Few people chase their dreams with the reckless abandon of Maggie. From a young age, she was convinced that anything she wanted was hers for the taking. With a flick of her wrist, high school boys would carry her backpack, and lovesick admirers would race across town to grab her favorite ice cream from the local Dairy Queen. Maggie, petite and stunning, had a knack for bending the world to her will.
Her mother, Nancy Thompson, couldn’t figure out where Maggie got her high-and-mighty attitude. Nancy was a down-to-earth woman, clocking long hours at a chicken processing plant in rural Springdale, Arkansas. The grueling work left her drained, and she’d often collapse into bed still in her work clothes, too tired to change. Raising Maggie alone was tough—time and energy were luxuries she didn’t have.
Maggie’s father had passed away from a heart attack when she was little, leaving her with just her grandmother, Dorothy Jean, as a constant presence. Dorothy, whose family claimed distant ties to old Southern gentry, fancied herself a bit like Scarlett O’Hara. Despite her age and occasional confusion, she devoured romance novels and passed that passion on to Maggie. The young girl soaked up tales of grand ladies, imagining herself as a glamorous socialite. Over time, those fantasies twisted her into someone demanding, with a shaky moral compass.
By her twenties, Maggie had men wrapped around her finger, but Springdale’s dating pool was a letdown. Half the guys were drunks, the other half just didn’t measure up to her standards.
— “You need to stop this nonsense, Maggie!” Nancy would plead. “You’ll end up alone if you keep chasing pipe dreams. Beauty fades fast, honey.”
— “And where am I supposed to find a decent guy around here?” Maggie snapped. “All I see are losers!”
— “What about Tommy?” Nancy suggested. “He’s been following you like a puppy for years. He’s got a good heart, Maggie. He loves you.”
Maggie wrinkled her nose, tossing her hair.
— “Tommy? That septic tank cleaner? Mom, I’m not cut out for a life scraping by. I’d rather snag a couple of rich guys and live the high life.”
— “Watch yourself, girl,” Nancy warned, her voice heavy. “Messing around with married men for fancy clothes will only bring trouble.”
— “Married, single—what’s the difference?” Maggie smirked. “Take Owen, for example. He’s a bit older, sure, but he’s got three thrift stores and a couple of auto shops out by the highway. That’s the kind of man I’m talking about, not Tommy.”
Nancy sighed, knowing her daughter was set on a dangerous path, chasing dreams that might burn her in the end.