Grimm's Last Fairy Tale Read Online Free PDF Page A

I have not waited in futility.”
    “You need to leave,” was all she could whisper.

Chapter 7,
    in which Maggie confers with her feline friends, recalls a slightly embarrassing Pink Floyd moment, and resumes the dull routine of her life with just a hint of newly found enthusiasm

    Maggie looked around. There was no sign that anything had even happened. Was this real? Did she send him away? What was wrong with her?
    She made her way through the bleakness of the workday and headed home with no more sign of the great and terrible Mr. Grimm. She had no idea whether to feel relieved or sorrowful.
    “Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Brandon, you will not believe what happened to me today. Mommy lost her ever-loving mind. And here’s the saddest part. I am perfectly comfortable with that fact.”
    The cats were a great sounding board because they never passed judgment. They just listened and commiserated, almost always taking her part.
    As Maggie nuked her usual low-calorie frozen dinner, she fed the kitties and recounted the events of the day to them. They ate with no more astonishment than they had ever expressed when their mistress filled them in on the comings and goings of her life.
    After her dinner, Maggie sat at her computer and looked up as many articles as she could on the Brothers Grimm and on Jacob Grimm in particular since he had been the one to intrude on her solitude. All the while, she wondered if he was in the room with her and just not showing himself. Had he really been with there with her for her entire life? He seemed to know things about her; of that she was certain. Why would he do that? Could a child really captivate an author so much that he would desire to be with her? She recalled the creepy stories about Lewis Carroll and Alice. But as Jacob had waited until now to show himself to her, she could only imagine that he meant nothing untoward in her youth. His motives must be more pure. Was she actually having this conversation in her head about a ghost? It must surely have been her mind playing tricks on her. It was oxygen deprivation from the apnea, right? She had hallucinated the entire thing. Yes, that must have been it.
    She covertly changed into her nightgown under her clothes just in case he was actually watching. Oh, how she hated her hips and belly. For years she had joked that the extra weight served as her “man repellent” but recently she had had the epiphany that it was insulation from the world. It replaced the excess pounds that she had divorced . . . twice. Maggie could not imagine, at this point in her life, actually changing her clothes in front of someone. She retired to her bed early, knowing she had sleep to make up for and soon she was in a deep and relaxing slumber. In the words of another of her favorite literary heroines, tomorrow would be another day.
    At around two fifteen in the morning, she sat straight up in her bed in a state of terror. She hated these night frights that sometimes overcame her and robbed her of the rest she so desperately needed. It generally only happened when she was the most exhausted, which held no logic.
    She looked around the dark room, her eyes eventually acclimating to the point where she could see shadows.
    “Jacob? Are you here?”
    There was no response.
    These days, it was rare for Maggie to awaken with the longings for a man's touch. This was one of those times. To have some strong arms around her to comfort her back into peaceful safe rest would be such a welcome change.
    She had taught her children all the best music, which included a love for the now classic rock she had grown up with. They grew up sharing her love of Chicago, REO Speedwagon, Fleetwood Mac, Jimi Hendrix, and her favorite, Pink Floyd. She used to torment her teenage children about wishing she was David Gilmore’s guitar and that he would be touching her with that same calculated passion. They would “ew” and “gross” the thought. But deep down she knew they