Everybody's Daughter (10 page)

Sarah sighed. “When you put it like that, it all does sound horrible.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Well, change it.”

“How?”

“Martin looks like fun. I think you’re missing a great opportunity.”

“What do you mean?”

“Figure it out. Here’s this interesting guy who spends his afternoons with you.”

“So?”

“Obviously he’s just waiting for some signal.” Beamer prodded a clump of snow with her foot and pried loose a frozen candy wrapper.
Waiting for his prize,
she thought. “I don’t think so. Besides, Sarah, there is an age difference to consider. Four years.” Sarah stared at her friend. “Four years? You’re worried about four years? Beamo, you were smart enough to vote before the rest of us were out of diapers. Four years is nothing between you and some guy.”

Beamer picked up the candy wrapper and smoothed it flat across her thigh.

“You know what you need to do?” said Sarah.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“Beamo, you have had a small, closed life. You need to ride away from it on the back of some guy’s motorcycle. Black leather, wind in your hair. Get the picture?”

Beamer laughed. “In winter?”

“Break away somehow. Do you figure on Andy helping you do that?”

“Andy is a terrific person. Things are fine.”

“Bea, you know how many times you have speculated out loud that he’s just dating you to pass the time until he goes to college and back to his girlfriend. Why wait to be dumped? Have a good time while you can. Andy can’t complain, and maybe, just maybe, it would make your relationship with him a little bit clearer.” Sarah leaned closer to Beamer. “I bet Martin rides a motorcycle,” she whispered.

“Sarah, romance with Martin just isn’t an option. And that’s fine with me. Now, don’t you have a deadline or something?”

“You are a puzzle, Merry Moonbeam.” Sarah rose. “But that’s why we all like you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Are you and Andy coming to Megan’s party tomorrow?”

Beamer shook her head. “No. It’s his sister’s birthday, so Andy is taking her and some of her friends to a movie. Besides, your party is Saturday, and two in a row is more than I can handle.”

Sarah shook her head. “His sister’s birthday? Are you kidding?”

“He likes his sisters.”

“Beamo, it’s perfect—let Andy go to the movie and you bring Martin to the party. If you don’t want him, at least give someone else a chance. You can always tell Andy you took him so he could meet some
nice girls. Not that he’s having any trouble doing that on his own.”

Beamer scooped up some snow and covered the dying fire. She picked up her softball glove, turned, and walked a few steps toward the school. “Are you coming?” she said. Sarah stepped alongside. “Andy wouldn’t fall for that. He knows there are no nice girls in Grand River.”

“Which is why he settled for you, right?”

“Exactly.”

They stood outside the twin doors that led to the lunchroom and gymnasium. “Oh, Beamer,” said Sarah, “be normal. Just once. Grab Martin, come to the party, have some fun. Okay?”

“I might.”

“Is that a promise?”

Beamer smiled, lifted her hand to wave goodbye, then opened the gym door. Stepping inside, she let the heavy gray slab slam behind her.

Chapter 10

“How was the party?” Martin asked as he laid a pair of gloves on the counter and placed a ten-dollar bill beside them. Beamer rang the sale, then handed him his change.

“I didn’t go.” Some people came in and requested coffee. Beamer directed them to the corner of the store which served as a mini cafeteria. “What are you doing today?” she asked Martin when she returned to the counter.

“An interview. It should be pretty interesting. Her name is Alice McCay. She graduated from Radcliffe in 1925, and for her honors project she wrote a series of health-food booklets. 1925! Way ahead of her time.”

“Too bad. She probably missed out on making a lot of money.”

“Why don’t you come along? The store isn’t very busy.”

“Martin, I get to meet enough weird people here. I don’t need to go looking for them.”

Martin leaned across the counter, smiled, and said softly, “Please?”

*

“How far down this road do we go?” Beamer said.

“Seven miles. Not much of a road, is it? That’s why I’m glad to have you along, Merry dear, to help push me out of the snowbank when I decide to visit one.”

“Oh, great. Forget my wonderful self. It’s only my body you want.” Beamer slumped. What a dumb thing to say.

Martin laughed. “If it was your body I wanted, and I’m not saying I don’t, I would—” The rest was lost in a burst of swearing as the wheel slipped and the car skidded off the road.

It took them twenty minutes to push clear—the car was small, but the ditch and snow were deep—and Alice McCay was waiting anxiously outside her house. “I had just about decided you weren’t coming,” she said. “People often change their minds. It’s so far. Next spring I just might sell the place and buy a condo in town. I’ve been told I can make a small fortune selling to some young people from the city who want a summer place. Come in, please.”

Alice captivated them with her history. Two days after her Radcliffe graduation, she had married a young New York stockbroker. “A suitable match,” she explained. “My parents were hoping that after I married I’d settle down and start eating meat again.” Two weeks after the wedding her husband quit his job and they moved out to Minnesota, where he became a foreman on a logging crew. “He was suitable,” she reminisced happily, “but not in the way my parents hoped for. We had fifty years together. Good ones.”

The walls of her house were lined with photographs, old ones that told the history of the north country. While Alice talked, she walked Martin and Beamer around the house, using selected photos to illustrate. She stopped in front of a large one. “That was when we were clearing a road between here and the Bena mill, on Lake Winnibigoshish. We found this marvelous stretch of virgin white pine, but no roads for hauling. Dynamite, that’s what we used—dynamite. Blew ourselves a road. Two men died, and I buried them.”

“You were part of the crew, then?” Martin asked.

“I cooked. This cabin was the lodge. It held thirty men for a meal.” She pointed to another photograph, which showed two long rows of bearded men seated at tables, staring at the camera. “July 4, 1928,” Alice said. “During the day, when they were gone, I’d get things done.” She smiled proudly. “Like this building. I roofed it myself. Laid the boards, cut the shingles, nailed every one of them in place. And I was five months pregnant. Twenty years later I did it again. The roof, not the baby. I’ve practically rebuilt this place twice by myself, but the roof was the hardest.” She buttoned her sweater. “Come take a look.” Martin and Beamer exchanged glances, then Martin clipped the tape recorder to his belt. They went outside.

“I built these steps,” said Alice. “I go up often, though usually not in winter.” They negotiated the snow-covered steps carefully, then climbed onto the roof. It had a shallow pitch and a wide, level perimeter fenced for safe standing. “How silly of me,” said Alice. “Of course you can’t see the shingles on the roof with all the snow. Still, the view is wonderful.” She swept her arm through the air. “Look at that. After finding this place, I never once thought about going back east. Sometimes I come up here just hoping I can die looking at the view.”

The view was spectacular—a panorama of lakes, hills, forest, and endless sky. It was all familiar scenery to Beamer, but even she silently acknowledged that this particular vista was unusually striking. She looked at Martin and Alice. They were staring out at something.

“Music,” said Alice. “I can’t look at this country from this spot without hearing music. Sometimes just a soft flute, sometimes a whole orchestra.”

“You’re right,” said Martin.

“Flute today, I think,” said Alice. “Listen.”

While the old lady closed her eyes and listened to her private music, Martin fumbled with his tape recorder. Beamer swallowed a smile and resisted hissing, “Liar.” She suspected he heard nothing.

Martin and Beamer refused Alice’s supper invitation and said goodbye, promising to return.

“The late winter storms will be coming soon,” Alice said as she walked them to the car, “and then you
might want to use a snowmobile. The snow just gets so deep on this road. That’s how my granddaughter gets in and out. She lives in the village. She wants me to join her, but I won’t until I have to. Well, however you do it, come if you can. I’m always here.”

Beamer and Martin reached the outskirts of Grand River before speaking.

“Neat lady,” said Martin.

“Sure is. You were shameless, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“All that business about hearing music on the rooftop.”

“There’s nothing wrong with letting people hear what they want to hear. It’s a useful technique.”

“Well, it worked. You charmed her socks off. She’s a bit older than your usual victims, but I bet the young ones tumble just as easily.”

“Nobody’s a victim. Everybody I interview—”

“I wasn’t exactly referring to interviews.”

“—and everybody I play with is a willing participant.”

“Participant in what?”

“Crazy times, quiet times.” He faced Beamer and smiled. “The quiet times are best.”

“Watch the road, Martin, and quit leering. Hey, we turn that way to go to the bait shop.”

“I’d like to drop these tapes off at the station before I take you home. You could come in with me and see for yourself how crazy the place is. Would you mind the delay?”

“If it’s not too long.”

“When’s Andy coming for you?”

“Seven or so. I don’t want to be late, Martin. I need to get home to eat and change.”

He glanced at her. “You don’t need to change; you look fine. But then I suppose you like to look special for the steady sweetheart.”

“Don’t be obnoxious, Martin. And as a matter of fact, I do like to look nice for Andy. What’s wrong with that?” she challenged.

He didn’t immediately answer. “Merry, why don’t you cancel?”

“What?”

“Call Andy and cancel. Then we don’t have to rush anywhere. I’ll buy you supper and take you to a party I know about. And you won’t have to change.” Beamer spotted the bright lights of the radio station’s call sign, four blinking orange letters on the roof of a small cinder-block building. “Andy wouldn’t be too happy.”

“Forget Andy. What about you?”

“Martin, I want to be with Andy, and I don’t want to be late.”

“The party should be a good one.”

“
We’re
going to a party. A birthday party.”

He snickered. “Ah, a birthday party.” He pulled into the station’s parking lot. “Merry, have you ever partied past midnight?”

“No, I haven’t. And even if I wanted to, tonight wouldn’t be the night. Tomorrow is the Community Fund fundraising breakfast.”

“Oh, no, I’d forgotten. I bought a ticket last week from some guy who coaches kids’ hockey. Six bucks. Are the Woodies involved?”

“They have been since before the commune closed. Everyone thought it would be a good way to make friends with the townspeople. Mom and I are serving at seven.”

Martin parked the car in a handicapped spot next to the station door.

“Not here,” said Beamer.

“It’s just for a minute. I’m getting you home for that date.”

“Not in the handicapped space.”

Martin cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her. “Your virtue,” he said after he pulled back, “is inspiring.”

“Now are you satisfied, Martin?”

He looked puzzled.

“You got your prize.”

He shook his head slightly. “Andy’s got the prize.” They climbed out of the car and walked to the station entrance. Martin paused at the door. “How about a consolation promise?”

“What?” Beamer asked suspiciously.

“Pick me up tomorrow morning and I’ll go with you to the breakfast.”

“That would be nice.”

Martin opened the door. “There might be some good stories there.”

The radio station was chaotic. Beamer had never been there before, but Martin had often described
the frenzied atmosphere. She backed into a corner, watched, and listened. Martin disappeared into the editing room. Beamer stepped into the reception area and stretched out on the only piece of furniture, an old sofa.

Someone came in. Beamer rolled her head and smiled. It was Elizabeth, the station’s program director. Elizabeth sat on the windowsill and lit a cigarette. She exhaled onto the glass, then smeared the fogged spot with her hand. One Saturday night Martin had brought her out to the bait shop. Elizabeth had been guardedly quiet through dinner, but by the time Mr. Flynn was serving tea and baklava she was sharing her life story. Beamer had gone to bed early that night and lain a long time listening in her room, wondering at the strange people her parents attracted and comforted.