Chapter 20
Maggie's phone rang in the gloom, waking Maggie from a fitful sleep. The black iPhone added its incessant beep to the rhythmic thumping in Maggie's skull.
Ugh, too much wine and too much drama, Maggie thought as she collapsed out of her bunk. She was still wrapped in her heavy quilt as she scooped the phone up out of its charger and tried to read the screen with blurry eyes. She stabbed at it, hoping to make it stop its irritating chirp.
“Hello?” a small voice said from the phone. Maggie had accidentally answered it.
“Hello?” Maggie said, bringing the phone to her ear. “Rachael?” she asked.
“Yes. Morning. Did I wake you?” Rachael asked.
“Yes.” Maggie was too groggy to lie. It was only then that Maggie realized that the rhythmic thumping wasn't in her skull, but outside her cabin. It was raining. Hard.
“Sorry, but I have the coroner's report in front of me. I figured you'd rather be woken up than wait.”
“Yes... yes!” Maggie slowly began to understand what Rachael was talking about. “What does it say?”
“You were right: no signs of pregnancy.”
“There you go. So much for your tell-all on Senator Hadian.” Maggie unwrapped herself from her quilt and sat down on the galley bench.
“Well, it was a nice dream while it lasted.”
“It was.”
“But here's the wrinkle that's really going to tighten the screws on your hangover: they ran Meerkat's prints off her body. There was a hit in the FBI database. Meerkat's real name wasn't Joanna Church, but Rebbecca Oldrich.”
“What?” That woke Maggie up.
“Yes, and there's an outstanding warrant – well, was an outstanding warrant – in Arizona on two counts of vehicular homicide. She skipped bail.”
Maggie was still processing. Her brain was too fuzzy to keep up. “Wait, what? Homicide?”
“Vehicular. Drunk driving. I don't have the details yet, I'll have Peter pull it up when he wakes up.”
“I don't understand,” Maggie was thinking out loud. “Meerkat wasn't really Meerkat? She wasn't even Joanna Church?”
“I guess?”
“Then who's Joanna Church?”
Maggie could almost hear Rachael shrug on the other end of the phone.
“I said this wasn't going to help your headache.”
“And you were right,” Maggie said, leaning up against the table and putting her forehead in her hand. “Do you feel as bad as me?”
“Worse,” Rachael groaned. “I got home and drank another bottle. Peter found me passed out on the couch after midnight with Casablanca blaring on the TV. He had to carry me to bed.”
“About -” Maggie started quickly.
“I'm sorry,” Rachael interrupted.
“No, don't be sorry. I was stupid. We were drunk.”
There was a pause, then Rachael unexceptionably snorted with laughter.
“Stop laughing,” Maggie scolded.
“No, no. It's just... those damn shoes.”
“I didn't intend it to be a prank.”
“No, but...” Rachael sighed. “Maggie, don't take this the wrong way, but I love you.”
“How could I take that the wrong way?”
“But...”
“Yes, but...”
“It's just... after you spoke to Hadian... and then to realize you did something so amazingly childish as steal his penny loafers... I just remembered how amazing you are. I saw it all yesterday, the life you've carved out for yourself out there on the Raft. You are amazing, Maggie, and now I understand why it is that you had to leave dryland and grow into the person you've become... But that's on the Raft, Maggie...”
“And your life is onshore,” Maggie finished.
“Exactly. With Peter and Margaret. They're amazing, too. Really. You can only imagine.”
“I can.” Maggie cleared her throat, pushing down hard on her emotions. If she'd ever needed a one-liner, something witty to break the tension, now was the moment. “How long did you practice that speech?” she said.
“Since three this morning,” Rachael replied. “When I woke up in a cold sweat.”
“It was well worth the effort.”
“Maggie -”
Maggie didn't know what was next and she didn't want to find out. “Let's just promise,” she interrupted, “that this time, when we part ways, we both say goodbye, okay?”
There was silence on the phone. The rain was really pounding on the roof of the cabin. “I'd... I'd like that.”
“Good.” Now it was Maggie's turn to say nothing.
There was a clicking on the line. Maggie vaguely recalled the concept of call waiting. “Oh, I've got another call,” Rachael's voice came back. “It's Galahad. I'll call you back, okay?”
“Okay.” The line went dead. Maggie returned the phone to its charger and shuffled off, still wrapped in her quilt, back to the fore bunk. Whatever the weather was doing outside, she wanted no part of it. She dropped heavily into her bunk and pulled the quilt up high over her head.
Less than ten seconds later she was asleep once again, the rain and the phone call with Rachael forgotten.