The Beresfords (32 page)

My uncle was not more than halfway through such a speech before the tears I forced back burst from me, and by its conclusion I was heaving and hiccupping and had thrown myself face-down on the lounge in shame. Such a picture of me! That he and Aunt Marie should see me this way—discuss me in such light! Rescued, sheltered, reared like a Humane Society stray, only to reject their kindness—to bite the hand that fed me—from ignorance and ingratitude!

“There, there, calm down.” Through my misery I felt an awkward pat on my shoulder and discerned the creak of the furniture as my uncle stood to go. “You’re young, my dear. You don’t know your own mind, fully. Take my words to heart and see if you can reconsider. This is, I hope, just a small matter, and not a sign of things to come. You’ve always been an obedient girl.”

I had, I
had
. But it meant little, it seemed, once I crossed him. A sudden understanding, a wave of sympathy, surged through me for my cousins. No wonder Tom did all he could to disappoint his father. No wonder Rachel married Greg and Julie fled. The weight of expectation was too heavy. Only Jonathan continued to bear up under it. I wondered if he would have been so tempted to marry Caroline Grant in the first place if he had had the freedom to choose his path. Maybe she was, in his small way, his one act of rebellion.

“Phone for you, Frannie. You may wanna take it upstairs.”

Paola’s face betrayed nothing, but she seemed unnaturally absorbed in dusting the mantel by the doorway where she stood.

“Upstairs? Why should—”

“Your
t
í
a
is trying to take a nap,” she interrupted. “You don’t wanna disturb her.”

“Okay.”

The only upstairs extension outside of Uncle Paul and Aunt Marie’s room was in Rachel’s old bedroom, which Aunt Terri had since converted to a sewing and hobby nook for Aunt Marie, who neither sewed nor had hobbies. Rachel’s old powder-blue
Trimline
perched forgotten on a sagging shelf of knitting books, unpaired needles and yards of fabric remnants.

“Hello? This is Frannie.”

“Well, hello there. So you’re getting tired of having servants waiting on
you
hand and foot?”

My initial relief—that the caller was not Eric Grant—gave way to the familiar tightening stomach and throat as I recognized my mother’s husky voice. I hadn’t called her, for her to be calling me back. It wasn’t Christmas or my birthday—

“Hi, Mom. How are you? It’s nice to hear from you.”

“Like that’s some big surprise, the way your uncle’s been running me down. It’s either call, or never hear the end of it.”

“Uncle Paul has been trying to reach you?”

“God Almighty—you have so many servants out there that there’s no direct communication? Yes, he’s been calling me. And I know I’m grateful for all he’s done and what-have-you, but I’d rather just talk to you about you, or Marie, if she’d do her own dirty work.”

I slid down the wall to huddle by the sewing machine, dragging the
Trimline
off the shelf so it dangled halfway to the floor. “Mom—I’m sorry—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The
summer
, for
Chrissake
,” my mother snapped. “Paul must think I live in a mansion like his because he’s talking about you moving back with me—with us—to work on some project? I’m the research monkey or something. I don’t see that I have any choice in the matter. You’re eighteen. If he wants to kick you out, he can. But if you’ve been making trouble out there—I swear I’m done with all that and I don’t really need you bringing it here—” Some background clamor claimed her attention, and I heard the squeak of her hand over the mouthpiece as she shouted, “
Chrissake
, take that outside, Robbie! Not here—not
here
! Shut up, Jamie, you’re not hurt. Aw, hell—” Her hand came off the phone. “I
gotta
go, Frannie. There’s blood. Tell your uncle yes. Whenever is fine. I could use some help around here.”

My aunts took me to buy luggage. I suspect Uncle Paul enlisted his wife to ensure the task was done to his satisfaction. It was Aunt Marie who ruled out Penney’s and insisted on Macy’s.

“This one’s on clearance,” said Aunt Terri, indicating a neon orange suitcase with one drooping side. “And it’ll be easy for her to spot at baggage claim.”

“Paul wanted her to have a hard-shell suitcase,” her sister-in-law replied mildly. “And that one doesn’t have any wheels. Paul said wheels are essential.”

“
Hmmph
. It’s not like Frannie has anything fragile to transport. And she only has to carry it to the curb. Just summer clothes! How much can they weigh? Besides, you know how your sister thinks Paul is made of money. If Frannie shows up with some deluxe luggage, that’ll be exactly what she expects. This one—look at this one, Marie. Oh, no! Forget it—$120—who are they kidding?”

“How do you like these ones, Frannie?” Aunt Marie pointed to a set of two royal-blue pieces: one large rolling suitcase with matching shoulder bag.

“I think those would fit everything.”

“As well they should! $225!” huffed Aunt Terri.

“They’re an early graduation present, Paul said,” explained Aunt Marie. “Do you like them, Frannie?”

I nodded. At one time I would have been afraid of how Aunt Terri’s lips compressed in disapproval, but nowadays I had greater fears. Including, how to interpret Uncle Paul’s actions. Ever since our poolside conversation, he had been uniformly kind. The pool was heated. He asked after my schoolwork and job as often as he ever did. He did not bring up Eric Grant, and Eric Grant ceased to ambush me, only showing up for the occasional dinner in company with Tom or Jonathan and Caroline. But then in the negative column, Uncle Paul made preparations to ship me back to my mother without first informing me. Whenever we had talked about my independent study project in the past, we always assumed I would interview my mother over the phone—not go back to live with her! The possibility had never even been suggested. And luggage as an early graduation present? Not that I expected a car, like Tom and Jonathan and Rachel and Julie each received, but luggage—did it mean he was sending me off, both symbolically and literally? Would I be allowed to return in the fall? As Uncle Paul pointed out, I had only my independent study project and one English class between me and my diploma. I could as easily finish those requirements wherever I was. And once I graduated—then what?

Monica at work took my indefinite leave in stride. “Too bad Globe Savings hasn’t opened that Denver branch yet. Then we could just transfer you.”

“I think Loveland is kind of far to commute anyhow,” I said.

“Probably. Geography’s not my thing. We’ll miss you here this summer. Poor Mr. Franco won’t know what to do with himself.”

“Monica, if I come back—when I come back—end of August, do you think it would be possible for me to enter the management trainee program like we talked about?” I dug my nails into my palm.

She twirled her tea bag around in her Styrofoam cup. “You know, Frannie, I’ve been meaning to mention this.”

Uh-oh.

“The district manager tells me she’s working on a transfer to southern California to be closer to her mom. Health problems and all that. Nothing’s set in stone, but I think they’re going to tap Lauren Miller of Walnut Creek to replace her.”

I felt the color drain from my face. Lauren Miller did my training on Branch Safety and Spotting Counterfeits. I remember going home that day thrilled that she wasn’t my manager. Lauren Miller’s bulging eyes and immaculate tailored clothing and wicked fingernails overawed me. By the book and zero sense of humor.

“…If they do,” Monica went on, “she may have her own ideas about the program.”

“College degrees?” I asked. I remembered noticing the woman drove up in a jaunty red Miata with a huge
Go, Bears!
bumper sticker.

“That would be my guess.” Monica slung her tea bag in the trash, dabbing up the scattered drops with a napkin. “So a few classes at
Ohlone
might be in order, to show your good faith. Honestly, Frannie—the average tenure in that job is about five years, and Lauren Miller is definitely the ambitious type. You wouldn’t have to take classes forever.”

My insides were deflating. Another door closing. Uncle Paul might have been willing to house me another year while I entered the trainee program and saved up money for an apartment, but another
five
years, while I dawdled along on a teller’s salary, most of which would go toward fees at the junior college—?

“Come on, don’t look like that,” Monica chided. “You never know what the future holds. You go and have a good time in Colorado. Just don’t forget about us. Whenever you come back, your old job is here, okay? Okay.”

Jonathan and Caroline came over early for my farewell barbecue. I hoped to see them one more time and possibly steal a few moments with my cousin, but it was Caroline who kidnapped me first, snatching my hand and insisting we go for a walk around the block.

“You bad, bad girl!” she teased, as we set off in the direction opposite Aunt Terri’s house. “You’re being sent into exile, you know. I would have warned you sooner, but you ignored my note and then started avoiding me, so how could I spare you your fate?”

“There was nothing to say to your note. I wish you wouldn’t talk about it.”

“If it was up to you, Frannie, no one would ever talk about anything that really mattered,” Caroline returned, “but we’re going to talk about this now. I don’t know how much we’ll see of each other in the future—”

“Has Uncle Paul said something to you?” I gasped. “About not letting me come back? What do you mean by that?”

“Relax, Frannie. Breathe.” She gave my arm a shake. “No, I’m not in your uncle’s confidence. Haven’t you noticed? I think the man doesn’t care for me, after all. And it’s gotten worse, or I’ve gotten worse, or I’ve stopped caring, or something.”

“Uncle Paul is not very demonstrative,” I said.

Caroline waved this away. “I don’t care about your uncle. I’m not here to talk about your uncle. I’m here to talk about my brother and why you’re so dead-set against him. So
mean
. You know this is why you’re being sent away, don’t you? Because everyone—and I mean
everyone
—thought you and Eric getting together was a great idea. Your uncle and Eric even swung some major deals between Eric’s company and Core-Pro—lucrative deals that your little dithering might jeopardize, since they were both cashing in favors for each other. Not that I care a bit about the money, but
somebody
has got to tell you what’s going on. You could at the very least have gone out with Eric until everything was under contract or until he broke up with you, whichever came first. Kidding—
kidding
! He’s devoted to you, as I mentioned. Even all your ridiculous hang-ups are cute to him. I’ve never seen him so patient. I think it must be that you’re so completely unlike any other girl he’s ever flirted with or any girl who ever chased him. You act like you can barely
stand
him, and he finds it irresistible. If I weren’t already married, I think I’d give your methods a try because Eric honestly is totally
incapacitated
, but maybe it only works if you can blush constantly or sit through all those god-awful church services. You’ve got the whole virgin thing going, like it never crossed your mind that anyone ever has sex and you can’t understand why anyone would want to. It’d make me hate you, Frannie, if I thought it was an act, but the crazy thing is, it’s for real. But you’ve got to give in soon. Who knows how long Eric can keep being such a good boy, and you really shouldn’t try him so far.”

I didn’t exactly stroll along beside her, letting her beat me down with such a speech. Rather, I ripped my arm away and walked faster and faster until she was practically trotting to keep up. Not that it helped any, except that she got out of breath and had to pause. “Caroline, stop,” I said, when she finally let me get a word in. We were around the corner and out of sight of the neighbors I knew. “I know you don’t mean half of what you say, but I wish you wouldn’t keep bringing this topic up when I’ve asked you to drop it. I don’t see why I have to like your brother if I don’t happen to, and it’s not my fault everyone assumed I would.”

“Of course not,” she agreed soothingly. “A girl can only like who she likes. She can’t help herself. I’d be the first to say so myself. I’m just saying it’s completely
irrational
not to give Eric a chance. It doesn’t make one iota of sense. Teenage girls are supposed to
love
older guys! Especially ones like Eric—the bad boys with nice cars who still somehow demonstrate employability and ambition.
Do
you
want
to be banished to your mother’s house? You know, don’t you, that your uncle thinks that here he’s raised you up all these years—fed you, clothed you, sheltered you, sent you to school, taken you to church—only to have you turn out as hopeless as Tom? Worse! Because, unlike Tom, you led Paul to believe you’d be a good, obedient child like my dear Jonathan, but in fact, when your uncle asks the very first and very
only
thing he’s ever asked of you—that you be a good girl and go out with this nice young man and try to ensure a future for yourself—you say No. And not just No, you dig your heels in. You weep, you give no reasons, you suffer his displeasure rather than make one small, teeny tiny, conciliatory gesture. Heaven knows what will happen to you. You’ll be forgotten in Colorado. Eric will move on—even
he
needs to
see
the object of his affection occasionally to feed his appetite—Eventually, if you’re allowed to, you’ll come back and get some awful job taking care
of babies or old people, just so you don’t have to sit across the table from your gloomy uncle who is wishing you gone. You’ll probably marry someone you’re not wild about anyway, just to escape it all, in which case it might as well have been my brother. Educated, charming, has money,
adores
you. You’re a little fool. Of course”—here she broke off again, her eye fixed on some kids roller-skating—“I totally understand that adoration can get dull. A man always at your feet is a man to be stepped on. Sometimes a girl misses the thrill of the chase.” She sighed. “I’ll miss you while you’re gone. Your quiet little homey, embarrassed self. If you get tired out there of thwarting all your loved ones’ wishes, only let me know, and I’ll send Eric out to rescue you. There’s probably a time limit on that offer—he’s only human, you know—but I can guarantee you a couple months.”