Everybody's Daughter (2 page)

Of the twenty-three people who formed the commune, nineteen were left to sell the property to a real estate developer. Most of the Woodies had been college friends in Chicago. The others were added on in the haphazard way that any friendships or connections are formed—a friend of his, a cousin of hers, somebody’s old camp counselor, somebody’s classmate, somebody’s dentist. Somehow, one spring they had all ended up together in northern Minnesota, clearing land, building shelters, sinking wells, digging latrines.

Beamer had never clearly understood why.

“We wanted to make a small, good world in the middle of a rotten one,” her father once said.

“But it failed,” she pointed out.

“We survived nearly twelve years.”

“Then failed.”

“Most of our friendships survived. You and Johnny were born there. We could have done worse.”

Beamer’s parents had met as university sophomores. They were waiting in the checkout line at a food coop, and Beamer’s mother said she admired the tie-dyed pattern of Beamer’s father’s shirt. “That’s all it took,” Beamer’s mother often recalled happily. “Your father is a fool for flattery.”

Their circle of friends expanded, and they spent long nights and countless hours discussing the world they lived in—how they could change it, improve it, escape it. Then Beamer’s grandfather died, leaving her mother a large inheritance. Others pooled their tuition money, sold cars, and withdrew savings. Daniel found the property, agreements were signed, parents were told, and the new life began.

Beamer’s birth occurred during the group’s second winter at Woodlands. Because resources and room were scarce, the group’s babies were planned by a central committee. Beamer’s parents were the first couple allowed to get pregnant. Her mother labored for four hours in a corner of the common room, with Beamer’s father holding and coaching her. Friends roamed in and out. Two midwives attended: Sue, Woodlands’ resident nurse, and LuAnne, an Ojibwa from the nearby reservation, a woman wise in the business of childbirth. Moments after Beamer’s birth, she had been wrapped in a soft blanket woven for the occasion, and while her parents cradled and wept over her, the other Woodies celebrated with wine and music.

Now Beamer reached deep into an eave and withdrew a key. When the commune had disbanded, Daniel had bought this distant property for himself, intending to renovate it and live here with his family. But his marriage dissolved and his wife and children moved away. The building remained vacant. Daniel lived by himself in town, in a small apartment above his plumbing shop.

Beamer opened the door and stepped inside. Four families had shared this dorm, which was identical to three others on the property. Each building had a living room, four large sleeping rooms, a bathroom, a pump, a wood stove.

“There’s no kitchen,” Andy had observed immediately the first time she showed him around, last fall.

“We had all the meals together in a central kitchen building. It was closer to the lake.”

“But you said this was the only residence building for two years. What did you do? Cook outside over a fire?”

Beamer laughed. “Don’t be silly. We weren’t primitive nomads.”

“Well, excuse my amusing ignorance, Bea, but I have never lived in a commune. Where’s the kitchen?” Beamer put her arms around him and laid her head against his sweater. “We had one, but it was ripped out and converted into a bedroom after the kitchen hall was built.”

Andy kissed her on the top of her head, then gently pushed away. He turned and walked slowly around the room. “It’s hard to believe everybody lived in this one building.”

“Not for long. Two years.”

“How?”

“Bunk beds, mostly. Lots of them. And in the warmer months some people used tents. It worked out.”

“This was the living room?”

“The commons. Yes.”

“Is this where they had all the group sex?”

Beamer sat on a windowsill. “Don’t be so predictable.”

“I was just kidding.”

“Everybody asks. Some people have even asked if I really know who my father is. What most people don’t realize is that it takes a lot of discipline to make a commune work. Discipline and commitment. Group sex wouldn’t fit in at all.”

“You lived here ten years?”

“Lived here, went to school here for five years. I was even born here.”

“Where?”

“This room. That corner.”

Andy walked to the corner, closed his eyes, and lifted his arms, his hands palms up.

“What are you doing?”

“Absorbing the vibrations.”

Beamer laughed. “Feel anything?”

“Just a draft.” Andy sat next to her on the windowsill. “Did all those people watch the birth?”

“Yes.”

“Your poor mother.”

Beamer shrugged. “It was what she wanted. That’s how they did things—together. They even took a vote on my name.”

Andy smoothed the hair back from Beamer’s face. “Hippie worm merchants.”

Beamer pulled away. “Don’t joke.”

“I wasn’t making a joke.”

“This is hard for me, Andy.”

“What is?”

“Coming here with you.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll rape you in this secluded spot?”

“Afraid you’ll laugh, afraid you’ll make jokes about it in letters to your old friends.”

“I’d never—”

“Andy, I’ve listened to you laugh and make jokes about the people up here. And I’m the first to admit some of it’s pretty strange. But please, just don’t make me one of your targets.”

“Of course you’re not a target,” he snapped. “I don’t treat people that way. Especially not someone I care for.”

Beamer slid off the windowsill, turned, and leaned her shoulders against the wall. She looked at Andy and noticed again, for at least the hundredth time, that he had eyes the color of dark chocolate. Never calm, they saw so much. Her anger drained away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. I get so defensive about it all that sometimes I forget to laugh. Hippie worm merchants is exactly what they are.” She smiled. “And, city boy, that explains why I’m so strange.”

Andy cupped his hand on her shoulder and lightly massaged it. He was staring at her in a way that made Beamer uncomfortable. She’d seen that same expression once before, when she had visited him in the school art studio and observed him studying an unfinished drawing. “No,” he finally said, “that explains why you’re so special.”

*

Beamer locked the door and replaced the key. She stared at the dingy building and shook her head. “Tear it down, Daniel,” she said. “It’s silly to keep it.” She knew he came here often—to replace broken glass, to pick up the litter from picnickers, and to think about his family and the years gone by.

This dorm had been distant from the commune’s other buildings, and now a strip of tall pines separated it from the townhouses that had gone up on the lake-front. Beamer scooped up a handful of snow, patted it into a ball, and threw it toward a column of smoke rising from a chimney hidden behind those trees. The snowball soared and disappeared.

Chapter 2

The renegade cop emptied the chambers of his handguns and the movie screen was suddenly filled with dead and bloody bodies. Beamer closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and looked at Andy. He was frowning.

“This is awful,” she whispered. “Let’s go.” He nodded, and they rose and left the theater.

A cold wind met them outside and they paused to pull on hats and gloves and knot their scarves. A bank’s temperature sign flashed numbers and Beamer stared at the red digits. “Fifteen below,” she said. “Now aren’t you glad you came to Minnesota?” Andy grinned, then grabbed her padded hand with his own, and they ran the two blocks to his car.

Beamer sat low in the passenger seat, clapped her hands, and chanted, “Go, go, go,” while Andy started the car. It took three tries before the balking engine turned over and started.

“What next?” he said. “The party at Wendy’s?”

“No, it’s probably been raided by now. Let’s do something else.”

“In this town? Everything closes down at nine. Not that there is anything worth doing anyway.”

“Complaining again? I warned you months ago that things could get boring.”

“Bloody boring.”

“Considering you spend most of your free time with me, I guess I should be insulted.”

Andy smiled and kissed her. Beamer removed a glove and traced the line of his jaw with her fingertip. “Apology accepted,” she said.

“Back to the original question. What do we do?”

“What are our options?”

“The usual—sex or food.”

Beamer laughed. “Andy, someday I’m going to call your bluff.”

“Your mother was frosting a carrot cake when I picked you up. Do you suppose there’s any left?”

“I suppose.”

“Well, then, let’s go eat carrot cake.”

Andy liked to drive fast. The truck shot down the highway, pulled along by its beam of light, which sliced a narrow path through the endless black night.

*

Beamer had met Andy the previous summer, just before school resumed. One morning, while taking her daily jog around the lake, she had nearly stumbled over him as he lay on his back across the narrow path. She stopped and stared. He rolled his head toward her, opened his eyes, and smiled.

“Hello,” he said. “I fell off the rock.” He pointed. “That rock. I was standing on it taking a picture of the bald eagle’s nest. I stepped back to frame my shot and just fell off.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really. My leg hurts.”

“Can you move?”

“I’d rather not. I think it’s broken.”

“I’ll get help.”

He tapped her calf. “Your name is Beamer, right?” Beamer nodded. “I’m Andy Reynolds. My family just moved to Grand River.”

“How did you know my name?”

“I saw you at the fair last week with your friends. I was compelled by some strange desire, so I asked somebody.”

Beamer smiled. “I’m flattered.”

“What vanity. How do you know it was admiration that sparked my interest?”

Beamer resisted the impulse to kick his injured leg. “I’ll get help now,” she said, then turned and ran home.

While Beamer’s father and Daniel carried Andy out and delivered him safely to the hospital, she stayed at the store. She supposed she would see him again.

Two days later she was changing the message on the store’s roadside sign when he drove up. He got out of the car slowly.

“Would you look at this cast?” he said. “A simple little bone crack and they stick at least fifty pounds of plaster on my leg.” He reached back into the car, pulled out a small wrapped box, and handed it to Beamer. “For you.”

Beamer walked over to him. “For me?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Why?”

“For saving my life.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not so sure; I had been lying there a long time. Aren’t you going to open it?”

She unwrapped the box. Chocolates.

“Pretty corny, huh?” he said. “But what else does a guy give a girl on their first date?”

Beamer leaned against the car. “First date?”

“This is it.”

“You’re pretty damn sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she said.

Andy shook his head slowly. “Not at all,” he said softly. “Look, I’m going to the summer crafts show in Cass Lake. I’m a potter—well, I try—and I wanted to check out the local artists’ work. I thought some company would be nice. So?”

She quickly reviewed her options: selling worms on a slow fishing day; taking a walk with her mother; going on a trip to Cass Lake with this strange boy. “Okay,” she said, turning toward the store. “I’ll clear it with my parents.”

“Hey, bring the candy,” he called after her. “We can eat it in the car.”

The crafts fair was a pleasant diversion, and Andy proved to be comfortable company. They spent several hours browsing among the displays, sampling the foods and chatting with the various artists. When Andy brought Beamer home, two minutes before her promised suppertime deadline, she agreed happily to see him again on the weekend.

The following Saturday evening Andy arrived early for their date. Beamer ran downstairs and discovered him sitting in the circle of Woodies around the wood stove. Jenny was kneeling by his leg, carefully embellishing his cast with her signature.

“Just a minute, Beamo, then you can have him.”

“No,” said Sue, “it’s my turn to sign.”

“I haven’t done it yet,” said Peter.

Daniel wagged a finger at Andy. “Have her back by midnight.”

Beamer closed her eyes and quickly pictured a scene of mass murder.

“Since when does Beamo stay out until midnight?” asked Maud.

“Last year, I think,” said Daniel.

“Last March,” said Mrs. Flynn. “Don’t you remember—she was going to the spring dance with, with…
”
She turned to her daughter. “Who was it, dear?”

Beamer didn’t answer.

Mrs. Flynn turned to her husband. “Do you remember?”

“I do, but I don’t think it’s worth mentioning.”

“Who?” several voices demanded.

“Andy, let’s go,” Beamer said firmly. He nodded, rose, and carefully maneuvered his way through the crowd. He was smiling.

Just as they pushed open the store door to the hot August air, Mrs. Flynn tapped her daughter’s shoulder. “Do you need money, Beamo?”

“Mom—”

“My treat, Mrs. Flynn,” said Andy. “I was raised properly.”

Mrs. Flynn wrinkled her brow. “I’m sure, Andy. However, Beamer was raised to contribute her share. Just because you are the boy—”

“Mom, it’s fine. Goodnight.” Beamer turned to the crowd in the store. “Don’t anybody wait up for me,” she shouted. The friends laughed and turned back to the stove. Beamer and Andy walked to his car. “Does this go on often?”

“I’m afraid so. You were very patient.”

“Who are they?”

“I’ll tell you sometime. It’s a long story. They’re here most every Saturday night.”

Andy rested his crutches against the car while he unlocked the door. “It was kind of fun in a weird way. But I wasn’t sure I’d get out alive.”