Tied to the Tracks

by Rosina Lippi

  For a moment she just sat there among the Roses, who were still eating while they talked about the game and how the sun really was in Len’s eyes or he would never have missed such an easy pop-up, and thank goodness Tab was right there to pull it out of the fire. The game was over, the day stood on its cusp, and the air was sweet and cooler than it had been in a week, suffused with the gold light of a high summer gloaming.

  And Tony Russo was walking toward them, long and lean, scruffy with beard, dark circles under his eyes, a cigarette clamped in the corner of his mouth, and a halo of smoke hovering around his head.

  Pearl saw him next, and after her Connie and then Eunice and finally Harriet. The men were standing with their backs to the field and were too wound up in their argument about the last play to notice much at all. Angie was just thinking that maybe she could avert disaster by sprinting off and turning Tony back the way he had come when Connie’s youngest shot straight up into the air. At that moment Angie remembered him on the porch at Old Roses, his mouth pursed as he pulled back an arrow that sent John Grant to the emergency room. He was called Scooter, and he had a voice like a siren.

  “Look, Mama,” he screeched. “It’s the cameraman.”

  Tab Darling’s smile faded as he turned his head, his whole body following. He hesitated for a split second, and then broke into a jog.

  “Russo!” he bellowed.

  Tony stopped where he was, looking confused and wary and like a third-grader who has just seen the school bully start toward him on the playground.

  Harriet shouted, “Tab, you idiot!” and ran off after her husband at the same moment Tony bolted. For a fraction of a second the rest of the clan looked at one another in horror—and, Angie was sure of it, a deep and primal satisfaction—and then they tore off in pursuit.

  For her own part, Angie sat right where she was. Out of shock and dismay and a certain sense of fate. Tony went through life dragging mayhem behind him; it was a fact, and now that the worst had happened—was happening—a calm came over her. She sat there with a half-eaten Frito pie in one hand and a spoon suspended in the other and watched two dozen men, women, and children streaming over the field. There was a dog, too, a goofy beagle mix with floppy ears, though Angie had no idea where he had come from. Somebody tell the director to lose the dog, she thought, it’s just too much. And then she hiccupped a laugh.

  Tony was cutting a wide circle that would—she saw this now—bring him right back to the bleachers, a bold move indeed if he thought she was any kind of protection when it came to Tab Darling. Then she realized that Win Walker was standing just behind her with a half dozen other men.

  “Aren’t you going to do anything?” she asked.

  “It’ll take care of itself,” said Win. “It’s just Tab working off a little frustration.”

  “Tab won’t hurt him none,” offered someone Angie recognized as a teller at the bank.

  “Or not so much as you’d notice,” somebody else said.

  Tony came to a shuddering stop right in front of them. He was heaving hard for breath, but his eyes gleamed with his own familiar brand of crazy excitement.

  She began, “Don’t—”

  But he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. Tab caught up and plowed directly into Tony as if he were first base and the call was bound to be a close one. They went down into the dirt, whirling arms and legs putting up a cloud of dust.

  Harriet shouted, “Tab, you idiot! This isn’t about him, it’s about you!” And then she threw herself onto her husband’s back.

  “Oh, Lordie,” called out the third baseman. “Everybody into the pool.”

  Angie whirled on Win Walker. “What were you saying about nobody getting hurt?”

  He shot her an irritated look and ran down the bleachers to wade into the fray, which was expanding—it seemed to Angie—exponentially. Tony, she saw with huge relief, was crawling away, and nobody seemed to notice.

  “I guess old Tab is madder than we thought,” said Wyeth Horton, the English teacher with the two-foot-long beard. “But you got to admit, the Roses sure do know how to throw a party.”

  City Hospital was a squat, homely building directly across from the park.

  “Other ball teams go for a beer,” Angie told Wyeth Horton. “But you all form a parade and walk over to the emergency room.”

  “Ogilvie,” said Wyeth, stroking the beard that flowed over his chest, “is a place at odds with itself. The true native takes great pride in the old traditions, but at the same time he dislikes to be perceived as predictable. The Rose clan are quintessential Ogilvites, and I have no doubt that sooner or later one of them—my bet would be Tab Darling—will be overcome by that conflict and combust spontaneously.”

  Angie couldn’t help herself, she burst into laughter. Wyeth nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t smile. He said, “I’ve been waiting for you to come see me. I moved here from New Orleans to study at the university and stayed on to teach school these last twenty years. I do believe you might find my observations useful to your work. Shall we say—”

  “Don’t you let Wyeth lure you into his lion’s den,” said Eunice, appearing from around a corner. “He talks real pretty but really what he’s doing is scheming on how to separate you from your panties.”

  “Eunice,” Wyeth said smoothly, “you credit me with far too much ambition. I wouldn’t aim so high as panties, at least not to start with.”

  The emergency room was very small and very clean, every seat occupied by the crowd from the park: the Roses but other people, too—players and their families, and one or two people who had just tagged along out of curiosity. The atmosphere was not exactly jovial, but nor was it tense.

  “Any word yet?” Angie craned her head to see what the nurse at the reception desk was doing.

  “Oh, the usual,” said Pearl. “I swear we can’t get through a summer without a half dozen emergency-room visits. Last year the staff had a pool going on how many times one of us would show up. I think the grand total was sixteen. I spend so much time in this place they should put me on the payroll.”

  “You all look healthy enough,” Angie volunteered.

  Pearl flapped a hand. “We are, healthy as pigs. But prone to accidents, and flights of temper.” She sent Angie a sidelong glance, drew in a breath, and held it for a moment. “I wanted to apologize to you. We really are reasonable folks. It’s just—” She paused. “We’re all worried about Tab, but that’s no excuse for his behavior or the way things got out of hand. I hope Tony in’t the kind to hold a grudge.”

  Just then Eunice came down the hall from the examination rooms. She called out, “Tab sprained his ankle plowing into Tony, Drew has got a busted nose, and my Guy needed three stitches on his scalp. I hate to think what commotion y’all would get up to if you didn’t like each other.”

  “Tab almost through back there?” Harriet was leaning against the wall with one arm wrapped around each of her two younger boys.

  Eunice produced a forced smile. “I think Dr. Landry will be out to talk to you pretty quick. Angie?” She scanned the crowd and then smiled. “Len is just about done with Tony. He said to tell you to come on back.”

  Tony looked so pleased to see her that Angie was a little guilty about the scolding she had given him on the way over from the park. There was a bandage on his forehead now, but otherwise she couldn’t see any real damage.

  He said, “Angie. Tell this guy to let me go home. It’s hardly even a concussion.”

  The exam room was smelled of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol and sweat. That was mostly from the doctor himself, as Len Holmes hadn’t taken the time to do much beyond wash his hands and face and pull a white coat right over his baseball clothes. On the other side of the exam table was a nurse wearing scrubs the color of canned peaches and hair dyed to match, and beside her was Win Walker.

  Angie stayed with her back pressed against the door.

  “Tony, I’m not taking you home until the doctor says so, so forget
it.”

  “Angie—” Win began, and she whirled around to face him.

  “What? What do you want?”

  “Win is here in his official capacity,” said Len Holmes. The nurse was looking back and forth between Win and Angie with an eager expression.

  Win nodded. “I’m just waiting to take Mr. Russo’s statement. He may decide to press charges.”

  “Tony will not press charges,” Angie said firmly. “Isn’t that right, Tony? You’re not going to press charges over a little misunderstanding.”

  Tony was scowling at the nurse, who had snatched the package of cigarettes out of his hand as soon as he fished it out of his pocket. He turned his scowl in Angie’s direction.

  “I won’t press charges,” he said.

  “You’re sure?” Win asked. “You’ve got every right—”

  “No charges,” Tony said. “I just want to go home.”

  Len Holmes said, “I’m going to hold you for a couple hours to be sure you’re stable. Or as stable as you ever get.”

  “You see?” Tony said to Angie. “You see? They’ve all got the wrong idea about me.”

  “Of course they do,” Angie said. “And later you can clear it all up. Once your head is on straight again.”

  When Angie made her way back to the waiting room she found it was almost empty. Harriet sat alone in the row of chairs nearest the desk.

  “I sent them all home,” she said. “Time to feed the boys anyway, and they were driving me crazy.”

  “You don’t mind sitting here alone?”

  “I called Caroline to come sit with me, but she wasn’t answering, so I left some messages. I’m sure she’ll show up. See, here’s John’s car now.”

  “Great,” Angie said, not even trying to smile.

  Harriet cocked her head and sent Angie a sidelong glance. “I can’t figure you out, Angie.”

  “No surprise there,” Angie said. “I’m not much good at that myself.” The door swung open and she forced her expression back to neutral as John Grant came in and walked directly across the room toward them.

  “John, darlin’,” said Harriet, holding out her right hand. “Come and set with us. Where’s Caroline?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly. We were at a party over on Slow Down Lane—”

  “Oh, did Rob and Kai buy the Reynoldses’ place? Isn’t that the sweetest little house? They’ll be happy there, wait and see.”

  “They seem pleased with it.” John had not yet met Angie’s eye, which was beginning to irritate her. “Caroline had just gone off to the store with Kai and Rivera when I got your message. I’m sure she’ll be here shortly.”

  Then he did look at Angie, though the expression he showed her was baffling. Regret, and distress, and a kind of unhappy resolve. He had looked like this the afternoon he introduced her to his grandfather Grant.

  “I’m sure she will,” Harriet echoed, but her tone had gone very flat. A doctor was coming toward them, a woman in her forties, small and neat and solemn.

  “Dr. Landry,” said Harriet, a smile faltering on her face, “you look like your dog just died. Is Tab back there giving you a hard time?”

  They were all standing now, the three of them in a quarter circle around the doctor, whose attention was focused on Harriet. She said, “Tab’s ankle is what brought him in, but I’m afraid it’s more than that just now. He had a minor cardiac event while I was examining him, Harriet. He’s not in danger of his life—”

  “A heart attack?” Harriet said, flatly. “You’re saying Tab’s had a heart attack?”

  “A minor heart attack,” said the doctor. “Doesn’t look like there’s any serious damage to the heart muscle, but we have to run some tests—”

  Harriet pressed her fist against her mouth and shook her head, held up a hand to stop the flow of words.

  “Now listen, Harriet,” said the doctor, “we’ve got a cardiologist coming in to have a look at him. Right now he’s asking for you. I’ll take you back to him.”

  Harriet had gone very still and pale, though her eyes were abnormally bright. She nodded and then turned to John.

  “Don’t call anybody, just yet. I couldn’t cope with the boys just now and I want to tell them first, in my own way. Whatever there is to know, they should hear it first, and from me.”

  “Anything you need,” John said. “Anything at all.”

  She produced a very wide, very forced smile. “It’s a minor cardiac event, you heard the doctor. No need to get your knickers in a twist, John.”

  Harriet walked away with the doctor, but she stopped suddenly and turned back.

  “It turns out I don’t want him to die, after all. But I can’t live with him, either. I told him so yesterday, which is why all this happened. Angie, you be sure to let Tony know. This is all my fault, it’s got nothing to do with him.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Angie said.

  Harriet nodded, and walked away down the corridor.

  John asked, “Tony’s okay?”

  Angie nodded. “Really, it wasn’t anything. Just some halfhearted punches thrown and a lot of people rolling around on the ground. Tony hit his head when he tried to crawl under the bleachers.”

  She sensed that John might have laughed at this image, if it weren’t for what was going on in the examination room at the end of the corridor. Thinking of Tony sneaking off from the Rose mob on all fours did make Angie laugh; she couldn’t help it, except the sound came out as something else, halfway between a hiccup and a sob. John reached out for her hand and then stopped.

  “Things could be worse,” Angie said quietly.

  “Things are about as bad as they can get.”

  Angie’s blood was thrumming loudly in her ears. She felt light-headed and weighed down all at once; she had the idea that her feet wouldn’t obey her if she tried to walk away. If she tried to run away. So they sat side by side for a long time in the empty emergency room, in a silence that seemed to have a physical presence, words buzzing around their heads.

  Angie leaned forward and folded her arms across her knees. She studied her feet, the fraying lace on one scuffed white sneaker, the smudge of clay on the other. John had stretched out his legs and so she studied his feet, too, sun-browned and long and strong and sinuous in immaculate Mephisto sandals.

  She had been in Ogilvie for weeks, and in that time he had only touched her once, when she had collided with Patty-Cake Walker in his front hall.

  His hand settled on her back, the touch light, the heat of his skin coming through the fabric of her shirt in a jolt that ran along her spine. Her throat swelled until it was almost painful, but when she turned her head she saw that he wasn’t looking at her. John had put his head against the wall. She watched him swallow, the muscles convulsing along the arch of his neck, his Adam’s apple riding the wave. His hand rested on her back, warm and firm and still.

  A slow, bright anger started up someplace deep in her belly, and along with it the dull throb of desire. Angie thought of getting up and moving; she thought of putting her head on his chest and closing her eyes.

  John’s hand traveled up her back to the nape of her neck, slowly, tentatively, and then settled there. She could feel the curve of skin between thumb and first finger along her hairline, and then his fingers threaded into the curls, damp with sweat.

  “John.”

  “Shhh. I’ve got something to say.”

  The fingers kept working, pulling gently, tugging. Angie closed her eyes and tried to close her mind to what he was doing.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. His tone was even and steady and considered, and with some part of her mind Angie wondered if he had practiced this speech.

  “It was my fault, that summer. I pushed, and I didn’t see what that was doing to you.”

  Angie steadied her breathing, counted to ten, counted again. The exact thing she had wanted to hear from him for these five years, word for word, and now it was said. She was gratified and relieved and unhappy, because it w
asn’t enough. She opened her mouth to say—what? And found he wasn’t finished.

  “I’ve been thinking about all this a lot these last couple days. There are a few things I know for sure. The first is, I don’t want to be like them.”

  She said, “Like who?”

  “I don’t want to end up like Harriet and Tab. The second thing I know for sure is, I’m already halfway there unless I do something about it. And lastly, I know that I have a ways to go before I figure out why I did what I did. I’ve screwed things up.”

  Angie made a noise in her throat, though she herself couldn’t be sure what it meant: Stop, I can’t bear it, or Go on, get it over with. John came forward, leaned over so that their shoulders touched and their heads were side by side, like kids whispering secrets in the back of the classroom. His hand was still on the nape of her neck and his fingers moved in her hair.