Taking Terri Mueller (11 page)

FIFTEEN

“Daddy,” Terri said, “thank you for Aunt Vivian's address.”

After a moment he said, “Okay.” He dug into the spinach casserole in its ruffled aluminum tin. “You having some of this?”

“No, it's for you.” She didn't like spinach, had put the frozen casserole in the oven to please him. “Eyes—what a funny name,” she said, trying to draw him into a conversation. “Is that Aunt Vivian's husband?”

“Yes. That's Ray. Raymond Eyes.”

“When did she get married?”

“Viv? Years ago. Way before I did.”

“Does she live—are they poor?”

“Not particularly,” he said. “Ray has a good job. He's a toolmaker, and Viv manages the shoe store now.”

She ate slowly, understanding again, and again, each time with a fresh little shock, that
nothing
was as she had thought, as she had been told. Led to believe.

She looked up to see her father watching her. “Well—so, what now, Terri?”

She had thought about this, of course. “I'll write Aunt Vivian and ask her where my mother is.”

He pushed back his chair. He felt tired. He had tried to hang on, but Terri had defeated him with simple silence. Her silence had told him that, bit by bit, he was losing her.

“Daddy—” Terri said. She came around the table, sat in his lap, and put her arms around his neck. “But you shouldn't . . .” he said. He felt the wetness in his eyes. “You shouldn't do this, you're getting too old for this.”

“Oh, be quiet,” she said, hugging him. “Be quiet, you big bozo.”

“Hello?”

“Shaundra—hi, it's Terri.”

“Hi, Terri! I didn't see you after school.”

“I was making up a quiz.”

“So what're you doing now?”

“I—what're you doing, Shaundra?”

“I was reading. I love to read on a rainy day. You sound funny. Your voice is funny. Are you crying?”

“Not exactly.”

“What's the matter, Terri? Did something happen? Terri? Say something, will you? Is it
bad
?”

“Shaundra, it's good and bad both. I just got home and got the mail. I got the letter.”

“The letter? You got it? From your Aunt Vivian? The answer from your Aunt Vivian? Did she tell you about your mother?”

“Yes . . .”

“She
knows
where your mother
is
?”

“Yes . . .”

“Terri. Oh, Terri, wow. I think
I'm
going to cry.”

“Shaundra—it's not that good—it's—it's—”

“Terri, what's the matter? You
are
crying!”

“Shaundra, I have to hang up now, I'll talk to you in school tomorrow—”

“Terri,
wait
—”

“No, Shaundra.”

“Can't you just tell me what—”

“Shaundra, I'm sorry—I can't . . . I can't . . . I don't want to talk about it now.”

“Terri? Terri?”

My dearest Terri,

I, too, do not know where to start my letter. There is so much to say. I can't even begin to tell you how I felt when I saw a letter from
you
in my mail. Disbelieving, overjoyed, and frightened all at once!

My first feeling was. Thank god Phil has finally unburdened himself! Thank god he has finally told Terri the truth! It's what I have wanted. From the very beginning, I didn't agree with what my brother did. Never!
Not
for
one moment
. Yet, ever since I have received your letter I have been so upset that I have put off answering you.

I can hardly understand myself. To think of all the times I
begged
Phil to tell you! And now that he has. I'm afraid.
I
am
afraid
. This is like Pandora's box. It's because of me that the box has been opened, and now there are fearful things in the air.

If only I had left things alone, you wouldn't have heard us talking that night. But, still, you were asking questions before that, weren't you? Maybe Phil could have gone on a little longer, but I have the feeling that you would have found out the whole story some way or other. So while part of me is scared, another part of me is
glad
this whole sad, sorry business is coming to some kind of end. You know what your father did, dear, and now we all just have to go on from here.

If I'm not being completely clear, bear with me. There are so many things I want to tell you. For instance—yes, of course, the picture of the boys in my wallet is important. They are my sons, your cousins, Jimmy and Dave, and oh, how much I want to see all of you together again!

But let me answer the question I know must be most on your mind. Yes, I do know where your mother lives. She's kept in touch with me through the years, always with the hope that I'd have some news about you. I wonder if you can understand how I felt every time she called and I had to deny what I knew was true? The hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life has been to tell her that I had heard nothing, knew nothing. (And besides
this,
every year when I came to visit you and Phil, I've had to make my husband and sons believe I was just going away for a few days, a little vacation on my own.) No, they never knew. No one knew. I promised Phil I wouldn't tell and I kept that promise, even though many times I felt it was too
much to keep to myself.

Even now I haven't told anyone, not even Raymond, my husband.

I always knew if I broke my promise to Phil I wouldn't see either of you
ever
again
. But if only I could have told Kathryn, just
once,
what I knew about you! So many nights I lay awake and thought how much I wanted to tell her, “Your daughter is growing up a lovely, fine, sweet, and smart girl who would make you proud.” We're both mothers. I
knew
how she felt.

Well, so, now you are thinking, Terri, that the cat is out of the bag and why doesn't your talkative old aunt get to the point and tell you where your mother is? And tell her where
you
are?

Terri, darling—if only it were that simple.
If only—

But you see, Terri, if Kathryn knows where you are, your father is in danger. He committed a crime when he took you from your mother. And to tell you the truth, I do not know what she would do if she knew where he was. She could have him arrested. I love my brother. How can I do anything that might help to put him in jail?

But how can I keep the truth from you? At this point, especially! Enough has been taken away from you. You said in your letter to me that you were old enough to know. I pray so! Because you will have to be the one to choose.

Maybe just knowing your mother is alive is
enough for you. Can you be satisfied with that? When you're older, you could make the decision to go to your mother. Otherwise, you have to face the possibility that your actions could endanger your father.

It's up to you, Terri, darling.

I wish I could help you in your decision. Sometimes things happen that force people to grow up fast. Terri, darling, think hard before you do anything.

Much love. Aunt Vivian

Kathryn Newhouse

525 N. Bassett Avenue

Oakland, California 99528

415-382-0591

“You were in my dreams last night,” Terri said to Shaundra as they stood in the lunch line.

“I was? That's great. Uch, look at those veggies. They look malnourished. What was I doing in your dreams?”

“Giving me advice.”

“Was it good?”

“I don't know. I wish it was true.” Shaundra smiled, but Terri meant it seriously. “You said, ‘You can, too. I have the solution.'”

They sat down with their trays. “That doesn't sound like much advice to me,” Shaundra said. Terri took her aunt's letter out of her pocket and spread it in front of Shaundra. “Oh,” Shaundra said as she read. “Oh . . . Oh, no . . .” She turned the last page. “What are you going to
do
?”

She shook her head. Now she had everything she needed to find her mother—a name, an address, a phone number—everything except the will to put her father in danger. Was this what reporters meant when they said, “Ironically enough”? “Ironically enough,” just when she had all the information she had so passionately wanted, she couldn't use it.

End of the road. STOP. Go no farther. If You Pass GO, Proceed at Once to Jail.

“I'm not doing anything.” She sipped milk, could hardly swallow. “I'm not going to get my father in trouble.” She was aware of other kids sitting nearby and kept her voice low.

“It's not fair,” Shaundra said. “I
hate
adults sometimes. I hate that they make us choose.”

Terri pushed away her lunch tray. No appetite. None. “I don't know why I started all this,” sne said. She tried to laugh. “Oh, boy, am I feeling sorry for myself.”

That evening, after supper, her father called Nancy. “I'd like to come over,” he said. “Talk things over.” His voice was almost musical. Terri, playing on the living room floor with Barkley, listened. “Yes,” her father said. “I understand . . . All right. . . right . . . Yes . . . I'll see you in half an hour then. I love you—what? . . . But I
do
. . . All right, yes, for now, I agree I won't . . .”

A gust of wind shook the front window. Was Nancy changing her mind about her father? Did she understand now what he'd done? Did she think it was all right? Terri put her arms around Barkley, nuzzling his clotted neck fur.

Her father came in, knotting a red plaid tie. “I'm going over to see Nancy.” He smiled, sounded jubilant. “Is it raining out again?” He put on a jacket, ran his hands through his hair. “Will you be all right, honey? You don't mind, do you? You could come, but we have things to talk over.”

“No, that's all right. You look nice.”

He kissed the top of her head. For a brief moment she felt as if things were as they had always been—comfortable and loving.

He still wasn't home later after she showered. She left on the living room lights and went to bed. As many times as she had been alone in her life, she had never quite gotten used to it, but with Barkley sleeping on the floor next to her bed, it was all right. Again the wind came up and rattled the panes. She dug deeper under the covers and was half-asleep when the phone rang in the kitchen. She stumbled out of bed.

“Terri?” Shaundra said. “I know what you can do.”

“Do about what? Shaundra, I was sleeping.”

“Never mind that, Terri. Listen. What you do is, you call your mother, you tell her who you are, and then you say, ‘You have to promise that you won't get my father in trouble. Otherwise, I can't keep talking to you.' If she doesn't promise right away, you just hang up so she can't have the call traced or anything like that. And if she
does
promise, you can talk to her.”

Terri leaned against the wall. “Shaundra, do you really think it would work?” She stood on one foot, pushed the other cold foot against her leg.

“I don't know, Terri. I don't know your mother, maybe she just hates him so much—”

Terri made a choking sound. Barkley ambled into the kitchen, looking at her sleepily.

“The thing is,” Shaundra said, “I figure—what else can you do? It's worth a try, anyway. Isn't it? Isn't it worth a try, Terri?”

SIXTEEN

“Hello?” a funny squeaky voice yelled.

“Hello,” Terri said, “could I, ah—”

“Hello! Hello!” the squeaky voice screamed happily.

“—speak, could I speak to Mrs. N—”

“Hello! Hello! Good-by.”

“Is Mrs. Newhouse there?” Terri looked at Shaundra, who was squeezed into the phone booth with her. Shaundra's bike was outside. They were holding hands. Shaundra's hand was hot, Terri's, icy. “Did I dial the right number?” she asked Shaundra.

“Yeah, you did. I watched you. What's the matter?”

“Hello! Hello! Answer the phone!” Squeaky voice screamed.

“It's a little kid,” Terri said. What was she doing in a cold, dingy phone booth listening to a child halfway across the country scream in her ear? Who was this Mrs. Newhouse? Her mother? Who was
she?
A sour nausea climbed into her throat and she started to hang up.

“Don't,”
Shaundra said, pushing her arm. Then a man's voice came tinnily from the phone. “No, Leah, stop now—
let Daddy talk—hello? hello?”

“Hello,” Terri said feebly.

“Hello, I can't hear you.”

She cleared her throat and brought out, “I'm calling for Mrs. Newhouse.”

“She's not in right now. I'll take a message.”

“Uh, um, when will she be in?”

“I don't expect her until about nine tonight.”

“Oh. How about tomorrow? About this time?”

“She should be in then.” He sounded impatient. “Who should I tell her called?”

“Terri.”

“Who?”

“Terri.”

“Your last name?”

“I'll call again,” she said quickly. “Thank you, goodby—”

“Hold it, please,” he ordered. “Is that Terri with a y or an i?”

The way he repeated her name frightened her. Had she been on the phone long enough for him to have the call traced?

“You want to talk to Mrs. Newhouse? Do you mind if I ask you what about?”

“Well, it's—I just want to talk to her. I'll call again.” She hung up. “Let's get out of here,” she said, pushing Shaundra.

“You didn't talk more than three minutes. What's the rush?”

“I think he knew who I was.” She was sweating, could smell herself. “He wanted to know my last name. What if he was having the call traced?”

“Don't be paranoiac. How could he get in touch with the phone company when he was talking to you?” That was reasonable, but Shaundra sounded uneasy, too.

Terri opened the booth door and a gust of cool, wet air blew in. A police car slowly turned the corner. She remembered Aunt Vivian's question. Is knowing the truth enough for you? Why hadn't she been able to say
Yes
to that, and be satisfied? The phone rang. “You answer,” she said to Shaundra.

“Hello? Yes, operator . . . Okay . . . right . . .” Shaundra covered the receiver and rolled her eyes. “Woo, woo, what a voice! He says you owe money, Terri.”

She put dimes and quarters into the slots, her eyes fixed on the blue and white cruiser slowly drifting down the street toward them.

“One more quarter,” Shaundra directed. “Okay, operator? Thank you! You have a nice day, too.”

“Hang up,” Terri said. The police cruiser passed. They walked in the opposite direction, Shaundra pushing her bike.

On Denver Street a woman wearing a long brown coat and running sneakers came up to them and said in a rapid, urgent voice, “Girls! I heard that General Motors is going bankrupt tonight. Don't worry, the Canadians have more Chevys than we do.” She put her hands on the handlebars of Shaundra's bike. “You've got the right idea. Drive a bike.”
Under her coat she wore several layers of sweaters. She had a small, peaked face and cropped hair. “A car drove into my bedroom last night. They were out for me, drove right over my bed. I'm thinking of going to Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania has immunity.”

“Gee, that's great,” Shaundra said. “Well, we gotta go now.” She pushed her bike firmly past the woman. “One of your friends?” she said to Terri.

Terri looked back at the woman. What if her mother was a person like that? It was possible; anything was possible. She could be mental, a cold fish, a nasty, sneering, unpleasant person. After all, her father was warm, affectionate—whatever he had done, it had been out of love. Why hadn't he and her mother stayed together? It must have been her mother's fault. He had hinted as much. Should she really call again tomorrow?

At her house she didn't want to go inside. What if Mr. Newhouse had called the phone company the moment she hung up?
Trace that call.
Computers could do miracles. Maybe right now the police were in the neighborhood making a house-to-house search for someone named Terri.

“Let's go have something to eat. A hamburger.”

“I don't have any money,” Shaundra said.

“I do.”

“No, you spent money on me the other day.”

“I didn't. When was that?”

“In Shorty's. Remember—the hot fudge sundaes?”

“It doesn't matter. I'll buy—”

“No, I can't pay you back, Terri.”

“I don't care.”

“Well, I do. If you want a hamburger, I'll go with you. But I'll have a glass of water.”

“You're stubborn sometimes, Shaundra!”

“Well, tough turkeys, Terri!”

They were on the verge of fighting again. Terri knew it was her fault. There was a knot in her belly. She took a deep breath. “Okay, let's go upstairs. Want to help me deflea Barkley?”

“Does it cost anything?”

“I'll let you help for free.”

“Do I get a glass of water, too?”

“And a piece of apple pie.” They went inside.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I'm just nervous about the phone call.”

“That's okay,” Shaundra said.

In the apartment, Terri got a towel and a can of flea powder, and while Shaundra held Barkley on the towel she rubbed powder into his fur. “He hates this.”

“Who blames him? Would you like to have sicksmelling flea powder rubbed into your fur?”

“Don't hold him too hard.”

“Don't worry, I'm not mistreating beloved Barkley.”

Terri felt better, calmer, but in the back of her mind, all the time they were defleaing Barkley and later playing Monopoly, she half expected a loud knock on the door.
Open up! Police!

It was dark when her father came home. “Hello, Mr. Mueller!” Shaundra gave him a big smile, full wattage. And
when they walked downstairs, she said to Terri, “Well, anyway, if you had to be kidnapped, you couldn't have picked a nicer-looking guy to do it. Are you going to tell him about your phone call?”

Terri shook her head. “No, Shaundra. There's nothing to tell.”