“What was that?” she asked.
“Oh, come on, Cassie.” Daddy laughed. “We don’t have to give our whole life story to everyone.”
Mama just shook her head.
“Now,” Daddy said, taking my hand. “Let’s head to Fantasyland first.”
Daddy and I had fun, but Mama did not enjoy herself. She trailed along behind us, pushing the stroller and complaining about the heat, the crowds, and how expensive everything was. The only part she seemed to like was the It’s a Small World ride. Kamran sat in her lap and gazed wide-eyed at the singing, dancing dolls. Even Mama relaxed in the cool of the boat.
“Who’s hungry?” Daddy said after we’d been on every ride in Fantasyland.
“Me!” I said. “Let’s eat.”
We found an outdoor table at a busy restaurant and sat down.
“Good God,” Mama said when the waitress brought the menus. “Look how much everything costs. This is ridiculous.”
Daddy just grinned at her.
“Seriously, Kirk, we shouldn’t eat here. It’s awful how much they charge, just because they can. Capitalism at its absolute worst.”
“You’re not even paying,” I said before I could stop myself.
Mama looked at me in silence for an instant, then opened her mouth to say something, but Daddy interrupted her again.
“It’s okay, Cassie. Just order whatever you want. I’ve got it covered.”
We ate hamburgers and fries while Mama complained about the food.
“I can’t believe they serve this kind of junk. You’d think they’d at least offer something healthy.”
I wanted to slap her.
After lunch, we headed to Tomorrowland, where Daddy and I stood in line for more than an hour to ride Space Mountain. Mama, thankfully, did not wait with us, choosing to sit on a bench under a tree with Kamran.
“She’s not having much fun, is she?” Daddy said.
“I don’t care,” I said. “I love it.”
“Well, maybe next we should ask her what she wants to do.”
“Whatever,” I said. “She’ll probably just want to go home.”
By four o’clock, Mama was done.
“We need to go,” she said firmly. “We’re going to hit rush hour traffic as it is. It’s going to take us all night to get home.”
“Well, then, why don’t we stay late?” Daddy said. “We can have dinner at the Tahitian place. They have hula dancers.” He winked at me.
Mama shook her head.
“And then we can stay for the parade,” Daddy continued. “That way we won’t have to deal with the traffic at all.”
Mama simply pushed Kamran’s stroller toward Main Street.
“Oh, come on,” I whined. “I’ve never been to Disneyland before and I’ll probably never get to come again, and you want to go home? That’s not fair.”
Mama stopped abruptly and turned to me.
“I was under the impression that you came to California to visit with me.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t seem to even notice I was there yesterday,” I said loudly.
Daddy stared at both of us.
“Oh, I see,” Mama said, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “This is your way of punishing me for something I didn’t even do. Nice, Judy. Very nice.”
She began pushing the stroller again. Daddy took my hand and we followed her down Main Street and out the gate, into the parking lot. We waited in tense silence for the train to take us back to the car.
Mama had been right about the traffic. It was almost eight by the time we got back to her apartment.
“Hey.” Navid smiled at us when we came in. “I didn’t expect you back so early. You didn’t stay for the parade?”
Mama simply carried Kamran into the nursery.
“What happened?” Navid asked, looking from Daddy to me.
“I don’t think Cassie likes Disneyland very much,” Daddy said.
“She complained the whole time,” I spat.
Daddy patted my shoulder.
“Well,” he said, “I guess I should probably get going.”
I grabbed his hand.
“Judy, are you all right?” Navid looked confused.
“I ... I think I’m going to stay with Daddy tonight,” I said. “That’s okay, right, Daddy?”
I stared at him, willing him to say yes.
“Well, I guess it’s okay, if that’s what you want. Is that what you really want?”
“Yes,” I said. “Wait just a minute while I get my stuff.”
I ran into the nursery, where Mama sat in a rocking chair, nursing Kamran.
“What are you doing?” she asked as I pulled my suitcase from under the bed.
“I’m going to stay with Daddy tonight,” I said, not looking at her.
She didn’t say anything at first. I could feel her watching me.
“Fine,” she said softly. “If that’s what you want.”
I shoved my pajamas into the suitcase, locked it, and dragged it from the bedroom, never once looking back at Mama.
“Judy, what has happened?” Navid asked. “Did you and your mother have a fight?”
“No,” I said. “I just ... I really just want to be with my dad. That’s all.”
“Well, then, I guess we’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed slightly. “Okay?”
I nodded and took Daddy’s hand. We walked to the car in silence. Inside the car, I began to cry, softly at first and then harder, my face pressed against the side window. Daddy sat beside me, his hand on my shoulder.
“What happened?” he asked when I had finally snuffled to a stop.
“She ruins everything,” I said. “That’s probably the only time in my whole life I’ll get to go to Disneyland, and she ruined it.”
“Okay, I get that she spoiled the day today,” he said. “But what happened yesterday? What did she do?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about Mr. Jenson to Daddy. And I definitely didn’t want to talk about what I had remembered about Mama and Derrick.
“Judy.” Daddy took my chin in his hand so I had to look at him. “I can sit here all night if I have to, but you are going to tell me what happened.”
“I just ... Why does she have to be so selfish?” I said softly. “She never thinks about anyone but herself.”
Daddy just nodded, like he understood.
And so I told him about the fence and the huge wave and the man in the dune buggy. And then I told him about Mr. Jenson, and his business card pressed in Mama’s hand. When I had finished, we sat in silence for a long minute. Then Daddy sighed.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re right, that was a selfish thing for her to do, a very selfish and stupid thing. And it was wrong of her to put you in the middle of it. I’m sorry, honey.”
He turned the key in the ignition and sighed again.
“Maybe bringing you out here was a bad idea,” he said softly.
“It’s okay, Daddy,” I said. “I mean, I wanted to come. I just wish ...”
“I know,” he said. “Me too.”
He pulled into traffic and smiled at me, a sad kind of smile. “Let’s go back to the hotel, get something to eat, and watch a movie. Does that sound okay?”
I nodded, torn between relief at having told him the truth and guilt at betraying Mama.
29
I woke the next morning with a stiff neck. The rollaway cot Daddy had asked for at the hotel wasn’t very soft. I heard Daddy talking softly on the phone. His back was to me. I lay still and listened.
“It was stupid, Cassie,” he whispered into the phone, “and dangerous. Judy was scared when she got hit by that wave.”
He was quiet for a minute, then said, “I know she’s all right, but she could have been killed. When are you going to learn that you can’t just break the law anytime you want to?”
More silence. I saw him turn to look toward me so I closed my eyes and pretended to be
asleep.
“And taking her to a stranger’s house? What were you thinking? She could tell you were flirting with him. She’s not a little kid anymore.”
I could hear Mama’s voice rise, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying.
“Like hell it’s not my business.” Daddy sounded really angry. “Anything to do with Judy is my business. I’m surprised you didn’t have her watch Kamran while you and Mr. Malibu had sex.”
I stiffened, listening intently.
“Look, Cassie, what you do with your life is up to you. I gave up trying to help you a long time ago, and frankly, I don’t give a damn anymore what you do. Cheat on Navid. Leave him and the baby. Go make another mess of things, but not with my daughter. Do you understand me? I will not let you drag Judy into another one of your messes.”
More silence. Then he said, “Look, I’m going to take her sightseeing today. She needs a break and so do I. I’ll call you tonight.”
With that, he hung up.
He walked into the bathroom and closed the door. I stared at the ceiling, wishing again that I was in my own room in our house in Indianapolis.
By the time Daddy emerged from the shower, I was dressed and watching television.
“Hey,” he said. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah.”
“I was thinking today we’d do some sightseeing; how’s that sound?”
“Okay.”
“I called your mom and told her we’re spending the day together, just you and me.”
“Was she mad?”
Daddy smiled at me. “Well, she wasn’t thrilled, but she’ll get over it.”
We ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant. I watched people in the pool while Daddy looked at a huge map.
“The one thing I have to do while I’m here is visit Marilyn Monroe’s grave,” he said.
I looked at him and he grinned, but his cheeks were red.
“Why?” I asked.
“Treva is a huge fan of hers. I promised her I’d take a picture of the grave. I know”—he ran his hand through his hair—“it’s silly. But she really wants a picture.”
“Okay.” He was right. It was beyond silly. It was ridiculous.
“Look”—he pointed to a spot on the map—“she’s buried in Westwood. That’s right near Santa Monica. We can go to the cemetery and then to the beach. Santa Monica has a big pier and lots of shops. Maybe you can find something there for Lee Ann.”
“Sounds good,” I said, wiping syrup from my chin. “Should I bring my swimsuit?”
“Sure,” he said. “If you want to, we can swim.”
Then I remembered that my swimsuit was at Mama’s apartment. She’d rinsed it in the sink when we got back from the beach and hung it in her shower to dry.
“I don’t have it,” I said. “It’s at Mama’s.”
“Well, I guess we could swing by there and get it.”
“No,” I said. “Let’s not. We don’t have to swim.”
We drove west on the Ventura Freeway, then cut south through the mountains and drove through Beverly Hills, passing the huge pink hotel where Mama and Navid had gotten married. I pointed it out to Daddy. He nodded but said nothing.
When we got to Westwood, we parked and asked directions to the little cemetery where Marilyn Monroe was buried. Only she wasn’t actually buried in the ground, as it turned out. She was in a white crypt; that’s what the little booklet we had called it. Beside her name plaque was a little vase, holding fresh flowers. I sat on a bench while Daddy took several pictures of the plaque and flowers.
The booklet said several other famous people were buried in the cemetery, and that surprised me, because it wasn’t very big. Daddy asked if I wanted to look at any of the other graves, but I said no. I would have liked to see someone famous alive, but I thought it was kind of creepy to go visiting graves of people we didn’t even know.
We walked around Westwood for a while, then got back in the car and drove to the Santa Monica Pier. It was crowded, even though it had been badly damaged by a storm several months earlier. We watched men fish from the pier and then wandered to the shore, where a group of guys had set up a stage and were break-dancing to very loud music. People flew by us on roller skates and bikes. Everyone looked tan and lean and healthy.
“Let’s get something to eat,” Daddy said, scanning the boardwalk. “Do you want to try a falafel? It’s a Greek sandwich.”
I remembered the sandwich Treva had eaten in Broad Ripple. It had smelled really good.
“Okay.”
We bought sandwiches at a little kiosk and sat on a bench to eat them. The falafel tasted as good as it smelled, spicy and warm with cool yogurt sauce on top. When we’d finished, we got back in the car and drove south to Venice Beach.
“Wow,” I said, taking in the scene. “Mama would love it here.”
I’d never seen such an assortment of people. It was like stepping onto a movie set. All along the boardwalk, entertainers performed. A man in a torn T-shirt sang reggae, backed by a small band and a steel drum. Farther along, we saw more break-dancers and then a man playing the saxophone. Women in hot pants and bikini tops skated by. Kids on bikes were everywhere. And on the beach itself, a big man with lots of tattoos was juggling chainsaws. We stood and stared, and then Daddy started taking pictures.
We saw people playing basketball and beach volleyball, a group of college kids were dancing on the sand to music from a boom box, and out in the water were several surfers.
We spent a couple hours just wandering, stopping now and then to look in the shops. I bought Lee Ann a necklace made of little conch shells and a tank top that read “Venice Beach ... another day in paradise.” Daddy bought a small painting of the beach for Treva and a set of ceramic coffee mugs for Grandma and Grandpa.
Finally, exhausted, we plopped down on the sand and watched the seagulls dive-bomb the shoreline, snapping up bits of food that people threw into the air.
“I wish we lived here,” I said, leaning back on my elbows and letting the cool ocean breeze waft over me.
“That would be fun,” Daddy agreed. “But it’s expensive, and you’d have to deal with tourists all the time.”
“Like us,” I agreed. “That would be okay. We’re not so bad.”
Daddy laughed. He seemed relaxed and happy.
“Treva would love this place,” he said.
I nodded. Who wouldn’t love this place, after all?
We sat in silence for a while. I watched Daddy watching the people.
“Thanks, Daddy,” I said.
“For what?”
“For bringing me here today.”
“You’re welcome, peanut. I’m glad we came.”
“What do you want to do tomorrow?”
He sat for a minute, staring out at the ocean. Finally, he turned to look at me. “I’m not sure, Judy. Do you think you should go to your mom’s tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “No, let’s do something just you and me again.”
He put his hand on my knee. “Look, I know you’re mad at her right now. I get that. I’m kind of mad at her, too. But she is your mom, the only one you’ve got. And after we go home, who knows when you’ll see her again?”
I stared at the water, watching a seagull circling high overhead.
“You don’t have to see her if you really don’t want to,” he said softly. “But I’m afraid you’ll get home and regret it if you don’t.”
“Maybe I’ll see her on Wednesday,” I said. “Is that all right?”
“Sure,” he said, smiling. “If that’s what you want.”
“Daddy, do you think she’s going to cheat on Navid?”
He looked at me like he was surprised, then he cleared his throat. “I don’t know, honey. That’s between Cassie and Navid. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“Did she cheat on you?”
Daddy rose and held out his hand, pulling me up, too.
“Judy, there are some things that
are private, between married people. And they should stay private.”
“She slept with Derrick, didn’t she?”
He dropped my hand and looked out at the ocean, silent for a long minute.
“How do you know that?” he finally asked.
“When she asked me not to tell Navid about Mr. Jenson, I remembered one time when I was little ...” My voice trailed away. I was sorry now that I’d brought it up.
“Oh, Judy.” His voice sounded tired. “Oh, honey, come here.”
He pulled me into a hug and we stood like that on the beach for a long time.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I whispered.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he said, tilting my chin up. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You know that, right?”
I nodded.
“But I’m sorry she cheated on you.”
“Me too,” he said quietly.
We walked back to the car, holding hands. I wished I knew how to make things better for him, but I couldn’t think of anything to do or say.
“Look, Judy,” he said as we pulled onto the busy freeway toward Pasadena. “I know your mom has disappointed you. And she’s hurt you. But I hope you know she never meant to do that.”
I stared out the window at the passing cars.
“Cassie had a really hard time growing up,” he said. “It made her not trust people.”
I looked at him in surprise.
“She trusts everybody,” I said, thinking of Jim Jones and Mr. Jenson and Derrick.
“She wants to trust everybody,” he said. “She tries to trust everybody. But I think deep down, she can’t ever really trust anyone, not even herself. She’s always waiting for people to leave her. I think that’s why she left us. And I think if she leaves Navid, it’s the same thing. She leaves before she can get left. She’s trying to protect herself.”
“She’s nuts,” I said.
Daddy smiled. “She is a little nuts,” he agreed. “But she’s not mean. She doesn’t mean to hurt people. She just ... she’s your mom.”
“That’s what you used to say about her mom,” I mused.
He paused then, staring at the traffic ahead.
“Yeah,” he said finally, “I guess you’re right. Cassie has tried so hard to not be like her mom, but in the end, she’s done the same thing to you that her mom did to her.”
The Sometimes Daughter Page 22
