Girls of July

by Alex Flinn

  “That’s caused by a gradient in the reflective index of the air from the varying temperature between the air on the road’s surface and the cooler air above,” Meredith said.

  “Obviously,” Britta said, even though she had no idea what Meredith had just said or if it was even English.

  “That wouldn’t apply here,” Meredith said.

  “It was a joke,” Britta said.

  “So was mine,” Meredith said.

  “Of course it was,” Britta said. But Britta didn’t believe her for a moment. Meredith was still a big know-it-all like she had been in fourth grade.

  Finally, though, they saw the yellow house in the distance and heard the dogs barking to greet them. Britta quickened her step, almost to a skip. She wanted to see quilts and pet dogs and, mostly, call a tow truck. She was supremely grateful that she hadn’t been the one to drive into a ditch. It was definitely the type of thing that happened to her.

  “Come on!” she called back to the others. “It’s an adventure!”

  But they kept walking at the same leisurely pace.

  Britta crossed over. The dogs were yipping and baying. One of them looked wolfish. Britta hesitated. “Hello? Hello?”

  Now the dogs were jubilant. The little one sounded like a machine gun, but the bigger one put his paws up on the fence, craning to be petted.

  “Good boy!” Britta said. “Who’s a good boy?”

  “Oh, I see you’ve met the doggies.”

  The woman just materialized. She had long, gray hair and wore a floor-length denim skirt and a flowing blouse, possibly her own design. Her un-made-up skin glowed like a pearl. Britta’s mother would say that came from living where there was no harsh sun.

  “They like you,” she said as the wolfy one licked Britta’s hand. “And they are excellent judges of character. I’m Jacey. You here for quilts?”

  Britta shifted in her sneakers. “Well, yes and no. I have a strong interest in quilts and definitely planned to stop. But there’s sort of a—ah—more immediate problem.” She glanced back to see if the others were close. “My friend drove into a ditch.” The dog tried to flip Britta’s hand onto his head. Britta didn’t fight it.

  “A ditch, huh? Must be city drivers.”

  “She’s from Long Island, I think. She acts like she knows her way around. I’m Britta.”

  “Well, Britta.” Jacey opened the door wider. “Why don’t you come inside? You can use the phone and look at the quilts.”

  Britta was reminded of her mother’s constant admonishments not to go into strangers’ houses. That was how you got kidnapped. Still, the old lady seemed nice. And it was either that or flag down some rando who passed them, or just leave their car in a ditch. Besides, the other girls were close behind.

  Britta walked through the door. No chains in the wall or dirty mattresses on the floor. Instead, it was a homey room with rag rugs, family photos, and about a dozen quilts on racks, in patterns of stars, pine trees, and grizzly bears.

  “Pretty.” Britta brushed against a green-and-white one. She glanced at the photos on the end table. One was an eight by ten, obviously from the 1950s based upon the hairstyle, and showed a woman who looked weirdly familiar.

  “Joan Fontaine,” Jacey said.

  “Huh?”

  “That’s Joan Fontaine, the actress—Rebecca, Jane Eyre, Suspicion.”

  Britta realized these were the names of old movies. “Oh.”

  “She bought a quilt from my grandmother decades ago. You’ve probably never heard of her, though.”

  Britta squinted at the photo, with its faint autograph. “I bet my friend has.” Where was Spider? “She likes old movies. I mean, not that you’re—”

  “I am old. A lot of famous people used to come here back then. Now, they’ve all moved on to South Beach.”

  Britta thought of Ruthie’s summer stock photos. Maybe the famous people had acted in the plays. She hadn’t recognized any of the names in the programs, but it was a long time ago. “I’m from Miami.”

  “Oh, my condolences. I like the peace and quiet here.”

  Britta picked up a quilted pillow with an appliqué of a chipmunk on it. “Me too.”

  “Do you want to use the phone? There’s only one tow operator around here,” Jacey said. “And he comes for all the people who drive into a ditch. I’m sure he’ll treat you right—he’s an old friend.”

  Jacey already had the phone in her hand and was dialing. Just as she said, “Hey, Randall, I have a customer for you,” there was a knock on the door. Jacey gestured to Britta to get it.

  The other three girls came in just as Jacey hung up.

  “He’s coming,” she said. “He always jokes that I keep him in business because people make a U-turn to come see my quilts, then run into a ditch and have to call him.”

  Spider started, “Oh, we weren’t—”

  Britta gave her a sharp look. So she finished, “I guess we weren’t very careful.”

  “We really wanted to see the quilts, me especially.” Britta walked over and showed Spider the photo of Joan Fontaine. “Do you know her? Jacey was telling me that famous people have bought her quilts.”

  “Really?” Spider looked dubious. “Joan Fontaine was here?”

  “Not lately,” Jacey said, and laughed.

  “Well, yeah, she’s kinda dead,” Spider said.

  Jacey continued. “Actually, that’s from my mother’s house when I was a little girl in North Creek. And once, there was a film director shooting a commercial. He stopped by our house with his whole crew, saying they wanted to use the bathroom. They just came trooping through there like they owned the place and tried to give my mother two bucks. Can you believe that?”

  “Pretty big nerve,” Meredith agreed, flipping over one quilt to look at something embroidered on the back.

  “She took it, of course, since it was clear they weren’t going to buy anything. I was ten then, small for my age, and I was singing and dancing around the house, trying to impress the big director. My mother told me to shush, but he said it was fine. Then he left, and I thought, ‘Well, that’s our excitement for the month.’”

  “Funny,” Britta said. “When’s the tow truck driver coming?”

  “Maybe half an hour,” Jacey said, “if you’re lucky. Maybe longer.”

  “Wow.” Britta looked at her watch, then the others.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” Spider said.

  The girls sat down, and Jacey went on. “But it turned out, the excitement wasn’t over, because the next day, the same gentleman showed up again.

  “My mother was ready for him that time. ‘We are not a public toilet,’ she said. But he said they wanted me to be in the commercial. The girl who was in it had had a meltdown and wouldn’t work. They offered me twenty bucks to take her place.

  “‘Make it fifty, and we’ve got a deal,’ my mother said without even asking me. I couldn’t believe it. Fifty dollars was more money than I’d ever seen. Even twenty would have paid for a month’s groceries.

  “So they paid me fifty dollars to run through a field hollering, ‘It’s so creamy, Mama!’ I guess it was a commercial for butter. We didn’t even have a television set. No one did. But my father took that money and bought one and a huge antenna so we could watch the commercial when it aired. I was all starry-eyed and wanted to be on television.”

  “Were you ever?” The showbiz stuff piqued Britta’s interest.

  “I’m here, aren’t I? I got married, like everyone expected, and now I’m making quilts like my mother before me.”

  Britta was going to ask her questions, but there was a knock on the door.

  “That’ll be Randall, I bet!”

  “That was quick,” Britta said.

  “Yes, thanks,” Spider said.

  “Well, I was enjoying myself,” Britta said.

  “It was a lovely story,” Kate agreed.

  “Hey, Randall.” Jacey opened the door and let in a large man about her age with a cl
ose-clipped gray beard and a vest that said “Randall’s Towing.”

  “Little distracted driving?” he asked.

  “That would be us,” Britta said, not wanting to implicate Spider specifically.

  “It’s over that way.” Spider jerked her hand in the direction of the car.

  “Yeah, I saw it. The Subaru.” Randall gestured for them to follow him to a red tow truck. “That’s where they usually are. I think you girls can all squeeze in.”

  “Not with seat belts,” Meredith said. “We’ll walk.” Meredith gestured to herself and Kate. Britta and Spider got into the truck. Spider waited for Britta to slide over, then took the spot by the door.

  Randall started the truck. “So what brings you girls to these parts?” he asked.

  “Vacation,” Britta said.

  “She’s on vacation. My family are summer residents. Been coming here my whole life, and my dad and grandparents before that.”

  Britta waited for Randall to comment that he was surprised Spider couldn’t drive on the roads if she was such an old hand. Instead he said, “What’s your family’s name? Mine’s been here a while too.”

  “Webster. We’re in Warrensburg.”

  “Don’t know any Websters in Warrensburg.”

  “Guess they haven’t needed a tow,” Britta joked.

  “My family used to run a restaurant near there,” Randall said. “It’s still in business—the one with the giant chicken outside. And I waited tables.”

  “I’ve seen it!” Spider’s face lit up. “My grandmother told me she went there when she was young. Her maiden name was Green.”

  “Ruthie Green?” Randall slowed down the truck. He gazed at Spider. “Ruthie Green has grandchildren. My, my.”

  “You knew her?” Spider sat a bit straighter.

  “I had the biggest crush on your grandmother. She used to come in there with a big group of her friends from the theater company that was around there.”

  “It was?” Spider said at the same time Britta said, “Green Pines?”

  “That’s it—Green Pines. They brought in famous actors like, like . . . well, people you wouldn’t have heard of anyway, and they had young folks like your grandma in the chorus.”

  They approached the Subaru. Randall kept talking as he pulled over. “Ruthie Green. That little blondie was the prettiest thing with the bluest eyes I ever saw. She’s your grandma?” He shook his head.

  “I look more like my mother’s side,” Spider said.

  Britta nudged her to get out. She wanted to hear the rest of this. “So did you two date?”

  Randall scoffed. “Me and Ruthie? No, it was a crush from afar on my part. She wasn’t dating any townies. She had other interests.”

  “Other interests?” That was a weird way of putting it.

  Spider must have thought so too because she said, “You mean like a boyfriend? Was it my grandfather?”

  “Oh no, no boyfriend. She was . . .” He seemed to think about it as he walked toward the lift at the back of the truck. “She was serious about her art. That’s why I’m surprised she got married. She didn’t seem the type. Didn’t seem like she’d be happy.”

  Britta remembered the photos of Ruthie’s friend Janet. But before she could ask Randall about her, Spider said, “She was married for forty years and had two children.”

  Randall hooked the truck up to the car and pulled the car from the ditch. Britta applauded, as did Kate and Meredith, who had just arrived on the scene.

  “Perfect timing!” Meredith said.

  But Spider looked perturbed. “So what do we owe you?” she asked.

  “For Ruthie Green’s granddaughter—no charge. Just say hi to your grandma, from Randall.”

  He pulled a grubby card from his work pants. Britta grabbed it. “I’ll tell her we met you.”

  “She probably won’t remember me.”

  “I bet she will,” Britta said. “I bet you were cute.”

  “You know how to flatter an old man,” Randall said.

  “I’d be happy to pay,” Spider persisted. “I don’t have much on me, but if you take a debit card . . . Or send a bill to our place. Ruthie would want—”

  “If your grandmother wants to contact me, she has the card,” Randall said. “It was a pleasure meeting you young ladies.”

  “Thank you,” Britta said, gesturing to the other girls to get into the car before Spider could protest anymore. “Thank you so much!”

  26

  Meredith

  Essay topic: Recount a time when you majored in “unafraid.”

  IT WAS NEARLY two when they’d finally dragged the car from the ditch and were on their way. Meredith was driving. At least she’d drive straight. “So are we still climbing the mountain today, or is it too late?” she asked, hoping for the latter.

  Spider shrugged. “It’s a little late. Maybe we could just start a little earlier tomorrow.”

  “And not drive into a ditch this time.” Britta patted the chipmunk pillow she’d insisted on returning to purchase.

  “Britta . . . ,” Meredith said, but she agreed this was a good plan.

  After some discussion, they decided to find a spot along the Hudson River and picnic there. They passed fields of wildflowers and signs advertising chainsaw-carved bears. They passed a “Hudson River Display” sign but saw it too late, and Meredith wasn’t about to make a U-turn. “There’ll be another one,” Spider said.

  But there wasn’t another for a while, and eventually, they reached a building with a sign that said “North Creek Railroad Station.”

  “Should we just stop here?” Meredith asked. “It looks interesting.”

  “I’m really hungreeee.” Britta’s voice was a squeaky door. “Pleeeeze can we stop?”

  “Y’all, let’s stop before she busts something,” Kate agreed. So Meredith pulled over.

  It turned out the railroad station was a museum, but the museum part was closed on Wednesdays. They parked and walked toward the picnic tables.

  “What’s that?” Britta pointed to a small metal sign on the railing.

  The sign said, “North Creek Railroad Station. At this site early in the morning of September 14, 1901, Theodore Roosevelt received the message that President McKinley had died in Buffalo and that he had become president of the United States.”

  “Oh, I remember this,” Spider said. “Roosevelt was vice president. He was climbing Mount Marcy when McKinley was shot. They thought he’d be okay, so Roosevelt kept on with his vacation, but when McKinley got worse, Roosevelt went to the train in North Creek. And when he got here, they said they had to swear him in as president.”

  “Wow.” Britta placed the cooler atop the picnic table and opened it. “Talk about life changing. He just went on a trip, thinking everything was normal; then he was president?”

  “Well, he was already vice president.” Meredith helped Britta unload the sandwiches.

  “But most vice presidents don’t become president, do they?” She looked at Meredith like it was an actual question. Considering they’d just finished American history, Britta should have known the answer to that herself.

  “Not many,” Meredith conceded. “How many presidents have died in office?”

  “Well, McKinley,” Britta said. “And Lincoln.”

  “McKinley, Lincoln, Kennedy, and Garfield were assassinated,” Meredith said, not wanting to watch Britta struggle. “And one resigned.” She looked at Britta.

  “Nixon resigned,” Spider said. “And four more died of natural causes.”

  “Right.” Meredith nodded approvingly at Spider’s knowledge of American history. “But some of those were after Roosevelt, so it wasn’t unheard of, but it was a surprise. She counted on her fingers. “Four before Roosevelt became president because someone died.”

  “Still would be weird.” Britta unwrapped her sandwich with great concentration. “Like how often do you have a moment when your life changes, and you know it at the time?”

 
“I had that.” Meredith was surprised at Britta’s insight. “In third grade. I was sitting doing my homework at aftercare, waiting for my father to pick me up to take me to dance. I remember I was mad at him because he’d been late the week before, and the teacher, Miss Kim, was super mean about it. She said I couldn’t expect to get into intermediate acro if I wasn’t on time.”

  “You took acro-jazz?” Britta said. “So did I. Where?”

  So not the point. “Oh, we lived in a different neighborhood then. That’s what I’m saying. That day, my biggest problem was getting into a dance class. Everything changed after that.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Britta clapped her hand over her mouth, as if she was physically forcing herself to shut up.

  “Anyway, I was getting upset because it was after five, and my class started at five thirty, and he’d promised to be early this time, and he wasn’t. That’s when this woman Teri, a paralegal from my mom’s office, showed up to get me.”

  “Uh-oh,” Kate said.

  Meredith pictured the moment like it was yesterday. Teri, a woman she didn’t know, who was wearing a weird dress printed with dachshunds, showed up at the door of aftercare. “They didn’t want to let me go with her because she wasn’t on the list. But, finally, they called my mom, and she said something that made them let me go with her. I was so upset because Dad had my dance clothes. But she said we had to go to her house instead, and then I started crying until she said she’d personally call Miss Kim and explain what happened. That calmed me down enough that I let her drive me through McDonald’s and take me back to her condo to watch Simpsons reruns, which my mother never let me watch. It was the one where Homer gets them a dog for Christmas.”

  “I remember that one.” Britta moved closer to Meredith.

  “Yeah. It wasn’t until later that night that I found out the reason Dad hadn’t picked me up was because he was in an accident on the way there.” Meredith felt a little short of breath, like she always did when she remembered that day, though she never talked about it. She wasn’t sure why she was now, except that she knew Britta thought she was a snot, and she wanted her to know something else about her. “And while I was sitting on Teri’s sofa eating chicken nuggets and watching the Simpsons celebrate Christmas, my own father was dying in the hospital. That was what my mother had told the aftercare lady so they’d let Teri pick me up. And I always wondered if it was because he left early for my dance class. Like maybe traffic would have been slower if he’d left at five.” She stopped talking. Her throat hurt.