Plenty of Trouble

by Magenta Wilde

  “Sorry. I didn’t bring anything,” I admitted, feeling a bit bad when Tom’s face fell.

  My mother smiled wickedly.

  “Fiona! Don’t laugh. It’s cruel that you enjoy watching me suffer,” Tom complained.

  She laughed and shook her head. “We do have some extra goodies. Poppy has brought a few things just because she bakes so much, but it’s also going to be for Plenty and Lindy’s visit – I am hoping Plenty stuffs herself silly and starts to get fat – ”

  “She reached out to me last night,” I cut in, “and informed me she bought a new dress for her size-two body.”

  “Size two?” Mom asked. Her expression was like she’d caught a whiff of a bad smell.

  “That sounds really tiny,” Tom said.

  “You would be correct,” Mom nodded at him serenely. “But this news merits dessert, and Poppy brought enough over that we have more than enough to share.”

  Tom stood up, excited. “Where is it?” he asked.

  “I’m not telling you,” my mother said. She turned to Jordan. “If I ever tell you where I’ve hidden any kind of cakes, candies or cookies, you are never to reveal that to Tom, do you hear me?”

  “Okay,” Jordan hedged, sliding his gaze in Tom’s direction. “But why?”

  “Tom will eat anything sweet. If there’s a pie on the counter, and he sees it, it will not be there for long.”

  “Even if it’s a whole pie?” he asked.

  My mother nodded vigorously. “Tom eats seconds, thirds, fourths and wholes when it comes to any kind of sweets.”

  Jordan nodded, his eyes full of understanding.

  “Don’t listen to her, son!” Tom admonished.

  “Um …” Jordan started to respond, now uncertain.

  “And if he tries to bribe you with money, don’t do it,” Vanessa added. Tom shot her a dirty look. She cast her eyes down. “Sorry.”

  “Roger, back me up here,” Tom said, turning to Roger. “The men folk need the extra calories.”

  “I’m staying out of this one,” Roger said.

  “Tom,” my mother said as she stood up and set her napkin on her plate, “Roger may be new to our group, though he’s known you for many years, but he still knows enough not to argue with the women here.”

  She told Tom and Roger to take Jordan out to the backyard to play with the dogs for a while. The ladies would clean up. Roger hung behind for a moment, pulling my chair back for me to rise. My mother grabbed his elbow.

  “Try and find out where Jordan is staying,” she whispered.

  “Why? Do you think he’s homeless?” Roger asked.

  “I don’t know. Try and find out,” my mother said. Roger looked uncertain how to proceed. “I think he finds you to be cute, so he might open up to you. Maybe.”

  Roger blushed, looking a bit uncomfortable at that statement.

  “Don’t worry,” my mother waved off his concern. “I’m sure it’s a harmless crush. And it’s not like you’re in a prison shower and just dropped the soap.”

  “Mom,” I warned.

  “What?” she asked, nonplussed. “Men seem to worry about that kind of thing for some reason.” She mimed putting her hands over her behind. “Oh, it’s an exit, not an entrance. At least until the husband tries to get a bit kinky.”

  “Roger might have just been uncomfortable with you assuming things,” I said, reaching up and resting my hand on his shoulder. “I know I sometimes experience discomfort from both your assumptions and your suggestions.”

  My mother shrugged, blasé.

  Roger nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out about the kid,” and then he followed Tom and Jordan.

  The three of us made a quick cleanup of the dinner mess, putting away leftovers and washing the dishes. Roger stepped in for a moment while we were busy, and my mother and I fixed him with a questioning look.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “He won’t say where he’s staying,” Roger started. “He’s being vague, so that leads me to believe he doesn’t have a place.”

  “He mentioned having a car while we were organizing,” Vanessa cut in. “Maybe he’s sleeping in there.”

  “But it looked like he walked here,” I said.

  Vanessa shrugged. “Maybe he ran out of gas or he’s conserving, and he’s just using it as a roof over his head. There are plenty of places someone could park for a long time and never get ticketed.”

  “At least not until it snows. Then they’ll ticket and tow if anyone blocks the plow routes,” Roger said.

  “That’s true,” Vanessa said. “And here in the Upper Peninsula, it could snow just about at any time from here on out.”

  “That’s life in northern Michigan for you,” I sighed. I looked at my mother. “Maybe I should have him stay with me,” I muttered. “I have some room.”

  Roger shook his head. “No. I know you’re trying to be nice, and he seems like a nice kid, but you really don’t know him.”

  “Aw, he’s being sweet and protective,” I cooed, rubbing my hand up and down his forearm. “Oh. Nice. And firm,” I admired as I squeezed. He smiled at my distracted state.

  “Maybe he should stay with me and Tom,” Mom said. “I do think that’s better than him staying with you.”

  Vanessa took that time to slip on her coat. “I’ll step out and make sure they don’t come in right away and overhear you until you come to a decision.”

  “That’s at least a better idea,” Roger said, of my mother’s suggestion. “But you’ve got company coming in the next few days, so you’ll be busy with that. I’m sure something can be figured out when we learn the guts of his situation.”

  A few moments later we had dessert and coffee on the table. Vanessa had by then excused herself because she was meeting her boyfriend Ethan at her apartment.

  The remaining five of us sat around the table, eating an apple spice cake I had baked.

  “So, where are you from, Jordan?” I started. “You didn’t grow up in the Sault, did you?”

  He shook his head. “I grew up in Manistique, or just outside of it.”

  “Ah, along U.S. 2?” my mother said.

  Jordan nodded. “Not far from it.”

  “When did you come to the Sault,” she asked.

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “Are you taking a couple classes at the college?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “What brought you here, then?” Tom asked.

  Jordan shrugged. “I just wanted to go to a bigger city, I guess.”

  “You don’t have family here?” Roger asked.

  He shook his head again.

  “So you’re not staying with an aunt or cousin or anything?” I asked. “A friend from high school, maybe?”

  “What are you guys getting at,” Jordan asked.

  “We’re just making small talk, son,” Tom replied.

  “With all the questions, it feels like you’ve got something more in mind.”

  I set my fork down. “We want to know if you have a place to stay.”

  “Poppy!” my mother snapped as she slapped her hand on the table. “We’re trying to be discreet here.”

  “Oh, Fiona,” Tom cut in. “You once mooned someone at an auction because the woman outbid you. You’re hardly the voice of discretion.”

  Jordan choked on his cake. I set my fork down and picked up my napkin, fighting the urge to laugh uncontrollably.

  “She what? Wait,” Roger said as he held his hand up in a dismissive motion. “Never mind.”

  “So, Jordan,” my mother cut in, blinking her eyes. It made me think a couple tiny moths had landed along her lashes. “Where have you been staying since you got into town?”

  “I’ve got a place,” he said.

  “Where?” Tom asked.

  “It’s, well, it’s somewhere.” He drew out the statement, so I knew he was trying to avoid telling us his real situation.

  “What street?” I asked.

  Jordan h
emmed for a moment. “On Aspen.”

  “Well, that’s good,” my mother said. “I don’t remember where Aspen is exactly. Do you need anything for the place? We have plenty of extra things here, if you need a chair or lamp or something.”

  Roger and Tom looked at one another.

  “What?” my mother asked. She clearly didn’t know the area as well as she’d thought. That’s probably because she hadn’t spent her entire life up here the way Tom and Roger had.

  “There’s no Aspen Street in town,” Tom explained.

  Four sets of eyes landed on Jordan, who began fussing with his napkin, setting it in front of him. He started to stand. “I think I need to go. Thanks for dinner.”

  My mother reached her hand out to him, resting it on his forearm. “Son. Sit down.”

  He kept standing.

  “Sit down!” she said with more firmness.

  He looked her in the eyes and could see she was serious. He did as told.

  “Do you have a place to stay,” she asked sweetly.

  He muttered something vague. We looked to one another around the table, trying to make sense of what he’d said. He patted his hip. “I think I left my wallet in the store. I’ll be back in a second.” He darted out the door. We waited a beat, and when he didn’t immediately return, the four of us went into the store to find him.

  Jordan, however, was not there.

  7

  MY MOTHER RAN to the door at the front of the shop and stepped out onto the sidewalk, looking both ways. “I don’t see him,” she said, her sea-blue eyes wide with alarm. Then she bellowed, “Be sure to get here at ten in the morning for work, Jordan!”

  We’d followed and stood in silence in front of the store for a few seconds.

  “You’re not chasing after him?” my mother asked.

  “You just told the whole street that you wanted him to be here in the morning,” I started. “That was positively supersonic, so he could have heard.”

  “Still, you two should get your young legs pumping and try and hunt him down,” she sniffed.

  “Okay, we’ll try and find him,” Roger said.

  “Let’s go,” I agreed. “We’ll be back with him in a few minutes, hopefully.”

  We walked up the road, peering down side streets and looking between nearby buildings. Neither of us saw any sign of Jordan. Roger came up behind me and rested his hand on my shoulder.

  “He vanished,” I mumbled.

  He kept looking around trying to spot any sign of Jordan but also came up empty. “Don’t worry,” Roger soothed me. “He has more options tonight than he did when he got up this morning.”

  “What if he doesn’t come back?”

  “I think he will. He’ll go and sleep – maybe in his car – and be here in the morning, probably acting like nothing happened.”

  He guided me back into the store and then into Tom and Mom’s house. We told them what we’d done and how we hadn’t spotted him. My mother listened, then lit a cigarette and silently left the area, her expression stony as she went toward their bedroom.

  “She’s taking this really hard,” Roger mused. “I mean, it’s terrible if he’s homeless, but she looked truly broken for a moment.”

  Tom gave me a look, and then he motioned for us to follow him into the store. There, he pulled up a chair, and ordered us to do the same.

  “Poppy,” he began, “do you want to tell the story, or should I?”

  8

  “YOU KNOW MY mother’s story as well as I do, maybe even better,” I said. “So I’d say you can start.”

  Tom nodded and sighed as he ran his hands through his white hair. “Fiona was one of three children. Her parents had Lindy first – she’s the one who’s coming to visit – then Fiona was born a couple years later. It was all going well, from everything I’d heard, until Fiona was five. That was the year her father drowned.”

  “That’s awful,” Roger said.

  “It is,” Tom agreed. “She always remembered her father as a happy, loving soul, and I suspect she envied her older sister somewhat, since Lindy has more memories of their father. Keep that detail in mind if you sense tension when Lindy visits, I should warn you. They get on okay, but there’s an edge to their relationship.”

  Roger nodded and waited for Tom to continue.

  “About a year after Fiona’s father died, her mother remarried, and not long after that her brother Henry was born.”

  “I’ve heard her mention her sister before,” Roger said, “but I’ve never heard her say anything about Henry.”

  “They haven’t been in touch for many years. Henry doesn’t talk to his sisters. I don’t think you’ve ever met him, have you, Poppy?” Tom asked.

  “I might have when I was really young, but I don’t really remember.”

  “So the ingredients were there for a happy ending, but I think you can see that it wasn’t so,” Tom said. “Fiona and Lindy’s stepfather never really warmed to his two adopted girls, and the ice set after their brother was born.

  “Lindy seemed to adapt alright, but Fiona, being outspoken and headstrong, never really gelled with the new family dynamic.”

  “She’s definitely headstrong,” Roger agreed. “I kind of like that about her.”

  “You’re not just saying that in case she’s listening in, are you?” I said, winking at Roger to let him know I was teasing. He chuckled lightly in response.

  “I’m going to guess there were tensions?” Roger asked.

  “Were there ever,” Tom sighed. “Then, like now, she liked to push back on matters both large and small, and she clashed with her stepfather more and more as she grew. One day he decided she’d mouthed off too much, so he threw her out of the house.”

  “Really? As in, get out and never come back?” Roger looked gobsmacked.

  Tom and I nodded in agreement.

  “She was fourteen at the time,” Tom continued.

  Roger shook his head in disgust. “That’s cruel. What did Poppy’s grandmother do? Didn’t she fight back on behalf of her daughter?”

  “A couple times she did,” Tom said, “but the jerk smacked her around good. Eventually things would cool, and Fiona would move back in, but when they started heating up again, I think she would just leave so her mother didn’t take any more punches.

  “Anyways,” Tom went on, “Lindy moved out first, working her way through school, and from then on Fiona spent as much time as she could at Lindy’s apartment. There were times she wasn’t allowed to stay at Lindy’s or a friend’s place, for some reason or another, and then she’d sleep in a hotel lobby or on a park bench. If you ask her about it, she’ll say she just partied too hard or insist it only happened once or twice and kind of laugh it off, but it was much more often than that.”

  “Have you ever gotten the whole story out of her?” Roger asked, looking from Tom to me.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Tom said.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure either,” I said. “Sometimes she’ll pour out her heart, but more often she’ll clam up about it.”

  Tom nodded. “I never push her on it too hard. I have tried to a couple times, but let’s just say she does not respond well. Now I let her open up when she needs to.”

  I stood up and gave Tom a hug and a peck on the cheek.

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What’s that for, hon?”

  “Because you’re so good to my mom,” I said. “I’m glad she has you.”

  Tom patted my hand. “I’m glad I have her, too.”

  “What happened after she turned eighteen?” Roger asked, leaning in, interested in hearing more of Mom’s story. “What about her mother? And her stepfather?”

  Tom opened his mouth to continue, but stopped when we heard a door behind us opening.

  Mom came through, her eyes rimmed in red and her mascara and eyeliner smudged. She was truly upset if she presented herself to the world with less than perfect makeup.

  “Is there any sign of Jordan,” she asked,
her voice small.

  Tom shook his head. “No, but I think Roger is right. The kid probably will show up tomorrow and act like nothing has happened. We’ll handle him with kid gloves until he feels compelled to open up.”

  My mother floated around the store, peering out of every window.

  “It’s not too cold tonight, Fiona,” Tom said as he approached and put a reassuring arm around her, pulling her close before pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

  “It will be, and soon,” she said.

  “I know. We’ll figure something out before the snow flies.”

  “We have that upstairs apartment space Poppy used to rent,” my mother said, her voice small.

  “True,” Tom agreed. “And like Roger said earlier, he’s got more going for himself now than he did this morning. He just has to accept the help we’re offering.”

  We all nodded in agreement, and Roger and I soon left, making our ways home.

  9

  THAT EVENING, I lay in bed awake for a long time.

  I knew my mother probably was up half the night worrying about Jordan. She could drive me crazy sometimes, but I loved her, and I didn’t like to see her suffer as she worried about the kid and remembered the worst of her teen years.

  A couple times I grew hopeful that I might nod off. Then I’d hear the wind whipping past my second-story bedroom window and rain pelting my roof, and it would bring me right back to wakefulness.

  I lay in my bed under a fluffy blanket, with my two cats, Puck and Fido, beside me. I stroked their soft, warm fur and listened to them purring contentedly.

  I knew I was lucky.

  When I was certain sleep would continue to elude me, I began to paint a picture in my head.

  I imagined a street somewhere near downtown, where Jordan was in a little car. I hadn’t seen it, but for some reason I had a vision of him in a small, dark vehicle. He was hunkered in the back seat, an old blue knit blanket – perhaps a long-ago gift from a mother or a grandmother – wrapped tightly around him.