It's Not the End of the World (9 page)

We went into Val's room. She has a trundle bed. It looks like just one bed, but underneath there's another one. It was already pulled out for me. I asked Val where she got the rug that's shaped like a foot

and she said she saw an ad for it in The New York Times and cut it out to show her mother. Then she got it for her birthday.

"I put my new sheets on your bed," Val said. "Do you like them?"

They were pink-and-orange striped. "They're really nice," I said.

"I thought you'd approve." Val snuggled down under her covers.

I'll bet it's lonely for her to spend every Saturday night all by herself. And Mrs. Lewis goes out during the week too. No wonder Val hopes Seymour will marry her mother. Then she won't be alone so much.

"Val. . ."I said.

"Yes?"

"I still don't understand why you don't see your father. Couldn't you take a trip to San Francisco?"

"No. I told you before ... he doesn't care anything about me."

"How can you say that?" I asked.

"Because it's true."

"Did your mother tell you?"

"No. That's one thing she won't admit. She says he's just busy."

"Then you don't know if he really wants to see you or not."

"Oh, I know all right. I'll show you," Val said, reaching under her bed. She came up with her divorce book. She opened it and said, "Listen to this. 'Fathers who live close by but do not visit-' "

I interrupted. "But your father doesn't live close by. He lives in San Francisco."

"Wait a minute," Val said. "I'm not done reading." She started again. " 'Fathers who live close by but do not visit and fathers who live far away and hardly ever call or write either do not love their children at all, or they love them very little.'" She closed the book, with her finger marking her place, and looked at me.

"It really says that?"

"It does."

"Do you believe it?"

"Of course I do. It's true. Why should I kid myself?" She opened the book again. "It says right here, 'There is something very wrong with an unloving parent. He deserves pity as well as anger.' I've gotten along without him for three years. I'll get along without him forever! He was never very interested in me anyway."

"What does your mother say . . . besides the bad things?"

"That he married her because she was pretty and he wanted to show her off, like a new coat or something. He never really loved her, she says."

"I think my parents loved each other when they got married. Their wedding pictures look so happy. But my mother says they were too young."

"How old was she?" Val asked.

"Nineteen."

"You should never get married that young," Val said.

"I'm never getting married at all!" I told her.

"I am," she said.

That surprised me. "You are?"

"Yes. When I'm twenty-seven and I'm a successful scientist."

"You're going to be a scientist?" I asked. "I thought you were going to be a nudist."

"One thing has nothing to do with the other. I'll be both."

"What kind are you going to be? Scientist, I

mean."

"I'm not sure. But I'm going to discover something important. I'll be very famous and my father will want everyone to know that I'm his daughter. I'll be very cool about the whole thing. I'll admit that we're related but I won't say anything else."

"If you get married . . . will you ever get divorced?"

"No. Never!"

"Me neither," I said. "You know something? I think if my father could see my mother now he'd move back in."

"Forget it. It'll never work."

"How do you know?" I asked. "You never even saw my mother."

Ill

"I'm telling you, Karen. Just forget it."

"I don't see how you can be so sure," I said. "My

father's very lonely." "But that doesn't mean he and your mother are

going to get back together."

"Well, I still don't see how it can hurt to try." "Go ahead," Val said. "Try . . . you'll see ...

you'll be the one who gets hurt." She put out the

light then. "Good night Karen," she said.

"Good night Val." I'll bet she doesn't want my

parents to get back together. Just because her father

moved to San Francisco and never sees her. But I'm

still sure it will work.

When Daddy drove us home on Sunday afternoon he asked me to run into the house and get Jeff. "I have something to tell all three of you," he said.

Jeff was playing the piano. I heard the music before I opened the front door. He's been spending a lot of time practicing lately. He writes his own songs. Most of them are in a minor key and sound sad. His newest one is called "Mary Louise . . . Please." Those are the only words. Please what? I wonder. But I wouldn't dream of asking him.

I went inside and said, "Hey Jeff. . . Daddy's out in the car. He wants to talk to you."

Jeff banged the piano with both hands before he got up and stomped out of the house. I followed him. We both got into the back seat of the car. Amy was up front with Daddy.

My father turned around to face me and Jeff. *Tm leaving for Las Vegas a week from tomorrow," he

said. "I'm staying with Garfa for about six weeks and while I'm there I'll get the divorce."

"You're getting a Nevada divorce?" Jeff asked.

"Yes," Daddy told him.

"But why?" I said. "Why can't you just get it right here in New Jersey?"

"Because that would take a long time," Daddy said. "At least a year."

"So? "I asked.

"Well, your mother and I want to get things settled now. This isn't easy for either one of us."

What's the big hurry? I wondered. Why can't they wait? Why does Daddy have to go away for such a long time? Unless . . . unless there's some other woman that he wants to marry! Thinking about that makes me sick. But it is possible. One night last week I called Daddy and there wasn't any answer. Maybe he was out with her then, making plans! Or could Mom be the one who wants the divorce right away? Suppose she wants to marry Henry Farnum! No, that can't be. We'd have met him by now. It's got to be Daddy! I wonder who the woman is? I hate her already. I will never speak to her. Not as long as I live!

That night I helped my mother do the dinner dishes. When we were almost through I said, "Is Daddy getting married?"

Mom turned off the water and looked at me. "Where did you ever get that idea?"

"Well, is he?"

"No," Mom said.

"Are you positive?"

"Yes. The divorce has nothing to do with anyone else. You know that, Karen."

"How can you be sure Daddy didn't meet somebody last week and now he wants to marry her?"

"I'm sure. That's all. Besides, he'd have told me."

"Why should he tell you?"

"Just because. I know him. And he'd certainly tell you and Jeff and Amy. He wouldn't just run off and get married."

"Then why is he in such a hurry to get the divorce?"

"Oh. . ." Mom said. "So that's it!"

"Well?"

"He's going now because he can get away from the store now. In a few months he might not be able to."

I thought that over. And I had to admit it makes sense. Maybe things aren't as bad as I thought.

Later I called Val. I said, "If a person goes to Nevada for a divorce, can he change his mind about it at the last second and tell the judge to forget the whole thing?"

"Who's going to Nevada?" Val asked.

"Nobody special. But just suppose somebody did. Do you think the judge would understand and cancel the divorce?"

"I don't think anybody changes his mind at the last second."

"But it's possible, isn't it?"

"Karen. . ."Val said.

"What?"

' "I know your father's going to Las Vegas to get the divorce."

"You do?"

"Yes. He told my mother the other day. We're going to take in his mail and newspapers while he's gone."

"Oh." No wonder Val tried to discourage me last night. She knew about Daddy all along.

"So why don't you just forget about him changing his mind?" Val said.

"Listen . . . when he gets out there and sees how much he misses all of us I'll bet you anything he will change his mind!"

"Don't count on it."

"I've got to go now," I said. "I've got a ton of homework."

I hung up the phone and went to my room. Mew was asleep on my bed. I lay down next to her and rubbed my face against her fur. "I must do something, Mew," I told her. "I must do something right away to stop the divorce! There's only one week left."

I've got to get my mother and father into the same room. My new idea is this: I will ask Mrs. Singer if I can bring my Viking diorama home now, instead of at the end of the month. It's in the showcase in the hall, near our classroom. We have a whole Viking display. Everyone stops to look at it. Since my diorama is very fragile, Daddy will have to come into the house to see it. I wouldn't dare bring it out to the car or to his apartment. That's what I'll say anyway. He'll be very proud of me. I made a Viking ship with twelve small Vikings sitting in it. There are pink and purple mountains in the background and I used blue sparkle for the water. Even Mrs. Singer said I did an excellent job. I'm glad she noticed.

Once Daddy comes home and sees Mom, everything will work out fine. I just know it. First they'll look at each other and then they'll touch hands. Finally Daddy will kiss her and they'll never fight

again. Daddy will call Garfa to cancel his trip to Las Vegas and I will write to tell him how I got them back together. Garfa will write back that he knew I'd be able to do it all along. And won't Val be surprised! I'll never tell my parents I planned the whole thing. Let them think it was all an accident.

On Monday morning I went up to Mrs. Singer's desk and said, "I'd like to bring my Viking diorama home this week."

"But Karen," Mrs. Singer said, "it's in the showcase."

"I know," I told her. "But I have to take it home. So maybe we could put something else in the showcase."

"Like what?" Mrs. Singer asked.

"Oh, I don't know. A picture or a book. Anything."

"I'd rather that you wait until the end of the month when we change the showcase."

"I can't, Mrs. Singer," I said, raising my voice. "I need it now!"

"What for?"

"For ... for .. ." But I couldn't tell Mrs. Singer why I needed it, even though I felt like yelling, "To keep my parents from getting divorced."

Instead, I turned around and walked to my desk. As soon as I sat down Debbie leaned over and whispered, "What's wrong?"

I made a face and shook my head toward Mrs. Singer. Then my nose started to run and I knew I was going to cry. So I ran out of the room. I stood in the hall with my forehead pressed against the showcase window. My Viking diorama was in the corner, with a little sign under it that said Made by Karen Newman,

Debbie came out into the hallway. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"I guess."

"Mrs. Singer said I should take you to the nurse's office."

"I don't need any nurse," I told her. We walked back to our classroom together.

I got through the rest of the day without doing any work. I made some plans though. If I could find the key to the showcase I could open it and take my diorama. That's not stealing. After all, it does belong to me! Mrs. Singer keeps the key to the showcase somewhere in her desk. I'm sure of that.

At two thirty I excused myself to go to the girls' room. I wanted to get a good look at the showcase lock. Maybe I could pick it open with a bobby pin. But when I looked in the window I saw a big book with a Viking on the cover in the corner where my diorama used to be. I ran back into the classroom and told Mrs. Singer, "It's gone! My diorama is gone. Somebody stole it!"

Everybody in the room started to talk at once, but

I didn't care. Mrs. Singer shouted, "Calm down! No talking at all!" Then she reached into her bottom desk drawer and pulled out my diorama. "Nothing's happened to it, Karen. I took it out of the showcase myself. If it's that important to you, take it home."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I just nodded and took the diorama to my desk. I guess even witches have good days!

Monday, May 3

I am counting the seconds until Sunday when Daddy calls for us and I get him inside to see my diorama.

My mother, Jeff, Amy and me are getting to be regulars at Howard Johnson's on the highway- We go there every Friday night because of Mom's English literature course.

The Howard Johnson's hostess knows us by now. She tries to give us the same booth every week. My mother likes it because it's not near the kitchen and it's away from the front door. Jeff has to sit on the aisle so he can stick out his foot. Next week the bandage is coming off his toe. If you ask me he likes his cane. It gets him a lot of attention.

Amy and I always order the same supper- hamburgers and french fries. We drink Ho-Jo Cola too. I think that's really Coke, even though the waitress won't admit it. Tonight Jeff ordered fried shrimp.

"You never eat fried shrimp," my mother said.

"So I'll try it and maybe I'll like it," he told her.

"I don't think this is the place to try something like that."

"I feel like fried shrimp!" Jeff said. "So I ordered it. So now forget about it!"

"Okay," Mom said. "It's just that you'll have to eat them whether you like them or not."

"I said I'll eat them, didn't I?"

"I just want you to be sure."

"Daddy always takes us out for steak," Amy said.

"Daddy can afford to," Mom told her.

This is the first time my mother has ever said anything like that. She looked at Jeff. "Would you go wash up, please. Your hands are filthy."

"I washed at home," Jeff said.

"I'm asking you to go to the men's room and wash again."

Jeff stood up, grabbed his cane and left the table. When he came back our main course was served. He sat down, picked up one shrimp and nibbled at it. "Will you quit looking at me," he said to me and Amy.

I didn't look at anything but my hamburger for the rest of the meal.

When my mother finished her dinner she said, "Well, Jeff. . . how are they?"