The Fence My Father Built

by Linda S. Clare

  In fact, the border between sleep and waking felt perfect, a paradise I didn’t wish to leave. Perhaps it was the dreaming; perhaps it was just that I still needed more rest. Sleep felt so pain-free and soft that I didn’t want to come back.

  In my dreams Rubin popped up where I least expected: at the beach, where I miraculously didn’t sunburn and the sand was as fine as sugar; in the new Murkee Library, checking out veterinary magazines, or sitting beside his stream.

  He had come over regularly the last few days. He wasn’t an eco-nut; he was a caring and compassionate friend. Okay, I had to admit, more than a friend. The whole town was talking about us, but I hadn’t been listening. I was a grown-up, and it was none of their business, now was it?

  This morning I didn’t feel so grown-up. Perhaps it was childishness that kept me clinging to sleep, trying in vain to return to where Rubin and I had left off. Finally, Nova woke me up, rummaging through her backpack.

  I raised my head. “What are you doing?” I wanted to add that perhaps they couldn’t hear her in Cleveland, but I didn’t. I can be a real bear in the morning.

  “Nothing.” She continued to rattle papers. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, pulling on the green cotton robe I’d worn for fourteen summers and sliding my feet into scuffs.

  Nova was already dressed in those baggy cargo pants she loves and a too-tight tank top. Her hair was purple this week, Marvin's favorite color, I guessed. Those two were as much a topic of gossip as Rubin and I were these days, and it was all I could do to stand parental watch.

  “What on earth are you looking for?” This time I sounded grouchy and in need of coffee.

  “I need to find Dad's phone number. You know, the one at the gallery.”

  “Why? What's going on?”

  “I just need to talk to him.”

  “You swore you never wanted to speak to your father again. That was last week, I believe.”

  I dragged a brush through my tangled hair with quick, sharp strokes, and then banged the brush down on the dilapidated bureau. The picture of my father that I’d set there jumped a bit, but I may have imagined it.

  “Mother.” Her forehead scrunched up. “Is it a crime for me to say hello to my dad?”

  “No, not a crime,” I said, preparing for battle. “But it's not like you. Is anything wrong?”

  “Of course not,” she said, and then added, “Yes!” It wasn’t an admission, just the way kids say, “Aha!” She waved a scrap of paper from the pack, and then paused. For a moment I thought it was true, that she simply wanted to check in with Daddy. Then she shot me a look and blew out through her nostrils like an angry bull. Her bottom lip quivered. “You want to know? You really want to know?”

  “Of course I do,” I said as calmly as I could. I caught my reflection in the small round mirror above the dresser. Places where the silver had worn away from the back made me appear transparent in spots.

  “Why can’t you go ahead and sell? Everywhere I go I hear about how our family came out here just to stir up trouble. Your dad's dead, Mom. Face it. And all he left you was a broken-down trailer and a bunch of junk.” My daughter was red-faced now, but she didn’t stop there. “If it wasn’t for Marvin I would have moved back with Dad a long time ago.” Her chin jutted defiantly. “Just drop it, Mom. Please. It's so embarrassing. Everybody says Linc deserves the water.”

  “Everybody? Everybody on his payroll, you mean. Besides, it's much more complicated than that.” I decided not to explain what I’d found at the creek bed. Employing one of Nova's favorite avoidance tactics, I changed the subject abruptly. “By the way, what's going on with you and Marvin?” I felt the prickles of motherly protection rise along the back of my neck. “Well?”

  “We’re just friends,” she insisted. “That's all.” I thought of my new friendship with Rubin and doubted it.

  “What about you and Rubin?” she asked. “Everyone says you guys are together.” Nova had backed up now; she stood at the doorway. I’d backed myself into doorways plenty of times as a child. Sarcastic remarks like these were hit-and-run insults.

  “It's none of your business, young lady,” I said, feeling my own face flush. “I’m an adult. Well? Are you two, well, you know?”

  “How could I be? Linc watches Marvin like a hawk too. I still need to call Dad.” She left, and I wondered why her eye twitched slightly.

  When I finished dressing and walked out to the living room Nova was already on the phone. Lutie sat in her recliner, crocheting a harvest gold soda can hat, and Tiny was cooking something over in the kitchenette. Tru must be outside with Jim, I guessed, playing with the bike parts and junk. Suddenly, the place seemed even drearier and the word kitsch came to mind. A wave of loneliness smacked me from behind, and I remembered how once I had been the wife of an up-and-coming art gallery owner.

  “Daddy,” Nova yelled into the new cordless phone louder than necessary, “I miss you so much.

  Chaz had never been more than mildly interested in fatherhood and hated being called at work. But he must have been sympathetic today, because Nova jumped right in.

  “I can’t stand it here,” she said, turning her back to me. “There's nothing to do and everyone wears Wranglers and the school is a joke. And,” she paused dramatically, “and Mom's getting us all in trouble.”

  After a few minutes, Nova turned and handed me the phone. “Here, he wants to talk to you.” She folded her arms and pouted.

  I took it reluctantly, partly because it was the first contact we’d made in a while, and partly because I didn’t want to feel sorry for him. Aunt Lutie had warned me about this, so I said a terse, “Hello.”

  Chaz's voice was equally cool. He didn’t even ask about Tru. “What's up?” he demanded to know. I could just see him standing there in the gallery, pursing his lips, doodling away on the phone book the way he always did. He was probably dressed in a black turtleneck and designer jeans, like that proved he was an artiste.

  “Nova's exaggerating again,” I said. My eye twitched. “This is all about water rights. It's really about the whole creek area—the land around it.” There, I felt better throwing in a bit of truth.

  “Water? Hold on, will you?” Chaz spoke to someone in the background. I heard a high thin female voice, and I hoped it wasn’t Victoria, the bimbo he’d moved in with. Actually, I knew little about the poor girl, but it was fun to trash her for hooking up with such a loser.

  Finally, Chaz spoke into the phone again. “Muri? How much you think that property's worth?”

  His question caught me off guard. It wasn’t like him to think in terms of money. He’d confessed to me once that the gallery only ran in the black after he’d hired dear Victoria.

  “What difference does that make?” I felt defensive and suddenly wished George Kutzmore was here.

  “For one thing, you need cash, not a junkyard in the middle of nowhere. Sell the place and get the kids out of that hole. Whatever you get from the property, just remember: your stepfather, Benjamin, wants that loan cleared up.” Chaz conferred with the phantom voice in the background again.

  “My name was never on that loan,” I said. “Legally you owe him the money.”

  Now he turned on the charm; that was his style. He always alternated between making nice and twisting your arm.

  “Hey, we were in all that together. You said—” Chaz was a weasel of the first degree.

  “You got that in writing anywhere?” I was shaking by now, and the cup of tea Tiny handed me sloshed about in the mug.

  “You obviously don’t care about your children,” Chaz said, throwing in a curse word or two. “The gallery's their future. If you insist on raising them in that slum, then I guess I can’t stop you. But you’re dragging them down with you.” Then he hung up.

  I stood there, listening dumbly to the “If you’d like to make a call” recording before I pushed the off button. The only call I really wanted to make was to my father, but that was impossible. Instead, I stared out the window at
the brilliant sunshine. It made my eyes water; that's what I told Aunt Lutie.

  She was up now, scrabbling in a paper sack full of aluminum cans. When I looked around she was bent over at the waist and her skeletal fingers raked through the bag's contents. But she turned and smiled as she sifted through the Dr. Pepper, Squirt, Bud, and Coors empties. I was just glad she always rinsed them before she brought them in the house.

  Nova stomped around and demanded to know what that awful racket was, which of course was totally different than the noise she was making. When she learned that Chaz had cut off the conversation, she automatically blamed me. Her purple hair spikes turned my stomach. It would serve Victoria right if my daughter showed up on their doorstep.

  “Sit down,” I said, giving Nova the “or else” look. “It wouldn’t kill you to act like you’re part of the family.”

  “This stinks,” she said and perched on a chair at the edge of the room nearest the door.

  Aunt Lutie smiled at her anyway. “You’re as stubborn as your grandpa,” she told Nova, who clucked her tongue and stared at the ceiling. “And Joseph had the magic touch. He could fix anything that needed fixing,” Lutie said. “Something that was beyond mending, he’d just invent a new one. Like you, Nova, with your beautiful creations.”

  “My creations?” Nova asked. She looked disgusted. “My creations are doomed, like we are.” A black cloud parked itself above my daughter's head.

  Tru came in, with Jim trailing behind him. Tru sat on the floor next to the recliner, where Lutie had stationed herself. I sat with Tiny on the sofa, and we all listened, as if we were about to learn the family secrets, which I was certain we were.

  “Take engines.” Lutie cleared her throat. Tiny got up and headed toward the kitchen, returning momentarily with a glass of water. She smiled at him and took a sip. “Joseph could get a motor to obey him no matter what was wrong. Just sweet-talked it until it purred, I always thought. That was before I took a basic auto repair class down at the Prineville Senior Center.”

  She looked at Tru. “Your grandpa owned as much junk as your uncle here.” Tiny glanced over sharply and then broke into a sheepish grin.

  “Watch what you call junk, my Pearl,” he said.

  Nova rolled her eyes and stood up. “A pile of garbage is more like it,” she said. “I’m going out.” She started toward the door. I blocked her exit, glowered at her, and she flopped back down with an exaggerated sigh.

  Lutie smiled at my daughter. “Don’t forget, Rhonda Gaye is coming over to help you get started on an ensemble for the bazaar.”

  Nova let out a sigh of exasperation and folded her arms over her chest.

  “Now these soda can hats were Joseph's idea,” Lutie continued, carefully staring down at one of them, all hooked together in avocado green and a hideous brown. “He said he knew how we could recycle and make a buck too. Before we knew it we had more orders than we could fill. Sell out every year at the bazaar.”

  “Think what you could do with a web page,” Tru practically shouted. “I know how to design them—piece of cake.” He jumped up, and Jim, who must have been dreaming, jerked awake with the only kind of snort he could muster. “We’ll all be rich,” Tru proclaimed. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and for a moment I imagined the next computer magnate. Well, at least he looked the part.

  “You want to hear about your grandpa or not?” Tiny said, patting Jim back into sleep. Then he added, “Teach me about your computer real soon, okay?” That was my uncle's way, I thought. He disciplined Tru without shaming him. Plus Tiny's nose didn’t turn red, which was a big thing in his favor.

  Nova stood up again and began to walk out. “Where do you think you’re going?” I demanded. I couldn’t believe her manners were so poor.

  She whirled around. “I can’t stand it here,” she said. “I’m going out.”

  “Out? Out where?”

  “Just out.”

  “Probably going to meet that Marvin guy,” Tru said.

  “Shut up, you little menace. It's none of your business.”

  “Nova Irene, I’m warning you—”

  Nova gave me a hard, cold look. “You can’t tell me what to do,” she said. “You’re afraid Daddy will come out here and rescue me.”

  “What about poor Rhonda Gaye?” Lutie asked.

  “Rhonda Gaye can shove it,” Nova said.

  Tiny and Lutie's mouths dropped open.

  “Apologize,” I said, standing up again to block her exit. “And I forbid you to leave.”

  Nova and I proceeded to have it out. Tiny escaped outside with Tru and Jim, and Lutie crocheted, occasionally getting up to sort through the cans for new material, quietly ignoring us. But when Nova picked up an empty Diet Coke can and chucked it at me, I lost my head. She had definitely stepped over the line.

  “If you weren’t so selfish, we’d still be in Portland with Daddy,” she said, flinging another empty can my way. Either she wasn’t trying to hit me or she was a really bad throw.

  I picked up the can and gripped it so hard it caved in on one side. “Selfish? I’m selfish?” On impulse I heaved the dented can at her feet.

  “Well, let's see,” my daughter continued, kicking the can aside. “First you lose your job.”

  “That wasn’t my fault you know. And don’t ever throw anything at me again, young lady, or—”

  “Or what?” Nova had grabbed another can and started toward me. Lutie still sat in her recliner. She glanced up at me now with the kind of eyes you know will dissolve you if you look too long, but I was past defusing the situation.

  “I’m still your mother. Show some respect.” How lame. Words I swore I’d never say, and here they were, flying out of me. I stepped back.

  “Well, how do I respect that you’re divorced? Wow, what a coincidence that you don’t care what happens to us.” I hate it when kids lay guilt on you that way, but I couldn’t back down.

  “Wipe that smirk off your face. And the divorce wasn’t my idea.” There. Now she would know I was serious. “I don’t know what to do with you,” I said. Tears stung the edges of my eyes. “I hate watching you destroy yourself. You have so much going for you. So much potential.”

  She made an ugly face. “So that's why you ripped us away from our friends, and let's face it—civilization as we know it—to come live in a hole. Who cares if Tru and I would rather be anywhere else on the planet? Mom's got dead relatives to visit.” Her face was crimson now, and she hurled another empty can at me. It missed me but struck poor Lutie's leg.

  Lutie stared up at the ceiling, mumbling, “Oh, sweet Jesus—”

  “That does it. Apologize for hitting your aunt this instant,” I said, picking up the can. “Do it now.”

  Nova just stood there.

  “I’m at the end of my rope,” I screamed in a new octave. “You leave me no choice.” I shook harder than ever, but I took a deep breath as we stared into each other's faces. “Apologize or pack a bag.”

  “You kicking me out? Fine, I’m outta here.” Nova stormed off into the bedroom, emerging a few moments later with her backpack. She was crying, but she kept her eyes down and didn’t speak. The sleeve of my favorite silk blouse hung from one of the open zippers on her pack. As she left, the door slammed and then bounced open again, inviting me to follow her the way I’d always done before.

  Before I could run after her, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Lutie's touch felt gentle and at the same time firm. “She’ll be back,” my aunt said softly. “Let her go.” Her eyes were foggy with tears, softening the harsh angles of her cheekbones into a comforting expression.

  I took the tissue she offered me, dabbing at my eyes and blowing my nose. Tru came inside wearing a puzzled look, and I was about to cry all over again, but Lutie offered him a simple, straightforward explanation.

  “Your sister needs to cool off, son. I wouldn’t worry too much. When she gets hungry, she’ll be back.”

  Tru nodded as if Nova left home every day, whic
h wasn’t that far off. She had run away before, usually after a similar argument. Once she’d stayed away for two weeks, which scared me to death. We had the police out looking for her. Even after I found out she was staying three blocks away with a friend, I had trouble sleeping, imagining my precious girl out on the streets of Portland. A mother's worst fears always run to the dramatic—she was some kind of dope addict or sleeping on the streets—so that if the truth is any better, you automatically feel relief.

  That time she’d come home after everyone was in bed. It had been after midnight when I’d discovered Nova rummaging through the fridge, shoving leftovers in her mouth as if she hadn’t eaten in days. And she hadn’t, which is why she’d decided home wasn’t so bad after all.

  But now home wasn’t all that great. Even I thought so. My heart ached at the prospect that this time she might be serious.

  Lutie shooed Tru outside to fetch Tiny and took me by the hand. “Sit down,” she said, and we perched on the edge of the sofa. I kept my back to the Jesus portrait so I wouldn’t blubber.

  “I’m so sorry for creating such a scene,” I began, still sniffling. “I’ve tried just about everything with that child.”

  “Hush, now,” she said. “It's fine. We can’t hide the truth from each other. We’re family, after all.” She smiled at me and then up at her picture of the Lord.

  “Why don’t we pray?” she said.

  That was all I could stand. I collapsed into her shoulder— just folded up like a TV tray with a broken hinge. I sobbed while she prayed with a strange authority, her sharp clean smell soothing the kind of pain that only parents of lost children comprehend. After a while she said, “In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.” I sat up straighter and felt oddly relieved. The cap of her sleeve was dark with my tears.

  “I know it hurts,” she said, still holding my hand. “Losing a child is the worst sort of pain.”