by Lucy Wolf
At least the a/c guy showed up and stepping into the kitchen wasn’t like walking into an inferno.
I just wanted to go home. Not the rustic ranch house up in the hills where my aunt had lived for so many years, and who had gladly taken us in, even with my horse, Bijou. My aunt needed help since she had some medical problems and we needed a place to live. At least, that’s what my mother said. I was perfectly happy staying in Connecticut as that was home to me and I liked it. Moving to California, away from everything I knew and cared about held no allure.
My plan was to return home as soon as possible. If that was after graduating from high school in two years, I would just have to tough it out until then but there was always the possibility something would happen and we’d go back before then. I didn’t know what that something would be but I was open to all suggestions.
My mother’s plan was to stay here in Cadiz forever. There wasn’t a moment’s regret or homesickness. She didn’t even get lost; one look at the map of town and she had oriented herself entirely.
As the dinner crowd thinned out, Soule and Emma Crocker walked in. He was freshly showered which I thought was a fairly telling sign. Emma was still as dusty, if not more so, than she had been this afternoon. She didn’t see any need to dazzle us, but her father did.
“Too late?” He asked my mother.
Do I have to say she nearly lit up like the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center during December? I suppose I felt happy for her but part of me wasn’t thrilled overall.
“Where’s Mill?” My mother asked as she ushered them over to a table in the corner.
“He had a date,” Soule replied.
That figured. Anyone who looked like Mill Crocker was going to have at least one girl hanging on his every word, and various body parts.
“Cap, take off the apron and sit. We’ll have dinner like civilized people,” my mother told me and I didn’t have to be persuaded.
I pulled out the chair next to Emma and sat down. A moment later, my mother appeared with salads for us and we all began to eat. Emma and I ate. The adults moved the greens while looking at each other quite a lot, interspersed with more than enough smiling.
“That’s good salad dressing,” Soule said.
I shook my head in disbelief. Getting on her good side, by praising her salad that mostly came from his farm, didn’t get any points for being romantic in my book. Maybe I didn’t understand how these things worked for adults.
My mother asked questions about growing heirloom vegetables and Soule gave a dissertation on the subject while I glazed over. It wasn’t so much that I was bored, just flat out tired. Running a restaurant was harder than it seemed when I had gone in, ordered, ate and left. The whole point of eating out was not doing anything. The whole point of having a restaurant apparently was doing everything.
My mother thought it was wonderful now, all new and exciting but I was willing to bet that in six months, she’d be as exhausted as I was.
She stood up and started to clear the plates. Soule stood up to help her. Ching ching ching. Rack up those brownie points. I would have to talk to her about this; try to convince her to stay away from him because based on this, he wasn’t a normal man. My father never helped out with anything.
Just as they were returning with the entrees, the phone rang and she went to pick it up. “Bagatelle.” She listened for a moment then held out the phone to me.
“It’s your father.”
Chapter 3
True to my athletic prowess, I nearly fell over myself trying to get to the phone. “Hi.”
“Hi, babe.”
Okay, I admit it. I’m not that fond of being called babe but had always chalked it up to a generational thing.
There was a long stretch of silence.
“How are you doing out there?”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to bore him with the details like Aqua Olvidado Fountain or the beautiful strawberries. “It’s nice. We’re busy.”
“Your mother always did love to cook.”
Was he home enough to know that? For some unknown reason I was starting to feel a little bit scratchy. “Well, she’s cooking all the time now.”
Somehow, this conversation was not progressing the way I had imagined. I felt as though I was talking to a stranger, trying to come up with something to say and not being particularly successful.
“How would you like to come back East for a couple weeks?”
“I’d like that,” I replied.
“You can stay with us.”
Us? Who’s us? “Where do you live?”
“We’re renting a place on Long Island Sound. We can go sailing.”
“Who’s going to take care of Bijou?”
“You still have that horse?”
“Yes.”
“I would have thought you’d outgrow that by now. Aren’t you interested in boys yet?”
Were the two mutually exclusive? Couldn’t I love my horse without turning into Calamity Jane? “Yes.”
I could hear a woman’s voice in the background. Did he shack up with someone already? I felt myself backing away because something wasn’t right. Turning, I saw my mother was looking at me with concern on her face.
Was this the reason for the divorce? That my father had wanted to get remarried?
“Let your mother take care of the horse,” my father suggested.
“She’s swamped with the restaurant; I couldn’t ask her to do my work for me.”
He laughed. “Cap! You’re overly responsible! When are you going to have a childhood?”
I didn’t realize I had missed out on one. On the other hand, he had missed out on my childhood. “Why don’t you come here for a visit?” I asked.
“That’s the thing, babe. I have...wait a minute...”
He covered the phone with his hand and I could hear him talking to that other person. “I really would like to have you come out here because I’m not free to get away to visit you there.”
“Why are you so busy?” That was a fairly stupid thing to ask since for my entire life he had been incredibly busy. He must have held the record for frequent flyer miles.
There was another lull. “I have a project,” he finally said.
“Can you tell me anything more about it than that?”
“I really wanted to do it in person. Can you try to get here?”
No. I didn’t want to try to get there to be with him and his new squeeze. I was imagining being stuck on a boat with the two of them. Wasn’t there some kind of horror movie about a situation like that? Or was that something with Nicole Kidman?
“Try,” he pleaded.
“I’ll see.” That’s what my mother said to me when she meant no.
“Fantastic!” He was suddenly exhilarated. “It’ll be a real trip. I’ve got lots of surprises for you.”
If that didn’t make me want to stay in HappyHappyLand, nothing would.
There were more voices in the background. Not just the one anymore. “Gotta go, babe. I’ll talk at you soon.”
“Yup.” I felt I had just been talked at.
Click. The phone was disconnected on his end so I hung up the receiver.
By the look on her face, my mother seemed to know more than she could glean from hearing only half the conversation. She looked sorry for me and I didn’t want that. I didn’t to feel any more pathetic than I normally felt.
I sat down next to Emma.
“Dessert, anyone?” My mother asked and without waiting for replies, left the table to return a minute later with four plates of truffle cake and raspberry sauce.
“That looks delicious,” Soule commented.
Emma dug into the cake. “It’s okay, Cap. I have an ex-mother.”
Soule’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Em.”
“I don’t live with her, do I?”
He grinned. “You choose to live with me. You can go back to LA anytime you want.”
“No thanks,” Emm
a replied then looked at me. “That’s why she’s an ex. Some of us in the family are not city people not to put too sharp a point on it. We had to get out.”
“You were five,” Soule said.
“I was old enough to make a choice.”
“That’s true. You should have seen her that day, little thing sitting on the witness stand, her feet nowhere close to the floor. Speaking up just as bold and brave as could be, Em told the judge she wanted to stay with me. She may have wanted to stay with the pony more than me. I was never sure. But Cap probably doesn’t want to hear about the Crocker family history.”
“Not unless yours is more dysfunctional than mine,” I said without looking up from my cake.
They helped us neaten the place and lock the doors and then we drove off in different directions. I stopped in the small barn to check on Bijou who must have been up on the hill and didn’t hear us drive in because he usually appeared expecting a treat if he did. My mother offered to talk or to listen but I wasn’t in the mood for that. Being alone seemed much more appealing so I took a shower, got into bed and sat there in the dark for a long time thinking.
I wanted to go back to Connecticut but I didn’t want to go home for a couple weeks and leaving Bijou on his own was impossible. Boarding him at a stable was out of the question as it would be too expensive. It cost enough just to get him here. I was grateful my mother knew how much he meant to me and didn’t entertain the idea of leaving him there while we started this grand and glorious new life.
When the school year ended at Old Newbury High, we were out of there. All my friends had their summer planned out whether it was ballet camp or traveling to Europe or any of the other non-life-threatening activities. I was the only one in my group who had experienced a personal catastrophe.
If I went back for a couple weeks, I still wouldn’t be in Old Newbury, I would be miles away in Southern Connecticut, in a strange town in a strange house with people I didn’t know and my father acting heartier than usual.
Why did he call now? What was this surprise he wanted to share with me face to face?
On a scale of 1 to 10, 0 having no feeling about it one way or another and 10 being real deep hatred, I was at a 9 as far as surprises was concerned. Surprises seem like gaily wrapped presents and party favors, but you don’t think that they can be unwanted and unpleasant just as easily as the perfect gift oh how did you know this was exactly what I was wishing for?
Eventually I fell asleep and had a dream that I was back at the fountain searching for my quarter. Mill was standing there making fun of me. “Let it go, Caprice,” he said. The water splashed around me while he laughed. “Caprice. Caprice.”
I woke up to find the sun on my face.
“Caprice!”
Someone was calling my name.
I got out of bed and looked out the window.
It was Mill.
Chapter 4
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to pick you up. You’re not dressed?”
Pushing the hair away from my face, I stepped back from the window, remembering I was wearing a tee shirt and panties. “I just woke up.”
“That’s nice, sleeping late like there’s nothing to do.” By his tone of voice, I could tell he didn’t think it was nice at all; he thought I was a slacker.
The sun was up but the trees surrounding the house were so dense, the light was dappled and diffused. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight.”
“Where’s my mother?” Her car wasn’t parked in the driveway.
“Your aunt had to go to the hospital.”
“Is she all right?” Grabbing my jeans, I pulled them on and wondered where I left my shoes.
“It isn’t a life and death situation. Will you hurry it up, I have to get to school for polo practice.”
He did have a pickup truck and a horse trailer backed into the yard.
“Can I have five minutes? Wash my face and dress?”
He shrugged.
Yeah I know, make it fast. So I did and in under ten minutes I was racing out of the house with a couple berry fritters left over from yesterday which I shoved into Mill’s hands. Racing to the small barn, I scooped out Bijou’s breakfast of grain and dumped it into his bucket, checked his water and then zoomed out again. The engine was running as I jumped into the passenger seat and Mill pushed the fritters back into my hands, then put the truck in gear.
“One was for you,” I said, holding it out.
He seemed surprised as he took it from me but said nothing.
“Where am I going?”
“You can go to the polo field or you can go to the restaurant. Your choice.”
“I must not be awake yet. I’m very confused. Why did I need a ride?”
We drove along the narrow twisting road shaded by live oaks dripping with Spanish moss and mistletoe.
“Your mother called my father and asked if we could get you to the restaurant by mid-morning so you could start preparing for the lunch crowd.”
Oh. Already with the favors. This relationship was going from 0 to 60 in the kind of time that would make a drag car racer envious.
“She’s not going to be there?” I asked in a panic.
“Have you ever been to a hospital?”
“No. I’ve seen House, though, does that count?”
Wrong thing to say, I could see his head shake ever so slightly.
“Everything goes in slow motion. Your aunt was scheduled for tests and it could take hours. Is this a problem for you?”
“No, no, of course not,” I replied thinking yes, yes, of course, it’s a problem unless everyone comes in wanting a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Some woman’s coming in to help.”
“Dorinda?”
“All right.”
We drove in silence for a while.
“So where do you want to go?” He asked.
I wanted to see the polo practice. I wanted to be anywhere besides the restaurant kitchen. I still wanted to go home. “How long will the practice take?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be at the restaurant in plenty of time.”
“Okay, then I’d like to go to the practice.”
It didn’t seem to matter to him one way or the other. But it mattered to me since I’d never seen a polo match in real life and it seemed like the only kind of ball game I could be interested in. Football, baseball, golf, croquet were all activities I couldn’t figure out as they all involved running around after a ball. As had been amply demonstrated in phys. ed. a ball rolling across a wet field while people shouted on the sidelines was hardly going to motivate me to run after it.
One of the better parts of Country Day School was that equestrian sports were considered a valid activity and finally I thought here was something I could do while not embarrassing myself horribly. Without this aspect to my continuing education, California would truly have been unbearable.
The school was located on the north side of town, near the dry river bed, a flat broad plain lending itself perfectly to the polo field, a ring and a jump course, all bordered by white plank fencing. It was very attractive. And expensive. But the tuition fees were part of the divorce settlement so that was one thing I gained in the cross-country trek.
I glanced over at Mill who was wisely paying attention to driving. It was discomforting to spend this much time in an enclosed space with someone and not say anything but I didn’t know what to say to him. I thought and thought, trying to find something neutral.
“Emma says you’re from Los Angeles.”
“We lived there for a while.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“There aren’t many farms in Los Angeles, are there?”
“My father was an entertainment lawyer.”
“Oh.” I watched the eucalyptus trees pass by. “Is everyone in show business in California?”
“It’s the biggest industry in the st
ate.”
You couldn’t prove that by me so far. We hadn’t been to Los Angeles or Hollywood and while I was told, some stars had homes in Cadiz, mostly they had gravitated more to Montecito. The only celebrity I had seen was one actress who starred in the kind of movies you saw on She TV. The woman’s husband is murdered and she’s blamed but he’s still alive. Or her husband beats her up but she finally stands her ground. All you have to do is read the sentence describing it and it’s like you’ve seen it already. I didn’t watch She TV. I actually didn’t watch a lot of TV because my mother always came up with activities like inventing the perfect brownies or learning to make butter cream frosting or going out into the fields to find grapevines in order to make wreaths. We only had one television in the house and it couldn’t be on unless we were watching. It wasn’t background music like at my friends’ houses.
We had lived in an old white colonial house where legend had it that there were people buried in the basement. The floor had been dirt for two hundred years until the previous owner poured cement over it. I pictured all these people trapped under the cement, knocking, trying to get our attention and let them out. When I was much smaller, I had listened for the knocking, standing at the top of the cellar steps hoping to hear something and afraid I would. Eventually, I had to overcome this personality quirk and went down the grey painted stairs in order to get to the washing machine but the sense that I might be walking on someone’s face never quite left.
“That must be a pretty good job being a lawyer for the rich and famous.”
“My mother thinks so.”
“Why?”
“She’s still in LA doing it.”
A two lawyer household. That divorce must have been hellacious. “How did you wind up here?”
“My father’s family has been here for years.” He said in a way that didn’t invite a follow-up question but that was fine, I wasn’t being nosey just being polite and trying to make conversation.
I watched as we passed the orange trees and avocado orchards, and wondered how the apples were here. We had apple trees at the house in Connecticut, the ones on the ground, the windfalls, were for Bijou, and my mother used the rest. She was nearly famous for her pies with the flaky crust she sold at the general store/post office.
