"She even has a diploma that says so." Daniel grinned. "Here comes Dad with four hot dogs. They're loaded too. I hope he has four Alka Seltzers to go."
They were handsome, these three men in her life. And the truth was, every available woman and girl in Shamrock had tried to snare her father and her brothers, but they'd taken the responsibility of raising her so seriously, they put their ovm lives in a holding pattern.
She'd been only six weeks old when her mother up and left the family because raising three children was too much for her. Fanny could feel her heart start to swell with love,
"Aahh, jeez, she's gonna bawl now. You're ugly when you cry, Fanny. C'mon, say your good-byes so we can go home and eat that cake Mrs. Kelly made special for you."
"Wait here for me, I'll just be a few minutes." She was as good as her word, returning fifteen minutes later, minus her cap and gown and holding her yearbook. "I'm ready."
In the car, Daniel reached for the yearbook. He chortled with glee as Fanny pointed out the various pictures that had been taken of her during the year. "Hmmmnn, they say you're going to be a successful businesswoman someday. Did you see this, Dad? It was the time they had the carnival and some teacher played fortune-teller. Don't count on it, Fanny."
"I will be someday, you'll see."
"I have no doubts at all," Damian Logan said quiedy.
"Daddy, Daniel, Brad, I want you to know I will never do anything that will bring shame on our family. All three of you taught me right from wrong. I just wanted you all to know that."
"Would it have anything to do with all those swats to your rear end, Fanny?" Daniel guffawed.
"A little. I learned though. It's important to me to know I can count on you and that you can count on me."
"Take a good, long look, Fanny. It will be dark in the morning when you leave. This is your last look at Shamrock."
Fanny's eyes misted as her father slowed the car. She looked right and then left, drinking in the sight of the small town where she'd lived her whole life. She had nothing to compare Shamrock to, but she knew it had to be one of the prettiest small towns in the whole world. The streets were tree-lined, the sidewalks wide, perfect for riding a bike without harming pedestrians. The shop doors and v^de front windows were shaded by colorful awnings, the shops' wares often displayed outside in the summer months in wicker baskets. Close to the curbs, but between the maple trees, were tubs of bright red geraniums. Men fi-om the fire department watered the flowers and trees every evening when the sun went down. When she was small she'd frohcked in the spray of water along with all the other children in town. It was one of her fondest memories.
It was hard to beheve she wouldn't be going to Banebury's drugstore for a cherry phosphate tomorrow. She wondered if she would
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miss the smell of the Max Factor powder and the scent of licorice that greeted you as you walked in the door. It was harder still to believe she wouldn't be going to Stillwell's bakery on Saturday morning for jelly donuts for her father and brothers. She always ate hers on the way home.
The small A & P with its summer produce under the green-striped awning, compliments of local farmers, was always tempting. More than once she'd snatched a peach or a pear and then when the guilts attacked her, she'd go back, smile, and pay Mr. Ohver who always said, "I saw you, Fanny, I knew you'd be back." She saw a barrel with upended brooms next to the door. Mr. Ohver was getting ready to close. She waved to him. Schoneberg's dress store with the lopsided mannequins was where she bought her summer shorts and blouses. Ever)' other year she got to pick out a new winter coat. Bailey's toy store where she got her first sled and pair of roller skates, the red-and-white post office with the flag blowing in the breeze. Mr. Collins was late taking down the flag today, she thought.
St. Barts, where she was baptized, attended catechism classes, where she made her first holy communion and was confirmed. The church was small and white. The huge front door was solid oak with massive iron hinges. It never made a sound. Inside it was cool, dim, and comforting, and always there was the same familiar smell, candle wax and furniture pohsh. She thought she could smell it now as her father turned the comer. She didn't crane her neck to look backward. She would never forget this place. Never, ever.
"Home sweet home," Fanny's father said cheerfully.
Home was 333 Bridge Street—a brown shingled house with a white front porch complete with swing and two rocking chairs. This was where she propped her sled in the winter, where she sat on the steps to strap on her roller skates, where she hauled her bike to lean it against the wall. Because there were no children on this particular block, she'd often played on the straw mat on the floor with her paper dolls. She'd hosted hundreds of tea parties whose guest list included her father and her two brothers. When she had her own lemonade stand her only customers were her brothers and her father, but that was okay because they drank the whole pitcher, her brothers paying her from their allowance, her father borrowing the paper boy's money from the sugar bowl.
Sitting on the front porch was Martha Kelly. Next to her on the swing was a cake under a huge dome and a gift-wrapped package. Her father ushered all of them into the house, hanging back to talk
in low tones to Martha. "I hope you two are going out after we have our cake," Fanny hissed to her brothers. "Open your eyes and look at the two of them," she continued to hiss. "They're interested in each other. Don't you see it?"
"Yeah, yeah," both brothers whispered.
"It's about time. Daniel you set the table, I'll mgike the coffee. Brad, get out the silverware and napkins. Put the milk in that little red pitcher and the sugar in the matching bowl."
"You sound like a drill sergeant," Brad grumbled.
"Do you want the Thanksgiving/Christmas dishes?" Daniel asked smardy.
"Of course. This is my last night home. I want to remember eating on the good dishes. When I'm gone I know you lazy bums are going to eat on paper plates because you're too lazy to wash the dishes. You are, aren't you?"
"Yep," Brad said.
"Plastic knives and forks too," Daniel said.
"What are you going to do about the pots and pans?" Fanny teased. This was what she liked best, the hght banter, the teasing, the comforting familiarity of belonging to a loving family.
"That's Dad's job. Or, we eat Chinese."
Fanny squeezed her eyes shut as she locked away the memory of this evening. She loved the kitchen, particularly the big, old oak table with the claw feet that took both her brothers and her father to move. She had made the red-and-white-striped cushions in her senior Home Economics class. On the floor by the sink, by the stove, and the refrigerator, were hooked rugs she'd made during one long hot summer when she'd been confined to the front porch with her leg in a cast. Everything was old, but clean and polished. By her and by her brothers. They hadn't made her do all the kitchen work because she was a girl. The boys did their share, and both of them could cook as well as she could. Everything was on a schedule, everyone took turns with the chores.
The moment they finished the cake, and Fanny thanked Mrs. Kelly for the address book, Daniel and Brad excused themselves, saying they had dates. "I'll clean up," Fanny said. "Dad, why don't you and Mrs. Kelly sit on the front porch."
Alone with her thoughts, Fanny washed and dried the holiday dishes. In just a few hours she would leave all this behind her—her family, this house, the town. Her father had given her permission to take a year to do whatever she wanted. At the end of the year, if she
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didn't find her niche, she was to return to Shamrock and go to college. She had no interest in college. She wanted to taste and experience life. Going all the way across the country was going to be the biggest experience of her life. What she was going to do when she arrived in California was still a mystery. Maybe she would be able to fmd her mother. Unlikely, but still possible.
Fanny took a last look around the kitchen. She'd fixed the coffeepot for mor
ning, swept the floor, hung up the dish towel. She turned off the bright overhead Ught and switched on the night-Ught—things she'd done hundreds of times in the past. In the doorway to the dining room, Fanny turned for one last look at the kitchen. The grape ivy hanging in the window looked exceptionally luscious in the dim light. She'd given everyone in the neighborhood cuttings from the old plant, which she'd tended with care. The thick, glossy philodendron in the red clay pot on the end of the counter beckoned her. She plucked away a yellow leaf She hoped her brothers would water and trim the plants. Without the greenery, the kitchen would look bare. Her father always commented that the kitchen looked empty when she set the plants outside in the rain. Maybe she should leave a note. "I'm sure I'm going to come back for a visit, but I don't think I'll come back for good, so this is goodbye." She felt silly, even a little guilty, as she walked up the steps to the second floor.
Her room was in wild disarray, but would be neat and tidy as soon as she fmished packing. What to take, what not to take? What to throw away, what to take up to the attic?
Two hours later, both suitcases were packed. Her carry-on satchel held a change of clothes, her small pouch of makeup that she rarely wore, several books, her comb, brush, toothpaste, and toothbrush. A writing tablet, pen, several envelopes, and three stamps were in the inside pocket of the satchel. Her purse held her wallet, her change purse, comb, lipstick, tissues, and her keys. She counted her money again. She was just a few dollars short of a thousand. Enough to last her a year if she was frugal and got a job. She had what she considered a fashionable wardrobe, purchased with her baby-sitting money. She was going to be fine.
Fanny turned down her bed. She wished then that she had a best friend, someone she could call to talk about tomorrow, or a mother to talk to, to ask for advice. She didn't regret for one minute, all the time and devotion she'd given to her father and her brothers. She loved them. It was that simple.
She cuddled with her pillow, something she did almost every night. It was a way of pretending she was grown-up, pretending she was sleeping with someone, pretending all kinds of things. It might have been better to write things down in a diary or a journal, but committing thoughts and desires to paper scared her. Better to hug a pillow and pretend.
By scrooching and wiggling beneath the covers, Fanny made her nest for the night. The position allowed her right arm to snake out to turn off the bedside lamp. One more thing to do and then she could close her eyes. "Bless my mother wherever she is."
The long night hadn't quite relinquished its tentacles when Fanny slid from her bed and raced for the bathroom. Even though it was June, the early mornings and evenings were still chilly. She shivered as she waited for the water to turn hot. She was in and out in five minutes. Huddhng in an old flannel robe, she stripped her bed and then straightened the bedspread so it would look like she was going to come home at the end of the day. She planned on leaving her door open when she carried her suitcases downstairs. Closed doors meant a person wasn't coming back. Mrs. Kelly had told her that when her mother left, her father closed the door on their bedroom and slept on the couch. For three long years he'd used the downstairs bathroom and kept his clothes in the hall closet. She was leaving her posters on the wall, her roller skates and ice skates in one comer, her Softball bat and glove in another comer. The coatrack Daniel made her in his senior shop class held an old raincoat and an umbrella. She was leaving that, too. The fourth comer stood sentinel over the hockey stick Brad had made for her the year before last. A net bag, saved from a dozen oranges, held sixteen pucks. Her hockey-playing days were over. She wondered if her brothers would be sad when they looked in her room from time to time after she was gone.
The maple dresser was empty. She straightened the crocheted scarf that Mrs. Kelly had made for her years ago. Every spring and fall she washed it and then dipped it in sugar water just the way Mrs. Kelly taught her. She was going to really miss the old maple rocker, too. It was perfect for curling into with a good book on cold winter nights. Because it fit her like a glove, she'd slept in the chair with an afghan more times than she could remember.
Fanny looked at her watch. Time to move. She was dressed in minutes in a sv^ling lavender skirt, crisp white blouse, and brand-new white sandals. She fluffed out her curly blond hair before she
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pulled it back into a long, curling ponytail. She needed a fashionable haircut that would make her look older. When she got to California it was going to be one of the first things to go on her list of things to do.
Her arms full of wet towels and sheets, Fanny sprinted down the stairs to the laundry room, where she dumped everything into the washer. The boys could hang out the laundry later in the day. She ran back upstairs and carried down her suitcases, one at a time, and set them by the fi-ont door, her new white leather purse on top. She plugged in the coffeepot, got out the toaster, and made everyone's lunches. Ham, baloney, and cheese for Daniel, cheese 2uid baloney for Brad, four shces of cheese for her father placed between the ham and the baloney. Daniel got lettuce and mayo, Brad got mustard, and her father got both mayo and mustard. She wrote their names on the paper bags, and then fitted them into the identical lunch pails. Three oranges, three apples, three banzmas, and two cupcakes each were the last things to go in the pail after she filled each thermos. Working in the steel mills required a fiill limch paU. Who was going to do this when she was gone? Maybe Mrs. Kelly. She waited for the coffee to perk.
The minute she saw her brothers and father she knew they hadn't slept at all. She looked at them helplessly. "I'm going to be fine. I'm the one who should be worrying. Who's going to make your lunches, who's going to do the laundry? I hate dust and you guys don't know what a dust rag looks like. Will you get someone to come in and dean 2ind cook? You should hire Mrs. Kelly. She could use the money, and she taught me everything I know. I know you aren't going to stretch the curtains, and you aren't going to dip the dresser scarves in sugar water. Well?"
"I already hired her, Fzuiny." Her father smiled.
"That's a relief" At least she thought it was.
They drained their coffee cups as one. "Time to go, Fanny."
Outside, the early dawn was creeping over the horizon. Everything looked gray and dirty to Fanny. She shivered inside the hght sweater she'd thrown over her shoulders. "I hate foggy mornings. I like to see the sun when I get up. The sun always shines in California."
Daniel snorted with laughter. "If you believe that, I know a bridge I can sell you real cheap."
Fanny stood stock-still for a minute, for a long, last look at the brown shingled house. The fog swirling about her ankles spiraled
upward, obliterating the brown house. She slid into the family sedan. Daniel reached for her hand.
"You'll get homesick for a litde while. Call us, and it will go away. In a way I envy you, Fanny," he whispered.
"I know," she whispered back.
"Swear you won't do anything stupid, Fanny. Swear you'll take care of yourself and swear that you will write and call faithfully. I'll be all right with it if you promise."
"I have never broken a promise, Daniel, and you know that. I. .. I'm going to miss you. I love you all so much."
"Jeez, Fanny, if you start to blubber now, you'll have us sniveling too. Dad's too old to cry."
"You're never too old to cry, son," Damian Logan said quiedy.
"Jeez, Dad, I know that. I was just trying to . . . you know ... I didn't want her to get all choked up. You know Fanny, she thinks we can't get along without her." He turned so that he was facing his sister. "You're probably right. I'm just saying whatever pops into my head so I won't feel so bad. You're going to get on that bus with dry eyes and we're the ones who will be crying."
"Maybe I shouldn't go. Maybe this is a mistake. I didn't think it was going to be so hard to leave all of you."
"It will be all right, Fanny. We'U write and we'll call. You need to do this now, when you're young. I don't want things to go
sour for you the way . . . You need to do all the things you want to do when you're single with no family responsibilities. Here's the bus station. Everyone out!"
Her father's voice was so cheerful, Fanny felt herself cringing. "You have your ticket, your money, everything secure, don't you, honey?"
"I have everything in my purse. Daddy. I... I think it might be better, Daddy, if you and the boys . . . left. You have to get to work, and you'll be late if you wait for the bus to pull out. I'm just fine. I ... I don't want to look out the window and wave. Go on, all of you."
"Jeez, after today we won't have to listen to your bossy mouth. You're lucky we're family and put up with you." His hug was so hard, Fanny's eyes started to water. "I love you, you Uttie squirt. Take care of yourself, you hear."
"Okay," Fanny gasped.
"I'm gonna miss you the most," Daniel whispered as he hugged her. "Who's going to sew on my buttons and polish my shoes? I re-
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ally do like your meat loaf. I just said I didn't to get your goat. Be good, Fanny. I love you so much it hurts."
"Me too, Daniel. I'll be good, I promise."
Both boys walked away to allow Fanny her last moments with their father.
"Daddy, thanks for everything. I know you had to... to fight with yourself to let me go. I also know why you finally gave in. I'm not Mama, Daddy. I promise to write and call. I'll never do anything to shame our family. Mrs. Kelly is a real nice lady. Daddy. She's sweet on you. I think you know that, though. Before you know it, Daniel and Brad will be getting married. You need to think about ... about not being alone."
"Give me a hug and kiss, Miss Know Everything. Remember, anytime you want to come home, we'll be here waiting for you. If your money runs out, let me know. I don't want to worry about you scrimping and just getting by. Promise."
"I promise. I love you. Daddy." She planted a kiss on his cheek and then ran to the bus. She didn't look back.
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