Anne Tyler - Breathing Lessons

Says, 'Fiona? Hon?' I could hear it in his voice that he was sorry for me. I knew what you must have told him. I say, 'What do you want? Are you calling for a reason?' He says, 'No, um, no reason . . .' I say, 'Well, then, you're wasting your money, aren't you?' and I hang up."

"Fiona, for Lord's sake," Maggie said. "Didn't it occur to you he might have called because he missed you?"

Fiona said, "Ha!" and took another swig of beer.

"I wish you could have seen him the way I saw him," Maggie said. "After you left, I mean. He was a wreck! A shambles. His most cherished belonging was your tortoiseshell soapbox."

"My what?"

"Don't you remember your soapbox, the one with the tortoiseshell lid?"

"Well, yes."

"He would open it sometimes and draw a breath of it," Maggie said. "I saw him! I promise! The day you left, that evening, I found Jesse in the bedroom with his nose buried deep in your soapbox and his eyes closed."

"Well, what in the world?" Fiona said.

"I believe he must have inherited some of my sense of smell," Maggie told her.

"You're talking about that little plastic box. The one I used to keep my face soap in."

"Then as soon as he saw me he hid it behind his back," Maggie said. "He was embarrassed I had caught him. He always liked to act so devil-may-care; you know how he acted. But a few days later, when your sister came for your things, I couldn't find your soapbox anywhere. She was packing up your cosmetic case, is how I happened to mink of it, so I said, 'Let's see, now, somewhere around . . .' but that soapbox seemed to have vanished. And I couldn't ask Jesse because he had walked out as soon as your sister walked in, so I started opening his bureau drawers and that's where I found it, in his treasure drawer among the things he never throws away-his old-time baseball cards and the clippings about his band. But I didn't give it to your sister. I just shut the drawer again. In fact, I believe he has kept that soapbox to this day, Fiona, and you can't tell me it's because he feels sorry for you. He wants to remember you. He goes by smell, just the way I do; smell is what brings a person most clearly to his mind."

Fiona gazed down at her beer can. That eye shadow was oddly attractive, Maggie realized. Sort of peach-like. It gave her lids a peach's pink blush.

"Does he still look the same?" Fiona asked finally.

"The same?"

"Does he still look like he used to?"

"Why, yes."

Fiona gave a sharp sigh.

There was a moment of quiet, during which Leroy said, "Durn! Missed." A car passed, trailing threads of country music. I've had some bad times, lived through some sad times . . .

"You know," Fiona said, "there's nights when I wake up and think, How could things have gotten so twisted? They started out perfectly simple.

He was just this boy I was crazy about and followed anyplace his band played, and everything was so straightforward. When he didn't notice me at first, I sent him a telegram, did he ever mention that? Fiona Stuckey would like to go with you to Deep Creek Lake, that's what it said, because I knew he was planning to drive there with his friends. And so he took me along, and that's where it all began. Wasn't that straightforward? But then, I don't know, everything sort of folded over on itself and knotted up, and I'm not even sure how it happened. There's times I think, Shoot, maybe I ought to just fire off another telegram.

Jesse, I'd say, / love you still, and it begins to seem I always will. He wouldn't even have to answer; it's just something I want him to know. Or I'll be down in Baltimore at my sister's and I'll think, Why not drop by and visit him? Just walk in on him? Just see what happens?"

"Oh, you ought to," Maggie said.

"But he'd say, 'What are you doing here?' Or some such thing. I mean it's bound and determined to go wrong. The whole cycle would just start over again."

"Oh, Fiona, isn't it time somebody broke that cycle?" Maggie asked.

"Suppose he did say that; not that I think he would. Couldn't you for once stand your ground and say, 'I'm here because I want to see you, Jesse'? Cut through all this to-and-fro, these hurt feelings and these misunderstandings. Say, 'I'm here because I've missed you. So there!' "

"Well, maybe I should do that," Fiona said slowly.

"Of course you should."

"Maybe I should ride back down with you."

"With us?"

"Or maybe not."

"You're talking about . . . this afternoon?"

"No, maybe not; what am I saying? Oh, Lord. I knew I shouldn't drink in the daytime; it always makes my head so muzzy-"

"But that's a wonderful idea!" Maggie said.

"Well, if Leroy came with me, for instance; if we just made a little visit. I mean visiting you two, not Jesse. After all, you're Leroy's grandparents, right? What could be more natural? And then spent the night at my sister's place-" — "No, not at your sister's. Why there? We have plenty of room at our house."

There was a crunch of gravel outside-the sound of a car rolling up.

Maggie tensed, but Fiona didn't seem to hear. "And then tomorrow after lunch we could catch the Greyhound bus," she was saying, "or let's see, midafternoon at the latest. The next day's a working day and Leroy has school, of course-"

A car door clunked shut. A high, complaining voice called, "Leroy?"

Fiona straightened. "Mom," she said, looking uneasy.

The voice said, "Who's that you got with you, Leroy?" And then, "Why, Mr.

Moran."

What Ira answered, Maggie had no idea. All that filtered through the Venetian blinds was a brief rumble.

"My, my," Mrs. Stuckey said. "Isn't this . . ." something or other.

"It's Mom," Fiona told Maggie.

"Oh, how nice; we'll get to see her after all," Maggie said unhappily.

"She is going to have a fit."

"A fit?"

"She would kill me if I was to go and visit you."

Maggie didn't like the uncertain sound of that verb construction.

The screen door opened and Mrs. Stuckey plodded in- a gray, scratchy-haired woman wearing a ruffled sundress. She was lugging two beige plastic shopping bags, and a cigarette drooped from her colorless, cracked lips. Oh, Maggie had never understood how such a woman could have given birth to Fiona-finespun Fiona. Mrs. Stuckey set the bags in the center of the shag rug. Even then, she didn't glance up. "One thing I despise," she said, removing her cigarette, "is these new-style plastic grocery bags with the handles that cut your fingers in half."

"How are you, Mrs. Stuckey?" Maggie asked.

"Also they fall over in the car trunk and spill their guts out," Mrs.

Stuckey said. "I'm all right, I suppose."

"We just stopped by for a second," Maggie said. "We had to go to a funeral in Deer Lick."

"Hmm," Mrs. Stuckey said. She took a drag of her cigarette. She held it like a foreigner, pinched between her thumb and her index finger. If she had calculated outright, she could not have chosen a more unbecoming dress. It completely exposed her upper arms, which were splotched and doughy.

Maggie waited for Fiona to mention the trip to Baltimore, but Fiona was fiddling with her largest turquoise ring. She slid it up past her first knuckle, twisted it, and slid it down again. So Maggie had to be the one.

She said, "I've been trying to talk Fiona into coming home with us for a visit."

"Fat chance of that," Mrs. Stuckey said.

Maggie looked over at Fiona. Fiona went on fiddling with her ring.

"Well, she's thinking she might do it," Maggie said finally.

Mrs. Stuckey drew back from her cigarette to glare at the long tube of ash at its tip. Then she stubbed it out in the rowboat, perilously close to the yellow sponge. A strand of smoke wound toward Maggie.

"Me and Leroy might go just for the weekend," Fiona said faintly.