Skyward

by Mary Alice Monroe

  In contrast, Fannie was blooming. The healthy routine and diet, as well as long hours in the sun with Marion, put the pink back in her cheeks. She’d stopped wearing makeup and she resembled more the beauty she had been when he first fell in love with her. She made frequent invitations for time alone or to share his bed, and several times she’d moved to embrace him, but he always turned her away. He felt little for her now.

  Looking up, he saw Fannie was coming toward him, her stroll across the field easy and confident, as though she belonged here and had never left. She still wore those tight shorts and skimpy tops that exposed her flat midriff, styles better suited for a girl in her teens. He sometimes wondered if that was the age when her maturity ended. She’d likely end up one of those pitiful adults who never accepted adulthood. Peter Pans who clung to their youth by refusing to accept grown-up responsibilities.

  “Where’s Marion?” he asked when she drew near.

  She pointed to the resident bird pens. “She wanted to say hello to the crows. Lijah is with her.” She bent forward in a teasing manner while her eyes glittered. “Don’t you worry none. I’m taking good care of our little girl.”

  He frowned and bent to renew his struggle with the unwieldy chain-link sections.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, coming closer.

  “Putting up the dog pen for those two vultures over there.”

  “Oh,” she replied, casting a cursory glance at the birds. “Harris, can you stop a minute? So we can talk?”

  He looked up hesitatingly. “What about?”

  “You know what about. About us.”

  He sighed and straightened, looking at her steadily. “There is no us.”

  “I know. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  He looked over his shoulder toward the clinic window. Ella had moved somewhere and was no longer visible. “Come on over here,” he said, guiding Fannie to the shade of the oak.

  She followed him, brusquely shooing away the Tweedles as they neared the picnic table. “Go on, get out of here,” she said, clapping her hands.

  “Leave them be, Fannie. They’re not doing any harm.”

  “I can’t stand those things. They give me the creeps. My mama used to tell me they’d eat my eyes out if I was bad.”

  Harris held his tongue against the words he’d like to have said about Fannie’s mother. The vultures moved to the opposite side of the patio, watching them warily.

  Fannie stepped up on the seat to sit on the top of the picnic table. Once settled she coyly patted the wood beside her.

  He remained standing, putting his hands on his hips. Fannie shook her hair, then ran her hands through it, pulling it back from her face. It was meant as a nonchalant gesture but it struck him as too practiced.

  “What do you want to talk about, Fannie?” he asked with out enthusiasm. “Are you getting ready to leave?”

  She let her hair drop and moved her hands to her kneecaps.

  “You can be pretty cruel when you want to be.”

  “I don’t mean to be cruel. Just realistic.” He wiped his hands on his pants. “You told me you needed a place to crash till you got back on your feet. I figure you must be getting kind of bored about now.”

  She recoiled, hunching her shoulders. Her hair fell forward, cloaking her face. “I guess I deserve that,” she said. Then she jerked her head up and faced him, eyes pleading. “Harris, I’m so very sorry for walking out on you and Marion. I was sick, okay? Maybe not with a disease like your mama, but mentally. I was pretty messed up. I had a lot to overcome, you know that better than anyone. You know the way my mama was. All those so-called daddies that came through our place…” She shook her head, as though to scatter the memories away.

  “That was a long time ago, Fannie. You’re not a child any more. You’re not even a young woman. You’re nearing thirty years old and you have a child of your own. You can’t use that as an excuse forever.”

  “It’s just…some things are hard to forget, Harris.”

  “I can’t argue that,” he said in a low voice.

  “I wish to God I never got caught up in drugs. I guess I just needed to escape in any way I could. If only I was able to go back in time and change things.” She dropped her hands and shrugged in defeat. “But of course, I can’t.”

  He looked at her, squinting in the sunlight to see her eyes and mine the truth. “Did you need to escape from me? Really, I need to know. Is that why you started using again after we were married?”

  “No! God, no. It wasn’t you and it wasn’t Marion. You were always good to me. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you to come home to. I need to know that you’re here for me, Harris.”

  “Then why?”

  “There’s something inside of me that makes me feel so restless sometimes. Like my skin’s crawling, and I have to go off and—” She was getting worked up, rubbing her arms and rushing her words. “I can’t explain it! I’ve made a lot of mistakes, done things I’m not proud of. More than I can ever tell you. Just believe me, Harris, I’ve paid for my mistakes. I’ve learned my lesson. And I’m tired, so tired. All I want to do now is stay home and be with my little girl. And my husband, if you’ll let me be a wife to you again.”

  “Fannie…”

  “All I’m asking for is another chance,” she pleaded. “I’m trying so hard, you can see that, can’t you?”

  “But for how long? Another week? Another month before your skin starts crawling again and you leave?” He could feel his pent-up anger and resentment building again.

  “I won’t go again. I promised Marion I wouldn’t.”

  “Marion might believe your promises. I can’t,” he said, looking away.

  “What do you want me to do?” she cried. “I’m her mother. She needs me, Harris, not Ella!”

  Harris swung his head around again, glaring at the mention of Ella’s name.

  “Oh, I’m grateful to her, that’s the God’s honest truth. She’s taught me how to take care of my daughter. But that’s her job. We don’t need her anymore. I know you have feelings for her, but her being here is confusing to Marion. We’ll never have a chance to be a family as long as Ella’s around. I can take care of the house now, too. And someday, when things settle down, I’d like to help you with the birds, the way I used to. We used to be a good team, you always said so.”

  She leaned forward to take his hand and hold it tight while her eyes pleaded. “Harris, honey, I’m still your wife. I still love you. And I want to make it up to you. I may not deserve much, but I deserve a chance. It’s my place to be here. To care for our child. This is my home,” she blurted out before succumbing to tears.

  Harris wanted to put his arm around her, to console her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do more than let her hold his hand as she wept. She cried copious amounts of tears that flowed down her cheeks till he couldn’t bear it any longer. He moved closer to her as she sat on the picnic tabletop and wept, pulling out a kerchief from his pocket and handing it to her. She took it to swipe her face, then reached up to grasp him around his waist and press her face against the front of his jeans. It was a gesture of intimacy that made him uncomfortable but she held tight, still sobbing. Looking around, he saw only the Tweedles standing nearby, watching them with seemingly little interest.

  “Sorry,” she said when she brought herself back under control. “I’ve been holding that in for so long I guess it was like the dam just broke.” She sniffed and wiped her nose and eyes with the kerchief. “I’ll give this back after I launder it,” she said with an attempt at a laugh.

  “Mama!”

  It was Marion, looking for Fannie.

  Fannie laughed, more brightly than before. “That child does flash about. She’s going to wear me down. And I love it,” she added quickly. She looked up at Harris expectantly, waiting for some answer. “She’s our child.”

  “Marion comes first,” he said to her, moving toward an in escapable decision.

&nb
sp; “Of course,” she replied, her eyes opening wide with anticipation.

  “I’ll give you this one last chance, Fannie. For Marion’s sake.” His words caught in his throat. Hearing them, he realized he’d just repeated Ella’s words.

  Fannie lunged up to wrap her arms around him, delighted. She clung to him, pressing her body against him.

  So, this was his decision, he thought dispassionately. After all the angst and sleepless nights, at the end of the day, it came down to duty.

  “If you goof up on her medication, even once…”

  “I won’t!” she exclaimed, giddy with pleasure.

  Marion rounded the corner, stopping short when she saw her parents in each other’s arms. Her ponytail was askew and her knee was skinned, but she looked like any other healthy five-year-old running amok on a summer’s day. She stared at them for a second, as though trying to figure it out. Then her face broke into a heartrending grin and she bolted for them with arms outstretched, throwing herself into her father’s arms with complete faith and abandonment.

  Harris bent to grab her and swing her up to his chest. Marion reached out her free arm and linked it around her mother’s neck, then tugged, bringing both of them close to her so that they were all bound together in a family hug.

  None of them saw Maggie standing near the door of the weighing room. Nor did they see Ella standing beside her before she turned and ran in the opposite direction, disappearing behind the cluster of oleanders.

  Maggie found Ella leaning against a chinaberry tree, clutching her hands in fists at her sides and staring with a fixed expression out across the water. She was like a stone statue, holding herself hard and unyielding. It didn’t seem natural.

  “A good cry will do you good,” Maggie said as she came near. “My mama always told me to let it all out and I’d feel better. She was right, too.”

  “No,” Ella said. She was holding herself together by a thin rope and had to keep herself very still and breathe hard or she’d lose control. “I won’t cry. For I have no one to blame but myself. I never should have let myself love him. Love Marion. They weren’t mine to love. He was married. I knew that. He had a wife but I wanted him. I wanted Marion for my own. I stole the fire, like Prometheus. I knew it was wrong but I did it, anyway, and now I’m being punished.”

  She looked up at her friend and seeing the compassion in Maggie’s eyes, she almost lost it. “Do you know how the gods punished Prometheus? He was chained to a rock while an eagle or a vulture ate his liver. Then it grew back and got eaten again. So the pain never stops, you see. Kind of like love. It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

  “Cut it out, Ella. I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  “It’s true.”

  “He’s not really married. He’s only tethered and he’s too dumb to undo the knots.”

  “What difference does it make? He’s bound to his wife. I can’t pretend any longer.” She pushed herself from the tree, plucking a fallen leaf from her braid as she walked through the tall grass toward Maggie. She stopped short and looked at her tall, strong friend and was filled with gratitude that she had this anchor in her life.

  “I thought this all through with that cool logic I’m so proud of. When I arrived, I saw myself as a helper to every one. The efficient, competent Ella Majors back in form. I neglected to anticipate that I’d fall in love and want this happiness to last forever. I let myself believe Harris and I had something real. But I can see now that I’ve just been playing house. Living out some childhood dream. And I’m so angry at myself for falling into the trap.”

  “You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”

  Ella tossed the leaf, then looked at her empty hands and nodded. “I have to. I’m not needed here anymore. Fannie has been giving Marion her injections and managing her diet. I’ve no reason to stay.”

  “But Harris…”

  “Please, don’t talk to Harris about this. Don’t make this any harder for him than it already will be.”

  “Oh, honey, are you sure?”

  “No,” she said with a short, self-deprecating laugh. She laid her hand on Maggie’s arm. “But it’s what I’ve got to do. Promise me you’ll keep an eye on things?”

  “I always do.”

  They hugged and Ella felt the warmth of friendship swirl through her blood to bolster her resolve. Then she slipped from Maggie’s arms and stepped back. There was never an easy way to say goodbye. She’d always found it best to simply wave, smile and walk away as quickly as she could.

  Brady sat with his father in a johnboat on the Wando River. It had been a fair-to-middling morning of fishing and the sun was getting too high and hot in the sky. Roy was pulling in what he’d claimed would be his last fish of the day.

  “Well, shoot, look at that. Ain’t no more than an appetizer,” he said in his gravelly voice, pulling the hook out of the spot tail’s mouth.

  “That one’s undersized, Daddy. You ought to toss him back.”

  “Aw, no one gives a damn about that, anyway,” said Roy, opening the fish bucket on the bottom of the boat.

  Brady shifted his weight on the narrow slat and took a breath. “I do,” he said.

  Roy paused, the wiggling fish dangling from his hand. He eyed his son narrowly and considered. “You telling me you care about this puny fish?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His father shook his head and chuckled low in his chest. “If that don’t beat all. Those tree huggers really got to you, didn’t they?” He held up the fish to look at it up close. “Explain it to me how this one little fish is gonna make one scrap of difference in that big river out there?”

  It would have been so easy to shut down his defenses as he usually did, to just shrug and let him toss that nothing of a fish into the bucket and leave it be. But something in his gut told him it was time to make a stand. Even if the issue was this puny fish, on this morning, in this boat, the consequences loomed large.

  Once, months ago, his father had asked him if he was with him or against him, and Brady had fallen in line against his better judgment. Even against his own nature. He’d never felt right about that, never felt the same about his father—or himself—since that day.

  Brady looked up at the man sitting only a few feet away. The years of hard living, hard drinking and smoking had coursed deep lines in his weathered face. His youth was long gone. That fact was clearly evident in the increasing amount of gray scattered in the coarse stubble on his cheeks and at the temples of his hair. Brady tried to see Roy Simmons as a man, not just as his father. Doing that made him feel more a man himself.

  “You’re right. I can’t make a difference with every fish out there in the river. Or even one measly creek. That’s too big. I can only do what I can do.”

  As he began trying to explain his newfound beliefs to his father, he was amazed when the belligerence on Roy’s face slackened and he actually began listening to what his son had to say.

  “See, if everyone went and kept the undersize fish they’d caught, that would be thousands of fish each summer that wouldn’t grow to breed. Wouldn’t be long before they’d die out and there’d be no fish left for anybody. But if I tossed my undersize fish back in the water, and the next guy did, and so on and so on, then we can all come back here and go fishing another day. So the way I figure it, it does make a difference if I put that puny fish back in this river. Leastwise, I’d know I did the right thing. A man can live with that.”

  His father shook his head and half smiled. But he didn’t laugh at him. To Brady’s surprise, he leaned over the edge of the boat and tossed that puny fish back into the river.

  Roy looked at him sideways. “Happy now?”

  Brady’s chest expanded and he looked his father square in the eye. “Yes, sir, I am. Thank you.”

  Roy looked at his son, really studied him in the way he might if he were some stranger he came across and had the feeling he might have met him sometime before.

  “You really like it at that
bird place, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Brady replied with a sinking feeling, wondering where this was headed.

  “Your mama tells me you’re going to keep volunteering there this summer. Even though your court time is served.”

  “I’m going to work there,” he said with pride. “Harris gave me a job as a bird handler. He even gave me my own falcon to train. I got to name it, too. I call him Totem.”

  Roy screwed up his face. “What the hell kind of a name is that?”

  “A good name. I like it. And I really like flying the birds. Daddy, I’ve finally found something I’m good at.”

  “Is that a fact?” Roy rubbed his jaw, his eyes sparkling with wonder. “Did I ever tell you your great-granddaddy used to hunt with falcons? Raised them, too.”

  Brady’s brows rose in wonder. “You’re kidding?”

  Roy’s face broke into a wide grin. “Yep. I’ll tell you about him on the way back. You remind me of him. He was stubborn, too.” He turned to the bucket, checking the day’s catch before he sealed the lid. His movements were stiff, not as swift or agile as Brady remembered. “Well, we ain’t got much, but we have something to give your mother for dinner. Ready to go home, son?”

  Brady met his gaze and nodded. Then he turned and began pulling up the anchor out from the muddy bottom.

  It was very early when Ella walked down the hall to Harris’s bedroom for the last time. The dawn had not yet risen and the hall was black as night. Another rainstorm had pushed through the day before, clearing away the oppressive humidity and leaving the night air refreshingly cool. They’d left the windows open to cool the house. She could hear the pulls on the wooden blinds gently tapping as they fluttered in the wind.

  She didn’t knock on his door, afraid she might awaken Fannie and Marion sleeping directly upstairs. So she eased it open, grimacing when the hinges squeaked.

  The moonlight from the open windows filled the room with soft gray light. The room was a shambles of tossed clothing and tilting piles of papers and books that appeared as shadowed lumps on the floor and desktop. She tiptoed around them to the twin bed in the corner.