by Sue Grafton
“I can do it!”
“Okay. Let me see you, then.”
When Patrick got home Deborah told him what had transpired since she’d spoken to him by phone. “Creed” and “Destiny” (whose names she always said as though surrounded by quotes) had spent the afternoon in the bus. Rain had talked Shawn into a game of Chutes and Ladders. His patience seemed infinite. Meanwhile, Deborah was at a loss. The dinner hour was coming up and Creed and Destiny had shown no signs of entering the house or moving on. She’d been tempted to make something for Shawn, but the idea of no meat, no dairy, and no eggs left precious little.
Patrick said, “What do you think they’re up to?”
“I’m sure we’ll find out. Maybe they’ve given up life on the road and they’re ready to move in with us.”
Rain came into the kitchen with Shawn close behind. “We’re hungry.”
“Well, we’ll have to take care of that,” Deborah said. “Shawn, this is Patrick. You remember him?”
Patrick reached over and shook Shawn’s hand. “Hey, Shawn. It’s been a while. Nice seeing you again. I understand you like to be called Sky Dancer.”
“Sometimes.”
“We’d be happy to have you join us for supper, but Deborah’s stumped about what to fix for the two of you.”
“Pasta with olive oil is good. Or tomato sauce,” Shawn said. “And salad. I eat lots of vegetables and fruit.”
“Well, I’m sure we can rustle up something. Thanks for the suggestions.”
Deborah made enough supper for Creed and Destiny as well. She knew she was allowing hospitality to take precedence over hostility, but she couldn’t help herself. People had to eat. This wasn’t a third-world country where starvation was the rule. She sent Shawn out to tell his parents there was food on the table if they were interested. Creed and Destiny appeared, looking as though they’d showered in the interim. Nothing was said about the earlier friction. The six of them sat down to eat, keeping the conversation superficial, which was easier than she’d expected. Aside from dogma, the pair knew little about the world and seemed to care even less.
Deborah noticed Greg making a covert study of his daughter, and once she saw him offer her a tentative smile. Shelly was chilly throughout the meal. She had no interest in Rain and made a point of giving Greg a warning look when she caught him starting to clown around with her. After that he avoided any show of warmth. Fortunately, by then Rain was so enamored of Shawn that she paid no attention to either one.
It was after supper, when Rain had been put to bed and Shawn relegated to the bus, that Creed and Destiny got down to business. Given their agenda, it wasn’t hard to understand why the two had been so patient to this point. Creed explained the project they had in mind. “We saved up a thousand dollars as a down payment on a farm. We’d been thinking about it for a long time before we heard about this place. The problem is, we need to have the rest of the money by the end of the month.”
Patrick said, “A farm. Well, I guess that’s one way to make a living. I didn’t know you were interested in farming. You know much about it?”
“Not right now, but I can learn. That’s the whole point, you know, working the land.”
“And where is this place?”
“Up the coast. Close to Salinas,” Greg said.
Deborah was sitting there wondering if there was a word of truth in anything he’d said.
“Actually, we’re setting up a commune,” Shelly said. “Anyone who joins us will share whatever money they have and we’ll divvy up the chores. We’ll share everything equally. Even child care.”
Patrick nodded. “How many acres are you buying?”
“Maybe a hundred?” Greg said.
“Mind if I take a look at the contract?” Patrick appeared to be taking them seriously, but Deborah knew it was his way of pointing out how ill prepared and ill informed they were.
“We don’t have a contract. This is like a gentlemen’s agreement. We did it on a handshake. We know the guy and he’s really supportive of our idea.”
“Good. I like the sound of it. What do you intend to grow?”
“Mostly vegetables. We’ll plant enough to live on and then put stuff by. We plan to do a lot of canning and we’ll sell or trade the produce we can’t use. We might put in wheat or corn or something like that if we want to turn a profit. I mean, we don’t want to turn a profit per se, but we want to be self-sustaining. We’ve visited a couple of communes in Big Sur and they’re keen. They even said they’d help.”
“Well,” Patrick said. “That’s a hell of an idea. You have my blessing if that’s what this is about. I wish I had advice to offer you, but farming’s not my bailiwick.”
Greg was grooming his facial hair. He’d taken to spinning strands of his scruffy beard between his fingers, making little upturns like the villain of the piece. “We were thinking about the money Granddad left me. Didn’t you talk about that once?”
“Sure. Forty thousand dollars, but it’s all in trust. The money won’t be available until you turn thirty. I thought I’d made that clear.”
Greg frowned, baffled by the very idea. “Why? That’s five years from now.”
Deborah got the impression they were getting to the heart of the matter. Greg had a point of view he was prepared to argue if he could work his way around to it.
Patiently, Patrick said, “Those were the terms of the will. If you’ll remember he gave you ten thousand dollars when you were eighteen.”
“And that was part of the forty?”
“No, no. He was curious what you’d do with it. If it’s any comfort, he did the same thing with me and I went through mine about as fast as you did.”
“What, that was like a test or something?”
“That’s precisely what it was. Your grandfather was a bit of a pissant. This was his method of teaching money management.”
“That’s not what he told me. He said the money was mine and I could do anything I wanted.”
“He didn’t want to influence your process. If you made a mistake or turned out to be a financial whiz, he wanted it to come from you. Do you remember what you did with it?”
“Some of it, sure. I went to Oregon to see my friend Rick, and ended up lending him a few hundred dollars because the transmission on his truck went out.”
“He pay you back?”
“Not so far, but he said he would. And I mean, you know, I trust the guy. He’s a good dude.”
“You also bought a Harley, if I remember correctly.”
“Well, yeah, a used one. And I paid off some credit cards.”
“That was smart. I remember the credit card companies were really on your case by then.”
“I don’t know what their deal was. If they were going to be such butts about it, why offer me a card in the first place?”
Destiny said, “Creed, would you wise up? Your dad’s a shit-ass. He has no intention of giving you forty thousand dollars. Don’t you get that?”
“I’m not asking him to give it to me. This would be like an advance.”
“Yeah, well he’s not going to do that either. God, you are so dense sometimes. This is all bullshit. He’s having a big laugh at your expense. He thinks you’re an idiot when it comes to money. He won’t give you a dime.”
“That’s not what he said. Anyway, this is between him and me, okay?”
Destiny got up, ignoring Patrick and Deborah. “You’re pathetic. You know that?”
She banged the back door as she left.
Patrick said, “You found a charmer in that one.”
“We could really use some help,” Greg said, not looking at his father.
“I don’t doubt it, but you’ll have to come up with something better than this business about a farm, Greg. I’m willing to listen, but you know me well enough to know that’s never going to fly. You don’t even have a business plan.”
“What? Like I’m supposed to petition my own dad for a break?”
P
atrick said, “Do you have any idea how much farm equipment costs? You want to farm, you better know how much water you have available and what soil conditions are—”
“Would you quit with this shit? All I want is what’s mine. Granddad left me forty grand and you know he did so what’s the big deal? It’s not coming out of your pocket.”
“You’ll get the money when you turn thirty, at which point you can piss it all away.”
“You just can’t let go, can you? It’s all rules and regulations and shit-ass stuff that nobody cares about.”
“Say anything you like, son. The money’s in trust. There’s nothing I can do.”
Greg got up. “Skip it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
Thursday morning, Patrick left after breakfast, saying he’d be back late Friday afternoon. Greg stuck his head in the door after Patrick took off, saying, “Mind if we borrow the Buick? We’re going to do a little driving tour so Destiny can see the town, and then we may bomb up the coast to Calida. Destiny’s never been there, but I was telling her how cool it was.”
Deborah jumped at the chance to have them gone, even for a short time. “That’s fine. I just filled the tank with gas. The keys are on the hook by the back door,” she said. “What about Sky Dancer?”
“He doesn’t want to come so we’re leaving him here.”
“Would you object to his coming with Rain and me? She has her swimming lesson this morning.”
“He doesn’t need babysitting. He’s fine on his own.”
“I thought he might enjoy being out and about.”
“Sure, whatever. I doubt he’ll do it, but why not? If we’re back late, don’t worry about it. He doesn’t like to be fussed over. He can take care of himself.”
“What time does he go to bed?”
“He’s a night owl. He gets hyper. It’ll be one A.M. before he falls asleep.”
“I see,” she said, and then hesitated. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to get to know your daughter. She’s an adorable little girl. In many ways, she reminds me of you.”
“Yeah, well, Shelly’s kind of touchy on the subject.”
Deborah bit back a remark. She was sick to death of his catering to the woman. “Fine. I just thought I’d mention it.”
Deborah waited until she saw Greg and Shelly pull away and then she went out to the bus. The day was overcast and inside there was hardly enough light to see by. She knocked on the folding front door and Shawn opened it. He wore a T-shirt and a pair of ragged cutoffs. He’d been lying on his futon, his flat pillow rolled up to support his neck. On the floor around his bed there were piles of dirty clothes.
“Would you like to come inside where the light’s better?”
“Did Mom say it was okay?”
“Greg did.”
“You mean Creed.”
“That’s right. Creed. I keep forgetting. You might round up a jacket while you’re at it.”
Shawn picked his way toward the back of the bus, lifting up garments in search of his jacket. Deborah removed the dead pillow from its case and stuffed dirty clothes into it until it bulged. Shawn came back, pulling on a sweatshirt of Greg’s that hung to his knees.
“I thought we’d give this a quick wash,” Deborah said of the pillowcase full of dirty clothes. “I can show you how to use the washer and dryer.”
“My mom showed me once at the laundromat.”
“Ours might be different. It won’t hurt to take a look.”
Shawn pulled on his tennis shoes and followed her.
Deborah loaded his clothes and showed him how to operate the washer. As soon as the cycle was under way she said, “I’m taking Rain for her swimming lesson this morning at the Y. Would you like to come along? You and I can paddle around in the pool.”
“I don’t have a suit.”
“I can stop at a store and pick one up. You probably need a new toothbrush, too. You know how to swim?”
“Not really.”
“Well, we can practice.”
While Rain had her lesson with six other little kids on the far side of the pool, Deborah and Shawn sat with their legs dangling in the water. In his bathing suit he looked younger than ten, more like a seven-year-old, with his bony shoulders and his collarbones exposed. He was afraid of the water, though he pretended he really wasn’t interested. When Rain joined them half an hour later, they persuaded him to get into the shallow end with them. Rain had a set of weighted rings that Deborah dropped into the water, one by one. Rain would upend herself like a duck, kicking to the bottom to retrieve them. Shawn didn’t want to get his face wet, but Rain made the game look like fun and at the end of an hour, he would at least hold his nose and sink to the bottom briefly. He and Rain would look at each other underwater and blow the air out of their mouths before they shot to the surface.
After they’d showered and dressed again, Deborah ushered them into the station wagon. “On swim days, we have a late lunch at McDonald’s and then we skip dinner unless we decide to have popcorn,” she said.
“That’s a hamburger stand.”
“Yes, but they have other things as well. I can get you lettuce and tomato on a bun. It’ll be fine.”
Once at McDonald’s, she told Rain and Shawn to secure a booth while she ordered their lunch. She came back to the table with their order number and sent the two off to get paper napkins, salt, mustard, and ketchup in small packets. When their number was called, Deborah went back to the counter and picked up their food, which was piled on a plastic tray. She brought a glass of ice water for Shawn and a large chocolate milkshake that she and Rain would share. She doled out a paper-wrapped sandwich for each and put a large container of fries in the middle of the table where everyone could reach them.
Shawn opened his sandwich. In addition to the lettuce and tomato there was a meat patty with cheese melted on top. He put his hands in his lap and looked at her.
“Do you see lettuce and tomato?”
“Yes.”
“You want condiments? You’re allowed to eat mustard and ketchup, aren’t you?”
“Sure.”
Rain was munching on her burger, dipping fries in a puddle of ketchup and eating them rapidly. Deborah bit into her cheeseburger, and a moment later Shawn picked up his and took a hesitant bite. Neither of them said a word, and she kept her attention focused elsewhere. The next time she looked, Shawn had devoured his lunch.
“That was quick. You want another one?”
He nodded.
She ordered him a second cheeseburger, and when that was ready she brought it to the table, passing him an extra straw so he could help with the milkshake, which she said she and Rain couldn’t finish without help.
After they got back to the house, she moved Shawn’s clothes into the dryer. Later the two of them folded his clean clothes and made a neat pile of them. Then he and Rain read stories and worked on her printing skills. For supper they had a huge bowl of popcorn, corn being a vegetable, as Deborah pointed out. She made sure they bypassed the television set, and played board games until Rain’s bedtime at 8:00.
Deborah asked Shawn if he wanted to sleep on the couch. She had a knitting project she was working on and said she’d work in the next room.
The idea made him anxious. “I better not. Mom and Creed might come back and wonder where I am.”
“We can leave them a note,” she said. “That way they won’t wake you up when they get in. With Patrick gone, I could use the company. I don’t know about you, but I sometimes get scared on my own.”
“Okay.”
She let Shawn write two notes and he went off to brush his teeth while she taped one to the back window of the bus and slipped the second into the front bifold door. She settled him on the couch under a big puffy quilt and a spare pillow she told him he could keep. Then she sat in the den with her knitting, leaving the door open between the two rooms so the light would slant in.
At 9:00 he called, “Deborah?”
“I’m here.”
“Do you think my mom will get mad about what I ate?”
“I don’t see why she would. You had lettuce and tomato on a bun with a glass of ice water on the side. We won’t mention anything else, okay?”
“Okay.”
And after a few minutes, “Deborah?”
“Yes?”
“You know what?”
“What, Shawn?”
“This has been the best day of my life.”
“Mine, too, sweetheart,” she said. Her eyes filled and the knitting blurred in her lap. She had to put a finger on her lips to maintain silence while she blinked back tears.
22
Thursday night, April 14, 1988
I let myself into my studio at 7:00, the manila envelope full of letters tucked under one arm. I tossed the package on the desk and then went and poured myself a glass of wine. I confess I was looking to alcohol to bolster my courage. This might have been the first step on the road to a drunken downfall, but I doubted it. Twice I picked up the envelope and turned it over in my hand. I was reminded of that old question that comes up occasionally at a cocktail party: if you knew that in your top dresser drawer there was a piece of paper on which was written the date and time of your death, would you peek?
I’ve never known the right answer. There probably isn’t one, but the dilemma is whether you’d opt for total ignorance or for information that might affect the rest of your life (however short it might be). Since all of the letters had been returned, it was clear Aunt Gin had rejected Grand’s peace offering—if, indeed, that’s what it was. Maybe the messages were Grand’s berating of Aunt Gin for failings real and imagined, impossible to know unless I sat down and read them. I hesitated for the following reasons:1. It was bedtime and I didn’t want to spend the next six hours stewing about the past. Once I climbed on my emotional carousel, especially in the dark of night, I’d circle for hours, up and down, around and around, often at speeds that threatened to make me sick.
2. Once I knew the content of the letters, I’d be stuck. In my current state of innocence, anything was possible. I could cling to my long-held beliefs about Grand’s indifference without the pesky contradiction of the truth. What if the letters were filled with hearts and flowers and gushing sentiment? Then what? At this point, I wasn’t prepared to lay down my sword or my shield. My defensive stance felt like power. Surrender would be foolish until I understood the nature and strength of the enemy.