by Chris Fabry
I scrunched my eyes closed and put my hands together so tight I couldn’t tell which one was right and which one was left. I tried to remember the prayers I’d seen on those movies, but nothing really came to me and Mr. Taylor cleared his throat like he was some starving man in Africa who just wanted to eat.
“Dear God,” I started. My voice didn’t sound like myself—it sounded like some animal being strangled—but I kept on going. “Thank you for this food. Thank you for my new dress and the sandals. Thank you for our new friends. Oh, and the necklace too and my haircut. And help us to have a good time tonight. Amen.”
“That was a very nice prayer,” Sheila said.
“Straight from the heart, June Bug,” my dad said.
Mr. Taylor kept cutting his corn, and I passed the butter to him and the salt for when he was done cutting it.
Walter whined at the back door and Sheila scolded him. Dad got up and took one of the burgers that was a little too done and gave it to him. The dog devoured it in one gulp and came right back to the door and whined louder. Other than that, all you could hear was the clinking of silverware on plates and Mr. Taylor groaning with pleasure over the taste of the meal. He spread his chowchow on the plate and mixed it with his corn, which looked disgusting to me. I wondered if his dead wife would have wanted him to open that jar at somebody else’s table, but I wasn’t about to ask that either.
Dad says you can learn a lot more from listening than you can from talking. I tried to just eat and not say anything until one of the grown-ups did, but the silence was about to kill me.
Finally Mr. Taylor wiped his mouth and sat back—at least as far back as he could with his shoulders being bent forward. “So what are your plans now that you’ve gotten the RV fixed?” he said to my dad.
Dad took a drink of lemonade. “Well, we need to take a trip back east. I have a couple errands I need to run.”
I nearly dropped my burger on my new dress. “What errands?”
“Just a couple of things I need to do. We need some more funds for one. And who knows, I might trade the old junker in for something a little more updated.”
“But I want to stay here,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me we were leaving?”
I slammed my napkin down on the table and ran through the front door. I could hear Dad calling after me and opening the front door and running onto the porch, but I didn’t stop until I got to Mr. Taylor’s fence.
“June Bug, come back here!” Dad yelled as he crossed the basketball court.
I stood there with my hands tight on the fence, wishing I could crawl through and run until my legs gave out. Dad came up behind me and knelt down. He didn’t say anything, so I started.
“Why didn’t you tell me we were leaving?” I said again, trying to hold back the tears. But the thing is, the more you try to hold them back, the worse it gets and then you start to snort and I hate doing that when I’m by myself, let alone in front of somebody.
He put a hand on my shoulder and turned me toward him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. There’re a few things I have to do to get us back in business. I don’t expect you to understand that—”
“I don’t understand it. This is the first time we’ve had somebody who cares about us and wants to do stuff for us.” I pulled at my dress. “Like this. Why can’t we just stay here? You could get a job and sell the RV, and Sheila likes having us around. She’d marry you if you’d ask her. And I could work for Mr. Taylor on his farm, and it could be like a regular family. I could go to school and have friends and go to sleepovers and stuff.”
Dad glanced at me with that head down, knowing look. “You’ve been listening to our conversations, haven’t you?”
“I might have heard a thing or two. But she’s right. I don’t want to live in that thing anymore.” I pointed to the RV. “I like sleeping in a real bed and having a dog and being able to ride my bike in the driveway and down the path through the trees. Why can’t we be like normal people? real people?”
“We are real people. It’s just that . . .” His voice trailed off, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I thought you liked being on the road. I thought you liked the freedom and the chance to visit new places and see things. We’ve done a lot together. Been able to see a bunch of places other kids only dream of seeing.”
It’s hard to watch your dad act hurt over stuff, but sometimes you just have to spill out the truth. “Other kids don’t dream of riding a bike in a Walmart parking lot. It’s like being on vacation all the time. You know? You want to be free, but I don’t know what we’re being free from.”
Dad rubbed his chin, staring off at the horse barn. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I’d make this trip by myself. If Sheila’s okay with it and if you want to, you could stay here. I don’t know how that would work with her needing to go off every day to—”
“I could babysit Walter,” I said. “I’d be okay. But where are you going?”
“Back east. Tie up some loose ends, you know. Then maybe I’d be set to settle down. Stop all the driving around and sell that hunk of junk and buy us a place where you could make some friends and go to school.”
My heart was soaring and breaking all at once. It was like listening to somebody give up on a dream, but at the same time, choose something better. You can’t have the apple pie if you choose the cherry or the lemon meringue, but maybe apple is overrated.
“That would be nice,” I said. “And I wouldn’t be any trouble to her. I promise.”
Dad stood, pulled me off the ground, and hugged me tightly.
Hanging there with my arms around his neck, knowing that I was going to sleep in a real bed for a while gave me the tingles all over. Then something felt wrong, like the whole thing was planned, though I knew he couldn’t have planned to get stuck in the Walmart parking lot. “How long will you be gone?”
“As long as it takes,” he said.
I pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “A week? A couple of weeks?”
“Something like that,” he said, like he didn’t want to pin it down. Like the winter we went to the Grand Canyon and he didn’t want to say how long we’d stay there because he wanted to just sit for days on the south rim and watch the sun rise every day. That was back when he didn’t want to sleep at night, and when he did he would wake up yelling and screaming and have to walk outside without a shirt on and kneel down and sometimes throw up.
“You’re not leaving me, are you?” I said.
Dad put me on the ground. Then he leaned down and got in my face. “June Bug, how could I ever leave you? You’ve been in my heart since the first time I saw you.”
He sounded so warm and tender and fuzzy, like a stuffed puppy. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Are you my real daddy?”
He looked startled at first. “Why do you ask that?”
I shrugged. “’Cause I want to know.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
It was all I could do not to blurt out that I had seen myself on the board at Walmart. “Lots of reasons. I don’t look like you. There’s no pictures of you holding me as a baby. Stuff like that.”
Dad smiled like Bruce Willis did in one of those movies we watched, kind of to the side and his eyes scrunched up. “Let’s go back before the food gets cold. And tell Sheila the good news.”
He took my hand, and we walked through the old pine needles and pinecones that lay rotting on the ground. It was right then, when he wouldn’t answer my questions, that I knew something terrible was going to happen. Or maybe something terrible had already happened. Maybe that was why we were out on the road 24-7.
And as much as I wanted a mother and clean sheets and a nice bed and a dog and to have my nails done and to work with horses, I knew I couldn’t let my dad leave without me. I had to know what he was going to do. I had to know about my real mother.
* * *
Stars were out as the three drove home from the movie. Sheila had watched June Bug stare at the big s
creen as if it were her first time in a theater. She laughed at all the funny parts and sat close to the edge of her seat during the love scenes. In the process, she’d eaten the lion’s share of the large popcorn and then dived into the butter-slathered refill.
They stopped at Walmart to pick up some ice for John’s cooler and a few more supplies. Sheila walked back into the parking lot with the girl while her dad paid.
“Must be kinda hard for you to shop at the same place you work,” June Bug said.
“Sometimes you just know too much.” Sheila leaned against her car. “Sometimes I go to the SuperTarget just to see what life is like on the other side.”
The girl chuckled. She had a good sense of humor.
“How are you feeling about staying with me for a couple of weeks?” Sheila said. “You okay with it?”
June Bug sighed. “It’ll be nice not to have to sleep in that lumpy old bed.”
“Well, I think it’ll be a lot of fun.”
“I’m going to love playing with Walter while you’re at work every day. And if you want me to do chores, I can. But I hope to read most of the time.”
Sheila nodded. “I’ve arranged to take a few days off. Maybe we can take a day trip to Buena Vista or we could do an overnight in Glenwood Springs at the pool. They have a big slide, and the water’s supposed to have special healing powers. Smells like eggs cooking to me, but . . .”
She noticed a cloud had come over June Bug’s face. The girl looked up at her like she had just been told her birthday party had been canceled. Sheila wondered if she had ever had a birthday party. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Her face brightened instantly. “Nothing. I just don’t want you to take your vacation because of me. I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will, but I’ve been waiting for a special occasion to take some days off.”
They stared at the sky for a while in silence. Finally June Bug spoke. “I miss the fireflies. Daddy calls them lightning bugs. When we travel down south we get out jars and put holes in the top, and I can watch them light up all night.”
A cool breeze blew through the parking lot, and Sheila rubbed her arms. “Sounds nice.”
“The roof of the RV has a skylight right over my bed. Sometimes I sleep at the other end because the moon’s so bright. But a lot of times I’ll finish reading and turn off my light and look up at the sky and try to count the stars. Sometimes I wonder if those same stars are the ones my mother sees. All bright and shiny.”
“And what conclusion do you come to?”
“I’m not sure. I wonder if she’s flown up to heaven and become an angel. Or maybe she’s still down here waiting. Or she could have run off with the circus or something and doesn’t care I exist.”
Sheila started to correct June Bug’s theology about angels but thought better of it. There’d be plenty of time to talk in the coming days. It was one thing she was looking forward to—late-night talks about God and guys and life. Some people look at children as beings you have to mold and shape. Sheila always looked at them as gifts God gave to help you learn.
“If you could do one thing with your mother, what would it be?” Sheila said.
June Bug traced her finger around some stars and cocked her head, one eye closed. “I think I’d want to just talk. Find out if she loved me. Ask her why she left. What she liked about Daddy when she met him. Her favorite places to eat. If she likes fried chicken as much as I do. If she ever thinks about me. Stuff like that.”
“You wouldn’t want to go to Six Flags or on a cruise? That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”
June Bug sighed. “I think that’s what I’ve learned from living in an RV. It doesn’t matter where you are as long as you’re with people you love.”
Sheila stared at the same stars, trying to make sense of the seemingly endless expanse and the white dots that flickered against the deep blackness.
A smaller light moved slowly above them, and June Bug became excited. “Satellite!”
Sheila watched in fascination. It was the truth about everyone she had ever known. We’re all satellites sent out, circling the world until something stops us or we fall apart or wander from our orbit and burn. Always drifting with the current, never resting or pausing.
Later in the evening after June Bug was tucked into bed, John came to Sheila in the kitchen. He’d dumped a couple bags of ice into the cooler.
“You get her all squared away?” Sheila said.
He nodded and crossed his arms, leaning against the stove. “It’s not easy to leave, but I think this’ll be good. Let her experience a real house.” He got a faraway look. “She said she didn’t want me waking her when I left. Do you think that’s normal?”
Sheila placed a plate in the rack to dry. “My degree is not in child psychology, and I’ve never been a mother, but it makes sense to me.”
John smiled. “You have a degree?”
“A master’s. School of hard knocks.”
“They gave me an honorary doctorate.”
Sheila laughed and picked up another plate. “I think it’s healthy. She’s separating a little. Growing up.”
Sheila wiped down the sink, squeezed the remaining dishwashing liquid out of the pink sponge, and placed it on the windowsill. “You never sent that article you promised.”
His eyes were blank for a moment. “Oh, that. Sorry. I’ll print it before I leave if I can use your computer.”
She dried her hands and led him into what she called her office. She still used a dial-up Internet connection. “I’d love to read anything you’ve written. How did you get started?”
John seemed tentative. “I’ve been keeping a journal for a while. Some experiences I had in the military. Things that come back to me. I figured why not get paid for some of that pain instead of just letting it sit there? I’ll print you something I wrote about her.”
“She’s going to ask when you’ll be back. Is there a phone number I can use? somebody I can get in touch with?”
“I had a cell phone, but I let it go. She sees those pay-as-you-go phones and wants one so bad she can taste it. But who would she call? We don’t know anybody.”
“It might help her to hear from you while you’re on the road.”
“I’ll use a pay phone. Let you know if I’m on schedule. It shouldn’t take me long, unless I have more engine trouble.”
“Take your time. We’ll be fine.”
Something creaked on the porch, and Sheila heard the familiar bump, bump, bump of Walter’s tail against the floorboards as he scratched himself. She turned to walk out of the room and brushed John’s arm.
“Sorry,” he said.
Sheila stopped and stared at him, then tentatively reached out and held his arm. He was a strong man with a full day’s growth of stubble. He looked like one of those pictures on the covers of romance books.
She softened her question with a smile, as if it were a joke. “You’re not going to just leave, are you? You are coming back.”
John put a hand on her shoulder. “I know it was a risk for you to do this. I appreciate it. And you don’t have to worry about me just taking off.”
“I know how much you love her.” His hand on her shoulder felt warm, like she was being pulled into a mystery. She inched closer, still looking at his face and the scars.
And then it happened. Something strange and wonderful and scary. Something charged and electrical. A line of bumps rose on her arms and she shuddered, physically shook. How long had it been since she’d been spoken to so gently and with such respect? She wanted to ask him if there was a chance—just the slightest chance—that he could find anything more than a passing attraction to her. She wanted to tell him to come back to his daughter and her. They could make a life together.
But that felt too desperate. The emotions and past washed over her, and the possibility of rejection kept her silent and safe. Who was she to think that anyone would ever choose her? She was damaged goods, something for the Goodwill pile of li
fe, and with the stains, rips, and tears of her life, there was a question whether she would even make it into that truck.
The negative voices sprang up in her mind, and instinctively she stepped away. “I should get to bed. What time you think you’ll be leaving?”
“Hopefully before daylight. I’d like to be in Kansas before the sun comes up.”
“I hate that drive,” Sheila said. “Just flat and not a thing to look at but pig farms.”
“You should drive through Texas,” he said.
“I hear it’s the same.” She paused at the stairs and put a hand on the railing. “Have a good trip. Stay safe. Let her hear from you.”
John nodded. “I’ll print that article for you.”
“Good night.”
“And thank you again,” he said. “You’ve been an answer to our prayers.”
“I don’t think anybody’s ever told me that before.” Sheila smiled but it didn’t come easy. It felt weary, like cleaning the toilet. “Don’t worry about her.”
She went to her room, closed the door gently, and sat on the edge of the bed. Through the open window she heard the RV door close, then open again, and he walked across the porch. In a few minutes, the printer spit out some pages. It was all she could do not to run down and read it, but she told herself she needed to wait.
Sheila ran a tub full of water and added the lilac bubble bath until it foamed to the top. After she undressed, her clothes in a clump at her feet, she turned and looked in the mirror. The steam had clouded the view, and she rubbed at it and tried to assess her body objectively. Sags here and there, a bit overstuffed in sections, but overall, not bad for the wear and tear. If there were a Kelley Blue Book for people, she figured she’d be in the used category, private party value, in good condition, free of any major defects, clean title history, no major mechanical problems or rust, and all her tires matched. She turned and looked at her bumper. It had grown and flattened, but you don’t pass up a car because of the bumper.
