I taped an index card with emergency contact numbers to the passenger’s visor of the truck. “Where do you think you’ll end up, Dad?” I asked.
“I’m shootin’ for the South Rim again.” He checked the snow chains and the toolbox in the truck bed. “If the weather’s bad, I’ll move farther south toward Tucson.”
“Tucson. The saguaros calling you?”
“Every night in my dreams.” He cinched up his tie-downs and tucked the ends under the tarp. “Way too early for blooms, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Have you got your thermals?”
He nodded. I hated to mother him, but he was headed for some rugged weather, and it could be a month before we saw him again.
I packed extra blankets in the truck bed and tried to smile for his sake. All year he looked forward to this time when he could travel and do what he loved best—paint. And this time in the dead of winter, between the tree lot and the farmers market, was the only time he could get away. Enjoying life is what retirement should be about, not babysitting your grown daughter and her children.
The Grand Canyon was Dad’s favorite place to paint, with the desert a close second. It sent chills up my spine to see the angles he reached painting the canyon floor. I didn’t want to know what chances he took for the sake of his art.
As he packed, he hummed an old cowboy song, “Blue Bonnet Girl.” He was happiest on the open range or in the saddle. Dad would’ve moved back to Nevada in a heartbeat after Mom died if it hadn’t been for us, even though the family ranch had already been leveled for a golf course.
After Ginger died we discussed moving back home outside of Elko, since we no longer needed to be close to her specialists. There’s something healthy about growing up in a small town with animals and wide-open spaces. But we decided that Winnie and Deja didn’t need to be ripped from their friends and school when things were finally settling down for them. Besides, Russell and Starr had moved back to Elko, and I really didn’t want to run into the happy couple. I felt it was best for the girls to have as little contact with him as possible.
Dad popped open the glove box in the truck cab, tossed in extra flashlight batteries, and slammed it shut. Then he scanned the contents of a box on the floor—mostly maps. He left space for his paints and canvases on the passenger’s seat, mumbling to himself while he went over a mental checklist.
“Did you refill your prescriptions?” I asked. “What about antacid?”
“Got them in my kit.”
He checked the air pressure in the front tires.
“Is your cell phone charged? Have you got the charger?”
“Yup. But I don’t count on getting a signal where I’m goin’.”
“When do you think you’ll be back?” I asked.
“Oh, better count on a month, just to be safe.”
I tried not to let my disappointment show, but he glanced up from the tire gauge and saw my face.
“It’ll go fast. You and the girls’ll be okay.”
“I don’t mean to sound like a worrywart, but which route are you taking? Will you go by Reno?”
“Not likely. All depends on the weather. I’ll probably come up the same way as I go, through Barstow and Kingman.”
I breathed a little easier. If the weather was bad, he wouldn’t take a chance on coming back through Salt Lake to Elko. And see Ruby.
My paranoia about his sneaking off to see Ruby was unfounded. I paid the gasoline bills; if he went anywhere near northern Nevada, I’d know. Not that it would make any difference. He was a grown man, not a runaway teenager.
I sounded like a jealous wife.
Never in a million years would I stop Dad from being happy if he really cared for another woman as he had for Mom. But I didn’t want to deal with it, just the same. If Dad left, it would be too much like Russell leaving us all over again.
I lay awake long into the night mentally going over every scenario and trying to remember what he might have forgotten to pack. What would I do if he didn’t come back?
I remembered coming out of the doctor’s office just after we’d found out that Ginger had been switched. Standing in the parking lot scratching the paint around the keyhole of the car door. The key had fit before we went in, but it didn’t after we came out. It had swelled or twisted, and wouldn’t go into the lock. I glanced around and said that maybe we had the wrong car. Dad gently took the keys out of my hand and unlocked the door for me. I would still be in that parking lot now if he hadn’t been there. Nothing fit the same after that.
I switched on my light and pulled my Bible from the night-stand. Searching the Psalms, I finally found one of my mother’s favorite verses—Psalm 46. She had underlined the first verse in blue ballpoint. God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.
As I read through the chapter I felt encouraged, especially when I got to verse 10: Be still, and know that I am God. It came to me, an unexplainable peace threading its way in among my fears and anxiety. God was my strength, not Dad. Dad was an important part of God’s plan for us, but he wasn’t the plan. God’s plan was for us each to come to depend on Him, not on other people, as muchas we love them. The time would come when Dad would leave us. But God never would.
I talked to Him for a long time, just like He was there in the room with me, with His nail-scarred hands and His kind eyes smiling. He was so very real to me that I fell asleep feeling He was keeping watch.
Early before sunrise, Dad packed his art supplies carefully into the front passenger’s seat. I loaded him up with a thermos of strong coffee, plenty of sugar and creamer, a package of warm cinnamon rolls, three kinds of cookies, and sandwiches. The girls shivered with me in our pajamas on the porch while we said our good-byes. Exhaust curled into the frosty air as the truck sat warming up in the driveway.
I hugged Dad tightly, trying to hold myself together. “Where will you stop tonight?”
“Kingman. I’ll call you girls from there.”
Though I fought it, that old feeling of abandonment crept into my heart, and my face crumpled. He gave my shoulder another squeeze and brushed a this eyes. “Now, I always come back, don’t I?”
I could only nod as I stepped aside for Winnie and Deja to hug him. Andie stood wrapped in her blanket looking worried, but she smiled shyly when he chucked her affectionately under the chin.
Long buried feelings surfaced as we watched him climb into the cab. Memories of Russell pulling away with a loaded car, walking out on our lives forever. Leaving us for someone new.
Lord, help me to forget.
Dad waved and backed the truck out of the driveway. Winnie wrapped her arms around my waist as he drove off into the parking lot toward the gate. She whimpered, and I pulled her tighter.
“He’ll come back, Win. He always does.”
“Not like Daddy,” she said.
My heart nearly broke. “He’s nothing like Daddy, angel. We’ll miss Grandpa while he’s gone, but he will come back.”
I shooed them inside out of the cold, knowing that the feeling of loss would stay with us all day. I forced myself into Mommy mode, acting more confident and positive than I actually felt. Dad was in good health and had more wisdom and common sense than anyone I knew. He’d come back to us, if it was humanly possible and if God was willing.
That night, after he checked in with us from Kingman, I realized there was a fine line between praying for him constantly and worrying about him. Somewhere I had to find balance. Just like the pastor had said in his sermon on Sunday, I had to let God keep him, and that meant letting him go.
I picked up my new work schedule on the day after Dad left. Robert had given me all the extra hours he could to help with our finances, except for Sunday mornings, which I’d specifically asked to have off. I’d decided that church was going to be a priority this year, no matter what. We all needed it, especially with Dad gone. I’d even get Deja there eventually, and we’d be a family together. The thought kept me going.
On New Year’s Day I’d done a complete cleansing of my kitchen cabinets, replacing old spices, baking supplies, and staples with new ones, lining the shelves with fresh paper, and rearranging my work station to be most efficient. My new schedule didn’t allow much opportunity to bake, and every minute spent rummaging through messy cabinets would be lost time.
“Too bad about your dad being gone,” Jo said on our ten-minute break. “If you got a big problem of some kind and you need a man, I’ll send one over.” She took a long draw on her cigarette and blew it to the side. “But you can’t keep him.”
“Nothing will come up that we can’t handle or a plumber can’t fix,” I assured her.
“Just in case. I’m only offering.”
I splurged for our first official girls’ squad meeting and brought home a tub of fried chicken and a liter of root beer. Paper plates were the order of the evening. Until Dad came home, we’d make life as simple for ourselves as cheaply as possible.
My last nail popped off when I dug out a pencil and paper from the kitchen junk drawer for the meeting after dinner. I fished it out from the back of the drawer—pretty and red with a snowflake on the tip—and tossed it into the trash. It would be two months or longer before I could afford a new set. I knew I should rethink the whole acrylic nail indulgence anyway. It was part of the makeover Jo had convinced me to get, but the nails got in the way of everything I did. Sometimes they even made it hard to bake.
I couldn’t afford them, and I suppose some people would think they were gaudy. In a fleeting, renegade moment, I wondered what Julian thought of them, and I shook my head. What difference did it make? I looked at my own nails and grimaced. They were paper-thin and torn with white blotches stained with stubborn red polish. Maybe the fake ones served a purpose, after all.
Winnie, Deja, and Andie joined me at the kitchen table for our annual strategy meeting. Winnie opened with a brief explanation for Andie.
“Okay, ladies,” I said when she was done. “Most of you know the drill. This meeting is for the division of duties and to set a menu. Now’s the time to speak up if you have any preferences.”
“Andie and me wanna load the dishwasher,” Winnie said, her legs bouncing the seat.
Andie’s forehead creased, and she looked irritated. To this point, she’d been very patient with Winnie, but it looked as though Winnie may have finally crossed the line.
“Is that okay with you, Andie? There really aren’t that many dishes since it’s only the three of you.”
“I guess so,” she said.
I listed Winnie’s and Andie’s names on the small whiteboard under DISHES.
“What about you, Deja? Your turn to pick.”
She tipped her chair back, her eyes slits. “I’ll feed the cat.”
“That’s good for starters, and what else?”
“Bring in the mail.”
“Very funny. Okay, I’ll assign you to bathroom duty.”
“Wait—”
“Too late. We’ll rotate next time.”
All four legs of her chair set down heavily onto the floor. “Well, if I have to clean the stupid bathrooms, they should have to vacuum all the rooms.”
“Yeah, we’ll vacuum,” Winnie said. “And we’ll dust too.”
Andie’s jaw dropped. “I can’t dust. It makes me stuffy.”
“You’re right. Winnie, the job’s all yours. Andie, you could unload the dryer and fold clothes.”
She considered it. “Okay.”
“Which means, Deja, you sort and load the washing machine.”
“Why can’t she load it too? I have a lot of homework,” Deja argued.
“There’s too much cat hair and animal dander on dirty clothes because somebody keeps letting the cat in.”
Deja sneered at Andie, who beaded her eyes and met Deja’s look with a steely gaze, not flinching. Good for Andie! I buttoned my lips together to keep from smiling.
“We’ll keep this schedule for one week,” I said. “Now, about food. What do you want me to pick up that’s easy to fix?”
“Ramen,” Deja said. “Beef and chicken, not that gross shrimp kind. And Oriental salad.”
I started my shopping list. Winnie wanted peanut butter and jelly, and instant macaroni and cheese. Andie suggested grilled cheese and tomato soup.
“You know how to fix that?” I asked.
“My dad showed me. And scrambled egg sandwiches and sloppy joes too.”
Winnie studied her with a frown. Finally she said, “My dad showed me how to pour beer without getting it all foamy.”
Andie’s eyebrows lifted. “Nice.”
“That’s enough, Winnie. Now, we won’t be eating out until we get a check from your father. So tighten your belts.”
“I can cut out coupons if you want,” Andie offered. “To save money.”
I smiled. “I wish I could take you up on that, Andie. But they won’t let me use coupons on top of my employee discount.”
Deja snorted, and the look on Andie’s face made me wish I’d taken the coupons anyway and just pretended to use them. “It was a great idea, though,” I said.
They added teriyaki bowls, potpies, and SpaghettiOs to the list.
“Deja, I want you to be in charge of the oven when it’s used.”
I made out a menu for the week and posted it along with the job list. “Okay, I think we’re set. One warning.” My eyes swept from Winnie and Andie to Deja. “Anyone who doesn’t do her jobs this time around gets double the next. Understand?”
The younger girls agreed. I waited, and Deja finally said, “Fine.”
The first week was slow going, like a great locomotive trying to gather steam, but they finally got used to the idea of my getting home at ten o’clock. There were no major mishaps, just minor glitches, for which I was grateful, and they rarely called me at work. I came home exhausted every night, ate peanut butter and jelly or a can of soup, and went to bed. By the weekend I was slowly adjusting to the longer schedule, though I almost nodded off during the sermon on Sunday morning. After church that day, I fell asleep on the couch trying to stay awake to watch a movie with Winnie and Andie. When I woke up it was dark, and they were in their rooms. I felt like a bad mother. On Monday night we had another meeting to switch some of the jobs around and adjust the grocery list. They all agreed there were no major problems to report—everyone seemed to be doing her job reasonably well.
It killed me to even occasionally buy packaged goodies for their school lunches, but I had no choice. There just wasn’t enough time in the day to bake on top of everything else. But when withdrawal got too bad I baked at midnight, although I always regretted it in the morning.
When Russell’s check came we splurged on Chinese takeout from Lucky Dragon and rented a movie. Of course, the movie didn’t interest Deja, but it was a chance to catch up over dinner.
I knew it was too good to last. Halfway through the month, Deja got lazy and quit doing her jobs. I wished more than ever that I could be home with them. Especially when the court worker came to visit, and the girls were there by themselves.
Dad checked in with us from Tucson and Nogales. He called again from Old Smokey’s Restaurant in Williams, south of the Rim, just before he started home. He’d caught on canvas a perfect sunset and a Navajo child in the snow with shades of purple. He sounded happy. Contented.
I told him he had been right, that we were getting along fine so far and that hopefully the end of the month would turn out as uneventful as the beginning.
Dad wasn’t what you’d call religious. But going to church and reading my Bible were slowly making a difference in me, and I couldn’t keep it to myself.
“Dad, I pray for you every day,” I told him on the phone before we said good-bye.
There was silence on the other end of the line, and I was afraid we’d been cut off. “Dad?”
“It’s working, girl. Keep it up.”