Everybody's Daughter (15 page)

Maud sobered. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, no.”

“Did you eat all my birthday cake?” Beamer demanded.

“Not me personally,” said Maud. “But yes, it’s gone.”

Beamer turned to Jessie. “Do you think that’s sweet?”

Jessie was smiling. “Yes, I do.”

The kitchen was crowded. Beamer introduced Jessie to the Woodies nearest at hand. Mrs. Flynn was administering first aid to Sue’s hand, cut deeply in a fruit-slicing accident. Mr. Flynn was reading through some papers, Peter at his elbow. Beamer smiled at her father and peered over his shoulder. Peter was a well-known writer of nature essays. He often brought his work
to Mr. Flynn for informal editing. Beamer plowed through a cluster of friends in earnest conversation, something, she gathered, about groundwater purity and the paper company. She filled two mugs with cocoa from a carafe, then retreated.

She found Jessie talking to Jenny in the hall outside the kitchen.

“No, Ms. Elliot, I haven’t gotten the test results.”

Jenny was stern. “Call me Jenny, Jessie. We’re at the bait shop, not in the classroom.”

Jessie nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Wrong, Ms. Elliot,” said Beamer. “You’re not in either place. You are in my home, about twenty feet from my room, which is where I’d like to go with my friend. If you don’t mind. Anyway, didn’t you have a date tonight?”

“Oh, he’s here somewhere.”

Maud reappeared from downstairs. “Game time,” she called out. She grabbed Jenny and Jessie by their elbows. “You two are on my team.” Beamer frowned. She did not want to end the day this way.

Jessie sipped cocoa, looked at Beamer, then shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I want to talk with Bea a bit more, then get home.”

Maud made a face. “First Andy, now Jessie. Evidently Moonbeam selects her friends according to their ability to resist fun.”

“Oh, we had fun earlier tonight,” said Jessie.

“Doing what?” Mrs. Flynn took up position in the doorway behind Beamer.

Beamer sipped cocoa. “Ate supper, came home.”

Jessie held her mug in front of her smile.

Maud shook her head. “No fun.” She and Jenny and a line of others filed downstairs to the store.

Beamer turned to her mother. “What did Maud mean about Andy?”

“You missed him. He came by with his sisters and stayed for about an hour. The girls played cards with the other children and Andy visited with us.”

“And helped eat all the cake,” said Jessie with a wide smile.

Mrs. Flynn frowned. “Oh, yes. You heard about the cake.”

“You ate all my cake.”

“Every last crumb. You should have stayed home. Jessie, will you join us downstairs? Beamo hates it, but you look more reasonable.”

Jessie laughed. “I’m heading home, Mrs. Flynn, but maybe another time.”

“That’s what Andy said. He’s never yet played charades with us, but tonight we got him to promise to come back with his family as soon as his mother is well.”

Beamer groaned. “Not really?”

“Yes, really. Goodnight, Jessie. Drive carefully. Oh, Bea, Andy left your present in your room.”

Jessie lifted Beamer’s empty mug from her hand and carried it to the kitchen. She returned and nudged Beamer toward the stairs. “I should get going, Bea.” The back room was empty. Jessie pulled her coat from the pile that had tumbled onto the floor.

“Does this go on every Saturday night?”

“Usually.”

“Fun.”

Beamer shrugged.

Jessie sat next to her on the sofa. “I live alone with my mother, Beamer. I hardly ever hear from my father, and my brothers come home maybe twice a year. This seems so wonderful to me, a house full of people. All these friends.”

“It can be nice.”

“But crowded, right?”

Beamer nodded. “Sometimes, Jessie, I just feel smothered.”

Jessie zipped her coat. “Too bad you missed Andy.”

“Sounds like I wouldn’t have had a chance to talk with him anyway. They do that—anyone I bring in, they grab away.” She pointed a finger at Jessie. “They almost got you.”

“Charades with a bunch of forty-year-olds; don’t tell anyone I nearly gave in.”

“The entire night will be one solemn secret, I promise.”

Jessie opened the door to the cold. “Oh, and Beamo—”

“Yeah?”

“He was my first naked guy too.”

Beamer watched while Jessie drove carefully out of the parking lot, then onto the highway. The car accelerated and quickly disappeared. Beamer debated joining the Woodies, then remembered Andy’s gift. She ran up the steps and into her room. The parking-lot lights flooded through the window, casting broad
shadows. She scanned the room for a package. A long narrow box lay on her pillow. She prepared for bed before opening the gift, then sat down and unwrapped it. It was one of his own pottery pieces—a long, elegant, narrow vase with a perfect blue glaze and delicate white brushstrokes. She stroked the smooth surface, then placed it carefully on the table by her bed. She opened the card, and peered hard to read in the dark. Frustrated, she lit a candle.

It was a short, scribbled message:

Happy birthday. I’d love to give you something special, but I’m not sure what that could be. This will have to do.

Beamer lay down under her comforter, the card in her hand. She suspected Andy wasn’t just talking about the vase and his art. She touched the vase again and wondered about next year, when he would be at art school in Rhode Island. She wondered if he would write; she wondered if he would call; she wondered how much it would hurt if he didn’t.

A wave of applause signaled the end of a charade. The voices and other noise meant the friends were going home. The door slammed a number of times, but no cars started.
They’re hiking across the lake to look at the stars,
she thought, and she considered dressing and joining the excursion. Just as she reached for her jeans, a barrage of snowballs assaulted her window, and then the assembled Woodies stood below and sang “Happy Birthday.”

Beamer opened the window, shoving hard against the seal of ice and packed snow. “I hope you all know that every one of you is getting gray hair. And it looks awful.”

“We love you too, Beamo,” shouted Maud. Beamer waved, then closed the window. One by one the cars started and left.

She propped the note against the vase, blew out the candle, and quickly fell asleep.

Chapter 16

It was an old dream, her oldest, really her very first memory disguised in sleep. Once a nightmare that had caused her to scream and run to her parents’ arms, it was now so familiar that when it returned she seldom did more than stir slightly and roll to a cooler spot on the pillow.

As in a bad book or movie, the battle lines were clear: the sheriff and townspeople hated those crazy Chicago hippies who’d bought all that good land by the big lake and turned it into a commune. And who knew for sure what kind of things they were doing out there?

One morning the sheriff drove into Woodlands. He was followed by two pickups and a van. Five a.m.; only Daniel and Peter were up. The sheriff flashed a warrant. “Let’s see what drugs you’ve got out here. Let’s clean things up,” he said. Then he got the dogs. Loud dogs, big dogs. Two dogs scratching and leaping and bouncing off the walls of the van.

The dogs woke everyone. Beamer sat straight up on her small mattress on the floor and looked directly into the snarling face of a dog big enough to eat a three-year-old. Still only two, she started to cry. Her father lifted her and carried her outside, where they waited with the silent, watchful group while the men and dogs searched. Beamer lifted her head from her father’s shoulder and saw a dog leave the building, its teeth sunk into her soft, worn rag doll. The dog shook its head and the trailing ends of the doll’s gingham dress whipped back and forth in the dewy grass.

There were no drugs, never had been, never would be. No people engaged in group sex, no witchcraft. The sheriff left, certain he had done the right thing, uncertain what to do next. The Woodies consulted quickly, standing outside in their nightclothes. Dogs, even! What should they do?

Beamer, released by her father, ran through the grass to retrieve her doll. She picked it up, then threw it back on the ground. It smelled—it smelled like a dog.

*

“I don’t ever want a dog,” Beamer said to Andy. “No dogs, ever.”

The hospital intercom crackled a doctor’s name; an aide rushed by with a serving cart; a pair of somber-looking women passed. Andy tugged on Beamer’s arm, then directed her toward a vinyl sofa. They sat down.

“Okay, no dogs. Just a few kids and a station wagon, right?”

Beamer smiled. “Just no dogs. Do you want to know why?”

Andy slouched down until his head was level with her shoulder, then he leaned against her. Beamer took his hand and tucked it under her arm. “Do you want to know why?” she repeated.

“No.”

Beamer pushed his hand away and rose. “That’s sweet. I want to share one of my oldest fears and you’re not interested. I guess I’ll go see your mother now.” She took two steps, then turned back to face him, still slouched on the sofa. “Martin would be interested. I’ll save it for him.”

Mrs. Reynolds was sitting up in bed, examining a large drawing her daughters had brought.

“It’s for the wall in here, Mom,” Kim said.

“Put it somewhere you can see it,” advised Julie.

“Oh, here’s Beamer,” said Mrs. Reynolds, laying the drawing down. “Hello, dear. And happy birthday.” The girls chorused a greeting.

“Hi, Mrs. Reynolds.” Beamer stepped to the foot of the bed. “I hope you’re feeling better.” She took a small wrapped box from her coat pocket and handed it to Andy’s mother. “For your quick recovery.”

“Beamer, how sweet! And after I ruined your birthday.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Beamer saw Andy slink into the room.

“You didn’t ruin a thing. I had a great time. Just don’t ask me what I did.” Mrs. Reynolds and her daughters laughed.

“That good, huh?” said Kim.

Julie sat on her mother’s bed, bouncing a little as she settled in. Mrs. Reynolds moaned softly, but put her arm around her daughter.

“Geez, Julie, get off, would you? Be smart,” Andy snapped.

Beamer turned and looked at Andy, taking in his stony face. He didn’t look at her.
Oh boy,
she thought,
one remark about Martin and I’ve ruined his day.

“Oh, look at these!” Mrs. Reynolds exclaimed as she opened her gift. She lifted out two thick red slippers with snowflake designs on the toes. “Beamer, you made these, didn’t you? This is the same yarn you used for Andy’s scarf. They’re lovely.”

“They’re for keeping your feet warm while you recover by the fireside and the men in the house take care of you.”

“Well, if that happens, then this accident will have been a good thing.”

Everybody laughed at that, and Andy stepped to the bed and examined the socks. His face as he turned to Beamer had cheered, and he smiled at her.

“Andy and Beamer, look at the picture the girls did for me,” said Mrs. Reynolds, handing over the drawing. Beamer laughed at the sketch, a cartoon depiction of a cat being chased off the road by Mrs. Reynolds, who was safely motoring in an army tank.

“Cats,” Andy’s mother said, shaking her head. “I can’t stand them. Give me a good dog any day.”

Andy and Beamer smiled at each other. “Not me,” said Andy. “I don’t ever want a dog.”

“Beamer, please sit down,” said Mrs. Reynolds.

“I can’t stay. I just wanted to stop in and see how you were.”

“And see Andy,” said Kim, and she and her sister giggled.

“Did you like the vase he gave you for your birthday?” asked Julie.

“Yes, it’s beautiful. I’ve told him that at least twenty times.” Beamer stepped to the side of the bed, took Mrs. Reynold’s hand, and squeezed it gently. “My mom said to let us know if you need help with anything. I’ve gotta go now. Rest easy.”

Andy’s mother leaned back against her pillow. “Thank you, dear.”

Beamer tapped Kim and Julie each lightly on the arm, then left the room. Andy caught up with her at the elevator. He put his arm around her, then dropped it when they were joined by other people. They didn’t speak until they reached the car.

Andy held open the car door while Beamer started the engine and buckled up.

“We could go somewhere for lunch. My treat.”

“I should get back to the store.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry. Obviously I’m guilty of some terrible insensitivity. So please tell me now why you don’t like dogs.”

Beamer peeled off a glove and held her hand over the heat vent. “This heater is lousy,” she said. “I’ll be frozen by the time I get home.”

“Tell me.”

She pulled the door closed, then rolled down the window. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Tell me about the dog thing,” he said.

“It’s nothing, really,” she said. “Just something that happened a long time ago. I dreamed about it last night. That’s why I brought it up.”