My Girl

by Patricia Hermes

  But Thomas J was looking at me, like he wanted to know, really.

  "Well," I said slowly, "I think that everyone gets their own horse or their own bike or car or whatever it is they like to ride. And all they do is ride them and eat whatever they want all day long. And everybody is best friends with everybody else, and when they play sports, there are no teams so no one gets picked last. And you don't have to be scared of that. Actually, nobody's scared of anything. And nobody has allergies or gets sick. And they take care of each other, like friends. And . . . and nobody has to die."

  "What if you are afraid, though? Afraid to ride horses?" Thomas J asked.

  "It doesn't matter," I said. "Because you don't have to ride if you don't want to. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

  "But what if I wanted to ride but I was afraid to?"

  I just shook my head at him.

  What a weird kid! He was even worried about heaven!

  I sighed. "It doesn't matter, see, because they're not regular horses. They got wings, and it's no big deal if you fall. You just land in a cloud."

  "Doesn't sound so bad," Thomas J said.

  He stood up then. "Come on, let's go. We'll never find your streamer."

  I got up and got on my bike, and Thomas J did, too.

  Thomas J rode out first. But before I left the garage, I picked up the picture of Dad and my mother standing in front of the car, smiling. I put the picture in my pocket. I was going to take it to my room, maybe put it under my pillow with the old one I had there.

  My mother, smiling. My mother before I killed her.

  Maybe later I could remind Dad of it, show it to him sometime. Maybe if he remembered her, he wouldn't want Shelly. And maybe someday I could even ask him if it was my fault.

  But that wasn't the only reason I put it in my pocket. I needed it for some other reason. I wasn't sure why, but I did. Maybe because of yesterday—Shelly and putting on makeup and stuff. Maybe because when you're getting old enough to put on lipstick and wear eye shadow, maybe then you didn't need your dad's girlfriend to show you how. Maybe you needed a mother, a real mother. Even if it was just a picture of one.

  CHAPTER XV

  Things got worse after that—much worse. Dad and Shelly acted lovey to each other all the time. Dad acted like he didn't even know I was around. Well, he always acts like I'm invisible, but it got worse. All he was thinking of was Shelly, I could tell. I even caught him looking at himself in mirrors, and he wore Old Spice all the time now.

  We were getting ready for our usual Fourth of July picnic, but instead of just us—Dad and me and Uncle Phil and Gramoo—Dad had invited Shelly. Then one day when Dad and I were shopping for the picnic, we met Shelly in the supermarket, and Dad walked away from me to be with Shelly, and he went all around the store with her, like he had completely forgotten I was with him. So by accident, when I was trying to catch up with him, I ran the cart into his heel. And he turned and yelled at me, right there in front of Shelly, in front of everybody in the supermarket, like I had done it on purpose or something.

  He apologized later, but I think that was only because he saw Shelly looking at him weird.

  By the Fourth of July day, I was so mad I was hardly speaking to him.

  Not that he noticed.

  When it was finally night, and time for our picnic, Dad cooked hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill, and Shelly brought her potato salad—she called it her "famous De Voto potato salad."

  Barf.

  When we sat down for our supper outside, I raced to the picnic table to get next to Dad.

  I sat so close I was practically in his lap.

  Ha! Shelly had to sit next to Uncle Phil, across the table from us. Gramoo was at the end of the table, a little American flag in her lap that Shelly had brought for her. But Gramoo didn't seem to notice it was there. She just played with her fork until Dad fed her a little and she began to catch on.

  When we were all seated, Shelly said to Dad, "I just love your apron."

  "Thanks," Dad said, smiling. He looked down at his apron, and I thought he was blushing.

  I rolled my eyes and looked at Uncle Phil.

  He winked at me.

  I picked up my hamburger and took a bite.

  But Shelly bowed her head like she was going to pray. And then she said, "Rub-a-dub-dub. Thanks for the grub."

  "Hey, that's good!" Dad said, laughing.

  Again I looked at Uncle Phil. Again he winked at me.

  I chewed my hamburger awhile. Then I looked at Shelly.

  "Hey, Shelly," I said. "You like seafood?"

  "Sure," she said, smiling across the table at me.

  I opened my mouth wide and showed her a mouthful of chewed-up food.

  "See? Food," I said.

  "That's attractive," she said.

  "Va-da!" Dad said.

  No sense of humor at all. None.

  I looked up and noticed a car coming down the street, very slowly. It passed our house, then turned around and came back and stopped out front.

  Uh-oh. Someone needing Dad, I bet. Well, good. He could go take care of them, and I wouldn't have to watch him and Shelly making eyes at each other.

  But I felt bad, too, because I didn't want him to miss the fireworks.

  "Dad?" I said. "There's a car just parked out front."

  Dad shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Always happens. Always."

  And he started to wipe his mouth and put on his serious look.

  Just then two men came around the house and into the backyard. They looked alike, both tall and dark and kind of slimy-looking. But one was super thin, sort of like Charles in the poetry class, and the other was a little softer and fatter, especially around his stomach.

  Shelly jumped up. "Stay here!" she said. "I'll be right back. They're for me."

  She dropped her napkin and went up to the two guys. "What are you doing here?" she asked. Even though I could tell she was speaking through her teeth, her voice came through clear—and mad. Boy, was she mad!

  "Mutual assets," the skinny guy said. "Does that ring a bell?"

  "How did you find me?" Shelly said.

  Find her? Oh, good! They were cops. Come to get her!

  "You told everyone where you were going. I'm here for the motor home." He sounded super mean when he spoke, like he was holding a gun just out of sight.

  I felt my heart racing hard. So she was a thief! A car thiefl And that money—the cookie-jar money. I bet she had stolen that, too!

  Shelly had her hands on her hips and was tapping her foot.

  I could have told her that was no way to treat a cop. But she leaned in close to the skinny guy and said, "I bought it. I paid for it. And I've lived in it for over a year. The camper's mine!"

  She bought it?

  "Mutual asset," the skinny guy said. "That's what the lawyer called it. Not Shelly's recreational vehicle."

  I looked at Dad and Uncle Phil.

  Dad's eyes were screwed up tight and I've never seen him look so mean. Not even when he yelled at me in the supermarket the other day.

  Uncle Phil was smiling a little. He leaned close to Dad. "I don't think those two have a good relationship," he said quietly.

  "Can I eat Shelly's hot dog?" I said.

  Dad didn't answer me. He stood up. He didn't leave the table, just stood there watching.

  "Come on," Shelly said. "My boss is watching. I'd better introduce you."

  She came back to the table, the two guys following her. She introduced us to Danny and Ralph. Danny was the skinny one. "And this is Harry, Phil, Gramoo and Vada Sultenfuss," she said.

  "Vada Sultenfuss?" Danny said, shaking his head. "Tough break, kid."

  "I like it!" I said.

  "He's from Detroit," Shelly said, nodding her head in Danny's direction. "We used to be married."

  Dad and Phil stood up and shook hands with the two men.

  Dad looked at the guy named Danny—Shelly's husband. I could tel
l that was making him think.

  "Are you here to take Shelly back?" I asked Danny.

  "Nice to meet you, Mr. De Voto," Dad said to Danny. And he glared at me.

  "Welcome to our little hamlet, Mr. De Voto," Uncle Phil said.

  Little hamlet?

  "We have burgers and hot dogs," Dad said. "I hope you'll join us."

  "Can't stay," Danny said. "I'm only here because my wife—"

  "Ex-wife!" Shelly said.

  "My ex-wife seems to have tipped off my camper!" Danny said, sounding really angry.

  "Shelly?" Dad said.

  "Honestly, Harry," Shelly said. "He got the Mustang and the rent-controlled apartment. I promise you—"

  "Oh, I don't think so," Danny said. "In fact, I have a copy of our property settlement here and . . ."

  He pulled something out of his back pocket.

  "Oh, nuts! This is my lease. How dumb can I be?" He sank into a chair and began rubbing his forehead. "I keep forgetting things. I think I'm getting senile."

  He looked over at Gramoo.

  I went to stand beside her.

  The guy named Ralph just stood there looking from Dad to Danny to Shelly, then back again, not saying a word. I wondered if he was deaf or mute or something.

  Danny picked up a hamburger from the stack on a plate and began munching it. "And my stomach's a mess. I keep getting those attacks."

  "Are you eating greasy foods again?" Shelly asked.

  He looked down at the hamburger in his hand, then let it drop onto the table.

  "My whole life's a mess," he said, rubbing his head again.

  "Danny?" Dad said.

  "What?"

  "You're suffering a loss and there's little comfort one can offer. But I urge you to focus on the time you had with the camper. The trips you took, the sights you saw. Those days are over, but they will live forever in your heart."

  Danny looked up at Shelly. "Is this guy for real? Are you and him—"

  "That's a real bonehead thing to say," Shelly said.

  Dad sounded like the bonehead to me.

  Danny stood up and tugged at Shelly's arm. "Give me the keys," he said.

  Shelly pulled back, but Danny was holding tight. "Stop it!" Shelly said. "You're hurting me!"

  Suddenly Dad moved around the table—fast. I've never seen him move that fast. Dad's fist shot out, and with one punch to the stomach, suddenly Danny was on his knees.

  Ralph spoke up for the first time. "Hey, what'd you do that for?" he asked.

  "Who are you?" Dad asked.

  "Ralph. His brother."

  "Then you'll probably be visiting here quite often," Dad said.

  "What? Why?"

  "Because if he ever tries to take that camper," Dad said, "I'm gonna bury him in the front yard."

  Shelly and Uncle Phil and I just stared at Dad. Uncle Phil was smiling.

  Ralph knelt down and bent over Danny.

  Uncle Phil leaned close to me. "Your dad's a real savage," he whispered. But I could tell he was laughing.

  Danny straightened up. "I can't believe you did that," he said. He sounded like he was crying.

  "You were behaving badly," Dad said. "Want some supper?"

  "I'm gettin' out of here," Danny said. "Come on, Ralph."

  Danny and Ralph went out front, and all of us—all but Gramoo—trailed along behind. I wanted to be sure they didn't steal Shelly's camper. Because no matter how stupid things had been with Shelly, I didn't want her to have no place to live.

  And then I had another terrible thought: if she lost her camper and had no place to live, she'd have to live with us. I had to be sure the camper stayed here.

  When we got out front, Ralph got in the driver's side of the car, and Danny climbed in the other side.

  " 'Bye, Danny," Shelly said nicely, like she really was his friend. "And say hi to all my old friends."

  "I never see those people," Danny said. "I don't think they ever really liked me."

  Shelly leaned in and kissed Danny on the cheek, just a little peck.

  Danny sighed. Then he gave a last look at Shelly and a last sad look at the camper. "Mutual asset," he whispered.

  "Maybe he was talking about the dog," Shelly said. "How is Sidney anyway?

  "He's sick. He has colitis," Danny said.

  " 'Bye, Danny. See you, Ralph," Shelly said.

  And we all watched as they drove away. Shelly turned to Dad. "That was pretty great," she said.

  "Is it really your camper?" Dad asked.

  She smiled and turned one hand first this way, then that. "Gray area."

  "Did you love him?" Dad asked.

  "Yes," Shelly said quietly. "I used to. I would never marry anyone I didn't love."

  Then she and Dad were giving each other that look again.

  Uncle Phil took my arm. "Come on. Give you a push on the swings," he said softly.

  But I knew the real reason.

  Still, I didn't want to stand and watch them, either, so I went with him to the yard. But I didn't want him to push me on the swing. I'm not a baby.

  We went over to the table. Uncle Phil stood beside Gramoo and took her hand, stroking and holding it between both his own.

  "He likes Shelly, doesn't he?" I said. "I never saw him hit anyone in his life."

  "Yes," Uticie Phil answered. "He likes her."

  "Does he love her, you think?"

  "Probably."

  "Do you like her?"

  "Yes," Uncle Phil said. "And she's very good for your father."

  "Why? Why 'good'?"

  "After your mother died, your dad was sad all the time. But before that, he was really funny."

  "Dad was?" I said. "Really?"

  "When he's with Shelly, he sort of reminds me of the old Harry," Uncle Phil said.

  "My dad was funny?"

  "Well, he wasn't one of the Marx Brothers, but he made me laugh. You'd be surprised."

  I would. Very surprised.

  I found myself remembering something Gramoo said once. She said they told my mom that she'd never have children, and that I was a surprise.

  Steven Wallace once put a spider down my back. I didn't like that surprise.

  I didn't like surprises, period. I needed to know things right out—like what that thing is in my throat. And if Mr. Bixler liked me and would wait for me.

  And I definitely didn't want any surprises from Dad.

  CHAPTER XVI

  My throat hurt so much that night that the next morning I went to get Thomas J to go with me to see Dr. Welty.

  When I called for Thomas J, his mother came out on the porch with him, her hand on his shoulder.

  "Wait a minute," Mrs. Sennett said, holding him back. "I saw something." She turned him to face her and then licked her fingers and wiped his mouth. "You had a milk mustache," she said.

  He made a face, but he smiled at his mom and she smiled back. And I thought for a minute that I wouldn't mind being him.

  Mrs. Sennett smiled at me then. "Riding bikes?" she asked.

  I nodded. I wasn't going to tell her we were going to Dr. Welty's. I wondered if Thomas J ever told her about that.

  "Have fun, kids!" she said. And she went back in the house. Over her shoulder she called to Thomas J,

  "And your bed better be made."

  "It is, it is," he muttered.

  "Let's go," I said.

  "To the lake?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "To Dr. Welty." He nodded.

  "You sick?" he asked.

  "Yeah."

  When we got to Dr. Welty's I left Thomas J in the waiting room, like always, and went in alone. After what Dr. Welty had said last week about Mr. Layton, I couldn't say that I thought I had a tumor, a cancer. So I just decided I'd tell him I felt like I had gotten a chicken bone stuck there at the picnic last night. Of course, he didn't need to know we hadn't had any chicken last night. But I needed him to check my throat at least once more. If the tumor had grown since last week and was goin
g to choke me to death during the night, maybe by now Dr. Welty could see it.

  But Dr. Welty just said there was no chicken bone in my throat.

  "Everything's fine!" he said. And then he added, "How's Thomas J these days? Is he doing okay—his asthma?"

  "He's right in the waiting room. Why don't you ask him? Are you sure I'm all right?"

  "You're fine, Vada." He smiled at me. "Just fine."

  Fine? Ha! It wasn't his father who was falling in love with Shelly.

  I was just on my way out of the examining room when I heard Mrs. Randall talking to Thomas J. She was showing him how to put water in a syringe—a syringe that had no needle and how to use it like a squirt gun.

  Thomas J always surprises me. He can get anyone to do stuff with him even grumpy old Mrs. Randall.

  Thomas J held out the syringes. "Look what we got!" he said.

  "I want one!" I said.

  Thomas J handed me one of the two he had, and then, right there, he squirted me.

  I chased him outside and squirted him back.

  We got on our bikes, then headed down the street.

  Without talking about it or anything, we ended up heading for the willow tree and the lake.

  Thomas J was squirting everything in sight—trees, flowers, even a dog.

  We came to the lake, and both of us stopped to refill at the edge of the lake.

  When I came back to Thomas J, he was standing very still near a big oak tree, just looking up.

  "What are you looking at?" I asked.

  "There's a beehive up there."

  "Where?"

  He pointed with his syringe.

  "So?"

  He took aim and squirted.

  "You're nuts!" I said. "You'll get stung."

  "Stand back!" Thomas J said. "We'll chase them out of there, and then I can have the hive. I'll add it to my collection."

  Weird. First he collects dead bugs and now bug houses.

  He squirted again, but he didn't even hit it.

  "That's stupid," I said, pushing him back. "You're going to get stung."

  "Nah, we won't," Thomas J said.

  He picked up a rock and threw it at the nest.

  It missed, and the rock almost fell back on his head. He ducked.