The Usual Rules

by Joyce Maynard

  You might have been wondering if you had a brother or sister, Carolyn said softly. But I never had any other kids. Just you.

  I hope, he said, that you have accepted Jesus Christ into your heart as your personal savior.

  Drive safely, she told them. And congratulations on the baby.

  Twenty-Nine

  Then it was Christmas.

  Wendy and Carolyn got up around eight-thirty. No need to be out of bed at the crack of dawn the way she would if Louie had been there, padding into her room at ten to five. Is it time yet, Sissy? I peeked and you should see all the presents. Santa ate every single cookie.

  It was strange having such warm weather on Christmas Day. When Wendy got up, Carolyn was out in the yard setting up the barbecue. She was preparing the turkey from a recipe she’d cut out of the paper, cooked on the grill. A man on the radio was saying the temperature could get into the seventies.

  Merry Christmas, Carolyn said. She gave Wendy a quick hug.

  You, too.

  They hadn’t talked about Nate’s visit, but evidently she’d found a flyer they’d left for her, with the words on the front NOT TOO LATE TO REPENT.

  I guess I don’t need to start knitting booties, Carolyn said. Wendy wasn’t sure what she meant.

  Their baby, she said. I don’t get the impression they have me in their plans.

  Nate didn’t seem much like you.

  No. I guess not.

  There’s probably lots of people who would really love to have you be their mom.

  It doesn’t matter, Carolyn said. The good thing is, now I don’t have to go around anymore, wondering who my son turned out to be.

  Anyway, you’ve got me. Wendy hadn’t intended on saying something like that but looking at Carolyn standing there in her too-tight cutoffs and T-shirt, scrubbing the grill, she felt an unexpected wave of affection. There wasn’t one single thing about Carolyn that reminded Wendy of her mother. Four months ago they hadn’t even met. Now it was Christmas morning and here they were.

  I got you a present, Carolyn said. A couple, actually.

  Me, too.

  Hers, for Carolyn, was a book about a woman who traveled on her own, on a raft, along the Amazon River. I picked it out at Alan’s store, she said.

  She had also gotten Carolyn a beaded hair clip, turquoise and green, because she figured it would look good against the color of Carolyn’s braid.

  Carolyn had tied a purple bow around a cactus pot. It was her special Scarlet Ball cactus that Wendy had admired at Carolyn’s cabin, the one she dug up in Death Valley.

  She had also picked out a pair of pants and a sweater from a store in Sacramento. Not a lot of people know how to shop for thirteen-year-old girls, her mother used to say. Carolyn did.

  Garrett called this morning, she told Wendy. The funeral went okay, I guess. He said he’s flying standby back home. He’d gotten as far as St. Louis when he called. He figures he’ll make it back today or tomorrow.

  How did it go? Wendy asked.

  He didn’t say much. I guess there were about four old ladies there and some man who’d been her lawyer. She’d asked to have this poem read, by Robert Frost. The big surprise was this black woman that used to take care of your dad when he was little. She came all the way from Boston with her son and got there right in the middle of the service. It turned out your grandmother paid for the son’s whole college education and now he teaches at some private school in New Hampshire. The man’s mother got pretty emotional about your grandmother evidently. Called her the most generous woman she ever met.

  Your father never even knew, Carolyn said. Just goes to show.

  The package had arrived the week before, but she had waited till now to open it. There was a CD of Miles Davis and another one of another trumpet player she hadn’t heard of before called Lee Morgan. Someday in the future, Josh had written, when there’s some very cool guy you really want to impress, show him you have this in your collection and he’ll treat you with nothing but respect.

  He had bought her a pair of sneakers with retractable wheels in the soles—for sometime when you need to make a quick getaway, the note said on the box. Josh always put Post-it notes on his packages. There was another larger box, also with a note, but a longer one:

  I spent two days walking around the city looking for a different kind of present.

  I wanted to find some incredibly precious thing I could put in a box and send you that would tell you all the ways I feel. How much I have treasured every minute I’ve gotten to be part of your life. If there was any doubt in your mind as to how it might affect things, that I am not your blood father, I wanted to find you something that would tell you the answer to that one. The answer being: No difference, Wendy. However it is that you’ll come to see me over the years, whatever place you end up finding for me in the life you go on to have, I wanted to make sure there was no question in your mind who you will always be to me. My daughter.

  I decided it was stupid to think there was any object I could send that would say all those things to you. Where’s the store a person goes to shop for an item like that?

  But of course in the end I had to try a music store, my favorite one, over on Forty-eighth Street.

  For me the only thing that ever came close to bringing me the kind of joy I’ve known with your mother and your brother and you has been music. I honestly don’t know if it’ll be that way for you. Could be you’ll find your big joy in a musical instrument. Could be you’ll find it in your box of colored pencils, or books. Or something you haven’t even discovered yet.

  But whether or not the clarinet becomes for you what the bass is for me, I wanted you to have the most beautiful clarinet you could be playing at a moment when you’ve got to take your joy where you can find it.

  I saw this in Manny’s window and had to take a closer look. I liked the tone of the thing. I loved the thought of how you’d look playing it. You, who always gets that really serious expression when you’re playing a piece of music—the concentration you have when you play, like nothing else is there at the moment but you and the notes.

  I thought about how your mother would have loved to see you with a clarinet like this one. Her having been a somewhat flashy dresser, as we know. You being a more understated kind of person, but I’m thinking maybe you’re about due to bust out with something a little flashy yourself.

  She opened the case. It was a cherry red clarinet.

  Carolyn called her mother and sisters in Iowa. Wendy called home, too, but nobody was there. She figured Josh and Louie must’ve gone over to Kate’s. She felt sad not to be hearing Louie’s voice Christmas morning, getting the rundown on what he’d found in his stocking. But it was good they’d gone out. She thought again about Josh and Kate in the bathrobes that morning Amelia came over. She wondered if they would do that when Louie was there. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t be so terrible. Josh would know what Louie could handle.

  She and Carolyn weren’t making a big meal. Turkey with store-bought cranberry sauce. Frozen peas, baked yams, corn bread. In addition to the Christmas pudding Alan was bringing, Carolyn had picked up a pumpkin pie at Shop ‘N Save and vanilla ice cream and a bottle of champagne.

  A little after two o’clock, the phone rang. Wendy could hear Carolyn say, You must have the wrong number. No Kitty here.

  Wait a second. I think that’s for me, Wendy said.

  It’s kind of my nickname, Wendy told Carolyn as she took the receiver.

  I hate to call you on Christmas, Violet said. But I had to talk to someone.

  That’s okay, Wendy told her. Things are pretty low-key around here.

  I wish I could say that. My mom and her boyfriend got in this god-awful fight over at his house. It started because I set Walter Charles’s bottle on Ed’s big-screen TV and it left a mark. You and that precious TV, my mom says. All you ever do is watch TV.

  Next thing I know, he’s calling my mom a tramp that’s probably fooling around with her boss. She sa
id, Maybe I am? Who could blame me given your performance in bed lately? In front of his sister and everything.

  His kids came over. He was drinking out back at this point. They started eating all the food my mom brought and acting like she was the maid. She said, Come on, Violet, let’s get out of here. I was almost thinking, Good, now it can be just her and me, and we can have our own little family celebration back at her place. Only in the car she starts in on me how it’s all my fault. If it wasn’t for me and my baby, none of this would’ve got started in the first place.

  I still had the heart necklace wrapped up in a box in my diaper bag. I hadn’t even got a chance to give it to her and here she is saying all this stuff about how I always wreck her life. Then Wally starts crying and she says, Isn’t that perfect? Join the club. You’ll see what I mean about kids.

  I was trying to quiet him down. Only he wouldn’t let up.

  Look at you, she says. You can’t even get your own baby to quit hollering.

  I can, I say. He’s just got a touch of colic.

  But he keeps on wailing in the car. Like someone put tacks in his Pampers. And I’m stuffing the bottle in his mouth and waving his rattle at him, but nothing makes any difference. It’s like he knows she’s a witch.

  What did I tell you? she says. You should’ve given him away while you had the chance.

  I don’t want to give him away, I tell her. I’m his mother. He loves me.

  Kid’s doing a pretty good job of concealing it, she says. We’re stopped at a light at this point. Walter Charles is screaming so loud now people are looking in the car at us like I’m committing murder.

  Face it, she says. You don’t know what you’re doing. Just because you know how to spread your legs doesn’t make you Mother Teresa.

  Walter Charles, I’m saying. Stop it now. I’m trying that thing you do where you make the little noises in his ear, but it’s hard with him in the car seat.

  Good luck getting some guy interested in you now, she says. Guys love it when they see a chick with a kid. Let alone a screaming one. Take it from me. I had to deal with you since I was seventeen and it didn’t exactly do wonders for my social life.

  Oh boy, I tell her. You mean I might have to do without some prize like Ed over there? Him and his TV.

  Stuff it, she says, at least he had a Christmas dinner all set up for us. We were having a good time watching the parade till you and Little Mr. Life of the Party there showed up.

  Walter’s screaming so loud now, his face is the color of the cranberry sauce. I’m scared he’s going to bust a vein. I figure it’s probably half her fault he’s having this fit in the first place. He can pick up the tension.

  Let me out of the car, I say. Just pull over right here and let me out.

  Just remember I was the one that tried to mend the fences here, she says. Got the kid an outfit and everything.

  She pulls over. It’s in the middle of no place. A muffler shop and a 7-Eleven, that’s it. I unbuckle his seat belt and lift out the car seat, not that I know how I’m going to haul it home all that way. My hands are shaking so bad I can hardly undo the buckles, with Walter Charles wailing the whole time.

  Merry Christmas, she says. Slams the door shut and lays rubber. She’s out of there.

  Then it’s just Wally and me standing by the side of the highway with the diamond heart necklace still wrapped and everything in his diaper bag. Down to my last diaper, too, if you must know.

  So what happened then? Wendy asked.

  That’s where I’m calling from, she said. The 7-Eleven, side of the highway out by the entrance to 1-5. Wendy realized then that she could hear Christmas music playing in the background, and the sound of cars.

  I know this is crazy, but I was wondering if someone there can pick us up?

  In the car on the way over Wendy explained a few things. Violet’s heard a slightly different version of things, she told Carolyn. She got the impression my dad died in a plane crash, only that was my stepdad. She thinks I’ve got this mom that’s pretty broken up about it.

  Something tells me this girl isn’t going to be giving anyone the third degree about their family tree this afternoon, said Carolyn.

  Hey, she said when they pulled up in front of the 7-Eleven. I’m Carolyn.

  I’m Violet, and this is Walter Charles.

  Well, Merry Christmas, you two. Hope you’ve got an appetite, because we’ve got a twenty-pound bird roasting back home.

  Carolyn got out of the car and came around the other side while Violet set the car seat in back. She reached for the baby as if she’d known him all her life.

  Walter Charles, who had been crying nonstop, looked right into her eyes. The crying stopped so quickly, it was as if someone pulled the plug. He reached his small hand out toward Carolyn’s finger, that she was holding out to him, and grabbed on tight. Then he smiled.

  Carolyn laid him against her shoulder. He had his head against her neck. He was looking around, but not with that worried look for once. More like, It’s about time.

  Carolyn was rubbing his back. Her big hand, worn from all the cactus work, made circles on his small, bony back. She held him very firmly. In a second, a sound came out of him—a surprisingly loud burp.

  There, she said. She handed him back to Violet. I think he’ll be fine now.

  What do you say we get ourselves home and make the stuffing?

  Alan showed up at four o’clock, just as Wendy had suggested, but there was a change of plan.

  I know I said it would be just me, he told Carolyn. But they got an infestation of fleas up at Homewood, and everyone had to leave for a few days so they could fumigate. So Tim’s with me. He’s out in the car. I could understand if it’s more than you want to handle, having someone like him in on your Christmas dinner.

  What are you talking about? said Carolyn. How many people would I ever have over for dinner if I limited my guest list to the normal ones?

  Tim was wearing his same outfit, the too-short corduroy pants, belted high, with the shirt tucked in, only now he was sporting one of those plush Santa hats with white fake fur trim. He had on bowling shoes, red leather, with black and green stripes and a number on the heel, ten and a half.

  They had this bowling tournament at Homewood one time, Alan said. Tim didn’t like the bowling part, but he loved the shoes so much, he didn’t want to take them off after, so finally I just bought them from the bowling alley. He only wears them for special occasions.

  Nice shoes, Violet told Tim. I always wanted some of those.

  You can have my hat, he said. He handed it to her.

  The thing that helped was they had all this dirty laundry. What do you know? Carolyn said when Alan told her that his son would be more than glad to do it for her. There really is a Santa Claus.

  The washer and dryer were in the basement. They didn’t have the little individual packets of Tide he favored, but he made do with the regular-sized box. Violet went down to help supervise, since she also had some baby shirts in her bag that could use a wash.

  Carolyn said she’d hold the baby while Violet was attending to the wash with Tim. The minute she took him that same look came over his face as if he was thinking, Where have you been keeping this woman?

  In addition to the Christmas pudding, Alan had brought all sorts of interesting things: pate with fancy crackers, smoked almonds, the makings for eggnog, which he began whipping up in the kitchen, with fresh cream and egg yolks and nutmeg grated on the spot. He poured a little rum into his drink and Carolyn’s.

  You got that bookstore over on E Street, right? she said. I’ve been meaning to stop in there. I should read more.

  Do that, he said.

  Carolyn put on a record. Sorry to say we don’t have any Christmas music, she told him. It was a very old album of female blues artists. A woman was singing about how all she could do was cry.

  Etta James, Alan said. Now you’re talking. Too bad we can’t follow up with a little Sugar Pie De Santo.
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br />   That’s the next cut, she said.

  From down in the basement they could hear the washer going, his second load. The dryer kicked off. Maybe I should go check on Tim, Alan said.

  I’ll go, Wendy told him.

  Violet and Tim were sitting on the floor. Tim was folding baby shirts. Violet still had the hat on.

  Smell this, she said, handing Tim one of the baby shirts. You might not have noticed, but I put these little fabric softener sheets in with them that make everything smell like lemon.

  You know Picabo Street? he asked her.

  Is that over by the mall? she said.

  Dinner was ready. Alan said Tim probably wouldn’t eat anything, but not to worry. He’d brought along his Wheat Chex.

  They had set up a table in the yard with a tablecloth and a cactus in the middle with white lights. This looks beautiful, Alan said, pouring the Wheat Chex in a bowl at Tim’s place. My wife goes up north every year for Christmas. This is the first real holiday meal I’ve had in five years.

  Violet and Tim came up the stairs. Violet set Walter Charles on the table in his infant seat. One of his booties had come off and Shiva was licking his foot. He looked happy.

  You can sit here, Tim, Alan told him. I brought your cereal. I’ll sit next to you.

  Her, he said, meaning Violet.

  You want me to sit next to you? Violet asked.

  Well, sure.

  Know what Humpty Dumpty said when he fell off the wall? he asked her.

  No.

  Too bad. The yolk’s on you.

  Carolyn was just setting the turkey down when they heard the door open. You expecting any more company? she asked Wendy.

  No.

  Ho ho ho, he called out. Her father.

  It’s Santa and his elf, he said. Better late than never.

  They were standing in the doorway then. Not just Garrett, but the boy too, with a backpack over his shoulder and his skateboard under his arm, holding a straggly poinsettia plant. Todd.