Romeo Fails

by Amy Briant

  Maggie had her head down on her arms on the tabletop, still crying and sniveling. She paused and opened one eye. She swiveled that eye upward, as if to check on Dorsey’s expression before answering.

  “…C-Can I?”

  “Of course you can, Mags. If you want to, I mean. Hell, go for it, woman!”

  “Really?”

  “Really! For crying out loud, Mags… well, I guess you are crying out loud, so stop it will you and pull yourself together!”

  “Okay,” Maggie half-laughed, half-sobbed.

  The two friends looked at each other in the yellow glow of the kitchen light. And realized there was some additional pale yellow light just starting to show at the windows. They had talked so long it was dawn. And just like the certainty of the sun coming up, they knew that bad things would sometimes happen. Sometimes they would hurt each other and let each other down. But the constant remained. Maggie and Dorsey, best friends forever.

  They were hugging it out when Mrs. Bigelow came in with Carmichael at her heels. He growled at both of them in a nonpartisan fashion. A dirty little cast on his leg clacked on the linoleum floor as he walked. He and his mistress had matching limps. It wasn’t funny—both Dorsey and Maggie knew that—but they struggled not to giggle. Dorsey controlled herself and started to say good morning to Mrs. B., but the older woman cut her off imperiously.

  “Is that a WINE bottle on my table, Mary Margaret?” Mrs. Bigelow inquired of her daughter in a loud voice composed of equal parts shock, horror and extreme parental disapproval. Even Carmichael stopped growling and looked up at his mistress uncertainly. He decided to go hide under the table.

  Dorsey looked over at Maggie, who had her eyes tightly shut, her hands gripping the edge of the table. She was looking rather pale. Dorsey wasn’t sure if she was going to faint, scream, throw up or what. As she watched, Maggie opened her eyes, looked up at her mother and smiled sweetly. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was simply that Mary Margaret “Mags” Bigelow had finally had enough.

  “Good morning, Mother,” she said evenly. “I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that I’m moving out next weekend. Pastor Reinhardt told me about a double-wide for rent down at the trailer park that one of the congregation owns. So you won’t have to worry about me or the wine bottle much longer.”

  She stood up and put the bottle in the trashcan under the sink. Her mother gaped at her speechlessly, which Dorsey found to be a beautiful sight. Not to mention restful.

  “And you,” Maggie said forcefully to a bristling Carmichael, snapping her fingers and pointing with undeniable authority at the doggy door to the backyard, “OUT!”

  The wayward beagle turned tail and slunk out the door without so much as a yip. Mrs. Bigelow too cast a wondering and hurt look at her only child, then flounced out of the kitchen in a whirl of matching polyester robe and fuzzy slippers. Maggie stood proudly by the sink, head up, shoulders back until her mother had completely disappeared down the hallway. If her bedroom door didn’t slam, it certainly was closed very firmly.

  Maggie turned to Dorsey, who was sitting there with her mouth half open.

  “Holy cow, Mags,” was all she could say.

  “That’s right,” Maggie replied, still talking tough. “I’m moving out. And if she doesn’t like it, well, that’s just too bad. I mean, if I’m going to start dating again, I need a little privacy, right?”

  That was TMI for Dorsey, although she recognized the truth of it and applauded her friend’s decision. She nodded mutely. Various muffled thumps and bangs were now emanating from Mrs. B’s bedroom down the hall.

  “She’s probably just getting dressed,” Maggie said with a trace of nervousness in her tone. She glanced down the hallway. “You think?”

  “Uh, I think now would be an excellent time to go get some breakfast at the Blue Duck, Mags.”

  They made it all the way out the door and into Maggie’s car before bursting into laughter like a couple of eight-year-olds.

  Chapter Seventeen

  But where was Sarah?

  Three days went by with no word. Dorsey saw Maggie or spoke with her on the telephone every day, just like before. Before Sarah. And every day Maggie would tell her, “Sorry. I haven’t heard from her yet.” Although she had found Sarah’s missing cell phone. Carmichael had had it under the couch—it was chewed and mangled beyond repair when she retrieved it.

  “At least that kind of explains why she hasn’t called,” Maggie offered up tentatively.

  “Come on, Mags, there are plenty of other phones in the world if she wanted to call,” Dorsey said.

  “I’m so sorry, Dorse,” Maggie said again.

  She kept apologizing. Dorsey really wished she would stop. “It’s all right, Maggie,” she finally told her. “Let’s just move past it. It doesn’t matter now. She’s gone.”

  Maggie looked more woeful than ever after that, but she stopped the apologies.

  Luke had come by the store on Monday to tell Goodman that Justin Argyle had given the police a full confession. Not only did he own up to setting the fire, he also admitted to all the other recent acts of vandalism and malice—the highway sign, the butchered carnations, the dismembered possum, the church marquee, all of it. Dorsey was there too, to hear the news. She stood next to Good behind the counter and absently stroked Ira as they talked. George stared unblinkingly down at them from his perch on top of aisle three.

  “But why, Luke?” she asked him, bewildered. “Why did he do it?”

  “Which one? The arson?” the police chief asked her.

  “Well, yeah,” she said. “Why single us out? Why do any of it? What the hell is wrong with him?”

  Luke looked around to make sure it was just the three of them within earshot.

  “He’s a fucking punk, that’s what’s wrong with him,” he said forcefully. “And a creep to boot. Some people don’t need a reason for the things they do, Dorsey—they just take out their venom on whoever’s nearest and least likely to strike back.”

  “I’ll be happy to strike him,” Goodman interjected. “Several times, in fact. Do you know how much insurance paperwork I’ve had to fill out already because of that little bastard?” He shook his head angrily. The near destruction of his home was bad enough, but add paperwork to that and it became a hanging offense in Good’s book.

  “He apparently had some grudge against Shaw worked up in his mind,” Luke explained. “Something about you too, Dorsey—something about the two of you humiliating him at the grocery store.”

  “He’s crazy,” she said heatedly.

  “Yep, probably,” Luke agreed readily. “I’m sure his attorney will be looking into that angle.”

  “How’s poor old Gargoyle doing with all this?” Goodman inquired.

  “Not too good,” Luke sighed. “I heard she’s thinking about quitting, but I’m trying my best to talk her out of it.”

  The two Larues shared a look which featured two sets of raised eyebrows.

  “What?” Luke demanded. “She’s one of my best deputies, if you come right down to it.”

  “What?” he then said again, seeing their continued skepticism. “Do you want to mess with her?”

  Both hurriedly shook their heads no.

  “Well, then, there you have it,” he said with satisfaction.

  All in all, it had been a good week for Luke. The string of crimes was solved, the mayor was off his back and he’d heard the highway department was getting ready to fix the vandalized sign in another week or two. He hefted his gun belt into a more comfortable position, chucked Ira under the chin and bade the Larues farewell.

  After he left, Goodman finally and belatedly got around to asking his sister if she would mind if he asked her best friend out. Dorsey truthfully told him she thought it was an excellent idea.

  “And don’t forget to ask her about the books,” she added jokingly.

  “Actually, that’s kind of what started this,” he admitted.
“I’ve been talking to her whenever she came into the store lately about some inventory control ideas and she has a lot of good suggestions. Some good thoughts about ways to expand our customer base as well. She really knows that MBA stuff inside and out. Did she tell you about her Wi-Fi idea?”

  “Yes. But you’re not just asking her out for business advice, right?” Dorsey questioned.

  “No, no,” Goodman assured her with a smile. “I’ve asked out the woman, not the MBA. I like Maggie—you know that.”

  Dorsey felt like she knew less and less about romance every day, but she was happy for her brother nonetheless. Happy for both her brothers, despite the grinding despair she felt deepen with each passing hour. Where was Sarah? Why hadn’t she called Maggie? Why hadn’t she called Dorsey? Had she decided to just disappear and take the easy way out?

  The easy way out…Dorsey could take that herself now, if she wanted to. She mourned the loss of the workshop, but in a weird way, it had set her free. There was nothing now to keep her in Romeo Falls. She could go anywhere, do anything. Take off at a moment’s notice. But having achieved the liberty she had so desperately longed for, she found herself at a loss as to what to do with that freedom. It seemed meaningless now, without Sarah.

  She hoped she would get over her one day. And had absolutely no idea how to go about that.

  On Tuesday evening, she locked up the store at five, then drove home. Dr. Melba had phoned to say she might come by later to look at the finished “re-imagined” furniture Dorsey had stored in the basement. Her friend in Chicago with the design store had asked her for some more photos. Dorsey halfway suspected Shaw might have put Dr. Melba up to it—both of her brothers were concerned about her, she knew, and trying to help in their clumsy male fashion. She was grateful for their support, but mostly just so tired. After a day of pretending to smile at customers, she just wanted to be alone in her room and try her damnedest not to think of anything at all.

  Seeing the bright red Bug parked in front of her house was a physical shock. She felt a searing pain in her chest, which scorched her lungs and caught at her breath. She slowed, then stopped her truck in the middle of the street. Sarah was not in the car and nowhere to be seen. Dorsey could see the little VW was packed to the gills with boxes and suitcases. What did it mean? Was this the final goodbye? Dorsey felt a sudden urge to floor it, to squeal the tires and pull away with a vengeance, anything to avoid the confrontation which was coming. After a moment, though, she turned the wheel and pulled into her driveway.

  Somehow, she knew where Sarah would be. She found her in the back, kicking at the ashes, staring at the devastation with distress written all over her fine features. She watched Dorsey walk up to her without a word. She looked stricken and tired, Dorsey thought. Should she just say “hi” like nothing had happened? A hug was definitely out of the question. In the end, the words she chose were plain and straightforward.

  “I see you’re leaving again,” she said to Sarah. She was surprised at how level her voice sounded. She didn’t even feel mad anymore. The searing pain in her chest had settled into a dull weight. She hoped this wasn’t going to take too long.

  “I’m so sorry, Dorsey.”

  Dorsey couldn’t tell if Sarah meant the fire or her leaving without a word or something else altogether.

  “Yeah, well…where’ve you been?”

  “L.A.”

  “As in Los Angeles?”

  “Yeah, an old friend offered me a job out there.”

  An icy stab of pain pierced Dorsey at the thought of Sarah being so far, far away. Without her.

  “A friend?” she said though, hanging on to her composure by the slenderest of threads. “What’s her name?”

  “His name is Irving. He used to be my editor. He’s fifty-seven years old and has been married to the same woman for thirty years. He’s helping to start up a brand-new magazine in L.A. and he wants me to be one of their staff writers. He called me on Saturday and I had to jump on a plane and book out there to interview with his partners on Sunday night. I had a second interview on Monday and they offered me the job then. It’s a pretty amazing opportunity, actually. I just got back a few hours ago. I have to pack up and drive out there so I can start work next Monday. Any other questions?”

  Sarah seemed tense and somewhat taken aback, perhaps, by Dorsey’s seemingly cool reception. Her “Any other questions?” had been terse almost to the point of rudeness. She took a step toward Dorsey, almost challengingly.

  Dorsey felt a great tiredness rising in her, filling all her empty spaces to overflowing. It threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to sit down, but there was nowhere to sit, of course, in the ashes and rubble. She summoned her remaining reserves of strength, determined to get through what was probably her last conversation with Sarah with at least some small amount of dignity.

  “I do have a question, Sarah,” she said quietly. “Just tell me one thing—why are you here?”

  “Dorsey, listen to me,” Sarah said. “I talked to Maggie—”

  “Is this about Maggie?” Dorsey found herself taking a step closer as well. They were face to face now, the white lunar landscape of the barren ashy yard at their feet.

  “This is about me and you,” Sarah said, reaching out to her, but Dorsey found herself pulling back.

  Sarah seemed perplexed by her reaction. “Look,” she said, “I’m sorry I didn’t call and talk to you. I should have. I know that. I did call one night, but you weren’t there and your brother sounded kind of drunk, to tell the truth… And then it was such a madhouse in L.A. and I didn’t want to call until I knew something for sure. And without my phone…it just seemed easier to wait until I got back and could talk to you in person.”

  She looked pleadingly at Dorsey, who still did not respond. Could not respond. Images of the different sides of Sarah she had known passed through her mind—the childhood cousin she was so jealous of, the Naked Silver Lake Goddess from the festival and finally, the one she thought of as The Real Sarah. Her Sarah. The thought that this last Sarah was there to say goodbye and leave her behind—again, and this time forever—was too painful. A lump in her throat blocked any words she might have said.

  “Dorsey,” Sarah tried one more time. “Look, what happened with you and me and Maggie was awful and hurtful. And just plain wrong. It never should have happened, but it did. I can’t undo that. But I’ve talked with Maggie and she told me she talked with you. She’s fine with it now, Dorse. Can’t you see what this means?”

  Sarah’s eyes were ablaze, her pale face heightened with color as she pleaded her case.

  “What does it mean, Sarah? To you?” Dorsey finally said, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. “You’re the one who backed off—the one who left.”

  “I only backed off because of the Maggie thing—we had to work through that, right? All three of us?” Sarah said, clearly confused by Dorsey’s response. “And I only left for a job interview. But I came back—for you,” she added.

  “For what?” Dorsey demanded. “To pack up your car and say goodbye?” The one thing she hadn’t ever heard from Sarah, she realized, was commitment. Maybe it had been just a summer fling for her. Just a roll in the hay with one of the locals. Tears rose in Dorsey’s eyes. The hurt was too much. If Sarah didn’t care for her…and she couldn’t have her workshop…she really didn’t know how she was supposed to go on…

  “Dorsey Lee Larue!” Sarah exclaimed with exasperation, grabbing Dorsey’s hands in her own and pulling her close. “I’m trying to tell you I want you to come to L.A. with me.”

  “What?” Dorsey was shocked, not sure she had heard her right. She forced back a surge of excitement—she couldn’t allow herself to hope…

  “That’s right,” Sarah was saying, still clinging to her hands, squeezing them tightly. “I want you to come with me. To L.A. Right now, Dorse, this minute—let’s just jump in the car and go and leave this town behind.”

  “Why?” Dorsey’s single word rang
out and hung in the air between them. She needed to hear the words from Sarah, had to hear the commitment before she could give in to what her heart, her brain, her whole being was clamoring to do.

  “Why?” Sarah shot back as if the answer was so obvious. She saw the look in Dorsey’s eyes and seemed to finally grasp what she needed. She groped for the words, stammered, stopped, then started again. “Because…Because I love you, damn it. That’s why. I love you, Dorsey. We belong together.”

  We belong together. There they were, the words Dorsey had been waiting to hear. We do belong together, she thought. She had known it all along. She just needed to hear Sarah say it. Needed to hear her Sarah say it. The beginnings of a smile curved her lips. Sarah saw it. A matching smile curved her own lips.

  “L.A.?” Dorsey managed to say skeptically, although her heart was jumping madly with joy.

  “Yeah, L.A. Why not? You’ll love it—the beach, the smog, the traffic…”

  “Swimming pools, movie stars…”

  “You got it.” Sarah laughed out loud, then resumed in a more serious and persuasive tone. “Just think, Dorse, you could set up your re-imagined furniture business out there. You know, start small, with a website at first, then get a few pieces placed in shops and other businesses, get the word of mouth going and maybe open up your own store eventually.”

  “Whoa, hold on, Sarah,” Dorsey said. “I mean, yeah, I love your enthusiasm, but how am I going to do any of that with no tools and no money?” She gestured at the remains of the workshop behind them.

  “Well, you can start with the pieces you have down in the basement and at the hardware store, right? And then how about I buy you a circular saw or whatever and then you pay me back eventually by making me some furniture? Like, you know, a bed?” she said with her irresistibly devilish grin.

  “Do you even know what a circular saw is?” Dorsey asked, although she couldn’t help but grin too.

  “You can tell me all about it on the drive to L.A.,” Sarah told her, twining her arm in Dorsey’s and turning her toward the house. “You can tell me your whole list, whatever you need: hammer, nails, wood…”