The Summer of Good Intentions

by Wendy Francis

  Virgie raised her hand to her neck and fingered the scratchy brace around it. “Yeah, that’s to help with your neck. You took quite a fall,” Maggie said. “Obviously. Doctor said you’ll probably need it for a few days.”

  Virgie raised her fingers a few inches higher and gently touched the area around her right eye. It was bruised, tender, and she could tell that her eye was swollen. The view through it was narrower, at about sixty percent of what it should have been.

  “Here’s some water.” Maggie handed her a plastic cup. Virgie drank slowly, the water soothing her parched throat.

  “Thanks. What happened?” she asked now, as her brain struggled to clear the cobwebs.

  Maggie sat down next to her and furrowed her forehead into little lines. “You don’t remember?” She put her hand on her sister’s knee.

  Virgie shook her head as much as she could.

  “Well, you fainted. Why you fainted is a little less clear. The doctor thinks you were dehydrated. That plus too much sun and a glass of wine with dinner.”

  “Ah,” Virgie said. “Right.” She’d forgotten the wine. Was it one or two glasses she’d had with dinner? She tried to think. Arthur’s birthday party! “Oh, no!” she said with a start. “I ruined Daddy’s party.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Maggie said. “We’re just happy that you’re all right.”

  It was starting to come back to her now. They’d had steaks on the grill and fresh asparagus. The kids had been fired up to give Arthur his present, an iPad. But Virgie couldn’t recall her dad opening the gift. “Did Daddy get his gift?”

  “Yeah,” said Maggie. “He loved it. Opened it right before I found you on the bedroom floor.”

  “Oh.” Virgie tried to think. She remembered going upstairs for something, but what had it been? Then she remembered: Arthur’s birthday card. She’d wanted to give him a card just from her. And it was upstairs that she first noticed the world seeming to shift around her, as if the ground tilted one way while she went the other. It was a similar feeling to the one she’d experienced in Seattle when she tripped and sprained her thumb. And then one of her eyes had seemed to go momentarily blind. She reached out for the bedpost to balance herself, but she must have missed. Well, clearly she’d missed. Her face was a car wreck; she could feel it.

  “Was there an ambulance?” She remembered nothing right after the fall.

  “Yup. Lots of sirens and whistles. You gave us a good scare, but I think the kids kind of loved it. Teddy and Luke wanted to ride with you in the ambulance.”

  Virgie grinned, then stopped and groaned. Even her lips hurt. “You split your lip in the fall,” explained Maggie. “No stitches, though.”

  Virgie closed her eyes. It hurt to think. “Where’s everyone else? What time is it?”

  “Mac and Tim stayed with the kids at the house. Mom and Dad were here but they just stepped over to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. It’s around ten o’clock, I’d say. Still Saturday.”

  “Jess?” Virgie asked.

  “Ladies’ room.”

  She nodded slowly. It was all she needed to know right now. The day, the time, everyone’s whereabouts. What had happened. She was so tired. Exhausted. If she could just sleep a little more, she was sure she’d feel better. She closed her eyes and, ever so gently, drifted off to sleep.

  Arthur

  The next morning, Sunday, Arthur was peering out the window, drinking his coffee and thinking about Virgie, when he saw him. The rascal! There he was, his beady little eyes staring out from behind the mask, his paws raised as he chewed on a corncob he’d dug out of the trash. Arthur slammed down his cup on the counter and hurried out the front door.

  “Shoo! Go on! Get out of here, you big rat!” he yelled, waving his arms. Roger scurried off behind the shed, and Arthur chased him, banging on the shed to scare him as far away as he could. He saw the flash of a ringed tail in the bushes. Already, the varmint had ransacked the trash can, despite Arthur’s sealing the top with a bungee cord last night. They were surprisingly clever animals—he’d give them that. Maybe he’d try duct tape next.

  He started back into the house, then stopped. Today was as good a day as any to start building a trap. He’d promised Luke they would. If they actually caught the bugger, they could drive Roger out to the woods, far, far away, and leave him. Let him bother someone else. Arthur headed for his car parked behind the shed and began searching for any gadgets he might use. From the backseat, he pulled an assemblage of things: a spool of wire, an old box, box cutters, an old plate, some plastic grapes. He dragged it all out to the front yard.

  “What are you doing?” Luke snuck up on him and Arthur jumped.

  “You scared me,” he said and dropped back down on his knees. “I was about to come find you. I thought we could start building a trap for our friend.”

  “Roger?” Luke rocked back and forth on his toes, a move, Arthur had noticed, his grandson did whenever he got excited. “We’re going to catch Roger today?”

  Arthur shook his head. “I doubt today, but maybe tonight. Or the night after that.” He snipped a piece of wire and began attaching a makeshift tripod to the bottom of the box. “I think I scared him away pretty good this morning.”

  “Roger was here already?” Luke asked, his voice threaded with disappointment.

  “Yep, made quite a mess, too.” Arthur pointed to the litter that lay scattered across the grass. Corncobs, fish bones, coffee grinds. A stinky, smelly heap. “Why don’t you go in and grab a trash bag. Oh, and some shiny tinfoil, too. We’ll be needing that.”

  “Okay.” Luke bounded up the stairs, letting the screen door slam behind him.

  Arthur chuckled to himself. “Guess everyone’s up now.”

  Soon Luke returned with the other children in tow, and they worked together for an hour. Arthur figured the trap was a welcome distraction from the events of last night. He still couldn’t believe that Virgie had fallen over, kerplunk! The doctors had run some tests, and for the most part, everything seemed fine. But Arthur didn’t want the kids to worry. This morning Gracie and Teddy had snuck in from the tent to ask if Aunt Virgie was going to be okay. “Of course,” he’d told them, pulling the covers back and making room for them in his bed.

  Now Arthur measured a long string and handed Sophie the scissors for cutting. Next, he showed Lexie where to attach the string to the upside-down crate that would act as their trap. “See,” he explained to the kids. “When the raccoon pulls on the corncob attached to this string, we’ve rigged it so that the crate will snap down.” He demonstrated the box falling to the ground with a yank. “Gotcha!” Arthur shouted at the imaginary raccoon.

  “Cool!” Luke exclaimed.

  Grace and Sophie regarded him skeptically. “You really think that’s going to catch him?” pressed Grace. The girl was preternaturally smart, so much so that Arthur found it a bit unnerving at times.

  “You bet. Roger won’t know what hit him. Then we’ll take him to the woods and set him free.”

  Sophie furrowed her little eyebrows. “But he’s not going to get hurt, right?”

  Arthur rested his hand on the child’s soft blond hair. Like corn silk, he thought. And such different personalities! “Don’t worry, Soph. Roger’s going to be just fine.”

  “I’m going to tell Mom that we’re gonna catch Roger!” Luke raced back into the house.

  Moments later, Maggie stood on the front porch, surveying their handiwork. “That’s supposed to catch my raccoon?”

  Arthur shrugged. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but yes, it ought to do the trick.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “So long as it doesn’t catch one of the kids instead.” She turned and headed back inside. She looked weary. Last night had given them all a good scare. But Virgie was all right, Arthur reminded himself. The doctor had said so. Just wanted her to do a couple of little tests in Boston, and then she could be on her way. Arthur had seen a lot worse when the kids were little. When blood
was involved, for example, or when Maggie had knocked out a tooth, or the time that Jess needed thirteen stitches on the back of her head after colliding with a coffee table.

  The best thing was to let her rest. And keep the kids distracted.

  At that moment, Mac and Tim appeared on the front steps, their golf bags slung over their shoulders.

  “Care to join us?” Mac asked. “It’s a beautiful day to hit the ball.” He wore a Red Sox cap and a striped blue and white golf shirt. Tan pants and wingtip golf shoes. Tim was dressed similarly, though his pants were a wild checkered pattern.

  Arthur grinned. “Aren’t you fellas looking sharp? But no thanks. I’m going to hang around. Make sure Virgie’s feeling all right. Do some swimming with the kids.”

  “Suit yourself, Grandpa.” Tim headed for the SUV and loaded his clubs into the trunk. Arthur smarted ever so slightly to hear this particular son-in-law refer to him as Grandpa. He still hadn’t gotten used to it.

  “Thank you, I will. Have fun.”

  He gathered up the remaining parts of the trap project and headed for his car. The trunk was starting to resemble a squirrel’s nest, and Arthur struggled to fit in even more. He leaned on the top, giving it all his weight, until at last he heard the latch click. When he got back inside, Gloria was sitting at the kitchen table, cradling a cup of tea.

  “Good morning, Arthur.”

  “Gloria,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t see you come in.”

  “I didn’t,” she explained. “I slept over.” Maggie leaned against the counter, and Arthur thought he detected a faint smile at the corners of her mouth.

  “Yeah, Mom slept in Virgie’s room last night to play nurse. Sorry, I thought you knew.”

  Arthur glanced from his daughter to his ex-wife and back again. “No, I did not. But that’s very nice of you.”

  “I’m her mother,” Gloria said, as if that one word explained everything, her rights to the situation and, by extension, Arthur’s subordinate role. Was there judgment in her voice? Arthur thought so but decided to push forward.

  “So, how’s the patient doing?” He helped himself to a cup of coffee.

  Maggie and Gloria exchanged looks. “Oh, she’s fine,” Gloria said. “Just a little sore. Bruised her ego more than anything else, I’d say.”

  Arthur sipped, considering. “What a shocker, huh? One minute she’s up and fine and the next minute she’s lying facedown on the floor.”

  There was another look exchanged between the women. “What? What aren’t you two telling me?”

  “Nothing.” Maggie turned and traced a crack in the countertop with her thumb.

  “What is it?” Arthur set down his cup and held up his hands, as if in surrender. Streaks of grease from the trap building project ran along his fingers, and he went to the sink to wash them.

  “Nothing, it’s just that the doctor got us thinking, you know, a little worried about what might have caused her to black out like that,” Maggie said, stepping out of his way.

  Arthur turned on the tap and scrubbed. “I thought he said she was dehydrated from the sun. Add a glass or two of wine, and presto, you’re down like a fallen tree.”

  Gloria studied her hands, which were freckled with sun spots. She pushed her wedding band up and down her ring finger. Arthur had noticed she’d moved it onto her right hand after the divorce. Still, it gave him some smug satisfaction that she continued to wear it, a vindication that forty-six years of marriage counted for something. He wondered for a moment if it made Gino uncomfortable. Gio, he corrected himself.

  “You’re probably right,” she said. “Let’s hope that’s all it was. Too much sun and wine.”

  “What?” he persisted. “Do we think Virgie has a drinking problem again?” If pressed, he’d have to admit he’d been wondering the same thing himself over Christmas at Maggie’s. Every so often his youngest daughter would slur her words or knock into something. But he decided to chalk it up to general clumsiness. Virgie, arguably his most striking daughter, could also be ungraceful. She was tall, ungainly occasionally. So what?

  “No, no, no,” Gloria tsked, as if he were indelicate for even raising the topic.

  “Well, then, tell me, please. Because I’m confused. What are we talking about here?”

  Maggie eyed the stairs. “The CT scan,” she whispered.

  “What about it? The doc said she was fine.”

  “Right,” Maggie said nodding, as if willing it to be right. “But he said there were some slight shadows. Probably nothing, but what if it’s that other thing he mentioned? You know, MS?”

  Gloria coughed and held her hand to her mouth.

  “Oh,” said Arthur. He hadn’t given that part of the doctor’s report much thought. The doctor was young, probably thirty-five, and a Cape Cod doctor at that. Not to be dismissive, but how much could the fellow know? Arthur hadn’t taken him too seriously. “I doubt that it’s anything to worry about. I’m sure he was just covering his bases. You know how they are these days. They have to tell you that you could die of six different things so they don’t get sued. It’s all a bunch of baloney—”

  “But, Daddy,” Maggie interrupted. “Something’s not right.” Her brow was knitted in worry. “And I’ve been looking online. A lot of the symptoms of MS could describe Virgie.” Gloria tugged at a cuticle.

  “Well, that’s why she can get it checked out in Boston. Make sure.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Like Virgie’s going to stick around for that. She’s headed back on a plane a week from today. You know her, it’s all about work and ratings.”

  “Gloria?” He turned to his ex-wife. “What do you think?”

  She folded her hands and lifted her eyes. “I’m concerned. I won’t lie. Maybe she just got a little concussion from the fall, but I do think she should get it checked out. Maggie and I have been talking, and she doesn’t think Virgie seems like herself.”

  “Huh.” Arthur tried to think. Did his favorite daughter—because let’s be honest, everyone knew he had a soft spot for Virgie—seem different to him? Just because he thought she might be sneaking some drinks on the side didn’t mean she suddenly had a serious diagnosis, did it? “How so?” he asked.

  “C’mon, Dad,” said Maggie. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. She’s acting weird, even by Virgie standards. She’s slurring her words, she seems to search for the right word sometimes. She keeps testing her balance.”

  In an odd way, Arthur thought Maggie could be describing him. He’d worried himself that one of them would call him on his recent memory problems. The fact that they hadn’t made him feel better—it was just typical old age, nothing to be concerned about. “Still, that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with her,” he said now. “And it most certainly doesn’t mean she has multiple sclerosis.” Hearing these words sent a stitch through his heart. His grandmother had suffered from MS.

  At that moment, they heard footsteps on the stairs. “Jess?” he asked quietly.

  “No.” Maggie shook her head. “She’s watching the kids outside.”

  “Ah.” Arthur hadn’t noticed the relative quiet in the house till now.

  At the bottom of the stairs stood Virgie, her auburn hair tousled around her face and a deep purple bruise ringing her right eye. A clunky brace circled her neck. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Hi, everyone.”

  “Oh, honey.” Gloria rushed to her side. “You poor thing. Come sit down.” She led Virgie to the table. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head hurts. And my neck. I could use some of those heavy-duty ibuprofen pills.”

  Maggie checked her watch. “Sure, you got it. You haven’t had any for six hours. You’re due.” She hurried to grab the prescription bottle from the upstairs bathroom and returned to hand her sister a glass of water with the pills. “I’m so sorry, Virg. What a rough night. Did you get any sleep?”

  Virgie took the pills and swallowed. “Yeah, funny enough, I slept like a log, except for the times M
om woke me.”

  “Sorry, honey,” Gloria said. “Doctor’s orders. Every two to three hours.”

  Virgie turned to Arthur. “Sorry to ruin your birthday party, Daddy.”

  Arthur went to give her a hug. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. I’m just glad you’re okay. You certainly made it a memorable birthday.” They all laughed uneasily.

  “Can I fix you some breakfast?” Maggie asked. “Maybe some eggs? Toast?”

  Virgie shook her head. “No thanks. I’m not hungry. Juice maybe?”

  Arthur struggled to remember if Virgie had been awake when the doctor revealed his concerns to them. She must have been, but would she even recall Doogie Howser’s mention of the CT scan? Probably not.

  “You know what’s funny?” she asked when Maggie set down a glass of cranberry juice. “I remember thinking in the hospital that I needed to get back to work. That they were going to be mad at me. How crazy is that? That the first thing I think of is work?” She sipped her juice.

  “That’s the sign of someone who’s overworked,” Maggie offered. “Have you called Jackson yet?”

  “No.” A smudge of juice hovered above her lip, a faint crimson ribbon. “Not yet. I will later today. I don’t want him to worry.”

  “From what you’ve told me about him, I think he’d want to know,” said Maggie. “Being a nurse and all . . .”

  “I know, Sis.” Virgie held up her hand. “I’ll get to it.” She was quiet for a minute, then laughed. “Ouch.” She touched her lip. “Aren’t I a vision? I nearly fell over when I saw myself in the mirror this morning.”

  “I still can’t believe we didn’t hear you fall,” said Jess, joining them now.

  “I thought I heard something—” Maggie began.

  “Yeah, it’s comforting to think about,” Virgie interrupted. “Your family helping out in times of crisis. . . . You guys were eating cake while I was passed out upstairs.”

  Maggie and Jess exchanged guilty glances, then laughed. “We’re sorry,” said Maggie, trying to stop. “It is a little funny, if you think about it.”