Breathing Lessons (1989 Pulitzer Prize) - Anne Tyler [113]
"If you knew this all along," Maggie demanded of Ira, "why didn't you say something?" "I didn't feel right about it. I for one don't hold with changing people's worlds around," Ira said. And then (just as Maggie was getting ready to hate him) his face sagged and he dropped wearily onto the bleacher. "I shouldn't have done it now, either," he said.
He had dislodged a whole section of marshmallows, but Dorrie, who could be sensitive to atmospheres, merely bent in silence to collect them.
Fiona held out her palm. "Give me the keys," she told Jesse.
"Huh?" "The keys to the van. Hand them over." "Where are you going?" Jesse asked her.
"I don't know! How would I know? I just have to get out of here." "Fiona, I only ever talked to that girl because she didn't think I was some kind of clod like everyone else seems to do. You've got to believe me, Fiona." "The keys," Fiona said.
Ira said, "Let her have them, Jesse." "But-" "We'll take a bus." . Jesse reached into the rear pocket of his jeans. He brought out a cluster of keys attached to a miniature black rubber gym shoe. "So will you be at the house? Or what," he said.
"I have no idea," Fiona told him, and she snapped the keys out of his grasp.
"Well, where will you be? At your sister's?" "Anywhere. None of your business. / don't know where. I just want to get on with my life," she said.
And she hoisted the baby higher on her hip and stalked off, leaving behind the diaper bag and the stroller and her paper plate of lunch with the potato salad turning a pathetic shade of ivory.
"She'll come around," Maggie told Jesse. Then she said, "I will never forgive you for this, Ira Moran." She felt another tug on her sleeve and she turned. Ira's father was still holding up his ticket. ' 'I was right to buy that tip sheet," he said. "What does Ira know about tip sheets?" "Nothing," Maggie said furiously, and she started re-wrapping Fiona's sandwich.
All around her she heard murmuring, like ripples widening across a pond: "What'd he say?" "Tip sheet." "What'd she say?" "Nothing." "She did say something, I saw her lips move." "She said, 'Nothing.' " "But I thought I saw-" Maggie straightened and faced the rows of people on the bleachers. "I said, 'Nothing,' is what I said," she called out clearly.
Somebody sucked in a breath. They all looked elsewhere.
It was amazing, Ira often said, how people fooled themselves into believing what they wanted to. (How Maggie fooled herself, he meant.) He said it when Maggie threatened to sue the Police Department that time they charged Jesse with Drunk and Disorderly. He said it when she swore that Spin the Cat sounded better than the Beatles. And he said it again when she refused to accept that Fiona was gone for good.
That evening after the races Maggie sat up late with Jesse, pretending to be knitting although she ripped out as much as she added. Jesse drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Can't you sit still for once?" Maggie asked him, and then she said, "Maybe you should try calling her sister again." "I already tried three times, for God's sake. They must be just letting it ring." "Maybe you should go in person." "That would be worse," Jesse said. "Pounding on the door while they hid inside and listened. I bet they'd be laughing and looking over at each other and making these goggly eyes." "They wouldn't do that!" "I guess I'll take the van back to Dave," Jesse said.
He rose to leave. Maggie didn't try to stop him, because she figured he was secretly going to the sister's place after all.
The van had been parked out front when they returned from Pimlico. For one relieved moment, everyone assumed