Fiona Range

by Mary McGarry Morris

  He closed his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I am. I’ve made such a mess out of everything.”

  “Well you weren’t working alone, George, believe me.” She shook her head with a bitter laugh. “In fact I thought we had some kind of special thing going there for a while.”

  He covered his face and groaned.

  “Aw, c’mon, George. It’s not that bad.”

  He looked at her. “She’s always been so good, and I . . . I took advantage of that.”

  “No you didn’t!” she said.

  “Yes. I did. I did,” he said with a helpless, sickening squeal.

  “Come on now, George, she’s a grown woman. She knew what she was doing.”

  “But I made her hate herself. I made her do something so against her nature that now she’s destroying herself.” He sobbed.

  “But that’s not something you did.” She got up and sat next to him on the sofa. She watched him for a moment. He couldn’t stop crying. Poor George, he was as caught in the web of Elizabeth’s kindness as Rudy was. “George! Lizzie’s . . . well, the truth is, she’s always been a little neurotic! About certain things, that is. Like right now, she’d rather lay up in that bed than tell the truth or come to any decision about who she really is and what she wants.”

  “All she wanted was to be a good person. That’s all she wanted,” he gasped. “And I knew that.”

  “No, George, that’s where you’re wrong. Don’t you see? It’s not the being good that matters to Lizzie. She just can’t bear the thought of anyone thinking she’s not good.” She put her hand on his arm. “George, you can’t beat yourself up like this. It’s not your fault.”

  “No, you don’t understand.”

  “Yes I do. Because I love her too, so I know how you feel.”

  “No, you don’t understand. You know that night you went to Verzanno’s? Well, I ran into them.” He looked at her. “No, the truth is I followed them. He didn’t know me, but I knew who he was. They’d just dropped you off, and she was so nervous she never even introduced us. I offered to buy them a drink, but Elizabeth said she had to get up early to run with you. So that’s why,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He kept trying to look at Fiona, but couldn’t. “Do you know what I’m saying? I came here on purpose that morning. I even left the door open. I wanted her to see me with you. I knew that would hurt her more than anything, and I wanted to hurt her so badly. I wanted her to know what it felt like every time I saw her with him. How it would feel for the rest of our lives,” he sobbed.

  “You bastard.”

  “And that first night, the night we went to the Orchard House. They were supposed to be there that night, but she saw my truck in the driveway, so she said she was sick.” He still hadn’t looked up.

  “You son of a bitch. You no-good son of a bitch.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry. But she was mine. I mean, I finally had her back after all that time, and I couldn’t lose her again. I just couldn’t.”

  “Get out, George. Just get the hell out, will you?”

  He nodded, but didn’t move. “But I just want you to know, Fiona, it was the worst, most disgusting thing I’ve ever done. Believe me.”

  “I believe you. Oh God, do I ever!” She burst out laughing, and didn’t stop until he was gone.

  Thanksgiving morning was cold and bright with sunshine. The phone rang while she was getting dressed. She ran to answer it. Her hand jerked back. Patrick was shouting into the answering machine. “Fiona! Pick up the phone! Pick up the goddamn phone!” he demanded. “I know you’re there. You’re listening to me, aren’t you? You didn’t call last night, did you, because that fucking Grimshaw was there, right? I saw his truck. I almost went up there. I should have. And next time I will, so you listen real careful now because I’m sick of this. I’m sick of your little games. I’m sick of this shit and I’m not putting up with it anymore. You said you’d call. We have to talk. You know we do. We have to do this, and I been up all night, waiting, and now I need to talk to you, so pick up the phone! Pick up the goddamn—” The tape clicked and cut him off. Her stomach was queasy. After George left she had fallen asleep on the couch. The phone began to ring again now. She hurried out to her car. She was upset with Patrick, and George had made her feel used and worthless, but it was with Elizabeth that she felt most angry.

  It was windy, with sudden raw gusts that swirled papers and funnels of leaves across the road. Even with the heater on high she was still shivering when she pulled into the driveway. She knew by the cars that everyone was here—everyone but Rudy. He must be working, she thought, deeply disappointed. She could hear her aunt and Susan laughing as they finished setting the table in the dining room. Before she did anything, she made room in the refrigerator for her cranberry mold. She had gotten up at five this morning to make it, but it still wasn’t firmly jelled. As she hung up her coat, she thought she smelled smoke. She opened the oven to make sure the turkey wasn’t burning. Peeling back the aluminum foil, she saw that it was golden brown. The door to the back stairs opened and Ginny came into the kitchen carrying a tray of half-filled glasses and cups.

  “Oh good. You’re here,” Ginny said, setting down the tray. She’d been tidying up Elizabeth’s bedroom. Elizabeth didn’t feel well enough to come down for dinner, but Ginny had just told her that everyone’s day would be ruined if she stayed in bed. “She asked if you were here yet, so why don’t you go on up and see her. She’ll come down for you. I know she will.”

  Fiona said she’d rather not. What was the point in forcing her to come down?

  Because, Ginny explained, her parents would be devastated if she stayed up there. “Mother’s a wreck,” Ginny whispered, with a glance toward the clatter of silver being laid out in the dining room. “I’ve never seen her so worried, and Daddy too. He’s just so distracted. He even forgot to open the flue before he started the fire. Jack’s trying to clear out all the smoke. They’ve got all the windows open. It’s freezing in there.”

  “Ginny, what do you think is really wrong with Lizzie?” Fiona watched her cousin closely.

  “Stress, I guess. Mother says she’s just taken on too much all at once,” Ginny said with another glance toward the dining room.

  “Oh, so at least they’ve dropped the virus theory.”

  “I know,” Ginny agreed. “But what else can they say? They have to!” she added, seeing Fiona’s smirk. “I mean, they can’t very well go telling everyone she’s having some kind of breakdown now, can they?”

  “They would if it was me!” Fiona sputtered. “Nobody’d have any qualms about that!”

  “You really think that?” Ginny asked, and Fiona rolled her eyes.

  “Well they wouldn’t,” Ginny said. “I know they wouldn’t. Of course they wouldn’t.’

  “Are you kidding? Do you think for one minute they’d put up with that from me? You think they’d let me curl up in a ball and hide in the dark like that? No! You know damn well they wouldn’t!”

  “Fiona!” Aunt Arlene said, coming in from the dining room, carrying a stack of plates. Susan followed.

  “Happy Thanksgiving!” Susan greeted her with a quick pass of her cheek. She took the dishes from Aunt Arlene and began putting them into the dishwasher. They’d gotten the table half set before realizing the china was dusty.

  Jack rushed in next looking for matches. “Now Dad’s fire keeps going out,” he explained as he opened drawers and pawed through pot holders and tea towels.

  “Jack!” his mother said. “Say hello to Fiona.”

  “Sorry, kiddo.” He gave her a hug. He’d always been this single-minded when on a mission for his father, so anxious was he not to fail. His mother handed him a book of matches. “Dad wants to get the fire started before Rudy gets back,” he said on his way out.

  “Gets back?” Fiona blurted, grinning. “Why? Where’d he go?”

  “To get the Buelmann twins.” And once again Aunt Arlene explained that they were Elizabeth’s st
udents whose grandfather was just days home from the hospital and still too frail to cook.

  The gaps were being filled. They were fortifying the barricades against chaos and disruption, this litany of detail as appeasing as prayer, each repetition confirming their goodness and deep connections to one another. When Fiona had done something especially calamitous an exchange like this Song of the Buelmann Twins could reach fever pitch around her: Elizabeth’s running the Downtown 10K to raise money for the Dearborn Hospice. Aunt Arlene’s up to three quilts a month for HIV babies. Jack’s cooking at the Collerton Soup Kitchen every Wednesday night, while in their hearts they were really imploring her to: Be like us. Don’t keep wasting your life on messes. Be good. Help people.

  Yes, their kind of help that allowed Patrick to spend Thanksgiving Day alone. For all their works of charity, Fiona’s poor, bitter father was the last person they wanted at their table today. It was always safer to help strangers. She thought of Patrick smoking and watching television all day in that cold, drab house. She should have talked to him when he’d called instead of rushing here to be with people who weren’t as close to her as he was.

  “Imagine, being alone and sick on Thanksgiving. That poor man.” Her aunt sighed.

  “Rudy’ll make sure he’s all right. He’ll see if he needs anything,” Ginny said.

  “Well at least the poor man will have a nice hot turkey dinner. Rudy’s going to bring one later when he drops the twins off,” Susan said with a dramatic swish of her long plaid taffeta skirt back into the dining room.

  “I thought I’d put a plate together for Patrick later. If that’s all right,” Fiona said.

  “Oh,” her aunt said a second later. “Yes, well.” She paused, looking briefly flustered. “I hope Rudy remembers to tell him dinner’s coming.”

  “Oh, he will,” Ginny assured her from the stove as she whisked the gravy.

  “I hope so.” Aunt Arlene sighed. “For such a bright young man, he amazes me with his absentmindedness. I mean, look in the front closet at all the jackets and sweaters he keeps leaving behind.”

  “Maybe they’re George’s,” Fiona said.

  “George’s? No, I don’t think so,” Aunt Arlene said.

  “No, that’s right. She usually goes there, and Rudy comes here. I got it mixed up.”

  They both turned. Aunt Arlene looked confused. Ginny took a deep breath and shook her head.

  “Why don’t you go up and see if you can coax Elizabeth down here with us,” her aunt said, and Fiona headed out of the kitchen. “But don’t say anything about the twins. It’s supposed to be a surprise!” she called after her.

  Elizabeth sat on the foot of her bed drying her hair with a towel. The mirror reflected her wan smile when she saw Fiona peek through the open door. Fiona came in and sat beside her. They looked at one another through the mirror.

  “I’m trying,” Elizabeth sighed when Fiona asked if she were feeling any better.

  “Well that’s good.” Fiona was determined not to apologize for anything she’d said Sunday might. With the silence, their eyes caught and Fiona couldn’t help smiling. “You still do that,” she said as Elizabeth combed her lank wet hair. She’d worn it this same way all her life—straight, chin length, parted in the middle with bangs.

  “It’s the only thing that works,” Elizabeth said.

  “How do you know? You’ve never tried anything else. Here,” she said, taking the comb. “Let me try something.” She drew the comb along Elizabeth’s pink scalp, making a part on the side. She combed the hair back over her ears, then pressed the sides into deep waves. “There. I like that! It’s more sophisticated.” It made Elizabeth look more her age, less like a child. She realized that Elizabeth’s eyes were closed. “Are you crying?” she asked softly.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’m trying not to,” she whispered.

  “Why?” Fiona demanded angrily. “Because I did that? Because I changed your hair?”

  “I just need to be alone for a minute, that’s all,” she said, raking her fingers through her hair until it was straight again.

  Fiona jumped up and started for the door.

  “I’ll be all right,” Elizabeth whispered in a small, choked voice.

  Fiona turned and came back. “You’re coming down though, right?” she said, standing over her.

  “I really don’t want to,” Elizabeth said, her head bowed. “I really don’t.”

  “But you have to!” she said. “You understand that, don’t you?”

  Elizabeth looked up then.

  “Don’t you?” Fiona repeated, and Elizabeth nodded, her eyes such stagnant pools of misery that Fiona took her arm and shook it. “Lizzie! You’ve got to stop it. You can’t do this anymore. You’ve got everyone walking on eggshells. Your mother’s a wreck down there and your father’s just as bad. Can you smell that smoke? He almost burned the house down!”

  “He did?” Elizabeth tried to smile.

  “Yes! And George is in a bad way too.”

  “He’s not here, is he?” she gasped, hand at her chest.

  “No! But he thinks this is all his fault.” She paused, looking for even a stir in that dull gaze. “But it’s not, is it? We both know it’s not, right, Lizzie?”

  Elizabeth stood up. “I’ll get dressed now. And then I’ll be down. I promise.”

  “You won’t even talk about it! How selfish is that? You’re waiting for everyone else to work this out, aren’t you? And you don’t really care who gets hurt in the meantime, do you? Not even if it’s me, right, Lizzie? Or maybe especially if it’s me. Why? Because I deserve it? Because I brought it all on my trashy little self. Is that what you think? What did you do, write out that noble little speech for George so he could get rid of me? So I’d stop chasing him? So I’d leave him alone and stop trying to get into his pants all the time? Well, did he tell you what really happened? Did he tell you how he set us both up? How he used me to get you back?” she whispered, leaning close, amazed that Elizabeth’s only reaction was to close her eyes. “But you don’t really care, do you?”

  “I do care. I hate him for that. For what he did to you and to me. And I told him. I never want to see him again. Ever!”

  “But Lizzie!” The corner Fiona had backed into was closing around her. “Lizzie, tell me, tell me the truth now. Do you love Rudy? Do you really love him?” She waited, hands clenched, as Elizabeth stared back. It was so obvious that she didn’t. “It’s all right. You can tell me.” She leaned closer and took her dear cousin’s small hand. “You don’t, do you?”

  “Yes!” Elizabeth raised her chin. “I do. Of course I do.”

  When Elizabeth finally came downstairs she was dressed in baggy slacks and a shapeless black sweater. Rudy had just arrived with the twins.

  “Miss Hollis!” both girls cried, rushing toward her.

  “Margaret! Lucille!” Elizabeth said, kneeling to hug them. She told them how surprised and happy she was to see them.

  “Are you all better? Everyone misses you so much! Lucy told Mrs. Matley we’re not gonna go back to school until you come back,” Margaret declared in a defiant tone. The taller of the two, she was the more outspoken.

  “Oh, but you mustn’t do that now, girls!” Aunt Arlene laughed as she tugged off their jackets. Fiona knew from her aunt’s scrutiny of the soiled sleeves that both jackets would be washed and dried before the children left.

  “An ultimatum!” Uncle Charles said, smiling and patting their heads. “Well, Lucy, I guess we’ll just have to spend the day getting Miss Hollis healthy and ready for school again.”

  “Actually Maggie and Lucy could use some Tylenol, and I promised them both juice,” Rudy was telling Aunt Arlene. In the car one complained of an earache and the other a scratchy throat. “Oh! Thanks,” he said, his first acknowledgment of Fiona when she handed him the Tylenol bottle.

  “Oh! You’re welcome,” she said, echoing his surprised tone. He glanced away.

  Th
e twins had opened the bottom drawer of the sideboard and were pulling out coloring books and crayons. Rudy broke a tablet in half. Elizabeth poured two glasses of cranberry juice, then watched in amusement as Rudy tried to convince the girls to swallow the halved pills. Gagging, they ran to the sink to spit them out. Elizabeth broke another pill, which she crushed on teaspoons and mixed in sugar and juice, a concoction the girls quickly swallowed.

  “Obviously I’m not needed here,” Rudy said, leaving the kitchen.

  The twins announced they had to go to the bathroom. Fiona offered to bring them, but they ran off saying they already knew where the bathrooms were. Stepping into the hallway, Elizabeth said she was going to see how her father was doing with the fire. A moment later there was a creak on the back stairs. Elizabeth was tiptoeing back to her room.

  The twins raced into the kitchen with a deck of cards and Chinese checkers from the den closet. Their casual familiarity with everything irritated Fiona. Aunt Arlene was rinsing lettuce leaves and dropping them into the spinner.

  Jack pushed up his sleeves and sat down at the table to play cards with the girls. “Go fish!” he said to Maggie’s request for a queen.

  “For what?” Maggie giggled, hand poised over the cards. “Trout or for perch?”

  “She can’t. She don’t have any worms!” Lucy cried, and Jack burst out laughing.

  “Doesn’t,” Fiona corrected from the stove where she was ricing the boiled potatoes.

  “What’d the lady say?” Lucy asked Jack.

  “Doesn’t,” Fiona repeated. “You said it wrong. It’s supposed to be ‘She doesn’t have any worms.’”

  For a moment there was only the sound of Aunt Arlene’s knife striking the glass board as she sliced cucumbers.

  “She was only kidding,” Maggie informed her sister, then glared up at Fiona. “It was a joke, that’s all.” Maggie turned back to Jack and asked, “What the hell’s her problem?”

  “What?” Fiona said, trying not to laugh. “Wait a minute now!”

  “Yes dear,” Aunt Arlene said, hurrying to the table. She put both hands on the sullen twins’ shoulders and bent close. “You see, Fiona was only trying to tell you the correct way to say it. And you know something? When Fiona was a little girl we did the same thing to her.” She continued trying to explain the importance of good grammar.