Beyond Deserving (35 page)

“I've got to make some calls,” she says at the door to the kitchen. “I'm going upstairs so I won't bother you.” Neither Fish nor Michael even look up. She finds her address book in the mess of her top drawer and sits on the bed to call Portland. She wants so much to reach old friends, the impulse is almost painful. She says to herself it is too early for this, then chooses the first number, and dials.

Carter stumbles across her vision, on his way to the bathroom, clad only in his jockey shorts, the ones that say JOGGER on the hip. He stubs his toe on the loose carpet near her bedroom door and grumbles, saying something obscene. “Carter,” she calls, and he says, disappearing from sight, “Yo, Mom.”

“This is Ursula Fisher,” she says to Hank Lutter when he answers on the fifth ring. “
Ursula
, Hank,” she says. “Don't you remember?”

46

“The Lutters are the last couple I'd have predicted would divorce,” Katie says when Ursula tells them about her conversation with Hank. Katie seems completely unself-conscious, bringing up the subject of divorce.

The are sitting on the new gray kitchen floor, eating pizza fetched by Carter from two different establishments. Katie worked wardrobe on a matinee and showed up just in time to rave about the floor. “It looks so
expensive
!”

Michael says it wasn't. “I bought the flooring at a close-out sale. And except for the pizza, the labor was free.” He punches his brother on his folded-up leg.

Carter appears from the living room where he, his girlfriend Annabel, and his buddy Joel have had their own pizza feed. “So what do you think? Which do you like best? What crust?” he burbles.

The adults stare.

“The one with pepperoni is deep-dish. They call it Sicilian. The other one is supposedly hand-tossed. I wanted to try spicy shrimp but they didn't have anything to use for spices. Wouldn't it be good with that Cajun shit on it? And instead of Canadian bacon—shit, that stuff is rubberized—I'd use that real Italian ham, I can't remember what it's called—you used it last July Fourth around melon strips, remember, Mom—”

“What the hell?” Fish drones.

“You did good, son,” Michael says.

“What is this mad interest in pizza, Carter?” Ursula asks.

Carter bends down on one knee, to their level. “You'd think the pizza market would be saturated, right? Pizza Hut, Dominos, Pappy's—But where's the high-class pizza? Where's the REAL pizza? You know, on the streets in Rome they sell it cold. It's got a deep bready crust—sort of like that one—and they put olives and anchovies—”

“How do you know?” Katie asks.

Carter grins. “Annabel lived there a year, when she was thirteen.

“What are you trying to say?” Ursula asks. From around the corner Joel yells. “Caaaarter! The movie's gonna start!”

“I just think there's untapped poTENtial,” Carter says, and is gone.

“Did Juliette eat?” Ursula asks Michael.

“Where
is
Juliette?” Katie asks.

“She's out back,” Fish says. “She made a cheese sandwich and went out a while ago.”

“What's her PROBLEM?” Ursula says, up on her knees.

Michael grabs her arm, to keep her from getting up. “There is nothing you need to do out there,” he says.

Ursula slumps. “She's bugging me.”

“Relax,” Fish says. “It's the end of the school year. All that boring wind-down shit they do. She's sick of it.”

“Moody,” Katie says. “I was moody at that age.”

“What about Hank Lutter?” Michael says. He gets them each another beer from the refrigerator and sits down again, leaning against the cabinet and stretching out his legs. “I suppose you got all the details.”

Ursula, slightly flustered, says, “I was so shocked I said, ‘What do you mean, divorce?” and Hank
laughed
. He said Jane has a new job at the university in Santa Cruz—she's a therapist in the health center. He said she'll finally get to deal in intimacy all day. What do you think he meant?” She has a tiny hope Michael won't say he knows just what Hank meant.

“She's been doing something new since I saw her,” Fish says. He grins. “Her idea of therapy used to be feeding you and then rubbing up against you in the hallway—”

“Go on, Fish.” Katie flicks his hair with her fingertips.

“It's true,” Michael says. Ursula stares at him. “Meaning what?” she demands.

“Just what Fish said. She liked to get a feel before you went home. I think she felt daring, without feeling compromised. We were all friends.”

“She's the straightest friend we had in Portland!” Ursula says indignantly.

“Remember the time she and I took the drive to the Japanese flower gardens?” Michael says. “You took the kids to see Bambi or Cinderella or some other sappy movie.”

“Vaguely.” Ursula feels hazy herself. This reminds her of one of those novels where the author gives you fifty pages of “her” and then tells the same story only about “him” and it isn't like “she” thought at all.

“We never got out of the car.” Michael starts to laugh. “She said Hank was working so hard, studying for his CPA exams, that he was neglecting her.”

“I don't think I like this,” Ursula says, but she is definitely interested.

“You fucked in the car?” Fish says.

“Naw. She talked for two hours straight. Hank this, Hank that. She had just found out she was pregnant again. She was starved to talk.”

“You sat in a car and listened to Jane Lutter TALK for TWO HOURS?”

Michael, Fish, and Katie laugh, while Ursula blushes and blinks.

“Well, gee, yes,” Michael says teasingly. “But we never did it again, honest. It didn't mean a thing.”

Ursula starts to cry. “Oh shit,” she says.

“You're kidding,” Michael says. “Aw, Ursie, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.” He crawls over to her and pats her cheek and says, “I'm sorry, honey.”

“Two HOURS,” Ursula sputters. She runs upstairs, throws herself across her bed, and weeps. Even if she did live in Portland still, their old friends would be new people, just like she probably is, too. She doesn't mind growing up; she just never thought it would be lonely. She feels abandoned by life.

Michael sits down beside her and strokes her back. “Are you coming down with something?”

“Oh!”

“I know, Ursie.”

She sits up. “You know what, Michael Fisher?”

“I know you wish we talked more.”

“You do?”

“I never mean not to. I just always seem to see a shortcut to the point. I could try, I guess. I do love you.”

Ursula sniffles. “There was something about—about Jane?”

Michael smiles at her. “Now you're stirring up dust where there's no dirt. Jane Lutter is not and was not an issue.”

“I had this idea. I thought maybe Carmen and Winston could come down from Seattle. I got Carmen on the phone but she and Winston are going camping with friends, and she didn't even suggest coming later. I asked Hank about the Edsons. He said Tony Edson's diabetes is so bad he's losing his sight—”

“That's awful.”

“Hank says Tony says it doesn't matter, their kids are wonderful, their house, their land. He can go on, not seeing. God, Michael, I'm talking about all this with Hank, and I know I'll NEVER talk to Tony or Bea, either one. We haven't seen them in so long, can you imagine how I'd launch this conversation. Heard about your eyes—” These are people Ursula loved.

“What did you do, Ursie? Who else did you call?”

“That's all. My mother, Hank, Carmen. I tried to get one of my friends from work up there but nobody answered.”

She lies on her back, and Michael stretches out beside her. “Where are Katie and Fish?” she asks. Before Michael answers, she says, “Katie and Fish, hear that? They are back together, aren't they?”

“Fish says he doesn't know. He says he isn't ever going to bring up the subject of the divorce again, like he thinks Katie has forgotten it.”

“Why would she divorce him now? He's a saint.”

“Listen, Ursula, I don't know anything more about them than you do.”

“Fish talks to you. Katie and I haven't really talked in a year. Not since Fish got busted.”

“Fish and I mostly are talking houses. Construction stuff.”

A breeze rattles the leaves outside the window and gushes across them on the bed, creating a quick moment of dramatic feeling in Ursula. Like standing on a high bluff.

Michael says, “They went somewhere with Juliette.”

“They did?” They would hear the ocean below. They would embrace. People have been swept off this cliff by the wind.

“Fish said they wouldn't be long.” He runs his finger along the side of Ursula's breast. Her attention snaps back.

“Not now, Michael.”

“What then?”

“I don't know.”

He lies on his back, too, folds his hands on his chest. “I used to think I'd have lots of friends. I'd work and when I was off I'd drink beer and listen to funny stories, I'd hike and fish in season, you and I would make love every night—”

Ursula almost whispers. “But it hasn't turned out like that, has it? Not exactly?” She thinks of Friday nights in River Cove. Did he foresee that set of responsibilities? And the children?

“Remember that stupid tv show we watched a couple of times, about the old college friends? How they all fall in and out of each other's houses and problems, and they tell one another everything? It's bullshit, isn't it? I hated that show right away, it was like an ad for a certain lifestyle, an attempt to validate the
idea
of lifestyle, but now I don't think that's what it's about at all. It's a fantasy about how you hold up your life, how you have lots of support from friends if you're cool enough. It's about friendship, the way
Dallas
and
Dynasty
are about being rich. It's that
Big Chill
fantasy.”

Ursula waits a long moment, and realizes that Michael isn't going to say anything else. She feels close to him, and surprised at him, and completely unsure about what she can say or do. Only she can't just let it lie. “I guess that's what you have family for,” she says tentatively. “For support, and purpose? The kids, for fresh chances.” Ideas about altruism and citizenship crowd her mind too, ideas her father hammered in with years of light taps, but it isn't the right time to suggest an overhaul of their life. Not even of her life. She votes. She gives. She's on the board of Planned Parenthood.

Michael turns onto his side, takes her hand. “Once when Fish and I were about Juliette's age, we went hunting. We hiked out five, six miles from the road, and this incredible storm came up, lashing wind and rain. We came to a little campground and it had an old neglected outhouse. We got in it out of the rain, till it let up. Only it didn't let up, all night it rained. And all night we stood crammed in that damned outhouse, telling each other stories and jokes, until we both fell asleep. I can't remember what we talked about. Kid shit. I wouldn't want to be stuck with him anywhere all night anymore. But sometimes, when he's a real asshole, I remember that stupid hike. We had a good time in an outhouse! It was an adventure.”

Ursula turns on her side to face her husband. “If that was us, now. What would we talk about?”

“I'd finally be caught. I'd have to answer all your questions. Try me. Go ahead. Ask one now.” He lets go of her hand and touches her breast again.

“Okay,” Ursula says. “Here goes. If I have a garage sale in a month, can I sell your potter's wheel? Can I clean out your closet? Should I paint the cabinets to go with my new floor? Why are you and Fish talking so much about building? What don't I know yet because you haven't told me?”

She hears the front door slam. “We're back!” Katie calls out.

“Maybe we'll build a house together, to sell,” Michael says.

“Who's going to get the loan for that? Who's got the credit?” Ursula knows what he's going to say.

“We should talk about that,” he says, but he gets off the bed and goes downstairs, leaving her to sort out love, sentiment, and conspiracy.

47

Fish has bought Juliette a hummingbird feeder. They all sit outside until dark, whispering and being careful about their movement, watching for birds. Fish says the neighbor has a feeder, and he has seen several birds nearby. They have just about given up when the first bird comes. It has a throat that is blue and then green, shot with gold. A second bird is yellow and orange and gilded with green. The last bird is the smallest, tiny, with a glowing red throat. Juliette is awed. She sits between Katie and Fish on the grass, plucking idly at the dry blades. Fish whispers in her ear a couple of times and she smiles at him.

“Remember the crows?” Michael says as the evening begins to turn cool and dark.

Fish nods. He says to Katie, “Go get the wine, could you?” and though Katie hesitates for a moment, looking at Fish, then at Ursula, she finally leaves and comes back with a half gallon of rose.

“What about crows?” Juliette asks her father.

“We found a nest of babies, and the mother dead on the ground,” Michael says.

Fish takes a long swig of wine and passes it to Michael. Michael asks Ursula if she wants a glass of it. Ursula shakes her head. She is studying the two brothers, not sure what she is looking for. What she ought to look for.

“The crows, Daddy,” Juliette says. She sits with her feet stuck up, her knees close to her body. She fiddles with her toes through the holes in her sandals, rubbing and scratching through her socks.

“We took them back to the house,” Fish says. “And fed them. We built them this wooden nest and set it up in the yard. When they got a little bigger, and they could get around, they started coming to the window of our bedroom every morning, by dawn, and pecking like crazy at the pane.”