Mary Wolf (13 page)

Thirteen

Rocky's hut glows in the dusk like a jack-o'-lantern. I knock at the entrance.

“Avon calling.”

“Come on in.” He's glad to see us. He takes the baby. I crawl inside.

“I hope we're not interrupting your supper.”

“I'm done.”

“What'd you have?”

“Bread.” He looks embarrassed. “You want some?”

“No, thanks. I'm fed up with my father.”

“What's wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” I say. “Just everything.”

I set Andy on the tarp and Rocky gives him the roll of duct tape. Andy tries to cram it in his mouth.

“He'll make it all wet.”

“That's okay, he can't hurt it.”

“You'd be amazed. I think he's teething. Do you have something else he can chew on?”

Rocky lights another candle and looks around. He gives Andy a balled-up sock. “Don't worry. It's clean. And I've got something for you.” He hands me a flattened, unsmoked Kent. “I found it on the beach today.”

“Thanks, but I don't smoke around the baby. I'll save it for later.”

“You shouldn't smoke around yourself.”

“Then why are you giving me a cigarette?”

“I don't know.” He looks guilty. “I thought you might like it.”

“I'm sorry. I'm acting like a jerk,” I say. “Things are a little tense on the homefront.”

“Your father made a really good speech tonight.”

“That's all it was. Just a bunch of words.” Andy's propped against my legs, sucking on the sock. “He didn't mean a thing he said. We've leaving as soon as the RV's ready. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Why?” Rocky's shocked. “He said we could stay here.”

“He says it's just a matter of time before the rangers kick us out. He's probably right.”

“Then why didn't he tell us?”

“Nobody wanted to hear that. He's a salesman, you know; he wants people to like him.”

“They do.”

“I don't.”

“Mary, you don't mean that.” The candlelight flickers; shadows lap his face. “He's a pretty good guy. At least you have a dad. I don't even know where mine's at.”

“I don't know where mine's at, either. Sit up, Andy. You're falling over. See how he can hold up his head by himself now?”

“He's strong,” Rocky says proudly. “Look at this grip.” Andy grabs Rocky's finger. “Let go, let go!” Andy laughs, a little snicker. “He's sure a good baby.”

“He really is. And they're not even taking him for his vaccination shots.”

“Why not?”

“Mama's too lazy.”

“No she's not.”

“She sits around on her butt all day and talks to her friends, that's all she does. You just think any mother is better than yours.”

Rocky's face gets stiff. “Well, she hasn't taken off.”

“I wish she would. I wish they'd both disappear. They act like a couple of idiots. I'm the only one who really cares about the kids and everybody hates me.”

Tears slide down my cheeks. I'm surprised to be crying. Rocky hands me a T-shirt to dry my face.

“Don't worry, it's clean,” he says.

“Well, I'm not. I'd give a hundred bucks to take a shower. I'm so sick of this place.”

The tears won't stop. I hide my face. Rocky reaches over and pats my shoulder.

“The trouble is, where are we supposed to go? We don't have any plans, we don't have any money.”

“What about your dad's job in San Francisco?”

I answer him with a look.

“What about your aunt? She'd send you some money.”

“My dad would rather die than take it. You should hear him talk. He blames her for everything. You'd think it was her fault he lost his job. Anyway, so what if he lost his job? Lots of people do; it's not the end of the world, unless you make it that way.”

“People are different.”

“Well, he's sure different. I feel like I don't even know him anymore.”

Andy's face lights up with a brilliant grin. “Bub bub bub,” he says.

“Bub bub bub to you, too.” I hug him. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come here and fall apart. I just had to get out of that place for a while.”

“I'm glad you did. I could make you some tea.”

“That's okay, we have to get going soon. This guy will want to nurse before he goes to sleep.”

“You could come with me, if you want to,” Rocky says softly, glancing at my face, then down at his shoes.

“Come with you where?”

“When I leave, I mean.” Now he's looking out the doorway at the violet sky, sprinkled with a few bold stars.

“You mean work at a carnival?”

“Until we find something better. It sounds kind of stupid. It was just an idea.”

“I can't leave my family. They'd fall apart. Or maybe they wouldn't, I don't know what they'd do. All I know is, it wouldn't be good.”

“I know,” he says. “I'm not saying you should go. I'm just saying you can if you want to.”

“Thanks.”

We sit in the doorway, watching the night seal the sky and the water together. It's cold; the breeze is laced with fog. Rocky drapes his sleeping bag across our shoulders. Andy's snug in my lap, chewing on my braid. For a long while we're silent, listening to the waves.

“It's nice here,” he says. “Too bad we can't stay.”

“I want to go to school.”

“You're smart. You'll do good.”

“You're smart, too.”

“Not like you,” he says.

“Yes you are. You could do anything you want, but you have to get an education.”

“That costs money.”

“High school's free.”

“Nothing else is, rent or food. Mary, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Wait a minute.” He gets up and gets his toothbrush and water jug and steps outside and brushes his teeth. Then he sits beside me again. “Mary, would it be okay if I kissed you?”

“That would be okay.”

“You don't have to if you don't want to.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.”

His face comes close. His lips are soft. His breath smells sweet as Andy's.

“Thanks,” he says. That makes us laugh.

“I've never kissed a boy before.”

“Me neither.” We laugh some more then kiss, gently.

“That's nice. I really like you, Rocky.”

“I like you too, Mary. A lot.” We hold hands.

“I don't want to leave you, but I don't want to stay here.”

“I know.” He sighs. “I don't want you to go. I wish things could turn out different.”

Andy wriggles and twists his head toward my chest.

“Sorry, bud, I don't have the equipment. I better get him back to Mama.”

Rocky helps us outside. “I'll walk you home.”

“Better not, my dad would have a fit. He wasn't in a real good mood when I left.”

“Take my flashlight. The batteries are new. Dave gave me some money for collecting cans.”

“Thanks. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem. Anytime. The door's always open.”

“You don't have a door.”

“No wonder it's always open.” We smile. “Will I see you before you go?”

“Oh, sure. It takes a while to get all packed up. It's kind of like getting the circus on the road. I'll bring your flashlight back tomorrow.”

“Okay. Well, good night.”

“Good night.”

I step forward and kiss him, then trace the shape of Rocky's face, his lips, as if I could store the feel of him, imprinted on my fingertips.

“Now I'm really going.” Lugging Andy on my hip, I follow Rocky's flashlight through the darkness.

Fourteen

We couldn't leave the next day because the RV wouldn't start. The battery was dead.

“Goddamn sonuvabitch.” Daddy pounded the hood.

I was sitting there, watching. “That won't do any good.”

He looked like he wanted to pound me, too.

He called around from the phone at City Hall. Nobody had the right-size battery in stock. A parts store in Fort Bragg said they could have one in a week.

Daddy warned us not to tell anyone we planned to leave.

“Why not?” Erica asked. We were eating lunch. Mama was feeding Andy mashed banana.

“It's none of their business what we do or don't do. They'd get all worked up, maybe want to come. I'm not taking anybody with me.”

“Not even me, Daddy?”

“Of course I'm taking you, Polly. Just be quiet and eat your lunch.”

“Have you called the people in San Francisco about your job?” I asked. “You know, to make sure it's still available?”

“You leave that to me. I'll find a job.”

“I thought you had a job. That's what you said.”

“You mind your own business.”

“It is my business! It's my life, too! You're not the king.”

He slammed down his cup. Coffee sloshed onto the table. Mama mopped it up with the hem of her skirt.

“And you're not the queen! I'm sick of your attitude! Since when are you in charge?” he shouted.

“You don't even know where we're going to go! We can't go anywhere; this thing is dead.”

“It's just the battery. We'll be leaving next week.”

“Leaving for where? What'll we do when we get there?”

“I told you! I'm getting a job in San Francisco and you girls are going to school!”

“I don't want to go to school. I hate it,” Erica pouted.

“Just hush,” Mama whispered, “and finish your lunch.”

“I don't want to go to San Francisco,” Danielle said. “I want to see Grandma. I want to see Aunt Belle.”

“Shut up, Danielle. Not one more word.”

“Andrew, please.” Mama tried to touch his arm.

“Don't you ‘Andrew, please' me! What's the matter with you people?” He stood, knocking over his chair. “Isn't anybody listening to me? We'll go where I say when I say we're going! End of discussion! I blame you, Mary. You're poisoning this family. You're turning these girls against me!”

“I just asked you a question: Where the hell are we going?”

“Mary,” Mama murmured, “there's no need to swear.”

“Mama, can we please get serious here for one minute? How long can you pretend that everything's fine? We don't have any money, we don't have any plans—”

“We're going to San Francisco! You heard me, Mary.”

“Let's go home,” Danielle said. “Let's go back to our house. We can make the people leave and we can live there.”

“We can't,” Daddy said. “It's out of the question.”

“Why not?”

“Because we can't.”

“Why not, Daddy?”

“Because I said so!” he roared in her frightened face. She tried not to blink, but tears spilled down her cheeks, scorching me, igniting my rage.

“Why don't you tell her the truth?” I said. Mama's eyes pleaded with me, but I couldn't stop. “Just tell her the truth. Or don't you know it anymore?”

“You shut your mouth. I'm warning you, Mary!”

“We don't have a house, Danielle. Daddy sold it. We don't have a house to go to.”

“You're lying!” she shouted. “We do so have a house!”

“He sold it and he didn't even tell Mama. He forged her name on the papers.”

Daddy lunged across the table and grabbed my neck. “Goddamn you, shut up! Shut up or I'll kill you!”

I seized his wrists. He was squeezing my throat. All I could see were his eyes.

“Andrew, stop! You're hurting her! Andrew!”

Mama's voice reached him. He shuddered and released me. I sagged to my knees, gasping for breath.

“Get out of here,” he said, turning his back. “Just get out.”

“It's not true, is it, Daddy?” Danielle said as I left. “It's not true what Mary was saying.”

I'm running toward the highway. I'll hitch a ride, back to Nebraska, to Aunt Belle's house. Oh, Aunt Belle, things have gotten so bad. They've gotten so bad and I don't know how to fix them. I'm too old to play the game of Let's Pretend anymore. But everybody hates me when I tell the truth.

Aunt Belle, I never meant to lie to you.

I stand beside the highway and stick out my thumb. A few cars pass but nobody stops. Who stops for a crying girl? She might be crazy. The world's full of nuts. Don't ride with strangers. My father's a stranger and Mama's a child, slipping backward in time, younger every day. Who will take care of the kids when I'm gone? I might never see them again. The world's so huge it could swallow them up. There's no map for where my father's headed.

A convertible stops and the driver leans toward me. He smiles but his eyes are like bullet holes. Empty.

“Looking for a ride?” he says. His tires are bald.

“Not really.”

“Either you are or you aren't. You'll have to make up your mind.” His smile smears across my body like oil.

I move back from the car. “I'm waiting for someone.”

“Who?”

“My friend. He should be here any second.”

“A friend, huh. That's one mighty lucky friend. Anyone ever tell you you're a pretty girl? Sexy, too, with that long, pretty hair and those long, sexy legs. They go all the way up?”

“Pardon?”

“I say, those legs go all the way up? Those are mighty sexy legs.”

“I have to get going.” But my body's frozen. What I see in those eyes has paralyzed me. He slides across the seat to the passenger side, stretching like a cat.

“Wait, what's the rush? Don't leave me, sweet thing. You sure you don't want a ride?”

“She's sure.”

Daddy's behind me, holding the gun. He pulls bullets from his pocket and loads it. “My daughter and I are going to do some target shooting. She's a wonderful shot. Never misses. Want to see?”