Shooting Stars 03 Rose

by V. C. Andrews

  My mother stood in the hallway, her arms folded, gazing at us and forcing a smile onto her face. Paula looked from her to me and raised her eyebrows.

  "Your father still not back?" I shook my head.

  "He'll be fine. Don't worry about it." Mommy assured me. "Go on. Have a good time, girls."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Wallace," Paula replied instantly.

  Was her budding, romance so important to her that she could ignore our worries? I wondered. One look at her told me most definitely. "Let's go," she urged, practically pulling me out the door.

  I glanced back at Mammy and felt so terrible leaving her. "Go on," she ordered in a loud whisper.

  "I'll call after the movies. Mammy," I promised. She nodded and we left.

  Paula babbled about the boys all the way to the theater complex. I was only half-listening. Daddy's behavior the night before had made me nervous and his considerable lateness on top of that had practically turned me inside out.

  "Stop worrying," Paula finally cried as we drew closer to the movies. "He's probably with some of his buddies in some bar. My father's done that dozens of times."

  "My father hasn't," I said dryly.

  She shook her head and looked at me as if I lived in a bubble.

  When we arrived at the theater, the boys were waiting in the lobby. Paula went right after Ed, swooping in on him as if she was afraid to let him have a moment without her voice in his ear and her face in his eyes. He looked overwhelmed, and glanced back at Barry, who just smiled and escorted me quietly to our seats. I liked Barry well enough. He was a good-looking boy and seemed very nice. His shyness was actually calming and refreshing. Most of the boys I knew thought they were God's gift to women and spent more time on their coiffure, complexion, and clothes than most of the girls.

  But I was a poor date this night. Even the movie, an exciting thriller about a woman and her seven-year-old daughter imprisoned by a mad family after her car broke down on an old country road, didn't keep my attention. My mind continually drifted back to Mommy standing in that hallway, looking so small and fragile under the cloak of fear and anxiety. I couldn't wait for the show to end so I could get to the pay phone to call her.

  She answered on the first ring, which told me she was hovering over the phone in anticipation.

  "Mammy, isn't he back?"

  "No," she said, her voice cracking. "I don't know what to do. Should I call the police? I just know what they'll do about it... nothing, I bet. A man doesn't come home to his wife for hours. That's probably not so uncommon, but your father hasn't done something like this before. He's done lots of things I could ring his neck over, but this isn't something he's done. Of course, there's no telling if he's starting some new outrage for me to tolerate."

  I realized she was babbling to me.

  "Call the police anyway, Mammy," I said. "Let them be the ones to tell you not to worry, but at least let them be aware of your concern."

  "I don't know. It's embarrassing," she said. "But maybe you're right. Maybe..."

  "Do it, Mammy," I insisted.

  Finally, she agreed and hung up.

  I turned to the others.

  "I've got to go home." I said.

  "What?" Paula cried, her face practically sliding off her skull. "We're going to get some pizza and then we're going to Ed's house and..."

  "I've got to go home," I repeated. "I'm sorry. My father hasn't come home from hunting and it's almost ten o'clock. My mother's calling the police."

  "Wow!" Ed said.

  "Oh pooh," Paula groaned.

  "I'll take her home. You two go for pizza," Barry said.

  "Really? Okay," Paula said quickly. She scooped her arm into Ed's. "We'll just go ahead in my car." She practically tugged him out of the movie lobby.

  "Thanks." I told Dairy. We left the theater quickly.

  "I'm sorry to spoil everyone's good time," I said after we got into his car.

  "No problem. There'll be other good times," he replied and I understood why I liked him. He wasn't really shy. He had a more mature way about him, a quieter, far more self-assured manner than most of the boys in my class. He was a contender for

  valedictorian, only half a percentage point separating him from Judy McCarthy, a girl the other students called "Dot Com" because of her computer-like brain and zero personality.

  Barry tried his best to reassure me as we drove to my house. He talked about duck hunters who lost track of time, uncles of his who went to such out-ofthe-way places for their secret spots it took half a day to get back.

  "Maybe your dad just met up with one of the old-timers here who took him to his special pond or whatever. Some of these guys travel hundreds of miles to shoot a duck."

  "You don't go hunting?" I asked him. He shook his head.

  "I fish a little, but I've never been into guns. My father wishes I was. He'd like me to go with him, but I never took to it. Bugs, mud, ugh." he said. and I had my first smile since Daddy hadn't arrived at five.

  I thanked Barry and got out of his car quickly when we pulled into my driveway. I could see that Daddy's Jeep was still not there.

  "I'll call you," Barry shouted as I hurried to the door.

  I waved back at him and practically lunged into the house.

  Mammy was in the living room staring at the wall. I caught my breath and waited.

  "I phoned the police and it was just as I expected. They told me he'd have to be gone longer for them to consider it any sort of police matter. I asked how long and the dispatcher said longer. He wouldn't give me a specific time.'

  She lifted her hands, palms up.

  "What do we do?"

  "What can we do, Mommy? We wait." I said and sat beside her.

  She took my hand and rocked a bit and then she leaned against me and we both sat there, our hearts pounding as one, waiting in silence.

  "Put on the television set," Mommy said after a while. "I need something to distract me."

  I did. We gazed at the picture, heard the voices of the actors, but it all ran together. Near midnight. Mommy fell asleep beside me. I rose to turn off the television set when I saw the car headlights pulling into our driveway. My heart did flip-flops. Daddy, I thought. Finally.

  But when I stepped up to the window, I saw it wasn't Daddy. It was a police car, with the emblem on the side identifying it as a Georgia State Police vehicle. Two officers stepped out, put on their hats, and walked toward our front door. For a moment, I couldn't move: I couldn't breathe. I just watched them approaching. Then I turned to Mommy. I thought I said. "Mommy," but she didn't stir and I wasn't sure if I had spoken or shouted in my own mind.

  The sound of the door buzzer made her eyelids flutter. The policemen pressed the buzzer again and Mammy opened her eyes, looked at me, and sat up.

  "Was that our front door?"

  "Yes, Mommy," I said. I couldn't swallow.

  "Well, who would be here at this hour?"

  I glanced out the window and then back at her. "It's the police, Mammy."

  "The police?"

  She smothered a cry. She seemed frozen. Her hand hovered near her throat. Something horrible exploded in my heart just watching her reactions,

  "Go," she finally managed to utter.

  I went quickly to the door and opened it. They had their hats off again. Both looked so tall and impressive, larger than life, beyond reality, like two characters who had emerged from the television program we were barely watching.

  "Is this the home of Charles Wallace?" the slightly taller one on the right asked me.

  "Yes."

  "Is Mrs. Wallace here?"

  "Yes." I'm glad they didn't ask another question. I didn't think I could say more.

  They stepped in and I backed up. The second patrolman closed the door behind him.

  "May we speak with her?" the first patrolman asked me.

  I nodded and went to the living room doorway. They followed. "Mrs. Charles Wallace?" he asked.

  Mommy nodded-- sligh
tly, stiffly. Quickly. I went to her side and she reached up for my hand.

  The patrolman approached us. In the light his face looked pale, his eyes two ebony marbles.

  "I'm sorry, ma'am, but your husband appears to have been in a serious hunting accident. A few hours ago, a farmer out in Granville Lake called the local police to report a row boat with a man slumped in it."

  A long sighed escaped from Mommy's choked throat. She swayed and would have fallen forward, if I hadn't held tightly to her hand.

  "The patrolman on the scene reported what looked like a gun accident. ma'am. Searching for identification, he came up with your husband's license and other items. He had a fatal wound in his chest area. I'm sorry." the patrolman said.

  "My husband... is... dead?" Mammy asked. She had to hear the definite words.

  "I'm very sorry," he replied, nodding. "It's too early to tell, but preliminary examination suggests he was killed instantly and some time before he was discovered."

  "I called the police to report him being very late,"

  Mammy said, as if that should have prevented it. "They told me I would have to wait longer."

  The patrolman nodded.

  "Yes, ma'am. What we have here is an unattended death, ma'am, so there is a mandatory autopsy."

  My leas finally gave out on me and I crumpled to the sofa and sat beside her. Mammy just stared at the two patrolmen.

  "Maybe there's someone you should call." the second patrolman directed to me.

  I shook my head.

  "Someone will be here in the morning to tell you more," the first patrolman continued. "Is there anything we can do for you at the moment?"

  Mammy shook her head.

  I didn't feel myself. I thought I had turned into pure air and a breeze would come along and simply scatter me everywhere. My daddy was dead? He wasn't corning home for his duck dinner. He was never coming home again. Mammy and I were alone forever.

  The second patrolman stepped forward and held out a plastic bag with Daddy's personal things in it. I saw his wallet, his watch, and his wedding ring. Mammy just looked up at it. I reached out and took it.

  "We located his vehicle about a mile upstream," the patrolman said after I took the bag. "After we examine it, we'll have it brought back."

  "This is very unfortunate, ma'am. Did your husband go out by himself, do you know, or did he go with someone else?" the first patrolman asked softly.

  Suddenly, I felt we really were in a television movie. The police were trying to determine if Daddy's death was truly accidental.

  "Himself," Mammy managed to utter.

  "You're positive, ma'am?"

  "He didn't go out with anyone," I said sharply. The patrolman nodded.

  "Was he upset when he left today?" he continued.

  "Upset?" My mother smiled. "No, not Charles. Not Charles, never upset."

  They stood there silently. What were they after? What were they tying to say?

  "What could have happened?'" I asked. The second patrolman shook his head.

  "He could have tripped and accidentally discharged the gun," he suggested. "It's not the most uncommon thing to happen."

  "It's never wise to go out alone," the first patrolman said, as if we could learn an important lesson from this.

  "Tripped?" my mother muttered.

  "Well, we did find he was drinking some, ma'am. There was a bottle of bourbon in the boat. Guns and whiskey just don't mix," he added. Another valuable lesson.

  Mammy just stared up at him. I looked at the floor. The words were all jumbling in my mind, stacking up and sprawling out like some product on an assembly line in the Lewis Foundry going awry.

  "You're sure there's nothing we can do for you?" the second patrolman asked.

  Mammy shook her head, her eyes so glassy they looked fake.

  "Please accept our condolences, ma'am."

  They stood there a moment and then both turned and walked out the door. We heard them open the front door and close it behind them. I looked down at the plastic bag containing Daddy's things in my hand. Mommy followed my eves and stared at it, too.

  She reached out and took the bag, plucking the ring gently from the bag and turning it in her fingers.

  "Charles," she said and she started to sob, deep rasping sobs emerging from her throat, but no tears yet from her eyes. It was all taking hold slowly, but firmly, the realization, the reality that this was not some nightmare. This had just happened.

  I saw the words and the thoughts forming in her eyes. Her husband was gone.

  I took a deep breath. I had to let reality in, too. I had to let the thought take shape.

  My daddy was gone.

  3 Secrets

  After my daddy's death, the nightmares and bleak thoughts that had shadowed our lives for so long finally took more solid shapes and crossed over the line between the darkness and the light. One discovery after another descended on our small, fragile world with the force of a sledgehammer. Mammy made the shocking discovery that Daddy had neglected to pay his life insurance premiums. Somewhere along the rough and uneven line of our lives, he had simply overlooked it, or in his inimitable fashion had decided, why worry about dying?

  Thinking back now, I realized we never spoke much about death in our house. My father had become so estranged from his parents that he didn't attend his own father's funeral. He did go to his mother's, but he didn't take me or my mother along. It was almost just another business trip because he attached an interview with a prospective new employer to his itinerary and when he returned had nothing to say about his relatives.

  My mother's parents had long since disowned her and put all their attention and love into her younger brother and sister. She tried to restore a relationship, but my grandfather was a stubborn, unforgiving man whose reply and philosophy was "You made your bed. Now lie in it."

  I had only vague memories of both of them, and the one picture Mammy had of her father was of him staring at the camera, almost daring it to capture his image. Mommy told me he didn't believe in smiling for pictures because it made him look insubstantial and foolish, and he hated being thought anything but important. Looking at him in the picture frightened me so much, I had nightmares.

  Neither he nor my grandmother responded to the announcement of my father's death and more importantly didn't offer any assistance. It compounded my mother's sorrow and laid another heavy rock on her chest.

  The only time I could actually recall my father talking about death was when he said, why talk about it?

  "As I see it, there are things over which you have some control and things over which you don't. Rose. Just forget about the ones you don't. Pretend they don't exist and it won't bother you," he told me.

  However, for us, that translated into all sorts of big problems beginning with no money for a real funeral, a grave site, or a tombstone. When Mammy lamented about these things. I wondered why she had permitted it to happen, too, why hadn't she insisted on facing realities? Why hadn't she seen to it that these things were addressed? Why did she bury her head in the sand Daddy poured around us? I wanted to scream at her, demanding to know why she had put up with all of this irresponsibility.

  But how do you ask such questions and say such hard things to a woman who looked like she was being dragged over hot coals by a cruel and indifferent Fate? Was there any way to have such a sensible conversation with someone who looked stunned, who barely could eat or talk or dress herself in the morning? She was always a woman who paid attention to her appearance, and now, she didn't care how washed-out and haggard she looked.

  Fortunately for us. Mr. Kruegar decided he would pay Daddy's salary for two more months and help with the funeral costs. Apparently, he really did like Daddy and enjoyed his company at the

  dealership. As soon as the news of Daddy's death was out. Mr. Kruegar was the first one to come calling, and that was when he made all these offers.

  "We got a lot of new business out of sponsoring you in the beauty conte
st," he told me as we all sat in our living room. It was so still and quiet, it did seem as if the world had been put on pause. "I'm glad your father asked me to do it."

  I simply stared at him. How could he talk about something like that at this horrible time? I wondered.

  He smiled at Mommy. She nodded, but she looked like she would nod at anything, even if he merely cleared his throat.

  "You know, next month is Kruegar's twentyfifth anniversary. I'm thinking of having a big celebration. Refreshments, balloons, little mementos to give out, special discounts on the new cars and used cars, stuff like that. I'm going to have the local television network there and a radio station

  broadcasting from my site. I'd like you to come down and be one of my hostesses." he told me. "Maybe you could wear that beauty contest swimsuit and do that hula-hula dance you did. You'll be on television.I'll pay you a hundred dollars a day that weekend." he added. Mommy raised her eyebrows and looked at me.

  "I don't feel much like parading around in a bathing suit and dancing, Mr. Kruegar."

  "Oh, I know that. Not now, but next month. Give it some thought. okay? I'd like to do what I can to help you people. I'll miss him. Great guy, great salesman. Broke a record in March, you know. I gave him that thousand dollar bonus for it."

  He turned to Mammy, but she shook her head and I realized Daddy had never told her. I wondered why. I think Mr. Krutzar realized it, too, because he suddenly looked embarrassed and made his excuses to leave.

  Some of my school friends came to visit and a few of the women Mammy had gotten to know and be friendly with brought baskets of fruit and flowers, some coming with their husbands, but most coming alone. Everyone wanted to know what we were going to do now, but few came right out and actually asked. I think they were afraid she might ask them for help.

  Mommy was still considering going to work at the insurance company. We were in very bad financial condition, even with the two months' salary from Mr. Kruegar, because Daddy's income really came from commissions. We had little in a savings account and all our regular expenses loomed above and around us like big old trees threatening to crush us. In the evenings Mommy would sift through her possessions, considering what she could sell to raise some money. I felt so terrible about it. I offered to quit school and get a job myself, Of course, she wouldn't hear of it.