Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Mac stepped into the waning sunlight, the heavy door of the lecture hall swinging shut behind him with a muted thud. His arms were laden with essays scrawled on by earnest hands, each carrying the weight of youthful thought and aspiration. A faint smile played across his lips, a testament to the spirited discussion that had closed out the day's class—a heated debate on the romanticism of Keats that left an invigorating buzz in the air.

His mind wandered, as it often did these days. He thought of Lydia and then of the two girls he had helped the week before. He had brought them home, and they had shared a meal. They talked for a bit—nothing important or meaningful, just random stuff. He had excused himself to go to the bathroom, and they had left.

Their distrust of people ran deeper than he thought. But in today's world, who could blame them?

As he crossed the university grounds, the briskness of the autumn air seemed to breathe new life into his weary limbs. Golden leaves danced around his feet while distant laughter and the murmur of conversations filled the spaces between the old brick buildings. He detoured from his usual route home to make his way through the University Town central park. For some reason, he felt like walking more than usual.

There, on a weathered bench by the great oak, sat two figures as out of place as sonnets in a physics textbook. It was Maggie and Stokely sitting together, looking weary.

They appeared even skinnier than before, and Maggie was sporting a bruise on the left side of her face. Something had happened.

He studied them for a moment. They had not seen him yet. Maggie's long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, untamed and free, framing blue eyes that held the depth of an ocean during a storm—beautiful but concealing unseen currents below. Beside her, Stokely's vibrant expression was dulled, her curls having lost some of their usual defiance against gravity. The sisters sat side by side, united not just by blood but by the shared fortress of guarded glances they offered to the world.

Mac's steps slowed, his gaze lingering on the pair. He once again thought of his Lydia. What would she do? Should he approach them again? They had left him at his home last week. He wanted to help them. He had been able to feed them and wanted to do more, but was he pushing too hard? It was then Mac noticed a dirty bandage around Maggie's hand.

Maggie was injured.

Yeah, he was going to approach them. Adjusting the stack beneath his arm, Mac's path altered almost imperceptibly, drawing him toward the enigmatic duo. Each footfall was measured, the soft tap of his shoes on the pavement a steady rhythm in the quiet symphony of campus life. As he approached, the subtle lines of concern etched into his features hinted at a heart that had known loss but still recognized the shape of hardship in others.

Mac closed the distance with a gentle gait, his warm smile a soft beacon in the cool shadows of the late afternoon. "Hello again," he said, his voice imbued with the richness of someone who often spoke in the timbre of thoughtful prose. "I was wondering if I would see you again."

Maggie's piercing blue eyes met Mac's gaze for an instant, a flash of curiosity and then recognition shining through her otherwise impenetrable resolve. Stokely just gave him a small smile when she looked up.

Mac lowered his stack of papers onto the bench with a quiet, reassuring thud, the organized chaos of graded essays and lecture notes forgotten for the briefest of respites. He eased himself down beside Maggie and Stokely, leaving enough space to be polite but close enough to invite conversation.

"Maggie," he said softly, "what happened to your hand?"

Maggie flinched slightly at the mention of her hand, her fingers instinctively curling around the bandage that concealed the wound beneath. Her gaze shifted downwards for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features before she looked back up at Mac with a mixture of defiance and reluctance.

"It's nothing," she replied curtly, her voice laced with a stubborn pride that wavered ever so slightly. "Just a stupid accident."

Stokely shot Maggie a knowing glance, silently communicating a message that only the two sisters seemed to understand. Despite Maggie's attempt to deflect the concern, Stokely couldn't hide the unease that lingered in her eyes, mirroring the worry that tugged at Mac's empathetic heart.

Mac studied them both for a moment, his gentle gaze moving from Maggie's guarded expression to Stokely's silent plea for understanding. He knew there was more to the story than they were willing to share at this moment, but he felt he had a pretty good idea that whatever had transpired, it was not good.

"You know I've always liked this park. I didn't grow up here, but where I lived was similar with the changing of the seasons and all that."

The girls watched, seemingly taken aback by the shift in his conversation.

"See, you sitting here reminds me of my own afternoons, back when I was more knees and elbows than anything else," he continued, a chuckle woven into his words. "I used to spend hours just lying on the grass, reading. Books were my escape, my adventures." Mac's hands unconsciously traced the edges of his papers, a tactile connection to his past and present. "Wasn't always easy, though. There were days when it seemed like the characters in those stories understood me better than the folks around me."

Maggie's gaze lingered on Mac, her eyes softening as if his nostalgic confession had unlocked something within her. Stokely's posture relaxed incrementally, the invisible armor she wore thinning in response to Mac's openness.

"Guess what I'm trying to say is, we all have our tales of growing up, of finding our place," he said, giving them a gentle smile that reached the crow's feet etched at the corners of his eyes. "And sometimes, sharing a chapter or two can make the journey seem a little less daunting."

Mac's anecdote hung in the air, an offering of trust extended without expectation, waiting to be met by the mysterious pages of Maggie and Stokely's own unwritten chapters.

The breeze rustled through the leaves overhead, mingling with the distant chatter of students dispersing from their classes. Mac folded his hands in his lap, his gaze steady and patient as he waited for Maggie and Stokely to take their turn in the conversation's gentle give-and-take.

Maggie fiddled with a frayed edge of her sleeve, her voice barely more than a whisper when she finally spoke. "We've been... on our own for a while now. It's not like in the books, where you find a magical place or a hidden treasure that fixes everything."

Stokely nodded, her fingers entwining with Maggie's. "Yeah, we've had to make our way through some rough patches," she added. Her eyes, which moments ago seemed impenetrable, now reflected a depth of experience far beyond her years.

Mac leaned forward slightly, his expression compassionate, his heart echoing their words with a familiar ache. "Life sure can throw some curveballs," he said softly. "But it sounds to me like you both have incredible strength. Not everyone could navigate such waters."

"Doesn't feel like strength," Maggie murmured, her shoulders slumping with the weight of remembrance.

"Sometimes," Mac continued, his voice a warm timbre of support, "strength isn't about feeling powerful. It's about moving forward, even when every step feels heavy. It's about facing those challenges head-on, just like you're doing."

He paused, his gaze encompassing both girls, ensuring they felt seen and understood. "You know the last time I saw you; I offered and shared meal with you. Now I am going to do the same thing. I am going to offer you a meal and a place to stay. Even if it's just for the night. I also want to look at that hand, Maggie."

Stokely's gaze averted, and Maggie's back stiffened.

Their eyes met his, a silent acknowledgment flowing between them, weaving a thread of connection. The girls both nodded. They were going to let him help them, at least for now.

Mac glanced at his watch, then back to the girls with a thoughtful expression. The golden hue of the setting sun wrapped around the university buildings, casting long shadows on the lawn. With careful consideration, he leaned back against the bench and offered a casual proposal.

"What do you think, you two? My place. I will grab Albie and we can find some food. I can even introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Baker. He used to be a cop and they are very nice."

Maggie and Stokely exchanged a glance that was less about suspicion and more about the possibility of warmth and nourishment. They seemed to weigh their options, the idea of a meal stirring more than just appetite—it hinted at normalcy, a respite from their chaotic world.

"Could we maybe hear what's on the menu before deciding?" Maggie's tone was light, a touch of humor peeking through her usual guardedness. "You know, because we have so many other prospects we'd hate to miss out."

"Ah," Mac chuckled, tugging at his collar in mock seriousness. "I believe tonight's special is homemade lasagna, with a side of whatever greens I can muster up from the garden. And perhaps, if my culinary skills don't fail me, a warm apple crisp for dessert."

Stokely's mouth twitched into a smile, the thought of homemade food clearly appealing. She nudged Maggie gently with her elbow, encouragingly.

"Okay, Professor Elliot," Maggie conceded with a tentative nod, "we'll take you up on that offer. It does sound better than, well, nothing that we had planned."

"Mac, please," he corrected lightly, the corners of his eyes deepening with the ease of the moment. "After all, friends dine together, not professors and students."

"Mac, then," Stokely said, her voice stronger now, an emerging trust threading through the syllables.

"Great!" Mac beamed, gathering the stack of papers beside him as he rose. "Then let's not let this beautiful evening go to waste."

The three of them stood together, a newfound camaraderie budding between the trio. As they stepped off the campus grounds, the last rays of sunlight danced across the scene, weaving a soft glow around the promise of a shared meal and the chance for understanding and friendship.

Mac shuffled his stack of graded papers into a neat pile, the crisp sounds of alignment briefly cutting through the hush of the evening air. With practiced ease, he stood, muscles protesting mildly from the hours spent seated. He extended a hand to Maggie, then Stokely, their fingers brushing against his in hesitant acceptance as they allowed him to pull them gently to their feet.

"Shall we?" Mac said with an encouraging nod toward the direction of his home. The girls rose, dusting off their clothes and shouldering a backpack.

The girls smelled. He wondered when the last time they had taken a shower was.

As they began their walk, the gravel crunched beneath their shoes, and Mac found himself leading just half a pace ahead, cognizant of the space they might need. The sun dipped low, painting the world in hues of gold and amber, shadows stretching long and thin like the hours of the day.

"You know," Mac started, his voice casual as if he were discussing the weather rather than attempting to bridge gaps of guardedness, " Albie has this peculiar habit of greeting me at the door with something from the garbage bin. As if he's presenting a trophy." A smile touched the corners of his mouth, the absurdity of the image softening his features.

"How is Albie?" asked Stokely as they made their way to his house.

The girls shared a look, an unreadable exchange passing between them. It was as if Granville's silent understanding had echoed across the distance, resonating with a frequency they recognized.

"Must be nice, having such good company," Maggie admitted, her tone thawing by degrees, hinting at a longing, perhaps, for connection; for a presence that could sit with sorrow without the need for words.

"Very much so," Mac nodded. "And he's always up for an adventure, whether it's a stroll through the neighborhood or a trip to the beach. He makes the simple things feel extraordinary."

"Seems like you've got quite the partner in crime," Stokely said, a playful note dancing in her voice.

"Indeed, I do," Mac replied warmly. "And tonight, you'll have the grand opportunity to meet him. Who knows, maybe he'll decide to bestow upon you the honor of his latest 'treasure'."

Their laughter, light and brief, wove into the fabric of the evening, a thread of joy amidst the complex tapestry of their lives. Slowly, the armor of wariness that Maggie and Stokely wore began to loosen, piece by piece, replaced by the blossoms of trust and the flickers of curiosity, ready to unfurl in the warmth of genuine kindness.