Breathing Lessons (1989 Pulitzer Prize) - Anne Tyler [87]
After she had used the toilet, she turned on the sink faucet and patted her cheeks with cool water. She bent closer to the mirror. Yes, definitely she had a flustered look. She would have to get hold of herself. She hadn't finished even that one beer, but she thought it might be affecting her. And it was essential just now to play her cards right.
For instance, about Jesse. Although she had failed to mention it to Fiona, Jesse lived in an apartment uptown now, and therefore they couldn't merely assume that he would happen by while Fiona was visiting. He would have to be expressly invited. Maggie hoped he hadn't made other plans. Saturday: That could mean trouble. She checked her watch. Saturday night he might very well be singing with his band, or just going out with his friends. Sometimes he even dated-no one important, but still. . .
She flushed the toilet, and under cover of the sound she slipped out of the bathroom and opened the door next to it. This room must be Leroy's. Dirty clothes and comic books lay everywhere. She closed the door again and tried the one opposite. Ah, a grownup's room. A decorous white candlewick bedspread, and a telephone on the nightstand.
"After all you done to free yourself, you want to go back to that boy and get snaggled up messy as ever," Mrs. Stuckey said, clattering tin cans.
"Who says I'm getting snaggled? I'm just paying a weekend visit." "He'll have you running circles around him just like you was before." "Mom, I'm twenty-five years old. I'm not that same little snippet I used to be." Maggie closed the door soundlessly behind her and went over to lift the receiver. Oh, dear, no push buttons. She winced each time the dial made its noisy, rasping return to home base. The voices in the kitchen continued, though. She relaxed and pressed the receiver to her ear.
One ring. Two rings.
It was a good thing Jesse was working today. For the last couple of weeks, the phone in his apartment had not been ringing properly. He could call other people all right, but he never knew when someone might be calling him. "Why don't you get it fixed? Or buy a new one; they're dirt cheap these days," Maggie had said, but he said, "Oh, I don't know, it's kind of a gas. Anytime I pass the phone I just pick it up at random. I say, 'Hello?' Twice I've actually found a person on the other end." Maggie had to smile now, remembering that. There was something so ... oh, so lucky about Jesse. He was so fortunate and funny and haphazard.
"Chick's Cycle Shop," a boy said.
"Could I speak to Jesse, please?" The receiver at the other end clattered unceremoniously against a hard surface. "Jess!" the boy called, moving off. There was a silence, overlaid by the hissing sound of long distance.
Of course this was stealing, if you wanted to get picky about it-using someone else's phone to call out of state. Maybe she ought to leave a couple of quarters on the nightstand. Or would that be considered an insult? With Mrs. Stuckey, there was no right way to do a thing.
Jesse said, "Hello." "Jesse?" "Ma?" His voice was Ira's voice, but years younger.
"Jesse, I can't talk long," she whispered.
"What? Speak up, I can barely hear you." "I can't," she said.
"What?" She cupped the mouthpiece with her free hand. "I was wondering," she said. "Do you think you could come to supper tonight?" "Tonight? Well, I was sort of planning on-" "It's important," she said.
"How come?" "Well, it just is," she said, playing for time.
She had a decision to make, here.