What did that mean? That Jonathan thought himself lacking in integrity? In consistency? If he did it was my fault, for throwing it in his face that he abandoned his early dreams to pursue Caroline. But I had let go of all that! He knew that, and he forgave me—he said he had.
“He has the most integrity of anyone I know,” I added, a stubborn note in my voice. “You can tell him I said that. The most.”
Eric gave a rueful laugh. “I won’t bother. If he knows anything, Frannie, it’s that you admire him.”
“I don’t admire him!” I protested. “I mean—I do, of course—but—but—it’s not wrong of me to, because everyone admires Jonathan.”
He stared at me like I’d sprouted antennae. “I know. Relax. You’re preaching to the choir. I’m a big fan of Jon. Maybe ‘admire’ was a weird way to put it. I meant you think well of him. Like everybody does. But—but—I guess what I’m trying to say is that I wish you thought half as well of me as you do of him. Frannie—I’ve missed you.”
“Don’t—we’ve been having a nice afternoon. Don’t spoil it, Eric.”
That checked him for a moment. I saw him swallow. Really—I had about zero experience with men, but they couldn’t all be this tenacious! If I had put myself out there like he did and received such rebuffs, I would have crawled under a rock to live out the rest of my days.
When he spoke again, the earnest tone gave way to a teasing one. “I’ve fooled you, Frannie. This is a date, you know.”
Relief made me smile. “It’s not. Robbie and Jamie are here.”
“Sad excuses for chaperones. Buy them off with a little food and a ride wristband and I can do whatever I want. Nope. We’re on a date.”
“It’s not a date,” I insisted, laughing in spite of myself.
“And we’re having fun. The date is going well.”
He was hopeless. I shook my head, still smiling. “Tell me more about my family. Did you see Rachel or Julie when they were out?”
Unwittingly I had hit on it: the smug grin vanished from his face like it had been erased. “No, I—I didn’t see them—no,” he fumbled. “A business trip—”
Thank heavens his own embarrassment prevented him from noticing mine. But he couldn’t think I meant to throw his inconsistencies in his face. Even if he suspected my disapproval of his past goings-on, he didn’t know I knew as much as I did. I had never breathed a word to anyone.
“That’s too bad,” I said hastily. “I was sorry to miss them, too. Especially the baby! If only Colorado had a baseball team, then maybe—but Greg’s on the DL anyhow. I don’t think he’s even traveling with the team. It must be fun—all your business trips—besides here and the cabin, I really haven’t been many places.”
My blathering gave him time to recover. “Sure, yes,” he agreed. “I get to go to New York in a little bit. I figure I’ll take a few extra days to join the tourist hordes and see the sights.” A sudden idea made him look at me, hard. “You’ve never been to New York, have you, Frannie? You wanna come?”
“Me? Come along? But—” But a million reasons! “I don’t think my uncle Paul would think it was a good idea,” I said simply.
“Would he have to know? Okay, okay—forget I said that,” he backpeddled. “You could—stay with Rachel! Say you want to see the baby. You do, don’t you?” So much for any embarrassment about her. Ditto for his study on integrity.
“I do, but—Eric, she hasn’t invited me to visit. And—it wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be right to go on a trip with you—”
“A trip to visit Rachel—”
“A trip with you,” I repeated. “We’re not even dating, and now you want me to go on an overnight trip with you?”
“We wouldn’t be together for the nights,” he persisted. “If you don’t want to stay with Rachel I could get you your own hotel room—Scout’s honor—and we would just hang out during the days. Hang out! Like friends. Fellow tourists.”
“No! Letting you pay for things would be even worse. No. It’s not a good idea. You go and have a good time and send me a postcard.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure? You just told me you’ve never been anywhere, and here’s a chance to go somewhere. Aren’t you the least bit tempted? Think about the shows and the museums and the Statue of Liberty and the Park and the food!”
I did think about them. And about A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and All-of-a-Kind Family and The Great Gatsby. But it was no use. I couldn’t go, alone with a man I wasn’t married to, at his expense. Not for his sake and not for mine, even if I was willing to hide such a thing from our families. That kind of trip had more in common with Maggie: A Girl of the Streets.
Eric saw the decision in my face because he made an impatient movement. “Fine. Never mind. It was just an idea. It’s like you don’t trust me! Like whatever you thought of me in the past is set in stone and God almighty won’t change your mind.”
“I’m sorry—” apologies came automatically to me. “I don’t want you to think that. I really do like you better now than I ever did before—not in that way, of course—but in general, I mean. Just—no trips. I keep hoping that if I do exactly what I’m supposed to do, Uncle Paul will let me go back to California. Not forever—just until I can graduate and get a decent job and some roommates.”
“You talk like you need his permission to go home.”
“He’s never said that in so many words, but I can’t help feeling that way.”
“Look, Frannie—the guy is tough as nails on the outside, I know. But you really think if you—surprise!—showed up back on the doorstep, that everyone wouldn’t be thrilled to have you back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you try it and see? You want to stay out here forever? All fall?”
“No. I want to go home. But I’m not just going to go. If he doesn’t say anything in August, I’ll call. I’ll need to know if I’m supposed to enroll out here. He has to let me come home, I think, because my independent study thing is worked out with Warm Springs High School, not Loveland High.”
“Did you finish that project you’re supposed to be working on? Did you interview your mother?”
I traced the checks in the tablecloth. “Not really. It was too awkward. I asked her and Bill a few questions about Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous—that’s where they met, you know—but —they didn’t really want to talk about it with me. So I ended up interviewing a couple of the counselors. But the project’s almost done. I’m revising my findings.”
His hand covered mine briefly, pulling away before I could recover from my surprise. I looked up to find his dark eyes studying me. “Look, Frannie—if your uncle doesn’t call, you can call me. Really. Any time. Or let Caroline know, if that’s more comfortable for you. And one of us will come get you, I promise. Do you hear me?”
No words made their way past the obstruction in my throat, and I felt a treacherous heat behind my eyes. I nodded.
His grin returned. “Done. Come on. Let’s not talk about your uncle any more. He’s wrecking our first date. What do you say we round up the little hoodlums and start sampling this famous cherry pie?”
We had one more moment alone, after dinner. Eric volunteered to do the dishes while I coaxed Robbie and Jamie off to bed and Mom and Bill nursed Dr. Peppers in front of the television. When I returned to the kitchen Eric was just hanging up the dish towel.
“I’d better hit the road,” he announced. “I’m actually catching the red-eye.”
An unexpected wave of disappointment swamped me. “Oh! Mom and Bill will be sorry. All your cribbage talk made them want to get out the board.”
“Next time.”
“You finished all your business in Fort Collins? What a weird trip—to come out on a Friday and not even stay for the following Monday.”
“Frannie, I have a confession.” He drew closer to me, one corner of his mouth lifting when he saw I didn’t back
away. “There was no business in Fort Collins. You were my business. I just wanted to see you again. Make sure you were doing all right. I didn’t want you to forget who I was and take up with some Great Plains yokel.”
“Oh.”
“If your uncle doesn’t remember your existence in the next few weeks I’ll come out again after my New York trip.”
“You will?”
“Count on it. Unless…there are any objections.”
I said nothing. I had discouraged him a hundred times, and if he still chose to persevere, that was his own decision. For my part I knew I had enjoyed his company like never before. Call it deprivation or desperation or disillusionment—I wasn’t master of myself enough to say that, if he came again, he wouldn’t be welcome.
He turned away, but not before I glimpsed the satisfaction on his face.
And then, five minutes later, he was gone.
Chapter 29
Ten days after Eric Grant left I finally received another letter from Caroline. This one was on unfamiliar stationery. In small print across the bottom I read The Lexworth Hotel.
Dear Frannie:
You find me having my last hurrah before school starts. I’m in New York!!! Yes, my girl, your loss was my gain. When Eric told me how he invited you (hopelessly rash idea on his part!) and you refused, I immediately leapt at the chance. While I can’t say the sight of me fills him with the transports of delight you would, a sister’s company is better than none. In between his meetings we’ve gone to the Guggenheim and the Frick (saving the Met for an all-day affair). On top of that, I saw Phantom of the Opera one night and Les Misérables another!!! Wonderful and amazing, both of them, and I might get Cats in before this trip is through. I know you’re thinking I must have missed you (and I do think of you as my little show buddy), and that I’m reckless to go out at night by myself, but by good luck I happened to run into a friend my very first day, and so I have company.
Speaking of company, your cousin Rachel invited us to some sort of barbecue shebang at their place. Eric wasn’t too excited about going, but she’s promised Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry will put in an appearance, whoever they are, so I suspect we’ll go. You know I don’t care a bit about baseball and would way rather sightsee with Eric or my friend than pay homage to my nephew, but Rachel is my sister-in-law and she insists, so what’s the point in complaining? At least she promises air conditioning. Have I mentioned that, of all the new relatives my marriage brought me, you are far and away my favorite?
That’s all I have time for—meeting my friend at the Plaza Hotel for tea and a carriage ride!!! If I can, I’ll send a postcard later. Hope you’re well. Eric says you’re thinner and paler. I really must insist you take better care of yourself—if something happens to you, you can’t throw me back on Rachel and Julie for company!
—C
I read the letter three times through, unable to combat my mounting envy. Shows and artwork and museums and a carriage ride in Central Park after drinking tea! At least she thought of me, amidst this whirlwind of delight, and even possibly missed me and wished me there. I certainly couldn’t help wishing myself there. And then to be invited to the Perkins’ to meet famous baseball stars! From the way Caroline made it sound, she hardly saw Eric and was free to traipse around town with her friend.
Her friend.
It was weird, wasn’t it, that she didn’t give her friend a name? How close a friend could she be? I shook my head. Maybe she just figured I wouldn’t know who it was anyhow. But how fortunate to run into this friend on her first day in New York, so that she had a companion for all her adventures!
Sad, though, that on her last hurrah Jonathan got left behind. Was he too busy at work to get away? Was it too expensive to fly him out? If Jonathan had gone, they would have needed a second hotel room, so maybe he opted out to give his wife a treat. The thought of her flitting about having the time of her life, while he sat at his desk doing something that bored and crushed him bit by bit made me resentful. But who knew the inner workings of a marriage? Jonathan would likely say the thought of Caroline flitting about having the time of her life was enough joy for the both of them.
For the next several days I raced out to the mailbox, only to be disappointed. How hard was it to write a postcard? Loveland, Colorado, might as well be Antarctica, for all the news I had from my family. I knew they were busy (except for Aunt Marie, I suppose, but I wasn’t foolish enough to expect Aunt Marie to pick up a pen), but I sent ten letters covering both sides of the paper for every five-line note in return. I think they passed the letter-writing duty around: one would be from Uncle Paul, the next from Aunt Terri—there was even a card with frogs on the front from Uncle Roger. Inside it read, “Wishing you a hoppy day” and his signature “Roger Luther.” Not even “Uncle Roger”! “Roger Luther,” like he signed the Christmas cards he sent to his insurance clients. From Jonathan I received an article on the earthquake in Indonesia that killed over a hundred people and buried two villages. He highlighted one paragraph about relief workers because, lo and behold, the reporter interviewed Tammy! On the back Jonathan scrawled, “She did it! And to think we knew her once. Hope you’re doing well, Frannie.”
That was all for correspondence. The sum total. Twice Aunt Marie had Paola call me and relay news: a heat wave, an algae bloom in the pool, little Jimmy’s milestones, new flowers she planted. She had nothing to impart on the topics dearest my heart, but just hearing her murmuring in the background soothed me somewhat.
But when real news finally did come, it was from where I least expected. And it was bad.
“Oh—hello. What can I do for you? No. No…we’ve heard nothing.” After one quick glance my way, Mom turned her back on me, her hand curved over the mouthpiece and her voice pitched low. “Aw, jeez. Aw, that’s rotten. I’m sorry to hear that, Theresa.”
Theresa! My fork clattered to the plate from nerveless fingers.
“Yeah, she’s right here.” Mom held the receiver out, her face set and grim. “It’s your aunt Theresa. The cord stretches—why don’t you take it in the garage?” It must be terrible news, if Mom thought to spare me interruptions from my siblings.
“Hello, Aunt Terri?” I ventured, as I made my way out to sit on the grimy carpeted step. It smelled like dust and motor oil.
“Frannie,” she said without preamble, “Tom got in a car accident, and he’s in the ICU.” She waited out my gasp and initial exclamations before cutting me off. “We’re all at the hospital now, but Jonathan wanted me to call you. We’re not sure what happened, but it was last night.”
“Oh! This is horrible—will he be okay? Where is he hurt? Was Marcy with him? Is he conscious?” I didn’t ask what was on the tip of my tongue—was he drunk?
“I don’t have all the details now, Frannie, and I can’t talk long. The family needs me.”
“I wish I was there!” I cried without being able to help myself. “I could sit with you all and hold Aunt Marie’s hand—”
“Oh, Frannie—with everything going on we could hardly deal with bringing you back right now! There are too many people here as it is. I didn’t want to get you all excited in the first place, but your cousin insisted. Jonathan says you can pray, but I said to him that if you needed to be told that, all my efforts at raising you were a failure.”
“No, no, of course I’ll pray for Tom. Right now! All the time until I hear from you again. I’m so grateful you let me know!” I was babbling again, and the tears in my voice made me incoherent. “Please can I call the house later to see how they’re doing? Or should I call Jonathan and Caroline?”
“No use calling anyone anytime soon because we’ll all be here for a while. Just pray. You’re lucky to be out there enjoying yourself. Be a good girl. I’m going now.”
I sat out in the garage, rocking back and forth on the step and trying not to bawl, until the blaring off-hook tone roused me. “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and dial again…” the recorded woman adm
onished me, oblivious to my distress. I would. I would like to make a call, but according to my aunt Terri, no one out there wanted to talk to me. And they were all gathered at the hospital, which particular one I’d been too stunned to ask.
“Please, God,” I whispered, jamming the receiver against my stomach to muffle its protests, “please let Tom be okay. I don’t know exactly how he’s injured, but you know. Please let him be okay. Please please please. Please help the doctors and nurses. Please don’t let Tom die—let him get better! Heal him, I pray. Please please please.”
It was torture to be so far from them. Jonathan could have told me what happened and patiently answered my questions. Not that I blamed him for making Aunt Terri call. I knew he would be unwilling to leave Tom’s bedside. My poor aunt Marie! Tom was her favorite, as far as someone so mild could have favorites. And even if I would be in everyone else’s way, I would not be in hers. I could fetch her magazines, or drinks from the hospital vending machine. I could read aloud to her, to take her mind off him. I could make phone calls for her or write thank-you notes for the flowers and cards that would pour in from Uncle Paul’s business associates and the church community. But to be here in Loveland—! A million miles away, it might as well be, and unable to show my solidarity with the Beresfords’ pain.
I wondered if Jonathan had the comfort of his wife in this crisis, or if Caroline was still in New York.
—New York! My breath caught and I stared at the phone in my hand. I could call Rachel. She too was isolated from her family by distance and probably tearing her hair out. We could commiserate, share what we knew. Dashing the traces of tears from my eyes, I sprung up and burst into the kitchen again.
“Mom—may I call my cousin Rachel in New York? I’ll use the calling card Uncle Paul gave me. She must be worried about Tom—”
The Beresfords Page 27