Breathing Lessons (1989 Pulitzer Prize) - Anne Tyler [88]
But hadn't she just been saying it was time to cut through all that?
She took a deep breath. She said, "I'm having Fiona and Leroy to dinner." "You're what?" "Don't hang up! Don't say no! This is your only daughter!" she cried in a rush.
And then glanced anxiously toward the door, fearing she'd been too loud.
"Now, slow down, Ma," Jesse said.
"Well, we're up here in Pennsylvania," she said more quietly, "because we happened to be going to a funeral. Max Gill died-I don't know if Daisy's had a chance to tell you. And considering that we were in the neighbor- hood . . . and Fiona told me in so many words that she wanted very much to see you." "Oh, Ma. Is this going to be like those other times?" "What other times?" "Is this like when you said she phoned and I believed you and phoned her back-" "She did phone then! I swear it!" "Somebody phoned, but you had no way of knowing who. An anonymous call. You didn't tell me that part, did you?" Maggie said, "The telephone rang, I picked it up. I said, 'Hello?' No answer. It was just a few months after she left; who else could it have been? I said, 'Fiona?' She hung up. If it wasn't Fiona, why did she hang up?" "Then all you tell me is: 'Jesse, Fiona called today,* and I break my neck getting to the phone and make a total fool of myself. I say, 'Fiona? What did you want?' and she says, 'To whom am I speaking, please?' I say, 'Goddamn it, Fiona, you know perfectly well this is Jesse,' and she says, 'Don't you use that language with me, Jesse Moran,' and I say, 'Now, look here. It wasn't me who called you, may I remind you,' and she says, 'But it was you, Jesse, because here you are on the line, aren't you,' and I say, 'But goddamn it-' " "Jesse," Maggie said. "Fiona says she sometimes thinks of sending you another telegram." "Telegram?" "Like the first one. You remember the first one." "Yes," Jesse said. "I remember." "You never told me about that. But at any rate," she hurried on, "the telegram would read, Jesse, I love you still, and it begins to seem I always will.'' A moment passed.
Then he said, "You just don't quit, do you?" "You think I'd make such a thing up?" "If she really wanted to send it, then what stopped her?" he asked. "Why didn't I ever get it? Hmm?" "How could I make it up when I didn't even know about the first one, Jesse? Answer me that! And I'm quoting her exactly; for once I'm able to tell you exactly how she worded it. I remember because it was one of those unintentional rhymes. You know the way things can rhyme when you don't want them to. It's so ironic, because if you did want them to, you'd have to rack your brain for days and comb through special dictionaries. ..." She was babbling whatever came to mind, just to give Jesse time to assemble a response. Was there ever anyone so scared of losing face? Not counting Fiona, of course.
Then she imagined she heard some change in the tone of his silence-a progression from flat disbelief to something less certain. She let her voice trail off. She waited.
"If I did happen to come," he said finally, "what time would you be serving supper?" "You'll do it? You will? Oh, Jesse, I'm so glad! Let's say six-thirty," she told him. "Bye!" and she hung up before he could proceed to some further, more resistant stage.
She stood beside the bed a moment. In the front yard, Ira called, "Whoa, there!" She picked up her purse and left the room.
Fiona was kneeling in the hallway, rooting through the bottom of a closet. She pulled out a pair of galoshes and threw them aside. She reached in again and pulled out a canvas tote bag.
"Well, I talked to Jesse," Maggie told her.
Fiona froze. The tote bag was suspended in midair.
"He's really pleased you're coming," Maggie said.
"Did he say that?"