Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

David had a dazed expression on his face.

“David! Please!”

“Yes.”

“Really? Oh, Da—”

“I start Monday.”

Gillian sat on the couch suddenly and began crying.

“I never, never for a minute thought you’d got it,” she said.

They were standing on the lawn and waving as the car pulled out. It was May, and the Minnesota sunshine was bright. It illuminated Martin and Priscilla Soames with a harsh flat glare, so that they looked like painted marionettes against a false backdrop, someone pulling the strings attached to their waving hands.

“Wave to Grandpa and Grandma,” Matthew said. “Wave goodbye.”

Kate lifted her hand and waved. She continued waving until the house and the lawn were out of sight. Then she folded her hands in her lap and looked straight ahead through the windshield. She was wearing a bright-yellow dress and white socks and black patent-leather Mary Janes and a big yellow bow in her blond hair. She sat quite still beside him and Matthew thought, Great, now I have to make conversation with a child.

“It’s always sad to leave someplace,” he said, and thought, Oh, that’s a wonderful beginning. Matthew Bridges, the Uncle Don of the highway. “But I think you’ll like Connecticut,” he concluded weakly.

The child said nothing.

Matthew shrugged slightly and then pulled a sour face. He glanced at the child to see if she had noticed his displeasure, but she was oblivious to him, staring at the Minnesota countryside as it flashed past. He felt an active dislike for her in that moment, and instantly blamed Amanda for this whole foolhardy venture, but first he blamed Priscilla for her letter, but mostly he blamed Amanda. “You’re pregnant!” he’d said. “For the love of God, you’re pregnant!”

“A child needs a young couple to care for her,” Amanda said quietly.

“You’re going to have your own child in July.”

“Yes, I know.”

“So how are we supposed to...?”

“We can take care of both. We’re young.”

“I’m not so young any more,” Matthew said. “I was thirty-two years old in February.”

“You’re still young, Matthew.”

“I’m getting white hairs in my mustache, do you know that?” he shouted helplessly.

“She’s only a child.”

“Amanda, don’t do it.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t start crying. I can see you’re about to cry. Now don’t do that, Amanda. It’s unfair. Let’s discuss this like—”

“Matthew, I want her.”

“Why?”

“She’s my niece.” She paused. “She’s my sister’s daughter, and I love my sister very much.”

“Your mother’s been taking care of her. She can continue to—”

“Not the way I can. Not the way we would, Matthew.”

Matthew sighed heavily. “And what’ll you do in July?” he asked. “When the baby comes.”

“We’ll manage,” Amanda said, and that was that.

Now, sitting beside the silent child on the front seat of the automobile, he was more than ever convinced this was a mistake. You simply did not throw a fully grown, well, a half-grown, well, she was almost seven, you simply did not throw a young girl like that into the arms of people who barely knew her.

“You comfortable?” he asked her.

“Yes,” Kate said. “Thank you.”

“Because it’s going to be a long ride.”

“I’m comfortable,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You look very nice,” he said grudgingly.

“Thank you.”

End of conversation, he thought. How do you talk to a six-year-old kid, well, she’s almost seven, hell, she’s only six and a half, let’s face it. What do six-and-a-half-year-old kids think about, anyway?

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“What?”

“I said—”

“Oh, lots of things,” Kate said.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

End of conversation, he thought. Ask a stupid question...

“Like my room,” Kate said.

“What about your room?”

“My bed had a quilt.”

“We’ve got quilts home,” he said.

“May I have one?”

“Sure.”

“I liked the quilt,” she said, and fell silent again. After a little while, she asked, “Will I have my own room?”

“Yes.”

“Where will it be?”

“Upstairs. Down the hall from us.”

“Is there a window?”

“Sure.” He paused. “It looks out over the orchard. It’s a very nice room.”

“An apple orchard?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.” She paused again. “Is my mother crazy?” she asked.

He hesitated. He did not know what her grandparents had told her.

“Well,” he said, “she’s pretty sick.”

“Will she be in the hospital always?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Yes, I think so.”

“I feel sorry.”

“We all do, Kate.”

“Will I live with you always?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to?” He hesitated only for an instant, but she took her cue at once and said, “You don’t, do you?”

“Of course we do.”

“She cut off my hair,” Kate said. “My mother.” She paused. “But it’s all grown back now. Will you cut off my hair?”

“Only if you want us to.”

“I don’t want you to. I like long hair.”

“I do, too.”

“Do you think I have nice hair?”

“You have very pretty hair.”

“You do, too.” She looked at him carefully and then said, “When I get big, I’m going to grow a mustache.”

Matthew laughed. “Girls don’t grow mustaches,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Only men do.”

“Mrs. Schultz who has the grocery store in town has a mustache,” Kate said.

“Well...” Matthew pondered this one for a moment. “Maybe she’s a very special person. A woman can’t grow a mustache unless she’s very gifted.”

“Well, I’m very gifted,” Kate said. “I can play ‘Jingle Bells’ on the organ. Grandpa taught me. Do you have an organ?”

“No, but we have a piano.”

“I like organs better.” She paused. “But I like pianos, too,” she said quickly. “Do you play the piano?”

“No. But Amanda does.”

“Would she teach me, do you think?”

“If you ask her to. She plays beautifully. She went to music school, you know.”

“Maybe she’ll teach me,” Kate said. “If I ask her.”

“I’m sure she would.”

“Do you have any doll carriages?”

“No.”

“I should have brought my doll carriage. Grandma said there wasn’t room in the car, though.”

“Well, we’ll see about getting you a new carriage,” Matthew said.

“Grandma said I wasn’t to ask you for anything. She said taking me in was quite enough. That’s what she said. Quite enough.”

“You can ask for anything you want,” Matthew said. He grinned at her and added, “That doesn’t mean you’ll get it, of course.”

The child responded instantly to his joke. For the first time since she’d entered the car, a warm smile broke on her face. She relaxed immediately and said, “That’s the dairy up ahead. It’s got thousands of cows. Cows are the stupidest beasts in the world, did you know that?”

“I suspected as much.”

“It’s true. I read it in a comic book.”

“Well, then it must be true,” Matthew said seriously.

Kate giggled. “See them? All over the fields. All they do is chew grass and sleep.”

“And give milk.”

“They don’t really give it,” Kate said. “You have to take it from them.”

“That’s true. I never looked at it that way.”

“There’s where I went to school,” Kate said, pointing. “I’m in the first grade. Is there a school in Talmadge?”