Fiona Range

by Mary McGarry Morris

  “Larry!” She backed up and rested the edge of the crowded tray on his table. “Can I get you something?”

  “I need to see you I have to now Fiona please please please!” He clutched the front of his shirt and tried to catch his breath. His ruddy cheeks glowed with sweat.

  Promising to come right back, she hurried to the next table, where the two older women groaned when she served them. Their tuna plates were wrong. They wanted tuna without mayonnaise. She returned them to the kitchen and had to endure Chester’s diatribe against “health food screwballs” and herself for not getting the order right in the first place. When she finally came back out, Larry was sobbing quietly with his face in his hands. A mound of napkins grew in front of him as he kept wiping his nose. She slid next to him into the booth. “What is it? What’s wrong, Larry?”

  “I’m in trouble I’m in big trouble really big trouble.” He burst into tears and cried so hard the table shook against his trembling body.

  “What happened? Calm down now, and tell me what happened.”

  “It wasn’t my fault I didn’t mean to . . . all the guys we were all just fooling around that’s all and they kept saying ‘Yah, you think you can but you can’t you’re big but you’re just a pea brain Larry that’s all that’s all you are’ so I just pulled on the trash thing the basket part hard as I could and it did it came off the pole but then it went whoom!” he said, throwing his hands back over his head. “Right through the fucking window Fiona oops bad word I’m sorry,” he gasped, covering his mouth. “Sorry sorry I didn’t mean to say that but I’m scared I’m so scared Fiona!”

  “That’s okay, Larry, but what window did you break?”

  “The drugstore.” He winced.

  “CVS?” It was the largest expanse of plate glass on Main Street.

  He nodded. “Yah the whole front smashed.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Just now.”

  “And what’d you do, come right in here?”

  He nodded. They both looked toward the street now as a police car flashed past the coffee shop. Its siren sounded a few short bursts to warn pedestrians out of its way. She asked where everyone else had gone. He said they all ran away when the window broke.

  “Did anybody see you come in here?”

  “I don’t know!” he cried, shaking his head as another cruiser flew by. “But I don’t want to go to jail Fiona I didn’t mean to do it and now I’m going to be in so much trouble,” he bawled.

  Maxine and Donna were both at the table now.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” Maxine hissed, jabbing her finger into his massive arm as if to find the button that would turn him off. “You just stop that right now!”

  “Come on, Larry.” Fiona held his hand. “I’ll take him out back,” she told Maxine, who kept demanding that he be quiet or leave. He was disturbing her customers. All eating and conversation ceased. Every head had turned toward his frantic bleating.

  “I know his father. We used to work together down at the sneaker plant. Ed’ll be pissed, but I know how to handle him,” Donna told Fiona, who had finally gotten Larry onto his feet. “Don’t worry, Larry. I’m gonna go call your dad,” Donna said.

  “No!” Larry groaned, pulling away. “No no don’t don’t do that please please don’t.”

  “She won’t,” Fiona assured him. “Just come in the kitchen with me. Come on, Larry. We’ll get this all figured out. Come on now, Larry,” she coaxed, leading him by the hand into the kitchen.

  Seeing the enormous sobbing man, Chester threw down his towel and began to laugh. “This is some kinda joke, right?” he cried in a high shaky voice. “What’re you tryna do, push me all the way over the edge here?”

  “I’ve got to call my uncle!” She raced past him and dialed the courthouse, praying he hadn’t gone out for lunch. “It’s an emergency,” she told his secretary.

  “Fiona!” Uncle Charles said, seconds later. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  She told him about Larry. “He’s still crying. He’s so upset. The police are right down the street. I know I should bring him back out there, but I can’t stand the thought of him having to go through all that alone, that’s why I called.”

  “Tell him not to worry. I’ll be right there. We’ll work it out. We’ll take care of it,” Uncle Charles said, and she smiled down at Larry.

  He was there in ten minutes. Fiona watched him lean over Larry with one hand on his shoulder, assuring him that everything would be all right. There’d probably be a fine and he’d have to pay to replace the window, but he was not going to jail, Uncle Charles said, and that was a promise.

  Maxine hovered behind them. Chester gestured for her to get the Judge something to drink. Arms folded, Larry rocked slightly in the wooden chair, wide-eyed and nodding eagerly at all he was being told. Maxine hurried back in and gave the Judge a glass of ginger ale. He handed it to Larry, who gulped it down, belched loudly, then sheepishly apologized. Chester gestured for her to go get another one.

  “So you come with me now, Larry. We’ll go down and explain what happened,” Uncle Charles said.

  “No! They’re gonna yell at me in there the manager he hates me he’s always throwing me out of the store.”

  “I meant the police station. We’ll go down to the station and we’ll tell them what happened and we’ll call your dad—”

  “No!” Larry said. He shrank back. “Don’t call my dad please don’t call him please don’t call him.”

  “We have to,” Uncle Charles said softly.

  “No!”

  “I’ll talk to him, Larry. And I’ll tell him how scared you are and how it was an accident. He’ll understand.”

  “No! He’s gonna be so mad he’s gonna yell and swear I know he is.” As if straitjacketing himself in place, he crossed his arms over his chest and locked both hands on the back of the chair.

  “I’m going to be honest with you, Larry. He’ll certainly be mad, but if you want, I’ll stay there with you while you talk to him. And I’ll tell him how you didn’t mean to do it. It’ll be hard for a little bit, but then it’ll get better, Larry. You’ll see. The hardest part is right now, just sitting here and worrying about it, but as soon as we do something, you won’t be so scared. So come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s go take care of it now.”

  “Can you call my mom can you tell her to come instead?” Larry asked, wiping his runny nose on his shoulder.

  His mom was getting over heart surgery, her uncle reminded him, and Larry sobbed.

  Fiona knelt down and took his hand. “Larry! We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you. We’re your friends.”

  “That’s right.” Her uncle leaned closer. “Listen to Fiona now, Larry.”

  She looked back and suggested it might be best to call Mr. Belleau now before they went to the station. “At least get that over with. He seems more scared of that than anything.”

  “Good idea,” her uncle said, and Chester brought him to the phone by the cooler door.

  Maxine got Larry another ginger ale while Fiona continued talking to him. Her uncle came back and told Larry his father was glad he wasn’t hurt. He promised not to yell, but Larry had to get up right now and go to the police station. Larry stood then and followed her uncle to the door. Fiona gave Larry a hug. “My uncle Charles’ll take good care of you. You know he will, so don’t worry.”

  “That’s right,” her uncle said with a pat on Larry’s sweaty back. “I’m going to take good care of you, Larry,” he said as they went through the door.

  “Phew! Who was that masked man?” Chester sighed, wiping his face with a towel.

  “Don’t even kid,” Maxine said, shaking her head. “He’s got to be one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. Not many men would do that.”

  No, they wouldn’t, Fiona thought with such an unaccustomed surge of familial pride that for the rest of the afternoon she felt transported by a quiet buoyancy. A deep calm settled over h
er. There was so much to do, and it all seemed so simple, the layers of obfuscation suddenly so transparent. Sunday night her uncle had spoken of her good heart, his brief acknowledgment not just high praise but, finally, validation.

  Chapter 19

  Oh, hi, Uncle Charles! It’s Fiona.” Her smile faded with the silence at the other end of the line. “So. How’re you doing?”

  “I’m fine, Fiona. Thank you,” he answered stiffly.

  She said she wanted to know what to bring for Thanksgiving dinner.

  “Arlene,” he called away from the phone.

  “But wait! Uncle Charles!” She asked what had happened to Larry Belleau, which was really why she’d called. She’d been waiting to hear.

  “Nothing, really.” His voice was clipped and distant. “His family’s paying the damages and the drugstore’s agreed not to press charges.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” She was relieved, but hurt that he hadn’t let her know. “I’ve been wondering what happened. In fact, I was thinking of calling the Belleaus to find out.”

  “No, don’t. Don’t call them,” he said quickly. “Ed Belleau doesn’t want you bothering Larry.”

  “What do you mean, bothering him?”

  “He said you get him all riled up. That you enjoy doing it.”

  “What? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped.

  “He mentioned some party last fall. He said you and Larry were swimming together. Without anything on,” he added in a muffled voice.

  “And you believe that?” she asked, cringing and holding her forehead.

  “It’s hard sometimes to know what to believe, Fiona.” He handed the phone to Aunt Arlene, who was asking if everything was all right. “Fiona just wants to know what to bring for dinner,” he said as her aunt came on the line.

  “Well, that’s easy!” Arlene declared. The same cranberry mold she’d made last year, her aunt told her. It had looked so elegant on the table, shimmering red under the candlelight.

  Except no one had eaten it, Fiona reminded her.

  “They most certainly did,” her aunt insisted. “Oh, and by the way, if you’d like to bring someone to dinner, Fiona, please do. Feel free.”

  “Really? Well maybe I’ll ask Patrick then.”

  “Please, dear. Now you know that’s not what I meant. Actually, I was just thinking of poor George and how alone he’ll be feeling. This’ll be his first Thanksgiving without his dad, you know. I bet if you asked him he’d be thrilled. And please tell him he doesn’t have to bring a thing. His good company is all we need.”

  “I won’t be asking him.”

  “Oh, but why?”

  “Because I don’t want to.”

  “But I know it would mean a lot to him. He’s always enjoyed it here so much,” her aunt persisted. “And now that you and he are—”

  “Aunt Arlene,” Fiona interrupted. “It’s Lizzie who should ask him. Not me.”

  “Well. In any event we may be having two other guests with us. The little Buelmann twins from Elizabeth’s class. Their grandfather’s in the hospital and might not be out in time for the holiday.”

  “Oh! So Lizzie’s feeling better then.” She must be if two of her students were coming to dinner.

  Fiona’s longing for Rudy had become a constant ache in her chest. When she woke up this morning she had dialed his number, expecting she would know what to say by the time his machine came on. He answered on the first ring, sounding rushed and irritable. She had hung up.

  “Actually, she’s not.” Speaking slowly, her aunt seemed to examine each word as if it might be a coin too valuable to spend. “That is, not as quickly as we’d hoped. But then, it took her some time to get this run-down, so I guess it’s going to be a while before she’s back to her old self again.”

  “Has she seen a doctor yet?”

  “Rudy’s up there now with her.”

  “I mean a psychiatrist.” The word fell like a club between them. “She should be on antidepressants or something.”

  “But she won’t,” her aunt said quickly. “She’s afraid of the connotations, the fallout. You know, with her job and everything.”

  “The fallout’ll be a whole lot worse if she ends up having a breakdown.”

  “Well, yes, and that’s pretty much what we’re all working on here,” her aunt said, as voices grew in the background. “Time and rest, I guess that’s what she needs most right now. Yes, and a lot of good food, Rudy’s just telling Uncle Charles now.”

  Rudy. Fiona asked to speak with him. She heard him clearing his throat on his way to the phone.

  “Hello?” he answered uneasily. “Fiona? Are you there?” he said when she didn’t speak right up.

  “Yah, I’m here.” Her eyes were closed.

  “How are you doing?” he asked in a low, toneless voice. “Everything okay?”

  “Oh yah. Everything’s fine. Great. As a matter of fact, things couldn’t be better.”

  There was a pause. “Are you sure? You sound . . . well, you sound a little congested.”

  “Do I?” She dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose.

  “You do. You sound as if you’ve got a bad cold there. Do you need anything for it?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “Well, probably the usual regimen: rest, liquids, and Tylenol.”

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “No, that usually takes care of it,” he said.

  With her shoulder hunched against the phone, she was picking through cranberries while she listened to Patrick. His third call tonight, and they were having the same conversation again. She was right, he was telling her. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was now. If he was going to have any kind of a life he had to get out of here. There wasn’t any point in waiting. But what about selling his property? she asked. No, he said, it would take too long. But he needed the money and that was valuable land, so why not be patient and just wait a while? It probably wouldn’t even take that long, and she was sure once it became a reality Uncle Charles would help expedite matters. No! Absolutely not. Hollis couldn’t know anything about this. He’d made up his mind. He had to leave now, and that’s all there was to it, but she had to promise not to tell anyone. They wouldn’t have to take much. He was working himself into a frenzy again.

  “Patrick,” she said as gently as she could. “The whole idea is for you to get away. Not me.”

  “No. That’s what I’m saying. I keep trying to tell you. I can’t. I mean, it won’t work that way. You have to come with me. You have to! It’s the only way!”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. She was trying to be patient, but there was no reasoning with him. He had gotten on this bizarre tangent and couldn’t seem to get himself off, and she had only herself to blame for suggesting it in the first place.

  “I can’t just go and leave you behind,” he kept insisting. “I can’t!”

  “Why? Why can’t you?”

  “Because I can’t, God damn it, I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!” he bellowed with a thud as if he’d hit something with his fist.

  Her doorbell rang. “I better hang up, Patrick.”

  “Why? Somebody there? Who is it? Who’s there?”

  “No, it’s the oven. The bell’s ringing. I’ve got to take something out.”

  “But I’ve got to talk to you.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  “When?”

  “In a while. It shouldn’t take too long.”

  She opened the door, amazed to see George Grimshaw. He apologized for barging in like this, but he had just come from seeing Elizabeth. He had to talk to someone, to someone who loved her the way he did.

  “I’ve never seen her like that,” he said. “She’d cry and then she’d try to talk, but then she’d just start crying.” He sat on the edge of the chair with his head in his hands. “I can’t get the sound of it out of my mind. Like she was in pain, this deep, deep pain that kept pourin
g out of her.” He looked up with panicky eyes. “What can I do? I have to do something!” he said, hitting his hand with his fist.

  “Why? Why do you have to do something?”

  “Because this is all my fault!” he gasped.

  The phone rang. The minute she picked it up, Patrick began to talk about leaving again. She said she was still in the middle of cooking and couldn’t talk right now. She’d have to call him back. This time she left the phone off the hook. She had never seen George so distraught.

  Frantic, he was on his feet, pacing now. “I never should have tried to get her back. I should have left her alone, but I couldn’t. I was so lonely, I couldn’t stand it. I kept calling her and calling her. The whole time she was in New York I’d call and we’d just talk, you know, like friends—or that’s what she thought, then this one time she called me. It was a couple weeks after my father died, and I told her how much it meant that she’d called me. But she said she had to tell me something. She said she was engaged, and I just lost it. I told her no, she couldn’t; she couldn’t do that. I told her how alone I felt, how she was all I had left. I begged her to come home, to at least give me a chance. I said after all our years together she at least owed me that.” He paused. “And I couldn’t believe it. She said, all right, that she would. That she’d come back and see.”

  Fiona listened in amazement as he described Elizabeth’s return. Overwhelmed with joy and the realization of how close they’d come to losing one another forever, they had slept together her first night back. But then a few days later, to Elizabeth’s shock and dismay, Rudy arrived. She found herself trapped between everyone’s expectations. Unable to tell Rudy the truth about her feelings, she stopped seeing George.

  “Okay, let me get this straight now,” Fiona said. “So that’s when you started hitting on me.”

  “No. No, no, I was very fond of you, Fiona. I—”

  “Fond of me!” She grabbed a magazine, and he ducked as she threw it. “Fond of me, you phony, uptight son of a bitch, you fucked me, remember? Me? In there?” she said, pointing to the bedroom door.