Meet Francine Pt. 4
Francine moved to the Isle of Mull from Glasgow after her parents were tragically killed. Her neighbour, Brannon, has introduced himself. A year after her divorce, she still tells herself she will not trust another man. Francine is determined to return to her songwriting career and has arranged with a kind man on the island to have his piano for a year.
I'm still determining what to expect when Bunny and I enter the cottage. He is still carrying his thick, mud-covered garden boots.
“You go through to the kitchen, lass, I’ll take care of these boots in the back yard and come through,” Bunny says.
I feel strangely nervous. Brannon is in the kitchen? I’m wondering how he will greet me. I will enter with a bright smile. Walking into the kitchen, Brannon has his back to me. Brian is sitting at the table. The kitchen is what I would have guessed; it is colourful and happy, with a pine Welsh dresser full of photos. Brannon turns around.
“Hi Francine, I have your tea ready,” he says, dressed to tend the cows but with a smile that momentarily stops my heart.
“Hi Brannon, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
Really? Am I someone chasing shadows, dreams, and ambitions, only to find myself waving all of them goodbye forever?
“Nay, lass, I had to pick up alfalfa early this morning. That’s why I asked Brian to pick you up, here ye go now, a good cup of tea,” he says cheerily.
He’s doing the same thing I am, ignoring last night or what happened to upset him.
Brannon pushes a mug of tea across the table and sits beside Brian, pulling out a chair for me.
“Thank you. It’s good to see you, Brannon,” I say. He smiles.
Brannon and Brian discuss how to get the piano into the truck while I check out the photographs on the Dresser. Bunny looks ageless; there’s one of him standing with Brannon when he looks around twelve or thirteen. Another with Brannon on his shoulders, even earlier, four or five. Unmistakably Brannon. Out of a dozen photos, it’s easy to pick out Brannon’s mother, Brannon, with his arms around her; she is so beautiful. Brannon looks about eighteen or nineteen.
“We’re all here, splendid,” says Bunny, entering in stocking feet and going immediately to the sink to wash his hands. “I’ve moved some furniture out of the way, lads. I think you’ll find your path clear out of the back door and down the side of the cottage. It avoids plant pots or tripping hazards.”
“That’s great, Dad, but I wish you wouldn’t take on heavy tasks. It’s only been six months since you had heart surgery.”
I look over at Bunny, brow raised; heart surgery…?
“Nay, lass, don’t let my boy scare ye. I’m good as new,” Bunny says, joining us at the table.
“Dad, you’ve had two heart attacks in five years,” Brannon says, holding tension in his brow and care in his voice. “You’re all I’ve got, dad; I’d like it if you stuck around.”
Brian jumps in with, “Here…here!” Raising his tea mug.
“Francine don’t be listening to them, I stay away from strenuous tasks,” Bunny says, winking at me.
“Dad, it’s not about strenuous tasks; the last attack happened while you were sitting alone on the porch,” Brannon says as he brings his father a cup of tea and remains standing. “Come on, Brian, let’s get this piano moved before dad decides he wants to go chasing butterflies!”
As Brannon leaves the kitchen, his face shows seriousness. I know enough to understand it’s not anger; it’s love.
Bunny leans back in the kitchen chair with his mug in his hand. “That boy of mine needs a wife, Francine,” Bunny says. “You can never tell your kids what kind of world lies beyond the trees; it doesn’t matter how many highways they’ve travelled.”
I want to ask Bunny why he never told me about his heart issues. But I’m a stranger, not family. I have no right to ask such things.
“I don’t know that he needs a wife, Bunny, he needs to know that you’re taking care of yourself. He loves you; it’s written all over his face.”
“Aye, tis that lassie, tis that. Some more tea?”
“No, thanks though, I should help Brannon.”
“Francine, before you go. There are things about Brannon you do not know, things he won’t have told you. Things he’s still trying to work out. If you like him, be careful. He doesn’t form bonds. He’s not one for letting people in close. He’s right, I’m all he has,” Bunny says, “but I won’t last forever.”
Brannon is calling from the front room. “Francine, do you have a moment?”
“Go, lass, I’ll do the dishes,” Bunny says.
I don’t want to leave, but Brannon needs help, so I get up and leave the kitchen.
Branon and Brian have the piano lifted at both ends. “Can you pull the carpet out, Francine?” Brannon asks.
I kneel on the floor and tug the carpet folded under the piano. “Okay, it’s clear.”
“Great, just watch that Brian doesn’t back into any corners. Okay, Brian, easy now,” Brannon says.
Watching their progress, seeing the redness in their cheeks with the effort of carrying the piano, I wonder what Bunny meant when he said Brannon is still trying to work things out. Damn, my cell phone is ringing.
“Hello this is Francine.”
I recognized the man’s voice once he said he was the solicitor in charge of my parents’ Will and its executor. Mr. Chamberlain informed me that I was the only beneficiary.
“Mr. Chamberlain, are you sure there’s no mention of Jack and Gilda Perkins, Gilda is my aunt.”
“No, Ms. Murray, only you are mentioned as beneficiary. As the named executor, I have met with the Probate Registrar. I recommend six weeks to clear the administrative side. Your parents kept a clean sheet where outstanding debt is concerned, the house was paid for in cash. Probate allows time, should other family members have reason to feel aggrieved. There are some outstanding taxes, property, and a few shares your father owned,” he tells me while I’m walking backwards down the side of the cottage, trying to take it all while ensuring the two men do not trip.
“Ouch!” I scream. My foot slips off the edge of the cobbled path.
“Put your end down first, Brian,” Brannon says.
Quickly, Brannon is at my side, and my ankle is swelling like a balloon. Brian is leaning over me, and Bunny is coming around the corner of the cottage.
“Ms. Murray, hello…hello, Ms. Murray…”
“I’m sorry Mr. Chamberlain, I’ll have to call you back,” and hang up.
“Is this your way of getting my attention, Francine?” Brannon says, his grin wider than the damn loch. “That looks nasty; you may have broken a bone.”
“What happened, are you alright, Francine?” Bunny asks.
“She stepped sideways off the path, dad. She’s turned her ankle. Look, it’s blowing up,” Brannon says.
“Just give me a minute, I’ll be fine,” I say, hurting like hell.
“Nay, lass, if it’s not broken, then it’s badly sprained. Dad, let them know at Salen Community Hospital I’m bringing her in. They can x-ray there. If it’s a sprain they’ll deal with it, but if it’s broken, she’ll have to go to Oban.”
“I’ll get on it. Brian, get some ice from the freezer and put it in a cloth,” Bunny says.
“I’m okay, really, it’ll…oowwww!”
“Does that hurt?” Brannon asks, feeling around my ankle. “Thought so, here, put your arms around my neck. I’ll carry you into the truck.”
Wow, he lifts me like I’m a dandelion in a field. “But the piano…” I say.
“Don’t worry, Brian will wait here until we or I get back. Nathan is taking care of the cows and milking isn’t until five.”
In no time, I’m sitting in the truck, afraid to look at my ankle. I get queasy. I don’t need to pass out on top of everything.
“Pull your belt on, lass. I’ll try to miss the ruts and bumps,” Brannon says.
He looks genuinely concerned as we drive. I miss the feeling of a caring and sensitive man. Even with my ankle throbbing, I want to ask questions. I won’t. Questions change Brannon. I like this loving man, not the one walking away.
Some of us went away
Some of us are still leaving
Some of us went willingly
Others to be detached
