Everybody's Daughter

by Marsha Qualey

  “Hi, Mrs. Reynolds.” Beamer stepped to the foot of the bed. “I hope you’re feeling better.” She took a small wrapped box from her coat pocket and handed it to Andy’s mother. “For your quick recovery.”

  “Beamer, how sweet! And after I ruined your birthday.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Beamer saw Andy slink into the room.

  “You didn’t ruin a thing. I had a great time. Just don’t ask me what I did.” Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters laughed.

  “That good, huh?” said Kim.

  Julie sat on her mother’s bed, bouncing a little as she settled in. Mrs. Reynolds moaned softly, but put her arm around her daughter.

  “Geez, Julie, get off, would you? Be smart,” Andy snapped.

  Beamer turned and looked at Andy, taking in his stony face. He didn’t look at her. Oh boy, she thought, one remark about Martin and I’ve ruined his day.

  “Oh, look at these!” Mrs. Reynolds exclaimed as she opened her gift. She lifted out two thick red slippers with snowflake designs on the toes. “Beamer, you made these, didn’t you? This is the same yarn you used for Andy’s scarf. They’re lovely.”

  “They’re for keeping your feet warm while you recover by the fireside and the men in the house take care of you.”

  “Well, if that happens, then this accident will have been a good thing.”

  Everybody laughed at that, and Andy stepped to the bed and examined the socks. His face as he turned to Beamer had cheered, and he smiled at her.

  “Andy and Beamer, look at the picture the girls did for me,” said Mrs. Reynolds, handing over the drawing. Beamer laughed at the sketch, a cartoon depiction of a cat being chased off the road by Mrs. Reynolds, who was safely motoring in an army tank.

  “Cats,” Andy’s mother said, shaking her head. “I can’t stand them. Give me a good dog any day.”

  Andy and Beamer smiled at each other. “Not me,” said Andy. “I don’t ever want a dog.”

  “Beamer, please sit down,” said Mrs. Reynolds.

  “I can’t stay. I just wanted to stop in and see how you were.”

  “And see Andy,” said Kim, and she and her sister giggled.

  “Did you like the vase he gave you for your birthday?” asked Julie.

  “Yes, it’s beautiful. I’ve told him that at least twenty times.” Beamer stepped to the side of the bed, took Mrs. Reynold’s hand, and squeezed it gently. “My mom said to let us know if you need help with anything. I’ve gotta go now. Rest easy.”

  Andy’s mother leaned back against her pillow. “Thank you, dear.”

  Beamer tapped Kim and Julie each lightly on the arm, then left the room. Andy caught up with her at the elevator. He put his arm around her, then dropped it when they were joined by other people. They didn’t speak until they reached the car.

  Andy held open the car door while Beamer started the engine and buckled up.

  “We could go somewhere for lunch. My treat.”

  “I should get back to the store.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry. Obviously I’m guilty of some terrible insensitivity. So please tell me now why you don’t like dogs.”

  Beamer peeled off a glove and held her hand over the heat vent. “This heater is lousy,” she said. “I’ll be frozen by the time I get home.”

  “Tell me.”

  She pulled the door closed, then rolled down the window. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Tell me about the dog thing,” he said.

  “It’s nothing, really,” she said. “Just something that happened a long time ago. I dreamed about it last night. That’s why I brought it up.”

  “Thanks for coming. My mom likes you a lot, you know.”

  “And mine likes you.”

  “I know. We had a good talk last night. Maybe some Saturday we should just skip the movie or whatever’s going on and stay at the bait shop. It was pretty much fun there last night. Sure cheered the girls up. We could—”

  “Andy, that is the last thing I want to do on a Saturday night. The last, the last—”

  “Bea, okay. You’re clear, I hear you.”

  A car pulled into the spot next to them. The doors opened and a family spilled out onto the snow-packed lot.

  “Bea—”

  Two of the boys from the car shoved each other and bumped Andy. “You take the stupid flowers,” one shouted. “Forget it!” shouted his brother. They pushed each other toward the hospital.

  “Bea, I love you.”

  Beamer sighed while something twisted inside. She watched the family walk away, the boys still scuffling.

  “I do, you know that.”

  She knew what he wanted to hear, but she kept still, kept her eyes on the family until they disappeared into the building.

  She looked at him. “I know that. I’ll see you in the morning.” She shifted and drove away.

  Beamer blocked Andy out of her mind. She drove fast and sang along with the radio and kept her eyes and thoughts on the empty road. She had forgotten her sunglasses, so she drove with eyes squinted against the glare. She hadn’t planned it, hadn’t really thought of him since the day before, but when Martin’s road appeared—a small tree-lined chute into the woods—she slowed and turned.

  He was surprised to see her. “I’m working, but come in for a little while.”

  Beamer paused. How weird is this? she thought. My boyfriend tells me he loves me, and I drive straight to Martin. “Not if you’re working. I’ll go.” She didn’t move.

  “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. I want you to listen to a tape.” He took hold of her arm and pulled her in. “I went out on an interview this morning, and it was great. There’s this maternity home in Grand River, did you know that?”

  “I’ve only lived here all my life, Martin.”

  “That means yes, I suppose.”

  “Pregnant girls, Martin? That’s what you want me to listen to?”

  He nodded. “It’s the best interview I’ve done. I hardly said a thing, they just talked all morning.” Beamer listened to the interview tape while Martin made tea. Several times she punctuated the girls’ confessions, sobs, and dreams with snorts and groans. “Stupid girls,” she said at one point.

  Martin stopped the tape. “Cut it out, okay? Just because you uphold a doctrine of chastity doesn’t mean you can sneer at others.”

  “It’s not the sex, Martin. I can handle that. I don’t agree with it, but I can handle it.”

  “So why call them stupid?”

  “It was a bad word to use.”

  “What bothered you?”

  “Losing control of your life, that bothers me.” Martin eyed her thoughtfully.

  “Did you hear what they were saying? ‘I had the baby for him’; ‘I know he still loves me’; ‘I would go home if he would only write.’ I don’t like that, Martin.”

  “That they care about someone?”

  “No, that caring makes them give up control. They’ve let someone come in and take over.”

  “But what if someone comes into a girl’s life and doesn’t want to take over? No demands, no changes. He just wants to enjoy being there. Is that different?” Beamer considered her answer. And as she did, she thought, finally, of Andy, remembering his suggestion to settle in on a Saturday night at the bait shop and recalling his pleading look when he had said, “I love you.” She shook the picture away and looked at Martin. His usually teasing eyes were still and clear. He rubbed his unshaven face with the back of his hand. She could almost feel the roughness.

  “That might be different,” she said softly, “if it were possible.”

  He smiled again. “I agree. Completely.” He rose. “Would you like some pie? I’ve got half an apple pie waiting to be eaten.”

  “I haven’t had lunch yet, Martin.”

  “Consider it lunch.”

  “Okay, a small piece.”

  “I have to wash forks. I guess I haven’t done dishes for some time.”

  “I can do that.”r />
  “Just sit down. It will only take a minute.”

  She pulled a chair from the table, moved to sit, then hesitated. She lifted a woman’s sweater from the chair and held it up.

  “This is interesting, Martin. I didn’t know you wore lavender.”

  He came to the table with the pie and some clean, wet silverware. “We built too big a fire and it got hot.”

  Beamer snickered. “I bet it did.”

  “Merry, do you want pie or do you want to be obnoxious? I’ll send you home in that case.”

  “I’ll be nice,” she said sweetly. They both sat down.

  “It’s not anyone you know.”

  “Not interested, Martin.”

  “She knows you, though. Or about you. Of course, most people do, after Rae Ramone’s story.”

  “I don’t want to be sent home, Martin, so I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “Now I’m talking about you.”

  “Don’t. Just eat.”

  They finished, then sat down by the fire with fresh mugs of tea.

  “How was the quiet birthday with the Woodies?”

  “I went out with friends.”

  “Good.”

  “We went to the male dance show at Tinker’s Tavern.”

  Martin’s eyes grew round. “Strippers? Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “No. Jessie Waverly and I left early and went back to the bait shop.”

  Martin laughed. “You left early and went home? And did what? Played charades, I bet. Oh, Merry, couldn’t you let loose for even one night?” He shook his head. “You are so different from the other girls I know.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m not sure. Just different.”

  “Different from Katie?” She had learned the name of his old girlfriend from Jenny.

  Martin raised his teacup to his lips, then lowered it. “We don’t talk about Andy, do we?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, what can we talk about? The weather?”

  He looked out the window. “It’s started to snow.”

  “Skiing could be perfect in a little while. Are you interested?”

  “I need to work. I want this interview to be perfect. I’m going to submit it with my application for a summer internship in Washington.”

  “D.C.?”

  “Yup. National Public Radio. They always take on some fools who will work for nothing and die while they’re doing it. I want to be one of them.”

  Martin’s cat attacked Beamer’s lap. While she calmed it with some ear scratching, she digested the news of his plans. He’d be going away. She had always assumed he would; this wasn’t his home. Still, the stated fact was unpleasant.

  “I’ll miss you,” she said. “You’ve been good company this winter.”

  “Come with me.”

  She looked startled.

  “I mean it. A bunch of us will be renting a town-house. You could get a job somewhere. It would do you good to get away from the bait shop. The parties will be great, I promise.”

  “Is that supposed to make me want to go? Great parties?”

  He laughed. “I forgot you’re not a party animal. Well, the museums are nice.”

  “I doubt if Mom and Dad would let me go. Besides, it sounds too adventurous. I’ll stick with the minnows.” She rose, went to the table, and carried their dirty dishes to the kitchen. When she returned, Martin rose to meet her. He held her firmly, then kissed her gently.

  She pulled back. “Don’t.”

  He smiled. “Just a whim, Merry. Just a friendly whim.”

  “We’re friends, Martin. I’m not someone to add to your long list of cabin conquests.”

  “Merry, it was a friendly kiss. And you’re not on any list. No one is.”

  “Sarah says—”

  “Sarah doesn’t know me.”

  Beamer fingered the edge of the table.

  “Merry, don’t hate me for having fun. I was serious and steady with one person for a long, long time. And now it’s over. And if I want to keep busy looking around, well, don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.” She pointed to the lavender sweater. “So tell me her name.”

  “Merry, I’m not trying to hide anything, but her name doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Even to you?”

  He started to protest, then reconsidered. “Maybe not. Do you think that’s awful?”

  “Meaningless sex?”

  “It is never meaningless. Call it uncommitted.”

  “Martin, I was raised by people whose every breath was a commitment. Yes, I think it is wrong.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “But is it appealing? Maybe just a little?”

  “It’s wrong,” she said quietly.

  Martin shook his head. “You are going to be a terrific mother someday.”

  “What an awful thing to say.”

  “But it’s so true. Time for you to go home. I have work to do.”

  He walked with her to the car. She got in, buckled the seatbelt, and started the engine, then rolled down the window. “I’d like to hear the tape when you’ve finished editing it,” she said. “I promise not to laugh and sneer.”

  He nodded. “I’ll drop off a copy. And forget about the kiss. It didn’t mean a thing.” He waved, then turned and ran back into the cabin. Beamer sat for a moment in the still car. The fast-falling snow had entirely blanketed the windows; the stillness and the silence were complete.

  One boy says he loves me, she thought, and the other kisses me and says it doesn’t mean a thing. She exhaled sharply, and the sudden burst of moist air fogged a large patch on the windshield. She tapped the wiper switch and watched the wipers stroke across the windshield, revealing a thick wall of falling snow. As she carefully guided the car along the narrow road, Beamer wiped the fog patch on the glass with her glove and made a face. Nothing seemed any clearer.

  Chapter 17

  Just as she neared home plate, Beamer felt her feet slipping out from underneath her. As her body followed her feet into a liftoff from the icy path, she twisted in midair and reached for the plate. The fielder’s throw whizzed by and died in a snowbank. Beamer was safe; she had scored a run. Her team had won the tournament.

  She relished the cheers and applause. She embraced and congratulated her teammates, then looked into the crowd. Her parents waved, Johnny saluted, and Sarah, Jessie, and some other friends threw snowballs. During the brief awards ceremony she saw Andy standing with Johnny. He responded to her wave with a thumbs-up but no smile.

  “Good show,” he said when she joined him afterward.

  “You may touch my medal,” she said, “but only if your hands are clean.”

  Sarah and the others came by. “We’re going over to the Elks’ tent for hot dogs,” Sarah said. “Do Romeo and Juliet want to join us?”

  “No, thanks,” Andy said quickly. “We’re cruising the fair alone.”

  Beamer looked at Sarah and shrugged. “Thanks for asking.” She watched her friends depart. “That would have been fun,” she said.

  “Sorry. I didn’t feel like a party. Let’s go. You promised me a guided tour of the Eighth Annual Grand River WinterFest. I want it now.”

  City Park covered several square blocks along the riverfront near the center of town. The park grounds sloped gently down from the softball diamond on the northern edge to the riverbank. The center of the park was a large pond, actually a backwater or lagoon of the river. The WinterFest activities were located along the sidewalk that circled the pond, and on either of the two festival days a few thousand people might be promenading.

  Beamer and Andy stood at the edge of the circling mass of people.

  “Everybody walks in the same direction,” Andy observed.

  “Clockwise,” said Beamer. “It’s always clockwise. I don’t know why, there’s no written rule, people just do it.” They plunged in, an
d were immediately greeted by a green-haired clown who handed them each a Tootsie Roll and kissed Andy on the cheek. The clown disappeared into the crowd. They walked along.

  Three jugglers started performing near the pond and the promenade thinned out. Andy and Beamer continued walking, stopping at all the commercial displays to talk with friends who were working or to accept free souvenirs. They had nearly finished the circle when Andy stopped to inspect his booty. “Seven bumper stickers, eleven balloons, two windshield scrapers, and one bookmark. What a haul.”

  “Wait until you get to our booth.”

  “What are your folks giving away?”

  “The same thing they’ve given away every year for three years. You won’t believe it when you see it.” They reached the bait shop booth. Beamer’s father immediately stepped from behind the table. “Let me look at your cheek,” he said to his daughter, and he carefully examined the reddened bump and scrape under her eye, the result of a second inning fielding mishap.

  “Well, it looked a lot worse from the bleachers,” he said. “What a dumb game.”

  “Dad!” Beamer protested.

  “That’s just what I’ve been saying all winter,” said Andy. “She never listens, though.”

  Mr. Flynn smiled at Andy. “Give this boy a key chain.”

  “That’s what we’re here for,” said Beamer, and she fished a handful out of a large bin. “Take enough for the family.”

  Andy examined one. “Oh, no,” he said. “This is really awful.”

  The ornament of the key chain was a clear plastic rectangle with the shop’s name and address printed on one side. Inside the plastic, preserved perfectly, with its mouth gaping, was a tiny minnow.

  “I don’t understand it,” said Mrs. Flynn, “but we give away at least three thousand every festival.” Mr. and Mrs. Flynn turned then to attend to other visitors. Beamer and Andy wandered off.

  “I don’t want to sound critical,” said Andy, “but this isn’t exactly the souvenir you would expect to get from committed vegetarians.”

  “Don’t ask me to explain their philosophies. Don’t ask them to.”

  “Is there something to watch now,” he said, “or should we eat?”

  Beamer thought. “Well, the snow golfing is fun, but that’s almost over, I bet. Have you seen the snow sculptures?”