Fiona Range Read online

  George had been only eight when his mother died. It was then that Fiona’s cousin Elizabeth began to look out for him. He and Elizabeth had been a couple from third grade all the way through high school, before drifting apart in the last few years. He still asked about her, and last Christmas when Elizabeth was home they’d gone out for coffee a few times. Fiona had known George all her life, but little more than small talk ever passed between them. He had never been able to hide his disapproval of Elizabeth’s wild cousin.

  Chester’s bell rang and Fiona wheeled gratefully around back into the kitchen. With the whoosh of the closing door the bright row of funnels, ladles, and spoons swayed over the workbench, and she felt dizzy. She watched Chester place a sprig of curly parsley between the shimmering yolks, then rip the completed order slip from the nail. Fresh parsley and lemon slices, like Maxine’s growing wardrobe, proof that he and his wife ran a first-class operation here.

  “For your funeral, I’m going to send a wreath of fresh parsley. I promise,” she said as he dabbed grease from the plate rim with a towel. “Maybe even spell out Chester with lemon wedges.” Her hoarse laughter exploded into a coughing spasm that made her sore eyes water and nose run. She leaned on the counter. Her chest ached. She only smoked when she drank. Last night must have been a two-packer.

  “You look like shit warmed over,” Chester said through a grin of sharp little teeth as he picked up the plate.

  “Aren’t you the sweet guy.”

  “Jesus, your hands’re shaking.” He peered out at her. “Don’t tell me you’re back with Prescott, that loser, again, that asshole.”

  “Chester, how many times do I have to tell you? I am footloose and fancy-free. I do what I want; go where I want.” She tried to laugh, but the boozy rasp clotted in her throat. She turned quickly to cough it away.

  “It’s not so funny anymore,” he called as she headed into the dining room with the plate of eggs. “You’ll see. One of these mornings you’re going to wake up and wonder what the hell happened. Where did it all go? Your good looks, your friends, your whole life!”

  She stopped dead, then turned around and kicked open the door so hard it banged back on the wall. “Look, Adenio,” she growled, advancing on him. “I don’t go around giving my unwanted opinion about you watering down the milk and the soup and the juice and even the goddamn ketchup bottles every night, do I?”

  “Well I hate seeing such a beautiful woman as you just giving it away to every—”

  “What? What’d you just say?” She dropped the plate wobbling onto the counter.

  He stared back. “You heard what I said.”

  “Look, just keep it to yourself, okay?”

  The door flew open. “Shh, shh, shh!” Maxine pleaded, finger at her mouth as she wiggled into the kitchen on spiked heels, her snug skirt binding her knees in a geisha-like gait. “There’s customers out there!” She pointed back at the still swinging doors. “Customers!” she gasped.

  “Well maybe you don’t want to hear it,” Chester continued, his whiskery chin out over the shelf, “but you work for me so I’m gonna say it. You’re no cute little party girl anymore. It’s way past that now, so who the hell do you think you are, dragging in here like that? You look like crap, you stink like booze and whatever the hell else you do!” He threw down his greasy towel.

  “Chester!” Maxine ran around the bench and grabbed his arm. “Please, please stop! The customers!”

  “So? What? Am I fired? You want me to quit?” Fiona demanded, her raw voice confirming every accusation. Her head trembled as she reached back and untied her apron. “Fine! I’ve got no problem with that!”

  “No!” Maxine gasped from behind as she tried to retie the apron strings. “He just wants you to settle down a little bit. Tell her!” she implored her husband.

  He reached into the large tin egg bowl, taking two eggs in one hand which he cracked neatly on the stove edge then opened onto the sizzling grill.

  “Tell her!” Maxine demanded.

  “She knows,” Chester said. He scraped the unserved cold eggs from the plate into the trash, but saved the bacon.

  “Chester!” Maxine warned in a rising teary whisper. “Don’t you do this to me, Chester! Don’t!”

  “It’s okay,” Fiona said, watching him reheat the bacon. If he said one more word Maxine would storm out again in tears and she’d be all alone out front. “Chester means well. He’s just not used to a woman having as good a time as a guy, that’s all.”

  “It’s not the same thing, and it never will be!” Chester growled as he garnished the new plate with parsley before passing it to her. “A man doesn’t get a reputation like a woman does!”

  “Chester, I was born with a reputation. You know that!” she called back.

  “No, not a reputation! With that big, fat chip on your shoulder! That’s your trouble!” he shouted after her.

  Heads turned when she entered the dining room. Her regulars smiled, relieved she was back. Maxine’s fussing could jangle early-morning nerves.

  “Fiona!” George Grimshaw said as she served him. It was obvious he had heard the raised voices, as had her party of grinning landscapers in the next booth. His earnest face mirrored every emotion, and right now it was red. “You’re looking good. As usual,” he added with a stiff smile.

  “Thanks, and the same to you too, George.”

  Muscular in his dark blue shirt and work pants, he looked better than good with his buzz cut and his clear bright eyes, his square solid body and flat healthy stomach this Saturday morning. Probably lifted weights at night when everyone else was out having a good time. Probably hadn’t had a good—She caught herself with a bawdy chuckle that seemed to make him squirm. She glanced back at the landscapers and flipped the page on her order pad. One man was drumming his fingers on the table. “We’ve been waiting for you, beautiful,” he said with a wink.

  “Guess who I just ran into,” George said as she started toward them. “Brad Glidden!” He grinned.

  “Yah. So?” Her heart began to race.

  “He told me about the baby. That’s so great. I know they’ve been trying a long time.”

  “Yah, they have.” Her mouth was dry.

  “He looked terrible. Course I didn’t tell him that. I think he was probably on his way home from the hospital or something.”

  “Probably.” She stepped back.

  “Oh, and I saw your uncle the other day at the courthouse,” he said before she could leave.

  “The courthouse! Don’t tell me you’re in trouble, George!” She tapped the pad on his shoulder and turned.

  “No!” he said with an urgency that made her look back. “Actually, I was working near there so I thought I’d stop in and say hello.” He stared up intently at her. “I think your uncle Charles was surprised to see me.”

  “Well, no more than me, George. But, hey, you better start eating. I’ll catch you later.”

  “But wait!” he said as she turned away again. “What do you think about Elizabeth’s big news?” he asked with a faltering smile.

  “I don’t know, George, what do you think?” She tried to laugh. She hadn’t heard a word from anyone in the family since their July banishment of her. But he probably knew that too.

  “I was really surprised.”

  “Yah, me too.”

  “But you must be glad to finally have her back now, huh?” He tugged at his open collar.

  “Of course.” She took a deep breath.

  “So I guess she’s home for good now,” he said almost as if it were a question, and, not knowing what else to do, she nodded. There was an odd pleading cast to his eyes as he continued to stare.

  “Hey, you better eat your eggs while they’re still hot.” The thought of having her cousin back made her smile even though she’d had to hear it from George Grimshaw. Elizabeth taught in a boarding school in New York. In these last few years she’d seldom come home for any length of time.

  “Well, will you give he
r my best then when you see her?” George said as she headed toward the next booth.

  “Yah, sure,” she said, surprised he wouldn’t just call himself. Through the years Elizabeth wouldn’t be home an hour before the phone would start to ring with George’s dogged invitations for coffee, a drink, a movie, a ride, a walk, whatever Elizabeth wanted, though she had seemed uneasy with his company her last few times home. In the park there was a huge copper beech tree and into the bark of its elephantine trunk had years ago been carved “Geo + Liz 4ever.” Pathetic, she thought, as she took the men’s orders. Elizabeth had gone away and made a new life and here sat poor George hunched over greasy coffee shop eggs, still hoping, still yearning for his childhood love.

  “And don’t forget, beautiful, extra homefries for Eddie, tell Chester,” called the oldest man in the crew as she started for the kitchen with their order.

  “Yah, yah, yah,” she muttered, wondering suddenly if Elizabeth’s eating problem had returned, though last summer she’d looked great. She’d even put on enough weight so that they were almost the same size again, an observation that had sent Ginny into a paroxysm of raised eyebrows and mimed warnings; as if Elizabeth had gotten so fragile over the years she couldn’t take a little kidding. But then Ginny had always been jealous of the bond between her younger sister and her cousin. Inseparable as children, Fiona and Elizabeth were only four months apart in age, though poles apart in temperament. They’d grown up sharing secrets, the same bedroom, and a deep affection for one another. Their paths diverged eleven years ago when they went off to college; Elizabeth to Smith and Fiona, with Uncle Charles’s pull, to Dearborn Community. As expected Elizabeth had graduated with honors, gone on for her master’s, and had been teaching ever since. To no one’s surprise Fiona had flunked out freshman year.

  She pushed open the kitchen door to find Chester slumped over the counter, brow in hand.

  “Jesus, not again,” she groaned. Maxine had stormed out.

  “Don’t.” His heavy eyes lifted. “Don’t even start.”

  “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” She sighed, passing the order slip. “Eddie said extra homefries.” She leaned her brow against the cool metal shelf. Her head hurt.

  “Eddie! Who the hell’s Eddie?” He flung the slip at her. “Eddie who?”

  “I don’t know. Eddie. What’s it matter?” She threw it back.

  “The way you said it, like, Eddie: like it’s some friend, Eddie, I’m supposed to know from God knows where. Jesus Christ! They’re all the same, these people; they come in here, they think they’re entitled, like I’m just some bum, some scag. Like I got nothing better to do than this!”

  “Huh?” She shook her head in dull exasperation. “Look, it’s just some guy named Eddie. One of the landscapers. From Greenbow, alright?”

  “Yah, and what the fuck does he want from me?” he bellowed, pounding the counter with a force that sent all the funnels, ladles, and spoons clanging into one another.

  “A few fucking extra homefries!” She glared at him.

  An hour later Maxine returned freshly made up, her lips painted a glossy plum, her tear-stung eyes gleaming with black liner. She was still upset with Chester, but determined to make things right. Chester continued to be a ball of nerves, but if he said anything she’d be gone. Self-control was a painful new discipline. For twenty years he’d ranted and raved and no one had ever given a damn until Maxine.

  At noon Sandy Rudman still hadn’t shown up. Every table was taken, and the wave-crashing fury in Fiona’s head had subsided to a dull ache. Maxine was trying to help, but she had just dropped a tray of Cokes which Fiona was wiping up. For fifteen minutes a man and a woman had been sitting at the front table. They stared glumly over closed menus. Chester’s pickup bell kept ringing. Fiona hurried into the kitchen for the order. When she came out the couple were on their way to the door.

  “I’m so sorry,” Maxine chirped after them. “Believe me, this doesn’t usually happen, but—” The door closed in her face, and when she turned tears welled in her eyes, and her blunt, pitted jaw trembled.

  “Hey,” Fiona said, squeezing her hand. “It’s okay. It’s all right.” She tried to make Maxine laugh. “What’s the worse that can happen? We got another thirty minutes of hell here, and then it’ll be over.”

  “I feel like I’m falling apart,” Maxine said in a small voice. She turned abruptly toward the window so no one could see, though all eyes were on her.

  “Well could you maybe just hang in there for a couple more minutes?” Fiona whispered at her ear.

  “I’m just not any good at this,” Maxine gasped. “I’m just no good, and that’s why Chester wants to sell this place.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Fiona scoffed in a low voice.

  “Yes!” Maxine looked up. “He told me! That’s why I went home!”

  Now Chester’s bell rang with a frantic tempo.

  “Look, go do the register. I’ll get the order.”

  “Do you think it would help if I said anything?” Maxine asked.

  “He’ll get over it,” Fiona said, racing off.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Maxine said as the kitchen door swung shut.

  The turkey clubs were up along with two tuna plates. Spatula in each hand, Chester worked the covered grill like a xylophonist, flipping shaved steaks, hamburgers, a grilled cheese, patting down fish cakes.

  “One more minute on the steak and cheese, two on the burgs!” he called over his sweaty shoulder. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine, but you forgot the fries,” Fiona said, checking the slip.

  He slid down to the fry basket, gave it a shake, then dumped the sizzling french fries into a dish. “How’s she doing out there?” he asked, bending to read the next order.

  “Great!” she called as she backed through the door into the hushed dining room, where Maxine was addressing her customers.

  “And so I just wanted you to know that’s what’s happening and to tell you how much we really, really appreciate your patience. We really do. Really. You’re all very nice people, and we want to thank you. So thank you. Thank you very much. Believe me, it means an awful lot to Chester and I.”

  The silence swelled as Maxine serenely mounted her stool at the register. Those who knew Chester either bit their lips or covered their mouths. No one dared laugh under the quick sweep of Fiona’s warning eyes.

  The coffee shop was empty when Sandy finally showed up at two-thirty. Mandy, her three-year-old, had been up all night with croup and hadn’t slept until this morning. Sandy had made the mistake of lying down too for a quick nap that lasted until two o’clock.

  “You gotta get your phone back on,” Sandy said, following Fiona around. “My car wouldn’t start, and I needed somebody to stay with Brandy. I ended up having to call a freaking cab. Five bucks he charged me, plus I had to drag them both down to the emergency room at four in the morning!” Sandy’s greatest skill was making everyone else feel responsible for her troubles.

  “That’s too bad,” Fiona said; one reason to be grateful her phone had been shut off. At least it had cut down on the number of mercy missions to Sandy’s. And yet she felt bad for Sandy, having to raise two children alone when she was just a kid herself. Her parents had thrown her out with her second pregnancy. Her pretty face made her sweetness a liability.

  “Yah, but one good thing,” Sandy was saying. “I met that friend of yours there, that Todd Prescott. And he even gave us a ride home. He was so nice!”

  “Oh yah, I’m sure. And what was he doing in the emergency room at four in the morning? An overdose maybe?”

  “No, his friend was sick.” Sandy frowned and bit her lip. A minute later she said, “I was wondering, do you still, I mean, do you still have, like, you know, feelings for him?”

  “Yah, I do,” Fiona said. “Strong feelings of hate and disgust.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Sandy grinned. “Because he asked me out for coffee sometime, but like I told hi
m, you know, I just wouldn’t do that, I mean, I couldn’t if you were, well you know, still having feelings, like, if you still liked him. In that way, I mean.”

  She put her hands on Sandy’s shoulders. “Sandy, if I ever hear that you went out with that dirtball Todd Prescott I will never, ever speak to you or have anything to do with you ever again. Do you understand?”

  “But we can’t even speak now,” Sandy said, pouting. “How come you won’t get your phone turned back on?”

  “First, I have six months’ worth of bills to pay.”

  “Jeez, six months!” Sandy said. “How’d you do that?”

  “Well, let’s see. I had to get new shocks on my car and new tires so it’d pass inspection. And because of that asshole Prescott I got thrown out of my apartment so I had to go get a new one which meant I had to come up with a security deposit and first and last month’s rent.” She looked back at Sandy. “Plus I have a few people who owe me money.”

  Sandy winced. “I know, I know, I know.” “What’s it up to now?”

  “A hundred and twenty.” It was probably twice that. Sandy was always broke, and how could Fiona refuse when it was for milk or baby food.

  “I’ve almost got it, honest to God,” Sandy said.

  “Yah, okay.” Her eyes felt so heavy now she could barely keep them open. Thank God she didn’t have a class tonight.

  She was in her car the minute her shift ended. A horn tooted behind her. George Grimshaw was getting out of his van at the mouth of the alley. She rolled down her window.

  “Maxine said you just left. I was hoping I’d catch you.” He leaned on the door. He smelled of dampness and oil. There was a smudge of grease on his chin she kept wanting to rub off, more out of irritation than any fondness for him.