Fiona Range

by Mary McGarry Morris

  “Crazy son of a bitch,” Chester muttered, watching him disappear around the corner.

  “Don’t say that,” she warned, trembling herself now.

  “It’s the truth, and if you’re smart you’ll stay away from him,” Chester said.

  “He’s my father,” she said.

  “He’s never wanted to be,” he scoffed.

  “He’s had a hard life. Nothing’s ever gone right for him. Nothing.”

  “Which is just how Patrick Grady likes it. And given the choice I don’t think he’d have it any other way.”

  “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” she growled.

  “And neither the fuck do you!” Chester growled back. “You think you’ve got all the answers. You think he’s just poor misunderstood Patrick, and I used to too, until I heard what he did to Maxine.”

  “What?” She looked at Maxine, who was crying. “What did he do?”

  Maxine shook her head. “You ask your uncle. And if he wants, then he’ll tell you.” She pulled a paper napkin from the holder and blew her swollen red nose.

  “Why? Why can’t you tell me?”

  “Because I can’t,” she sobbed as she sank into a chair, head hung, her hand covering her eyes. Chester stood behind her, both hands on her shoulders.

  “He beat her so bad she passed out,” Chester said.

  “Why did you do that?” Maxine gasped. “Why did you tell?”

  “Because she should know,” Chester said, leaning close to comfort her.

  “But I never told anyone,” she insisted. The Judge had asked her not to. It was the least she could do. She’d always be grateful. “He made sure every one of my bills got paid, and he even had a nurse come in after I left the hospital. Your uncle’s a good, good man. As I long as I live I’ll never forget how kind he was.” She looked up and tried to smile, then burst into tears again. “But I can’t ever forget what Patrick Grady did to me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Fiona said, though the minute she said it, she did. Her uncle had not believed Maxine’s story, but typically, instead of challenging her, instead of getting to the bottom of what had happened, to the real truth, had done everything he could to placate her.

  “Well, I gave my word, so I’m not going to talk about it. But you see, this is the evenest keel my life’s ever been. I love it here. I’m so proud. It’s like my own home in a way. And I feel the same way about you, hon,” she whispered, taking Fiona’s hand and squeezing it. “I really, really like you. You don’t know how proud it makes me to have Judge Hollis’s niece working here.” She leaned forward. “So the first time he came in I tried to ignore it. But then to see him come in again now like nothing ever happened, like he hadn’t done anything wrong—no. No, I can’t let him do that. Because with someone like me, it’s just all so iffy, you know, like any minute the least little thing—” she snapped her fingers—“and it would all be gone. People like me, we have to be so careful. Do you understand? Do you know what I’m saying?”

  It was early Friday evening. Snow flurries glittered down through the cold night air of the supermarket parking lot. Fiona had only two grocery bags which she pushed in a balky cart. She was tired. She hadn’t slept well the last two nights. This morning she woke up shivering with a chill no layers of blankets or sweaters could subdue. More than the cold, it was a profound sense of aloneness lodged deep in her being. All day long she had dredged up every failure and disappointment, examining them with merciless scrutiny. She had spent her entire life pursuing dead ends. Here she was, thirty years old and she didn’t have an education, a decent job, or even friends anymore. Most of the eligible men left were too young, and in only a few more years she’d be too old to have children. Like a dead star the life of the party had sputtered out. It had always been easier to act on whims than to discipline herself, easier to wade through the ensuing rubble into denial, this cold and quiet tomb safe from pain and remorse. But after enough years, denial’s toxins had so deadened her pride and hope that there was little that could hurt her now, but even less that could make her happy.

  When she got into the car she turned on the radio full blast, then sat staring out at the traffic, the shoppers, their children, the huge carts jammed with bulging bags, the tall skinny stockboy in shirtsleeves and earmuffs blocking her way now with the wobbly caravan of empty carts he was straining to steer back to the store.

  “God damn it!” she shouted, banging the wheel with both fists. She should have driven back to her class that night to apologize and discuss the test with Lee Felderson, should have told the family her mother hadn’t called, should have set things straight with George Grimshaw instead of losing her temper. It wasn’t too late, she kept telling herself as she pulled into traffic.

  His van was in the driveway, but the porch light was off. She hoped he hadn’t gone to bed early. She was still ringing the bell when the door opened.

  “Hello!” he called, his smile fading with his voice as she stepped nearer the light. “Oh! Fiona.”

  “George, I have to talk to you, to explain things.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said sheepishly. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  “But I do. I want to. Please. Can I come in?”

  The flickering television was the only light in the den. He switched on a lamp. Barefoot, he wore sweatpants and a torn T-shirt. There was a blanket and pillow on the couch, and at arm’s reach on the coffee table the portable phone. The minute she sat down she regretted choosing the swivel rocker that squeaked with the slightest movement. Eyes downcast and arms folded, George sat on the couch while she told him how Terry and Tim’s party had been her first night out in two months. She told him about dancing with the aroused collie and kissing its mouth while everyone laughed, then dancing with Larry Belleau because no one else would dance with either of them, then waking up the next morning with a man in her bed.

  “But it was dark, and I couldn’t remember who he was.” Her voice faltered and she closed her eyes. Never had she felt so ashamed.

  “You don’t have to tell me any of this, Fiona. I mean, I know how things can—”

  “No, let me finish. Please.” She took a deep breath. The rocker squeaked.

  He winced and looked away.

  “You see the point is, it didn’t matter what I knew about him. What should have mattered, what should have made a difference, was that I knew who I was and what I was I doing, just like he knew who he was and what he was doing. He knew he was married. He knew his wife had just had a baby. I mean, I know it was wrong and stupid and disgusting to do, and it’s been a real wake-up call for me. But the thing is, you can’t blame me for his baby dying and his marriage breaking up.”

  “I don’t,” he said, so quickly she smiled. “It’s just this isn’t a very good time for me right now.”

  “Why, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing!” he said. “I mean, no one thing. It’s just everything seems kind of muddled right now.” He shook his head and raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I understand. Just take your time, that’s all. No rush,” she assured him with a little laugh as she stood up. “It’s not like either one of us is going anywhere, right?” At the door she turned and kissed his cheek. “You call me, okay?” she said.

  He looked at her, his somber expression never changing.

  The snow was falling more steadily as she pulled into her parking space. Tomorrow was Saturday and Chester had given her the day off to go to the bridal shop in Concord with Elizabeth. She would get up early, exercise for as long as she could, clean the apartment, then pick up Elizabeth at eleven.

  As she trudged through the slushy lot, she heard a car door open and close behind her, then her name being called. She turned to see Patrick Grady hurrying toward her.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said, blinking against the snowflakes coating his head and eyelashes. He wore just a blue plai
d shirt. His hands were deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the gusting wind.

  “Sure. Yah, come on in. I stopped to get groceries,” she said, almost breathless with excitement as he followed her up the stairs. She knew by his troubled face that he’d come to talk about the incident at the coffee shop.

  “I thought maybe you had a date or something,” he said, while she shifted both bags into one hand so she could work the key into the lock.

  “No, no date,” she said, coming into the chilly apartment. “Just another night with the clicker.” She wanted him to have this image; the quiet, even-keeled life of his sensible daughter. She was not like her mother, and yet she was beginning to sense those moments when he was seeing Natalie in her. She had seen the shock of recognition often enough in others to recognize it now in his stare. “It’s freezing in here,” she said, turning up the thermostat. “Could I get you some coffee or a beer or something?”

  “Coffee’d be good.” He watched from the kitchen doorway as she started the coffee before putting away her groceries. “I wanted to explain about the other day,” he said. “My side of it, that is.”

  “I appreciate that, but you don’t have to,” she said, touched. “Really. I know how sometimes things—”

  “Just so you’ll know. She’s a no-good, lying bitch! Don’t believe anything she says about me.” He paced back and forth, his agitation mounting. “Anything!”

  “I won’t,” she said softly to placate him.

  “We just didn’t get along, that’s all.”

  “Well that’s pretty obvious.” She made herself laugh.

  “She was always losing it and storming out on me. Now she’s just going to keep telling lies about me. So what’d she say? What’d she tell you?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  He sank down into the chair. His head hung and his voice dropped as he rubbed his eyes. “I just don’t want you thinking bad things about me.”

  “I don’t,” she said. Maxine not only had a flair for the dramatic, but a very short fuse.

  “Well a hell of a lot do,” he said with a mirthless laugh.

  “That’s because you go your own way.”

  He snorted at this and shook his head in disgust. “That was the whole thing with her, that bitch. And the crazy thing is, I didn’t really even want her around. No-good bitch, driving me nuts,” he muttered. “Always whining, whining, whining.”

  “That’s what happens,” she said quickly. He was getting angry all over again. “People can’t stand it when they’re not needed. When someone like you can just go off and do his own thing.”

  He leaned back with a bitter chuckle. “My own thing. Yah. I do my own thing, all right.”

  She poured coffee into her best mug and set it in front of him, noticing how he lowered his face to the steam and took a deep breath. She often did the same thing. “That’s what’s so interesting about you,” she said, touched by the hunger in his quick glance. “You don’t care what anyone thinks, do you?”

  “What’s to care about?” He held the mug with both hands and sipped loudly at the hot coffee.

  “I know.” She sighed. “All most people care about in this town is how much money you make and who your family is,” she said, these last words uttered with a soft grunt as she jammed the rest of her groceries into the refrigerator.

  He was quiet for a moment, and she held her breath, afraid she’d been too obvious. She turned to find him staring up at her. She smiled and sat down. “But then sometimes I think maybe I’ve just been here too long. I’ve never lived anyplace else. And I don’t think that’s very healthy, do you?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person. This is the only place I’ve ever lived.”

  Just then she jumped, startled by a loud knock on her door. Opening it, she was annoyed to find Rudy Larkin shuffling from foot to foot.

  “Hey! Look what I’ve got.” He handed her a shoebox. “Size eight women’s running shoes.” He had won them at the hospital raffle and of course he’d thought of her immediately.

  He was the last person she wanted to see right now, but she invited him in, certain he’d say no when he saw she had company. Instead he went straight to the table and shook hands with Patrick, who remained seated. She knew if she asked Rudy to sit down he would, so they stood there talking. Patrick nodded grunts of acknowledgment as Fiona explained that Rudy was Elizabeth’s fiancé, originally from New York, but living in town now and working in the hospital emergency room.

  Rudy didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable with Patrick’s sullen silence. He was telling them about the child he’d treated this afternoon. His mother had rushed him in because he’d swallowed a nickel. As it turned out, the boy’s stomach was loaded with change. “A veritable piggy bank,” Rudy said, and Fiona smiled. Patrick drank his coffee and didn’t even look up. She asked how Elizabeth was doing. She knew if she mentioned their meeting the other night or tomorrow’s shopping trip she’d never get rid of Rudy.

  “Well to tell the truth, if I didn’t have such a healthy ego, I’d think she’s avoiding me.” He laughed and put his hand on the back of the chair, wobbling it noisily back and forth. Afraid he was going to sit down, she thanked him again for the running shoes. “I can’t wait to try them,” she said.

  “How about tomorrow morning then? Tell me what time and I’ll be by,” he said eagerly.

  Patrick looked up at him.

  “Seven,” she said so he’d leave. She’d call later and cancel.

  He headed for the door, advising her to dress warmly; it was supposed to drop way below freezing tonight, he said, rubbing both arms as if he were already cold. “Nice meeting you,” he called to Patrick, who grunted.

  “What’s his problem?” Patrick asked with the closing door.

  “My cousin Elizabeth.”

  “That night in Pacer’s, you were with Grimshaw, right?”

  “Yah, George. He’s a real good guy.”

  “You and him, you going out or anything?”

  “We’re friends. Or something like that.” She felt her face redden with his scrutiny. They’d had this conversation before.

  “So when you go over there it’s not like a date?”

  “No, but I don’t go there . . .”

  “You were just there tonight,” he said angling his head.

  “Yah, that’s right. I was. It was so quick, I forgot. I had to tell him something.” She was as confused by her lie as by the realization he had been following her.

  “That Larkin, the doctor, watch out for him. He’s up to something,” he said.

  “Rudy?” She laughed. “He’s harmless.”

  “No he’s not!” He hit the table with his fist. “He’s just biding his time, believe me, I know,” he said so venomously that goose bumps rose on her arms and she felt afraid, but like a child did not know exactly what there was to fear other than the dark at the windows and the blood pounding in her ears as if she were running as fast as she could and getting nowhere. She did not take her eyes from him.

  “It’s how they do it,” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “Stay in charge,” he said, with a note of surprise that she would have to be told. “And then there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “No, Rudy’s a good guy,” she said, more to disrupt his convoluted reverie than to convince him.

  “Yah, and you’re going to have to go running with him tomorrow whether you want to or not.” He was pointing, jabbing his finger at her.

  “No I don’t!” She tossed her head back with forced laughter. “And I never do anything I don’t want to do!”

  Smiling that disfigured smile, he stood up and tucked the shoebox under his arm. “And I’ll make it even easier for you. I’ll dump them somewhere on my way home.”

  “But they’re brand-new,” she protested. “And they’re expensive. I don’t have to go running, but I can at least wear them.”

  “Okay,” he said disgustedly
and dropped the box onto the table. “But I’ll tell you something. He didn’t win these. Believe me. He went out and bought them, the conniving bastard. That’s part of it, the other way they do it.”

  Later that night Elizabeth called to say she didn’t feel well. They’d have to postpone the trip to Concord. Maybe next week, she said in a small voice. Or maybe never, Fiona thought as she hung up.

  The next morning she woke up to the ringing telephone. The minute she heard Rudy’s voice she realized she had forgotten to cancel their run. It was six forty-five and he was telling her he wouldn’t be able to make it at seven. There’d been a bad accident a few hours ago on Route 93, a truck and two cars. He’d been called in to the hospital, and he was still there.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, closing her eyes.

  “We can still go,” he said quickly.

  “No, that’s okay.” She yawned.

  “I should be done in a half hour or so. I’ll come straight over.”

  “That’s all right. You’ll be exhausted. Just go home and go to bed.”

  “But the thing is . . .” He paused. In the background a woman’s voice droned a list of medical supplies. “The thing is,” he continued, “I’d really like to talk to you. If you have time,” he said, then added, “If you don’t mind.”

  She agreed to meet him at Dunkin’ Donuts. At least there she could get rid of him when she wanted to.

  “You’re not wearing them!” Rudy said, pointing at her feet when he got there.

  “Because I’m not running, am I?” She was irritated. He was almost a half hour late.

  “I haven’t been out yet either. How about a run this afternoon sometime?” he asked.

  She couldn’t. She had too much to do, and now most of the morning was gone.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, dropping an ice cube into his coffee and stirring it. He looked tired. He was unshaven and a cowlick protruded from the back of his head. “I really hate bothering you—that is, I knew you didn’t want to go out running, but I find myself in the ridiculous position of having no one to talk to.” He sighed and cleared his throat. “Since Elizabeth won’t. Talk to me, that is.” He began to tell her how happy they’d been in New York and how not long after he had proposed she began to tell him how much she hated the city and how she missed her family and small-town life. One day after weeks of tearful silences she announced that she was going back home. She said she didn’t want him to give up his whole way of life and go to Dearborn with her. Even though he insisted he wouldn’t be, she said she knew he’d be miserable there. And then she said she was leaving in four days. When she saw how upset he was she couldn’t even talk to him about it. Hours after she left the city he got in his car, drove straight up here and got a job at Dearborn Memorial. But then when he told her, she had the strangest reaction. Not at all what he’d expected. Instead of being pleased, she had seemed almost panicky, afraid.