Paullina Simons - Tully

Robin smiled. ‘What kind of things?’

‘Oh, all sorts of things of a very sordid nature.’

‘All damnable lies?’ he wanted to know.

‘Of course not,’ said Tully. ‘But of a very sordid nature.’

Robin suggested that she tell him about these things herself, but Tully declined politely, saying only that she used to dance well, and for a while everyone knew it.

‘Used to? Have you stopped?’ he asked.

Tully nodded. ‘I haven’t stopped, I’ve just…cut down.’

‘How is your mother?’ Robin wanted to know.

‘Splendid,’ said Tully.

‘Have you always gotten on so well with your mother?’

‘Yes,’ said Tully with mock cheeriness. ‘We have a very special relationship.’

In the parking lot of Red Lobster, Robin kissed her and Tully put her hand on the back of his head, and he touched her hair and felt that old familiar stirring. They drove out to Lake Shawnee and quickly and efficiently had sex again. The lake was gray and beautiful; the trees had shed many of their leaves; it was windy; but Robin didn’t notice the lake much, so busy was he making love to Tully. Afterwards, Robin wanted to touch her, to do something for her; Tully refused. ‘Not necessary,’ she said evenly.

‘But I want to,’ persisted Robin.

‘I don’t,’ replied Tully.

‘You’re really something,’ he said as they were driving away from the lake. ‘I just can’t figure you out.’

‘What’s to figure out?’ asked Tully. ‘I’m an open book.’

‘Yeah, and I’m your knight in shining armor,’ said Robin.

‘You wanna go for a drive?’ Jennifer asked Tully one Sunday on the way back to the Grove.

‘Yeah, sure,’ replied Tully, looking at her friend. It had been three weeks since Jennifer got her car and this was Tully’s first invitation for a drive. The girls usually sat in Jen’s kitchen and looked over college catalogs. Twice Jennifer let Tully get behind the wheel. In the driveway.

‘Where do you want to go?’ asked Jennifer.

‘California.’ Tully smiled. ‘But I’ll settle for Texas Street.’

Jennifer smiled back. ‘It’s been a while since we’ve been there,’ she said.

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Tully, getting comfortable in the seat. ‘I go there all the time.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ said Jennifer. ‘It’s four miles away from you. How do you get there?’

‘I walk,’ said Tully, and then, seeing Jennifer’s expression, added, ‘It’s worth it, to see it.’

The girls drove to Texas Street, a short narrow road between the Topeka Country Club and Big Shunga Park. The southwestern end of Texas Street curved downward to a dead end, but if they walked through the trees, they came out to the Shunga Park fields. That’s how Jennifer and Tully found Texas Street the very first time, five years ago. They were still playing softball then, and they left a game early – their team was losing 2-17 – and wandered into the woods, coming out onto Texas Street.

The oaks stood ancient and tall on opposite sides of the street and their branches intertwined in the middle, casting Texas Street in perpetual shadow through which glimmers of sunshine struggled.

Tully and Jennifer parked near the dead end of the street, opposite ‘their’ house. They sat on the Camaro’s warm hood for a long time, not speaking.

‘Still looks magnificent, doesn’t it?’ said Tully finally.

‘Yeah,’ said Jennifer. ‘Sure does.’

‘What are you looking wistful about?’ said Tully. ‘You who live in a master bedroom on Sunset Court.’

‘Look at that porch,’ said Jennifer. ‘Have you even seen a porch that size?’

‘Yeah,’ said Tully. ‘On Tara.’

‘I think Tara’s was smaller,’ said Jennifer, jumping off the hood. ‘Come on Scarlett, let’s go.’

Tully didn’t move. ‘I wonder what the houses are like in Palo Alto.’

‘Who cares?’ said Jen. ‘We’re going to live under the shadow of the El Palo Alto, under its leaves and thousand-year-old branches. We won’t need a house.’

‘Still, though,’ mused Tully. ‘I wouldn’t mind living in this house.’

‘Who would?’ said Jennifer, looking at its four wide white columns. ‘It needs paint,’ she said. ‘Imagine having a house like that and not painting it every year. Let’s go.’

On the way back, Tully looked over at Jennifer and said, ‘Jen, you okay?’

‘Great,’ said Jennifer.

‘How’s cheerleading going?’

‘Uh, you know.’

‘I don’t know. How are things?’

‘You know,’ said Jennifer.

Tully looked away.

‘So when am I going to meet your mother?’ Robin asked one afternoon when he called Tully.

‘Never,’ she said jovially, but after they hung up, she sat in her room and did not feel so jovial. So she called Julie. Julie would cheer her up. But Mrs Martinez said Julie was doing something or other with her history club. Who cares what she is doing? Tully thought as she hung up. She’s never around anymore to talk to.

Tully called Jennifer, who wasn’t home, either.

Nobody’s home but me, Tully thought petulantly.

She turned on the radio and danced in her room with the windows open. Hers was the only room besides the bathroom on the tiny second floor. It almost felt like the attic. ‘I will fly away,’ she sang. ‘ I will fly away/fly away/so far/I will fly away.’ She stopped dancing, went to her closet, and took out a National Geographic map from one of her milk crates. Spreading the map open on her bed, Tully knelt down in front of it. With careful fingers, she touched the towns, villages, hamlets, cities, oceans, and deserts of the state of California. Palo Alto, here we come, Palo Alto, San Jose. Nowhere else but Palo Alto nowhere else but Palo Alto nowhere else but –

Tully remembered the time. She ran downstairs to the kitchen before her mother came home. Sometimes Tully made hamburgers nicely, putting bread crumbs and egg and fried onions in them. There was no time for that tonight. It was five forty-five. She slapped the patties together roughly, unevenly, and threw them in the frying pan. Then she peeled the potatoes and put them on to boil.

Hedda walked through the door a little after six, hung up her coat, and walked past Aunt Lena and Tully on the couch. Aunt Lena was watching TV, and Tully was reading a magazine. They both looked up and said hello when Hedda came in, but Hedda rarely looked at them, rarely said hello back. Tonight was no different. She grunted past them to the kitchen. They ate in near silence a half hour later. Aunt Lena kept jabbering on about something or other; Tully did not pay any attention. After dinner, Tully cleared her throat and, not looking at her mother, asked if she could go to the Homecoming dance. Hedda, also not looking up, sullenly nodded. ‘Thank you,’ said Tully, and went to make some tea before clearing up.

Hedda took her tea into the living room, sat on the couch, and watched Walter Cronkite, then ‘Let’s Make a Deal,’ and then an old movie. Tully washed the dishes and went upstairs to her room, where she danced quietly so they wouldn’t hear her down below.

At eleven o’clock, Tully came downstairs to wake her mother and tell her to go to bed. Aunt Lena had long gone to her rooms. What does my aunt do all day? thought Tully. Every day she’s by herself, sitting there, watching TV, knitting; knitting what? She always has the knitting needles in her hands, but I never see any knitting. I’m convinced she’s had the same ball of yarn in her plastic bag since Uncle Charlie died four years ago. Poor Aunt Lena. I’m afraid mother and I aren’t such good company. But then, neither is Aunt Lena. If she really is knitting, she’s knitting with one needle, for sure.