Return to Appleton

by Sylvia Bambola

  “A thousand dollars?” The prospect of a car was fading into oblivion.

  “Right, but it’ll only be for a little while.”

  “Okay … sure.” What else could Gloria say? Tracy had been there for her a thousand times. She just couldn’t step away now when it was her turn to be on the giving end.

  “Thanks, kiddo. I knew you’d come through.”

  “So what sort of things do you have on the back burner?”

  “Well … Nicky has this cousin over in Shepherd’s Field who’s looking for someone to tend bar three nights plus weekends.”

  “Nicky, as in Cervantes?”

  “Well, who else, silly? He said I’d make a fortune with all the tips.”

  “But tending bar?” Gloria thought of the time she went to The Tomb with Tucker in Eckerd City—with its loud music and pungent smells—and couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to work in a bar. “You always hated being around guys when they got drunk. You said they … they got offensive.”

  Tracy laughed. “Well, kiddo, if a girl has any kind of decent face or figure at all, then guys are gonna get offensive, drunk or sober.”

  Gloria thought about Jenny Hobart in Eckerd and all the problems she’d had because she was so beautiful. “Well … I suppose. But you don’t know the first thing about tending bar. Besides, don’t you need some sort of license?”

  “See … there you go, Gloria, looking at all the negatives instead of being happy for me. But you don’t need to worry. It just so happens that Nicky’s cousin knows the owner of a bartending school where I can get my license quick. And Nicky’s cousin said his friend would be willing to wait for payment, with some interest, of course, till I started work.”

  “I don’t know, Tracy; it all sounds so iffy and vague. Why don’t you just go back to telemarketing? You’re really good at it. The best I know. How can you give that up?”

  Tracy snorted with laughter. “What’s to give up? My last telemarketing job gave me up, remember? Even though I brought in more sales than anyone. I ran circles around those other marketers, Gloria, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing. No appreciation, no pat on the back, no job. Now, I’m finished with all that. I’m tired of knocking my brains out to fill someone else’s pocket. I’m going for the easy money. If I can mix a few drinks and smile real big and have someone pay me for the privilege, then I’m doing it. I’ve got to find some way to pay off my bills. And I’m not going to live at home forever.”

  “I don’t know, Tracy. I just wish you’d think about it some more, or at least—”

  “Don’t worry, kiddo. I know what I’m doing. Hey, did I tell you? Mom heard from Tucker the other day.”

  “How is he?” No point in continuing the argument. When Tracy locked her mind onto something, there was nothing Gloria or anyone else could do to unfasten it.

  “He’s still not talking to me, but he seems to be doing okay—at least, that’s what he told Mom. Should I ask her to send your regards?”

  “He’s not talking to me either.”

  “I know that. But if you still have a thing for him, maybe Mom can put in a good word.”

  “No. That’s all over.” Gloria felt profoundly grateful that her brush with foolishness was history.

  “Okay, kiddo, okay. If you say so.” But Tracy didn’t sound convinced. “So when can I have the thousand?”

  Gloria glanced at the kitchen clock. If she hurried, she could just make the bank before it closed at noon. Otherwise she’d have to wait and pull out the money Monday. “I’ll head for the bank now,” she said. “Meet me there.”

  “Thanks, Gloria. You’re terrific. A real friend. You don’t know how much this will help me.”

  Gloria said goodbye, then hung up, questioning if this loan was really the right way to help her friend at all.

  Cutter Press meandered down the aisles of Sam Hidel’s Grocery, filling his basket with whatever caught his fancy. There was nothing he really needed. He was on a fool’s expedition, hoping to encounter Gloria. He knew he had only to go to her apartment in the back and knock on the door because he’d seen her red Schwinn leaning against a tree by her driveway when he drove past. But he wanted a less direct approach. A chance meeting, then some polite conversation, and maybe an invitation to coffee. He knew he was being an idiot and forgetting his cardinal rule of always trying to keep Gloria off balance. But so far that had gotten him nowhere. And he had already decided to change tactics. But this was unfamiliar territory, and he wasn’t sure just how he should go about implementing that change.

  He was reaching for a jar of Prego when he spotted Pearl Owens at the end of the aisle and quickly did an about-face with his cart, nearly running over Wanda Lugget’s foot. After a brief apology, he rounded the corner, safely out of view. Pearl was always looking for someone’s ear to bend with the latest gossip, and he didn’t want it to be his. He hadn’t gotten far when he heard Pearl’s voice drift over the top of the aisle.

  “Good to see you, Wanda. How’s business?”

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  “And Gloria? How’s she working out?”

  At the sound of Gloria’s name, Cutter pulled his cart to a stop.

  “A real asset. We’ve got new business pouring in from all over, thanks to her.”

  “You must be paying her well.”

  “Why do you say that?” Cutter thought Wanda sounded defensive.

  “Well, haven’t you heard? She’s paying Hannah’s grocery bills. Saw her myself. Just peeled off eight one-hundred-dollar bills, like it was Monopoly money, right in front of Sam’s register. ’Course, I find it unconscionable of Geri to allow her daughter to assume such a responsibility. But you know how Geri feels about Hannah, and maybe …”

  Cutter stopped listening and pushed his cart as far away from Pearl Owens as possible. So that’s why Gloria suddenly couldn’t afford a car. Well … maybe this was a way he could get her attention. But he’d have to be careful and do it right. If he overplayed his hand, everything could backfire.

  Gloria stepped through the doors of the Appleton Savings Bank and onto the sidewalk. A stream of people passed by. Those she knew called her name and waved hello; those she didn’t passed without a word. Gloria peered through the crowd and spotted Tracy, directly in front of her, leaning against the hood of an old, beat-up green Ford. Nick Cervantes sat behind the wheel with his head resting against the seat, his eyes closed.

  “Hey, kiddo. What great timing. We just got here.”

  Gloria walked over to Tracy with the bulging envelope in her hand and tried to ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach. “I didn’t know he was coming.”

  Tracy shrugged and glanced back at Nick. So did Gloria. Nick now sat upright as if he had actually smelled the money in Gloria’s hand, and the smell had revived him. One eye was swollen and bluish—Gloria assumed as the result of a fight. Unwashed hair hung over his forehead and around his ears. His cheeks and chin were black with stubble. There was no way around it—Nick Cervantes needed a good bath and shave.

  Tracy didn’t look much better. Her clothes were crumpled as if she had slept in them, or maybe they had been sitting in the dryer too long. Her red hair looked as greasy as Nick’s and was pulled back in a ponytail, except for some renegade wisps around both ears and at the nape of her neck. She wore no makeup, and that, plus the messy hair, made her look haggard. The only things that seemed out of place were her Reeboks. They looked new.

  “I didn’t expect him to be here,” Gloria repeated.

  “Does it matter?” Tracy took the envelope from Gloria’s outstretched hand.

  “I worry … that’s all.”

  Unexpectedly, Tracy reached over and gave Gloria a hug. “Don’t, kiddo. Everything’s going to be all right. I just know it.” Then, after a quick kiss on Gloria’s cheek, Tracy jumped into the old Ford and gave Nick’s shoulder a nudge, and away they went.

  Gloria watched the car until it turned down a side street and disappeared.
Then she headed for the bicycle rack and her Schwinn, and when she did, she saw that someone else was watching too. Only, he was watching her—the same man she had seen twice before near the print shop.

  She tried not to show her nervousness, but her fingers fumbled awkwardly with the bike chain, and it seemed to take forever to get it off. She tossed the chain and lock into her basket, then mounted her bike, but not before deliberately looking the man in the face. “Nice day,” she said. But the man just stood there glaring, and all Gloria could do was pedal away.

  Was it just coincidence?

  “Hi, Harry. Just have a quick question.” Perspiration beaded Gloria’s forehead—as much from the brisk ride from the bank to her apartment as from her nagging uneasiness—and the phone felt slippery in her sweaty palm.

  “Well, hey there, stranger.”

  “I need to know if you ever printed those flyers. The ones we wrote just before we found Santa Claus.”

  “Well, actually I did. Wasn’t sure if I was going to, not after that nasty business, but I finally decided we shouldn’t let the flyer go to waste. Been getting a lot of calls, too, on that new 800 number I set up. Almost all of them are about that piece on nonprofit groups making big profits on real estate sales to the Forest Service. But why are you asking?”

  “Because … well … I think someone’s following me.”

  Chapter Nine

  VIRGINIA DIDN’T LOOK THAT GOOD—actually worse than last time—all drawn and shriveled like dehydrated fruit. Gloria pushed the door open all the way, noting it didn’t make a sound as it moved on its hinges, then stepped into Virginia’s bedroom. The whole house, and in particular this bedroom, had taken on a stillness as though holding its breath, waiting for death to arrive. Agnes Keller hadn’t even taken Gloria up, just pointed to the tired, creaking staircase and said, “She’s expecting you.” But how could one so frail have any interest in entertaining visitors? Maybe Gloria would come back another time. Before she could take a single step backward, she heard a dry, crusty voice.

  “Well, don’t just stand way over there. Come in.”

  Gloria lingered by the door. “You sure you’re up to it?”

  A laugh that sounded more like a cough parted the stale air. “People have been underestimating me all my life. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “If you were, then you’d tell Cutter the truth.”

  The covers rustled as Virginia rose, her thin, clawlike hand feeling for the pillows behind her. “Come prop me up.” There was the barest hint of a smile on her face.

  Gloria walked over, fluffed the five massive pillows, and positioned them in a way she thought most comfortable. “He’s your son, Virginia. He has a right to know. You need to tell him the truth.”

  “Cutter doesn’t want to know the truth.”

  “You said you were worried about him. That after you’re gone he’s going to need to deal with some issues. But you’re not helping any. And you could. You could make what happens later easier, by letting him make his peace with you.”

  Virginia arched her graying eyebrows and peered at Gloria with small, dark, almost-black eyes that reminded Gloria of a crow’s. “What makes you think he’d want to make peace?”

  “I have no idea what Cutter would or wouldn’t want, but that’s not the point. The point is, you must give him that chance.”

  Virginia’s bony hand pointed to a sweating pitcher on the nightstand. “I’ll take some of that.”

  “My, but you’re good at giving orders.” Gloria poured ice water into a glass. “Are you as good at taking them? Now, that’s the question.”

  “You never fooled me with that timid, cellophane-wrapped Emily Post façade. I always knew you had grit, Gloria. Didn’t I tell you? But I wasn’t expecting you to get so sassy with me. I’m not sure I like it.”

  “You opened the box and asked me to step in. Remember? Call me Virginia, you said, and we’ll play by different rules.”

  Virginia chuckled. “A good invitation, I believed. Still do.”

  “But the rules are about to change.”

  “They can’t, since I make them.”

  “Not anymore.” Gloria picked up Virginia’s thin, veiny hand and pressed it between her fingers. “And that’s what you’ve got to realize. God is calling the shots now.”

  “Then I don’t want to play.”

  “Soon you won’t be able to. It’s the last inning, and you’re up at bat. Don’t you want to see if you can hit a home run?”

  Virginia’s blackish eyes misted, but she remained silent.

  “Forgiveness, Virginia. Give Cutter your forgiveness, just like Jesus wants to give you His.”

  “Oh, forgiveness, forgiveness. Pffffff. It’s just a word. What does it mean? I forgive you, Cutter, for not loving me? I forgive you, Cutter, for making me miserable most of the time? I forgive you, Cutter, for doing everything in your power to embarrass and frustrate me? I forgive you, Cutter, for wasting our lives together? Is that what you want me to say, Gloria?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  “Will it bring back the wasted years? Will it give me a son who is capable of honoring his mother? Oh, yes, Gloria, I do know some Scripture, and I know a child is supposed to honor his mother and father. Will your word—forgiveness—give me all that?”

  “It won’t change the past, but it can give you peace, now, in the present.” Gloria felt Virginia’s hand tighten around her fingers.

  “I won’t promise anything except that I’ll think about it. I suppose it’s not fair to leave everything in a mess and expect you to clean it all up after I’m gone.” Virginia cocked her head and peered at Gloria. “But you’re a mean one, Gloria Bickford, to show no pity for a dying old woman, to push me hard like that.” She let her hand slip from Gloria’s. “I’ll think about it. I surely will do that. For now, maybe you’ll be nice to me and sit awhile? Tell me some of the town news?”

  Gloria smiled at the elderly woman with her matted hair and liver spots and cabbage-vein hands and wondered how this small, frail-looking woman had ever been capable of terrorizing her and Cutter all their lives. “Here’s a shocker,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Someone wants to buy Clive’s farm. I hear he was offered …”

  Geri Bickford sat across from Gloria, feeling strangely uncomfortable. She picked at her burgundy-blush nails like a nervous schoolgirl. “When you called and asked me to lunch, I never expected it to be La Fontaine. Just look at these prices!”

  Gloria laughed. “I haven’t seen you in a while and wanted this to be a treat.” She brushed her ponytail away from her neck as though it were irritating her skin.

  It was certainly irritating Geri the way Gloria kept fooling with her ridiculous hair. What made her decide to change it, anyway? And just when she was actually starting to look somewhat attractive. Didn’t Gloria know ponytails went out in the sixties?

  And what was with Gloria’s outfit?—a dungaree skirt and white short-sleeve cotton sweater. Geri didn’t much care for that either. Far too casual for La Fontaine. Luckily, Geri had picked her good linen slacks and English blazer to wear instead of that polyester outfit she had originally taken out of the closet. But Gloria should have warned her they were coming here.

  “Honestly, Gloria, sometimes you don’t have a brain in your head. You don’t have this kind of money. And why make us drive all the way to New Canterbury? We could just as easily have gone to Marty Grossman’s old diner—what’s its new name? So tasteless, Marty must be livid. But that’s what he gets for selling it to an outsider. What’s that name, now? Eats and … ?”

  “Eats Galore.”

  “That’s it.” Geri shook herself as though she’d heard a fingernail running down a blackboard. “Terribly tacky. Anyway … we could have gone there or to Tad’s. Tad makes a nice sandwich, and I hear he’s running a bunch of specials. I rather like his tuna melt, even though he gets a little carried away with the cheese and I usually end up taking most of it of
f—not terribly good for the waistline. But La Fontaine. What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking I wanted to make our time together special.”

  “Well … that’s nice … I guess. But next time let’s go to Tad’s.”

  “Okay, okay.” Gloria laughed. “Next time we’ll go to Tad’s.”

  Geri flipped the menu open and tried to concentrate. “I wonder if they have any Sunday specials. They must. People love to go out to eat after church. Though I never went in for that myself. Always thought Sunday was best spent at home, with family.” She glanced at Gloria’s face, which was all politeness and smiles, but there, tucked behind her eyelashes, was a blank look, and the corner of Gloria’s mouth twisted as she stifled a yawn. Geri had seen it for years: Gloria’s mastery at looking like she was paying attention when she wasn’t. Geri didn’t want to admit it, but she had looked forward to their lunch together, had so wanted it to be pleasant. Maybe if she talked about something Gloria liked. Maybe that would break this uneasy feeling. “So, how was church this morning?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t go.”

  “Does that mean you have to go to confession?” She waited for the exasperated sigh, but heard none.

  “You know they don’t hear confessions at Full Gospel. And even if they did, the answer is no. ‘The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.’”

  “Don’t waste your breath quoting Scripture to me, Gloria. I’m never going to be one of you.” When Gloria just sat sweetly, staring at her menu, Geri became agitated. “Okay, so where did you go?”

  “To visit Virginia.”

  “You mean Mrs. Press, don’t you? Really, Gloria. It seems like you’ve forgotten all your manners.”

  “Virginia asked me to call her Virginia, so I am. By the way, when did you see her last?”

  “About a week ago.”