“Sounds about right,” Maggie says, thinking of Dominic and how quickly he’d grown. One moment he’d been the infant resting on her chest, the next the teenager curling up on the couch with his head in her lap though he’d always denied it roundly the next day. She wishes that Dominic, Sadie, Aria, Rachel, Sofia were all there, she wishes Davy was there to hold her hand and tell her that it was going to be alright.
If wishes were fishes, the whole world would be fed. It’s her father’s voice repeating those words, low and husky and long since dead.
“I am, yes. I used to make them for my husband, now I make them for the hounds,” Maggie says, and there’s a touch of pride. Patches are something she’s good at, something that gives her status and allows her to avoid the life of a bitch. The idea of being so sexual scares her, the idea of putting herself into a position to carry a child is unacceptable. The few she has allowed into her world and bed are those who she trusts with her whole heart to never fall in love or want a babe with her.
“I could show you,” Maggie says. “I could show you how to make one. And baby clothes, if you’re interested. Our group gets so big, and I only have two hands.” It’s not a well thought out offer, it’s an impulsive one. But Adelaide is Rodeo’s sister, and a mother. Maggie doesn’t want to think of her as slipping into the role of a bitch if she doesn’t want to be one, and making things is a way to avoid that. And if Maggie were to die, well… at least the patches wouldn’t haven’t to die with her.