Mary Wolf (16 page)

He never listens. So I hid the gun this afternoon, when Dave and the others left. It's under the RV. Daddy hasn't missed it. He just wanted that bottle of brandy.

Now it's empty.

“We got something else?” he asks Mama. “Beer?”

“It's gone.”

“All gone. And no place to rest his weary head.”

“I can run down and see if Dave and Janice have something.”

“Yes! Why don't you do that? Why don't you run down there on your chubby little legs and see? He better have something. It's the least he can do.”

Mama hands Andy to me and leaves. He's wide-awake and waving a rattle.

“It's not Dave's fault the engine's shot,” I say. “He was just trying to help.”

“By bringing that stinking cretin here to drink all my beer and insult me? He's probably lying about the engine, telling me it's junk so he can buy it himself and sell it.”

“I doubt it. How many miles do we have on it, anyway?”

“Millions. Billions. You're probably right. But then, you always are, aren't you, Mary?” He's looking for a villain, a victim, a fight.

“Getting drunk won't help.”

“Right again! Right as rain! To think I've raised such a brilliant child, who can point out every time I'm wrong, which happens hundreds of times each day. I'm always wrong and you're always right! What a perfect arrangement!”

“I can't talk to you when you're like this,” I say. I'd like to tell him he's acting like an idiot, but I can feel the girls listening, holding their breath.

“Mary,” he says, stumbling over to me and Andy, “do you have any idea what it's like to be me? To be in the middle of this godawful mess? My life—” He gropes for words, shakes his head. “I look in the mirror some mornings, Mary, and I can't believe what I'm seeing. I can't believe it's really me. I look out the window and I think I'm dreaming, but no matter what I do, I can't wake up. Do you understand what I'm telling you.”

“Yes.”

“No you don't. You're just nodding your head. How could you know? You're still a child. Have you ever known me to drink to excess? To shirk my responsibilities? And now you're calling me an alcoholic—”

“No I'm not. I'm just saying that getting drunk won't help.”

“But there you're wrong. See, you're wrong sometimes, Mary.” He sits heavily beside me. Andy reaches up and grabs his nose. “Without the liquid strength from that bottle, I'd never have the courage to do what must be done.”

“What's that?”

“I'm going to ask dear old dad for a loan.”

“I don't think that's such a good idea.” Grampa hung up on him the last time he called.

“Then what would you suggest? Should I rob a bank? Should I try to sell this little boy? This is a crisis. This is an emergency, Mary. I don't think you fully grasp our predicament. We've reached the end of the line here.”

“You could call Aunt Belle. She'd send us the money.”

He laughs. “Wouldn't she love to hear me squirm.”

“She's not like that. You know she loves you.”

“She loves the person I used to be. I'm not that person anymore.”

“Yes you are. You've just had some bad luck.”

“Mary, you should be a diplomat. You're wasting your talents here. I'm serious, you should work for the U.N.” He returns to the bottle, then remembers it's empty. “Wendy! Where'd that woman go?”

“She went to Dave's, to get you something to drink.”

“Mary, your mother is a wonderful woman. She deserves so much better than this, than me.” He looks out at the night through the open door. “I don't know what I'd do if she ever left me.”

“She's not going to leave you. Nobody's leaving you. Everything's going to be fine. We'll figure this out.”

“There's nothing to figure out,” he says flatly. “We've got to get some money. I'll call my father.”

“Maybe you better not do it tonight.”

“Why not? Are you afraid he'll be able to tell that I'm tipsy? Let him see what he's driven me to! Is this any way for a man to treat his children? Would I turn you away if you asked me for help? Would I turn away that beautiful little boy?”

“I'll call, if you want. I'll talk to Grampa.”

He shakes his head violently. “Absolutely not. I got us into this and I'll get us out. Then we'll go down to the city and I'll get a job—” He winces and clutches his belly.

“What's the matter? Your stomach again? You've got to see a doctor.”

“Good idea. We'll go to the Mayo Clinic tomorrow. I'll fly us there in my private jet.”

Mama comes in waving a small bottle of vodka as if it's a winning lottery ticket.

“Dave says he's sorry this is all he has.”

“The man is a prince. Do we have any mixer?”

She's looking in the fridge. “Just milk.”

Daddy laughs as if she's a great comedian. “Just give me some ice cubes in a glass.”

She fixes the drink and he sips it, smiling. Mama sits next to me and nurses Andy. He lifts a tiny hand and pats her cheek.

“Could there be anything more beautiful than that sight?” Daddy says. “I am a man truly blessed. I love you, Wendy. You know that, don't you?”

“Of course I do, darling. And I love you.”

“And I love you, Mary. I really do. Even though we argue sometimes. I want you to know I still respect your opinion.”

The storm has passed. The girls breathe deeply, sleeping. Outside a dog barks; then the beach is peaceful.

My father finishes his drink. “I better make that call.”

“What call?” Mama asks.

He stands, almost losing his balance. “I'm throwing myself on the mercy of the court. In other words, I'm calling my father.”

“It's kind of late,” I say. “Maybe you should wait until tomorrow.”

“Mary, never put off until tomorrow what you can put off for the rest of your life. Unfortunately, this can't be avoided any longer.” He stumbles toward the door. Mama signals me with her eyes.

“I'll come with you, Daddy. I'll bring my flashlight.”

I'm thinking of you, Rocky, as I turn it on. Daddy clutches my arm, tripping over rocks.

“A sign of old age. No night vision. Whatever you do, Mary, don't get old.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to call?”

“What's the matter? Don't you think I can handle it?”

“No, it's just—”

“What's the number, Mary? My mind's gone blank.”

I dial the number and hand him the phone. Grandma answers. Grampa never talks unless he has to.

“Oh, we're fine,” Daddy's saying. “You should see the baby. We're going to come back when I take my vacation.”

I tune him out. He's telling her a story, the story I've heard so many times before, where everybody lives happily ever after.

But first, a word from our sponsor.

“Well, I know that,” he's saying, “and I appreciate that, Mother, but I didn't plan for the engine to break. It's just one of those things.… I understand that, Mother. Well, of course I'll talk to him. That's why I'm calling.”

I try not to listen but I can't help it.

“Dad! It's good to hear your voice. How are you doing? Oh, we're just fine.”

Couldn't be better. Except for one tiny problem. But everything's going to be different this time; he's got a wonderful job, he's making tons of money, he'll pay Grampa back right away, wait and see.

“Well, I can't just sell it.” Daddy's getting loud. “Nobody's going to buy it in this condition. It's not running, that's the point. Aren't you listening to me?”

Then Grampa's talking, his voice squawking out of the receiver. A car on the highway splashes light on Daddy's face. Grampa would be scared if he could see it. I look away.

“I understand that, Dad, but you don't—Listen to me! You don't understand the situation we're in. I'm not asking for myself. I'm talking about your grandchildren!”

It quickly gets worse. “I am not ‘holding them hostage to get to you'! What kind of man do you think I am?”

My grandfather tells him. Daddy shouts into the phone.

“Well, you won't have to worry about that anymore! Forget it! Forget the whole damn thing!”

He smashes the receiver against the phone booth and hangs up so hard it falls and dangles.

He collapses, sobbing. “Mary, he hates me! My own father hates me!”

“No he doesn't, Daddy.” I've got my arm around him, trying to sit him up.

“He thinks I'm a liar! You know what he said? He thinks I'm spending the money on drugs! That's a laugh! I wish I were on drugs! Then I wouldn't know what's happening.”

“Daddy, he just doesn't understand.”

“The hell with all of them! I'm never going back there! They'll never see you kids again! We don't need them. We'll make it on our own. I'll just, I'll just—What am I going to do? Mary, what am I going to do? Please help me!”

“Don't worry, Daddy. I'll call Aunt Belle.”

He pushes me away. “And have her laugh in my face?”

“She wouldn't laugh at you.”

“Did you hear what I said? I'm the boss here, Mary.”

I help him to his feet. We head back to the campground.

Mama looks up anxiously as we come in.

“How'd it go?” She sees his face. “What's wrong? What happened?”

“Selfish pig! He'll be sorry about that. They're never going to see us again. The man has no feeling for his own flesh and blood! Mary can tell you. She heard it, she knows. Mary was there. She can tell you.”

“Maybe you can talk to your mother,” Mama says.

“That won't do any good. He's the big cheese, you know. She's just his puppet, his slave. It's always been like this, ever since we were kids. My sister was always their favorite.”

“So what're we going to do?” Mama whispers.

“We're going to do what we should've done a long time ago. We're going to the county and get on welfare. Why the hell should all these foreigners get food stamps and rent and help for their children when the people who live here, the goddamn citizens, work their butts off for years like a bunch of idiots and get treated like dogs, get nothing? I've paid my taxes, now I want my share and they better not give me any bullshit, I've had it.”

Mama looks so relieved it almost breaks my heart. It's Christmas Eve and Santa Claus is coming.

Daddy says, “Is the vodka gone?”

“No, there's some left. Do you want it with milk?”

She's trying to make him smile, but he's not listening. He sits behind the steering wheel, staring out the windshield, his finger tapping and tapping his lips.

Seventeen

Mama was supposed to go to the welfare office with Daddy, but she said she had a terrible headache.

“Don't give me that,” he said.

“My head is killing me!”

“Get out of that bed.”

“I won't!” Mama said.

Daddy grabbed her arm and tugged. He barely budged her.

“Daddy, stop!” Erica cried. “You're hurting Mama!”

Andy turned his head to watch them. The cereal I was feeding him grazed his cheek.

“Get out of that bed this minute!” Daddy said. He tore the blankets out of her fingers.

“My head is splitting! You don't know how I feel!”

“How do you think I feel, Wendy? Do you think I want to go down there today and tell them I'm forty-two years old and I got squat?”

“Don't talk like that,” Mama said. “Just because we live here doesn't mean you need to sound like a redneck.”

“What an amazing coincidence that you have a headache this morning. You'll probably feel better this afternoon.” Daddy crossed his arms. “We'll wait.”

“You should go early. You don't have an appointment.”

“No, we'll go when your headache's gone.”

“You're procrastinating,” Mama said.

“You're lying there like a beached whale telling me I'm procrastinating?”

“Don't call me a whale!”

“Then get out of that bed!”

Danielle ate her cereal, looking disgusted. She hardly speaks to any of us lately. Since I smashed up my guitar she thinks I'm crazy. Maybe she's right. I sure miss playing, getting lost in the music inside my head.

“I'll get you some aspirin,” Daddy said.

“Aspirin won't help.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried it! I was up all night!”

“That's funny, I was up too and I never saw you!”

“You guys,” I said. “You should hear yourselves. You sound like a couple of morons.”

They looked as if they might get mad at me, and then they started giggling. Daddy sat next to Mama on the bed.

“But honey,” he said, “if you don't come with me, maybe they won't believe that I have a wife and children.”

“Of course they will. Someone comes out and makes a home visit. Today you'll just fill out an application.”

“How do you know?”

“A little bird told me.”

“A little bird named Janice? She's not on welfare,” Daddy said. Dave gets money from the service and disability.

“No, but she knows the ropes.”

“I think you know the ropes too, lady. Better than Houdini himself.” Daddy bent down and kissed her. She ruffled his hair.

“They're nuts,” Danielle muttered.

“I'll go with you, Daddy,” I said. “I'll take Andy with me so Mama can rest.”

Mama batted her eyelashes and clasped her hands to her breast. “Really? I feel better already.”

“It's a miracle!” Daddy pinched her belly. She screeched. “You can come, Mary, but we can't take Andy. We might get hung up there all day.”