Searching for Mr. Darcy

Scene Eighty

Cymbals crashed together, jolting Maisie out of the armchair she'd fallen asleep in and causing her to fall against the side of her mother's bed.

"What in the world are you doing?" Momma Frampton asked.  She was sitting against the headboard again, but had somehow changed out of her nightgown into a stylish caftan.  Maisie made a mental note to check the tag later when she did laundry so she could get a version for herself.

"What the hell was that?"

"What?"

"That noise, like a pack of dogs playing the drums and getting fixated on the cymbals."

*CLANG*

"Fuck! That! What is that?"

"Oh, it's just my alarm.  I can't reach it to turn it off."  Mrs. Frampton pointed across the room at her dresser, where an old alarm clock lit with red digits flashed 5:31AM.

"Jesus."  Maisie picked herself up off the floor and stumbled over to shut it off.  "Why in the world do you have an alarm set for this early and why don't you use your phone like a normal person?"

This actually made Momma Frampton smile, which Maisie wasn't expecting.  "The phone alarm went off a half-hour ago."

"Why do you get up this early?

"I have since you girls were little - my body's clock is trained now."

"Then you shouldn't need two alarms," Maisie quipped.

Mrs. F smirked. "It's also wanting breakfast.  Two soft-scrambled eggs and dry toast, please."

"Oh, okay.  Sure."  The cymbals had been effective in getting Maisie up, but now, walking to the kitchen, a wave of exhaustion rolled over her.  How much had she gone through in the last two weeks?  It seemed almost ridiculous.

Robotically, she put a frying pano n the stove and added some butter.  She whisked the eggs in a bowl before dumping them into the pan, then popped two slices of bread in the toaster.  A yawn escaped.  As she plated the food, a soft ping .  She glanced around, but couldn't tell where it came from.  It didn't happen again, so she brushed it off and took the plate into her mother.  She showed her how the long table George rigged worked by sliding it back and forth.

"What would you like to drink?" she asked.

"Coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar and a tablespoon of milk.  Use the K-cups - I like the Starbucks French roast."

"Got it," Maisie said.  "Be right back."

The K-cups were arranged in a rotating caddie on the counter beside the stove.  Maisie spun it and found her mother's preferred brew.  She also spotted a mocha that she pulled to make for herself.  While the Keurig brewed, she stretched her arms over her head and massaged a kink in her neck caused by sleeping sitting up in the chair.

*Ping*

Her arms fell to her sides and she stepped toward the noise.  It happened again and she lifted the blanket on the couch.  A light peeked out from between two of the cushions.  She reached between them and pulled out her phone.  The cushions and blanket had muffled the sound of text notifications.

She opened her messages and saw three new texts from Marcus: "Dad passed this morning."  "Sorry - I didn't realize how early it is." "I can't believe he's gone."

Maisie sank onto the couch and re-read the messages.  There was no good way to respond to something so heartbreaking, but she had to try.  Her fingers were shaking as she typed out, "I'm so sorry.  He was a really great man.  Can I do anything for you or your mom?"

The Keurig finished her mother's portion.  Maisie watched the phone in her hand as she went to add the milk and sugar.  He responded as she was walking down the hall.

"I don't know."

She was still looking at the words when she entered her mother's room and extended the coffee mug to her.

"Who are you calling this early?" Momma Frampton asked.

"No one.  Marcus texted to tell me his father passed away."

"Marcus?  Who is Marcus?"

"You remember Marcus - my high school boyfriend."

"Him?  Are you seeing him again?"

"No."

Mrs. F took a sip of her coffee and pursed her lips.  "Good.  I never liked him."

"Perspective, Mother.  His father literally just died."

"Well, I didn't like him either."

"You're unbelievable."  Maisie left the room to make her own coffee and breakfast, thinking how empathy must be an inherited and not a learned trait, and that she most definitely got hers from her father.

"If you think of anything, just let me know," she texted Marcus.  "I'm stuff at my mom's house - she's on bedrest - but I'll drop everything."

"Thanks, I'll let you know," he responded.