Everybody's Daughter Page 9

  “Ow!” he said suddenly, pulling back. “Darn stick shift. May I come in?”

  Beamer looked at the dark, empty store, the vacant parking lot. Her parents were at Johnny’s hockey tournament. The store was empty—rare for a Saturday night.

  “Sure,” she said to Andy. “We have it all to ourselves.”

  She unlocked the back door. Inside, they took off their coats. Andy hooked a finger in her belt loop as they walked up the stairs to the family kitchen. She paused at the top to unlock another door, then pushed it open. The spacious room was dark except for the thin beam from the bold white digits of a clock radio.

  Beamer reached for the light switch, but Andy held her arm and pulled her close for a kiss. Then he stepped back.

  “Why do you put up with me?” he asked. “I’m moody, I complain, I’ve got another girlfriend, I’ve forgotten dates. And it’s not as if we have great sex or anything. So why?”

  “Picked a funny time to talk, didn’t you?”

  “This is a great time. We’re alone for once; I hardly know what to do. Now tell me, why?”

  “You’re a nice guy.”

  “That’s it? I’m a nice guy?”

  She felt she knew what he wanted to hear—that he was irresistible and she couldn’t help loving him. She leaned against the door frame and watched his face, its expression muted by the shadows. “Who knows why anyone likes another person, Andy? I just do. I like being with you. I think you’re funny. And your moods aren’t that bad—no worse than mine.”

  “Doesn’t take much to make you happy.”

  “You’re like nobody else around here, Andy. I like that a lot. What it all adds up to, I don’t know. Do I have to?” She switched on the light. “I’ll make some cocoa.”

  Andy straddled a chair and watched her for several minutes. “I like this kitchen,” he said. “I can see why everyone wants to hang out here.”

  Beamer set two mugs on the table by Andy, then spooned out the cocoa mix. She wondered why he had decided to change the subject, why he was watching her so intently. She avoided looking at him. The kettle of water on the range started making noise. She moved to the stove and watched it.

  “It will never boil now,” he said.

  Beamer didn’t answer. Andy went to her and kissed her gently on the neck. No, she thought. No. It slipped out aloud: “No, don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Touch you? Don’t kiss you? Don’t make love to you?”

  She gripped the handle of the kettle. It was warm, and the warmth felt good. She didn’t speak.

  Andy lifted his hand and with a single finger pressed against her chin turned her face toward him. He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “Bea, we’ve been going out for six months. And just when I think we should be getting closer, it seems that you have started to draw these lines all around you, and I can’t cross them and you won’t cross them. And I want to. I want to get closer, I want a sign that I can do that.”

  “What sort of a sign?”

  He didn’t answer, except to lift her hand and gently trace her fingers.

  “Would having sex be a sign, Andy? Is that what you’re saying?”

  He dropped her hand. “Bea, you are so, so…” He looked around, as if he could find the needed word pinned somewhere on a wall. “So controlled. If we did have sex, yeah, it would be a clear sign that things were moving the right way. God knows you would never say how you feel out loud.”

  Beamer crossed her arms and turned toward him. “Do you mean, Andy, that if I love you I should prove it? That is the oldest, the oldest—”

  “Of course not,” he snapped. “Believe me, I’d settle for your saying it.”

  “Hey, Saint Andrew, whatever happened to the idea of waiting for marriage?”

  He stepped away. She had never used the hated nickname before. He brought the mugs from the table. Beamer poured the hot water.

  “If people wait, that’s fine. That’s smart. But I’m ready. Mostly because I want to get close to you and I don’t know how else to do that.” He laid his hand on her back and rubbed gently.

  Beamer stirred the steaming cocoa. The tapping of the spoon against the ceramic mug was a soft, rhythmic breach of the quietness. His hand moved up and down. It had always felt so good when he had touched her, had held her. But now his hand moving on her back felt like a scalpel making a clean, deep incision. She shivered and stepped aside.

  “No, Andy.” She shook her head. “No.”

  He nodded slightly. “Okay, Bea. It’s your call.” He turned and sat at the table with his cocoa.

  She sat and sipped, eyeing him over the mug rim. He smiled. “Thanks for leaving the party,” he said. “Obviously, I needed to talk.”

  “You’ve already thanked me. It’s no big deal. And I’m glad we talked.”

  “Your being friends with that guy Martin isn’t easy for me. I know I’m not supposed to be jealous of him, and I’m not.”

  “Good, because there’s no reason.”

  “But I am jealous of the time you spend with him. I’d like some.”

  “You could have all the time you want, but you’re the one who’s busy hauling your kid sisters to the dentist or to some movie. Or you’re checking the kiln at the studio or staying at home to watch some civil rights documentary with your parents. You can find the time, Andy. I’m always here.”

  “Okay, how about tomorrow morning? We’ll go skiing and take a lunch. Then we’ll come back here and I’ll spend the afternoon helping at the store and playing cards with your dad and Daniel. If Martin can do it, I can.”

  Her heart sank. “I can’t. Tomorrow is the Community Fund pancake breakfast. The Woodies are involved, and I’m serving.”

  “A pancake breakfast?”

  “It’s for charity.”

  “Okay, I’ll come along and help you.”

  Her heart sank lower. “I promised Martin I’d pick him up. I mean, sure, you can come too.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “Two’s company, Beamer. I’d be number three.”

  “Oh, Andy, he’s just coming along because he’s looking for interviews. And my mother’s driving. It’s not a date.”

  He rose and drained his cocoa mug. “Well, maybe I’ll see you there. I like pancakes.”

  He walked to the door. She got up quickly to follow him. He stopped abruptly and turned around and they bumped. They stood still, chest to chest, eye to eye. “I’m going home to write to Allison. I’m going to break up with her, Bea. I’m not sure what I’ll tell her, really, except that you are the one who means the most to me. I think she knows that anyway.”

  He left without a kiss. Beamer set their mugs in the sink and quickly went to bed. Her family would be returning soon, and she didn’t want to talk with anyone.

  “A long day,” she murmured as she crawled under the comforter. She turned off the table lamp and stretched out. Her muscles ached, she thought she could feel a headache starting, and she wanted the day to be over. Mostly she wanted to sleep and not to think of Andy sitting in his room writing to Allison. She squeezed her eyes tight, but she still had a clear picture of him sitting alone, writing.

  What would he want now? Now that he’d made his commitment, he’d want something. “Something,” she said aloud into her pillow. “Sex, or love. He says he wants time.” She reached and pulled back the curtains. The moon was easing over the treetops. “People have always wanted something—my parents’ money, their advice, a place at the wood stove.” The moon was suddenly eclipsed by a cloud. Beamer let the curtain drop into place, then rolled onto her back and watched the shadows. “Could someone just once not want something?”

  She heard the family car drive into the parking lot and around to the garage in back. After a few minutes she heard voices and footsteps on the stairway. Her father and Johnny began foraging for food in the kitchen while her mother came down the hall. She paused at Beamer’s door. Beamer quickly closed her eyes and controlled her breathing into a slow, stea
dy pattern as her mother peeked in to check on her. She just didn’t want to talk, not tonight, not when she couldn’t even think straight.

  Chapter 12

  Beamer slept late and had to rush in the morning. As she hurriedly searched in her closet and drawers for something to wear, she berated herself for agreeing to represent the Woodies at the breakfast. The Community Fund was a local program that raised money for a number of nonprofit groups. Years ago, when Woodlands still existed, the Woodies had aligned themselves with the civic program in order to build a relationship with the conservative, suspicious townspeople.

  “I’ll probably be the only one under forty working there,” she grumbled. Then she relaxed, when she remembered Andy’s promise to join her. Then she remembered Martin’s request to come along and she felt like crawling back into bed. Instead she stared into the mirror, hating what she saw.

  “Beamer,” her mother called from just outside the bedroom door. Beamer thought about feigning sleep again, then answered.

  “I’m up, Mom. I’m just about ready to go.” She finished dressing and went into the kitchen.

  Her mother was sitting alone at the table, still in nightclothes.

  “Aren’t you going, Mom?”

  “I was up half the night with a fever or something, and now I’ve got a terrible headache. Your dad will have to handle the store, so you’re on your own. Sorry, dear. Please make my apologies.”

  “Martin is coming along; maybe he can be coerced into helping. Even if he doesn’t, we’ll manage without you.”

  “How was the party?”

  “We left early.”

  “And how was your night with Andy?”

  “He left early.”

  “Anything wrong?”

  Beamer hesitated. Preserving privacy was an instinct developed long ago in commune life; confidences with her mother did not come easily. “He says he’s going to break up with Allison.”

  “The girlfriend back east?”

  Beamer nodded.

  Her mother lowered her head into her hand and massaged her temples. “That’s nice.”

  “I guess.”

  Mrs. Flynn looked at her daughter. “He cares for you, Bea. Don’t let that scare you.”

  The wind had risen with the sun and was blowing hard when Beamer arrived at Martin’s. She ran from her car to his front door, banged a few times, then tried the knob. It was locked. She knocked again. “Oh, Martin, it’s cold,” she moaned. “Come on, wake up.” Just as she decided to leave without him, the door opened and there was a sleepy Martin, ready to go. “Sorry,” he said, “but here I am.”

  They ran to her car. The warm air they released when they opened the doors blew up a wall of swirling snow.

  “Lousy day,” said Martin when they were inside. “That wind is just wicked.”

  Beamer nodded and twisted around to back the car up. She spotted another car parked behind Martin’s under his carport.

  “Whose car is that?” she said. “Someone you met at the party?”

  Martin adjusted his scarf. “I didn’t go to the party. It’s Elizabeth’s car.”

  “Why is it here?”

  “Because she’s here. Now let’s get going.”

  They drove toward town in silence. Beamer absorbed this new information and realized she didn’t know what it meant.

  “She spent the night with you, Martin?”

  “She had a fight with her husband and didn’t want to go home.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I imagine if you’ve been married for twenty years it’s a pretty big deal. She was upset. You saw her last night. She was mad at the world.”

  “So she came home with you?”

  “Where’s your mom? Wasn’t she going to come?”

  “She’s sick. I can’t believe you would spend the night with a middle-aged woman. Especially a married one. What a scab.”

  “Maybe you don’t know everything.”

  “I’m sure I don’t.”

  They didn’t speak again until they reached the community center. The longest twenty minutes of her life, Beamer decided. “I will never live in the country again,” she said to herself as she followed Martin into the warm building. “You spend too much time not talking to people in cars.”

  The cafeteria was packed, and Beamer quickly took a place beside Peter and Sue in the serving line. She had been doing this for six years. It was easy and—when she would admit it—fun.

  Twenty minutes later she felt arms around her waist, and after handing portly Judge Reitman his plate, she turned to see Martin, who was tying an apron around her middle. He smiled. “Scab,” she hissed, but with a smile. He let his hand drift across her back as he walked away.

  Three hundred people could eat at one time in the dining room, and this morning the room was filled. After an hour Beamer slipped away to eat. No sooner had she sat at the end of a table than Martin appeared with his own plate of pancakes and sausage. He eased a chair into the spot beside her, nodding to the woman who had moved to give him room. Beamer pointed to the chair across the table. “Sit there, scab.”

  “I want to talk,” he said.

  “I want to eat. Can I have some of your coffee?”

  “First of all,” he said in lowered tones, “I did not sleep with Elizabeth last night, or any other night, for that matter.”

  “Then from what I hear, she’s the first.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You’re the first.”

  “Playing tomcat is dangerous, Martin.”

  “She just needed a place to stay, and I’m a friend.”

  Beamer sipped his coffee. It was tepid, and she made a face. “Hasn’t she got other friends? Female ones?”

  He ignored her question. “And she’s not the sort I’d be likely to get involved with.”

  Beamer faced Martin. “I’ve been told I should get involved with you. Am I the right sort?” She wanted the words back immediately, but didn’t say so; she just started eating again.

  “Who said that?”

  She shrugged. “She was joking.”

  “Would Andy think it’s a joke?”

  “Would Andy think what’s a joke?”

  They looked up to see Andy, plate in hand, slip into the empty seat across the table. “Hello, Bea. Hello, Martin. Nice to see you again. These pancakes look great. What joke?”

  Beamer felt flushed and looked to see if perhaps several hundred more people had just crowded around their table. She wanted out. Then she looked again at Andy. He hadn’t combed his hair, and the curls were crushed to one side. The urge to leave vanished.

  “I’m glad you came,” she said softly.

  He grinned at her, then turned to Martin. “She assured me last night that I wouldn’t be intruding on the two of you if I came. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. You look like you just got up.”

  “Do I?”

  Beamer speared a sausage from Andy’s plate and took a bite. “You do look a bit sleepy.”

  “I was up late. Writing a letter.”

  Beamer’s stomach twisted.

  Martin sipped coffee. “To your congressman?”

  “A former girlfriend.”

  Beamer sat erect, but her spirits slumped. She didn’t want to talk about this.

  Martin leaned forward. “That’s interesting.”

  “No, it’s not,” snapped Beamer.

  Martin looked at Andy, who was looking at Beamer. She ate some more sausage.

  “No,” said Martin, “I guess it’s not. Hey, isn’t that Sandra, the Mad Bomber?”

  Andy laughed, Beamer elbowed Martin, and they all turned to watch Sandra, Daryl, and their girls get in line for pancakes.

  “Don’t talk about her,” said Beamer. “I’m sure everyone else in the room is, so we won’t.”

  “That’s loyalty,” said Martin. “I like that about the Woodies. Close and loyal.”

  “Maybe a little too close,” said Andy.

/>   Martin laughed. “Especially when you’re trying to be alone on a Saturday night, right?”

  Andy managed a smile.

  “God, I hate pancakes. I don’t know why I came. Yes, I do. My mother made me. May I sit with you guys?” Sarah pulled a chair up to the end of the table. “Hi, Beamo, Andy. Hello, Martin. I’m Sarah, the yearbook editor. We’ve met a couple of times. I’m one of Beamer’s very best friends. I’m sure she talks about me.”

  Martin nodded. “She does, but only enough to tease me.” They all laughed.

  “Why are you here?” said Beamer.

  “My mother made me come. Her shelter gets money from the fund.” Mrs. Ritchie was the director of a battered women’s shelter.

  “You may join us,” said Martin, “but there are ground rules. Some taboo subjects.”

  “Such as?”

  “Sandra, the Mad Bomber—”

  Sarah giggled.

  “—and Andy’s former girlfriend.”

  Beamer wanted to slug him. “Stop, it, Martin.” She looked at Andy. He seemed intent on his food.

  “Former girlfriend?” said Sarah. “That’s interesting. What’s her name?”

  “We don’t know,” said Martin.

  “Allison,” said Andy, still looking at his food. “I used to go with a girl named Allison.”

  “And now you go with Beamer,” said Sarah. Andy said nothing.

  Sarah smiled at Beamer, then turned to Martin. “By any chance, Martin, do you have a motorcycle?”

  “Sure do, but it’s in winter storage.”

  Beamer rose. “I’m going back to work.” Leaving her dishes for her friends to clear, she walked quickly to the serving line, angrily tied on a clean apron, and tugged on serving gloves. She slapped some pancakes onto a plate and brusquely handed it over, not hearing the warm greetings of Miss Patrick, her sixth-grade teacher. Miss Patrick moved on to the sausage.

  Beamer looked out over the loud crowd. From where she stood behind the steaming platters of fresh pancakes she could see Martin and Sarah, talking and laughing conspiratorially. Andy had disappeared.

  Chapter 13

  The day before Beamer’s seventeenth birthday, Andy’s mother lost control of her car on the highway while avoiding a cat. The car slid into a ditch and crumpled against a tree.