Tiger Eyes (6 page)

As soon as Mom and Jason left I closed the door to my bedroom and as I got dressed I chatted with Minka.

“What we have here, Minka,” I said, pulling on my favorite jeans, “is pure physical attraction. Physical Attrac-ti-on. You know what that means? It means it feels good to be near Hugh.
Really
good. When he holds my hand my insides flip over. Did you ever feel that way, Minka? Did some boy cat ever rub up against you and make you feel wonderful?”

Minka, who had been bathing, looked up. I scratched her under her chin, then put on my new halter.

“Well, don’t you worry,” I said. “It’s never too late.”

Minka gave me a big yawn.

I sprayed myself with
Charlie
, checked myself in the mirror, and ran downstairs, to the store, to wait for Hugh.

My father was at his easel, working on a portrait. There were no customers. He had the radio turned in to WFLN, the classical music station.

“Hi …” I said, helping myself to a peppermint candy from the glass bowl on the check-out counter. The sign on the bowl read,
Help the Retarded. Two for a Quarter
.

My father opened the cash register, took out a
quarter and dropped it into the bank behind the box.

Then he looked at me. “Well, well, well … if it isn’t Davey Wexler …”

“In the flesh,” I said.

“So I see,” Dad said, eyeing my skimpy halter.

I felt my cheeks turn red.

I walked behind the counter to where Dad was sitting at his easel and looked over his shoulder. “Very nice …” I said. “Especially the eyes. I wish I could draw like you.”

“You can do other things.”

“Oh yeah … like what?”

My father pretended to think that over. “You’re very good at stacking the bread,” he said.

“Thanks a lot!”

We both laughed. I hung my arms over his shoulders, from behind, and rested my face against his hair, which was soft and curly and smelled of salt water.

“So, where are you off to?” Dad asked.

“Oh … Hugh and I are going out.”

“What time will you be back?”

“I’m not sure.”

“An educated guess.”

“Ten … eleven … something like that.”

“Stay off the beach. It’s not safe at night.”

“I’ve already had the lecture.”

“I just don’t want you to get carried away and forget.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Well, I can’t ask for more than that.”

Hugh came into the store then, wearing his
Grateful Dead
T-shirt and jeans. “Hi everybody,” he said. “Have you heard the one about the man who gave his cat a bath …”

“Stop,” Dad said. “I’ve heard it two dozen times, from you.”

Hugh walked up to the counter and took two mints, dropping a quarter into the bank.

“Ready?” he asked me.

“Ready. Bye, Dad. See you later.”

“Bye,” Dad said. “Have a nice time. And don’t be too late.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Wexler,” Hugh said.

Outside the sun was setting.

TWELVE

Stop! I tell myself. Stop thinking about that night. Concentrate on how good it feels to be alive. No matter what. Just to see the color of the sky, to smell the pine trees, to meet a stranger in the canyon.

I go to my room, tear a piece of paper from the yellow pad on my dresser and write one word.
Alive
. Then I tear off another piece and write
Wolf
.

I get pleasure from seeing my hand form the letters. I write it in all caps.
WOLF
. I write it in all lower case letters.
wolf
. I spell it backwards.
flow
. I’m surprised to find that it spells a word.
Davey and Wolf. Wolf and Davey
. I open the trunk at the foot of the bed and place both pieces of paper inside it, on the paisley lining. Then I decide to put my angora sweater set in there too, on top of the papers. And my fisherman’s pullover. Also, the letter from Lenaya, which she wrote and mailed on the day we left Atlantic City. And then the breadknife. I’ve been hiding it under my bed every morning but if Bitsy decides to vacuum and moves the bed, she’ll find it, and that will mean questions and
more questions. Better to keep it in the trunk during the day and to take it out only at night, when I might need it.

At dinner Mom asks me how my day was.

“Very interesting,” I tell her. I see Bitsy raise her eyebrows. “And relaxing,” I add, hoping to avoid any questions. “How was Cochiti Lake?”

“Very nice,” Mom says. “Walter explained the whole history of the area to us.”

I’ll bet he did, I think.

“It’s a man-made lake,” Jason says. “And it’s big enough to sail a boat.”

“A small boat,” Walter says.

“A small boat,” Jason repeats.

“You missed a nice day, Davey,” Bitsy tells me.

I hide my smile in a glass of milk.

L
ater, I sit with Jason on the deck. We snuggle together in one lounge chair, star gazing. The sky is so clear here that without any trouble I can make out the Dipper. I am able to find Cassiopeia, too. Walter is so impressed with what he considers my interest in astronomy that he has given me a book:
The Beginners Guide to Stars and Planets
.

“Look, Jason,” I say. “There’s Cygnus. The swan. Can you make out the neck … the wings?”

“I think so,” Jason says, yawning. “I
want
to.”

Impulsively, I hug him.

“Watch it,” he says.

THIRTEEN

Two nights before we are due to fly home the phone rings. Walter answers. It is Audrey, my mother’s friend from Atlantic City. “She probably wants to pick us up at the airport,” Mom says, taking the call in the kitchen.

But when she comes back to the living room her face is deadly pale. “The store has been attacked by vandals,” she says, quietly. “They shot out the windows and the inside is a mess. They smashed everything they could get their hands on.”

Who would do such a terrible thing to us? I think. What have we ever done to anybody?

“The police have no leads,” Mom continues. “But they don’t think it’s related to the robbery … to the …” Her voice trails off. She manages to say, “To the last time,” before she covers her face with her hands.

The room is filled with the sound of a long, low wail. It sends shivers down my back. I look around, trying to identify it, then realize it is coming from my mother.

“Damn them!” she screams. “Damn them to hell!”

I know how she feels. I want to comfort her. To hold her close the way she held me when Jason had his nosebleed. But she is hysterical now, raving and ranting around the room, pulling at her own hair, screaming and crying and flinging aside whatever is in her way. Needlepoint cushions fly into the air, a stack of books is swept off the table with one movement of her arm, an amber glass ashtray smashes against the fireplace.

Jason stands in front of the grandfather clock, his hands over his ears. I can tell he is afraid. I am frightened, too. But even more, I am surprised. I’ve never seen my mother lose control. Not the night my father was killed, not at his funeral, not ever.

Until now.

Mom knocks over a lamp. I wait for Walter or Bitsy to stop her. Why are they just standing there like zombies? Why doesn’t somebody do something! But then Mom kicks the wall with her bare foot and cries out in pain. She has hurt herself. The shock is enough to stop her. She begins to cry, but now it is a different kind of crying. She collapses against Bitsy, who takes her in her arms.

“I’m sorry,” Mom whimpers. “I’m sorry … but I just can’t take any more. I just can’t …”

“Mommy …” Jason runs to her. “Mommy … don’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” Mom says, holding him close. “I
just couldn’t help myself this time.” She looks over at me. I look back, trying to let her know I understand, without saying a word.

Three of Mom’s toes turn blue and swollen. Bitsy gets an ice pack. Mom yelps when Walter tries to touch her foot. They discuss whether or not they should go to the emergency room for X rays. They decide against it.

“There’s nothing to do for broken toes but tape them together,” Bitsy says. She once took a first aid course and this is what she learned. Besides, Mom doesn’t want to go. She’s embarrassed.

But the next day the pain is worse and Bitsy takes Mom for X rays anyway. Two of the toes are broken. The doctor tapes them together. Bitsy is pleased that her treatment was correct. Mom hobbles around in a pair of old tennis shoes with a hole cut out for her toes.

She can’t decide what to do about the store. She can’t decide what to do about anything. Walter and Bitsy convince her to stay a while longer.

“I’ll take care of everything,” Walter promises.

T
he next morning I walk down to Central Avenue and buy two postcards in TG&Y. One shows an aerial view of Los Alamos.
Greetings from the Atomic City
is printed across it. This one I will send to Lenaya. The other is a photo of Camel Rock at sunset. This one is for Hugh.

I cross the street and go to the post office,
where I write messages on each of the cards.
Hi, Future Scientist
, I write to Lenaya. And then I can’t think of anything else I want to say. So I write in big letters.
Lots to tell you. See you soon
.

I address the Camel Rock card to Hugh and write
Did you hear about the store? It’s the last straw. I don’t know when we’re coming home now
.

I mail the cards, then remember that I haven’t signed either one of them. Oh well. They’ll know they are from me.

I decide to go to the library since it is next to the post office. I browse around, picking a book off the best seller shelves, skimming it, then putting it back. I don’t see anything I want to read. Nothing interests me. I’m having trouble concentrating, except on my star book. I am able to memorize what I read in that.

Outside, I pass a shoe store and in the window is a pair of hiking boots. They are on sale for $32.50, marked down from $59.95. I go in and ask to try them on.

The saleswoman tells me they are a very good buy, and asks what size I wear.

“Eight,” I tell her. “Eight, narrow.”

She goes into the back room and comes out carrying a big box, which she sets down on the floor. She whips off the cover and holds one boot up. “Vibram soles,” she says. “The real McCoy.”

I nod, as if I understand.

When she sees that I am wearing my Adidas
barefooted she reaches over for a basket filled with socks. “Let’s see,” she says, rummaging through it. “We want to see how they fit with heavy socks … wool would be best …” She shakes out a heavy gray sock. “Put this on, dear, and we’ll see how they fit.”

It is the same kind of sock Wolf was wearing. I pull it onto my left foot because I know that that one is slightly bigger than my right. The saleswoman helps me into the boot. It is stiff. She laces it up and tells me to stand.

“How does that feel?” she asks.

“I can’t tell,” I say. “I think I should try on the other one, too.”

She looks in the basket for a matching sock. There is none. Instead, she hands me a pink knitted sock. I pull it on, wondering whose sock it was. I think about a girl, my age, taking off her pink sock to try on a pair of summer shoes, then forgetting it. Maybe that’s how it wound up in the stray sock basket.

I get up and walk around in both boots, feeling as if my feet are encased in cement.

“You have to break them in,” the saleswoman says. “Wear them around the house, wear them to school, get them nice and comfortable before you wear them hiking.”

I turn around in front of the mirror.

“A terrific buy,” she tells me again. “And you can weatherproof the suede. It will turn the
color darker, but I think they look even nicer that way.”

The feet I am looking at in the mirror seem to belong to someone else. They don’t look like my feet at all.

“And the sale ends this Saturday,” she reminds me.

But she doesn’t have to worry. I have already made up my mind. I made it up the minute I saw them in the window. “I’ll take them,” I tell her. “And I’d like a pair of wool socks.”

“Certainly, dear. White or gray?”

“Gray.”

“And a bottle of Sno-Seal so you can weatherproof them right away?” she asks, reaching up to a shelf lined with Sno-Seals.

“Yes.”

“And will that be all?”

“Yes.”

“Cash or charge?”

“Cash,” I say, opening my wallet. I have exactly $74.68 saved up from my summer job. I worked as a beach girl at the Park Place Hotel, handing out towels and carrying chairs for guests. I was paid in tips. On a good day I could pocket $15. I had planned to blow it all on a back-to-school shopping spree. Once I was shopping in Bamberger’s with my mother and I saw this girl piling up sweaters and skirts and jeans and shirts. I couldn’t take my eyes off that pile. And I guess she noticed because she turned to
me and smiled. “I’m going away to college,” she said, as if she had to explain. And I just smiled back and thought about what it must be like to have so much money that you can buy whatever you want, more, much more than you need. And that’s what I’d planned to do with my $74.68, although I knew I wouldn’t get much of a pile.

I hand my money to the saleswoman, who never stops smiling. “Thank you, dear,” she says. Normally I’m put off by anyone who calls people
dear
yet she sounds as if she really means it and looks as if she is glad I came in and bought the hiking boots. She isn’t just putting it on. Maybe it’s because I am the only customer. Maybe business is slow this fall. Who knows?

On the way home I am hit with the guilties. What will my mother say?
A waste. What are you going to do with hiking boots in Atlantic City, Davey? Did you think it over carefully or was it just impulse buying? You know how hard it is to make ends meet, and especially now, with Daddy …

Never mind. I won’t show them to my mother, or to anyone else. They will be my secret. All I can think of is going to the canyon, finding Wolf, and showing him my hiking boots. Actually, all I can think about is going to the canyon and finding Wolf. I want to see if being around him still makes me feel glad to be alive.