by Torey Hayden
He watched me.
‘So?’ I asked. ‘Who else is going to? Megan can’t. She’s too young. And too irresponsible. I used to do it when I was her age but you could never trust Megan like that.’
Paul picked a clover blossom from the lawn. He had collected half a dozen or so in his lap. With his fingernail he split the stems and tried to chain them together. They fell apart. ‘I’d go stark raving mad if I had to stay home with my mother,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t pay me.’
‘I’ve never thought too much about it,’ I replied. ‘It’s just something I’ve always done.’
‘Do you resent it?’ he asked, looking over. ‘I would. Even if my mom was tolerable, which she isn’t. I’d still resent my old man telling me what to do. Boy, if he told me I had no choice but to stay home with my mom, I’d sure say a thing or two.’
‘No, you wouldn’t,’ I said.
‘You want to bet? I would. I mean, you got your own life to lead, haven’t you?’
I paused. ‘I don’t see where it’s very different from having your father tell you what school to go to and what subject to major in.’
An angry glare. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Seems the same thing to me. Seems worse. You don’t want to go into statistics. You know very well you don’t. You’re not even especially good at it. It’s just him telling you to do it.’
Leaning over, I searched through the grass for a four-leaf clover. Neither one us said a word. Paul still struggled to make his clover chain; it still fell apart. I found what I thought to be a four-leaf clover and pulled it out. It wasn’t. I balled the leaves up between my fingers, and the juice ran out and stained my skin.
‘It’s a lot different,’ he said, resentment still echoing in his voice. ‘I have to go where my dad says because he’s paying for it. If it’s his money, I’m pretty much trapped, aren’t I? But how much are you getting for this? You’re not being paid to stay home. There’s no money involved. You don’t have to do it.’
The small wad of green pulp was still between my fingers. I lifted it up and smelled it. I liked the smell of grass. Letting out a long breath, I shrugged. ‘You do have to, Paul,’ I said. ‘Know what I mean? They’re your family. You just do it. I don’t know why. You just do.’
My father didn’t return until almost seven that evening. I knew where he had been. Over at the Watermans, telling them about my mother and their boy. Of course, I didn’t want to say that to Mama. When she’d come downstairs from her nap about 5.30, she’d wondered aloud why my father was late. To keep her from worrying, I said the first thing that popped into my head. I told her he’d phoned from the garage while she was asleep and had said he had to stay late to service the mayor’s car because the mayor had some big function first thing in the morning and his car wouldn’t run. I had no idea if the mayor even patronized Mr Hughson’s garage but I assumed Mama didn’t know either.
When six o’clock came and went and my father still was not back, Mama made us a cold supper with a salad so that we could eat and yet Dad wouldn’t have to eat warmed-up food when he came in. Megan had hauled out her Barbie-doll camper and about two hundred miscellaneous Barbie-doll accessories and had strewn them all over the kitchen floor while Mama was preparing the meal. After having dodged Megan and her toys for long enough, my mother finally told her to get out of the way with her things. ‘See, you can’t do that any more,’ Megan said to the Barbie doll, jamming it into the camper. She whizzed it off across the floor. ‘Barbie’s going to concentration camp now,’ she said to herself as she crawled along the floor and propelled the plastic camper out into the hallway. My mother went white. I told her that we had to do something about Megan’s reading those awful books.
When my father returned, he appeared exhausted. He’d apparently cleaned up at the garage before going over to the Watermans, because he returned home wearing a shirt and tie. While he was up in the bathroom washing for supper, Mama said in a scandalized whisper to me that the mayor was expecting a bit too much to have the men who serviced his car work in white shirts. I said no doubt it had been a nerve-wracking experience for Daddy, so it was probably best not to mention the mayor to him at all.
Mama sat with my father at the kitchen table while he ate. As she talked to him, she leaned across the table towards him. She told him how we had spent the day, about the pictures and our lunch and seeing that the lilac by the garbage cans was starting to bud. She told him that she had read in a women’s magazine that you had to watch out for too much lead in the water in old houses because of lead pipes and did he know if our house had lead pipes, since it was, after all, a rather old house. All the time she spoke, she kept her fingers moving toward him, fiddling with the placemat and the coffee cup and the cuff of his shirt. She spoke in Hungarian, and it occurred to me, as I stood with my back to them, listening while I did the dishes, that Mama wasn’t speaking English very much at all lately, even when she wasn’t tired.
After supper I gave my father a while to unwind before I went up to the study. As always, he was stretched out in the lounger. He had it pushed all the way back into a horizontal position. The radio was blaring out marching music, which I would not have found particularly relaxing. But Dad had his eyes closed and his arms hanging loosely over the sides of the chair.
I did not say anything. I simply let myself in and sat down on the footstool next to the chair. Listening to the music, I decided that I didn’t care greatly for marches.
My father opened his eyes slightly and looked at me.
‘How did it go?’ I asked.
He groaned and let his head loll back.
‘What did they say?’
‘She’s been making a damned nuisance of herself out there. They didn’t know who she was but they were getting ready to call the police.’
‘Oh great.’
He nodded wearily.
‘Were they at all understanding? I mean, you know …’
‘Not especially. But then you can hardly expect them to be, can you? By now, I would have drawn and quartered anyone I’d caught hanging around one of you girls like that. I wouldn’t be very understanding either.’
It had been humiliating for him. He didn’t say it but he didn’t need to. It was evident from the way he described the event. People never were very tolerant about putting up with other people’s crazy relations. They always thought they were. Very liberal and very understanding. But when push came to shove, I had never witnessed it to be true.
‘Dad, I have an idea,’ I said. ‘Mama and I were talking this afternoon, and something occurred to me.’
He glanced over.
‘Could we go to Wales?’
His eyes popped open. ‘Wales?’
‘Yes. Mama and I were looking through some old pictures and she was telling me how much she regretted leaving there. So I was thinking …’ I let the words trail off, hoping he would pick them up. Hearing my thoughts said aloud made them sound much less plausible.
My father said nothing at all.
‘Well, I was thinking that if maybe we could go somewhere, it’d take Mama’s mind off Toby Waterman.’
‘Oh Lessie,’ he said, smiling. Gently, he reached out and touched my face just the way he did with Megan when she was being endearingly stupid.
‘But it would get her away. It’d solve things.’
‘Lesley, it’s a nice idea but there’s no way we could do it. Wales is another country. You can’t just pick up your bags and go there. It takes job permits and visas and lots of money. And I’m afraid no one would want to give a permit to an old man like me.’
‘You’re not old.’
He smiled.
‘Well, anyhow, I wasn’t thinking necessarily of moving. How about just a vacation? Back to somewhere Mama really wants to be. Until she gets this idiotic notion about Toby out of her head.’
‘No money, sweetheart,’ my father said. Putting his head back, he stared at the ceiling in silence for a m
oment. ‘That’s what it all boils down to in the end: money. What I would do, if I were rich. I’d take her anywhere her heart desired. I’d go to Lébény or Wales or Vienna. Anywhere.’ Then he looked over to me. ‘The problem is, I’m not rich.’
Crestfallen, I looked down at my hands. He caressed my cheek.
‘Don’t feel bad,’ he said. ‘It was a sweet idea.’
‘Would it really cost that much? Just to have a vacation? Even a little one?’
‘I have no money, Lesley. Not even for a little vacation.’
I sat, thinking. The music on the radio had changed. I didn’t recognize it. It was a slow melody played on panpipes, wistfully sad.
‘I’ve got almost $250 in my savings account from working at the nursing home,’ I said. ‘I was meaning to save it for college but I wouldn’t care if you took it now. I can earn more in the summer when I can work full time. We could use that. Would that be enough?’
‘No, darling,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid it wouldn’t.’
Again, I lowered my head. I studied the strands of fibre in the rug and thought. ‘Remember my bond?’ I asked. ‘That one Grandma got me when I was little. For me to go to college. Could we use that?’
He shook his head.
‘That’s a thousand dollars, Daddy. I can cash it when I turn eighteen. Surely that would be enough? Wouldn’t it? That’s a lot of money.’
‘That’s college money, Lesley. That’s for you to take and go get a good education like your grandmother intended. Colleges don’t come cheap either.’
‘But it would be enough, wouldn’t it? To go to Wales, I mean. We could take Mama to Wales on the thousand dollars, and then I could just work or something when I get to college. I’ve always found jobs. I’ll manage.’
‘No, I want that money for your education. That’s what it was meant for. That’s why your grandmother gave it to you, Lesley. Not for anything else.’
I didn’t reply. My mind was running elsewhere, producing rapid visions of Wales. We could do it with a thousand dollars. We could take Mama to Wales, and she’d forget about Toby Waterman and about Klaus and everything would go back to the way it was before. I smiled. We’d all go home to Forest of Flowers.
Chapter Fifteen
Before school the next morning I went into the study after my father had left for work, and I rifled through the files for Grandma’s bond. When I located it, I took it out and put it in the underwear drawer of my dresser in my room. My eighteenth birthday was eight days off. After that the money was mine. Grandma had said so.
School was becoming more difficult to stomach. It was one of those places I always wanted to be when I wasn’t there but never enjoyed as much as I’d anticipated when I was. Even in the best of times I never quite fitted in. I would try. I would wear the same make-up, put on the same clothes, attempt the same expressions as the others, but I knew I came out looking stupid, like a little girl in dressing-up clothes. And no one was fooled. In the more difficult times, like when we were moving or when Mama was being awkward, I didn’t even bother to try to fit in. I knew I didn’t. I knew the other kids didn’t go home to what I went to. I knew they didn’t care that I went home to it. During those times school was a love-hate relationship for me. I loved it for its freedom, for its dreamworld, for all its passionate, meaningless conformities. But when I was there, in my classes, in the cafeteria, I hated it.
In calculus Danielle, the girl who sat in front of me, was always talking to the girl who sat at the back. They were very much part of the school elite, both on the cheerleading squad, with boyfriends in school athletics. Danielle never spoke to me. For Danielle I did not exist except as an object she had to curve her head around to see Chris, who sat behind me, or occasionally as someone to borrow answers to homework from when she hadn’t had time to get them done herself. But I wasn’t a good enough student to merit an actual relationship based on that.
They were talking about boys. Dudes, they called them. Foxy dudes. And about Missy, who was having to go out the next Friday with Timothy Gold. Timothy? Gawd, Chris said. Gawd, she must be desperate. Gawd, if I had to go out with him, I’d die.
I was thinking about how little Chris probably knew about dying. I wished passionately that Mrs Browder would turn around and make them shut up. She was drawing hyperbolic curves on the blackboard, and with ESP I tried to will her to turn around. When she finally did turn, she looked directly at me and said, Lesley, would you please be quiet? Chris sniggered.
At lunch, when I was down in the cafeteria with Brianna and Claire, the lunch aide came to me with a slip of paper that summoned me to the office. My father had phoned and I was supposed to call him back.
‘Your mother is out at the Watermans’,’ he said when I did. ‘Would you come down and get the car and go take her home?’
‘Oh Dad, do I have to? Can’t you?’ I felt certain everyone in the office was listening. My cheeks burned.
‘Lessie, somebody is going to have to stay with her or she’ll go right back out. You know your mama. And I just can’t leave the garage right now. Mr Hughson’s at lunch. I’m the only one here …’
Mr Waterman was sitting in a straight-backed chair on the front porch. My mother was in a wicker rocker beside him. She had a grim, displeased expression on her face, but it was nothing compared to Mr Waterman’s.
‘You keep her away from here, you understand?’ He was a bigger version of Toby, but fat, his stomach hanging out over his belt like over-risen bread dough. He wore a string vest and stained grey flannel trousers. ‘Now I told Mr O’Malley that I don’t want her coming around here no more, bothering my boy. You hear? You keep her away from here or I’ll have the law out. I will. The next time I see her. You understand, girl?’
I nodded.
Mama rose.
‘You tell your father that. You tell him the next time I catch her out here, he’ll be fetching her from the police station. I ain’t having no more of it. I mean it. I ain’t having no crazy woman hanging around here. You make that good and plain to her.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said. Then I turned and went back to the car with Mama.
Once seated, I slammed the car door and turned the key in the ignition. Mama sat on her side, arms folded across her breasts, mouth set in a tight, annoyed expression. I could see that she was just as angry with me as she was with Mr Waterman. I was supposed to be on her side. She was thinking that, and I could tell it. And she was immensely irritated by my disloyalty.
‘You just can’t keep going out there, Mama,’ I said. ‘Daddy told you not to. You’re supposed to stay at home.’
‘I’m going to get him back,’ she said resolutely.
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Mama. This has gone far enough. It’s got to stop.’
No reply. She sat in silence, looking like one of those warrior women in the old German operas, expression fierce, arms folded firmly. Resentment emanated from her.
‘Do you realize how humiliating that was for me?’ I asked. ‘Do you have any idea how embarrassed I feel? Geez, I wanted to fall into a hole.’ I glanced over at her. ‘I’m getting sick of this. I was in school and I had to leave to come get you. Paul and I were going to go to Torres Café after school. And now Dad’s called me up and made me come out here and get you. I’m sorry you’re mad at me. I’m sorry you don’t see things the way the rest of us do. But honest to God, Mama, I’m getting to the end of my rope with you too.’
A heavy release of breath.
‘Now, you’re just going to have to stop all this nonsense. You got to accept the fact that that little kid is not Klaus. What would you want that little kid for anyway? He’s dirty. And he’s that nasty man’s son. Not yours. That’s all there is to it.’
‘You should help me,’ she said accusingly.
‘I’m hardly going to do that.’
‘They’re clever. You’re not old enough to know. You don’t understand them, how they can make you believe things. But I’m not fooled. They fooled
me once, but not again. No one’s taking him away from me this time.’
‘Mama! Honestly, Mama, no one is trying to take him away from you. He isn’t yours.’
I sucked in a long breath between my teeth to quell the frustration. We’d reached the house. Pulling the car over to the kerb, I parked it. ‘Now, listen, Mama. I’m going to tell you one more time and I want you to listen good. You’ve made a mistake. You’re remembering things and they’ve gotten mixed up in your mind. That boy is not your Klaus. Maybe he looks like him. Maybe he seems like him. But it isn’t him. I’m right, Mama. Nobody’s tricked me. No one’s fooled me. I’m right and I’m telling you the whole truth. I don’t know where your Klaus is, but that boy isn’t him.’
My mother simply unlatched the door on her side of the car and got out.
Furious and frustrated, I followed her up the walk. The humiliation of having had to face Mr Waterman and bring Mama home like a wandering pet intensified my exasperation.
Coming behind her through the back door and into the kitchen, I said, ‘Why can’t you understand, Mama? Why do you always have to be so stubborn about things?’
She turned. Her expression blackened but she said nothing. Instead, she went to the refrigerator and took out the milk. She began opening the top and I could tell she was going to drink the damned milk right out of the carton. I leaped over the kitchen stool, grabbed a glass out of the dish drainer and slammed it down on the counter in front of her.
‘I’m getting tired of this,’ I said. ‘I’m getting sick of you wrecking my days with all the stupid things you think up.’
She took the glass, poured the milk, drank it and poured herself a second glass. She behaved as if I weren’t in the room, when I was standing so close to her that she couldn’t shut the door of the refrigerator without difficulty. Frustration was making me wild. I didn’t know what to do to get through to her. She could simply close her mind off to all reason. She could act like a perfectly normal human being on one hand and on the other be as dense as a rock.