgive you if you came back in time to help pick out the colors for the laundry room. XOXO Eden
A disagreement. That was putting it lightly. She supposed she understood why Henry didn't want to tell them the trust of the matter and didn't think it was her place to set the story straight. If he would just stop emailing her so she could use her computer without being accosted by new messages, that would be great. This day was shaping up to be fabulously awful; she didn't have high hopes for the evening, either.
It was with this sour attitude that she went down for dinner after John arrived. He looked dashing, unfortunately, as always. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn't so damn good looking. In fact, he looked even better than normal, if that were possible, the red in his shirt offsetting the cool blue of his eyes. And there was something about his hair, she couldn't put her finger on it, but it looked different somehow. Whatever it was, it worked for him, as he was distractingly good looking all through dinner.
A warm and full belly lulled her into a sense of peacefulness as she curled into her corner chair, until she heard John saying her name. She was so exhausted but forced herself awake in order to play the good hostess, at least for her father's sake. When she handed John his drink and their fingers brushed, she jumped back as if she'd been burned. That's not good, she thought, noticing that he had felt it, too. She was wide awake now.
After her mother and aunt Dixie came in, as she fought with John, she wasn't sure why she was being so combative. Later that night she would try to explain it away as exhaustion, a rough day, but in truth her father's friend brought out the worst in her. As she wielded her words like weapons, she didn't have the time or presence of mind to explore the reasoning behind that. She just went for the kill, throwing all of her frustration that had been building up for weeks, at the easy target in front of her.
So, when John visibly struggled to reign in his temper, she was almost disappointed. It would have been so satisfying to make this a fight to the death, like a dam finally breaking, leaving whole neighborhoods devastated in its floodwaters. Sometimes it just felt good to let it all out, lay it on the table and see what you can make of it. Apparently, John felt the same way, since he took a deep breath and began his story in a low, controlled voice. The waters of this dam were dark and expansive, and Maggie wondered what would be left behind when they were all set free.