“Do you want to leave?” Jessie said. “I’d like to. Sarah can get a ride with Wendy.” Beamer nodded and they rose and left, their exit scarcely noticed by their friends.
Outside, they quickly walked to Jessie’s car. Beamer inhaled deeply; the sharp, cold air was immediately and thoroughly cleansing. “I’ve never done it,” she said, “but I think now I understand the attraction of jumping naked into a snowbank after a sauna.”
“It really was hot in there. What should we do now?”
“How about a thick, cruel malt at Simpson’s Cafe?”
“I don’t think so. It’s awards night for the fishing tournament, and the place will be packed with lonely fishermen.”
“Sounds dangerous. Well, if you don’t mind eating carob and nut cake and listening to old hippies playing children’s games, we can go to my place.”
“Can’t be any worse than what we’ve just seen.”
“Okay, we’ll party at the bait shop.”
Beamer repressed a moan as she sat on the frigid car seat. When Jessie started the car, the cold air stored in the heat vents burst out, rushing over their feet and across their faces.
“Why do we live in this cold place?” said Jessie. “It’s so inhuman.”
Beamer stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets. “A naked guy,” she said. “Jessie, do you realize I’ve just seen my first naked guy?”
“Happy birthday, Beamer. Happy birthday.”
Chapter 15
The highway out of town was deserted. Jessie fiddled with the radio, finally pulling in a distant southern station. They listened to the strong, dear sound for several minutes before speaking.
“Carob, that’s a substitute for chocolate, right? So your family doesn’t eat chocolate either?” Jessie’s voice was politely incredulous.
“I’m exaggerating. They gave in years ago and started eating chocolate again.”
“You always make fun of the commune. I can’t believe you hated it that much. What was it like?”
“The commune?”
“Yeah.”
“It was pretty. Woodlands must have been the most beautiful spot in northern Minnesota. Still is, even though they’ve built those townhouses and tennis courts.”
“That’s not what I meant. What was it like living there?”
Beamer took off her mittens and stuffed them into her jacket pockets. “Crowded. Maybe not literally, but it felt that way. There were people everywhere. If I went walking in the woods, there was someone there. If I went to the beach, someone was there. Everywhere. We lived in this dorm, kind of a cabin, really—”
“Like the one by the picnic spot?”
“That’s the very one. Twelve of us lived in that dorm.”
“Twelve people, wow.”
“And that was after they built the other dorms. For about two years everyone was together. Let me tell you, you can crowd a lot of bunk beds into one building. I was conceived in a bunk bed.”
Jessie laughed. “It does sound crowded.”
“It wasn’t just the living conditions, it was knowing that no matter what I did, people were watching. Everything. When I was eight I wanted to join the Brownies. They took a vote! All of them. My parents couldn’t just decide that for themselves; they all had to vote. That’s what I really mean by crowded.”
“Did they let you join?”
“No. They decided the Scouts were too militaristic. Those brown uniforms, I guess.”
Jessie laughed, shifted slightly in her seat, and changed her grip on the steering wheel. “At least you were never lonely.”
Beamer turned to look out the window. “I’m not so sure,” she said softly.
They let a mile speed by. The radio station was playing another Tina Turner song. The girls looked at each other and smiled.
“She’s older than my mother too,” said Beamer. The rough beat of the song kept pace with the speeding car. Beamer closed her eyes and nodded along. The song was on the jukebox at Simpson’s Cafe, and she and Andy had often danced to it. “You know, Jessie, this may come as a surprise, but Andy is a terrific dancer.”
“I’ve noticed. We’ve all noticed. And we’ve also all noticed that you are the only one he ever, ever dances with. He’s a nice guy, Beamo. You’re lucky. Too bad about tonight, though.”
“He is a nice guy. And of course, if I had been with Andy tonight I would not, definitely not, have seen a naked guy.”
“You guys have been going out for—what?”
“Six months. Steady and true.”
“And still no sex?”
“No.”
“Everyone knows about his famous statement, of course, but we were all so quick to laugh that no one asked him why. Can you tell me why he doesn’t want to? Religious reasons?”
“No. It would be nice if it were that clear.”
“Why, then?”
Beamer drew a long breath. He does want to, she thought, but didn’t say. “Waiting isn’t a strict rule for him, okay? He just thinks it might be a good idea.”
“A good idea for others?”
“For anybody.”
“If it’s not an absolute, why not?”
Beamer shrugged.
“No suspicions? You two must at least talk about it.”
“A little.”
“So?”
“What can I say? All year he’s been staying in touch with his old girlfriend. And sometimes I think he was avoiding even talking about sex because he was confused about commitments.”
“Sarah told me he broke off with her.”
“I’ll kill her.”
“Who?”
“Sarah. She’s got such a mouth.”
“So if Andy’s not confused anymore, what happens next? More talk, or will he push for something else?” Their warm breath had fogged over the side windows. Beamer traced a heart and inscribed it with her own and Andy’s initials. “True love always,” she said. Jessie laughed.
“Andy would never, ever force anything,” Beamer said.
“Of course not. So it’s mostly you saying no.”
“Mostly.”
“Why?”
Beamer didn’t answer.
“Everybody who’s doing it says it’s pretty special.”
Beamer shrugged. “So they say.”
“You doubt it?”
Beamer thought of Wendy, of the women screaming after the strippers; she thought of Martin and his long list of girls. “Jessie, I truly believe that without anything meaningful in life, yeah, sex probably seems special. I suppose it could fill some emptiness.”
Jessie laughed. Beamer looked at her and frowned. “I’m sorry, Beamo. What you said is really great. I think you’re right. I laughed because, well, most of us have fears about sex, or ideas about sex. You have a philosophy.”
Beamer smiled. “It’s how I was raised. Life itself is a philosophy.”
“So tell me, is there a simple reason why you don’t want to have sex with Andy?”
With a slow circular motion of her palm, Beamer erased the heart. “I guess I just don’t want to be that close to someone.”
They reached the store. “Thanks for letting me intrude on something so private,” Jessie said.
“No big deal.”
“It was always an issue between Rob and me, which might explain why once again I was free and single on a Saturday night.”
“I’m glad you were. Rob’s loss.” They got out of the car and walked toward the store. “Jessie,” said Beamer as she reached to open the door, “I feel like I should warn you about this.”
“About what?”
“These people are kind of weird about my birthday. I was the first baby born at the commune, and they have always celebrated my birthday. With or without me.”
“That’s weird? It just sounds sweet.”
“No, it’s not sweet, it’s like—” She gripped the doorknob tightly, but didn’t turn it. “—it’s like they can’t let go of something that isn’t t
here.”
“I think it’s sweet.”
Beamer sighed. “Let’s see if there’s any cake left.”
Their entrance went unnoticed. A small circle of the friends were engaged in earnest conversation around the wood stove. Beamer led Jessie to the back room, where they deposited their coats, then up the stairs to the family’s home. They met Maud going down. Beamer introduced Jessie.
“Wonderful,” said Maud. “We’re about to start charades and can use some more people. Will you join us?”
“Probably not,” said Beamer.
“Maybe after we have some cake,” said Jessie.
Maud sobered. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, no.”
“Did you eat all my birthday cake?” Beamer demanded.
“Not me personally,” said Maud. “But yes, it’s gone.”
Beamer turned to Jessie. “Do you think that’s sweet?”
Jessie was smiling. “Yes, I do.”
The kitchen was crowded. Beamer introduced Jessie to the Woodies nearest at hand. Mrs. Flynn was administering first aid to Sue’s hand, cut deeply in a fruit-slicing accident. Mr. Flynn was reading through some papers, Peter at his elbow. Beamer smiled at her father and peered over his shoulder. Peter was a well-known writer of nature essays. He often brought his work to Mr. Flynn for informal editing. Beamer plowed through a cluster of friends in earnest conversation, something, she gathered, about groundwater purity and the paper company. She filled two mugs with cocoa from a carafe, then retreated.
She found Jessie talking to Jenny in the hall outside the kitchen.
“No, Ms. Elliot, I haven’t gotten the test results.”
Jenny was stern. “Call me Jenny, Jessie. We’re at the bait shop, not in the classroom.”
Jessie nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Wrong, Ms. Elliot,” said Beamer. “You’re not in either place. You are in my home, about twenty feet from my room, which is where I’d like to go with my friend. If you don’t mind. Anyway, didn’t you have a date tonight?”
“Oh, he’s here somewhere.”
Maud reappeared from downstairs. “Game time,” she called out. She grabbed Jenny and Jessie by their elbows. “You two are on my team.” Beamer frowned. She did not want to end the day this way.
Jessie sipped cocoa, looked at Beamer, then shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I want to talk with Bea a bit more, then get home.”
Maud made a face. “First Andy, now Jessie. Evidently Moonbeam selects her friends according to their ability to resist fun.”
“Oh, we had fun earlier tonight,” said Jessie.
“Doing what?” Mrs. Flynn took up position in the doorway behind Beamer.
Beamer sipped cocoa. “Ate supper, came home.”
Jessie held her mug in front of her smile.
Maud shook her head. “No fun.” She and Jenny and a line of others filed downstairs to the store.
Beamer turned to her mother. “What did Maud mean about Andy?”
“You missed him. He came by with his sisters and stayed for about an hour. The girls played cards with the other children and Andy visited with us.”
“And helped eat all the cake,” said Jessie with a wide smile.
Mrs. Flynn frowned. “Oh, yes. You heard about the cake.”
“You ate all my cake.”
“Every last crumb. You should have stayed home. Jessie, will you join us downstairs? Beamo hates it, but you look more reasonable.”
Jessie laughed. “I’m heading home, Mrs. Flynn, but maybe another time.”
“That’s what Andy said. He’s never yet played charades with us, but tonight we got him to promise to come back with his family as soon as his mother is well.”
Beamer groaned. “Not really?”
“Yes, really. Goodnight, Jessie. Drive carefully. Oh, Bea, Andy left your present in your room.”
Jessie lifted Beamer’s empty mug from her hand and carried it to the kitchen. She returned and nudged Beamer toward the stairs. “I should get going, Bea.” The back room was empty. Jessie pulled her coat from the pile that had tumbled onto the floor.
“Does this go on every Saturday night?”
“Usually.”
“Fun.”
Beamer shrugged.
Jessie sat next to her on the sofa. “I live alone with my mother, Beamer. I hardly ever hear from my father, and my brothers come home maybe twice a year. This seems so wonderful to me, a house full of people. All these friends.”
“It can be nice.”
“But crowded, right?”
Beamer nodded. “Sometimes, Jessie, I just feel smothered.”
Jessie zipped her coat. “Too bad you missed Andy.”
“Sounds like I wouldn’t have had a chance to talk with him anyway. They do that—anyone I bring in, they grab away.” She pointed a finger at Jessie. “They almost got you.”
“Charades with a bunch of forty-year-olds; don’t tell anyone I nearly gave in.”
“The entire night will be one solemn secret, I promise.”
Jessie opened the door to the cold. “Oh, and Beamo—”
“Yeah?”
“He was my first naked guy too.”
Beamer watched while Jessie drove carefully out of the parking lot, then onto the highway. The car accelerated and quickly disappeared. Beamer debated joining the Woodies, then remembered Andy’s gift. She ran up the steps and into her room. The parking-lot lights flooded through the window, casting broad shadows. She scanned the room for a package. A long narrow box lay on her pillow. She prepared for bed before opening the gift, then sat down and unwrapped it. It was one of his own pottery pieces—a long, elegant, narrow vase with a perfect blue glaze and delicate white brushstrokes. She stroked the smooth surface, then placed it carefully on the table by her bed. She opened the card, and peered hard to read in the dark. Frustrated, she lit a candle.
It was a short, scribbled message:
Happy birthday. I’d love to give you something special, but I’m not sure what that could be. This will have to do.
Beamer lay down under her comforter, the card in her hand. She suspected Andy wasn’t just talking about the vase and his art. She touched the vase again and wondered about next year, when he would be at art school in Rhode Island. She wondered if he would write; she wondered if he would call; she wondered how much it would hurt if he didn’t.
A wave of applause signaled the end of a charade. The voices and other noise meant the friends were going home. The door slammed a number of times, but no cars started. They’re hiking across the lake to look at the stars, she thought, and she considered dressing and joining the excursion. Just as she reached for her jeans, a barrage of snowballs assaulted her window, and then the assembled Woodies stood below and sang “Happy Birthday.”
Beamer opened the window, shoving hard against the seal of ice and packed snow. “I hope you all know that every one of you is getting gray hair. And it looks awful.”
“We love you too, Beamo,” shouted Maud. Beamer waved, then closed the window. One by one the cars started and left.
She propped the note against the vase, blew out the candle, and quickly fell asleep.
Chapter 16
It was an old dream, her oldest, really her very first memory disguised in sleep. Once a nightmare that had caused her to scream and run to her parents’ arms, it was now so familiar that when it returned she seldom did more than stir slightly and roll to a cooler spot on the pillow.
As in a bad book or movie, the battle lines were clear: the sheriff and townspeople hated those crazy Chicago hippies who’d bought all that good land by the big lake and turned it into a commune. And who knew for sure what kind of things they were doing out there?
One morning the sheriff drove into Woodlands. He was followed by two pickups and a van. Five a.m.; only Daniel and Peter were up. The sheriff flashed a warrant. “Let’s see what drugs you’ve got out here. Let’s clean things up,” he said. Then he got the dogs. Loud dogs, big dogs. Two dogs
scratching and leaping and bouncing off the walls of the van.
The dogs woke everyone. Beamer sat straight up on her small mattress on the floor and looked directly into the snarling face of a dog big enough to eat a three-year-old. Still only two, she started to cry. Her father lifted her and carried her outside, where they waited with the silent, watchful group while the men and dogs searched. Beamer lifted her head from her father’s shoulder and saw a dog leave the building, its teeth sunk into her soft, worn rag doll. The dog shook its head and the trailing ends of the doll’s gingham dress whipped back and forth in the dewy grass.
There were no drugs, never had been, never would be. No people engaged in group sex, no witchcraft. The sheriff left, certain he had done the right thing, uncertain what to do next. The Woodies consulted quickly, standing outside in their nightclothes. Dogs, even! What should they do?
Beamer, released by her father, ran through the grass to retrieve her doll. She picked it up, then threw it back on the ground. It smelled—it smelled like a dog.
*
“I don’t ever want a dog,” Beamer said to Andy. “No dogs, ever.”
The hospital intercom crackled a doctor’s name; an aide rushed by with a serving cart; a pair of somber-looking women passed. Andy tugged on Beamer’s arm, then directed her toward a vinyl sofa. They sat down.
“Okay, no dogs. Just a few kids and a station wagon, right?”
Beamer smiled. “Just no dogs. Do you want to know why?”
Andy slouched down until his head was level with her shoulder, then he leaned against her. Beamer took his hand and tucked it under her arm. “Do you want to know why?” she repeated.
“No.”
Beamer pushed his hand away and rose. “That’s sweet. I want to share one of my oldest fears and you’re not interested. I guess I’ll go see your mother now.” She took two steps, then turned back to face him, still slouched on the sofa. “Martin would be interested. I’ll save it for him.”
Mrs. Reynolds was sitting up in bed, examining a large drawing her daughters had brought.
“It’s for the wall in here, Mom,” Kim said.
“Put it somewhere you can see it,” advised Julie.
“Oh, here’s Beamer,” said Mrs. Reynolds, laying the drawing down. “Hello, dear. And happy birthday.” The girls chorused a greeting.
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