The Usual Rules

by Joyce Maynard

  She pulled up in front and took out the shovels. They were the only ones there. A man came out of the house.

  Look what the dog brought in, he said. Long time no see.

  I’ve actually got cash in my pocket today, Harvey, she said. I got hired for a landscaping job, if you can believe it.

  Let’s see if anything strikes your fancy, he said.

  They walked out back. It was nothing like the places Wendy used to go with her mother and Josh in Connecticut, farms where everything was lined up in rows. Or the place where they went to cut their Christmas tree. Maybe there was an order to how Harvey had things arranged, but if so, Wendy couldn’t figure it out. There were cacti everywhere. Large and small. A million different types.

  He took them into a long, low structure with plastic nailed on the roof and wooden tables set up for the cactus plants. There were markers with the names of the different varieties stuck in the dirt. Staghorn cholla. Hedgehog prickly pear. Buckhorn. Beavertail. Some of them were very beautiful and symmetrical—spheres and spikes and egg-shaped cacti with bright pink blossoms coming out the sides. Others looked like some horrible skin condition, like Seth’s face after the worst breakout ever. Like a vegetable her mother found at the bottom of the crisper drawer one time, with so much mold growing off it, you couldn’t even tell anymore if it was a zucchini or a yam. Still think we don’t keep enough produce on hand, sweetheart? her mother said to Josh, holding it up, but with one of her rubber gloves on.

  Can I take it to school? Louie asked.

  These are so ugly, they’re beautiful, Carolyn said.

  Wendy could see her point. And not just ugly but strange. Like there was a whole other way for a plant to be, a whole other direction for things to grow besides straight up or across. It would never have occurred to you before, like the usual rules for plants just didn’t apply to cacti.

  Finding what you were looking for? Harvey asked. Carolyn was already over in another corner, digging.

  You know me, Harvey, she said. When I think about heaven, I picture cacti there.

  The car was so full by the time they were done, Carolyn had to put a couple of plants on the floor in the front. Don’t let the prickers get you, she said to Wendy. She laid a piece of cardboard over the spines of the sharper-looking one to protect Wendy’s feet, since she was only wearing sandals.

  I wish my little brother could see that place, she said. She’d never mentioned Louie to Carolyn before. He’d want to take out his trucks and make roads in the dirt and play that the really weird cacti were space aliens. He’d set up his cowboy figures in the dirt and have them all talking to one another, having these crazy battles with plastic cocktail-pick swords.

  The picture came to her now of Louie, in the sand at Nantucket last summer, making the voices for all his different action figures. The funny thing was that sometimes, even when he didn’t have a single toy with him, or one cocktail pick even, he’d still make those voices. He could carry on an entire conversation with half a dozen characters, just sitting there alone, with nothing but a pebble in his hand or a twist-tie from his sandwich bag.

  I bet you miss him a lot, Carolyn said.

  Sometimes I forget all about him for a while, she said. Then other times I’ll remember, and I just want to see him so much. Maybe it’s partly because there’s a little boy around his age in my book, she said. John Henry. He’s a pain, but he’s actually the only real friend the girl has besides the cook.

  Wendy turned to the page where Frankie was lying in her bed with John Henry beside her, the way it was with Louie, nights when she read to him and he’d fall asleep partway through the book. Now she read the words aloud to Carolyn.

  “She lay in the dark and listened to him breathe, then after a while she raised herself on her elbow. He lay freckled and small in the moonlight, his chest white and naked, and one foot hanging from the edge of the bed. Carefully she put her hand on his stomach and moved closer; it felt as though a little clock was ticking inside him and he smelled of sweat and Sweet Serenade. He smelled like a sour little rose. Frankie leaned down and licked him behind the ear. Then she breathed deeply, settled herself with her chin on his sharp damp shoulder, and closed her eyes: for now, with somebody sleeping in the dark with her, she was not so much afraid.”

  Just reading the words out loud like that, she felt a sharp little stab. Like a cactus spine stuck in her throat.

  Twenty-One

  This time she told Garrett she was headed into Sacramento, it being Saturday. I can take the bus, she said.

  You meeting up with some friends? he asked. He was lying under his truck working on some belt he said was giving him trouble.

  One friend, yes, she said. A girl I know.

  She figured he wouldn’t ask for details, and he didn’t.

  Violet was sitting on the beanbag chair, watching TV when she came in. Walter Charles was in the crib. He wasn’t crying, which was a good sign.

  Check this out, Violet said. The topic on Maury today is “I Hate My Mom’s Boyfriend.” This one girl was saying she never had sex with her mom’s boyfriend, but her mom didn’t believe her, and the funny thing was, it seemed like the thing that made the mom madder than anything was the idea that her daughter stole her boyfriend.

  I didn’t have sex with that fat slob, the daughter was saying. If I was going to have sex, I’d choose someone a lot better.

  The mom kept saying, That’s the thanks I get, and calling her daughter a tramp. The daughter kept saying she was a virgin.

  You wait, Violet said. If I know Maury, the next thing they’ll do is haul her off backstage to take a lie-detector test.

  Sure enough.

  Don’t let them do it to, you idiot, Violet yelled at the TV screen. It’s a setup.

  Maybe it’s a good thing, Wendy said. Maybe it’ll just prove she’s telling the truth.

  The kid’s always wrong on shows like this, Violet said. Don’t you ever watch Maury? It seems like the whole point of the show is to make whatever poor sucker he’s got in the chair that day look like the biggest jerk in the world. If you ask me, they might as well tell the kids that go on that show right at the beginning, when they first come out, to pull down their pants and show the audience their naked behind, because basically that’s the idea.

  There was a commercial then for a company that helped you pay off your credit-card debts, then one for a machine to flatten your stomach.

  I could definitely use that one, Violet said. This kid totally wrecked my body.

  When they came back from the commercial the girl was all done taking her lie-detector test. The mother who said her daughter was lying came back out to be there when they announced the results. Then out came the expert.

  Okay, Doctor, Maury said. We’re ready for your scientific analysis. Is Shannon a virgin? Did she have sex with her mom’s boyfriend?

  The lie-detector expert said the girl was lying on both counts.

  Big surprise, said Violet.

  Up until this point, the mother had been sitting on the couch like a person waiting for an appointment, but when the doctor told about the test results, it was as if someone sent an electric shock through the seat cushions.

  They probably tell them to act nuts like that to make it more dramatic, Violet said.

  Wendy would have thought the mother would have a thing or two to say to the boyfriend then, but the person she yelled at was the girl.

  You little slut! she yelled. They bleeped out the slut part but Wendy could tell that was what she was saying.

  I knew it all the time, when you started wearing those tube tops, the mother told the girl.

  If tube tops are supposed to be a sign a girl is balling her mom’s boyfriend, all I can say is there’s a whole lot of girls on Maury doing it, Violet said. Tube tops are practically all they wear on this show. I think they have a room backstage full of nothing but tube tops for the girls to put on before they come out onstage.

  The girl started to cry.
I didn’t do it, she said. He wanted to, but I said no.

  Come on now, Shannon, said Maury. You’ll feel better if you level with us. You and your mom can’t start the healing process until you get out of denial and face the truth. I want you to tell Mom you’re sorry for letting her down. Sorry for lying to her.

  What about the mom? Violet said to the television. What about how she let her kid down, going out with some creep that would sneak into her kid’s room at night and have sex with her? Why is it only the kid’s fault?

  Maury was down in the audience now, sticking the microphone in people’s faces. One woman was saying how she lied that way to her mother one time when she was young, and now she knew how wrong she was but it was too late. Her mother got cancer and died.

  I want to tell Shannon from personal experience that she should shape up before it’s too late, the woman said. What did she think was going to happen if she wore that type of getup around the house?

  The audience clapped.

  What did I tell you? said the mother. Didn’t I always say you were sending the wrong message?

  Just because I look hot doesn’t mean I wanted to have sex with Bobby, the daughter said.

  Shannon, Shannon, Shannon, said Maury. I want to see you look Mom in the eye and tell her you’re ready to change.

  They’ve got three minutes left till the end of the show, Violet said. They always try to end on a positive note.

  The lie detector doesn’t lie, the lie-detector expert said.

  Facing up to your mistakes is the first step, Maury said. Just tell your mother you’re sorry.

  Say it, someone called out from the audience. Then a whole bunch of people.

  You can do it, Shannon, said Maury. He was leaning close to her with the microphone, like he was offering her a lollipop. It’ll feel so good. So good.

  It’ll feel so good, Violet said, like she was Maury, but her voice had a harsh, bitter sound. I bet that’s the same thing the mom’s boyfriend told her.

  The mother was looking at the girl. Her arms were crossed in front of her big droopy breasts. She looked like she knew she’d won. Not the kind of look Wendy had ever seen, or could imagine, on her own mother’s face.

  I’m sorry, the girl said but in a small, flat voice. She didn’t actually say sorry for what. Sorry she went on this show maybe. Sorry she was ever born.

  They showed us a documentary at school one time, Violet said. About these prisoners of war that got locked up by enemy forces and after they tortured them, they made the prisoners be in a video to send home to America. On the video, they were saying all these great things about the people that were keeping them prisoner, but they had that same look on their face, like they were already dead.

  And what else, Shannon? Maury was asking the girl on the couch. Wasn’t there something else you’d like your mom to know?

  The girl looked confused, as if she actually wanted to give the right answer now, just to have it over with, but she wasn’t sure what the answer was.

  And I’ll never do it again? she said.

  That must not have been what Maury wanted. He was still leaning in very close, pushing that microphone into her mouth practically.

  You know what I’m talking about, he said in his low, sexy voice.

  And I’m sorry I let you down? I shouldn’t have lied to you? I should’ve listened to you? I’m a loser?

  The audience started clapping again, louder now. Watching them, Wendy thought of that short story she’d read in English class back in Brooklyn. “The Lottery.” The part where the townspeople pick up the stones and start throwing them at the woman.

  Okay already, she said. Maybe I let him do it. I had sex with him, okay?

  But it didn’t look like she’d hit it on the money yet, from Maury’s standpoint.

  You want to tell your mom you love her, don’t you, Shannon?

  And what do you say, Mom? said Maury. Don’t you want to give your little girl a hug?

  Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but the mother unfolded her arms.

  From the crib, Walter Charles made a noise like he was waking up. Violet didn’t say anymore that she wished he wouldn’t sleep so much. It seems like I just finished putting him down, she said.

  Maybe we should take him outside, said Wendy. It’s a nice day out.

  You know what scares me? said Violet. That mother. That I could actually start being like her someday.

  You never would, Wendy said. You love him too much.

  But sometimes, said Violet, I just wish I could run away. Sometimes I want to be my old self again. Walter Charles won’t shut up, and I just want to turn him off, only with a baby, you can’t.

  That’s the good thing about Maury Povich, she said. He may get on your nerves, but you can always change the channel.

  Twenty-Two

  The main thing to remember with my mother is just to let her do the talking, Garrett said. They were in his truck, driving to San Francisco. He had shaved and put on a shirt that had a man on a horse stitched onto the pocket holding something that looked like a field hockey stick. Garrett’s hair was tied back in a ponytail, and there was a suit jacket hanging from a hook on the back of the truck cab. Wendy was wearing the gray pants she’d bought with her mother on their back-to-school shopping day, though they were so loose now, they were practically hip-huggers, and blue-and-white-striped blouse they’d picked up at Goodwill, but some famous brand.

  She’ll want to know if you belong to any clubs, Garrett told her. My mother has always had a thing about clubs.

  I could probably make something up, Wendy said.

  Go for it, he said.

  The landscape changed as they headed south. In Davis, the land was mostly flat, but as they got closer to San Francisco there were hills and it was a lot greener. If you like green, just wait till the rainy season, he said.

  They were driving alongside water now—the bay, he told her. Great clouds of mist rolled in over their car from the hills above the highway. When the mist cleared, they could see the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge rising up out of the top of the clouds. First, just the top parts showed through, then the whole bridge. Like what a person might imagine it was like entering heaven.

  They were outside her grandmother’s hotel earlier than he’d expected. Ten o’clock.

  This is not necessarily good news, he said. It gives us three hours to kill before we eat. He gave the truck keys to a man in a uniform in front of the hotel. You got the feeling they didn’t see trucks like this here very often.

  Wendy and her mother and Josh had gone to a hotel once for a party, but this one was fancier. There was a flower arrangement as tall as a person in the lobby, and the kind of carpet her mother used to say made her want to kick off her shoes and run around barefoot. Men carrying trays with a single drink on them moved across the room as if they were riding Hoverboards. You could tell just from the shopping bags the women carried that whatever was inside them had cost a lot of money. The children all wore blazers and velvet dresses.

  This is my mother’s idea of how people should live all the time, Garrett said. Gilt furniture and ready access to room service.

  There was a special telephone for placing calls to people’s rooms. When he picked up the receiver to let her grandmother know they were downstairs, Wendy realized she hadn’t called Josh and Louie that morning, even though she’d meant to. She thought of them on the living room couch together in their pajamas. Josh would have made popcorn. Maybe they’d decided to go to Kate’s mother’s after all.

  We’ll be right next to the fountain, her father said into the phone. Like if he didn’t tell her she might not recognize them.

  I’m sorry to trouble you, sir, the doorman said to Garrett. But we’re having a little problem with your vehicle. It seems to have stalled out.

  Must be the damn belt again, Garrett said. I hate to do this to you, Slim. But you’d better wait here on your own for your grandma. I’ll go take a look at the truck. />
  Wendy’s grandmother looked older than last time and smaller than she expected, but she had the same mouth. If you were drawing it, all you would need would be one line straight across the bottom part of her face.

  The elevators are very slow here, she said when she got to the spot where Wendy was standing. She said it as if Wendy might have been the one who built them.

  Wendy had been wondering if she should hug her grandmother, but once she saw her, she knew the answer.

  So, her grandmother said. You’ve definitely grown. What grade are you in now?

  Eighth, Wendy said. She actually had to think a second, it had been so long since she’d been at school.

  I don’t suppose there are any good private schools up where your father’s living.

  I just got here a few weeks ago, Wendy said. We haven’t talked about it.

  Your father, she said. Where might he be?

  He had a little trouble with his car, said Wendy. Better not to say truck.

  Some things never change, said her grandmother. I suppose he’ll join us eventually.

  I brought you a present, her grandmother said. It was still in the Lord 8c Taylor bag. Gift-wrapped. She handed it to Wendy like a parking ticket.

  I meant to send a thank-you note for the shirt last Christmas, she said. My mother was always reminding me.

  Children don’t seem to write thank-you notes anymore the way they did in my day, said her grandmother. I guess we have to look to the parents to ask why that might be.

  Wendy looked in the direction of the door for Garrett, but the only person she saw coming in was a girl around her age in a navy blue skirt and knee-socks, and a white blouse like the ones her grandmother had sent her. She could tell her grandmother would like the other girl better.

  How are things in Greenwich? Wendy asked.

  Not very good. Ever since this September business, nothing seems to be working very efficiently. The person who was supposed to install my new bathroom hasn’t been able to get the tile in from Italy. A friend who was going to visit from Palm Springs decided to postpone her visit.