Everybody's Daughter (9 page)

“He’s living in a cabin near here. The Woodies have more or less adopted him, so he’s around a lot. We go skiing sometimes.”

“He calls you Merry. Should I be calling you Merry?”

She paused. “No.”

“Should I be jealous?”

Suddenly weary of questions, Beamer felt the anger surge. “Jealous? That’s a funny question coming from you, Andy.” She peeled off her ski gloves, smoothed the fingers, then laid them by the cash register. She cocked her head and looked at him. “If you can have two girlfriends, I can have two boyfriends. Fair’s fair.”

His face paled in distress.

Mr. Flynn returned. “The soup is safely simmering,” he said. “You are free to go to Cass Lake.”

“I’m not going, Dad.”

“Good, then I won’t be eating alone. Your mother and Johnny are eating in town. Andy, can you stay and join us? Onion and lentil soup.”

“No, thanks, Mr. Flynn. I really should be going.” He turned to Beamer. “Walk me to the car?”

Beamer nodded. “But first let me get out of my ski boots.”

Andy helped carry her poles and skis to the back room. While he hung her gear on the family’s ski racks, she changed into her soft, lined moccasins, wiggling her toes in the fleece. One of the poles fell from the rack, bouncing noisily against a window and then into a collection of cans bagged for recycling. Andy swore softly and rehung it.

Beamer reached for his hand and squeezed it, enjoying the feel of the skin roughened by clay and glaze. She pulled him down beside her on the sofa. “Andy, relax. It was a bad joke. He’s not a boyfriend.”

His eyes were fixed on the floor. His jaw was set and hard. She released his hand and sat back. “You don’t have to be jealous,” she said softly.

Andy turned to face her. He considered her words while studying her face. “Okay,” he said slowly, “I won’t be jealous.” He mustered a smile. “Sure you won’t go to Cass Lake with me?”

“I really do have to study. But call me later to say goodnight.”

“I always do.” They rose and, hand in hand, went out the back door. As they turned the corner of the storefront and walked onto the parking lot, Andy stopped abruptly and pointed. “He’s still here. What’s the problem?”

Martin was standing by his car, staring down. Andy and Beamer walked to him. Martin looked up. “Hello,” he said and pointed to a tire. “It’s flat.”

“Lucky you noticed before you drove away,” said Andy.

“Martin,” said Beamer, “have you been standing here all this time just staring at the tire?”

“It hasn’t been that long. And yes, I have been.”

“Do you have a spare?”

“I guess so.”

“Martin!”

“Merry, I have never before had a flat and so I have never before changed a tire. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I suppose you want me to change it for you.”

“Can you?”

“Of course. Give your keys to Andy, and he’ll get the jack and spare out.” She turned to Andy. “I’ll go inside and get a flashlight. It’s pretty dark already.”

“Well, Bea…” Andy’s voice trailed away.

Beamer groaned. “You too?”

Andy smiled. “Like the guy said, I’ve never had a flat so I’ve never changed a tire. I’ll get the flashlight.”

“I have a flashlight,” said Martin, and he opened the car door and rummaged under the front seat. “We’re in luck. Two of them,” he said, handing one to Andy. Andy peered into the car around Martin and
made a face when he saw the messy interior. Martin grinned. “Car slob,” he said. “I admit it. Of course, I’m a house slob too. But then Merry has probably told you that.”

Andy stiffened. “I didn’t know she knew.”

“Martin,” said Beamer, “do you want this tire changed?”

Martin was working hard at not looking at Andy and smiling. “Yes, I do, Merry,” he said.

“Then be quiet.” She took Martin’s keys, opened the trunk, and removed the jack and spare. She carried them to the front of the car, where she knelt and felt along the underside. “There is usually a notch or a small dent where the jack is supposed to fit,” she said. “Ah, here we go. A little light, please.” Martin and Andy knelt on either side of her and aimed the flashlights. Beamer secured the jack and started pumping, and the car slowly rose. She went to work on the tire. “Okay, boys,” she said, “now watch and learn.”

The three were silent until Beamer let out a sharp, low curse when she accidentally smeared some grease on her ski socks.

Andy sighed loudly. “This is what I’ve always dreamed of.”

“What?” Martin asked. “Crouching on a snowbank in Minnesota in the middle of winter?”

“No: a girlfriend who is skilled in manual labor.”

Martin laughed and the light bobbed. “Hold still,” Beamer ordered.

“How did you get so good at this, anyway?” Andy said.

“She probably goes out searching for flats to change.”

“Drives her car over nails and potholes, just to get a chance.”

“No,” said Beamer, “it usually happens like this—wimpy men from the city come to the country and need help with the hard things, like changing tires and finding their cars in the dark. Ugh, I hope I can tighten these lug nuts enough.”

“Let me do it,” said Martin.

“Just hold the light.” She finished and rose. “Martin, this is a space-saver spare.”

“A small tire. I know that much.”

“Right. They’re not meant to drive very far or very fast, so get your tire fixed tomorrow. Wilder’s station can do it.”

“Gotcha.”

“Do you want me to pin a note on your jacket?”

Martin turned to Andy. “They don’t make them like this in Boston, do they?”

“Cute and feisty?”

“Talented, too.”

“That’s a fact. Have you ever seen her clean and filet a five-pound walleye? Thirty seconds, tops.”

“And I bet she doesn’t even smell like fish when you kiss her goodnight.”

“Hardly ever. Though sometimes there’s a scale or two in that wonderful hair.”

Beamer handed the jack to Martin. Andy stood next to her and claimed her dirty hand with a firm grip. Martin stowed the flat and jack in the trunk and tossed the flashlights into the car.

“Thanks a million, Merry. Nice to meet you, Andy.” He hustled into his car. As he backed out, he rolled down the window. “Merry, I’ll collect my prize later.”

Andy dropped Beamer’s hand and put his arm around her shoulder. She slipped her hand into his jacket pocket, and they walked to his car.

“Collect what prize?”

“He beat me skiing. He gets a candy bar.”

Chapter 9

“Hey, Beamer,” Sarah shouted from the bonfire. “Andy’s telling tales about you. Better get over here and defend yourself.”

Beamer rose from the pitcher’s mound, where she had been kneeling in the snow, knotting together a broken shoelace. The noon softball game was over and the crowd of spectators and players was dispersing. She picked up her mitt and jogged to the small group of friends still gathered by the fire.

“Is that dog for me?” she asked Andy. He nodded, clapped a bun on the charred hot dog, and slid it off the roasting stick. “Thanks,” she said. Beamer turned to Sarah. “What tales?”

“Ask him.”

Andy zipped his jacket. “Time for class. See you later.”

Beamer grabbed his elbow. “What tales?”

He grinned. “Oh, nothing much. Just how you loved humiliating me yesterday simply because I caught you and Martin red-handed.”

“Red-handed?”

“Covered head to foot with snow, he claimed,” said Sarah.

“You’d better confess, Beamo,” said Jessie. “You’re two-timing Saint Andrew.”

Beamer sipped from a cup of cocoa someone had handed her. “Well, wouldn’t you? The guy can’t even change a tire. And he calls himself a man!”

“I do?”

Everyone laughed. A bell rang and they hurriedly picked up the remains of their lunch. Jessie started to douse the fire with snow.

“Don’t bother, Jessie,” said Beamer. “I’m staying out a while longer.” Jessie nodded, then joined the others who were walking toward school. Andy and Sarah lingered by Beamer.

“I’m leaving after math today,” said Andy. “I’ve got to take my sisters to the dentist, so I won’t see you later. Should I call tonight?”

Beamer nodded. “Sure. But early, okay? I’ve got a paper to finish.” Andy tapped her on the shoulder, then trotted toward the school. Beamer turned to Sarah. “Did you finally get excused from study hall?”

“No, I’m not a brain like you, Bea. There’s a yearbook deadline coming up, so I’m taking study hall in the journalism lab this week.”

“Shouldn’t you be going?”

Sarah shrugged. “Five or ten minutes, no one will notice. I didn’t know you knew Martin Singer.”

“I didn’t know you did.”

“He spoke to our journalism class last week, and a couple of us have been up to the station. He showed us around. He seems really nice.”

“He is.”

“Pretty gorgeous, too.”

“Observant as always, aren’t you?” Beamer sat on the bench behind the fire. She warmed her hands in the pouch of her sweatshirt.

Sarah sat next to her. “So what do you have going with him?”

“Nothing that would interest you. We’re good friends, Sarah. He comes by the store pretty often. He talks with Dad, flirts with Mom, and listens to the Woodies.”

“And with you?”

“We talk. And ski a lot.”

“A lot?”

“Two or three times a week. Why are you so interested?”

“On our visit to the radio station, Megan Sanders stayed behind to look at some of the editing equipment. He asked her out.”

“Megan? What did Brett think about that?”

“Oh, she didn’t go. She’s too tight with Brett.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“I’ve heard of a few others who have gone out with him, though. Mostly students at the community college. The word is…” She eyed Beamer thoughtfully. “Yes?” prompted Beamer.

“The word is that his cabin is a very warm place to be on a cold winter night.”

Beamer laughed. “He said he was having fun.” Sarah tossed a handful of snow into the fire barrel. The heated metal hissed. “Doesn’t Andy mind?”

“Why should he? What Martin does isn’t his business.”

“No, I mean, doesn’t he mind your being friends with this great-looking guy who seems to have his eye on every female in town? Doesn’t he mind that you’re skiing together, all alone, day after day?”

“He asked me if he should be jealous. I said no, so he won’t be.”

“Trained like a good dog.”

“No, he’s sensible. He trusts me.”

“Trusts you not to pressure him to break up with Allison, at any rate.”

“Sarah, I told you about her in confidence.”

Sarah looked around. “Do you see anyone else here? I can understand why Andy wouldn’t want people to know about her, but I don’t see why you care.”

“I just do.”

“Maybe if everybody knew he had someone stashed away back east, he’d feel he had to choose.”

Beamer pulled at the leather lacing of her softball glove, then looked at Sarah. “And that, dimwit, is what I don’t want him to do.”

“You’d win hands down.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“What could she possibly have going for her that you don’t?”

“They went together for a long time, Sarah. That counts for a lot.”

“So Andy doesn’t mind about you and this new guy. Strange, I think.”

“He does mind, but I can tell he has just decided not to say so. Besides, there’s nothing there to mind.”

“Don’t be so sure. Does Martin have a girlfriend at school?”

“No. There was someone, I guess. He told Jenny they broke up last fall.”

“He told her but didn’t tell you? That’s interesting.”

“Why?”

“Obviously, if he thought of you as just a good buddy—”

“A buddy? How insulting. My little brother has buddies. I—”

“—he would talk about his girlfriends with you. But he hasn’t, right?”

“Right. But then, I don’t often talk about Andy with him.”

“You really didn’t know he’s developing the thickest black book in Grand River?”

Beamer laughed. “Sarah, he’s a friend. We ski. The details of his social life have never come up.”

Sarah tucked her hands under her legs. “Beamer, to tell you the truth—”

“Please do.”

“—I’ve been worried about you. You’re not a lot of fun anymore.”

Beamer looked up.

“That’s not a criticism, just an observation.”

“Sarah, tell me why I should be fun. My family sells fish bait for a living, my house is swarming with
middle-aged people having all sorts of problems, and my boyfriend has another girlfriend. Maybe I’m not
having
fun. Maybe I’m just getting by.”