Part 24 (1/2)

”Oh, Ira, you are so obtuse sometimes,” she said.

She closed the brown paper bag and shook it, mixing the seasonings. You can't have things both ways, she should have told Fiona. You can't laugh at him for staying the same and also object when he changes. Why, of course he had moved! Did Fiona imagine he had sat here waiting for her all these years?

And yet Maggie knew how she felt, somehow. You have this picture of a person; you have him tucked away in your mind in this certain fixed position.

She looked again at the band photo on the table. They had all been so enthusiastic once, she thought. So much energy had been invested. She remembered those early rehearsals in Lorimer's parents' garage, and the months and months when they'd been thrilled to perform for free, even, and the night that Jesse had come home triumphantly waving a ten-dollar bill-his share of their first paycheck.

”Is that Daisy?” Ira asked.

”What?”

”I thought I heard the front door.”

”Oh!” Maggie said. ”Maybe it's Jesse.”

”Don't count on it,” he told her.

But only Jesse would sling the door back against the bookcase that way. Maggie dusted off her hands. ”Jesse?” she called.

”Here I am.”

She hurried out to the hall, and Ira followed more slowly. Jesse stood just inside the door. He was looking toward the living room, where Leroy was poised like some startled small animal with her hands pressed together in front of her and one foot drawn up behind her. Jesse said, ”Well, hi.”

”Hi,” Leroy said.

”How're you doing?”

”I'm okay.”

He looked over at Maggie. Maggie said, ”Hasn't she grown?”

His long black eyes returned to Leroy.

Now Maggie moved toward him, willing him further into the house. (He always seemed on the verge of leaving.) She took his arm and said, ”I'm frying up some chicken; it'll be a few more minutes. You two can sit in here and get acquainted.”

But he had never been easily led. He was wearing a knitted jersey, and beneath the thin cloth she felt his resistance-the steely muscle above his elbow. His boots remained rooted to the floor. He was going to take his own sweet time at this.

”So what're you listening to?” he asked Leroy.

”Oh, just some record.”

”You a Dead fan?”

”Dead? Um, sure.”

”You want some better alb.u.m, then,” he said. ”This one here is too popular with the ma.s.ses.”

”Oh, yeah, well,” she said. ”I was just thinking that myself.”

He glanced at Maggie again. He was holding his face in a way that caused his chin to lengthen, just as Ira always did when he was trying to keep back a smile.

”She's athletic too,” Maggie told him. ”Brought along her baseball glove.”

”That so?” he asked Leroy.

She nodded. The toe of her raised foot pointed daintily downward, ballet style.

Then something clattered upstairs and Fiona called, ”Maggie, where-?”

She arrived on the landing. They all looked up at her.

”Oh,” she said.

And she began to descend the stairs very smoothly and quietly, with one hand trailing along the banister. The only sound was the slapping of her sandals against her bare heels. quietly, with one hand trailing along the banister. The only sound was the slapping of her sandals against her bare heels.

Jesse said, ”Good to see you, Fiona.”

She reached the hall and looked up at him. ”It's good to see you too,” she said.

”Done something new to your hair, haven't you?”

She lifted a hand, with her eyes still on his face, and touched the ends of her hair. ”Oh! Maybe so,” she told him.

Maggie said, ”Well, I guess I'd better get back to-”

And Ira said, ”Need help in the kitchen, Maggie?”

”Yes, please!” she sang out happily.

Fiona told Jesse, ”I was just upstairs hunting my soapbox.”

Maggie hesitated.

”Soapbox?” Jesse asked.

”I tried your bureau drawer, but it's empty. All I found was mothb.a.l.l.s. Did you take my soapbox with you when you moved to your apartment?”

”What soapbox are you talking about?”

”My tortoisesh.e.l.l soapbox! The one you kept.”

Jesse looked over at Maggie. Maggie said, ”You remember her soapbox.”

”Well, no, I can't say as I do,” Jesse said, and he grabbed hold of his forelock the way he always did when he was puzzled.

”You kept it after she left,” Maggie told him. ”I saw you with it. There was a bar of soap inside, remember? That clear kind of soap you can see through.”

”Oh, yes,” Jesse said, letting go of his forelock.

”You remember it?”