“Plant another idea in his head. I know; I know! The man’s only happy when he’s working on a project. But I’ve heard him talk about how he used to hike and camp and fish back in Colorado. Think of the fun you could have with a tent, sleeping bags, and a couple of fishing poles.” Oma sipped her tea. “Charlie is thirteen already. He’s always off somewhere with his friends. In another six years, he’ll go away to college. And Carolyn’s going to be nine soon.” Oma lowered her voice. “She needs her mother.”
“Like I needed you, Mama?” A quiet edge of bitterness crept into her mother’s voice.
“Yes. And where was I? Working, always working. If anyone has a right to talk about this, I do!” Oma turned the teacup in its saucer. “Just so you know, I came up here to tear down walls, not help you build them.”
Mom fidgeted. “I don’t know what to make of this.”
“Make of what?”
“Sitting in your kitchen, having tea.”
Oma scowled at her. “I’ve invited you over every day for weeks. You wouldn’t come!”
“I’ve spent most of my life trying to live up to your standards and failing.”
“So you’re going to punish me in my old age. Is that it?”
“I still don’t come up to your standards, do I? I’m not a good mother. Trip’s too busy to be a father. There’s no pleasing you.”
“Now, you listen to me, Hildemara Rose. And you listen good. You never failed me, not once. Nor did I fail you, if it comes to that. You were small and sickly when you were born. Was that your fault? You had the most to overcome. I was afraid you wouldn’t even survive that first winter out there in the frozen wheat fields. I almost lost you again when you had pneumonia. Do you remember? And I could still lose you if you keep on as you are. Yes! I was harder on you than the others. I wanted you to grow up strong so no one would be able to hold you down. So I pushed you. I pushed hard. And, thank God, you pushed back. Now look at you.”
“You sound proud.” Mom sounded surprised.
“I am.” She raised her teacup and smiled. “I’m proud of both of us.”
6
After several heated discussions muffled by the master bedroom door, Dad threw away his plans for the bomb shelter and bought an Airstream trailer instead. One weekend a month, Mom and Dad packed the trailer and took off with Carolyn and Charlie in the backseat of the sedan. Carolyn found herself looking forward to the weekends away, even though Oma never went along. “Someone has to feed Bullet and pick up the mail.” She would wave as they drove away. “Bring me back a souvenir!”
Pigeon Point was Carolyn’s favorite place. Dad parked the trailer on the strip of land north of the lighthouse. They set up camp and ate Chef Boyardee spaghetti, sweet corn, and white bread with butter and jam off paper plates. After dinner, they played Chinese checkers, Scrabble, or hearts. When it was bedtime, Mom folded the table down, and the booth seats made a double bed for Carolyn and Charlie. Carolyn liked having Charlie, Mom, and Dad close by. She loved the sound of the foghorn going off every few minutes and surf crashing against the rocks within a few hundred feet of the trailer.
While Charlie and Dad caught Capistrano, blue moon, and shiner perch in the churning white foam pools, Mom and Carolyn climbed down the steep path to the cove beach on the other side of the lighthouse. They combed the beach for seashells and pretty, curling, polished bits of driftwood. Sometimes Carolyn put her arms out, wishing she could ride the wind like the seagulls overhead. She followed the waves down and ran back as they rolled toward her while Mom lounged in the sunshine.
Once they drove north across the Golden Gate and headed west for Dillon Beach near Tomales Bay. All four went out at low tide to dig gooey-neck clams. Carolyn’s arms weren’t long enough to reach down into the holes she dug, but Charlie managed with his gangling limbs to bring one up in triumph. When the feast was laid on the table, Carolyn fled out the door and threw up in the bushes.
Another time, Dad drove for hours until he found Salt Point. The next morning, Mom, Charlie, and Carolyn watched Dad plod around in the deep tidal pools wearing chest-high rubber waders, prying abalone off the rocks. It was up to Mom to cut the sea snails from their shells and use a mallet to soften the muscle. Dad laughed and said it was a good way for Mom to vent her frustrations. Abalone tasted better than tough, sand-gritty gooey-neck clams. And Carolyn loved the lustrous, iridescent shells. Dad hung them around the front entry of the house. Oma used one as a soap dish.
Mom and Dad decided to take the summer off from building. Instead, they packed for a trip and hooked up the trailer. After three long days of travel over deserts and mountains, Carolyn finally met Grandpa Otis and Grandma Marg in Colorado Springs.
Grandpa Otis lifted her onto his lap. “Look at this pretty little honeybee.”
When Carolyn struggled to get away from him, Dad grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out into the backyard. He shook her hard and asked what in the blazes was the matter with her. How could she hurt her grandfather like that? He told her she’d better be nice or she’d be sorry. Mom came out, too, and told him to stop it.
Grandpa didn’t touch her again. Neither did Dad. They sat in the small living room talking in low voices. Grandma gave her two cookies and a glass of milk, but she wasn’t hungry or thirsty. Grandma and Mom sat at the table with her, talking like nothing had happened. Charlie went outside to play.
It took three days for Carolyn to feel comfortable enough to sit beside Grandpa on the sofa. He read Bible stories to her. After a while, she relaxed against him. He didn’t smell anything like Dock. His heart didn’t beat as fast. His breathing was easy and relaxed. She liked the sound of his deep voice. She closed her eyes for a while and heard a click. She opened her eyes to see Mom smile and set a camera on the side table.
The next morning they left, heading south this time to Mesa Verde, with its steep, narrow paths and cliff ruins, and on to Monument Valley, with its familiar buttes. Charlie recognized scenes from Westerns and talked about marauding Indians who scalped people and tied them down on top of red ant hills. Mom looked back at Carolyn and told Charlie to talk about cavalry rescues instead.
They spent one whole day at the Grand Canyon. They drove to Bryce the next, taking a hike through the hoodoos before settling into the trailer for dinner and a good night’s sleep. “We’ll only have time to drive through Zion,” Dad told Mom while they lay in bed a few feet away. “Then we’ll have to head for Death Valley.”
They spent the last night at Furnace Creek, sleeping in pools of their own sweat. Up at dawn, they made the long drive over the Sierras to the Central Valley, where the scents of sandy soil, almond orchards, and alfalfa fields reminded Carolyn of Oma’s farm.
As soon as they pulled into the driveway, Carolyn wanted to jump out and run to the cottage. Dad told her to help unpack the trailer. Mom told her to dump her dirty clothes in the laundry room. Then, finally, “Okay, you can go.” Unleashed, Carolyn ran.
Oma met her on the front porch, arms open, and hugged her tight. “It’s about time you got home. It’s been lonely around here.” Oma lifted Carolyn’s face and kissed her on both cheeks. All the postcards Carolyn had sent were taped to the front of Oma’s refrigerator. Seeing how much Oma had missed her, Carolyn offered to stay home with Oma next time.
“Oh no, you won’t. There’s a whole world out there to see, and your mother and father are showing you a corner of it. Where would I be right now if I stayed home because I was afraid my mother might miss me?” She waved Carolyn to a seat at the kitchen table and turned the burner on under her teakettle. “So how was it? Did you like your other grandparents?”
“They were nice.” Carolyn didn’t tell her how she’d hurt Grandpa Otis’s feelings or made Daddy mad, how she’d run away and hidden for hours, worrying everyone. And she didn’t tell her how Mom complained when Dad would only stop for gas or a quick lunch before driving again. Oma didn’t like complaining.
Oma folded her hands on the table. “Tell me what you saw.”
“It’s all there on your refrigerator.”
“Well, you must have seen other things along the way,” Oma pressed.
Not really. Dad had driven from dawn to dusk, hour after hour, while she and Charlie half dozed in the backseat. They’d both seen places they wanted to stop, but Dad said they didn’t have time. He told them they could play
