Last Summer (27 page)
Authors: Holly Chamberlin
47
L
ater that night, after the dinner dishes had been cleaned and put away and Petey had gone off to bed, Frannie poured herself a glass of red wine. She hardly ever drank—she didn’t have time to be tipsy—but this night, she felt she deserved just one glass before bed. Nothing else helped her sleep these days, not praying or counting sheep, not even warm milk. Maybe wine would work.
ater that night, after the dinner dishes had been cleaned and put away and Petey had gone off to bed, Frannie poured herself a glass of red wine. She hardly ever drank—she didn’t have time to be tipsy—but this night, she felt she deserved just one glass before bed. Nothing else helped her sleep these days, not praying or counting sheep, not even warm milk. Maybe wine would work.
Glass of wine in hand, Frannie sank onto the living room couch and sighed. Her thoughts were tumultuous, an unpleasant mix of sadness and anger and frustration. She hardly knew the Ray family, but somehow, their tragedy had brought her closer to them, or them closer to her. As a parent it wasn’t hard to put herself in Maria Ray’s shoes and know something of what she must be feeling right now. You didn’t have to be the most sympathetic or empathetic person in the world to feel connected to the Rays’ tragedy.
And, not surprisingly, the Ray family’s tragedy brought to mind—as if it had ever been far off—Rosie’s own story, and what she had endured at the hands of those girls for all those months. And, of course, of what Jane, as a parent, had gone through once she had finally learned the truth. Maybe, Frannie thought, Jane’s refusal to befriend her was understandable, even reasonable, after all.
Still, Jane’s refusal to communicate had pretty much made any friendly gesture Frannie might make toward Rosie impossible. It was a weird situation. Somehow, Frannie had become the pariah of the bunch, the only one left out of the Patterson-Giroux dynamic. It was unfair, but Frannie felt helpless to change the situation. She remembered that saying: When God closes a door He opens a window. Something like that. But for the life of her she could see no open window, no way to salvage a remnant of the past, no way out of the isolation that seemed to engulf her.
Frannie took a sip of the wine. She so wanted to talk about the Ray family’s recent tragedy with someone, but with whom? There was no comfort to be found with Jane anymore. And Peter, of course, would be no help. He never had been good at listening to an expression of grief, let alone with offering sympathy or consolation. Frannie remembered when her parents had died, within months of each other. The depth of her pain had blinded her to the extent of her husband’s emotional distance. Later, after she had passed through the initial intensity and shock of her loss, she realized that aside from an occasional pat on the shoulder, Peter had left her entirely alone in her moment of need.
When they were first married, and for some time after that, Frannie had decided that Peter’s inability to comfort was simply due to his being a “typical man,” thoughtless and obtuse. After a while she had had to face the fact that he was actually an incredibly self-absorbed person. To a great extent, other people didn’t exist for him. And in Frannie’s experience, people like that didn’t demonstrably change.
She took another sip of wine.
Okay, yeah,
she thought,
so I feel terribly isolated. Big deal.
This was not a time to pity herself when others in her community were experiencing much greater pain. That poor family. Frannie had told Meg not to watch the news in the next few days when Petey was around. She didn’t want him to hear about the Ray boy, ask questions, and be confused by whatever answers she or Meg could muster. Frankly, Frannie wasn’t at all sure what she could say to Petey that wouldn’t scare him. She didn’t get the local daily paper at the house, so he wouldn’t find out about the Ray boy that way, and Frannie doubted the tragedy would be talked about in front of the kids at Petey’s day camp, especially since some of the kids were bound to know Kenny Ray, at least by sight. So, hopefully, Petey was safe for the moment.
Okay, yeah,
she thought,
so I feel terribly isolated. Big deal.
This was not a time to pity herself when others in her community were experiencing much greater pain. That poor family. Frannie had told Meg not to watch the news in the next few days when Petey was around. She didn’t want him to hear about the Ray boy, ask questions, and be confused by whatever answers she or Meg could muster. Frankly, Frannie wasn’t at all sure what she could say to Petey that wouldn’t scare him. She didn’t get the local daily paper at the house, so he wouldn’t find out about the Ray boy that way, and Frannie doubted the tragedy would be talked about in front of the kids at Petey’s day camp, especially since some of the kids were bound to know Kenny Ray, at least by sight. So, hopefully, Petey was safe for the moment.
Frannie heard a creak on the stairs and looked up to see Meg descending. She was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.
“I thought you were upstairs for the night,” Frannie said as Meg came into the living room. She felt momentarily guilty to be caught drinking a glass of wine. But nothing in Meg’s manner or expression betrayed disapproval. I’m not her father, Frannie told herself. And Meg knows it.
Meg shrugged and sat next to her mother on the couch. “Nah. I couldn’t really get involved in my book. It’s really good, but I can’t stop thinking about that poor family.”
“I know what you mean. I feel as if I’ve been hit by a train. Utterly flattened. And I’ve hardly even spoken to the Rays. Just friendly, Sunday-morning coffee hour small talk.”
“Did you know their younger son was gay?” Meg asked.
“No,” Frannie said. “I suspect they didn’t, either. Well, unless he had told them. But if he had already told his parents, he could have turned to them for help when the bullying got bad. Unless they had rejected him, which I find hard to believe. They seem so nice. The poor boy must have felt so awfully alone.”
“Yeah. Mom? What if Rosie ... What if she had tried to kill herself?”
For a moment, Frannie thought she might be sick, and with an unsteady hand she put the glass of wine on the small table by the side of the couch. “But she didn’t try to kill herself,” she said forcefully. “Remember that.”
“But she might have. And then ...”
Frannie put her hand on her daughter’s arm. “Don’t even think it, Meg. Please.”
“I can’t help it,” Meg protested. “Then I would have been responsible for killing her.”
“No. A person who kills herself makes her own decision. It’s a bad, terribly sad decision, but it’s her own.”
Meg was silent for a long moment. Finally, she said, “I’m not so sure about that now. At least, not when it’s a young person committing suicide. I know sometimes I act like I know everything, but I don’t. No one my age does, especially someone who’s depressed.”
Frannie thought about that. “Okay,” she said then. “Honestly? I’m not so sure about that, either. I’m not so sure that a young person’s decision to take her own life is her decision alone. Or that she’s really responsible for that decision. But I don’t want you to be blaming yourself for something that didn’t happen and that might never have happened.”
“I’ll try,” Meg said. “Seriously.”
A crunch on the gravel-covered front walk caused Frannie to turn her head and peer out the open living room window.
“What ... It’s Jane and Rosie,” she said. “I wonder what’s going on. Jane hasn’t been over here since ...”
Frannie got up from the couch and opened the door before Jane or Rosie could knock.
“I’m so sorry, Frannie,” Jane said immediately. “Will you forgive me?”
In reply, Frannie reached forward and hugged her old friend. Jane hugged her back just as tightly.
“Come inside,” Frannie said then, her voice a bit strangled, and wiping a tear from her eye.
Once inside the women hugged again, and now tears flowed copiously.
“Come on,” Meg whispered to Rosie. She gestured toward the kitchen. “Let’s give them some privacy.” Rosie nodded and followed.
After all the weeks of silence between them, Frannie half expected the words to flow fast and furious, accusations and apologies, regrets and revelations, but neither woman said a word.
Right now,
Frannie thought,
what we most need is the powerful simplicity of touch.
Right now,
Frannie thought,
what we most need is the powerful simplicity of touch.
Some moments later, Frannie couldn’t have said exactly how long, the girls returned to the living room. Slowly, the women released each other.
“You guys okay?” Meg asked, a slight smile playing on her lips.
Jane just nodded. Frannie held out her arms for Rosie.
“I’ve missed you,” she said as they embraced.
Rosie smiled. “Thanks, Mrs. Giroux. I’ve missed you, too.”
“We heard the news about that young boy just now,” Jane blurted, having found her voice. “One of Mike’s clients called him about something totally unrelated and mentioned the tragedy.”
“Yes,” Frannie said. “Meg was watching the evening news earlier. That’s how we found out. Let’s sit down, all of us.”
Jane and Frannie sat on the couch. Rosie sat in the plush corduroy chair and Meg perched on its arm.
“It could have been anyone’s child,” Jane said, her voice raw. “It was almost mine. It just as easily could have been yours, too.”
Frannie nodded. “Yes. But it wasn’t Rosie and it wasn’t Meg, so let’s at least be grateful for that.”
“Why did we escape without further tragedy?” Jane went on, as if to herself. “I know there’s no real answer to that. I just keep thinking how unfair and random it all seems... .”
Frannie saw Meg and Rosie share a look. “Life is unfair and random,” Meg repeated.
Jane shook her head. “I’m so ashamed that it took this awful thing to happen before I could reach out to you again. Frannie, will you ever forgive me?”
“Don’t be silly,” Frannie said, her voice a bit quivery. “There’s nothing to forgive. We’ve weathered a rough patch, that’s all.”
Jane managed a wan smile. “You’re being too nice. I don’t deserve it. You should be angry with me.”
“I was angry. But I’m over it.” Frannie shrugged. “Anger does nothing for the complexion.”
Jane laughed. “And neither does holding a grudge, believe me.”
Rosie cleared her throat meaningfully. “It’s great that you two are friends again. But right now, there’s something else we need to focus on—what happened to that family. We have to do something, Mom. I’m not just standing by. No freakin’ way.”
“Excuse me?” Jane asked, eyebrows rising.
“Whatever. Everyone says it. Anyway, what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. Not yet, anyway.” Jane turned to Frannie. “Have you heard anything new? Is the boy ... Is he still alive?”
“Yes,” Frannie said. “He’s in critical condition but alive. I got a call earlier from a woman I know from church. Mrs. Kneeland is very close to the Ray family. She went over to the house as soon as she heard the news. She spent a few hours trying to comfort the parents. I doubt she had much success. Still, it was good of her to be there.”
Jane shook her head. “The poor thing could have died. He could, I suppose, be paralyzed. It’s just so awful.”
“Where did he get a gun?” Rosie asked.
“His father is a hunter,” Frannie explained. “Mary Kneeland told me that every one of Jack Ray’s guns is registered and kept locked away. But a lock can always be picked.”
“He must have felt so desperate to do something so brutal,” Rosie said quietly. “I wanted to die but I didn’t want to actually kill myself. I guess I don’t really know how bad he was feeling. It must have been so much worse than I ever felt.”
“His parents must be devastated. They must feel so responsible.. . .” Jane couldn’t go on and pressed a tissue to her already tear-swollen eyes.
“Maybe we can take up a collection for the Rays at church,” Meg said suddenly. “Do you think they’ll let us? Isn’t suicide a sin if you’re a Catholic?”
Frannie frowned. “Yeah, like homosexuality is a sin. Please. But he didn’t actually kill himself, so ... I’m not sure how we can do it, but we’ll collect money somehow. Father William and Sister Pauline will help. No one in his or her right mind is going to condemn a child in trouble.”
Jane nodded. “And who knows what kind of insurance the Rays have, if they have any at all. The hospital bills could ruin them.”
“Maybe we could take Mr. and Mrs. Ray some food, like casseroles,” Rosie suggested. “Stuff they can just heat up.”
“Good idea,” Jane said. “I’m sure the last thing they want to do is cook. I hope there’s someone close to them who can make sure they eat and get some sleep.”
“Mary Kneeland said that she’ll take charge of that sort of thing,” Frannie said, glad to see Jane rallying to the cause and not entirely lost in memories of her own despair. “She lives just next door. And she called the Rays’ older son at college. He’s been doing a summer semester. He’s on his way home now.”
“Good.” Jane sighed. “We have a lot of catching up to do,” she said to Frannie.
“Yeah,” Frannie said, “we do. But not tonight. This whole thing ... I’m exhausted. It’s been a terrible few months, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has,” Jane said, getting up from the couch and putting her hand out for Rosie’s. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“That sounds good. Good night, Jane, Rosie.”
Frannie closed the door behind the Pattersons and then leaned against it. She almost couldn’t believe that what had happened in the past half hour had really happened.
She had almost come to accept as fact that she and Jane would never again be friends. It had been a bitter thing to accept, let alone to contemplate. But now ... more than anything, Frannie realized, she had just wanted things on Pond View Road back to normal.
Meg broke into her thoughts as if she knew exactly what they consisted of. “So, Mom, how do you feel about Mrs. Patterson apologizing?” she asked. “Are you glad?”
Frannie didn’t need to think about it. “Yeah,” she said, pushing off the door. “I am glad.”
“Good. You know, there are going to be some bumps along the road... .”
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