Shut Your Eyes

“Avez-vous tout?” (Do you have everything?)

“Pour la troisième fois, Max - oui. J'ai mon passeport, j'ai mes valises, j'ai mon billet, je suis prêt à aller.” (For the third time, Max – yes. I have my passport, I have my suitcases, and I have my ticket. I’m all ready to go.) Max and I were standing in a small huddle outside of the entrance to the airport security line. It was my first Christmas trip back to Quebec without Max, and he was more than a little nervous about leaving me alone in an airport full of people.

“C'est seulement un vol de deux heures, je serai bien.” (It’s only a two hour flight, I’ll be fine.) He stared at me with a furrowed brow and his bright blue eyes filled with concern. I’d hardly been out of his sight since I showed up in Pittsburgh and now he was leaving me in an airport while the Penguins went on a three day road trip to New York and New Jersey. At first Max tried to talk me into going with him – an idea I wasn’t fond of – but relented when I told him I’d just go home for Christmas early. No nights spent alone at the condo, no having to work the complicated alarm system, and especially no having Max tell me where his guns were located.

“Je sais que tu serai. Tu es une fille intelligente.” (I know you will be; you’re a smart girl.) He mumbled reluctantly, scuffing the floor with the tip of his shoe.

“Cela ne veut pas dire que je peux inquiétez pas toi.” (That doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.) I smiled at his child-like stubbornness and patted his scruffy cheek with my hand.

“Je sais que vous voulez, mais je dois y aller. Tu vas me manquer.” (I know you will, but I still have to go. I’ll miss you.) Max gave me a small smile, his brows still furrowed in concern, and helped me gather my things. My biggest bags were checked, so I only had a backpack and a purse to carry on.

“Je pars tout de suite après le match, jeudi soir, donc je rentrerai tard. Appelez-moi dès que tu atterrissa au Québec, et une fois que tu arrivez à la maison.” (I’m leaving right after the game on Thursday, so I’ll be home late. Call me as soon as you land in Quebec, and again once you get home.)

“Je le ferai. Je t'aime, Maxime.” (I will. I love you, Maxime.) He pulled me into a tight hug – something he’d started doing more often now that my ribs had healed – and pressed a kiss into my hair.

“Je t'aime aussi, Maggie. Avoir un vol sûr.” (I love you too, Maggie. Have a safe flight.) I leaned up onto my tip-toes and gave him a peck on the cheek before grabbing my passport and my ticket out of my backpack and looking over towards the security line. I began walking over there, before turning back to Max with a grin.

“Je te verrai dans trois jours. Battre les Devils et les Rangers pour moi! Aller Penguins!” (I’ll see you in three days. Beat the Devils and the Rangers for me! Go Penguins!) He laughed and gave me a thumbs up before shooing me off towards the line with his hands.

I smiled once more at him before turning back around and wandering over to the line and handing my passport and ticket to the bored looking man in a blue blazer. Max stayed in the same spot and watched me in the security line until I had followed my plastic bins full of my electronics and shoes around a corner and out of his watchful eye.

“The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign as we begin our descent into Quebec City. Please return all trays and chairs to the upright position and turn off any electronic devices. Thank you for choosing Air Canada, and please enjoy the rest of your journey.”

The nice elderly lady that I was seated next to made sure to nudge me alert since I’d spent the entire flight with my ipod headphones stuck into my ears so the music would drown out the sound of the airplane engines. Even though I’d flown many times, I wasn’t very fond of it. The whole idea of flying made me nervous, and usually I avoided it like the plague, but I’d rather take my chances with a two hour flight than be home alone for three days. I wouldn’t admit it to Max, but I was just as nervous as he was about my being home alone. Too often my thoughts drifted back to Gavin, and to things that I preferred pushed back into the unexplored recesses of my mind.

It had been twenty-two days since I’d left him lying face-down on the couch. Eighteen had passed since I’d thrown my phone into the cold, dark waters of the Monongahela. It had only been two days since the bruise on my neck stopped requiring make-up to cover it up. Even though the physical reminders of him were fading away, I was still plagued with nightmares every time I tried to go to sleep at night.

Every knock at the door sent my heart racing. I avoided looking out windows for fear that he would be on the other side. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing his staring back at me, bloodshot and furious. At first it was easy to hide my anxiety, but now my body was starting to betray me. Light purple rings were starting to show under my eyes from a lack of sleep. My bottom lip was beginning to crack slightly from biting it so much. No wonder Max was nervous about leaving me alone to fly back home – I was a nervous wreck eighty percent of the time.

The last five minutes of the flight were spent in silence, simply staring out the window at my hometown down below. A small smile came to my face as I watched the dense green treetops become closer and closer to reality, no longer just a dream from 30,000 feet above the ground. The plane landed with a rough bump and a squeal of the brakes, and within five minutes we’d pulled up at the gate and were ready to disembark the plane.

I gathered my things quickly, ready to see my family and begin my Christmas vacation. Missing my family was something that I did every day, but I hadn’t realized just how badly I’d missed them until I was walking out of customs and into the terminal and scanning the crowd eagerly for someone I shared DNA with. Before long, I smiled when I spotted my big brother standing over by a column wearing a thick jacket and a wide grin.

“Will.” I breathed out his name like a sigh of relief, more to myself than out loud, and ran at his already open arms. His throaty chuckle got louder as he caught me mid-jump in a hug and spun me around. I hadn’t seen him in year, and I’d missed him terribly. Will’s hugs always felt like they’d arrived just in time; like they were the only thing keeping me standing on two feet.

“Ma première fille. Tu m'as manqué!” (My best girl. I’ve missed you so much!) He smacked a sloppy kiss onto my cheek (all of my brothers were big fans of the noisy cheek kiss) and set me down so he could get a better look at me. Holding me by the shoulders, he held me at arm’s length and gave me a cursory once-over.

“Tu es magnifique comme toujours.” (You’re beautiful as always.) He decided with a resolute grin before pulling me back to his side with a strong arm. Slightly taller than Max, Will had always towered over me at 6’3” and was constantly reminding me of how short 5’5” really was. He was built like every man in our family was: tall and broad shouldered with thick, muscular arms and legs and a smile that could stop a heart from a mile away.

Like Max, Will had yet to settle down (much to my mother’s chagrin) but he was hardly the womanizer that Max was. Will had a girlfriend that he’d been dating for about six months, and was nowhere near proposing. He obviously didn’t feel the brotherly competition that my mother hoped he would after Franck and Catherine had Jeanne.

“Viens, nous allons aller chercher vos sacs.” (Come on; let’s go get your bags.) He led me off in the direction of baggage claim and asked me all sorts of questions about the flight and how I was adjusting to life in Pittsburgh with Max. He steered clear of any mention of Gavin, and for that I was appreciative, Will always knew when I didn’t want to talk about something, and was quick to avoid any subject that might cause discomfort.

“Je pensais que papa devait venir me chercher.” (I thought daddy was supposed to come pick me up.) I said curiously as Will and I scanned the carousels of metal for my bags.

“Il a été, mais il a été rattrapé au travail et m'a envoyé à la place. Déçu?” (He was, but he got caught up at work and sent me instead. Disappointed?) He asked with a teasing grin. I scoffed and nudged him with my elbow. Will worked with Dad at his construction business and so he often got shanghaied into doing family errands. I knew my father would be disappointed he hadn’t been able to pick me up; he’d practically stolen the job from anyone else by keeping my flight information a secret.

Will and I stood quietly by the baggage carousel as we watched for my bags. I only had two of them, a large rolling suitcase and a mid-size duffle bag full of presents. They eventually came around, and Will grabbed both of them off the track with ease, quickly smacking my hand away when I tried to pry one of them off of his shoulder. He led me out of the airport and in the direction of his car – a massive black 1978 Ford Bronco that he’d had since high school. After throwing my stuff in the back, he opened my door for me and lifted me in like he’d always had to since I was too small to climb into the jacked up cab by myself.

We drove back to my parent’s house in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. I watched Will out of the corner of my eye, taking him in and soaking up every detail I could from the small contended smile he wore on his face to the thick beard he’d grown in the last year. These were all things I’d seen on skype since last Christmas, but seeing them in person was always different. Reality was always better than the dream.

The closer we got to my childhood home, the more excited I became. Will could tell because every time he looked over at me he chuckled. “Nous y sommes presque, Maggie, maintenez vos chevaux.” (We’re almost there Maggie, hold your horses.)

“Je suis simplement heureux, c'est tout.” (I’m just happy, that’s all) I rationalized in a whisper, busy staring out the window at the street lined with snow covered houses. Our neighborhood still looked the same, and was still filled with most of the same middle-class families that had been there in my youth. The Boyette’s still lived on the corner in their light blue house with the dark blue shutters and an unfinished car sitting on bricks in the driveway. The Rubin’s, with whose son I had gone to high school, were still in their house on the corner – complete with white picket fence and a dog roaming around in the yard. It was too cold for Bali to be running around outside this time of year, but as we passed by I still saw his doghouse in the backyard covered with a fresh coat of snow.

Every house we passed was familiar, and eventually we turned down the road that our house sat on the end of. I’d always loved our house, with its stark white paint and black shutters. A brick red door stood in the middle of the front wall, with a wrap-around porch guarding it and the rest of the house. Large maple trees of almost every variety were scattered across the lawn, casting eerie shadows of their naked winter branches onto the house.

Snow crunched beneath Will’s massive tires as we pulled into the driveway. “Nous sommes ici!” (We’re here!) He exclaimed in a sing-songy voice as he killed the engine and got out of the driver’s seat. I opened my door as well, and started formulating a way to get down in my head. Will gave a huff of protest when he saw me trying to get out of the truck by myself.

“Arrête ça! Êtes-vous essayer de vous tuer?” (Stop that! Are you trying to kill yourself?) With one arm he swung me out of the cab of the truck and set me down on the ground. I pouted up at him a bit, rearranging my coat and jutting out my bottom lip slightly.

“Je pourrais l'avoir fait.” (I could have done it.) I insisted childishly. Will rolled his eyes as he easily grabbed both of my bags from the back of the Bronco and looked over at me.

“Vous auriez fait quelque chose; cassé ton cul est mieux comme ça.” (You would have done something; broke your ass is more like it.) A grin tugged at my lips as Will smirked at me teasingly. He led me over the icy walkway, warning me to watch my step, and up the steps to the door. Before we even stepped onto the porch, my mother was already halfway out the door with open arms to greet us. She looked the same as always: bobbed salt and pepper hair, large brown eyes behind a pair of sleek glasses, and a streak of flour on her cheek that matched the white powdery splotches on the apron she wore. She was always in the kitchen, my mother.

“Mon bébé!” (My baby!) It was always the same greeting, always spoken with the same mixture of excitement and relief.

“Maman, je suis vingt-et-un.” (Mama, I’m twenty-one) I reminded her with a chuckle as she pulled me in for a tight hug, Will behind us shaking his head with a smile.

“Tu seras toujours mon bébé, et je ne reçois que de te voir pendant les vacances alors soyez tranquille.” (You’ll always be my baby, and I only get to see you during the holidays so hush.) I just smiled and hugged her back just as hard as she was squeezing me. My mother was holding onto me like she was afraid to let go, as if the moment she unwrapped her arms I’d vanish into thin air like some sort of apparition. Mentally I made myself a note to go back home more often. I sold my photography and took on clients from home, it’s not like I had a nine-to-five job that I couldn’t take off from.

“Peut-on déplacer le wagon de bienvenue à l'intérieur? Je suis geler mon cul ici.” (Can we move the welcome wagon inside? I’m freezing my ass off out here.) Will grumbled from behind me. My mother looked over my shoulder to give him a silencing look to which he just furrowed his brows and kicked at the wooden floor beneath him.

“Eh bien, je suis.” (Well I am.) He grumbled quietly. Mama rolled her eyes, but ushered us inside nonetheless with a smile for me and a promise of hot coffee and a pastry for my impatient brother. The house was filled with the delicious aroma of baking bread and my mother’s favorite peppermint candle that was burning away on the mantle. Will ran upstairs with my bags and was back downstairs empty-handed within the minute. He joined Mama and I in the kitchen, stealing a pastry off the tray on the counter and took the cup of coffee she offered him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

Turning to me with a grin, she went to grab another mug off the shelf. I must have had a strange look on my face as I thought because she raised an eyebrow and stared at me with concern. “Voulez-vous un café, ma chérie?” (Do you want some coffee, sweetheart?)

“Non, maman, je vais bien. Je me sens comme si j'avais oublié quelque chose ...” (No, mama, I’m fine. I just feel like I forgot something.) I’d barely gotten the sentence out of my mouth before my cell phone began blaring from the pocket of my jacket.

Max.

Letting loose a string of softly muttered obscenities, I ran to the living room and dug through the pocket of my coat which was hanging over the edge of my father’s favorite arm chair. I quickly pulled my phone out and pressed the button to answer it, putting it up to my ear and then pulling it back just as quickly when Max’s furious voice began yelling through the speaker.

“Margaux Amandine Talbot, tu as perdu votre esprit sacrément?” (Have you lost your damn mind?) I cringed. I knew I’d forgotten something important.

“Comment suis-je supposé savoir si tu n'es pas mort dans un fossé quelque part, sauf si tu appelez-moi quand tu dites que tu?” (How am I supposed to know you aren’t dead in a ditch somewhere unless you call me when you say you will?) My eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head. Max meant well, I knew that, but sometimes he bordered more on paranoid mother instead of protective older brother and after a while it began to grate on the nerves.

“Je suis désolé Max, j'ai juste oublié. Je me suis tellement excité de voir Will qu'il a glissé mon esprit.” (I’m sorry Max, I just forgot. I got so excited about seeing Will that it slipped my mind.)

“Donc, je suis juste censé s'asseoir autour et je me demande si vous avez fait à la maison en vie?” (So I’m just supposed to sit around and wonder if you made it home alive?) I opened my mouth to dish out a sarcastic response when suddenly I heard muffled voices on the other end and a slight scuffle before someone else put the phone up to their ear.

“Hey Maggie.” I smiled when I heard Sid’s voice.

“Well hello. Did my brother suddenly become busy?” I asked with a chuckle. Sidney laughed and I could picture him shaking his head like he always did.

“No, the boys and I decided he needed to chill out a little bit before talking to you. You gave him quite the scare, you know.”

I took a seat in daddy’s chair and smiled. “Silly me, thinking Max could go a few hours without hearing my voice.”

“What were you thinking?” He asked teasingly and I blushed when I realized I was grinning like a Cheshire Cat. In the short amount of time that I’d known Sidney, I’d been honored to witness the non-hockey god side of him. He knew how to laugh and joke around with the rest of the guys, and it never failed to catch me off-guard when he was in one of his joking moods. Vero said she’d never seen Sid open up to anyone so fast; I blamed it on the nice weather Pittsburgh had been experiencing of late.

Catching hold of the joking spirit, I teased right back. “Well I obviously wasn’t, Sidney. Next time I’ll be a little more considerate.”

“Good. It’d be awful if Max had to pull out the middle name again – that was painful to witness. We were all cringing.” I laughed and listened to him talk to someone in the background for a moment before starting to talk to me again. “Max wants to talk to you now, so I have to go. Everyone says hi, and make sure Max gives you your present when he gets to Quebec.”

“You guys didn’t have to get me anything...” I started but was cut off by someone else grabbing the phone from Sidney’s hands.

“Maggie?” Max seemed to have settled down a bit, and had the same tone he always took on when our mother would make him apologize for something he was most certainly not sorry for. I wondered who was putting him up to it.

“Yes Max?”

“Say exactly what I told you, or you’re not getting your game back.” Marc-André Fleury. Somehow I knew he was behind it.

Max sighed, but continued. “Je suis désolé…”(I’m sorry…)

Another voice popped up in the background. “In English, so everyone can understand.” Kris said with an edge of amusement in his voice.

Another heavy sigh escaped Max’s mouth. “I’m sorry I freaked out about the phone call.” He was mumbling, and I was having a hard time deciphering his rough English – his accent was always heavier when he was mad.

“Keep going; you’re not done yet.” Sid instructed from somewhere around Max, his best “Captain” voice clearly on display.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you and I’m a total…what was the word, Jordan?...oh yeah, asshat. And I’m a total asshat.”

“And?” This voice belonged to Geno, and was followed by another one of Max’s sighs.

“And I’m sorry.”

“And?” The large Russian continued to prod.

“And I love you.” He relented, mumbling the sentence quietly and grumpily, much to the amusement of all the boys sitting around him. I smiled and decided not to prolong Max’s torture anymore.

“I love you too Max, and I forgive you, but now I have to go because there’s a cup of coffee and a pastry with my name on it and I’m afraid Will’s going to eat it if I don’t come back soon.” Max gave a hearty chuckle.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I can’t wait to see everyone, tell them I said hi. Have a good couple of days without me.”

“It’ll be too quiet without having you around, I’ve gotten used to your constant chatter.”

“You’ll enjoy it.” He assured me with a laugh.

“Alright, well tell the boys I said goodbye. Call me after the game! I’ll be watching.”

“I know you will. Bye Maggie.”

“Goodbye Max.”

He hung up with a click and I shoved the phone back into my jacket before getting up out of my comfy position in the chair and wandering back into the kitchen where my mother waited for me with a mug of steaming hot caffeine and a plate full of freshly baked croissants; and even though I knew I’d miss Max while he was gone, as I looked around at my Mama and Will – I knew I was home.