Going to Bend (28 page)

Petie snorted. “Dooley can’t hammer a nail straight.”

“Yeah, well, she’d have to watch him.”

“Anyway, that’s not what I meant. They did everything together. I think she’ll miss him too much.”

“Tell you the truth, I don’t know how two people could spend so much time together.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Petie said.

“Admit it. If we spent that much time together we’d kill each other.”

“So what does that say about us?”

“We’re independent.”

“We don’t have anything in common,” Petie said.

“What? We have two kids, that’s about as in common as you can get.

We go camping in the summer and, you know, like that.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean, what else?” Eddie said. “There are the holidays, Christmas and Thanksgiving and shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, okay then.” Having proven his point, Eddie went into the living room and turned on the television. Petie set a fresh piece of paper in front of her and picked up her brush.

“Wait,” Eddie yelled from the other room. “There’s also coffee. We both like coffee.”

“Yeah,” Petie said, and she thought again what she’d been thinking since that day at the hospital with Marge: that she was going to make a great widow. It would be real tough on the kids if Eddie were to die before they were grown, and there would be times when she would miss him, too. But all in all, she doubted her heart would skip too many beats.
She had mentioned this to Rose a couple of days ago, and Rose said it was the worst thing she’d ever heard, worse even than anything she’d had to say about Pogo. Petie didn’t think so. She thought the worst thing she’d ever heard was what Old Man had said about Paula after her death.
I could’v
e
saved twenty-five thousand dollars, maybe, if someone had just told me there was a damned hospice near here
.

Petie took up her pen and ink again, but it was hopeless—her hand simply could not find its place on the paper. She put the basket of fruit in the refrigerator and yelled to Eddie that she was going to Rose’s house to pick up the boys. Carissa had been baby-sitting them for a few hours so Petie could draw. Not that it had amounted to anything.

She drove the ten blocks to Rose’s house in her sleep, thinking about Marge and being left behind in a cold and empty place. She hadn’t mourned for Paula, or for Old Man, or for herself as one and then the other left her behind. Eula’s passing had been different, awful, like surgery without anesthetic where the pain went on and on. But it hadn’t been what Marge was experiencing; nothing Petie could imagine could equal what Marge must be experiencing. Petie shuddered as she turned into Rose’s driveway. Christie’s truck was gone, and so was Rose’s newly spiffed-up Ford, the family’s main Christmas present from Christie.

“Helloooo!” Petie hollered as she let herself in Rose’s front door. The boys made shushing and hiding noises Petie wasn’t supposed to hear in a game nearly as old as they were. Petie clapped her hand over her eyes and played along, searching the house until one by one they gave themselves away by giggling or, in Ryan’s case, shivering in nervous anticipation so strong it shook the hangers in the closet where he was hiding. Once Petie had found all three, they bunched up together in the front hall.

“Where’s your mom?” Petie asked Carissa.

“Work.”

“Where’s Jim?”

Carissa shrugged. “Dunno. He goes out a lot anymore. He doesn’t tell us where.”

“The Wayside, probably,” Petie said.

“Nah, he always tells us when he’s going there, in case Mom wants to meet him when she’s done working.”

Petie put one arm around the shoulders of each boy. “So where else could he go? There’s no place else to go to. Well, the Anchor, maybe.”

Carissa looked away. “Oh, I think he has someplace he goes to when he wants to be by himself.”

“What, a cave?” Petie teased. “There isn’t anyplace you can go in Hubbard and be by yourself.”

Carissa lifted her shoulders. “Well, there might be someplace.” Like Rose, she would have pretty breasts one day. Petie could already see Rose’s lovely bones, the full, creamy chest. Every time Petie saw her, the girl seemed to have aged another year, but she still had her same sweet face.

“Well, thanks for looking after the boys,” Petie said. “Now that you’re over in Sawyer every day, we miss seeing you.”

“Yeah,” Carissa said.

“C’mon, guys,” Petie said, shepherding them to the door. “Daddy’s waiting for his dinner.”

“Bye, ’rissa,” the boys bellowed as they went out the door, in another old ritual.

“Do you want to come back with us?” Petie asked. “You don’t have to stay here by yourself.”

“Oh, no thanks,” Carissa said, coloring deeply. “I’ll be fine here. There’s stuff on TV.”

“Okay. But you call if you need anything,” Petie said, and backed out quickly into the rain.

T
HIS TIME
Carissa waited to hear Petie’s noisy little car disappear down the hill before rooting around in the coat closet again and pulling out one of Rose’s slickers, her own rubber boots and a big flashlight. She took a plate of sandwiches out of the refrigerator, and from a cabinet brought out a Tupperware container of homemade chocolate chip cookies she had strong-armed the boys into helping her
make right after school. She quickly stowed all these things in a water-proof backpack.

She had debated all day whether to ride her bicycle or walk the twelve blocks, finally deciding to walk because she wanted to look good when she arrived. She had braided her hair into a thick, glossy plait that hung straight down her back, and had changed into a new pair of jeans while the cookies were baking. Now she zipped her slicker up to her throat, lifted her hood into place, slung the backpack over one arm and stepped out into the wet blackness that was nighttime on the Oregon coast in winter.

By her calculations, she had two hours before Rose would get home from work. The walk to the top of Chollum Road took fifteen minutes. When she got there she saw Jim Christie’s truck parked beside the hunchbacked trailer. A faint light glowed through the little window.

She walked right up to the door and rattled the handle. She could hear a sudden scuffle of boots, and the thump of something being dropped. Christie opened the door and Carissa hopped up and inside.

“It’s so cold,” she said to him, hugging herself.

“What are you doing here, girl?” Christie looked angry, but Carissa had been prepared for that. She lifted the plate of sandwiches and the cookies out of her pack. “I thought you might be hungry. I brought you dinner.” She looked around and saw that what Christie had dropped was a large hardbound book. He’d been sitting in a folding camp chair, reading by the light of the same Coleman lantern he’d brought the last time she was here. The air was fusty and sweet with the smell of a pipe he’d been smoking, now burning feebly in an ashtray beside the lantern.

“I didn’t know you smoked a pipe,” she said brightly. “Do you like it better than cigarettes?” She took off her slicker and folded it carefully, laying it on the floor. The trailer was warmer than it had been outside. All the mold was gone from the walls, and a new floor had been laid down.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Christie said, still standing.

“It’s okay,” she assured him.

“It isn’t.”

“Well, at least eat something before I go. It took me fifteen minutes to walk here, and I made the cookies just for you.”

Christie took a sandwich with a shaking hand and, still standing, ate it in four bites. Carissa watched, crestfallen. “Why are you so angry all the time? Last summer you used to talk to me but now you don’t. You’re hardly ever at the house anymore.”

“You’re real young,” Christie said.

“I’ll be fourteen next month.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not young.”

“It’s young,” he said harshly, and then softened his voice. “You could get in trouble here, girl. You could get me in trouble.”

“How?”

“Put your coat on. I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t want to go home. No one’s there.” Carissa began to cry. “I made these sandwiches and cookies and I thought you’d be glad to see me. I’ve been looking forward to it all day. Why are you like this? You’re not like this with Mom.”

“Me and your mother are different.” Christie took up the lantern and, stooping carefully, stepped out the trailer door. Carissa flung on her coat and followed, sniffling. “Don’t you like me?”

“You need to leave me alone,” Christie said.

“I think you’re awful,” Carissa said, and ran out of the woods onto Chollum Road.

I
T TOOK
a block and a half for Christie to persuade the girl to get in the truck so he could drive her home. By the time he reached across the seat to shove her door open, his shirt was soaked with sweat. He’d felt safer in full-force storms at sea. Her face, when she climbed in, was all pink and white like a rosebud, and clouded with unhappiness.

“You hate me.”

Christie tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “That’s not it.”

“You’d rather be in that crummy trailer than at home with me.”

He pulled into their driveway. Rose wasn’t home yet.

“Well, I think there’s something wrong with you,” Carissa said, slamming her door.

“Maybe so,” said Christie, though Carissa had already disappeared inside the house. “Maybe so.”

·   ·   ·

It had been a desperately quiet night at Souperior’s—one couple and a small family, and that was it, total take under forty dollars—but Rose had been able to write. She had five recipes still to go, and barely a week in which to write them. She’d used up all of her and Petie’s soups, and now she was either adapting other contestants’ recipes or making them up herself. Cheddar shrimp with broccoli. Potato corn chowder. Scallop and oyster stew with biscuits.

She checked her watch and was stunned to find it was seven forty-five, nearly closing time. The kitchen wouldn’t take much cleanup. After closing she’d promised to swing by Petie’s to see her latest illustrations. Petie had been in a very odd frame of mind lately, and Rose was worried about her. She disappeared sometimes during the day, and she was even more distracted and short than normal. Rose wanted to have a talk with her, but somehow they were never alone together anymore. It looked like this evening would be no different. When she arrived at Petie’s house the boys were arguing about which TV channel to watch and Eddie was yelling at both of them to shut up, goddamn it. Petie rolled her eyes and put a bottle of beer in front of Rose at the table.

“Look at these,” she said, and handed Rose a stack of pictures: a
steaming bowl of soup, a bouquet of rosemary and thyme, a still life with carrots, celery and shallots; a close-up of two potatoes and a yam.

“They’re really good,” Rose said after she’d looked at each one twice. “They’re
really
good. Don’t you think so?”

Petie shrugged. “I can live with most of them. I’m hoping Gordon can, too. I worked for an hour tonight and turned out nothing but crap.”

“Well, I think these are great.” Rose tapped them into a stack and set them carefully in front of Petie. “So tell me about Loose. Didn’t you go see Mrs. Hendrik yesterday?”

“Yeah. She said Loose is dyslexic like Eddie, but maybe not as bad. She said they didn’t find anything else, no behavior problems. No behavior problems, my ass! I could show them behavior problems all right.” Petie chuckled and took a swig of beer.

“So what do they want you to do now?”

“Nothing. They have a Voc Ed person who’ll work with him three times a week. They said there was more intensive stuff they can do, too, if that’s not enough.”

“That sounds okay, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“What did Eddie think?”

“Well, you know, this is Eddie we’re talking about. He says it’s a pile of shit. But he’s also the one who wanted Loose to get Voc Ed help as many times a week as they could arrange it. I know it was hard on Eddie back when we were all in school but, you know, he never talked about it, never does now. Eula used to bring it up at dinner sometimes, about how he should never confuse learning problems with basic smarts, because he was just as smart as the next guy, maybe smarter. I don’t think he ever believed her, though. He’d always get mad at her for bringing up his problems in front of me. That house was tiny, though. There wasn’t any way to talk about anything privately unless you sent everyone out for beer or something.”

“So have you told Loose?”

“Oh, kind of. We’ve told him that he learns in a special way and so
does his daddy. He knows he’ll get teaching time with someone who knows how he learns and can help him.”

“Is he okay with that?”

“Who knows. This is Loose we’re talking about, bead of water on a hot skillet. You never know what’s getting through and what’s not, never mind what’ll stick.”

“He’s a good kid, you know. You should believe in him more.”

“Yeah, well,” Petie said. “Hey, is Gordon okay?”

“I don’t know. He has a new cancer sore on the back of one hand. Nadine’s pretty down in the dumps. When we finish the stuff for the book next week he’s going to hand-carry it to L.A. and Nadine’s going with him this time. I said I’d take care of the cafe for them. I think she needs a break real bad.”

“I bet.”

Rose pushed herself up from the table, drank the last of her beer and put on her coat. “I need to get home.”

“Hey, how late is Christie staying this year? He still waiting until March?”

“It looks like it,” Rose said. “We’re just loving having him back. If it was up to me, he’d never leave again.”

“Think you could talk him into it?”

“No, but I might try anyway.”

W
HEN ROSE
got home she found Carissa bundled up in a nightgown and fuzzy robe watching, of all things, a basketball game on television. She looked flushed and miserable, like she was getting sick.