Zigzag (20 page)

Dory had found the Denver Botanic Gardens on her map and was determined to locate the real thing. When Iris and Marsh heard this, they dug in their heels.

“A
garden
?” Marshall said. “Talk about something you can see anywhere.”

“No, you can't,” Dory explained. “Each region of the country grows different kinds of plants. I love botanical gardens.”

As soon as we pulled into the place, Iris said, “I'm going to sit
under that big tree and read. It's too hot to tramp all over the place. I'll look at your pictures later.”

“Yeah!” Marsh agreed. “I'll stay here and draw. I like
drawing
plants.”

I could see Dory wasn't crazy about the idea of leaving them alone. I wouldn't have minded walking through the place just for the exercise, but then I remembered Dory with the squash and watermelons at the state fair. She was probably a fanatic about peonies or something, too.

“I'll stay here with them. I have my book along.”

“Are you sure? It's such a beautiful place.”

“It's beautiful right here, too,” I said. “We'll enjoy one small part in depth while you take the grand tour.”

Rather than being disappointed not to have company, Dory seemed sort of excited. I guess she didn't get many chances to be by herself. She traded her sandals for hiking boots, dug a flower book out of the back of the car, and headed off, stopping every three feet to squat down and look a daisy in the eye. This wasn't going to be a walk, it was going to be a meander. Just like this whole trip—the Zigzag Plan.

The three of us grabbed our books and other gear and waved good-bye to her, for about five minutes. Finally she was out of sight and we sprawled on the grass under a huge beech tree.

“That was brilliant!” Marshall said, looking at me with huge eyes. “That thing about how we'll see one part
in depth
while she tramps all over the place—she really bought it.”

“Oh, right. Like she thinks we're going to be studying nature while she's gone,” said Iris. “She's not
that
stupid.”

I had to agree. “I think she just wanted to be alone, to tell you the truth.”

“I know how she feels. I wouldn't mind being alone for a change either,” Iris said.

“Me neither,” Marsh agreed. “I'm sick of always being with
girls.
”

I laughed. “Well, I'm fairly sick of you guys, too, but we're stuck with one another for a few more weeks, anyway.”

After a moment's silence, Iris shrugged. “I guess it could be worse.”

“Yeah,” Marshall said. “We could be here without Robin.”

Denver was okay.
We did some city stuff. Ate in fancy restaurants, stayed in a big hotel, went to the zoo, went to an art museum. Marsh really enjoyed the museum; it was fun to watch him soak up the paintings he really liked.

I kept waiting for Dory to bring up the subject of the new school, but she didn't. Maybe because we'd somehow managed the delicate balance of goodwill among cousins and she was afraid to rock the boat. Then, the morning we were leaving Denver, Dory said, “Oh, heck, let's go to Water World after all!” It smacked of bribery; I figured she'd spring the news on them before nightfall.

We parked in the sprawling lot and opened the back of the van to search through the luggage for our swimming suits. I pulled out my old Speedo, which had once been red and white, but was now more like gray and pink from many hours in the sun and Thunder Lake. Iris had unpacked two tiny strips of vivid blue cloth from her bag and let them dangle from her fingers while she inspected my suit.

“You're wearing
that
?” From the look on her face you'd have thought the Speedo was made from small dead animals.

“What's wrong with it?”

Marshall glanced over. “Looks sort of dirty,” he said.

“It isn't
dirty,
” I said. “It's just faded.”

“And about thirty years old,” Iris continued. She picked at the seat gingerly. “The elastic's all out of it.”

I snatched it back from her. “So? I've had it for a while. I like it.” Even as I was defending it, I was remembering the way the material crawled up in the crack of my butt so I had to keep pulling at it all the time. But who even cared? Just because these two were used to having everything brand new all the time. . . .

“I'll tell you what,” Dory said. “They have a shop right here. Let me buy you a new suit.”

Dory was on their side. Embarrassed to hang around in a stupid water park with somebody in an old swimming suit. I glared at her.

“Robin, you haven't let me buy you
anything
on this trip,” she said. “These two want everything they see, but you don't ask for anything. Let me get you this. Please? You can't really say you don't
need
a new suit.” She smiled kindly.

Of course I needed a new suit. Why hadn't I realized that before I left Iowa? Mom would have given me the money for it. Letting Dory replace my ragged old suit was too humiliating. I shook my head.

“
Why not
?” Iris was incredulous.

Dory turned to her daughter with an irritated look. “Because your cousin was raised, as I was myself, to get full use out of an item before you throw it away and buy yourself a new one. I fully approve of that and I wish I'd been able to pass a little bit of midwestern frugality on to the two of you.” Then she turned back to me. “But really, Robin, that suit has outlived its usefulness.”

When she put it that way, I had to laugh. “I guess you're right.”

All four of us walked around the swim shop looking at the overpriced tubes of rubbery material. Marshall's contribution was primarily to point out the particularly ugly suits or the ones with flippy skirts to cover problem thighs.

“Get this one!” he said, holding up a tiger-print suit with a tiger head snarling toothily in the crotch vicinity.

Iris thought I needed a bikini. “You're not
that
old and fat,” she told me. I thanked her heartily.

I tried on a few as quickly as possible and settled for another Speedo with a racer back—black and orange this time.

Dory approved, Iris said it was okay if I wanted to look like an athlete, and Marshall, by then, had lost all interest in me and was trying on goggles.

I actually thought I looked pretty good in the new suit—the extra pounds I'd put on after Chris left must have gotten worked off by all the exercise I'd been getting. Still, I was glad I'd stuck my old red-and-white suit back in my bag instead of pitching it as Iris suggested. I might want it again when I got back to Iowa. It was hard to know what I'd want, what I'd be like, after a trip like this.

An odd thing happened when we got back to the parking lot after a few hours of sun and water. I offered to drive because Dory seemed a little bit tired—I thought she might have a headache because she kept squinting her eyes into the distance. But she said she was fine; she wanted to drive. So we climbed into the car and she turned on the ignition, then sat there staring out the windshield like she was at a drive-in movie.

“Dory, are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “Just thinking about things.”

“Let's get rolling!” Marshall commanded.

Dory put the car in reverse and without even looking in the mirror or anything, started to back out of the space.

“Mom! Stop!” Iris screamed. “There's a car . . .”

The rear bumpers of the two minivans banged each other and then bounced free.

“Oh, my God!” Dory pulled the car back into the space and
jumped out. “Are you all right? Is anybody hurt?” she yelled, running to see.

A woman got out of the matching van. “We're okay. I'm sorry—I thought you saw me backing out. It seemed like you were waiting . . .”

“Oh, I was. I mean, I don't know how this happened . . .”

The woman inspected both their bumpers. “Well, no harm done, anyway. Could have been worse.”

At that Dory burst into tears. “Oh, God, I'm so sorry! I'm
so
sorry! It's my fault!”

Surprised, the woman took Dory's arm. “Really it's fine. No one was hurt, the cars are okay . . .”

“Somebody could have been
walking
. . .” She sobbed even louder.

I got out then, too, and convinced Dory to get in on the passenger side and let me drive. Once she was in the car she stopped crying, but her eyes looked out of focus, like she was seeing ghosts. The other woman backed carefully out of her space and disappeared.

Neither of Dory's normally outspoken children said a word to her about the accident. The car was abnormally quiet. I guess all of us were thinking about Allen Tewksbury and how quickly everything in your life can change.

By late afternoon Dory seemed more like herself again, reading from the guidebook, determined to provide a good time for all. I'd driven south to the Garden of the Gods, a gorgeous park with huge red sandstone rock formations rising out of the earth. It was another of those places you couldn't quite believe really existed. Some of the formations looked like a huge hand had balanced one rock on the other.

We took a guided walking trail through the park and I brought my camera along. I could have just bought postcards, but
something about this scenery made me want to capture it myself. Iris and Dory walked ahead, listening to the guide, while I took photos and Marsh made a few quick sketches.

As we joined the tail end of the tour group, Marshall said, matter-of-factly, “What's it like to be poor?”

I was so surprised, I gave a sharp laugh. “Why are you asking me? I'm not poor.” But I knew what he was thinking of—the dingy swimming suit.

“You're not? You don't have much stuff, though.”

“Well, I'm not rich, like you guys. I don't go to private school.” As soon as I said it, I realized that was a tactical error, since the Tewksbury siblings weren't long for the private school world either. But Marsh didn't know that yet.

“You go to a regular school? Do you like it?”

“Yeah, my school's fine. There's nothing wrong with public schools. I guess some of them aren't that great, but mine is good.”

“But you don't get lots of clothes and toys and stuff, do you?” He gave me a look of such heartfelt pity I felt like strangling him.

“I have plenty of
stuff,
Marshall. You don't even know what
poor
means. Poor is when people don't have jobs or can't pay for a decent place to live or buy enough food. It's not when your
swimming suit
is old.”

He was offended that I wasn't receiving his sympathy more generously. “You don't have to get all mad at me. I'm just saying, it's too bad you're not as rich as we are.”

I knew by his tone of voice he wasn't trying to be mean or offensive—he thought he was being kind, wishing me the wealth that hadn't done all that much good for his own family. It reminded me of the Melvilles in their big house with all the empty bedrooms. They never seemed all that happy either. If they weren't working, they were busy buying things you weren't supposed to get dirty. It seemed to me money must sometimes get in the way of happiness.

I rested a hand on Marshall's shoulder. “Sorry. I'm not mad at you. It's just that being rich really isn't all that important. It seems important to you because that's how you've always lived. But, take my word for it, it's not.”

He looked up at me, confusion clouding his face. “I think it's the
most
important thing. Well, not counting religion and stuff like that.”

I looked around once more at the amazing scene. “How much did it cost us to walk through here?” I asked.

He shrugged. “It was free, I think.”

“There you go,” I told him. “A lot of good stuff is free.”

He wasn't sold. “What about Lazy River Ranch. That wasn't free.”

“No, it wasn't,” I admitted.

“So, it's still a good thing to have money,” he concluded.

I sighed. “But money isn't the
only
good thing. And you don't need
piles
of it to be happy. That's all I'm saying.”

Marshall shrugged. “Well, sure, I knew
that.
”

I
kept waiting for Dory to tell her kids about their new school; I was pretty sure she intended to do it over dinner that night, because she got me on to the subject of my school, and what I especially liked about it. Of course, my favorite thing about my high school is Chris, but I came up with a few ideas I thought were more suited to Dory's purposes. I told them about how our basketball team went to the state championships this year, and about how the kids who took TV production ran the local cable channel right from the school building, and about how I'd had great English teachers the last three years. I didn't mention that the yearbook usually didn't get finished by the end of the school year because the staff hated the advising teacher so much they tended to quit. Or that the swim team and the drama club were both cut along with last year's budget. Or that I hadn't had a decent math teacher in years.