Fiona Range

by Mary McGarry Morris

  “She always feels guilty!” Fiona said with a big smile.

  “What?” he called, lowering his face and closing his eyes as if to hear better.

  “Nothing!” she said at his ear, conscious of her cheek grazing his. She drew back stiffly.

  “She said she had a big long list! Things her mother needed to do and didn’t have time for!” He straightened then and looked around, smiling. “The food must be pretty good here!” he shouted. “Judging from the crowd, that is!” He leaned over her again. “I’m starving! I haven’t eaten since breakfast!”

  “Then let’s go someplace else!” she shouted back. “Why wait if you’re starving!”

  “No, this is fine! I like this! All the noise and the people! Makes me feel good!”

  “That’s right, I forgot. You’re a big-city guy!” she shouted, and he laughed.

  He was watching a tall young woman in cowboy boots and a fringed suede jacket snap her fingers and dance to the blaring music. “I like watching people dance!” he said, turning back now. “Can’t dance a step myself, but I could watch it all night!” He put his hand on the wall again. “I’ll bet you’re a good dancer, aren’t you?”

  “Damn good!” she said, but he couldn’t hear, so she moved closer. “Damn good!” she shouted, her cheek brushing his again, and this time he grinned so happily that for a moment she couldn’t bear to look away.

  “Let me see! C’mon, show me some moves!” he said, snapping his fingers.

  She held up her hands and turned with an exaggerated wiggle that made them both laugh.

  He bent closer, with a look of concern. He touched her chin. “What’s that?” He tilted her head slightly back.

  “Oh, a bruise, I guess.” She eased away. “I hit it at work.”

  “You’ve got one here too.” He squinted, bending a little to peer from side to side.

  “Yah, I know. Weird, huh?” She tugged her collar higher.

  An hour later, their table was covered with empty plates. Neither could remember the last time they had eaten so much. She was full, her appetite fueled by the pleasure of his approving gaze. Her every forkful, word, and gesture seemed to delight him. He took a bite of her chicken fajita, then rolled his eyes and asked for another. She agreed, but only in exchange for another of the spare ribs he had been allotting one at a time until the gleaned bones were piled as high now in her plate as his. Laughing, he pointed to the sticky barbecue sauce on her chin. She told him to mind his own chin. It was turning competitive. He asked for seconds on wild rice, so then she did too. She ordered black coffee with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in it. “An oxymoronical beverage,” he declared, ordering the same. The waitress brought dessert menus and they burst out laughing, then ordered two slices of chocolate cream pie.

  “We better not do this again,” she groaned, making herself waddle on their way outside.

  “Why?” he asked, holding open the door. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, it’s just that I’d weigh two hundred pounds. You make it seem like too much fun.”

  “Well it should be, shouldn’t it?”

  “Maybe once in a while,” she said, walking with her head down, trying to avoid patches of ice between the cars.

  “Why? Why not have fun all the time?” he asked when she stopped at her car.

  “Dr. Larkin! I’m shocked! I didn’t know my cousin’s engaged to a hedonist.”

  “I’m so far from being a hedonist, it’s ridiculous,” he said softly. He put his hand on top of her car. “I think I’ve laughed more tonight than the whole time I’ve been in Dearborn.”

  “Oh yah?” She looked up at him. “And why do you think that is?”

  “Which part? Tonight? Or the whole time I’ve been in Dearborn?”

  She shrugged. “Both.”

  With a bitter chuckle he thumped the roof three times. “Tonight was fun. Plain and simple, no hidden agendas. I never once worried that I might say the wrong thing or that you might burst into tears for no apparent reason.” He sighed. “I think I just answered both parts.” He patted her arm. “That’s not fair. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put you in a difficult position.”

  “You’re the one in the difficult position.”

  He looked at her, his mouth opening then closing frustratedly. “We’re just going to play it by ear, so to speak, Lizzie and me.” He tried to laugh. “No pressure, that seems to be the watchword now. I’m just kind of here, you know, and I shouldn’t have any particular expectations or . . .” He sighed and shook his head.

  “Or what? Needs?”

  He looked at her and nodded. “Something like that.”

  “Do you love her that much?” She stared at him. “Or have you really screwed up here big time?”

  He tried to hold her gaze, but his eyes kept sinking closed. “I don’t know,” he said so softly she could barely hear him. “All I do know is that I feel stupid. I mean really, really stupid.”

  Now, she thought. Now was the time to tell him about George and Elizabeth. But she couldn’t. For all the right and all the wrong reasons. “God, you must be freezing!” she said, shivering herself. “Come on, button up. Time to go home,” she said, poking the snap on his jacket.

  He laid his hand over hers. “But there’s one thing I don’t regret about any of this. And that’s been knowing you, Fiona. I mean that.” He laughed. “You don’t know how many times lately I’ve picked up the phone to call, and then I think, ‘What the hell am I doing? I can’t do this.’” He squeezed her hand.

  “You should have,” she said, her heart racing. “In fact, why don’t you come over now? I’ll make coffee.” She had made up her mind. He deserved to be told. Elizabeth might not want him, but there were plenty of women who would.

  “I can’t. I’m on duty in less than an hour. It’s this awful double shift I’m taking so I can go Friday.” He said goodbye, then stood watching her back out of the space. As she rolled down her window to call goodbye again, he ran up to the car. “Wait!” he said. “I’ll follow you home. Make sure you get in all right.”

  She drove slowly, glancing at his reflection in her rearview mirror. When they pulled into the lot behind her building, he got out of his car and waited while she parked. He walked her to the entryway door and once again she invited him up for coffee.

  “I wish I could, but I don’t trust myself,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her heart going too fast again.

  “Well, when I was driving back just now I was thinking of all the talking we did, and then it hit me! What did we talk about?” He laughed. “I couldn’t remember!”

  “Well, so much for my image of myself as a scintillating conversationalist,” she said as he held open the door.

  “No, you are! That’s what I mean. That’s the point. You’re just too easy to be with.”

  “Too easy! Oh great,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “I mean you’re very comfortable to be with. It felt so natural that I . . .” Here now, he shrugged as if at a loss for words. “Fiona!” He grabbed her hand and held it in both of his. “I’ve still got a half hour. McDonald’s is just down the hill. We could eat a hell of a lot in a half hour. A few Big Macs, some fries, some shakes. We could do it. I know we can.”

  She laughed, and as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it with his eyes closed she kept laughing.

  She stayed in the doorway, watching until he turned out of the lot. Below her the headlights came on in a car parked in the row to her right. Patrick Grady’s faded blue station wagon squealed as it backed up. She ran down to his car and opened the door while he was still shifting.

  “Patrick!” she said, shocked by his cold stare. “I didn’t see you. I didn’t know you were there.” She slid onto the front seat, but left the door open. “Patrick, what’re you—”

  “Get out!” he growled, then jumped out himself and ran around to her side. “Just get out!” He grabbed her arm.

  “Patrick!
” she gasped, shrinking back.

  “I was waiting for you!” He leaned in closer. “You knew I was waiting.”

  “But I called. I told you I wasn’t coming.”

  “But I was waiting,” he said through clenched teeth, his face level with hers. “I was waiting.” He seemed confused, shaken, as if he knew he made no sense, but was stuck, unable to get beyond a certain point. He let go of her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sliding from the car. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You lied. You had a date. You lied to me.” His voice broke.

  “No, I was shopping. And after, I ran into Rudy, that’s all. He’s on his way to work!”

  “You said he’s your cousin’s fiancé,” he said, glancing in the direction Rudy had turned.

  “He is!”

  “He kissed your hand.” His face twisted with disgust.

  “It was a joke! He was kidding.” She thought of Todd’s beating and a queasiness came over her. Patrick might be her father, but he was a deeply troubled man and she was confusing him and agitating him beyond his own limits of self-control. She had lanced the boil, but neither of them could stanch its poisonous ooze.

  “It’s almost midnight,” he said. “Where’ve you been all this time?”

  “We stopped for coffee.” She spoke softly to calm him. He kept shaking his head. “We were talking about Elizabeth and their—”

  “No! It’s just like with the sneakers,” he spat. He grabbed for her arm, but clutched her sleeve instead, pulling her so close spittle sprayed her face. “He’s using her to get to you. But you act like you can’t see it. Like you don’t know what’s going on.”

  “No. No, he’s—”

  “It’s you he’s after. It’s you he wants, and don’t think I don’t know it,” he growled, then jumped back into his car and roared out of the lot.

  As soon as she got inside, she tore through the phone book until she found the number for Dearborn Memorial. The operator connected her to the emergency room. She could hear Rudy being paged.

  “Rudy! It’s me, Fiona,” she said, then realized how upset she must sound. She took a deep breath.

  “Fiona? Are you all right? Did something happen?”

  “Oh, no, nothing’s happened. I’m fine, but I . . . I was worried about you,” she said lamely. She had to be careful. She didn’t want to cause Rudy any harm, but also couldn’t risk inciting Patrick more than she already had.

  “You’re worried about me?” He laughed. “Why? Do you think I’m still eating?”

  “I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure you were careful, that’s all.”

  “Careful, huh?” He paused. “Careful about what?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I saw a car following you. And so I just wanted to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “About the car! Just forget it, Rudy,” she said, shaking her head impatiently. “It was weird. I shouldn’t have called.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. What kind of car should I be on the lookout for? Who’s driving it?” He sounded amused.

  “I don’t know. Never mind. It was just a funny feeling I got, that’s all.”

  “You should listen to your feelings. Not enough people do.”

  “Yah, well,” she said with a bitter laugh, “I haven’t had very good luck with that kind of thing lately.” She paused. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your emergencies.”

  “Fiona!” he said with an urgency that made her press the phone to her ear, listening so carefully the hum between them seemed like a roar. “I just want to say what a great time I had tonight. I mean, a really great time.”

  “Good!” she said, managing to sound cheerful. “Well, maybe next time you can bring Elizabeth.”

  “Maybe next time we’ll do something else,” he said.

  Hours later her eyes opened in the dark, and she was still trying to figure out what he meant.

  It was early morning and Fiona had just finished showering when her bell rang. “Lizzie!” she cried, tying her robe as she opened the door. “Is everything all right?” She glanced at the clock. Quarter of six.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said, following her into the kitchen, where Fiona started to make coffee. Elizabeth watched from the table. “Everything’s fine, aside from the fact that I have a million things to do today. That’s why I’m starting off so early. You won’t believe Mother’s list,” she said, shaking out a folded piece of paper.

  “I can imagine,” Fiona said, amazed at how smoothly her cousin could skim over the choppiest seas.

  Elizabeth looked even paler than usual. It was hard to tell if she had lost more weight or if she just seemed so lost herself under all the layers she wore, her long skirt, the oversize shirt, the long bulky sweater. There were dark circles like smudges of ash around her eyes.

  “Five bags ice—round cubes, not square chunky ones,” she read, glancing up at Fiona. “Silver plastic cocktail stirrers. Bettelman’s usually has them. White silver-edged cocktail napkins—again, try Bettelman’s first. Two cans silver spray paint. Five pounds walnuts.” She glanced up. “There’s more.” She sighed, folding the paper. “And this is just today’s list.”

  “I know Aunt Arlene’s organized, but she doesn’t need that stuff right now, this morning, does she?” she asked. If Elizabeth hadn’t come in search of an apology or to apologize herself, then why else was she here so early? She squirmed, remembering George.

  “No, these are my after-school chores,” Elizabeth said.

  “God, the details!” Fiona said, pouring the coffee. “It’s like a treasure hunt, isn’t it? But then that’s why her parties are always so perfect.”

  “This one might not be,” Elizabeth said. “Ginny and Bob are separated. It happened two weeks ago. Apparently he’s been seeing the same woman this whole time so Ginny told him to leave.”

  “Two weeks ago? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” she said, shaking her head.

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. To tell you,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “They didn’t tell me either until last night, and I live in the same house. I think they were hoping things would, well, you know, work out.”

  “Work out! Jesus Christ!” Fiona sputtered, and Elizabeth’s cheeks colored.

  “Well, settle down anyway,” Elizabeth said softly.

  “Don’t tell me they want her to take that creep back just because she’s pregnant!”

  “No, they just want to keep things, well, you know, calm, and . . .” She forced a smile. “Upbeat!” she said as if that would be everyone’s most desirable goal in difficult times.

  “Upbeat? Let’s see, Ginny’s pregnant, and her husband, Bob, who everyone knows is an asshole, is screwing some other woman, his twenty-year-old secretary if that even matters, because the most important thing here is for everyone to be upbeat. Nobody should get sidetracked. It’s business as usual. Life goes on, we endure. Don’t anybody cry or get mad. This too shall pass. Did I get that right?”

  Elizabeth winced. “I’m worried about Daddy. He just looks so stressed all the time. He doesn’t want anyone, especially Mom, to know, but he’s having those pains again. I asked him and he finally admitted it.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Fiona jumped up. “Then he should see a doctor and stop trying to play God in everyone’s life!” She paced back and forth as Elizabeth stared at her folded hands. “Why not just lay things out on the table? Here’s the crap, here’s the dirt, deal with it! Why does everything have to be so damn perfect? Why does he think he has to control everything? That he has to be the one to make everything right?” she demanded, thinking of Patrick’s tax bills and the twins in Lizzie’s class and Jack’s job and the countless people telling her through the years how grateful they were to her uncle.

  “He’s not, he . . . ,” Elizabeth said so hesitantly that Fiona stopped suddenly and bent over the table as the reason for this visit became clear.

  “He sent you here, didn’t he? What?”
she demanded, snatching the list from her cousin’s hand. “Am I on here too? ‘Tell Fiona to please stop embarrassing the family!’” she pretended to read before balling up the paper and throwing it down. It rolled off the table onto the floor.

  “I’m worried about him, Fiona. That’s the only reason I’m here,” Elizabeth said as she bent to retrieve her list. She smoothed it out on the table.

  Fiona looked at her cousin, who once again was begging her to be good, please be good, Fiona. How had they maintained such power over this one dutiful child, and not the other? Was Elizabeth simply kinder, more sensitive? Or was it because she had always been the one more loved?

  “Lizzie, things go wrong in people’s lives. It happens all the time. Everywhere, to everyone. But Uncle Charles and Aunt Arlene can’t face that. They won’t accept it, and now the same thing’s happening with you, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t see anything wrong in trying to make them happy,” Elizabeth said, her porcelain features fired into a hard white knot, as tight as it was unyielding.

  “Well how can they be happy if you’re not?” Fiona said, attempting to soften her tone. Cornered, Elizabeth would be, as always, intractable.

  “I am. I’m happy.” Elizabeth’s hesitant smile brightened with steeliness. “Especially now that I don’t have the wedding to worry about,” she said, briskly stirring her coffee though she had added nothing to it.

  Fiona’s distress rose with the insistent click of the spoon, its tinny peal as chilling as Elizabeth’s dismissal of her wedding and fiancé. Poor Rudy, she thought angrily. He had no idea how caught he was between Elizabeth’s desire to please her father and her feelings for George. In the name of goodness, it was such devious cruelty; under the banner of kindness such invisible selfishness. By knowing all the bloodless ways to excise a heart, they had perfected the art of an admirable life with their careful composition of pleasant features, she thought with a sudden bilious exhilaration. Watching carefully, alert to any sign, the slightest quiver, sagging shoulders, downcast eyes, she began to tell her cousin how she and Rudy had run into each other at the mall last night, then gone to Pacer’s for something to eat. She was amazed to see only pleasure in Elizabeth’s expression. And relief.