Taking Terri Mueller (13 page)

NINETEEN

“What do you mean, you don't want to ask your father for the money for the airline ticket?” Shaundra whispered. They were in the neighborhood theater watching a movie about two teenage girls competing to see who could lose her virginity first.

“Shaundra, don't you understand anything?” Terri passed the box of popcorn and stared at the screen where one of the girls, wearing shorts and a tee shirt, was dousing herself in the shower to get the “wet look.” “It was bad enough when I told him I wanted to go visit her.”

Shaundra poked her. “What a dope!”

“Who, me? Or her?” Terri nodded at the girl on the screen.

“Both of you. Your father has the money, doesn't he?”

“Yes . . .” In the aisle across from her some kids were having a popcorn fight. On the screen, the girl in the wet tee shirt was trying to interest a boy who went to her school.
She
looked about twenty, and
he
looked about twenty-five. It was all sort of funny, but totally unreal.

“So ask him for the bucks,” Shaundra said. She didn't take her eyes off the screen, or her hand out of the popcorn
box. “How are you going to get out to California, otherwise? Your wings aren't fully formed yet.”

“My aunt sent me some money. Did I tell you? And I have money saved up.”

“How much more do you need?”

“
Lots.
Maybe I could get a job.”

“Maybe you should ask your father.”

“I'll think about it.”

Shaundra turned and looked at her. “Oh, you lie. I can already see that stubborn expression on your face. Wby is it so important to do it
yourself?
”

Behind them, someone thumped on Terri's seat. “Will you two dopes shut up!”

That was the end of the discussion until they came out of the movie. Terri blinked. Tbe film had taken place in, of all places, California—lots of sun and blue ocean and wide expanses of beach. She pulled her hat down a little more snugly over her ears.

“What a gorpy movie,” Shaundra said. “Will you tell me what's so awful about asking your father?” She broke off, poking Terri in the ribs. “Look who's coming! What's he doing here?” It was George Torrance. “Hiii, George,” Shaundra said.

“Hi, Shaundra. Hi, uh, Terri.” He flipped his long striped scarf over his shoulder.

“We just went to that movie,” Shaundra said.

“Was it good?”

“Semi-good.”

Terri and George stared at each other.

“You live around here, don't you?” he said.

“I told you she did,” Shaundra said. “Ooops! Was I supposed to say that?”

George's forehead got red. Terri felt sorry for him, and something else, too—not nice, but true—bored. “Where do you live?” she said, giving him a special smile to make up for her mean thought.

“Brown Road. Over that way.” He waved vaguely.

“Maybe we'll come visit you someday,” Shaundra said. “
I
will, anyway, because Terri is going to sunny California.”

“No kidding!”

“If I can get the money.”

“She could get it from her father,” Shaundra said, “but she's too stubborn.”

“Shaundra, I just think it would be better if I did it myself.”

“Okay, okay, mule. Do it your own way. Maybe you'll get out there in a couple more years.”

George looked from one to the other of them, but his glance, Terri thought, lingered longer on Shaundra. They talked a few more minutes, then parted. “George is so cute,” Shaundra said, with a sigh. “Don't you just wish you could wrap him up and take him to California with you?”

Terri laughed.

“No, I mean it. If
I
was going to California, I'd miss him,” Shaundra said.

“Yeah, and six other boys, too.”

“No, George most of all.”

“Tell you what,” Terri said. “If I do get to go out to
California, I'll leave you my blue angora sweater—”

“You will!”

“—my Icelandic hat—” She pulled it more firmly down over her ears. “—and I'll leave you George Torrance, too,” she finished.

“Terri!” Shaundra squeaked. Color filled her cheeks.

“And when I come back,” Terri went on, “you can return my sweater and my hat.”

“Terri? Hi, it's me, Shaundra. I can't talk long, I'm supposed to wash the dishes. I just wanted to tell you I have ten dollars for your California kitty.”

“Now, look, Shaundra, just because I said I'd leave you George doesn't mean you have to—”

“Shut up, idiot. Ten dollars, okay?”

“I'm not taking your money, Shaundra.”

“Yes, you are. Anyway, I'm not giving it to you. I'm lending it to you. There
is
a difference.”

“Saundra, you have to work for—”

“Well, actually, I promoted a couple of loans off my mother and Barry. Oh, wait—Here's Barry, he wants to tell you how wonderful he is.”

“Hi, Terri! I wish I had some more money for you!”

“Barry, that's so
nice
of you.”

“Uh, well, that's okay. Here's Shaundra.”

“Terri? So you got ten more bucks, okay?”

“Shaundra, I—”

“No, no, don't tell me how fantastic I am. I know it, I know it. Bye, bye, Terri, see you Monday in school.”

“Hi, Terri.”

“Hi, Nancy! How are you? How's Leif?”

“Fine, honey, getting along fine. What I called for, do you think you and Phil would like to come to Thanksgiving dinner with me and Leif?”

“Sure! That would be wonderful.”

“You want to check with Phil?”

“No, I know he'll want to. Nancy, do you know that I've talked to my mother? And that I might go out and see her?”

“That's exciting! I heard from Phil that you talked to her. I didn't know you had plans to visit, though. I'm so glad.”

“Nancy? Was Daddy—did he feel really
bad
when he told you about me talking to my mother?”

“Let's put it this way, Terri. If it had been up to Phil, you wouldn't have known about your mother for another five years. If then. I know that for a fact. And I know for a fact that he still won't admit what he did was wrong. He's just stubborn and thickheaded on this point. I have talked myself blue in the face about this. He doesn't see what else he could have done, given the situation at that time. So, sure, he's upset now. You know how he feels about you. But he's pretty much facing reality. This
isn't
eight years ago. Things have changed, and he's got to swim with the tide. Of
course,
you called your mother. Of
course,
you're going to see her. And who knows what else? I keep putting myself in your mother's shoes, thinking if I hadn't seen Leif in eight years and then he turned up—I don't know, I admire
your mother's patience! I would have been in an airplane in a
moment,
flying out to you. So, when are you going to go?”

“I was thinking about Christmas vacation. I haven't asked Daddy yet.”

“Terri, let me give you one word of advice.
Don't
let Phil give you a hard time—”

“He doesn't.”

“—because you are totally within your rights.”

“It's not that. It's just that the fare is really expensive.”

“Well, Phil isn't on poverty row.”

“I don't want to ask him,” Terri said, bracing herself for the same arguments Shaundra had given her.

“I can understand that,” Nancy said, surprisingly. “You have some money, don't you? What I think you should do is go full speed ahead. Make your reservations, start planning for the trip. Sometimes you've just got to have faith that things will work out. I'll tell you right now that I'm chipping in fifty dollars.”

“Nancy, no, you can't—”

“What do you mean, I can't. Terri, I want you to see your mother.
I
want you to do this. If I had it, I'd give you the whole sum in a moment. Fifty dollars—that's just a token.”

“I don't know what to say—thank you—”

“Don't say anything, Terri. I'm being selfish, doing this for me, as much as for you. Just go ahead and make the reservation; we'll get the money together, somehow.”

Nancy set a festive Thanksgiving table. White cloth, sparkling crystal, and tall red candles burning at either end
of the table, which was placed in the living room between the tall windows. She made a ten-pound turkey, candied sweet potatoes, stuffing, and vegetables. Phil and Terri brought pies, ice cream, and wine. It was too much food for the four of them. By the time they finished sampling the second pie, Terri felt uncomfortably full. Leif, excited by the party atmosphere, had fallen asleep on the floor near Barkley.

“And now the dishes wait,” Nancy said ruefully. She was wearing a long red hostess gown with silver embroidery around the stand-up collar.

“Don't speak of the dirty things.” Phil took a small cigar from his breast pocket, nipped off the end, and lit it from a candle.

“I never saw you smoke.”

“He doesn't,” Terri said, “just on holidays.”

“Well, it's very
sexy.
” Nancy ruffled his hair. They were all laughing as she said, “I don't think your daughter's told you yet, Phil, but she's planning a trip to California.”

Terri's stomach thumped. Right now she felt totally unprepared to discuss the visit to her mother. Her father looked startled, then wary.

“Well, did I speak too soon?” Nancy's face was flushed from the wine. “What do you say, Terri? Me and my big mouth . . . you know . . .”

“Daddy.” Terri scraped bits of mince pie around on her plate. “My mother wants you to call her.”

“Why?” He tapped ash on his dessert plate.

“She wants to tell you herself that you don't have to
worry—you know, about her doing anything.”

“Call her, Phil,” Nancy said.

“Look, I don't have to do that.”

“It would be a good idea. Call her, say hello, and get the details of Terri's trip settled.”

“I just heard about this trip,” he said.

“There's not that much time.” Nancy glanced at Terri with a do-you-want-me-to-shut-my-mouth look. “She should go over Christmas vacation. Right? Don't you think so, Phil? So she doesn't miss school.”

They looked at each other. Terri sensed a lot of unspoken things happening. Phil tap-tap-tapped his cigar on the edge of the plate and Nancy, fiddling with her wine glass, looked at him with a certain firm, challenging expression. “Phil, I want you to do this,” she said.

“Don't push it, Nancy.”

“You know what we talked about.”

Terri felt their tension coiling inside her. She scraped back her chair. “Excuse me—”

In the bathroom she spit into the bowl, her stomach heaved, but she couldn't get anything else up. She rinsed her mouth, and combed her hair. Her color was high, almost feverish.

When she came back to the table her father said, “Do you know your mother's phone number?” Terri nodded. Her father wrote it down on a napkin and went into Nancy's bedroom. She and Nancy began clearing the table. She heard her father saying, “Kathryn? This is Phil.” Then he closed the door.

A few minutes later, he came out, relit his cigar, and said, “You're going out on the nineteenth, Terri.” He looked at Nancy, picked up a handful of dishes, and went into the kitchen. “I'll wash,” he called. “You two dry and put away.”

“Hello? Barry?”

“Yeah, this is Barry. That you, Terri?”

“Hi, Barry. Is Shaundra there?”

“The beast? Yeah, she's in her room.”

“Will you get her for me?”

“Don't you want to talk to me? I'm much nicer than the beast.”

“Give her a break, Barry.”

“Awww, Terri, what for?”

“Barry, you going to call her or not?”

“Okay, okay, for you, Terri, I'll do it. Hey, BEAST, your friend is on the phone . . .”

“Hi, Terri!”

“Shaundra, guess what? My father talked to my mother yesterday.”

“You're kidding! What'd they say?”

“I don't know. He didn't want to talk about it. Except that he said I was going to California, and he gave my mother our phone number. After we came home from Nancy's she called and said she was sending me my ticket.”

“Fan-tastic!”

“Yeah, only Daddy said, ‘Nothing doing! This is on
me!'
And, Shaundra, then he called the airline and made the reservations.”

“He did? He really did? You must feel fantastic.”

“I don't know how I feel, Shaundra. I'm going. I'm going to California to see my mother. I keep telling myself that, but I don't believe it yet. I guess I just don't believe it, yet.”

TWENTY

Dear Daddy,

The plane trip is going okay so far. I'm sitting by the window, but I don't look out too often because it reminds me where I am—up in the air! They keep feeding us little tidbits—nuts in a silver paper package, and juices, and lunch, and more nuts and drinks. When we took off I must have turned green because, just by looking at me, my seatmate guessed it was my first flight.

She told me about her first airplane trip which she didn't take until she was 58 years old. She's 75 now! I wish you could see her. She's not even five feet tall and has the most beautiful white hair. She has 8 grand-children and 5
great
grandchildren. She's flown across the country seven times and hates to be called a senior citizen.

She took out her wallet and showed me her Gray Panther membership card. By that time we were in the air and she had really distracted me from being scared.

Well, I'll close now. Daddy. They're going to show a movie. Take care of yourself. I'll see you in two weeks.

Love, Terri.

P.S. I just thought—this is the first letter I've ever writ
ten
you. Also, the first time I've ever been on an airplane. Also, the first time away from you (in eight years).

P.S. again. Did you see what Nancy gave me? It's a sort of diary, but it says Journal on the front. It's about half the size of a notebook and has a beautiful leather-looking cover.

P.P.S. Give Leif a big hug for me.

Dear Nancy,

Here I am on the plane and writing my second letter! (I just wrote to Daddy.) I keep thinking of all the firsts on this trip. My first time in an airplane. My first time going across the country in one day. My first letter to Nancy.

Last night I was thinking about Daddy being alone for these two weeks and how it will be our first Christmas we haven't been together. I didn't sleep too much. Excited about the trip and sort of worried about leaving Daddy. Then I remembered that you and Leif will be keeping him company, and that made me feel much better.

I'm sitting next to this very nice old lady who is really beautiful. Her face is full of lines and wrinkles, but I think that only makes her more beautiful.

I keep thinking about my grandparents who I'm going to meet. My mother's mother and father. Did I tell you their names? Ethel and Robert.

Nancy, I love the journal. I was really surprised when you gave it to me. I hope I didn't sound too dumb when I said, “What is it?” And looking right at the cover where it said JOURNAL!
I thought it was a book. When you said, “It's for you to write in. You'll be glad later on if you keep a record of this trip,” I finally realized it was a
diary
. I kept a diary once when I was ten years old. For one week I wrote down everything that happened to me. Then I stopped. Anyway, I will try to keep this journal. And I thank you for thinking of me.

Love, Terri.

P.S. Isn't this nice writing paper? Shaundra gave it to me.

Dear Shaundra,

I'm getting writer's cramp! I'm not even in California yet, and I've written letters to Nancy and Daddy, and now you. I love this writing paper! You and Nancy must have had a secret conference. You gave me writing paper, and she gave me a journal.

They certainly do feed you on these trips. I've been pigging it up the whole time. So far I have had four packages of salted roasted peanuts, one glass of apple juice (with ice cubes with holes in the middle), one glass of tomato juice, two glasses of ginger ale, one lunch consisting of baked chicken, sweet potato a la marshmallow, salad with French dressing, milk, and strawberry ice cream cake, AND one crunchy chocolate nut bar given to me by my seatmate!

Her
name is René, she is wearing a red pants suit and red and white striped blouse with a red bow in her hair. Her glasses are blue, have sparkles on the frame and a tiny blue bird etched into the bottom of one of the lenses. She is reading a book about a movie star, has a shopping basket filled with goodies, and is one
of the friendliest, peppiest people I have ever met.

Now for the surprise. She's 75 years old! When I sat down next to her she stuck out her hand, and said, “How do you do. I'm René.” I said, “I'm Terri.” She then said, “This is my seventh trip across the country.” When we took off I guess I turned a nice shade of green.

René said, “Have you flown before?” I shook my head. She said, “Are you worried?”

“A little,” I said. Ashamed to tell her my knees were knocking and my hands were sweaty!

“Oh, it's as safe as being in a bathtub,” she said. “You know more people get knocked off on highways than ever do in airplanes.” Then she said, “Statistics don't lie. And, anyway, if we do go down, it'll be fast.”

Comforting, eh?

Then she started telling me about her life. She had to go to work when she was 15 years old, never finished school, but says she is always learning. She told me about her children and her grandchildren. And her
great
grandchildren. It was really interesting. And before I knew it we were in the air and, as they say, it's been smooth sailing ever since!

Well, I'll sign off now. When you put on your boots and down jacket, think of me in sunny California!

Love, Terri.

P.S. Did I ever tell you that the last time I talked to my mother, she told me my grandmother's name? It's Ethel
Moonchamps
Susso. I wonder if Ethel will be as pretty and interesting as René. Anyway, her
name
is interesting!