Songs in Ordinary Time (75 page)

No one was more disappointed than Chief Stoner when Joey returned to his stand just two days after leaving the hospital. Retirement would have been a more gracious ending than the eviction that even some of Joey’s oldest sympathizers were considering. In the way that inexplicable events are often diabolized, the mugging had come to be regarded as almost inevitable. Once again, Joey Seldon had crossed paths with violence. Oddly, the town’s indignation was less over the old man’s suffering than it was over the defiant swagger of Blue Mooney. Fired from J. C. Colter, he now spent his days racing his motorcycle up and down the winding mountain roads and his bitter nights roaring through Atkinson’s sleeping streets. There had been three more burglaries in the last two weeks, and now Jerry Coughlin SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 365

was convinced his restaurant was next on Mooney’s list. He’d banned Mooney from the A+X, which came as a great relief to Alice Fermoyle.

The police, in an effort to monitor Mooney’s activities, began to sit in a cruiser parked at the end of the road that led up to his mother’s cottage.

Her young customers had stopped coming. Just as she’d predicted, her son’s presence was harming her family.

So with the old man back in the park selling popcorn, it was a bittersweet time for Sonny. For Carol’s sake, he and Eunice had tried being friends, but it was impossible. Without love’s flattering veil she’d become the same loud, brash, irresponsible Eunice Bonifante who’d always grated on his nerves.

He had begun to understand how connected people were. The old Judge had known it. His father had known it. It amazed him that he’d veered so drastically off course.

He went home every two and half hours to give Carol her medication and spend a few minutes visiting with her. He had reinstituted the weekly firearm inspection. He filled the jugs in the fallout shelter with fresh water.

He took the police radio out of the house and returned it to the station. He hired two shifts of nurses and insisted that Lester get out and have some fun. Call Alice, he told him. Lester said she wouldn’t talk to him. Then go meet another girl, he said, relieved, not that he’d thought she was a bad influence on Les, but she certainly couldn’t have been a positive one, not with all her family’s troubles.

O
ne day Lester went to the rectory and asked to speak with Father Gannon. He said he finally understood his life’s calling. He wanted to be a priest. Father Gannon advised him to wait until he was older, until he’d experienced life a little more. Shocked and disappointed, Lester made an appointment with the Monsignor, who put Lester in immediate contact with a pious young seminary counselor in Saint Albans. The Monsignor leaned across his desk and told Father Gannon that he was never, ever to give such twisted advice to a young man again. The office door slammed.

The kitchen door slammed.

Howard looked up from the hedge he was trimming to see Father Gannon sit down on the steps and light a cigarette. Howard had never smoked. He liked the smell of cigarette smoke, but no one else did, especially not the Monsignor, who had banned the unpriestly habit from his rectory.

“So how was your trip to see Perda?” Father Gannon asked, rolling the perfect white ash off his cigarette.

“It was okay,” Howard said, pleased that Father had remembered his cousin’s name. Most people couldn’t even remember Howard’s name.

“How’d Miss Brastus like the trip? You two have fun together?”

“She didn’t like it too much.” Howard’s voice quavered. He wished he’d never told Father Gannon about Lucille. He lowered his head to the angle of shrubbery he continued to clip. It hurt to talk about it. Actually Lucille had said it was the worst time of her life.

“How come?”

366 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

“Too depressing there, she said.”

“Really? Well, where does Perda live?”

“Waterbury,” Howard said.

“Waterbury?” He took a long drag on his cigarette, all the while peering down at Howard. “You mean the state mental hospital?”

“Yah. That’s where Perda lives. She’s got the mind of a baby.”

“Howard! That’s not where you go on a first date!”

He couldn’t tell if Father Gannon was surprised or amused. “It wasn’t a first date. Me and Jozia always used to go see Perda.”

“I know, but with Miss Brastus it was a date.”

“It was?”

“Of course. Now you have to make it up to her. You have to take her on a real date.”

“I do?”

“Yes, Howard! To a movie or out dancing. Women like that. They want to be fussed over. They like to get all dressed up and go somewhere nice—not to a mental institution.” Father Gannon got up and ground out his cigarette. “Ask her. You’ll see.”

The tender branch tips fluttered to the grass as Howard’s clippers scissored along the hedge. He didn’t think he could do that. Besides, she and him hadn’t spoken a word since the bus back late that night, when he’d tried to give her the extra plastic paperweight he’d saved for her. It was the prettiest one. Inside was a yellow flower that sprayed red droplets through the water when it was shaken.

“No, thank you,” she’d said. “I think Perda would enjoy it a lot more than me.”

L
ate in the afternoon Mr. Briscoe came into Marie’s office. He sat on the edge of Astrid’s desk, his legs outstretched and rigid, his arms folded.

He seemed so ill at ease that for a moment Marie thought he’d come in to fire her. But of course he couldn’t very well do that now that Astrid had quit. This morning Marie had been a half hour late for work, and then in her haste to make up for it, she had messed up his biggest ski boot order, which was going to mean a six-week delay in delivery.

Omar had shown up at ten-thirty last night, his trunk and back seat a jumble of boxes and bottles of detergent that he’d managed to talk the Presto shipping clerk into letting him take early. Thinking it was her shipment, she told Benjy to help him carry it into the kitchen so she could get a head start on attaching the promotional pamphlets. But then Omar said she could only take six of each. “A goodfaith delivery,” he called it, just enough to give her the feel of the product. The rest had to be parceled out among his other distributors. She couldn’t believe it. She had paid a thousand dollars for
that
? she asked, pointing. Six bottles and six boxes?

“Your sarcasm is falling on deaf ears, Marie. I’m too tired,” Omar had sighed, fanning himself with one of the shiny brochures.

SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 367

Sarcasm! Sarcasm! Try shock
, she’d shouted, as he hurried out to his car, then drove off.

Mr. Briscoe was having a hard time getting to the point. His employees’

financial matters were their own affair and he never interfered. But he was so stunned by what Cleveland Hinds had just told him on the phone that he felt obligated to speak to her. The gray lightless space pulled closer around them. Was it true, Mr. Briscoe was asking, that she had borrowed a substantial amount of money from the Atkinson Savings Bank and had not only missed the first payment, but had made no attempt to discuss the situation with Cleveland Hinds? What could she say, that she thought someone had paid it for her, that Omar had assured her he would take care of it, had promised he would? Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The kids were right. Every word out of his mouth was a lie.

R
enie was polishing stove tops with a special cream. It smelled of pine needles. He reached up and dabbed some across his throat, then rubbed it in. His clothes reeked of last night’s dinner, vinegary tripe. Bending over his reflection in the gleaming enamel, he wet his fingers and pressed his bushy eyebrows smooth. But nothing was working. Nothing made him feel any better.

“Hello, my esteemed brother Elk,” boomed a voice over the bells on the opening door. He turned to see Cleveland Hinds. “With all the publicity you’ve been getting I figured you’d be in Hollywood or something by now.”

“How are you doing, Mr. Hinds?” Renie said as Hinds pumped his hand heartily.
Oh to be able to shake a man’s hand like that
, he thought,
to have such
exuberance, such confidence
.

“Busier than hell, Renie. Busier than hell,” he sighed, removing his straw hat.

“That’s good,” Renie said.

Hinds ran his hand over the stove, streaking it. He turned a few buttons, opened the oven door and peered inside. Renie’s heart fluttered. It was the deluxe model. “Automatic timer and shutoff,” he said, growing short of breath. “Put in a roast, play eighteen holes, and it’s ready when you’re ready. And this plug here’s for the automatic coffee.” He plugged in the pot that came with the stove. He hoped he remembered all the features. He felt dizzy. “Put in your ground coffee, set it for a half hour before you want to wake up in the morning, and not only does it start itself and perk a wonderful pot of coffee, but it wakes you up to beautiful music.” He twirled a dial, then smiled up at Hinds as the
William Tell
Overture jumped from the console.

Hinds took a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “Listen, Renie, I hate to bother you. I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” he said.

“No bother, Mr. Hinds. Actually this particular model sells itself,” Renie said, straightening up. “Once people get over the first shock of the cost.”

368 / MARY MCGARRY MORRIS

“The thing is, Renie, there’s a matter that needs discussion. It’s…it’s rather delicate.”

Renie took a deep breath and reached for his wallet. He’d just give him the money back for his wife’s toaster.

“Toaster? What toaster?” Hinds said, looking around, and then Renie understood. The bank owned this building and they were probably mad about the paint job. He knew he should have asked them first. And now that it looked so good they were probably going to raise his rent. Maybe they’d found out about the cat. Well, he wasn’t going to get rid of Tom. No sir. He scrubbed Mr. Hinds’s fingermarks off the stove top. They’d have to kick him and Tom both out.

Hinds held the handkerchief to his temple. He spoke slowly, wincing as if the words hurt. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, it’s of such a confidential nature, but it’s been bothering the hell out of me. It’s Marie Fermoyle, your sister-in-law—well, former sister-in-law. She came in awhile back for a loan.

Now as you know, Renie, we’re a conservative institution, and with her situation being what it is, I had to say no.”

He nodded, though he had no idea what Hinds was getting at.

“But then because of you, Renie, because I wanted to do the right thing by a fellow brother Elk, I said okay.” His eyes shot into Renie’s. “Well, didn’t she get mad as hell and right up on her high horse, something about a washing machine and how every time it broke down you charged her for repairs.”

“I gave her the machine at cost,” he said. “And I only ever charged for parts, what it cost me. I’d never try and make a dime off Marie and those kids! They’re family!”

Hinds held up his hand. “I know that, Renie. You don’t have to tell me.

I’m just trying to give you the whole story here so you’ll see what a mess we’ve got on our hands, you and me.”

“Mess?”

“You cosigned that note, Renie. You didn’t want Helen to know, remember?”

Renie shook his head. At the time Helen and Bridget had told Marie the only way they would ever help her was if she took Sam back and stopped the divorce proceedings. Cosigning Marie’s note behind their backs had been the most daring deed of his life. Nothing before or since had ever made him feel so powerful and so good. But then he’d ruined it by acting like a fool the night with the turkey, and Marie had despised him ever since.

“To make a long story short, if she can’t make the payments, then we have no choice but to sue and put an attachment on the house.” Cleveland Hinds wet his lips. “And of course now with your name on the new loan, and she hasn’t even made the first payment—well, that’s why I’m here, Renie. To see what you intend to do about this.”

“Me? I never signed for any new loan.”

“Well, it’s right here,” Hinds said, unfolding a thick document on the stove top.

SONGS IN ORDINARY TIME / 369

“That’s not my name,” Renie said.

Hinds looked at it. “Of course it’s your name!”

“I mean how I write my signature,” Renie cried. “Somebody else wrote my name on that. Not me!”

“Wait a minute now. Just wait a minute,” Hinds puffed as he flipped back through the typewritten pages. “Oh my Lord,” he groaned, laying two forms side by side to compare signatures. “You’re right.” He looked up. “She forged your name! She falsified a bank document, a legal instrument of commerce. She could go to jail for this. She
should
go to jail, that little—”

“But when she signed my name, how come you didn’t say anything?”

Renie asked, puzzled.

Hinds cleared his throat, explaining how he hadn’t actually seen the signing because he’d trusted Marie and given her the note to bring here to Renie. “Of course, now I know I never should have let her take the instrument from the bank, but to be honest, in a small town, things like this happen all the time in banking. You bend rules, you go around corners. You try to help people. In the long run it’s usually good business.” Hinds was pacing back and forth. “And damn it, I should have known, the way she was so nervous and shaky when she signed.” Hinds waved his hand in disgust.

“I’m sorry, Renie. This is my fault. I’ll just let the Chief take over now and let the chips fall where they may.”

“How much is the loan for?” Renie asked.

“One thousand dollars.” Hinds choked out the words.

“If you got a pen, I’ll sign the loan.”

Hinds looked at him. “Are you serious, Renie?”

“Yah, I don’t want Marie going to jail, do you?”

“No! God, no!” Hinds had given him a pen.

He bent over the stove, startled by the cold metal against his belly as he signed his name

“Believe me, Renie, I won’t forget this,” Hinds said, folding the document.

He sighed. “’Course, we’ve still got the problem of the late payment.”

Renie stared at him.
We
? He didn’t know what to say.