Taking Terri Mueller (3 page)

“Okay,” she said. She picked up her English book again, but she wasn't concentrating. “It would be nice to have a real family,” she said after a while.

He was sipping a cold beer. “Oh, we're not real?”

“No, I mean—you know. Parents. Two. Like other people.”

He held the beer can to his cheek. “Give me a break, honey. Must be plenty of other kids have only one parent.”

“Yes, but—” She shook her head, felt suddenly tight, and wanted to end the conversation. He was right—there were always kids around who were living with just one
parent, and sometimes a kid whose mother or father had died. But all the same, it was never the same. Terri didn't know why, only that in some mysterious way she wasn't like other kids.

At the door Barkley moaned his take-me-out sound. Her father got the leash. Terri sat up. “Daddy? I've been thinking about my mother, and—Daddy, I don't know anything about her.” He snapped the clip on the leash. “I think you should tell me some things.”

“Terri, that's the past.” He straightened up, held Barkley on a short leash. “You're growing up, almost a young lady . . . and you're beautiful. You've got everything ahead of you. Why be morbid?”

“I want . . . I just want . . .” Her voice fell away. She felt confused, then resentful. Why was it so bad to want to know about her mother?

“Bringing up things like this will only make us both unhappy.”

She persisted. “My mother's name was Kathryn. That's all I know about her. And that she was killed in a car crash when I was four years old.”

He didn't answer. They looked at each other over Barkley. His silence meant, I don't want to talk about this. She felt an answering stubbornness rising in her. He left with the dog, and she went to the window, looked down at the street, and watched the two of them walking toward the corner. She put her head out the opened window, feeling the impulse to yell, “You better tell me!” But that was childish. She wasn't a child anymore. She had questions,
wanted to know things about her life. She needed answers. She wanted answers. She felt something strong in herself and said out loud,
“I want answers.”

THREE

“Shaundra, hi, Shaundra,” Terri said, trying to sound casual. She looked up from tying her sneaker, which she had been tying for at least five minutes, as she waited on the corner near school for Shaundra Smith to pass. The old shoelace trick. If she and Shaundra got to be friends, maybe she'd tell her.

“Hi, Terri,” Shaundra said, and she stopped. Great!

Terri picked up her books. Then, across the street she saw George Torrance, and for a moment she couldn't say anything. Was it a good luck sign, seeing George the first time she got to talk to Shaundra outside school?

“Where're you going?” Shaundra said.

“No place special. Home, I guess.” Had George seen her? A few days before, she had noticed him playing the oboe in band during an assembly. A skinny boy with glasses, but something about playing the oboe transformed him. She'd been sitting in the front row and couldn't get her eyes off him. Since then, everywhere she turned, she saw him.

“What'd you think of assembly?” Shaundra asked. For a moment Terri thought the other girl had read her mind.
Then she realized Shaundra meant today's assembly. “Wasn't it gross?”

A man from the DA's office had talked to them on juveniles and the law in Michigan. Forty-five minutes of legal language.

“He was the most boring person I ever heard,” Shaundra went on. She was a chubby girl with masses of dark, coarse hair hanging down like curtains around her face. She had a round face and round, dark eyes.”
I
think Mr. Hemphill was snoring,” she said. “I know
I
was totally vegged out.”

“He was boring, but I felt sorry for him,” Terri said. The two girls walked along together.

“I didn't. He should have arrested himself for disturbing the peace!”

“I guess I just, in general, feel sorry for people like that. I mean, I wonder if they know they're boring everyone.” Shaundra pushed her hair off her face. “Even if they knew they wouldn't care. That's what makes them so boring.”

“Want to go have a soda?” Terri said.

“Not a
Coke.
They rot your insides.”

“I know, and they have a lot of caffeine, too. Only, did you ever have one with ice cream, milk, and vanilla flavoring?”

Gross.

“No, it's good. My father and I make it sometimes.” “Popcorn is what I love. Popcorn and garlic.”

“Garlic?”

“I know, isn't that disgusting? What'd you do this weekend?”

“Well, yesterday Nancy and Leif came over for breakfast.
My father made blueberry pancakes. And on Saturday, I went shopping and bought this.” She touched the short, plum-colored jacket she was wearing.

“How neat! Do you get a clothing allowance, or am I being too nosy?”

“My father gives me money for clothes and I buy what I want.”

“Just like
that
?” Shaundra snapped her fingers. “Do you get a regular allowance?”

“Yes.”

“Can you do anything you want with it?” Terri nodded. “Do you pay for your own movies and records and things like that?”

“Sometimes, and sometimes my father pays.”

“You're lucky. My mother makes me pay for everything. Even if I want some little makeup junk, or a pair of socks, if she doesn't think I totally need them, I have to earn the money.”

“Well, I work,” Terri said, a little defensively. She told Shaundra about the summer she took care of Meg and Nate. She liked working, but one of the problems with moving around was that by the time someone got to know you and trust you, it was just about when you were ready to move on. “Anyway, Daddy says I earn my allowance by the work I do in the house for us,” Terri said.

“Like what? Do you mind this third degree?”

Terri smiled and shook her head. She thought it was a good sign when someone you wanted to be friends with wanted to know all about you. “I do cleaning, and fix
suppers—things like that.”

“Is there anything you have to do that you
hate
? Like cleaning bathrooms?”

“If I really hated it, I think Daddy would say, ‘Okay, do something else.' He's not real strict about stuff like that.”

“What is he real strict about?”

“That I let him know where I am and when I'm coming home—”

Shaundra rolled her eyes. “Tough life. Anything else?”

“Taking care of Barkley, things like defleaing him. Daddy says having an animal is like having a child. If you're not going to take care of it—forget it.”

“You sure talk a lot about your father!”

“Well—my mother's, ah, dead.” Terri's face got warm. Talking about her mother always embarrassed her.

Shaundra linked arms with Terri. “That's sad. I'm sorry. Who's Nancy? Your sister?”

“No, it's only me and my father. She's my father's girlfriend, and Leif is her little boy.”

“What does she do?”

“Work, you mean? Something part-time with computers, and she's gone back to college to get her degree.”

“What about your father? Aren't I nosy?”

“I don't mind. I like to know about people, too. Sometimes I wish I could look right into every house and see how people live. My father's a carpenter. What about your father?”

“He's a policeman, a detective, and my mother is a substitute teacher.”

“A detective?” Terri said. “That's interesting.” But it made her feel uncomfortable to imagine Shaundra's father putting handcuffs on someone and leading him away. She had seen a man like that on TV, his head hanging way down.

“I was in Detroit over the weekend visiting my father,” Shaundra said. “He moved there after my parents got divorced. Now he's remarried. Don't you think parents are gross? Always thinking of themselves! ‘Oh, Shaundra, you wouldn't want us to live together and just fight all the time!' That's what they said when they told me and my brothers they were splitting. You know what I said, Terri? I said, ‘You can fight as much as you like. I don't care!' ‘Well, we care,' they said. They pretended they were thinking about us, but they did it for themselves. Oh,
no
, don't let me get going on that!”

“Did you have a good time visiting?”

“Semi-good. My father spent at least fifty percent of the time complaining about my mother. I told him, ‘She spends fifty percent of her time complaining about you!' They are so
dumb
, really. I hate it that they do that. At least my stepmother doesn't say anything about her old husband.”

“Is she nice?” Terri asked, thinking about Nancy.

“Francine's all right, at least she leaves me alone. We went to two movies and ate at this restaurant, Captain Noah's. Francine said it was the best fish place in Detroit. Now how does she know that? There was a swordfish over the entrance, looked like he was going to fall right on you. Inside they had dead stuffed fish on the walls staring at you
with their fishy eyes. I told Francine, ‘Gee, what a wonderful way to improve people's appetites.'”

“When will you see your father again?” Terri asked, laughing.

“Maybe in two weeks.”

“You must miss him!”

“I wouldn't mind seeing my mother every other week, either. That would be great. She drives me bananas. Well, semi-bananas.”

“Well, here's my corner,” Terri said. Was it too soon to ask Shaundra to come to her house? She wasn't sure yet if Shaundra wanted to be friends, or was just being friendly. There was a big difference.

“Okay. See you tomorrow then,” Shaundra said. “Right. See you in gym. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Terri walked away. In a moment she glanced back. Shaundra was looking back, too. “Bye!” they called, almost in unison.

FOUR

“When's that bell going to ring?” Shaundra muttered, jumping around and waving her arms in front of Terri.

“Come on, girls, spruce it up,” Karen Trimbley, their gym teacher, yelled. “Shaundra, don't let Terri get away with that!”

The bell rang. Shaundra linked arms with Terri as they went into the locker room. “Want to come over to my house after school?”

“Okay.” She didn't let herself sound excited or too glad. Not yet. Not till she was sure.

“Did I tell you my stepmother is going to have a baby?” Shaundra said later, as they turned down Logan Street.

“That's wonderful.”

“You think so, Terri? We don't need any more kids in this family. I actually think they're semi-nuts to do it. My father's always complaining about supporting me and my brothers. That's three. And there's Francine's kids, my stepbrothers. Makes five. And now another kid?”

“Four brothers,” Terri said. “I'm impressed.”

“Well, don't be. I didn't give birth to them.”

“Maybe your stepmother will have a girl—”

“A sister would be nice. Well, semi-nice.”

Terri liked Shaundra's house a lot. There was a basketball hoop in the driveway and bushes in the yard. Inside, everything looked old and comfortable. In the living room the top of the piano was covered with framed pictures. “Who plays?” Terri asked.

“My mother, a little. She wants me to take lessons, but I have a tin ear.”

“Can I look around?”

“Help yourself, but there's nothing to see.”

Terri peeked into the bedrooms, noticing the rugs on the floors and spreads on the beds. Not to mention curtains at the windows.

“See that rocker?” Shaundra said, as they looked into her brothers' room. “That was my grandfather's. My mother lets my stupid little brothers have it. I can't believe it. They don't even care that it was Grandpa Morris's.”

In the kitchen they made banana shakes, then took them into Shaundra's room. She had an old-fashioned four poster with fruit carved into each wooden post. “Was the bed your grandmother's?” Terri asked.

“Don't I wish! My mother bought it at a garage sale.” Shaundra sat cross-legged on the bed. “All night, I feel like I have the ghosts of all the people who used to sleep in this bed, in bed with
me
.”

Terri laughed. She felt good being with Shaundra. “Who's this?” She pointed to one of the pictures tucked into the frame of the mirror.

“My grandparents Smith. My grandmother's sort of a
sweet old boring type, but my grandfather thinks she's the greatest. Are your grandparents like that?”

“Well. . . no.” This was the worst part of making new friends, having to keep saying it was only her and her father, and nobody else, except Aunt Vivian who they only saw once a year. “Is this you?” she said, pointing to another picture. “Who's with you?”

“Me and my mother.” The picture showed the two of them seated with their backs to the piano, both looking straight into the camera, both with their hands clasped over their knees. Shaundra wore a dark turtleneck under a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her mother was dressed almost exactly the same. They really looked alike. Her mother had even more hair than Shaundra, and wore it the same way, parted in the middle and hanging down on each side of her face.

Terri couldn't take her eyes off the picture. She had wondered for some time now if she looked at all like her mother. She and her father were both dark-haired, and they both had a small blotchy birthmark, like an amoeba, on their right shoulder, but otherwise—no, they really didn't look alike.

If only she had a picture of her mother. Not that it would make a difference, but she would
feel
different. It would be so nice to think—no, to
know
, and be able to say, “My hair is just like my mother's!” Or, “I have my
mother's
eyes.”

“This is my cousin Basil,” Shaundra said, pointing to another snapshot. Five people sitting on folding wooden
chairs set up on a sidewalk, with five more people standing behind them. “This is my Uncle Norm, here's my Aunt Trudy, she's a sweetie pie, Uncle Julius, Aunt Connie,
so
nice . . . See
him
, that's Wendell, their son, he's a little retarded.”

Terri tried to imagine having so much family, so many relatives, and all different. Some just babies, some old, one retarded, but yet all of them part of you. Maybe, she thought, it would be like going to a banquet, seeing a huge table covered with so many bowls of food you knew you could never eat it all, yet you'd want to taste
everything
.

“You'll have to show me your family pictures when I come over to your house,” Shaundra said.

Terri tipped her glass and drank the last of the banana shake. What family pictures? They didn't even have an album. Her father carried a few school pictures of her in his wallet and that was it, except for the framed picture of her and Phil from when she was a baby. She was fat and smiling, her tongue sticking out, and her father, his cheek pressed against her cheek, had his eyes nearly closed, a big happy smile on his face.

“My father doesn't like cameras,” Terri said. “It's really funny how they bug him. We hardly ever take pictures.”

“Lucky,” Shaundra said. “In this family they're always snapping away. ‘Smile!' Someone is always whipping out a camera. ‘Smile!' Why do you have to smile when you look at a camera? I only smile when I feel like it.”

“When you're feeling good,” Terri agreed.

“No, sometimes I don't even smile then. Just when I feel like it. When I want to, that's when I smile.” And she smiled
at Terri.

A few minutes later, Shaundra's two younger brothers, Barry and Gary, came in. “Would you believe it?” Shaundra said. “Barry and Gary! My parents must have been out to lunch when they named them.”

“Who's your friend, Shaundra?” Barry said, looking into her room. He was a sturdy boy of about eleven, with red, red cheeks.

“Shoo!” Shaundra said.

“I'm Terri,” Terri said.

“Hi, Terri. You look nice. What are you doing with an animal like my sister?”

“Go!” Shaundra screamed.

Gary looked over his brother's shoulder. He had a thin face and big round eyes like Shaundra's.

“Let's get
out
of here,” Shaundra said.

They walked over to the elementary school and sat on the monkey bars. “Wait till my mother comes home,” Shaundra said, digging her hands into her hair. “She'll tell me I should have hung around and watched the Barry and Gary brats. Watched them do what? Wreck the house?”

They sat there talking. Shaundra was impressed with all the places Terri had lived. “I've never been
anywhere
.”

“When your mother wants to take a trip, get her to go to Niagara Falls.”

“What for, a honeymoon? Don't answer! I'm trying to get over making everything into a joke. It's my worst fault. What's yours?”

“Oh . . .” Terri thought about it. “Maybe not always
showing people how much I like them, when I
do
like them.”

Shaundra nodded. “Did you love Niagara Falls the most of all the places you've lived?”

“It was one of the best because of the Falls. And also, Mrs. Secundo, our landlady. We lived right in her house with her. We had two rooms to ourselves, and we shared the rest of the house.” She told Shaundra about Elvira Secundo, who was sixty-eight and always wore a long green cardigan that said SWEET SONIA in white lettering over the breast pocket. “She bought the sweater at the Goodwill Store.”

“Oh, that's
sad
,” Shaundra said.

“I know, but it wasn't, really. She said she liked it because it was warm as a blanket. I mean, she really loved that sweater, that's why it wasn't sad.”

“Maybe,” Shaundra said, doubtfully. “I feel sorry for old people. It must be horrible to be old.”

“I think old people are beautiful. Mrs. Secundo had so many wrinkles in her face, but she had all her own teeth. Whenever Daddy did something for her, she would take his hand and say, “That's good, little boy, that's good.'”

“Tell me more! Listening to you is like listening to a story.”

Terri was flattered and told Shaundra how any place they ever lived, she and her father would fix up things. At Mrs. Secundo's they had grouted the bathroom tiles, built shelves, and even cut a new window in her kitchen to bring in more light.

“You did it, too?” Shaundra said.

“Well, naturally, Daddy did most of the work, but I was his helper. I used to just fetch Daddy's tools, but now I can do different things. A lot of times I do the measuring for a job, and I can hammer and saw pretty good.”

“You could be a carpenter!” Shaundra said. “That's won—oh,
look
, Terri. Check out that guy over there playing basketball. Woo woo, he's taking off his shirt. Hi, Sweetie! Come on over here. I want to talk to you.”

“He heard you,” Terri said, straight-faced.

“He did!” Shaundra gasped. “You creep, he did not! Do you have a boyfriend, Terri?”

“No.”

“I bet you like someone, though?”

Terri nodded, trying not to laugh.

“Who is he? Tell me who he is. I'll rate him for you.”

“Well ... I don't want him to know.”

“I won't tell,” Shaundra said. “I may talk a lot, but I know how to keep a secret. Give me a clue.”

“He plays in the band.”

“What else?”

“He has a wristwatch with a stretch band and wears sneakers without socks.”

“Why, now I'd know him anywhere. Just tell me a few more little details. Why don't you start with his name?”

“Uh, well, it's George—”

“George? What instrument does he play?”

“Uh, well, the oboe.”

“George Torrance? Him, Terri? He's so skinny and he
has greasy hair.”

“No, he doesn't. Anyway, that's superficial, Shaundra. His eyes are beautiful. Don't you think his eyes are beautiful?”

“How can you tell behind those glasses? Listen, you just can't get anything going with George because what if you married—
Terri Torrance
?”

“I'll put off the wedding plans,” Terri said. “What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Oh,
me
.” Shaundra grabbed her hair. “I'm boy crazy. Well, semi-boy crazy. I have six boys I like.”

‘“
Six
?”

“I told you, I'm terrible.” Shaundra dug around in her pocket. “Want a chocolate mint? Oh, yuck, they're all melted.”

“It still tastes good,” Terri said, putting the mint into her mouth.

“Want to know something, Terri? I wanted to talk to you before yesterday.”

“You did? You never said anything.”

“Well, I didn't know if you really liked me. Sometimes you seemed real cool.”

“I'm not cool,” Terri said. “You know, not inside. I was worried about you.”

“
Me
? But I'm so friendly.” Shaundra lolled her tongue at the corner of her mouth and panted like a little dog. “Isn't it gross the way people are always worrying about what other people think of them?”

“I know, but it's hard to help it.”

“Maybe for kids, but what about when you're grown up?” Shaundra split the last mint in half. “What's the point of even growing up, if you still go around moaning and groaning? It's bad enough being our age and feeling so insecure. You should hear my mother every time she has to sub at a new school. ‘Oh! oh! what if those kids don't like me?' I always tell her, ‘Relax, Ma, they're
not
going to like you. Kids
hate
substitutes.'”

“I don't think my father worries about stuff like that,” Terri said. “He's usually sort of confident, but sometimes—
his
worst fault is that he might not want to talk about what I want to talk about.”

“Oh, I can't stand it when people clam up,” Shaundra said. “In case you haven't noticed it, talking must be my favorite thing in the world. Too bad they don't have fitness tests in talking. I'd be a ten.”

They were both laughing. Shaundra put her hand on Terri's arm. “I have this feeling—do you have it? We're going to be best friends. Don't you think so?”

Terri thought of the long trail of best friends behind her: Susan Whittacker in Boston, Enid Cohen in Dallas, Jeannie Whizenand in that little town called Sterling . . . and Rachey Stevenson, and Nini, and Jennifer, and Holly. “I hope so,” she said.

“Is that all?” Shaundra looked disappointed.

Terri squeezed her hand. “I like you. I like you a lot. I
do
want to be best friends.”

“Then we will be,” Shaundra said. “And that's all there is to it!”