Mary Wolf (7 page)

“This restaurant, you mean?” Mama's smiling.

“You know exactly what I mean, young lady. I can picture you living here, in one of those big houses on the hill. With a porch all around it and a flower garden, no bloom as radiant as you.” Daddy raises her hand and kisses it.

The girls have fancy hamburgers and creamy milkshakes that hollow their cheeks and choke their straws. Andy wriggles on Mama's lap, smiling. We do funny stuff to make him laugh, except for Danielle, who ignores him.

“I could get used to a place like this,” Daddy says. “I wonder what the rentals go for.” He goes outside to a rack and brings back a local paper. He scans the ads, then fans himself, pretending to feel faint. “For these prices, you should own the houses!”

“We could probably find something cheaper,” Mama says. “It takes a while. You have to look.”

There's a high school in town; we drove past it. If we stayed long enough, I could graduate. But aside from shops and restaurants, there doesn't seem to be much work. It would be hard to make a living here.

“It's too expensive,” I say. “We can't afford it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scrooge. Your objection has been noted.”

“You never know until you try,” Mama says. “Anyway, we could stay in the campground until we save some money.”

“Doing what? The help-wanted section is only three inches long.”

My father's too content to feel annoyed. He leans across the table and tugs my braid, saying, “How can such a pretty girl look so grumpy?”

I finish my pasta and have chocolate mousse, wondering how we'll pay for this feast. My parents never say how much money they have. Some mornings Mama's stealing Pop Tarts for breakfast but later we'll go out to eat, so it's hard to figure.

I sneak a peek at the bill and review our options: Daddy could write a bad check. He could try to pass one of our expired credit cards. Or he could get up as if he were going to the bathroom, then casually step out the front door, followed by Mama and Andy, then the girls and me. We've done that before.

He surprises me. He produces another thick wad of bills and pays cash, leaving a generous tip for the waitress. Polly hands it back to him. “You forgot this, Daddy.”

“No, honey.” He and Mama laugh. “We're leaving that here.”

We stroll along the sidewalk, Daddy and Mama holding hands, Andy squirming in my arms, trying to watch the traffic.

I say, “Daddy, have you noticed how much Andy likes cars?”

Daddy smiles proudly. “He's a real little boy.”

“Andrew, look at that place. It's exquisite.” Mama points to a mansion on a hill.

He knows what she's asking. He puts his arm around her. “We'll need some information before we make any decisions about living here. We need to know what makes this town tick. And what better place to find out than the local tonsilarium?”

“What about your tonsils?” Danielle says.

“Barber shop, my darling. I need a trim.”

We eat ice cream cones and watch through the window while Daddy gets his hair cut. He and the barber are joking and laughing. When he's done, the barber shakes his hand and tells him to come back.

Daddy's smile slips a little as he steps out the door. “I was talking to my old friend Jim,” he begins.

“Is he really your friend, Daddy?”

“Yes, he is, Polly. Mary, get a tissue. Wipe her chin. Jim says there's not much work around here. He says the place is a tourist trap and it's trapped the people who live here. Nobody can afford the rents anymore, because of all the damn bed and breakfasts. He says a bunch of people have moved over to Fort Bragg.”

Mama's face crumples. “Maybe we should talk to someone else.”

“He's lived here since 1953, Wendy. I believe the man knows what he's talking about.”

“But can't we just try?” Mama's eyes film with tears.

“He told me about a campground down the coast a little ways. Nicer than the one we're at; it's got showers. We'll camp there until we decide what to do. Maybe we'll be able to figure out a way to stay here. Maybe. I said maybe, Wendy. Or we could check out Fort Bragg. He says there's more work there and the rents are cheaper.”

“There's always more work in the cities,” I say, resting Andy on my hip. Babies are heavy.

We drive south down the coast, Daddy at the wheel. His stomach hasn't bothered him all day. He's singing. We find the campground the barber described. It's right on the beach and almost empty, since most people are at work or school.

Daddy jumps out of the Wolfs' Den and lifts his arms as if he were embracing the sun. “Look at this place! Isn't it gorgeous, Wendy? Smell that air! What's it smell like to you?”

She wrinkles up her nose and sniffs. “Seaweed.”

“O ye of little imagination! It smells like a new day! It smells like success!”

“It smells like seaweed to me,” she says.

We set up the RV, rolling out the awning. Mama lies down for a nap with Andy and Polly. Daddy tries to get Erica and Danielle to take a walk with us, but they snuggle on the couch and turn on the TV.

Daddy and I walk down to the water. Smooth, wet stones glisten with brilliant colors. I select the best and put them in my pocket. There aren't many shells, but there's tons of seaweed, twisted whips of it ten feet long. In the distance a man and his dog step through a veil of mist and disappear. Daddy and I are alone together, for what seems like the first time in years.

Until I was six I had my parents to myself. Having to share them with Danielle was a shock, but Daddy always made me feel special. He taught me how to fix things. He took me fishing. He talked to me like I was a person, not a kid. When he came home from work, he'd hug me and we'd play, before he even changed his clothes. One time he ran across the lawn and jumped through the sprinkler with all his clothes on; leaped right through the fan of silver water.
Andrew
, Mama shouted,
you'll ruin your new suit!
Daddy didn't care. We laughed so hard.

“This is a nice beach, Daddy.”

“Yes, it's pretty.” But his voice sounds distant, as if he's gone far away. Daddy, come back.

“I'm glad we're here.”

“Are you really, Mary?” His eyes question mine and I know what he's asking.

“It's not so bad.” I pull a rock from my pocket. It's dry now, the colors have faded. I skip it across the water. “Things could be worse.”

“They have been,” he says. His face looks old. Deep lines frame his sun-chapped mouth. “Mary, I'm so sorry about the way things have turned out. I didn't mean for it to be like this.”

“It's not your fault.”

“Oh yes it is. This whole damn thing has my name on it.”

“You can't help what's happening in the country. With the economy and everything.”

“It's not just that. It's a lot of things, Mary. It's—I don't know. It's kind of hard to explain. At the time, I thought I was making the right decisions. Doing what was right for my family. But now, I don't know. If I could just go back … But that's the thing. You can't go back. You just have to keep going, keep moving forward, even if you don't know where you're headed or what it's going to look like when you get there.… I did the best I could. I just want you to know that.”

“I know that, Daddy.”

His arms enfold me. We hold each other close. The rhythm of the waves is so peaceful.

“You're a good girl, Mary. I couldn't do it without you. And I'll make it all up to you, honey, I promise. You're going to go to school and get a college education, and have a wonderful career and a good life, Mary. You believe me, don't you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“I'm so glad, honey. I don't want to disappoint you. I don't ever want to let you down. The world's a crazy place and it's never going to change. There's nothing you can count on but the people who love you. Your family. That's the only thing in life that really matters. You children and your mother are all I've got. I just feel so bad sometimes—”

“Don't feel bad, Daddy. Things are going to get better.” Then the words spill out in a whispered rush. “We could go back to Nebraska. People would help us, Daddy. Just for a while, till we get on our feet. You'll find a job. It will all work out. We'll be happy again, you'll see.”

His arms drop to his sides. The wind envelops me.

“I'll never go back. Not like this.” He shakes his head. “Not after what your aunt said to me. Called me a criminal, said I was destroying my family—”

“She didn't mean it. You know she loves you. She's just worried about us, that's all.”

“It's none of her business! I can take care of my family! If she likes kids so much, she should have some of her own.”

“You know she can't.”

“Then let her adopt some! She can't have mine! If I needed her help, which I don't, I'd ask for it. I'm sick of her sticking her nose in my business!”

“It's not just your business! It's our life, too! What about us? We're not even in school!”

“You kids are doing fine.”

“You know that's not true! The girls aren't learning anything. They just watch TV. Danielle's always mad. She's just moping around. And Andy hasn't even been to a doctor yet.”

“There's nothing wrong with Andy.”

“Babies need to see doctors! They need checkups and shots!”

“You let me take care of that.”

“You're not taking care of anything!” The look on his face warns me I should stop, but my words crash around us like waves. “You're just thinking of yourself! So you lost your stupid job! It's not the end of the world! It's just something that happened. Do we have to run away and hide forever?”

“That's enough, Mary!” he roars. “I don't have to listen to this from you.”

“Then who are you going to listen to? Who'll tell you the truth? Mama? She's like a little kid! She's so scared, Daddy. She just hides in the RV and watches TV. And she steals stuff everyplace we go, taking the silverware out of that café. That makes me so ashamed. I'm so sick of this, Daddy! But nobody ever listens to me! Nobody cares about my feelings!”

Then I'm lying on the sand looking up at him suddenly, my face burning in the shape of his hand. His mouth twists, wringing words out of agony.

“Look!” he cries. “Look what you made me do! It was such a pretty day and you spoiled it, Mary. Why do you always have to spoil things? If you hate us all so much, just go back to your aunt. Just go back, if you want. I don't care what you do.”

He staggers across the sand toward the RV, sobbing. It glows golden in the setting sun. I lie there for a long time, looking up at the sky, wondering who my father is becoming.

Eight

There was a mark on my cheek where Daddy's wedding ring nicked me, but Mama didn't notice and it healed quickly.

We liked that campground. The beach was safe for swimming and the bathrooms were clean. The weather was perfect and Daddy went fishing. The girls ran around like wild animals released from the cage of the RV.

I sat in the sun and read paperback books. You can get them cheap at yard sales and flea markets. I love to read. The words release me, carrying me far away. I might like to be a writer someday if anything interesting ever happens to me.

My father drove into Mendocino several times, looking for work. He came back jobless, bearing bakery goodies. The girls were happy; who cares if there's no money? We've got cookies!

“It's dead there,” he said. “Business is off real bad. Usually at this time of year they're overrun with tourists.”

Mama was crushed. She'd had her heart set on one of those gingerbread houses, imagined her laundry snapping in a brisk sea breeze. Fresh sheets, sun-bleached, clean as clouds. Daddy promised her we'd live there when we made our fortune and kidded her until she smiled.

We met some people who were camping on the beach. Most of them were on vacation. So were we. Daddy told them he was an insurance man with a big office in Nebraska. Sometimes he seemed to believe it.

In the evenings I sat outside and played my guitar. One night Danielle joined me.

“What do you think's going to happen?” she said.

“What do you mean?” The chords were dull. I needed new strings.

“Do you think we're going home pretty soon?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Not for a while.”

“We could go back to our house. It's just sitting there empty.” Danielle filled her hands with sand, then let it cover her bare feet. “What's the sense of having a house if nobody lives in it?”

“You'll have to ask Daddy about that,” I said. It's not my place to tell her the truth.

“Is somebody living in it now?”

“What?”

“Do they rent it out or just let it sit there?”

“I'm not sure. I think somebody's in it.”

“That's not fair. It's our house, not theirs. I want to see Grandma. I want to see Aunt Belle.”

“Me too.” I hadn't talked to Aunt Belle in ages. Her calm voice always soothes me.

“Sing that song about home again.”

“The Karla Bonoff song? I've played it twice already. I'll show you how to play it, if you want.”

“It's too hard.”

“No it's not, Danielle. You just have to try.”

“Never mind. It's not important.” She dusted off her feet and went into the RV.

That night I wrote a song about our family. I called it “Lost at Sea.” The words were sappy but I liked the chorus.

“Where do you go when you've been everywhere

And still don't find what you're looking for there?

Where do you go when the road dead-ends

And you're standing at the edge of the sea?”

The next day a park ranger came by and told us we had to leave. You've been camped here for ten days, he said, and the rules specify a week.