CHAPTER 21

HOME TO ROOST

It was in the year 2001 that I began the book I knew would be my opus. It was a semi-autobiographical novel about my first 22 years on this earth, mostly my time with Greg. I felt like I was finally in a place in my life where I could sit down and write it and not feel like slitting my wrists.

I was wrong.

The night that I sat down and wrote about meeting Greg was the night that Greg was admitted to the hospital in Princeton for an infarction in his leg. As I continued to write about my childhood relationship with Greg, he continued to fight for his life. I was drinking a lot of Margaritas to get me through this novel. A few weeks later, as I struggled with depression, Greg struggled with rehabilitation.

One night I went online and Googled Greg. I found the Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital site and clicked on staff and then Gregory House, M.D. His photo came up and I took a swig of Tequila straight out of the bottle. He was older, more wrinkled and he looked jaded. His hair was just barely going gray but he was clean shaven and there was no mistaking those blue eyes. I clicked off of the site, I couldn't take it. I went outside and drank myself silly. I passed out on my porch with a bottle of Tequila between my legs. Jack found me, carried me inside and put me to bed. I guess cowboys are used to people drinking themselves into oblivion because he never mentioned it.

I couldn't deal with the pain of writing the novel. I had to put it away for awhile. I started hiking in the Rockies and spent many an hour watching bear and elk run through the gorgeous pines and rivers. I was so incredibly disappointed with myself. It had been almost ten years and if I let myself think about Greg, I could still feel the pain. I had been with some wonderful men, men that any other woman would have gladly spent their lives with. I realized that I was probably going to be alone for the rest of my life. Greg would have Stacy and I would be this hermit living in a log cabin in the Rocky Mountains. I laughed. It was rather ironic, the irascible, mean and prickly Greg House would be the one to find love, and I would be the Diogenes of love, forever looking for that one honest man.

I put away the book and spent the next three years at the ranch, just mending fences, buying horses, running some cattle and photographing wildlife. Estes Park in the winter was a treat. The Elk came down from the high mountains and parked themselves like cattle in our front yard. I spent many an hour stroking and feeding them by hand. I found it amusing. During the summer tourists would park by the dozens on the side of the road in the Rocky Mountain National Park just to take a photo of Elk from several football fields away. However, if they came during the winter they could walk right up to them and pet them.

The Houses came out to see me almost every year. This year they came for Christmas. Blythe had told me almost a year ago that Greg had lost a part of his thigh muscle. I have to admit, I wish she hadn't told me. It worried me to death and I would wake up at nights wondering if he was okay. Finally, one night while we were clearing dishes and John was out with Jack taking care of the horses, I got up the courage to ask her.

"Blythe. How is Greg's leg?"

Blythe stopped and looked at me, her face contorted and she started crying. "He lost so much of his thigh muscle that he has to walk with a cane. Before she left, Stacy told me he was in constant pain. He's become addicted to Vicodin." Tears trickled down and then she took a deep breath to stop them from falling.

My stomach turned and I had to sit down at the table. I could see that it must be pretty bad if Blythe was crying. She rarely let her emotions get the better of her. I put my hand up to my mouth and stared off into the distance.

"You still love my son don't you?"

I looked up at her with tears in my eyes and finally admitted to her and to myself, "With all my heart." The tears fell slowly, "I always will Blythe. I know that you can love someone and not be good for each other, but it doesn't stop me from loving him. I'm sorry, I know you wanted one of us to find someone and have children so you could be a grandmother. I don't think I'll ever meet the man that will block out my love for Greg. I've tried. You know I've tried. Hell, I've gone to just about every continent to find that man. But I've loved Greg since the day he called me a moron."

Blythe chuckled and then sat down next to me, patting my shoulder, "I wish it had worked between the two of you. I know you would be there for him, helping him. Stacy left him. Oh, I have no doubt that Greg made it impossible for her to stay, but I've always thought she was just a little too fragile for him. It wasn't the same with you. I always thought he'd have to throw a grenade in the relationship, before you would leave him."

"He did." I nodded, "I feel awful that he doesn't have Stacy. I hate that he's going through this alone."

Blythe shook her head, "I think he wants to be alone. I think Greg has to get through his self-pity phase before anyone can be with him."

"Still, it hurts to know that he's in pain."

She nodded, bit her lip, came over and hugged me, "I love you Maggie. You would have been good for him."

Weeks after they went back to San Diego, I sat down one night and wrote Greg a letter,

Dear Greg,

It's been a long time and many life experiences since we were together. I hope the memories of those days bring you good thoughts and not bad. I want you to know that no matter where I go, I say prayers for you. I've prayed for you on Ben Nevis, the Grand Canal, Mt. Everest, Blarney Castle, Notre Dame, St. Paul's Cathedral and the Taj Majal. The prayer? That you be happy, that you be loved, and that you have someone who sits with their back to the piano.

Love Always,

Maggie May

I read the letter and asked myself, what did I hope to accomplish with it? Did I think it would bring him back to me? That he would love me after all these years? I tore it up and threw it away. I needed to stop praying for him and start praying for me.

In 2005 I went back to my novel in earnest. I cleared all the booze out of the house so that I wasn't tempted to repeat my Tequila Sundown. The novel was fiction, but if you had read it, you would have recognized that ninety percent of it was taken directly from my life. I changed Greg's name to George Hendrix and our home town from San Diego to El Toro, the home of the Marine Corp Base just south of Los Angeles. But it was a thin veil.

I finished it in May 2006 and sent it to my publisher and agent. I didn't hear from them for a few weeks and thought that I had probably been too close to the subject matter and it was crap. My publisher asked me to fly back to New York to see her. I arrived in May. Both my publisher and my agent took me to lunch. I knew I was in trouble.

"We have a problem, or maybe you have a problem." Cathy, the publisher paused and looked at my agent, Max, "This novel is going to be a number one best seller. You are going to be sought after by every talk show, every ivory league college and the entire literary world. This book is sad, poignant and incredibly romantic. It is going to be a hit on several levels. From a critical viewpoint, it is well written, compassionate, and is a great story of a journey. From a commercial view, it is hot, sexy, romantic, tragic and yet, strangely uplifting and funny. Now, here's the problem. We all know that this is semi-autobiographical. You are the heroine, Rachel Surrey, and the romantic lead is George. Well, from the way you write him, even I fell in love with George. He's a jerk, a bastard and a pig, but you have to love him. Well, millions of women are going to fall in love with George. He's going to be the next Heathcliff or Mr. Darcy. That means that someone is going to figure out that this is based on your life and they are going to figure out who George really is. Now, I'm not worried about your portrayal, legal says that we are ok. you've done enough to disguise him. But if the media finds him and starts harassing him, he might not like having his privacy invaded. We don't think he will be able to sue, but you better talk to him and let him know what he's in for before it broadsides him."

"You've got to be joking?" My jaw was down to my knees. "I haven't seen this man in sixteen years. He doesn't want to see me or have anything to do with me. He has a life without me in it. Please, can't you get your secretary to do this?"

"We think you need to talk to him."

I shook my head violently, "I get depressed just thinking about him, let alone having to actually talk to him. I can't do it."

"We go to press next year, I figure by November his life is going to be turned upside down." Cathy said. "By the way, what's his real name?"

"I'm not telling, not yet." They admonished me several times to talk to him and soon.

I went back to the hotel and threw myself onto the bed. I had a headache. I turned on CNN. I was staring at the ceiling when I heard the newscaster over my own thoughts, "...Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital by a disgruntled patient. No one is sure why, but we do know that he escaped and the police are asking for people to call in if they have any information on the whereabouts of Moriarty." The screen flashed the photo of a middle aged man, dark hair, slightly balding. "We go live to the scene."

The camera cut to a pleasant looking brunette standing outside the hospital. "All we know is that the doctor has been rushed to emergency with two gunshot wounds. One to the neck and one to the stomach. We haven't been informed of his condition yet. I have here one of the nurses that works with Doctor House. Can you tell us why this patient wanted to kill Dr. Gregory House?"