The Beresfords (45 page)

“Loveland.”

“Hmm…no branch there, yet. Which is closer—Denver or Fort Collins?”

“I think Fort Collins.”

“Well, you’d have to train at whatever branch they chose, but Denver can’t be too far. You could see your family on weekends. What do you think?”

“I don’t know, Monica. I didn’t expect this. I’m grateful, of course—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. You need time to let it sink in. But really give it some thought over the next couple weeks, okay? I think you’d be great. You’re at such a fun age! You could get
your own teeny tiny apartment and go skiing in the winter. Maybe meet some rich man in Aspen or Vail…”

I had no interest in meeting rich men at ski resorts, if such things really happened (even supposing I had money left over after rent and food for lift tickets), but the idea of moving to Colorado held definite allure. Never, since the Eric Grant scheme exploded in his face, had Uncle Paul mentioned me needing a plan for the future or a means to support myself, but I hadn’t forgotten. Tom would be moving out after the May wedding; Rachel had her condo; Julie and Steve lived in Boston; and who knew where Jonathan would end up, but he certainly wouldn’t live at home. I would have to go somewhere, do something, at some point. Uncle Paul had sheltered and supported me for fifteen years. Here, at last, lay autonomy and a fresh beginning.

It was the Lenten season: time for prayer and introspection, but I found myself unwilling to ask God on this one. What would be the use? I was twenty-one, and this was a door opening. Shouldn’t I walk through it? Among the Beresfords, I was the Bosnia-Herzegovina—no one could find me on the map until I declared my independence.

There were other reasons to go.

Mom and I spoke on the phone at least once a month since my summer with them. I knew Robbie struggled academically, much as I had, and that Bill threw out his back and was on temporary disability. I knew Doreen the church secretary called a few times early on to ask if she could take the kids to church, but Mom told her no thanks. What I didn’t know was how moving to Denver would help or change any of that, but at least if I were in the same state I wouldn’t feel like I needed an invitation to see them all again.

Then there was Jonathan. Who I’d given up for Lent, apparently. For the first half of it he had been in Australia, and for the second—well, he and I had fallen into a state of permanent unease. My ban on hearing about his love life swelled into a generalized ban on all subjects, making normal conversation difficult and our old intimacy impossible. I hardly knew how to mend the situation. When we saw each other, which was at least once or twice a week when he came for a dinner or to talk to Uncle Paul or to hang out with Tom, the two of us never got beyond the shallowest of chat. If Tom wasn’t there to smooth things over and fill gaps, silence inevitably descended, and after a few minutes I was forced to make some excuse to get out of there. Yet whenever he left I was sorry and wondered when I would see him next. It was a mess.

At least my own love life got simpler, though that was probably Stage 2 of the Rough Patch. Todd broke up with me. “I would worry that I was hurting you, Frannie, if I thought you actually cared.” He didn’t say such a thing to guilt me or manipulate me; it was just a statement of fact.

I cared enough to feel bad that I didn’t feel bad, if that makes any sense, and I tried for form’s sake to act disappointed. “You’re a great guy, Todd. I think, though, deep down, something wasn’t clicking between us.”

“Was there a ‘deep down’?” was all he said.

My uncle was the first to notice Todd’s absence. It was my misfortune that he happened to do so at one of those dinners where Jonathan dropped by.

“Where has that young man Todd been lately, Frannie?” he asked, as we passed the tuna casserole around.

I helped myself to a large scoop. “At church, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I—uh—don’t keep up with his schedule. But we won’t be seeing much of him now because we—he and I—broke up.” From the corner of my eye I saw Jonathan’s chin jerk my direction but I didn’t look.

“Broke up?” yelled Tom, with his usual subtlety. “Did that redheaded son of a—”

“Tom,” remonstrated Uncle Paul.

“—Son of a gun
dump
you?”

I considered. “I suppose he did. It’s okay.”

“Okay?” he retorted. “How can you say that? God, we must be the most frequently dumped family on the planet. Resignation is setting in.”

“Jeez, Tom,” Marcy groaned, covering her eyes.

I couldn’t help it. I stifled a giggle. I didn’t want to laugh, for Jonathan’s sake, but it was such a ridiculous honor to hold, Most Frequently Dumped Family. No one could accuse me of not contributing, in that department. Tom must have sustained more brain damage than we thought in his car accident.

To hide my amusement, I hurried us into Stage 3 of the Rough Patch by blurting, “If Todd hadn’t gotten to me first, I would have broken up with him anyhow because I might be moving to Colorado.”

You would have thought I just announced my intention to marry Slobodan
Milo
š
evi
ć
, the way the dinner came to a screeching halt—forks halfway to mouths, drinking glasses thumping back down.

“Frannie!” exclaimed Aunt Marie, her eyes round.

Alarmed at my thoughtlessness, I hastened to explain: Monica quitting, Wendy Brewer’s mom dying, who Wendy Brewer was, why that mattered, the management trainee program, no college degree required, how far Denver was from Loveland, Bill’s disability, Robbie stymied by the multiplication tables—heaven knows what all came out of me. I think I wound up the whole muddle with Monica’s ridiculous comment about meeting rich men on the slopes of Aspen because the first thing my uncle said when he recovered a measure of equilibrium was, “Frannie, this is no joking matter.”

Gulp. “No, of course not.”

“When were you planning on mentioning this whole business to me?”

Not at tonight’s dinner like I just did, believe me. “I don’t know. But I was. Planning. To.”

“Oh, Frannie, you’ll come back for the wedding, won’t you?” asked Marcy. “You’re my maid of honor.”

“Frannie may not be going anywhere,” put in my uncle, in his most authoritative voice. “Nothing has been decided yet.”

This was exactly Uncle Paul, and I’d handled everything in the clumsiest possible manner, but I still felt a stirring of rebellion. I was twenty-one! Fully my own person, and this would be my decision, not his.

“Of course I will,” I answered Marcy. Will, not
would
.

“It was terrible the last time you were out there,” mourned Aunt Marie. “Everything went wrong. The house was so lonesome—only your aunt Terri to keep me company, and now she and Roger have been talking about moving closer to Rachel. I don’t see why things have to change. Don’t you like it with us, Frannie?”

Uncle Paul spared me answering by rapping the table with his napkin ring. “I repeat: nothing is decided! Though I would like to speak with you after dinner, if I may, Frannie.”

Heart sinking, I nodded.

Tom whistled. He elbowed me playfully in the ribs and then said, “We-e-ell, then…if
Frannie’s
all done shocking us with her latest news…you won’t believe how much Dave wants to charge me, to have his band play at our wedding! I told him it’s not like they’re even any good. Last time I looked they weren’t Journey or anything. I gave him this gig purely out of pity…”

Jonathan offered to do the dishes. After I set mine in the sink, he put out a hand to stop me going. “Hey. I’m sorry about Todd.” Seeing me twitch he added, “I know—love life. You don’t want to talk about it. That was just…for the record.”

“I know. Thank you, I guess. But I really am fine about it.”

“Good. Sounds like you’re a whole lot more occupied with the Colorado possibility. That’s a real vote of confidence from your manager.”

For the first time in forever around him I felt myself smile, but it disappeared quickly enough when I heard Uncle Paul calling, “Frannie, can you come into my study?”

My cousin prodded me, an answering smile still lighting his face. “He’s really not such an ogre. And he loves you. We all do.”

If he wasn’t actually an ogre, my uncle did a good impression of one. The overhead light was off in his study, leaving the room dimly lit by a single floor lamp behind him as he sat at his massive desk. A big man to begin with, he had put back on the weight he lost after Tom’s accident, so that the shadow he cast clothed me in darkness. I paused in the doorway until he rumbled, “Please, Frannie. Sit.”

Smothering a sigh I obeyed, fearing my knees might knock before I reached the chair across from him. Clearly my nerves had declared surrender, following my miniature dinner-table rebellion; I had only Jonathan’s encouragement to warm me, but it did do that.
He loves you. We all do
. That ‘we’ surely included my cousin. Although, pointed out my doubting inner voice, if Jonathan loves you so much, why did he think it was a good thing you might leave the state?

“Is your heart set on this, child? This management training program?”

Yes. No. “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. There are certainly a lot of reasons to consider it.” I shifted, tucking one foot under me so I sat higher in the chair. “You…advised me once that I should set goals. That, if I wasn’t going to go to a four-year college, you would still like me to learn to support myself. To live independently—”

“I remember,” Uncle Paul broke in gruffly.

“You asked me to set a direction for my life. You said one possibility would be to get married and have children, but Eric—”

“Please—let’s not mention his name,” he interrupted me again. “I admit I was greatly mistaken in his character. Greatly. I only thank God that you did
not
choose to follow that particular bit of advice, or the destruction he brought about in our family would have been doubled.”

I waited until he stopped randomly shredding the Post-It he held, before going on. “So, anyway, that avenue not being open to me right now, I thought—”

“Are you so sure?”

“So sure what?”

“That that avenue isn’t open to you right now?”

“Umm…I’m pretty sure.” I had no idea what he meant, since Todd just broke up with me. Maybe Uncle Paul’s short-term memory was taking hits of its own. “So…that being the case, I think this could be a great opportunity for me.” Somehow I was making it sound like it was a done deal, but I didn’t want to risk another talking-to like the one he gave me by the pool a few years back. I wanted him to know the message had been received and absorbed. Mission accomplished. “I really appreciate what you and Aunt Marie have done for me all these years. Taking me in and feeding and clothing and educating me. And you’ve let me stay on longer than any of your own children—not counting Tom, I guess, but that was because of his accident—so I think—I think Colorado could be a good thing.”

Finishing my tidy little speech I sat back in the chair, feeling strangely both liberated and cornered.

He didn’t answer. After a moment I tried to get out of the line of light from the floor lamp so I could read his face, only to have him turn further into the darkness. But his outline was …vibrating. Trembling.

“Uncle Paul? Are you all right?”

He took a deep breath. “Frannie—I was very hard on you. You’ve always been a good girl, taking everything to heart. I almost wish you didn’t take things so much to heart. While it’s true that every child should become independent eventually, through work or through—through marriage, I would add that you’ve proven your capability and willingness. And, as such, there’s no need to keep such a rigorous timeline. You… would be more than welcome to continue living with us until another opportunity opened up closer to home. There’s no rush—on our part—to send you on your way. You could stay here and finish your A.A. at
Ohlone
. You’re doing so well in your classes.”

Ah. Jonathan told the truth, then. Uncle Paul loved me. He might never say those very words, but I had known him long enough, and I had matured enough by that point, to wring from his speech its confession, its hidden apology, its request. A wave of confused emotion swamped me. I remembered the time he was in China and missing home. He had been kind to me then, as well, and I had been sorry I could not love him more. What should I do? About him or about Colorado or about anything? I felt my lack of prayer now.

“Have you given the savings and loan your commitment, Frannie?”

“No.”

“Can you promise me you’ll consider my suggestions?”

“Uncle Paul, I will always consider your suggestions.”

He relaxed somewhat, and the light hit me full in the face again. “Thank you, Frannie, for that. I hope you might also…consult Jonathan about your decision.”

“What for?” I demanded, stiffening.

“You used to hold his opinion in high regard. I know I still do. There was a time when you would have consulted him before anyone.”

“Yes…” I agreed reluctantly, “but I was younger then. Besides, I—think he thinks it’s a good idea. He said so, in the kitchen.”