{"id":1706,"date":"2014-01-11T00:00:00","date_gmt":"2014-01-11T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/?p=1706"},"modified":"2020-09-05T04:23:18","modified_gmt":"2020-09-05T09:23:18","slug":"wishing-on-bones","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wishing-on-bones\/","title":{"rendered":"Wishing on Bones"},"content":{"rendered":"
Fiction by<\/h5>\n

Patricia Crisafulli<\/a><\/h3>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

S<\/span> now packed the sill of the kitchen window, rounding the rectangle into a porthole. Georgia McAllister thought of going outside to sweep the view clear with a broom, but Bob was out there, clearing the driveway with the snow blower. Good sense would dictate canceling the dinner, but Marianne had been insistent: They had to meet Ian, whom she\u2019d been dating for four months.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n

When Georgia called her daughter at one o\u2019clock, they had already started out, taking their time on the three-hour drive from the college campus to the house. The plan was they\u2019d stay until nine o\u2019clock or so, and then head back. If the weather was bad, they\u2019d spend the night and return in the morning; neither had classes until Monday afternoon. But five o\u2019clock had come and gone, and with it plans for the early dinner that Georgia had been preparing most of the day\u2014right down to homemade apple crisp for dessert.<\/p>\n

Marianne had just been home for Christmas, a three-week break which she spent either talking to or talking about Ian. The intensity of it was more than just a crush or the deep dive of falling in love. Every conversation had gotten mired in Ian, no matter where the topic started. Whenever Georgia had tried to discuss Marianne\u2019s plans after graduation in May, her daughter\u2019s responses never began with the word \u201cI\u201d\u2014always \u201cwe\u201d or, more disconcerting, \u201che.\u201d<\/p>\n

Georgia knew the basic details: Both 21, college seniors, friends since freshman orientation, and had even consoled each other through break-ups with other people. Then at the start of this school year, something had changed; they saw each other differently\u2014as if for the first time, Marianne had said.\u00a0 That sounded like being in love with love, and not the real thing, but Georgia couldn\u2019t tell Marianne that. She\u2019d have to find out for herself.<\/p>\n

Opening one of the double ovens built into the kitchen wall, Georgia inhaled the aroma of roast beef. Just looking at the meat, she knew it was going to be overdone, because Marianne and Ian were running late. The second oven held the broccoli-and-mushroom casserole that Marianne used to love during her vegetarian days. Over Thanksgiving, when she\u2019d seen Marianne eat turkey for the first time since her daughter was a high school sophomore, Georgia couldn\u2019t believe the change\u2014not after all the health-and morality-infused lectures she and Bob had endured. Ian, it seemed, preached a different gospel, and Marianne happily converted\u2014or was it reverted\u2014to eating meat. Ian thought it was a fad. I wasn\u2019t really committed to it. There\u2019s nothing wrong with eating meat from a farm with humane practices\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t take a psychology degree to see that Ian\u2019s opinions were quickly becoming Marianne\u2019s. Not that such a thing was all that uncommon. Georgia remembered how, back when she was first dating Bob, she\u2019d developed (or maybe feigned was a better word) a taste for jazz. She\u2019d sit in some tiny club in Chicago drinking red wine because she never could stomach beer, and pretend to like some band fumbling through Miles Davis\u2019 Blue in Green<\/em>. She had liked it well enough, because Bob liked it, and she liked spending time with him. Now, after 24 years of marriage and two kids, their tastes had changed so much. Bob only listened to talk radio, politics and sports, and she liked the moldy-oldies. He used her shampoo in the shower, and she sometimes borrowed his razor if hers was dull, although she rarely admitted to doing that. That\u2019s what a long marriage was.<\/p>\n

Bob came in the back door and stamped his feet twice on the mat. His hair, more gray than dark, stood up in tufts when he pulled off his hat. He ran his hand over his head, but missed a spot toward the crown, where balding that he\u2019d never acknowledge had started to spread. \u201cSmells good,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI hope they get here soon. We\u2019ll have to skip appetizers and go right to dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe call?\u201d Bob left his boots on the mat by the back door and walked in thick wool socks across the kitchen floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cAbout a half hour ago.\u201d Georgia caught her reflection in the back patio door: a 51-year-old woman with auburn hair cut to a sensible chin length, in soft slacks with an elastic waist and an overtop that did nothing to hide the 15 extra pounds she\u2019d put on since age 35. Where had the girl in the gauze skirt and espadrille sandals gone\u2014the one with the coppery hair past her shoulders and dangling earrings made by an ex-boyfriend who\u2019d been a silversmith at summer Renaissance festivals while they were in college? What happened to the young woman who had graduated cum laude and gone to Europe for six weeks with two girlfriends, with Euro Rail passes in their backpacks and a guidebook that recommended the best hostels? At 22, she thought she could conquer the world, or at least her part of it. Then, at 24, she\u2019d met Bob and married him two-and-a-half years later.<\/p>\n

Bob stood beside her now, his arm around her waist, where the roll of softness met the elastic. \u201cI hope the roast doesn\u2019t dry out,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

When the back door opened, Georgia expected Marianne and Ian, but there was Stuart, home from basketball practice. \u201cWhen are we eating?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re waiting for your sister and her guest,\u201d Georgia replied.<\/p>\n

Stuart said he was starving and had to go out again; he and a friend were working on a school project that night. He opened the refrigerator and looked inside.<\/p>\n

\u201cGrab a plate off the table,\u201d Georgia directed. She sliced some beef and put a little of the broccoli casserole on is plate, along with two scoops of mashed potatoes in a puddle of gravy.<\/p>\n

While Stuart ate, Georgia picked up her cell phone twice\u2014once to check to see if she had somehow missed a call and a second time to consider calling Marianne, but didn\u2019t want to appear rude or annoyed in front of Ian. So she waited until Stuart left and the meat thermometer read \u201cwell done.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marianne\u2019s car finally pulled in the driveway. Georgia got a look at the thin man who opened the passenger side door, watching her daughter lace her arm through his as they walked together in the back door.<\/p>\n

Ian Denzi was from South Dakota, raised on a beef cattle ranch and was the youngest of four. He was studying organic chemistry, and had done an internship at the U.S. subsidiary of a European chemical company in the polymer and resin department. Georgia learned all of this in the first five minutes of passing around cheese puffs as Bob poured wine and beer, and made a short \u201cwelcome to our home and Happy New Year\u201d toast.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry we\u2019re late, Mom,\u201d Marianne said. She disengaged herself long enough from Ian\u2019s side to help in the kitchen. \u201cWe stopped at Uptown Jewelers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally?\u201d Georgia tried to discern from Marianne\u2019s smile whether she was hinting at something imminent or just a little romantic window shopping. She turned her attention to the broccoli-mushroom casserole, setting the baking dish into a wicker holder on legs.<\/p>\n

Ian kept up the conversation through most of dinner\u2014about the ranch (more like a family farm); about his studies (he\u2019d always been good at science); about the job offer waiting for him after graduation from the company that had given him the internship (such a great opportunity); about how he and Marianne had started dating after a dance marathon in September when both of their partners were no-shows (\u201cdance with someone for 32 hours and you pretty much know all about them\u201d). His confidence was admirable, and Georgia could see why Marianne was taken with him, but she kept looking at her daughter as if to prompt her to say something on her own, instead of only adding a line or two to Ian\u2019s stories, or to tease him when one of his anecdotes went on a little too long.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo how long have you two been dating, exactly?\u201d Georgia thought her remark sounded casual, although the word \u201cexactly\u201d probably wasn\u2019t the best choice. Still, there was no unsaying any of it.<\/p>\n

\u201cFour months.\u201d Marianne clasped Ian\u2019s hand. \u201cAnd, we decided\u2014\u201d \u00a0She and Ian exchanged a long glance. \u201cThat we\u2019re getting married a month after graduation.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMarried?\u201d Georgia gasped. She looked down the table at Bob, who seemed to be studying his silverware. \u201cThat seems a little\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSurprising,\u201d Bob interrupted. \u201cI mean, your generation doesn\u2019t seem to be interested in getting married young.\u201d<\/p>\n

Georgia dropped her eyes to her food streaked plate, seeing the tracks of gravy, the telltale tidbits of broccoli.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, we\u2019re not like everyone else.\u201d Marianne gazed at Ian.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I met Ginger, I\u2019d been out of college a couple of years,\u201d Bob continued. \u201cPretty soon I was head over heels, and by six months I was sure she was it<\/em>.\u201d Bob winked at her. \u201cMost days I still am. But I didn\u2019t get up my nerve to have the \u2018marriage talk\u2019 until we were going out nearly a year.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOver a year,\u201d Georgia murmured.\u00a0 Fourteen months after their first date, while at a stoplight on their way to the movies, Bob leaned over, kissed her and said, \u201cSo, marry me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen you know, you know,\u201d Ian said. Marianne nodded.<\/p>\n

Bob picked up a spoon from the table, and turned it around and around in his hand. \u201cMarriage is a permanent thing\u2014well, it\u2019s supposed to be anyway. You can\u2019t just rush in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re not rushing,\u201d Ian said hastily. \u201cWe know we\u2019re right for each other. We always have, I think.\u201d<\/p>\n

Georgia wanted to stand on her chair and scream. Her daughter and her boyfriend had gone crazy, to decide at 21 to get married after dating four months. They were intelligent young people, with college degrees and bright futures ahead of them. There was no reason to jump into anything. \u201cBut why don\u2019t you take your time,\u201d she added. \u201cThere is so much to see and do in this world when you\u2019re young.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe want to do it together,\u201d Ian said.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo your parents know?\u201d Georgia asked, wondering if she and Bob would be isolated on this one.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I told them. And yes, they said pretty much the same stuff as you two. We\u2019re too young. We need time to be sure. Except, we don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

Marianne unleashed a cascade of wedding plans\u2014the ceremony at the university chapel and then a reception at a rustic restaurant they loved, which had really beautiful prairie gardens filled with sculptures made from antique farm implements. Her friend, Shelley, would be maid-of-honor, and her friend, Dahlia, and two of Ian\u2019s sisters, whom she hadn\u2019t met yet, would be bridesmaids. Ian\u2019s older brother, Bruce, would be his best man. Stuart would be an usher, along with Ian\u2019s brother, Jack, and his friend, Darryl. And Ian had a little cousin\u2014actually his cousin\u2019s daughter\u2014who was only four and would be adorable as the flower girl\u2026<\/p>\n

Bob asked about Ian\u2019s job offer, whether he\u2019d stay local or maybe have a chance to work overseas. If her legs had been long enough, Georgia would have kicked her husband under the table. Hard.<\/p>\n

When dinner was over, Georgia suggested that they have dessert in the living room. Marianne jumped up to help clear the table, but Ian was right there, taking her plate first, along with his own, to the kitchen.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s too soon!\u201d Georgia whispered to Bob, grateful that he nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou push back, though, and she\u2019ll never listen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat if we refuse to pay\u2014or even to go!\u201d Georgia fought to keep her voice down.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou really wanna do that?\u201d Bob gave her a little pat on the arm as he left the dining table and headed to the living room with the intention of lighting the fireplace.<\/p>\n

Georgia grabbed the broccoli-mushroom casserole, disappointed that they\u2019d eaten so little of it, especially since she spent so much time cutting up three heads into individual florets, and then made her own white sauce instead of dumping a can of cream of mushroom soup over it like the rest of the world.<\/p>\n

Marianne and Ian stood at the kitchen counter, arms encircling each other. \u201cI think we\u2019re supposed to be helping,\u201d Ian joked.<\/p>\n

Her daughter looked so happy, Georgia had to look away. It was new love, fragile as a newborn thing.\u00a0 Real love needed to develop muscles from being stretched and tested, and wounds to make it stronger. It needed challenges and doubts, and, most of all, time.<\/p>\n

Marianne put her head on Ian\u2019s shoulder, and he touched her hair lightly with his fingertips. Ginger\u2019s scalp tingled at the memory of Bob holding her in exactly that way\u2014a thousand years ago.<\/p>\n

Loosened from each other\u2019s grip, Marianne and Ian helped clear the rest of the table and stack the dishwasher.<\/p>\n

\u201cIan, why don\u2019t you join Bob in the living room? Marianne and I can get the rest.\u201d Georgia watched her daughter\u2019s eyes trail behind Ian as if he were going off to some foreign war and not just to the other room.<\/p>\n

\u201cHoney, we need to talk about this,\u201d Georgia said in a low voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Mother, we don\u2019t. I\u2019m 21\u2014an adult and capable of making my own decisions. I love Ian and he loves me, and we\u2019re getting married. Period. You can either be happy for me, or not. You can celebrate with me at my wedding, or not. But you can\u2019t stop it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Suddenly there wasn\u2019t enough air in the room. Georgia stumbled to the back door and yanked it open. She stood there, watched the snowflakes fall, covering the back windshield of Marianne\u2019s car, until the dark glass wore a white shroud.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom?\u201d Marianne\u2019s touch on her shoulder turned her around.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s too soon. You can\u2019t possibly know each other well enough. And 21 is too young. Your lives are about to change so much when you graduate\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich is why we want to spend that time together,\u201d Marianne pleaded. \u201cPlease try to be happy for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Georgia shook her head, and stepped back inside. \u201cWe\u2019ll have dessert and then figure if you two are staying here or going back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGoing back,\u201d Marianne said with a sniff.<\/p>\n

Georgia opened a cupboard and took out four mugs for coffee.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything okay?\u2019 Bob asked, coming into the kitchen, with Ian two steps behind him.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust fine,\u201d Georgia said and brewed the first cup.<\/p>\n

Marianne retreated across the kitchen to Ian\u2019s embrace.<\/p>\n

Georgia turned her head at just the right angle to see a brown thing atop the microwave oven perched on a shelf just above eyelevel. It was the Thanksgiving wishbone, which someone had set aside and then forgotten.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, we have to wish\u2014we have to wish!\u201d Marianne clapped her hands.<\/p>\n

Ian stroked his chin and squinted. \u201cHmm, I need a really important wish.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMarianne, go wish with your mother,\u201d Bob said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, let the kids,\u201d Georgia protested.<\/p>\n

\u201cNope, this is a mother-daughter thing,\u201d Bob insisted.<\/p>\n

As she and Marianne each grasped an end of the arched bone, Georgia prayed for a sign, that she\u2019d end up with the bigger piece, which meant her daughter would eventually listen to reason.<\/p>\n

Marianne breathed her wish aloud, her voice less than a whisper. \u201cHappily ever after.\u201d<\/p>\n

Georgia took her hand away, pretending her fingers were slippery and needed to be wiped on paper towel. Her mind wandered around the question of whoever had thought up this silly practice\u2014something so primal and elemental, like divining the future with bones and stones. But that\u2019s all they had, she thought suddenly. No matter how sophisticated they were, how learned and technologically advanced, the future was neither predictable nor guaranteed.<\/p>\n

They each pulled hard, and the bone shattered, the top part landing in the sink, and the legs breaking into smaller pieces.<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess nobody gets their wish,\u201d Ian said. Marianne\u2019s eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n

Georgia knew that the conversation over this supposed engagement was not over, and that there would be many discussions and probably an argument or two. The one thing they agreed on was what they both wanted, even though their vision of how to pursue it was different. Happily ever after<\/em>.<\/p>\n

What else could you wish for?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0Illustration: Andrew Furgal<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When Georgia McAllister's 21-year-old daughter announces a surprise engagement to a young man she's been dating for only four months, she pleads for the young couple to listen to reason. 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