The Fence My Father Built (20 page)

Linc drove off as soon as the fire was out. He’d been a good neighbor, and it bothered me that I still didn’t trust him. I couldn’t allow myself to trust him. I couldn’t trust anybody.

Then Rubin got a call from a nearby ranch. “Got to get going,” he said, flipping the phone shut. “Yearling over at the Long's got a problem.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Let me know if there's anything you need.”

“I’m so glad you were here,” I said. “So glad.” I felt like hugging him but saw Nova eyeing us so I folded my arms across my chest. He strode over the hill, and I breathed a sigh of thanks that we had all survived.

The trailer suffered only a few burnt shingles, but the shed and van weren’t so lucky. Both had been reduced to shells. The heavy smell of charred wetness permeated the air. I surveyed the piles of bike parts and junk. Anyone could see Tiny's clutter was a fire hazard. I’d seen the mess of wiring in that shed. It was overloaded and dangerous. And what about a spark from an exhaust pipe? The stubble of dry grass surrounding the van could easily have ignited. I narrowed my eyes at Nova, remembering her vow to leave even if she had to steal a car. She looked at me and asked, “Can I go back to bed now?” I was too tired to argue with her, so I nodded, and she followed Lutie and Tiny inside. Tru took the bucket from me and wanted to help with the van, but the engine was shot.

“Daddy won’t like this,” he said.

“Daddy won’t find out about this,” I said.

T
he sharp smell of burned-out wiring lingered for days. Nova stormed around, blaming me for the whole mess. She’d never become a famous fashion designer. She was stranded on Mars, she said about every ten minutes, because the van was a total wreck. Her escape route was foiled, and it was my fault. The sad truth was, so far the only thing we’d found that might have started the fire was that tangle of wiring in the shed. I’d never seen my uncle so sad.

I found it impossible to sleep much because I got up several times a night to make sure things were unplugged. The rest of the time I lay next to Nova and listened to her breathing or tried to count the glow-in-the-dark stars she’d plastered all over the ceiling. Inside a week I was exhausted, and when I finally slept, it was hard and deep and difficult to wake up.

In fact, the border between sleep and waking felt perfect, a paradise I didn’t wish to leave. Perhaps it was the dreaming; perhaps it was just that I still needed more rest. Sleep felt so pain-free and soft that I didn’t want to come back.

In my dreams Rubin popped up where I least expected: at the beach, where I miraculously didn’t sunburn and the sand
was as fine as sugar; in the new Murkee Library, checking out veterinary magazines, or sitting beside his stream.

He had come over regularly the last few days. He wasn’t an eco-nut; he was a caring and compassionate friend. Okay, I had to admit, more than a friend. The whole town was talking about us, but I hadn’t been listening. I was a grown-up, and it was none of their business, now was it?

This morning I didn’t feel so grown-up. Perhaps it was childishness that kept me clinging to sleep, trying in vain to return to where Rubin and I had left off. Finally, Nova woke me up, rummaging through her backpack.

I raised my head. “What are you doing?” I wanted to add that perhaps they couldn’t hear her in Cleveland, but I didn’t. I can be a real bear in the morning.

“Nothing.” She continued to rattle papers. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, pulling on the green cotton robe I’d worn for fourteen summers and sliding my feet into scuffs.

Nova was already dressed in those baggy cargo pants she loves and a too-tight tank top. Her hair was purple this week, Marvin's favorite color, I guessed. Those two were as much a topic of gossip as Rubin and I were these days, and it was all I could do to stand parental watch.

“What on earth are you looking for?” This time I sounded grouchy and in need of coffee.

“I need to find Dad's phone number. You know, the one at the gallery.”

“Why? What's going on?”

“I just need to talk to him.”

“You swore you never wanted to speak to your father again. That was last week, I believe.”

I dragged a brush through my tangled hair with quick, sharp strokes, and then banged the brush down on the
dilapidated bureau. The picture of my father that I’d set there jumped a bit, but I may have imagined it.

“Mother.” Her forehead scrunched up. “Is it a crime for me to say hello to my dad?”

“No, not a crime,” I said, preparing for battle. “But it's not like you. Is anything wrong?”

“Of course not,” she said, and then added, “Yes!” It wasn’t an admission, just the way kids say, “Aha!” She waved a scrap of paper from the pack, and then paused. For a moment I thought it was true, that she simply wanted to check in with Daddy. Then she shot me a look and blew out through her nostrils like an angry bull. Her bottom lip quivered. “You want to know? You really want to know?”

“Of course I do,” I said as calmly as I could. I caught my reflection in the small round mirror above the dresser. Places where the silver had worn away from the back made me appear transparent in spots.

“Why can’t you go ahead and sell? Everywhere I go I hear about how our family came out here just to stir up trouble.
Your
dad's dead, Mom. Face it. And all he left you was a broken-down trailer and a bunch of junk.” My daughter was red-faced now, but she didn’t stop there. “If it wasn’t for Marvin I would have moved back with Dad a long time ago.” Her chin jutted defiantly. “Just drop it, Mom. Please. It's so embarrassing. Everybody says Linc deserves the water.”

“Everybody? Everybody on his payroll, you mean. Besides, it's much more complicated than that.” I decided not to explain what I’d found at the creek bed. Employing one of Nova's favorite avoidance tactics, I changed the subject abruptly. “By the way, what's going on with you and Marvin?” I felt the prickles of motherly protection rise along the back of my neck. “Well?”

“We’re just friends,” she insisted. “That's all.” I thought of my new friendship with Rubin and doubted it.

“What about you and Rubin?” she asked. “Everyone says you guys are together.” Nova had backed up now; she stood at the doorway. I’d backed myself into doorways plenty of times as a child. Sarcastic remarks like these were hit-and-run insults.

“It's none of your business, young lady,” I said, feeling my own face flush. “I’m an adult. Well? Are you two, well, you know?”

“How could I be? Linc watches Marvin like a hawk too. I still need to call Dad.” She left, and I wondered why her eye twitched slightly.

When I finished dressing and walked out to the living room Nova was already on the phone. Lutie sat in her recliner, crocheting a harvest gold soda can hat, and Tiny was cooking something over in the kitchenette. Tru must be outside with Jim, I guessed, playing with the bike parts and junk. Suddenly, the place seemed even drearier and the word
kitsch
came to mind. A wave of loneliness smacked me from behind, and I remembered how once I had been the wife of an up-and-coming art gallery owner.

“Daddy,” Nova yelled into the new cordless phone louder than necessary, “I miss you so much.

Chaz had never been more than mildly interested in fatherhood and hated being called at work. But he must have been sympathetic today, because Nova jumped right in.

“I can’t stand it here,” she said, turning her back to me. “There's nothing to do and everyone wears Wranglers and the school is a joke. And,” she paused dramatically, “and Mom's getting us all in trouble.”

After a few minutes, Nova turned and handed me the phone. “Here, he wants to talk to you.” She folded her arms and pouted.

I took it reluctantly, partly because it was the first contact we’d made in a while, and partly because I didn’t want to feel sorry for him. Aunt Lutie had warned me about this, so I said a terse, “Hello.”

Chaz's voice was equally cool. He didn’t even ask about Tru. “What's up?” he demanded to know. I could just see him standing there in the gallery, pursing his lips, doodling away on the phone book the way he always did. He was probably dressed in a black turtleneck and designer jeans, like that proved he was an
artiste
.

“Nova's exaggerating again,” I said. My eye twitched. “This is all about water rights. It's really about the whole creek area—the land around it.” There, I felt better throwing in a bit of truth.

“Water? Hold on, will you?” Chaz spoke to someone in the background. I heard a high thin female voice, and I hoped it wasn’t Victoria, the bimbo he’d moved in with. Actually, I knew little about the poor girl, but it was fun to trash her for hooking up with such a loser.

Finally, Chaz spoke into the phone again. “Muri? How much you think that property's worth?”

His question caught me off guard. It wasn’t like him to think in terms of money. He’d confessed to me once that the gallery only ran in the black after he’d hired dear Victoria.

“What difference does that make?” I felt defensive and suddenly wished George Kutzmore was here.

“For one thing, you need cash, not a junkyard in the middle of nowhere. Sell the place and get the kids out of that hole. Whatever you get from the property, just remember:
your stepfather, Benjamin, wants that loan cleared up.” Chaz conferred with the phantom voice in the background again.

“My name was never on that loan,” I said. “Legally
you
owe him the money.”

Now he turned on the charm; that was his style. He always alternated between making nice and twisting your arm.

“Hey, we were in all that together. You said—” Chaz was a weasel of the first degree.

“You got that in writing anywhere?” I was shaking by now, and the cup of tea Tiny handed me sloshed about in the mug.

“You obviously don’t care about your children,” Chaz said, throwing in a curse word or two. “The gallery's their future. If you insist on raising them in that slum, then I guess I can’t stop you. But you’re dragging them down with you.” Then he hung up.

I stood there, listening dumbly to the “If you’d like to make a call” recording before I pushed the off button. The only call I really wanted to make was to my father, but that was impossible. Instead, I stared out the window at the brilliant sunshine. It made my eyes water; that's what I told Aunt Lutie.

She was up now, scrabbling in a paper sack full of aluminum cans. When I looked around she was bent over at the waist and her skeletal fingers raked through the bag's contents. But she turned and smiled as she sifted through the Dr. Pepper, Squirt, Bud, and Coors empties. I was just glad she always rinsed them before she brought them in the house.

Nova stomped around and demanded to know what that awful racket was, which of course was totally different than the noise she was making. When she learned that Chaz had cut off the conversation, she automatically blamed me. Her purple hair spikes turned my stomach. It would serve Victoria right if my daughter showed up on their doorstep.

“Sit down,” I said, giving Nova the “or else” look. “It wouldn’t kill you to act like you’re part of the family.”

“This stinks,” she said and perched on a chair at the edge of the room nearest the door.

Aunt Lutie smiled at her anyway. “You’re as stubborn as your grandpa,” she told Nova, who clucked her tongue and stared at the ceiling. “And Joseph had the magic touch. He could fix anything that needed fixing,” Lutie said. “Something that was beyond mending, he’d just invent a new one. Like you, Nova, with your beautiful creations.”

“My creations?” Nova asked. She looked disgusted. “My creations are doomed, like we are.” A black cloud parked itself above my daughter's head.

Tru came in, with Jim trailing behind him. Tru sat on the floor next to the recliner, where Lutie had stationed herself. I sat with Tiny on the sofa, and we all listened, as if we were about to learn the family secrets, which I was certain we were.

“Take engines.” Lutie cleared her throat. Tiny got up and headed toward the kitchen, returning momentarily with a glass of water. She smiled at him and took a sip. “Joseph could get a motor to obey him no matter what was wrong. Just sweet-talked it until it purred, I always thought. That was before I took a basic auto repair class down at the Prineville Senior Center.”

She looked at Tru. “Your grandpa owned as much junk as your uncle here.” Tiny glanced over sharply and then broke into a sheepish grin.

“Watch what you call junk, my Pearl,” he said.

Nova rolled her eyes and stood up. “A pile of garbage is more like it,” she said. “I’m going out.” She started toward the door. I blocked her exit, glowered at her, and she flopped back down with an exaggerated sigh.

Lutie smiled at my daughter. “Don’t forget, Rhonda Gaye is coming over to help you get started on an ensemble for the bazaar.”

Nova let out a sigh of exasperation and folded her arms over her chest.

“Now these soda can hats were Joseph's idea,” Lutie continued, carefully staring down at one of them, all hooked together in avocado green and a hideous brown. “He said he knew how we could recycle and make a buck too. Before we knew it we had more orders than we could fill. Sell out every year at the bazaar.”

“Think what you could do with a web page,” Tru practically shouted. “I know how to design them—piece of cake.” He jumped up, and Jim, who must have been dreaming, jerked awake with the only kind of snort he could muster. “We’ll all be rich,” Tru proclaimed. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and for a moment I imagined the next computer magnate. Well, at least he looked the part.

“You want to hear about your grandpa or not?” Tiny said, patting Jim back into sleep. Then he added, “Teach me about your computer real soon, okay?” That was my uncle's way, I thought. He disciplined Tru without shaming him. Plus Tiny's nose didn’t turn red, which was a big thing in his favor.

Nova stood up again and began to walk out. “Where do you think you’re going?” I demanded. I couldn’t believe her manners were so poor.

She whirled around. “I can’t stand it here,” she said. “I’m going out.”

“Out? Out where?”