For disclaimer on Meet the Robinsons, please refer to chapter one.
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Chapter Four: Gaston's Past
Franny sat at the kitchen counter with her chin propped up against the palm of her hand, and a steaming cup of tea clutched in the other hand. She could not get her mind off of the odd encounter with her older brother. While she tried to figure out the matter, a faint slapping of bare feet against the cold, tiled floor echoed through the silent room.
"Mom?" a voice called weakly. Franny sat up straight, and turned to the figure coming into the kitchen.
"Wilbur, honey," she said softly. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," he croaked, sitting down on a stool next to hers. He paused for a moment as she affectionately stroked his hair. "I guess," he added. The boy looked at his mother's troubled, saddened face.
"Mom, I know that look," he said. "Something's bothering you." Franny inhaled deeply.
"I think your uncle might be in trouble."
"What?" Wilbur said, a little stunned. "Who?"
"Gaston," she answered. "It's just a hunch. There might not be anything wrong with him. We'll have to see…"
"But why do you think he is?" he asked.
"Because I've seen the look on his face when he has been deeply in trouble. I've only seen it once before, but I know that look anywhere." She reached out and stroke his face some more.
"You're growing up so quickly, aren't you?" she lowered her and grasped onto her mug again. Franny hesitated. Should she really tell a thirteen-year-old about her distress? Yes, Wilbur was ready. "I guess you're old enough to know." She took a quick sip of her tea as she prepared herself to tell the story.
"You see, a few months before you were born, your uncle Gaston went missing…"
Thursday, November 23rd 2023
Billie walked into the crowded building with a paper bag full of groceries. She did this every Thanksgiving, providing food for the homeless shelter. Although she was in good spirits, she noticed that her usual optimistic personality was not as hyperactive as it usually was. The curly brunette concluded that it was sympathy she felt for her sister-in-law. Well, her niece-in-law, technically, but it was just too strange to call her a "niece" when she was only seven years older. That is what she gets for marrying a man who had been the baby of the family...
Billie thought back on the events that Franny delt through the past month as she carried the bag full of food to a room that connected the dining hall and the way that led to the kitchen.
It started out as a small problem. Then the situation became more serious. Only three weeks before, Franny had tried to contact her older brother, inviting him over for Thanksgiving dinner, but she could not get a hold of him.
She left a message on his apartment's answering machine and waited for a day or two. Then she called again, leaving another message for another couple of days. The young woman called for a third time, but this time not even the answering machine picked up. Franny became suspicious.
After contacting several different connections with no luck finding the man, Franny went directly to his apartment. She pounded at the door, waiting for him to open the door.
"Hey, you looking for Framagucci?" a voice called from behind. She turned around, coming face-to-face with a man in his mid-thirties, dressed in an undershirt, standing at the door of his apartment across the hall. "You won't find him. I heard he got evicted about a week ago." Franny frowned in disbelief, and her eyebrows furiously knitted together.
"What?" she asked. It was the most absurd thing she had ever heard.
"Evicted," the man replied. "Just a week ago."
"Do you know where I can find him?" she asked calmly.
"Have no idea. He took off without a word. It happened rather quickly too. Never would have noticed that he left."
Billie admired Franny so much at the moment. The young woman was dealing through a lot, and yet she was being very strong about it. Not only that, but she was willing to help Billie with her Thanksgiving Feast donations.
"Billie!" the owner of the shelter called. "I can always count on you to show up, can't I?" He walked over and gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. Taking the bags from her, the man said, "I'll just bring these to the kitchen and I'll be right back, alright?" Billie nodded.
"I will wait right here," she called out plesantly. Standing there, Billie absorbed her surroundings. She realized that she was standing in the middle of the room with no task at hand. So she was left lamely until her friend came back to give her further instructions. The woman shuffled her feet as she took a look around the room.
Turning around, the enormous dining hall just beyond the room behind her was filled with people of all backgrounds- young, middle-aged, seniors; men, women, children; mothers, fathers; sisters, brothers; families... bachleors.
Billie cocked her head curiously, trying to get a closer look at a lone man, who was presumably in his early thirties, that she thought he had taken a glance at her. He turned his head around so quickly, she wasn't sure. He was sitting on a bench with his back towards her, his arms stretched behind him, grasping onto the back of the bench's seat. The sleeves of his flannel shirt were unbuttoned, hanging off of his thin wrists. His body was slumped slightly over and his head hanging low, which may have verified that she did afterall see a defeated expression on his face when he had turned his face in her direction for that brief moment. Strands of his dark hair, which he originally had pushed back away from his face, were starting to limp forward.
The thirty-three-year-old decided to seize the opportunity to provide more than just food to those in need during this holiday season, walking briskly over to the man. Billie plopped down to the right side of him, close to the end of the bench, causing the fellow to flinch out of startlement. His arms gave way, and he nearly slipped off the bench with flailing arms. As a result, he had scooted half a foot farther down the bench away from the surprise visitor.
"May I help you?" he asked, slowly reurning back into his slouching position. He wrapped his hands over his upper arms and rubbed nervously. The flannel shirt he wore hung open over a faded black tee shirt. Old dirty jeans were held up with a black leather belt, and once-white tennis sneakers seemed better days.
Billie, continuing to keep her sparkling smile on, unwound the ivory fleece scarf (that matched her white winter coat with the faux fur trim) from around her neck and handed it to him. This dining hall was uncomfortably warm with the heating system blasted on high, but of course the man had to be sitting at the far side of the room where it had that precise spot where it was always cold and drafty.
He looked up at her with sad brown eyes, staring in stupefaction. Billie only nudge the scarf to him, her grin never faltering. His gaze landed back on the offering, and hesitantly he reached out for it. Draping it over his neck, he gripped the front edge of the bench and leaned his torso faintly forward, now averting his sight away from his new confidant.
"Um, thanks," he said anxiously, turning his head enough so she could see his profile. Ah, so he speaks! Billie thought.
She nodded to him, as if to say, "it is my pleasure" or "it is no problem whatsoever" or even "no need to thank me". Instead, the response she had given him was, "We need to look out for each other, especially during this time of year." Her bright smile softened to a more sincere one. "No one deserve to be alone..." The man pulled his vision away again, taking his left hand to resume rubbing at his upper right arm.
"I'm not alone..." he muttered. "Well," he clarified in a more audible voice, sitting himself up straight and Billie was able to see his profile more distinctly again. "I have a family..." His hands clasped together, and he rested his elbows on his knees. Once again, he turned his head the other way. "They just don't know I'm here..." he finished off, muttering again.
Finally, Billie's smile had washed away, replaced by curiosity. "How come?"
The man pivoted to face her. "Well, look at me," he spoke up, spreading his arms out to gesture to himself. "I'm a single thirty-something, laid off from an unsatisfactory job with discouraging pay and unable to find a replacement job before the next month's rent was due, and because all of my previous payments weren't in full, I get kicked out to the curb." He paused to sigh, head fallen yet again. "I just didn't want everyone to see me as such a failure."
The brunette took a moment of silence before advising, "But from failing, you learn."
He whipped his head around to look her square in the eye. "Yeah, but this?" He gestured his hands in the space in front of himself, to testify his current state. "I knew what was wrong, and I still couldn't make it on my own." He bent forward to fixtate his attention to his shoes.
Billie stared at him sadly. It took her a bit longer to muster up, "There is nothing wrong for asking for help."
Slowly, the man turned around, and looked into those doe eyes.
"Your family is there to help you. Friends, too. No need to hide."
And miraculously, he smiled.
"Thanks, um..." he held out his hand.
"Billie," she introduced herself with that heavy Bulgarian accent of hers, shaking his hand with her black leather winter gloves still on.
"Gaston?" a small, heartbroken voice called from behind the pair. Their heads turned around simultaneously. Franny, in her bright red wool coat that pulled snuggly around her large pregnant belly, stood there shell-shocked with tears sparkling in her eyes.
Billie mused that Franny must have dropped off the homemade apple and pumpkin pies that she donated in the kitchen, only to return to find her in-law chatting up this so-called stranger.
The man named Gaston sprung up from his seat and wrapped his arms around the dark-haired woman.
"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear.
Franny pulled away enough to look up at him.
"You could have told me," the woman said breathlessly. "You don't have to be so proud all the time!" she cried, voice thick with dismay.
"Hey," he said with a smirk. "Then I wouldn't be a Framagucci, would I?"
She giggled. Then her expression became a little more serious again. "Come to dinner with us," she requested. "For me?" Her eyes pleaded. "We've got a room that you can stay in, as long as you like. You can find your own place whenever you want, but just don't keep me in the dark again."
"Promise," he reassured, latching his pinky finger onto hers.
He turned his attention to her bun in the oven. hands on either side of her belly. "That's your nephew in there." Franny looked down, "Say, 'hey!', Wilbur!" she called softly. And for the first time in weeks, Gaston chuckled.
End of Chapter Four
Author's Note: I know you're all probably upset with me for going on a four-year hiatus. That's what five years of schooling will do to ya. But seeing how I conceived my MTR stories during my first year of college, and as this is my last year before transfer, I'm celebrating my one-month summer break by updating all of my work. I just want to thank you all for your loyalty- reviewing, subscribing, and favoring. I hope I have done justice to the rest of this tale for all of you stellar fans.
24 August 2011