Downtown

by Norma Fox Mazer

  “Take it easy, I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I got into their bloody car, Gene! If only I could let Laura and Hal know that they’ve found me.” I pulled aside the curtain at the kitchen window. It was a dark cloudy night. “I don’t know … Maybe I ought to go away.”

  “What do you mean, away?” Gene said.

  “Away. Away. Disappear. It might be better for everyone. Laura and Hal, you. I was thinking—next, maybe, they’re going to start on you. But if I left … I’ll go live someplace else, another city …”

  I stayed at the window, staring out into the darkness, listening to the sounds of my uncle fixing a cup of tea for himself … the water pouring into the pot, the clink of spoon against china. I thought about being alone in a strange city … walking down long, empty streets … looking for someplace to live … never seeing Cary again, or Gene, or Martha …

  “Pete.” My uncle gripped my shoulder. “I want you to give me your word that you won’t do anything foolish.” The warmth of his hand soaked through my skin. “Promise me, Pete.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t speak. The tears were in my throat.

  Twenty-six

  “I never saw you so dressed up,” Cary said as she opened the door.

  “Special day.” It was her birthday. “You look great.” She was all in red—red dress, red shoes, a red band holding back her hair. I held out the box of chocolates I’d bought her. Gift wrapped by the store. “Happy birthday and all that good stuff, Cary.”

  “Mmm, that smells wonderful. Come on in.” I followed her inside. “Feel my hands,” she said, “aren’t they like ice? Every time I think of what’s going to happen today, I start trembling. I hardly slept last night. It’s going to happen, it’s really going to happen, Pete.”

  “Cary—what if—listen, you know it’s possible they got you something else—”

  She smiled. “Uh uh, you’re not going to spoil things for me. Pete, I told you, my mother said, ‘A really special present.’”

  “I know.”

  “So what else could it be? They know how much I want to be adopted. But when I think that after all these years, I’m going to have a real family … When they tell me, I’ll cry, I just know I will. I’m talking a lot, aren’t I? Do you think they’ll just say it, or give me the papers, or what?”

  “I don’t know, Cary.”

  “I think it’ll be in my birthday card,” she said.

  We went into the kitchen, where the table was set. When I saw Mr. Yancey in a tie and suit jacket, I was glad I’d listened to Gene and worn a tie too. The whole family was dressed up.

  We stood around talking for a few minutes, then Mrs. Yancey said everything was ready and we should all sit down. “Right there, Peter.” She put me next to Mr. Yancey. Cary was across from me. The meal started with tomato juice with little wedges of lemon on the lip of the glass, then cream of broccoli soup and hot fluffy rolls. The food was delicious and it kept coming. Cabbage and apple salad, a rib roast, whipped potatoes, buttered green peas and carrots, and more hot rolls.

  “Now, before we eat dessert,” Mrs. Yancey said, “Cary has to pick a favorite song that we’ll all sing. We do this for everyone’s birthday, Peter. It’s one of our family traditions. Next year, when Cary’s eighteen, we’ll do the same,” she added.

  Cary looked at me and I knew what she was thinking. See! Next year, she said, next year when I’ll be their real daughter.

  Cary chose “Bridge over Troubled Waters” for us to sing. The tune is high for me, so I just mouthed the words. The whole time Cary was singing she looked at her foster mother. At the end of the song she hugged Mrs. Yancey. “I love you, Mom, I love you all so much.”

  “And we love you, honey.” Mrs. Yancey’s face was flushed almost as bright as Cary’s, and I started to think I was all wrong to worry that Cary was setting herself up for a fall. After all, she knew the Yanceys a lot better than I did.

  After the cake and ice cream, Mrs. Yancey brought in the presents and gave them to Cary one by one. First a bunch of little presents, knee socks, hairbands, and writing paper. Cary opened everything without rushing, folded the wrapping paper carefully and passed it to her mother. She held up the knee socks and admired them (they were from Kim), replaced her hairband with a new one, and thanked everyone. The chocolates I had brought were passed around the table.

  Finally there were just two boxes left, one of them small and flat and one good-sized, plus an envelope. “Mom, save my card for last.” Cary glanced at me, smiling. Her next present was an Instamatic camera.

  “It’s loaded and ready to roll,” Mr. Yancey said. “You don’t have to do anything but press the trigger.”

  “This is wonderful!” Cary raised the camera. “Smile, Mom.”

  Mrs. Yancey took off her glasses. “Cary, I take terrible pictures.”

  “No, you don’t, Mom. You’re so pretty.”

  “Somebody make me smile.”

  “American cheese,” Kim said.

  Cary clicked off pictures until the whole roll was shot. Mrs. Yancey handed her the small present. Inside the wrapping was a flat white box and inside that, a coral necklace. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” Cary said, putting it on. “This has been the best birthday of my life.”

  “It’s not over yet.” Mrs. Yancey handed her the envelope. Cary held it to her lips for a moment, then slowly unsealed it and took out the card. On it was a picture of a yellow-haired girl sniffing a large bouquet of red and yellow flowers.

  “Read it out loud,” Mrs. Yancey said.

  “Don’t forget to look inside,” Mr. Yancey said.

  “‘Happy birthday to a dear daughter,’” she read from the cover. She took in a deep breath and opened the card. A hundred-dollar bill fell out on the table. “‘Happy birthday to our dear daughter,’” she read on, “‘and may this remembrance bring you as much joy and happiness as you deserve. Love from Mom and Dad.’”

  She turned the card over, then opened it fully. There was nothing else.

  Mr. Yancey picked up the money and tucked it into Cary’s hand. “Just an extra something we wanted to give you. Because you’re a wonderful daughter, a wonderful foster daughter, and we want you to buy yourself something very nice with it.”

  Cary had gone pale. Carefully, she put the card back into the envelope. “Oh, I will. Yes,” she said. “Yes, thank you. Yes … something very nice,” she repeated.

  Twenty-seven

  We walked fast, not talking. It was dark, warm, and rainy outside. We sloshed through puddles, turned corners, crossed streets. I kept trying to find something to say to comfort her. Tough luck … I bet there are lots better parents in the world … Don’t forget, next year you’ll be eighteen and independent. Dumb. Callous. Better to say nothing. I touched her arm, but she didn’t respond. I thought of her smile throughout the meal, and then the way her face went pale when she realized her “special” birthday present was a hundred-dollar bill. What is there to say to someone who’s been hurt that much?

  Cary walked faster, almost ran. “Cary, wait, wait, let me …” Let me what? I didn’t know. “Can I—Cary, I want to help you. Tell me what to do.”

  “You can’t do anything.” Her face crumpled, she leaned against me. “Pete, they’ve broken my heart.”

  We walked again. “My own fault,” she said suddenly. “You warned me. And I should have known.” She shook her head, hurried as if she were going somewhere, her face lifted and closed.

  A door in a house opened, light streamed into the street, and a group of people came running out. “Elizabeth, come on! … Oh, no, I forgot the keys! … Did you guys take the casserole?”

  Cary stopped and watched until the whole group of shouting, laughing people got into a car and drove away. The rain came down harder. “Want to go back?” I said. “No. Not yet.” She started to cry. I put my arm around her and we walked that way for a while. “Are you still crying?”

  She half-laughed. “Can’t tell i
n this weather, can you?”

  On the next street, we went into a diner. Everything was green, from the green walls and green curtains to the cracked green vinyl seats. We sat down next to each other in a booth.

  The waitress wore a green uniform and handed us a green-covered menu. “Welcome to Green’s Diner. You two look like you just came off the ark.”

  “It’s raining pretty hard,” I said.

  “What’ll you have?”

  Cary shook her head. “Just a glass of water.”

  “Milk and apple pie for me.”

  “A la mode?”

  “Okay, make it a double scoop.”

  “Pete, after all that birthday cake?”

  “Whose birthday?” the waitress asked.

  “Hers. She’s seventeen.”

  “Congratulations, honey. The best years of your life.”

  Cary looked up at her. “Thank you, I hope so.” She did something with her face and her voice then, smoothed them out, smiled as if her whole world were absolutely perfect.

  “You are amazing,” I said when the waitress left. “I think you’re destined to be another Meryl Streep. I mean it.”

  “Why?”

  “What you just did for the waitress—beautiful performance.” For a moment she looked interested. I thought of the many faces of Cary. If she could learn to bring them out on command … “You’d be beautiful on stage.”

  “You think so?” she said indifferently. Her eyes faded out again. She pushed aside the curtain and stared out the dark window.

  In the background, the radio was playing love songs, and in between the disc jockey was giving time and temperature reports. “It’s sixty degrees and wet tonight, don’t forget your umbrellas …”

  The waitress came around the counter, holding a tray.

  “Green apple pie coming up,” I said. “Actually, what I’m looking forward to is the green milk.” I got a little smile out of Cary on that. The waitress set down the pie in front of me.

  “Want a bite, Cary?” I said.

  She fingered the string of coral around her neck. “Pete, this is real coral. This is not a cheap present.”

  “I know.”

  “This and the camera and the money—they went all out, Pete.”

  “Sooo … give me your heaa-aaart,” a singer wailed, “aaaand I’ll give you miii-iiiine!” Then the DJ was on, excitedly telling us it was twenty-nine before nine and still raining. “What a day, folks! Great day for the fishes!”

  “I wish he would shut up,” Cary said. She drank two glasses of water before I realized she was crying again. She just sat there, upright, drinking the water and crying.

  I felt so helpless. “Cary—”

  She gave that funny little half laugh. “I’m a waterworks today.” Then in the next breath, “Pete, do you love me?” She wound her fingers through mine. “I don’t want you to say it just because—”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  After another moment, “Did I tell you what they said to me? They said I was just like a daughter to them. Just like a daughter. That’s exactly what they said, Pete.”

  Our arms touched, and our legs. I ate the pie rapidly, my thoughts drifted, the radio became a hum in my ear. “… that dynamite new vocal by The Damsels, who’re coming up in the fast lane on the charts—” If only we were in my house now, in my room … we could lie on the bed …

  Kissing and touching … touching her wonderful skin …

  Cary looked at me gravely. Did she know what I’d been thinking? I flushed, then a smile spread across my face, I couldn’t stop it. Were my thoughts so bad? I didn’t think so. I liked them.

  “What’s funny?” she said.

  “I just like looking at you.” It was the truth, but it was also true that as we sat pressed close together, I had had an attack of instant amnesia—forgotten Cary’s troubles, and been totally caught up in my fantasy.

  When we left the diner, she said, “Do I look like I’ve been crying?” She pulled up the corners of her mouth. “How’s that? They always want to see me smiling.”

  “Cary, would it be so terrible if they knew they’d hurt you and disappointed you?”

  She turned on me fiercely. “Yes! Yes, it would! They don’t want to adopt me and that’s their business. I’m not begging. I’m not a beggar, Pete!”

  Twenty-eight

  “Come on in here, Pete.” My uncle, white-coated, crooked his finger at me. I followed him into the examination room at the end of the corridor. It was a little room with old equipment that Gene hardly ever used. He closed the door and sat down in the cracked leather chair facing the eye chart. “Yesterday I did a little chore for us. I had a chat with your friends. I laid everything out for them. I made it simple and direct, and I think I got the message across.”

  I straightened up. “You had a chat with what friends?”

  “I talked to the agents, Pete.”

  “Frank Miner and Jay Beckman?”

  My uncle nodded.

  “They came here? They came to the office? I was afraid of that.”

  “No, no, no. Relax. I went to them.” Standing up, he straightened a row of toy cars on a shelf. “Look at this, your old Car-a-Rama set. I’d forgotten they were here. I ought to bring them out to the waiting room for kids to—”

  “Gene.” My voice rose. “You went to them?”

  “Right. I went to the district office. I did it for you.”

  “For me!” My voice went completely out of control.

  “Pete, calm down and listen. I did something that had to be done. I talked to them straight. I told them—I told them emphatically—neither you nor I know anything about your parents’ whereabouts.” Gene spread out his hands. “I put it as plainly as possible, right out on the table. I said, ‘Look, if we knew anything, it would be different, but we don’t. We—just—don’t—know—anything. So, how about you stop wasting your time?’”

  “Great. Great going, Gene.”

  “Pete, you should be thanking me. I called off the dogs. As I pointed out to them, why should they waste their time on a sixteen-year-old boy? They have plenty of other problems—let them go out and find those three guys who robbed Brinks last week. By the way, I should say they were very nice, completely friendly and polite.”

  “What’d you expect, the KGB?”

  “I really thought you’d be glad I went to them.”

  “Glad? Glad my own uncle is a traitor?”

  “You’re getting a little rough there. Who’d I betray? What did I do so wrong?”

  “Gene! Those are the guys who want to nail Laura and Hal and you went to them and played footsie.”

  “I did no such thing! I didn’t do anything to hurt your parents. You think I’m that sort of person? Turn in my own sister! Look, you know very well I don’t agree with her politics—the methods—but that doesn’t mean I’m a fink! And I resent your implication, Pete. I resent it deeply.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me before you went to them? It’s my life you’re messing in.”

  “Your life has nothing to do with me, I suppose?”

  “You suppose damn right!” I shouted. “My life! Leave my life alone!”

  Gene looked at me for a long minute. “Fine,” he said softly. “That’s just fine. You’ve made yourself very clear.”

  “Are you worried about something?” Cary said.

  I threw a stone into the underbrush. We were in the little woods behind the post office. “I’ve been kind of depressed for a few days.”

  “Well, we’re just on a seesaw, aren’t we? I got over my depression and now it’s your turn. What happened?”

  “I had a fight with my uncle.” We’d barely talked since that afternoon. Hello, good-bye, pass the sugar—that was about it. Gene’s face told his side of the story. I’d hurt his feelings and he was waiting for me to apologize. I told myself he had it bass ackward. Let him apologize to me for trot-trot-trotting off to the agents. But I couldn’t forget how I’d sho
uted at him, Leave my life alone!

  “A bad fight?”

  “Yes. Bad. Very bad.”

  “Come on, Pete. What could be so bad between the two of you?”

  “Plenty. Remember what I told you about the agents trying to get me to talk about my parents?” She nodded. “Well, Gene went to them. He went to them of his own free will. I still can’t believe it! It’s just an act of, of—” I didn’t know what to call it. I pulled my knuckles in frustration, then caught myself. The same thing Gene did when he was agitated.

  “He was thinking of you,” Cary said. “Trying to help you. And you know something? What if they did find your parents now? Did you ever think they might want to be found? If I’d been hiding for a million years—”

  “Eight years, Cary, and if they wanted to be found, they wouldn’t need those hound dogs to do it for them!”

  “All right, don’t get so excited. You sound so mad. I hate it when you yell.”

  “I’m—sorry.” I knuckled my forehead. “I am sorry, Cary, I’m just taking it out on you.” I thought about all the times I’d taken my feelings out on Gene, shouted at him, gone into rages when he hadn’t done anything to me. Didn’t deserve it. Forget it, I told myself, you’re starting to feel sorry for him. Forget it!

  I squeezed Cary’s hand. “Are you mad at me?”

  She shook her head.

  “You sure? I’m such a jerk sometimes.”

  “Go ahead, crawl a little, I love it.”

  “Oh, so that’s the way you are!” I flicked my finger at her nose and she punched me in the arm. We wrestled around for a little while …

  When we settled down again, she said, “Pete. What about the statute of limitations? They can’t put people on trial for things they did years ago.”

  “Cary, no, it’s different. That’s for things like finding out twenty years later that someone committed a crime. See, then they figure, okay, it’s too late to start hauling them into court—except, of course, if it’s a capital offense. But as far as my parents are concerned, ‘No statute of limitations shall extend to any person fleeing from justice,’ quote unquote.” I’d looked that one up a long time ago.