Yes, the summer would be great! But not perfect. To make it perfect, my father would have to come back — and that was impossible.
I was about twelve when the arguments between my parents started. They would carefully lock the bedroom door at night, but still I could hear their voices rising in anger. Toward the end, my mother would cry a lot. I would finally drift off into a troubled sleep, still hearing my mother’s muffled sobs and wondering what it was all about, wishing a miracle would happen and there would be peace between them again.
But it only became worse with time. Finally, on the second day in June, my fourteenth birthday, my father packed his things and walked out. My mother stayed up in her room for a long time after that, and when I went up to try to console her, she wouldn’t let me in.
Kim was only four at the time and really didn’t realize what was happening. I answered her stupid questions in the rudest, unkindest way. “Shut up and clean up your dirty bedroom,” I told her, pushing her in that direction. “Dad will be back. He’s got this trip he must take.…”
She probably believed me. I even tried to believe the story myself, though for a long time I was really mad at him for picking my birthday, of all times, to leave. He never came back and by the end of the summer the three of us finally settled into a dull routine.
That fall, Mom got a job in a day school where she watched after rich kids. Soon after that she began to talk about going back to college and getting her teaching credentials. Kim went to the school along with Mom and was allowed to attend for half-price because my mother worked there. She stayed there until she entered first grade.
Occasionally envelopes would arrive with my father’s return address on them. No letter, just a check to help us over the hard times. That’s all I had of my father, a look at his Chicago return address and a trip to the bank to watch my mother cash the check. He rarely wrote or called me, though deep inside I knew he still loved both me and Kim. It was hard for him to come out and say it, though.
Kim wouldn’t give up on my father. She drove my mother up the wall, asking her over and over when he would be back. My question was different. I wanted to know why he left in the first place.
One day I got up the courage and asked her point-blank. Kim was busy playing outside that day. My mother had just finished waxing the kitchen floor, her hair tied back in an orange scarf. The question had come as a surprise to her, and if I hadn’t caught her off guard, I don’t think she would have been so candid.
“He is living in Chicago with a woman he met in his office,” she told me, wiping the perspiration from her face. After a while I wondered if any of the tiny beads of sweat were a few stray tears, and I felt sorry that I had pushed the issue. Maybe it would have been better not to know.…
I remember saying just one thing to her, “Mom, why don’t you ask him to come back — tell him you forgive him?”
“He’s happy with her,” she said dully. “He doesn’t want to come back.” I refused to believe that. A man who had my mother for a wife had everything. I’d never believe he actually preferred someone else.
I grabbed my sandals and hopped off my rock when I saw Mom pulling into the driveway. She slammed the old Ford door twice — it never fully closes on the first try — and then waved in my direction. Starting down the hill, she yelled, “Mariah, come help me with the groceries. We’ve got so much to do!”
I dashed up the hill, and before she had a chance to remove one bag from the car, I was there to help her carry in the bags.
“I have to talk to you and Kim,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “They’re closing down the school this summer…!”
“But don’t they always?” I pointed out, carefully carrying in the bag with the eggs.
“I was counting on them not to,” she sighed, opening up the screen door for me. “Back in December they announced they were going to stay open year-round. That way I’d work and get paid during the summer months.”
“But we were counting on you just being here, not working.” I was aware I sounded like a whining child.
She gave me a funny smile. “It’s the money, Mariah. Of course I’d rather be on a real vacation with you and Kim. I hate to work just as much as anyone, but we need the money to pay the mortgage and all the other bills that pile up. If I’m out of work for a few months, we just won’t be able to make it.”
“I’ll get a job,” I told her, my mind racing frantically. “I had a hard time last summer finding anything because I was only fifteen. I’ll start searching tomorrow morning.”
Just then the kitchen door banged open and Kim came in. The school bus had dropped her right in front of the path under the oleander bushes and from the looks of her, she must have run the length of the path at top speed.
“I’m glad you’re here, Kim,” my mother called in to her. “I want to talk to you.” She led us into the living room.
“I want you to both sit down for a minute,” she said, brushing Kim’s hair out of her eyes. “I’ve got some news to tell you.”
“It seems we have a problem,” she began. “I didn’t want to bother you with it, but about three months ago, your father had an auto accident.” She quickly added, “Oh, he’s really okay now, but he did have a hard time of it. He had to go to the hospital to have some work done on his left leg.”
She left the drapes where she had been standing and seated herself in our old oak rocker by the fireplace. “They let him go at the office — he couldn’t keep up with the sales force.”
Poor Dad, I thought unhappily. I wished I’d known.
She left the rocking chair and walked over to the windows again. My mother loves to look at the waves and whenever she’s worried or in deep thought over something, she’ll just stare at them for a while. They seem to give her courage to go on, and so Kim and I didn’t bother to prod her. We kept very still, just looking at each other.
She walked back to the chair and sat down again, facing us. She looked so terribly tired then. “He hasn’t been able to send us any of the support money,” she said and her voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t want to scare you, but if we don’t get some money from somewhere …we might not be able to keep the house.”
Kim jumped up and let out a thin shrill noise. I was off of the couch too in a bound, my heart racing madly. “What?” I cried out. I couldn’t picture the three of us anyplace else. Not being able to keep the house — to lose it to the bank? No, I couldn’t picture it at all!
Mom put up her hand to still our outbursts. “Now, that’s what I want to discuss with both of you. There is a way out of this, and I want you to know I’ve thought it all out carefully. I’m not asking you for your permission. It’s beyond that. I’m only asking you to understand my decision.” Her words sounded as though she had written them down somewhere and then had spent all day rehearsing them.
“I’ve accepted a job in Palm Springs. We’ll rent out the house here to a very reliable family. Houses along this part of the beach go for very high rent in the summer.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying. I couldn’t, believe this was happening to us — to me! I wouldn’t be spending my summer here at all. The novel — what would I do about my novel?
“What position? What job?” My voice sounded like I had a sore throat.
My mother smiled at me, appearing more relaxed. “It’s going to be very nice,” she went on. “It’ll be like an adventure for all of us. Something new. The school has found me a job house-sitting for some people who’ll be in Europe all summer.”
“House-sitting.” Kim laughed and then frowned. “What’s house-sitting?”
My mother laughed a little shaky laugh. “Well, to tell you the truth, Kim, I’d never heard of the expression before either, but Mrs. Baker at the school said that it’s getting more popular all the time. Very rich people let another person or persons come and live on the property while they’re gone. That way they have twenty-four hour security. The house is kept clean an
d any breakdowns or problems are taken care of. The house where we’ll be staying also has a handyman on the premises. Also they mentioned that a young man will be assisting us throughout the summer.”
“Who are these rich people?” I asked, still not believing this was happening.
“Abbott,” my mother answered. “James and Martha Abbott. Mr. Abbott is a financier. He owns several properties in Palm Springs and two large manufacturing plants in Los Angeles.”
Kim started to cry then, and I held my breath so I wouldn’t. “But I can’t leave here this summer,” Kim blurted out. “Judy and I joined the tap-dancing class. We’re all signed up!”
I went to the bathroom and pulled some tissues out of the box and took them back to her. Then I had an awful thought. “But who will come and live in our house? Who do we have to rent to?” The thought of anyone sleeping in my bedroom gave me the creeps.
“That’s all been arranged, too,” my mother said, getting up now and heading for the kitchen. “They’re a nice family. When I decided to do this, I posted an ad on the bulletin board at work. In no time at all, one of the mothers contacted me. Her sister has always wanted to come out from Ohio and spend the summer here. She and her husband will be bringing their three children — ”
“But, Mom, there must be another way!” I interrupted, watching my mother take some lettuce out of the refrigerator and wash it. “We’ll think of something else. There’s got to be another way. We can’t leave. This summer was going to be important to me!”
My mother carefully placed the lettuce on a folded paper towel, and then she looked at me sternly. “Mariah, you’ve spent every summer of your life here on this beautiful beach, in this comfortable, lovely home. Now, I’m asking you to give up just one summer. Just one summer so we can stay here the rest of the year. You know very well my solution is the only way.” She picked up a can of tuna fish and handed it to me. “Open this,” she instructed. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Now when my mother says, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she really means it, so I didn’t say anything else. Instead I quickly opened the can, then went into the bathroom and cried.
I reached down, grabbed the tissue and then, standing up again, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Two definite frown lines seemed permanently etched between my eyes. One tear was already sliding down my right cheek and another was coming down the other cheek, quickly catching up to the first. My mouth hurt from holding it stiff, and even my teeth hurt because I had clamped my jaws together so hard so that I wouldn’t say anything more to my mother.
“I’ll probably never smile again,” I told the sad girl in the mirror.
Chapter 3
“You’re not going to take all those books!” I was crouched in the corner of my closet, sorting out my novels when my mother entered my bedroom. I had shot out of bed while it was still dark, hoping I would get a chance to pack all my books, especially the ones by Susan Howatch, and then I’d shove them into the back of the trunk. With a blanket or something spread over them, I’d hoped Mom wouldn’t notice them. I knew we needed all the space we could get, but there are some things that should have priority.
“I’m just trying to make more room in the closet,” I lied. “For the Gretels and their three kids.” I put a heavy accent on the word “three,” figuring maybe she would have second thoughts. Three kids could do a lot of damage to a house.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Mariah,” my mother said, smiling. “Just stack them up as neatly as you can and come downstairs and help me with the kitchen and living room. My goodness, I didn’t realize you had so many books.…”
It’s a good thing she doesn’t know I stacked some in Kim’s closet, too, I thought, quickly sliding closed the closet doors. My mother went on with her orders. “The carpet needs a final going over and maybe a quick mop on the kitchen floor, too. They should be here by noon. We’ll leave right after they get settled.”
The main important thing to me was to get my books into the trunk. Oh, she would find them after we got to Palm Springs, but then it would be too late. As soon as she was out of sight, I grabbed the box I’d hidden the night before and frantically stacked the books as tightly as I could.
Carefully I moved down the staircase, thankful that the thick brown carpeting muffled my steps. Then, as fast as I could, I struggled with the box out to the car.
We keep an old beach towel in the back of the trunk all the time, left over from the trip to Lake Arrowhead we’d taken almost a year ago. I laughed to myself as I carefully tucked the raggedy blue towel around the box, knowing my mother would be too busy to notice.
In a flash I was back in the living room, pushing the vacuum cleaner around like my mother had requested. I finished quickly as my mother flashed by me with a suitcase. “Thanks, Mariah,” she said. “Make sure you don’t forget any of your clothes. We’ll be gone till the week school starts, so pack carefully. But don’t overdo it!”
I was halfway up the stairs when I heard my mother’s voice. “Mariah!” I knew what was coming. She’d found the books! I ran back down the stairs and headed for the car. She didn’t have to say a word, but if looks could kill, I’d be dead right there on the spot.
The box of paperbacks was heavier going up the stairs than coming down. I wondered angrily if Susan Howatch ever had a mother like mine. Here I was, with so much inside of me that wanted to get out, with so much that the publishing world was waiting for — and my own mother was fighting me!
Reluctantly I shoved the box of books in the closet; the old beach towel still on top of them. I sat down on my bed, in the pits of depression. I could hear the waves crashing on the rocks below; sulking, I concentrated on the rhythmic pounding. I was so used to the sound that I never really heard it anymore unless I listened carefully and turned off the rest of the world.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway jolted me from the bed. They were early! I knew my mother would be upset because she'd wanted more time to get us ready. Looking down from my bedroom window I watched the Gretels climb out of a new, sleek, silver Thunderbird. The car was overflowing with boxes and suitcases — even a bright red surfboard was strapped to its top. I could tell from my upstairs view that the surfboard was brand-new.
If you’ve ever gone to a circus and watched a whole big bunch of clowns pile out of a little car, you can imagine what the Gretels looked like. The car itself was not terribly small, but they had really overdone it. I couldn’t imagine anyone needing all that stuff just to spend a summer at our house.
I watched my mother shake hands with Mr. and Mrs. Gretel. Then I saw two small boys,
maybe about six and eight, and a girl with long, blond hair who looked about my age, maybe a year older.
She was about my range in the skinny department, but when she turned I could see her figure was definitely better — there was no doubt about that. And then she stood still and looked up.
Her complexion was like my mother's — a cream color with just the lightest bit of rosiness on her cheeks. A stray lock of yellow hair caught in her mouth when she turned in the ocean breeze, and she quickly pulled it away. Her eyes were a definite blue, like a light blue marble I found on the beach one day, and when she smiled up at me, her white teeth sparkled. She was definitely pretty!
I ducked back out of the window then, knowing I was expected to help out. Kim, ahead of me on the staircase, was terribly excited. “They’re here already!”
“I know,” I said miserably. Somehow I had hoped they would have changed their minds about the whole thing. Now that they were here, we’d definitely have to leave. It was so final…
Elaine Gretel smiled easily and talked pleasantly to her parents. She seemed all right to me. Her little brothers, on the other hand, pushed and shoved each other all over the place, reminding me of Amy’s horrible kid brothers.
“Tony! Mark!” their mother called out every once in a while. “If you don’t stop, yo
u’ll have to go directly to your room.” She was calling one of the bedrooms theirs already!
I helped Elaine upstairs with her suitcases, and we stood in the hall until my mother joined us. “Elaine, you take Mariah’s room,” she instructed us. “The boys will stay in Kim’s.”
Well, that was one good thing, I thought, breathing again. I was sure that any girl who looked like Elaine would never ruin any of my things. I had worked so hard for two years now fixing up my bedroom to look just the way it did in one of the magazines. I didn’t want some stranger to ruin it all over the summer.
Elaine loved my room right away. She wore worn jeans and a bright red shirt, and she had a white sweater thrown over her shoulders, the sleeves tied around her neck. Her blue beach walkers showed off her soft pink painted toenails and when she touched the yellow pillow on my rocking chair, I could see they perfectly matched her neatly manicured fingernails.
I watched her walk over to my vanity with the yellow and white organdy skirt and touch the three mirrors.
“It’s great for doing your hair,” I told her. “You can see all angles that you might otherwise miss. Sometimes I think I’ve got it just right but then I’ll pull the side mirrors forward a little and see I’ve got a mess toward the back…”
“I know,” Elaine said, but I didn’t believe she could ever have trouble with the sides or back of her hair.
My mother called me from the downstairs hall. “Come on, Mariah, we don’t have all day. I’d like to get on the road before the worst heat hits the desert.”
And so my last few moments with my new friend were spent with me running around, making sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. I checked the closet and then the drawers, and then quickly scooped up four books. If I didn’t have enough time to write one, at least I could study the ones I’d chosen. Quickly I threw them into my straw beach bag where my mother would never find them.
“Goodbye,” I said to Elaine. “Have a good summer in my house.” And then just as I was about to leave, I had an afterthought. Leading her over to the window, I pointed out a group of black rocks where the sea gulls were sitting.
P. S. I Love You Page 2
