A Stable Relationship
Posted: Fri Jan 01, 2016 1:41 am
June 26, 2016
Considering the state of the North Tower of the old Alexander house, and the slow progress of construction on the new house and even slower progress (or complete lack thereof) on repairs to the old, the family's 4th of July celebration would - of necessity - involve rather fewer houseguests than some recent gatherings. Still, it required some planning to host the local centaur community for a picnic and fireworks.
Daisy Alexander-Richer was in the kitchen discussing those plans with Edward and Rosalita, her butler and chef respectively, when the phone rang. Edward stepped into the dining room to answer it.
"Alexander residence, Edward speaking. How may I help you?"
"Just a moment..." He opened a drawer and took out a notepad and pen. "Your name again? Very well, please hold."
He pushed the appropriate button on the phone and returned to the kitchen with a folded piece of paper which he extended to his employer. "Madame, the caller wishes a private conversation with you. I recommend you indulge the request."
Daisy took the paper and unfolded it. Edward's elegantly plain script read Pauline Hazelton.
After a brief struggle with her memory, she went slightly pale. She had only met the young centaur once, when the Alexanders had gone to Vermont to attend a funeral - for Pauline's twin sister who had died in Rowdy Alexander's arms at the Pillsbury A-mill, the first victim of a massive assault by the city's criminal element.
"Ah, yes. Please get the caller's phone number; I will return the call in about ten minutes."
Edward took the proffered paper and went back into the dining room to comply with the mistress's instructions.
... ... ...
I wait anxiously, growing more and more nervous. Eventually I realize I have to distract myself or I'll soon be incoherent, so I pick up The Girl Who Tattooed Dragons and open it at my bookmark. Naturally, my phone rings a half-second later and I drop the bookmark.
The number on the display is not the same one I called a few minutes ago, but it has the same area code. And who else from Minnesota would be calling me on a Sunday afternoon? It has to be The Dam. Unless it's the butler, telling me She would be further delayed. Probably not: that whole family had politeness glued, clamped, and nailed during their brief visit.
"Come on, Dawn", I say to myself. "You've thought about this for weeks. You've started it. It's time to do it."
I almost drop the phone trying to answer it. "Hello? This is Pauline."
"Hello, Pauline. This is Rosalynd Alexander-Richer." says the voice on the other end. Richer, huh? That's new. I haven't seen it online - but then, I haven't been looking Her up. "I believe you wanted a private conversation with me?"
"Um... yeah." Oh gods, I'm sure She can tell how nervous I am. "I wanted to ask how you all are doing. Particularly your younger son, Franklin. He was in bad shape, and - " uh oh, I'm starting to babble. " - I hope everyone's getting over it?"
"Yes," She answers, "Rowdy did take it particularly hard. I think he might have been starting to fall in love with your sister, and then the circumstances... But he's better now, and so are the rest of us. Thank you for asking. And how are you and your family doing?"
"He blamed himself, didn't he? From what I learned in my college psychology classes, that's pretty common. But it wasn't his fault!"
"Yes he did, and it took a while for him to work through it, but I think he's done with that."
I lose my nerve. "Thank you. I suppose I should, let you go?"
"Pauline!" Her voice suddenly turns sharp. "I don't believe for a moment that that's all you called about. If you chicken out now, I will be quite disappointed."
Actually, after that I don't have the courage to end the call. I have to go on. How do moms do that? But I couldn't think of what to say next.
"Tell me whose fault it is that your sister died," The Dam demands.
That's safe. "The criminals. And whoever organized them. There are lots of bits and pieces of events that put Dusky there, but none of them involved anyone doing anything seriously wrong, and other bits and pieces could have had the same result. If she had been up-front with Mom about her intentions, she might have met Rowdy a week or two earlier and he might have invited her to the wedding as his date and she might have died in exactly the same way. Or if she hadn't been there, someone else probably would have died. The only sure thing is that if the attack had not happened, nobody would have died in it."
"Exactly correct, and without hesitation. You may be pleased to know that the person who organized them has been dealt with - extremely permanently. Now, what's the real reason you called?"
"I'm, um, starting medical school in the fall. There in Minneapolis. They have a great supernatural-medicine program."
"Yes, they do... keep going."
"If Franklin, er, Rowdy I guess, saw me, do you think he'd see me... or Dusky? Patricia?"
"Oh, that's what this is about. I can't say for sure. You hope to arrange to meet him."
"Yes... if you approve, and if it won't cause more pain. I'm moving next month so I have time to get settled in."
"Why?" I know she isn't asking about me moving.
"After you and your family left, after Rowdy told us how Dusky died, I got into her computer and looked at the browser history. She did a lot of research on him. I read the stuff she had found. It was interesting enough to get her to lie to Mom and go to Minneapolis in hopes of meeting him. I could see why. I haven't seen anything newer to change that. And I've looked - not as much as she did, but... that sounds stalkerish doesn't it?"
"Oh, pish. Public information. And stalkers don't often ask their target's mother for permission. Do you think you're in love with him?"
"How could I be in love with him? I've hardly even met him, and that was in horrible circumstances when neither of us was really ourselves! But I am... intrigued? I want to take a chance and see what happens."
"You're an impressive combination of romanticism and sensibility, young lady. You said you're moving here next month? Do you have an apartment lined up?"
"Yes, a quarter mile from the medical school; walking distance even in snow."
"Good choice. Then, call me again once you're here, sometime after the 4th, after you get things halfway organized. We can have lunch together and I'll arrange for Rowdy to pick me up afterward. That will give us a chance to see how he reacts to seeing you."
"Oh, thank you!"
"But from there on it will be up to you and him. I won't meddle." She laughs. "Well, not much - I am his mother, so meddling is part of my job."
I groan. "I think Mom thinks it's her only job."
Fortunately, She laughs again. "She didn't push you into calling me, did she?"
"No, she doesn't know about this. I think."
"Good for you. And if there's something else you need help with once you're here, don't be afraid to ask me."
"Thank you, Mrs. Alexander-Richer; I appreciate that."
"Oh, call me Daisy. Now I'm afraid I have things I need to be doing. But do call me, Pauline - after the 4th."
"I will call, Daisy. My paddock name's Dawn. Thank you again, and goodbye."
Whew. I hang up the phone and go outside to run my nerves off.
... ... ...
Durango heard his sister's bedroom door close, and then the back door. Going to the window, he saw her galloping through the trees at the edge of the woodlot, past the Hazelton Forest sign and up the road to the old sawmill. She made a fine sight for a teenage centaur stallion - not that he'd ever admit it, of course. Particularly not to her.
He shifted to human form and went into her room, careful to avoid disturbing anything. She had been on the phone with someone; he hadn't been able to make out the conversation. Picking up her phone, he checked the call history and saw that the last two calls - one outgoing, one incoming - had an area code he wasn't familiar with. He wrote them down, then gingerly returned the phone to the top of the bookshelf among the debris of femininity.
Returning to his room, he went to his computer and looked up the two phone numbers. The second returned no matches, and the exchange was assigned to cell phones in the Minneapolis area. That meant little, as his sister would be moving there in a couple weeks for medical school - and he would be following in two months when he could move into the freshman dorms. But the first, outgoing number was in a block belonging to...
He headed for the kitchen to get a snack, stopping at the parlor where his mother was watching one of the religious programs where she had found solace since the death of one of her daughters. "Hey, Mom!"
"Yes dear?" She paused the video.
"You were right."
"Thank you dear."
"You said you would leave it be."
"I said I'd try to leave it be."
"Suppose I don't tell you anything specific?"
"That's a good idea, dear. You're supposed to leave it be too."
"No problem." He continued into the kitchen.
"How's your project going?"
"What project? I'm done with high school." Bread landed on the counter. He opened the fridge and reached for the lettuce and onions.
"Researching the filly."
"What - huh - how did you know?"
"You're 18 and male. She's a gorgeous young centaur and not a cousin. Two days after you met her you applied to a college half across the country that you'd never mentioned before - close to her family."
"Um... yeah. Turns out she's in law school. Just finished her second year. Found that a couple months ago." He looked in the mayonnaise jar, then dropped it in the trash and added a checkmark to the list on the refrigerator door.
"And you'll be a freshman. That puts her at least... six years ahead of you." She sighed. "Well, a mother can hope."
"Mom, are you sure you aren't Jewish?"
"Be respectful, boy!" But he could tell she was trying not to laugh. "I suppose I deserved that. But I've left it be! That isn't easy! Make a sandwich for me too, please. Use the spicy plum sauce."
Considering the state of the North Tower of the old Alexander house, and the slow progress of construction on the new house and even slower progress (or complete lack thereof) on repairs to the old, the family's 4th of July celebration would - of necessity - involve rather fewer houseguests than some recent gatherings. Still, it required some planning to host the local centaur community for a picnic and fireworks.
Daisy Alexander-Richer was in the kitchen discussing those plans with Edward and Rosalita, her butler and chef respectively, when the phone rang. Edward stepped into the dining room to answer it.
"Alexander residence, Edward speaking. How may I help you?"
"Just a moment..." He opened a drawer and took out a notepad and pen. "Your name again? Very well, please hold."
He pushed the appropriate button on the phone and returned to the kitchen with a folded piece of paper which he extended to his employer. "Madame, the caller wishes a private conversation with you. I recommend you indulge the request."
Daisy took the paper and unfolded it. Edward's elegantly plain script read Pauline Hazelton.
After a brief struggle with her memory, she went slightly pale. She had only met the young centaur once, when the Alexanders had gone to Vermont to attend a funeral - for Pauline's twin sister who had died in Rowdy Alexander's arms at the Pillsbury A-mill, the first victim of a massive assault by the city's criminal element.
"Ah, yes. Please get the caller's phone number; I will return the call in about ten minutes."
Edward took the proffered paper and went back into the dining room to comply with the mistress's instructions.
... ... ...
I wait anxiously, growing more and more nervous. Eventually I realize I have to distract myself or I'll soon be incoherent, so I pick up The Girl Who Tattooed Dragons and open it at my bookmark. Naturally, my phone rings a half-second later and I drop the bookmark.
The number on the display is not the same one I called a few minutes ago, but it has the same area code. And who else from Minnesota would be calling me on a Sunday afternoon? It has to be The Dam. Unless it's the butler, telling me She would be further delayed. Probably not: that whole family had politeness glued, clamped, and nailed during their brief visit.
"Come on, Dawn", I say to myself. "You've thought about this for weeks. You've started it. It's time to do it."
I almost drop the phone trying to answer it. "Hello? This is Pauline."
"Hello, Pauline. This is Rosalynd Alexander-Richer." says the voice on the other end. Richer, huh? That's new. I haven't seen it online - but then, I haven't been looking Her up. "I believe you wanted a private conversation with me?"
"Um... yeah." Oh gods, I'm sure She can tell how nervous I am. "I wanted to ask how you all are doing. Particularly your younger son, Franklin. He was in bad shape, and - " uh oh, I'm starting to babble. " - I hope everyone's getting over it?"
"Yes," She answers, "Rowdy did take it particularly hard. I think he might have been starting to fall in love with your sister, and then the circumstances... But he's better now, and so are the rest of us. Thank you for asking. And how are you and your family doing?"
"He blamed himself, didn't he? From what I learned in my college psychology classes, that's pretty common. But it wasn't his fault!"
"Yes he did, and it took a while for him to work through it, but I think he's done with that."
I lose my nerve. "Thank you. I suppose I should, let you go?"
"Pauline!" Her voice suddenly turns sharp. "I don't believe for a moment that that's all you called about. If you chicken out now, I will be quite disappointed."
Actually, after that I don't have the courage to end the call. I have to go on. How do moms do that? But I couldn't think of what to say next.
"Tell me whose fault it is that your sister died," The Dam demands.
That's safe. "The criminals. And whoever organized them. There are lots of bits and pieces of events that put Dusky there, but none of them involved anyone doing anything seriously wrong, and other bits and pieces could have had the same result. If she had been up-front with Mom about her intentions, she might have met Rowdy a week or two earlier and he might have invited her to the wedding as his date and she might have died in exactly the same way. Or if she hadn't been there, someone else probably would have died. The only sure thing is that if the attack had not happened, nobody would have died in it."
"Exactly correct, and without hesitation. You may be pleased to know that the person who organized them has been dealt with - extremely permanently. Now, what's the real reason you called?"
"I'm, um, starting medical school in the fall. There in Minneapolis. They have a great supernatural-medicine program."
"Yes, they do... keep going."
"If Franklin, er, Rowdy I guess, saw me, do you think he'd see me... or Dusky? Patricia?"
"Oh, that's what this is about. I can't say for sure. You hope to arrange to meet him."
"Yes... if you approve, and if it won't cause more pain. I'm moving next month so I have time to get settled in."
"Why?" I know she isn't asking about me moving.
"After you and your family left, after Rowdy told us how Dusky died, I got into her computer and looked at the browser history. She did a lot of research on him. I read the stuff she had found. It was interesting enough to get her to lie to Mom and go to Minneapolis in hopes of meeting him. I could see why. I haven't seen anything newer to change that. And I've looked - not as much as she did, but... that sounds stalkerish doesn't it?"
"Oh, pish. Public information. And stalkers don't often ask their target's mother for permission. Do you think you're in love with him?"
"How could I be in love with him? I've hardly even met him, and that was in horrible circumstances when neither of us was really ourselves! But I am... intrigued? I want to take a chance and see what happens."
"You're an impressive combination of romanticism and sensibility, young lady. You said you're moving here next month? Do you have an apartment lined up?"
"Yes, a quarter mile from the medical school; walking distance even in snow."
"Good choice. Then, call me again once you're here, sometime after the 4th, after you get things halfway organized. We can have lunch together and I'll arrange for Rowdy to pick me up afterward. That will give us a chance to see how he reacts to seeing you."
"Oh, thank you!"
"But from there on it will be up to you and him. I won't meddle." She laughs. "Well, not much - I am his mother, so meddling is part of my job."
I groan. "I think Mom thinks it's her only job."
Fortunately, She laughs again. "She didn't push you into calling me, did she?"
"No, she doesn't know about this. I think."
"Good for you. And if there's something else you need help with once you're here, don't be afraid to ask me."
"Thank you, Mrs. Alexander-Richer; I appreciate that."
"Oh, call me Daisy. Now I'm afraid I have things I need to be doing. But do call me, Pauline - after the 4th."
"I will call, Daisy. My paddock name's Dawn. Thank you again, and goodbye."
Whew. I hang up the phone and go outside to run my nerves off.
... ... ...
Durango heard his sister's bedroom door close, and then the back door. Going to the window, he saw her galloping through the trees at the edge of the woodlot, past the Hazelton Forest sign and up the road to the old sawmill. She made a fine sight for a teenage centaur stallion - not that he'd ever admit it, of course. Particularly not to her.
He shifted to human form and went into her room, careful to avoid disturbing anything. She had been on the phone with someone; he hadn't been able to make out the conversation. Picking up her phone, he checked the call history and saw that the last two calls - one outgoing, one incoming - had an area code he wasn't familiar with. He wrote them down, then gingerly returned the phone to the top of the bookshelf among the debris of femininity.
Returning to his room, he went to his computer and looked up the two phone numbers. The second returned no matches, and the exchange was assigned to cell phones in the Minneapolis area. That meant little, as his sister would be moving there in a couple weeks for medical school - and he would be following in two months when he could move into the freshman dorms. But the first, outgoing number was in a block belonging to...
He headed for the kitchen to get a snack, stopping at the parlor where his mother was watching one of the religious programs where she had found solace since the death of one of her daughters. "Hey, Mom!"
"Yes dear?" She paused the video.
"You were right."
"Thank you dear."
"You said you would leave it be."
"I said I'd try to leave it be."
"Suppose I don't tell you anything specific?"
"That's a good idea, dear. You're supposed to leave it be too."
"No problem." He continued into the kitchen.
"How's your project going?"
"What project? I'm done with high school." Bread landed on the counter. He opened the fridge and reached for the lettuce and onions.
"Researching the filly."
"What - huh - how did you know?"
"You're 18 and male. She's a gorgeous young centaur and not a cousin. Two days after you met her you applied to a college half across the country that you'd never mentioned before - close to her family."
"Um... yeah. Turns out she's in law school. Just finished her second year. Found that a couple months ago." He looked in the mayonnaise jar, then dropped it in the trash and added a checkmark to the list on the refrigerator door.
"And you'll be a freshman. That puts her at least... six years ahead of you." She sighed. "Well, a mother can hope."
"Mom, are you sure you aren't Jewish?"
"Be respectful, boy!" But he could tell she was trying not to laugh. "I suppose I deserved that. But I've left it be! That isn't easy! Make a sandwich for me too, please. Use the spicy plum sauce."