Return to Appleton

by Sylvia Bambola

  “To lunch.” Gloria had already slung her purse strap over her shoulder and was heading for the door.

  “But it’s only ten thirty!”

  Gloria didn’t answer and continued walking, wondering why she was fuming. So Wanda didn’t think she was Cutter’s type? Wouldn’t Wanda split her sides with laughter if she knew that Cutter was in love—not with Sadie Bellows but with quiet, well-mannered Gloria Bickford? Well … used to be in love, anyway. Maybe still was, if she could believe what he said. But that little cuff-link drama last night was more or less the final act. Which was fine … a relief, actually. But for the life of her, Gloria couldn’t figure out why she still felt so … so out of sorts about it.

  She walked down Main Street toward the small diner on the corner of Phyllis Drive, only a block from the print shop. It was all so silly. Why should she care if it was over between her and Cutter? It never was anything to begin with. Besides, Cutter couldn’t possibly be the one God had picked for her. Cutter didn’t know the Lord. And one thing Gloria knew—it would not please her faithful Jesus if she became unequally yoked. Still … it had felt good being loved by someone, even someone like Cutter Press.

  “Hey! Just the person I was coming to see.”

  Gloria turned toward the voice and saw Tracy across the street in front of Dr. Grant’s office, waving. Gloria waited by Harvey’s Bait & Tackle until Tracy walked over. “I can’t believe you’re out of—”

  “Yeah, well … whatever.” Tracy tossed her long red hair. “‘Course, they socked me with a $350 fine. Boy, those creeps are always looking for ways to squeeze money outta you.”

  “Tracy, you got off easy. J.P. could have held you for fifteen days. Don’t you realize he gave you a break and that you—”

  “He’s a moron. You should have heard him preaching. Told me to think about what I was doing, that I was squandering my life. As if he really knew me. As if he knew my ambitions, my goals. Gimme a break. So I had one too many. You know how many people in any given day have one too many? What’s he gonna do, go around arresting everyone who has a beer?”

  “Tracy, you almost ran over Agnes Keller!”

  “Oh c’mon. That old biddy has no life except cleaning up after Virginia Press. The slightest thing rattles her, makes her blow it up like the Goodyear Blimp. I didn’t even come close to her, and she makes this big stink. But what can you expect from someone whose big hoo-ha every week is getting a pint of ice cream from Tad’s?”

  “There was a witness. Mr. Hotchkins, the bank manager, saw the whole thing. He said you missed Agnes by inches.”

  “Yeah, well … whatever.” Tracy picked at her polish-peeling thumbnail. “That’s not what I wanted to see you about. That fine really put a crimp in my wallet. And just now I had to shell out more money to Grant. He refused to renew my birth control pills unless I had an exam, and that snooty nurse of his made me pay cash, up front, just as soon as she learned I didn’t have any medical insurance. Boy, everyone’s always looking to squeeze a dollar out of your pocket.”

  Tracy ran her thumbnail against the edge of her front tooth. “I could sure use a loan. Just until I get back on my feet. All these expenses tapped me out. And I really need to scrape some money together for Vegas. I can’t go with nothing. It’s a long drive. There’s the gas, the hotels, food—”

  “I don’t have any extra cash.” Gloria recognized Tracy’s smirk as the look she made when she didn’t believe something. But it was true. The down payment on Bluebird and the double payments she was making to Cutter each month left her little to spare. But even if she had the money, she wouldn’t loan it to Tracy. There was no way she was going to help Tracy get to Vegas. Besides, there was still the matter of the last thousand dollars Tracy had borrowed and never paid back.

  “I don’t have any extra money,” Gloria repeated. “And anyway, how can you go to Vegas with that DWI hanging over your head? J.P. said you’d need a lawyer, and—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Tracy’s face hardened like baked clay, making it look like a mask. “And forget I asked for the money, okay?” Hurt tiptoed across Tracy’s eyes, then disappeared as though behind a curtain. “Just forget I asked.”

  For a moment Gloria did mental gymnastics trying to figure out a way to come up with some money. But the moment passed, and she let Tracy walk away.

  Gloria sat in the little diner a block from Appleton Printers trying to force down her tuna sandwich. It was too early for lunch, and she was already full of thoughts of Tracy and Cutter. She forced the sandwich down in tiny bites, swallowing them almost whole, as if she were a squirrel storing nuts against future hunger. By three o’clock her blood sugar would be low if she didn’t eat now, and she couldn’t bear the thought of asking Wanda for another break.

  This was only her second time here—the first being when she dropped off menus with the new name, Eats Galore. The diner had recently changed hands. She didn’t know the new proprietor well but had found him to be a jolly, pleasant sort of fellow. Now he stood over her, watching her take every bite, his face beaming as though he alone were responsible for the quality of the tuna and the bread and the mayo and everything else that was in it.

  Gloria took a final bite, then pushed the rest away. Half a sandwich remained. “Could you wrap this? I’ll take it with me,” Gloria said, not wanting to leave the sandwich behind for fear of insulting Mr. Allonzo.

  “What a skimpy appetite! Like a bird, you eat.” There was kindness in his heavily accented voice.

  “I’m really not that hungry, Mr. Allonzo.”

  “Giorgio. You call me Giorgio. And I’m-a glad you come today. You save me a trip to your shop. I gotta this note for you. I was-a supposed to give it to you last week, but my dishwasher, he don’t come in, and then one of the waitresses, she goes home early with a toothache, and then the stove, she catcha fire. Mama mia, one thing after the other. Nobody told me the restaurant business was so … pazzo … how you say? Crazy. Not like the vegetable stand. I think maybe a vegetable stand is not so bad. Maybe I go back to that one day. But not here. The winters, they are too cold. Maybe I go where the winters are not so cold.”

  Gloria smiled politely. “You mentioned a note?”

  “Oh yes. I forget already. You believe that? I just tell you about the note, and then I forget.” Giorgio slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead. “I think maybe I forget my own name one of these days.” He walked to the counter where the cash register sat and ducked behind it. Gloria watched his short, plump body bend and disappear, then reappear. He returned, carrying a white envelope in his hand.

  “Here she is,” Giorgio said, placing the envelope on the table beside her tuna sandwich.

  Gloria picked it up—a simple three-by-six “peel and seal” envelope with no markings—and wondered who would send correspondence through an intermediary. Her curiosity made her open it even though Giorgio hovered over the table. The paper looked like standard typing paper, ripped in half and folded in threes. Carefully, Gloria unfolded it.

  THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE. IF YOU DON’T STOP MEDDLING, I WON’T BE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

  She rammed the note back into the envelope, ignoring that it was more balled than folded. “Who gave you this?” Her voice quivered, but Giorgio didn’t seem to notice.

  “A young man. I never see him before. He has-a coffee, then hands me the note, and says give this to the young woman in the print shop. I tell him, you go give the pretty lady the note yourself. It’s better for a young man to be brave in matters of love. But he says no and hands me ten dollars. I don’t want the money, I say, but he walks out leaving it on the counter, and I never see him again.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “He’s tall, brownish-blond hair which he pull in a cavallino-coda, a cavallino-coda, how you say? … a ponytail … yes, a pony-tail. And a nose ring. Mama mia—a nose ring like my uncle Enzo put in his bull’s nose back in Palermo. He’s maybe thirty. Maybe thirty-fi
ve. But you joke? Yes? My Carmella says women always know who is interested in them. But maybe she make it up. She does that. Sometimes Carmella pulls out sayings like they are ancient proverbs, but I know she has pulled them only from her own head.”

  Gloria gripped the note and rose from her seat. How had the stalker slipped into town without J.P. or Charlie Watts knowing it? And was he still here? When she stepped out of the booth, Giorgio caught her by the elbow. “You wait. I wrap the sandwich for you.”

  Gloria shook her head. There was no time to lose. First she needed to let J.P. know about this; then she’d call Harry Grizwald and tell him to be careful.

  After Gloria showed J.P. the note and repeated what Giorgio had told her, J.P. made Gloria give Deputy Charlie Watts her house key, then ordered Charlie to do a room-by-room search to make certain her apartment was secure.

  “Starting tonight, we’re keeping you under surveillance.”

  In spite of herself, Gloria laughed and tilted back in her chair. “Now, how are you going to manage that? There’s only you and Charlie to take care of this whole town.”

  “I’m thinking of pulling Jack Springer out of retirement. He’s been hanging around a lot lately, just looking for something to do. He couldn’t wait to retire, and now that he has, I think he’s bored silly. I’ll put him on special assignment, and that will kill two birds.”

  Gloria wrinkled her forehead. “Did you have to say it like that?”

  “Sorry.” J.P. pulled his holstered Glock out of the top drawer of the desk. Slowly he removed the gun and pressed the magazine catch at the rear of the trigger guard. His thumb maintained pressure on the spring while he removed the magazine, then checked the number of rounds. He seemed satisfied because he quickly slipped it back in place.

  The only time he and Charlie Watts carried a weapon was during the Apple Festival. But it looked like the stalker was changing that.

  Gloria couldn’t help feeling guilty as she watched J.P. rise to his feet and strap on the gun. Jesus had brought her back to Appleton for reconciliation. And she, it seemed, had brought the stalker.

  She just hoped nobody would get hurt.

  “Well, well. Here she is, Paul.” Wanda’s large body stood in the aisle between Gloria’s desk and the pile of boxes containing supplies that had come in yesterday and had yet to be opened. “Seems she thinks she already owns the place and can take two-hour lunches whenever she pleases.”

  Gloria squeezed past her, speed-talking until she finished explaining the situation, beginning with her first encounter with the stalker, then Giorgio handing her the note at Eats Galore, and then J.P. strapping on his gun and pulling Jack Springer out of retirement. She didn’t bother waiting for Wanda’s response but went to her desk and punched numbers on her phone.

  Again, she spoke rapidly, without emotion, like a broadcaster relating a newsworthy story. Only at the end did her voice break. “You be careful, Harry.” She swallowed hard. “And tell Perth too.” So far the stalker hadn’t shown any interest in Harry, but that could change. “Don’t take any chances. You hear?” Only after she got his promise did she hang up.

  She heard a garbled sound behind her and turned. Wanda hadn’t moved an inch but stood as though rooted, cupping one chubby hand over her mouth like she was going to be sick.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  When Wanda pulled her hand from her mouth, Gloria thought she looked gray. “Appleton’s never seen the likes of this. The only thing worse was the time Willis killed his wife and kids. But this …” Wanda finally uprooted and walked to Gloria’s desk, her large moon-face oozing motherly concern. “I just don’t understand. How could someone you don’t even know want to hurt you?”

  Gloria shrugged. “J.P. and Charlie, and now Jack Springer, are all going to look out—”

  “I don’t know what we’d do if anything happened to you.” Wanda rubbed her chubby hands together. “I just don’t know what we’d do.”

  Gloria was stunned by the emotion in Wanda’s voice. “Well—”

  “I mean, you do know that Paul and I love you, even though you’re still a bit of an uppity wannabe city girl?” With that, Wanda turned her big frame and headed for the back room.

  “I love you too, Wanda,” Gloria whispered under her breath.

  “You need to come now. She’s asking for you, and Dr. Grant says there’s not much time.”

  Gloria held the phone to her ear, letting Agnes Keller’s words sink in. When they did, her stomach heaved. She sat down in a nearby chair and felt perspiration from her hand coat the phone. “Is Cutter there?”

  “No. I called and told him what Doc Grant said, and he just brushed me off. Said something like, if Virginia wasn’t interested in him when she was lucid, she certainly wouldn’t miss him now that she wasn’t. I think there’re only three people in the world Virginia cares about, and that’s you and Cutter and your mom. Your mom’s already on her way. It would be terrible if Cutter wasn’t here when … Maybe you could get him to come?”

  “I’ll try, Agnes.” Gloria moved quickly around her apartment, gathering up a sweater, purse, and keys. “But I can’t promise anything.” After Gloria hung up, she slipped the sweater over her head, ran a comb through her hair, then with purse and keys in hand, ran out the door, not even bothering to lock it behind her. She backed out of the driveway a little too fast and almost hit Jack Springer’s parked car that was partially hidden by two huge rhododendrons. She gave him a barely discernable nod, then slipped her car into Drive and sped away.

  When no one answered the bell, Gloria pounded the door. The beat of her heart felt like a clock: ticktock, ticktock, ticktock. Please, Lord, keep Virginia alive until Cutter gets there. From somewhere inside, she heard Cutter’s deep voice. “Calm down! I’m coming!” When the door opened, she saw an angry face that yielded to surprise, then pleasure.

  “Gloria … nice to see you. Come in.”

  “Get your coat.”

  “What?”

  “Get your coat. We’re going to your house.”

  Cutter’s eyebrows knotted. The look of pleasure had vanished. “I guess Agnes called you too.”

  “Yes. And there’s no time to lose.”

  Cutter stepped back. “I’m not interested in seeing my mother’s little drama.”

  “Even if it’s her last?”

  “Especially if it’s her last.”

  Gloria grabbed Cutter’s arm and pulled him out the door. “This is it. Your final opportunity to make peace with Virginia, to say good-bye.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “If you don’t go now, you’ll regret it the rest of your life.” He resisted her pull, and Gloria was forced to stop. He had her by sixty pounds, maybe more. It would be impossible to drag him all the way to Virginia’s. She released him and walked to her car, wondering if he’d follow. When she heard the front door close, her heart sank, only to become buoyant moments later when she heard the sound of sneakers slapping against the pavers.

  They climbed into the car and buckled up, neither one of them speaking. Then Gloria started her Escort. Okay. She’d get him there, but would they be in time?

  “Ever since I found out Virginia was dying I’ve tried to keep from thinking about it,” Cutter said as Gloria pulled out of his driveway. His voice was low, even, like the sound of distant waves breaking over a reef, and gave Gloria the impression he was talking more to himself than to her. “How do you handle a lifetime of regrets? A lifetime of disappointment? I’m losing my mother, and I don’t know if that’s a tragedy or a comedy. I mean … how could you lose something you never had?”

  “I know, Cutter.” Gloria’s heart ached.

  “You want to hear the real kicker? I still want a mother. I’m almost thirty years old, for crying out loud, and I still want a mother. Doesn’t that make you want to split your sides with laughter?”

  No. It made her want to cry. But Gloria said nothing.

&n
bsp; Doc Grant’s car was in the driveway when Gloria pulled up to the old Victorian, and so was her mother’s gold Volvo. The door was unlocked, and Gloria and Cutter let themselves in without any announcement. The stillness in the house was almost eerie and the air so oppressive Gloria wanted to shout, “Someone please open a window!”

  She saw Cutter gnaw his lip, and reached for his hand. He allowed her fingers to lace with his but didn’t look at her. Perspiration from his hand coated her palm as they put their feet on the first step of the old, creaking staircase. His head was bent as though intent on watching his shoes. Gloria wondered if this was what a man going to the gallows would look like. She didn’t rush him but let him take his time, go at his own pace, which was slow and deliberate. She found herself counting the stairs as they went, just to calm her nerves.

  At the landing they heard voices—Gloria recognized one of them as her mother’s and was hopeful. Virginia must still be alive. Maybe there was time for Cutter to make his peace.

  The door was closed, and Cutter stood before it like a sleepwalker, not moving a muscle. When Gloria realized he was going to stand like that forever, she released his hand and turned the knob. A slight push and the door opened. Agnes Keller, Dr. Grant, and Geri Bickford stood around the bedside. Agnes was crying.

  “I brought you some chicken with barley soup. It’s downstairs in the refrigerator,” Geri said. “Hannah’s recipe. You’ve been trying to pry that recipe out of me for years. You always said it was the only thing I could cook. Anyway, I’ve decided to give it to you. Just as soon as you’re up and about.”

  Agnes blew her nose on a white cotton hankie while Dr. Grant shuffled his feet, a stethoscope dangling from his neck like an obscenely large necklace. When the door of the bedroom swung back and hit Gloria’s sneaker, Geri turned. She motioned with her hand for them to come in but said nothing.