Rice with sugar on it slid down my throat fast, so I didn’t have to taste it. It didn’t glob up like the oatmeal that I had to force down bit by bit.
Mrs. Willis said something. “Your daddy’s coming to visit,” I thought she said, but when I looked up she just stared at her plate, like she hadn’t said anything special. She sat on the couch in the living room. Mostly just the food stayed on the dining room table, and Sammy, so he didn’t spill. I ate there beside him sometimes, and so did Renee. My brother and Buddy usually got their food quick and snuck off someplace secret and alone, but they hadn’t left yet and my bother turned towards Mrs. Willis, his head still and listening.
My body was that way too, but Mrs. Willis loaded up on another forkful of black-eyed peas, kept munching, until I thought I misheard her about Daddy coming, and moved my fork around in my rice, getting ready to shove down another bite. Luckily they didn’t force me to eat the black-eyes peas like they did the oatmeal every morning because I’d have to chew those and taste that horrid taste longer while I tried to swallow.
But then Mrs. Willis said, “Two thousand miles, all the way from Yakima, Washington, to see you,” and I knew I heard right. Then she looked at Danny, me, Renee and Sammy, like she was checking to make sure we appreciated how far Daddy was coming to see us.
I sat still, but inside shouted, say it, say it, when? Coming when?
Then she said, “He expects to be here sometime on Sunday.” Today was Thursday – three more days.
So, after dinner while Renee and I dried the dishes that Shirley Willis washed, Daddy drove in his black car with the running board, on the way to Ava, Missouri to the Willis farm.
All day Saturday, while Mrs. Willis mopped the floors and Renee and I helped Shirley Willis scrub the woodwork with rags dipped in hot soapy water and Pine Sol, Daddy drove closer and closer.
Saturday night while I lay in my sleeping bag on the dining room floor next to Sammy and Renee, Daddy drove, or slept in his car, or maybe stopped at a motel, ready to start off again early in the morning to see us in Missouri.
Sunday morning, when I woke up, I didn’t stay in the sleeping bag a few more minutes like I usually did. I sat right up.
Renee’s sleeping bag didn’t move so I reached over and found her shoulder through the thick bag. I jiggled her shoulder and a corner of the sleeping bag flopped up and down on her cheek. When the corner hit her cheek she squinched her eyes, then opened them.
“Renee,” I said.
“What,” Renee said.
“Daddy’s coming today.”
Renee pulled her legs up under her, then she sat up on her knees with the sleeping bag still all around her. She rubbed her eyes. Renee reached over and tapped Sammy’s shoulder.
Sammy lay half out of his sleeping bag with his head on the bare wooden floor. His cheek had a ridge on it, a mark made by the zipper of the sleeping bag, and his mouth was half open.
“Sammy,” Renee said, and pushed his shoulder.
Sammy’s eyes opened all of a sudden, bright blue, but then they shut all the way again.
So I got out of my sleeping bag and rubbed his back, and kept saying, “Sammy, Sammy,” until he finally opened his eyes again.
Sammy said, “Is Daddy here?”
“Not yet, but we’re going to go outside to wait for him,” I said.
By the time Sammy had on his striped T-shirt, Danny came downstairs with Buddy. Buddy jumped over the last three steps like he always did, landing hard on the floor. My brother sometimes jumped over three, sometimes made it over the last four steps. Four today. He stumbled just clear of Buddy at the bottom.
Danny said to me and Renee and Sammy, “Let’s go wait for Dad.”
We headed through the kitchen to get outside but Mrs. Willis stood by the stove stirring oatmeal, in one of her Sunday house dresses, the big one with a light gray pattern on white, the color of oatmeal.
Mrs. Willis said, “Have some breakfast before you go out.”
Danny started to say something, his mouth opened, then he saw her face with her lips pressed together tight like she wasn’t going to hear any arguments and Danny closed his mouth.
So, there was nothing to do but stop and watch her dish up bowlfuls of oatmeal, those big, solid white China bowls like in a diner Daddy took us to once when he took us out on Sundays, after the divorce. That day with Daddy in the diner the heavy white bowls made my cheerios taste better, special being served up in a restaurant, but it never worked with the oatmeal.
Danny said, “We’ll eat it outside, so we can look out for Dad at the same time.”
“And lose all my bowls and spoons outside?” said Mrs. Willis.
“We won’t,” Danny said, his hand on the back door, waiting to turn the knob. “We’ll bring them all back in. I’ll make sure of it.”
Mrs. Willis held the wooden spoon that she used to dish out the oatmeal up in the air next to her. Finally, she set it back down in the pan. “Ok,” she said. “Make sure you do.”
With all of us waiting together like that I wouldn’t be able to slip off to the pigpen to dish my oatmeal out to the pigs, but it was worth the oatmeal to see Daddy.
Midafternoon, burning hot, we’d been waiting since morning, inside for lunch, then outside waiting again. We leaned up against the wall of the barn which had a good view of the dirt road that wound between the barn and the house, and also had a little bit of shade, a little bit of grass, not much. Mostly it was all dust around the house and the barn. Only over in the fields, not the planted fields, but fields between wooded patches, was there green, long grass, and small trees, patches of blackberries and gooseberries on the edges of the clearings.
Danny, Renee, Sammy and I, and even Buddy Willis sat next to the barn waiting for Daddy.
“There’s his car!” Danny said.
I didn’t see anything but a little dust flying way far off.
Danny stood up, pushing himself up with his hands in the dirt, then brushed his hands against his jeans. He pulled his white T-shirt out and used it to rub at his hands. He jerked his head to move the hair out of his face back in place parted to the right, and when that didn’t work, used his right hand to wipe it out of his eyes.
“Sure is something,” Buddy said. He’d stood up too and now placed his flat hand above his eyes to keep the sun out. “Something is kicking up dirt out there.”
Just what are you doing here, Buddy Willis. This is my Daddy.
But Buddy went on acting just like he owned my Daddy, owned the wait while he drove up the road.
“Yeah,” Buddy said, “What kind of car did you say he drove, a black Studebaker?”
My brother nodded.
Buddy said, “Yeah, that looks like a Studebaker, rides low, kicking up dust.”
Renee and Sammy stood up and looked down the road too. Renee pushed her curly hair back and put her hand up over her eyes the way Buddy did.
She said, “I can’t see it. Where is it?”
So I took her finger and used it to point to the swirls of dust that Buddy said was Studebaker dust, and said, “There, do you see it now, where the dust is?”
“Kind of,” Renee said, staring very hard with her blue eyes. So I showed her again.
“Oh, yeah,” Renee said. Her fingers clenched the bottom of her white blouse. The blouse was too short so there was a space between it and the top of her red shorts.
“Me too,” Sammy said.
Sammy was heavy but I could pick him up if he wrapped his legs around my middle and if I braced my leg so he rested on my hip. I had to lean him out a little to keep his head from bumping mine and it made my right arm tired holding onto him that way.
I pointed with my left hand. “See there,” and this time it was more than a patch of dust, it was something black and maybe tires.
“Daddy’s Studebaker!” Sammy shouted, and he jiggled up and down so it made my arm even tireder to hold him.
Danny ruffled Sammy’s blond, reddish tinted hair. He took Sammy from me and lifted Sammy up onto his shoulders. “Now you can really see good,” Danny said. Sammy laughed.
“Should be here in another couple minutes,” Buddy said.
Obviously.
The black car with the running board drove slow past the barn and pulled up on the other side of the road in front of the house. All of us moved towards the car, Buddy ran. My brother didn’t run, because of Sammy on his shoulders, but he walked fast. Renee and I kept up with him, all headed up to the driver side door, Daddy’s door.
Mrs. Willis must have heard the car sounds because there she came out the kitchen door, through the yard and around the car to Daddy’s door before anyone but Buddy could make it. Buddy reached the door just in time to stand beside Mrs. Willis.
I could see part of Daddy’s face, his brown hair, an eyebrow with a blue eye underneath, but Mrs. Willis hid the rest of him.
“Well, hello there, Mr. Parks. Can I call you Clifford? Sure is good to meet you, Clifford.”
She reached in the open front window for my Daddy’s hand so he couldn’t get out of the car, but sat there with his head turned towards her. He shook Mrs. Willis’ hand.
“Pleased to meet you.” Then Daddy turned his eyes away from her to us coming up to the car now, but Mrs. Willis didn’t move to let him out.
“Well, you’ve had a long drive,” Mrs. Willis said.
We stopped just behind her. Danny lifted Sammy down from his shoulders.
“I sure have,” Daddy said. He took the keys out of the ignition and pulled up the lock on the door. He wore a short sleeve shirt and his arms were tanned brown and hairy. Daddy pushed the car door open enough to get out, so Mrs. Willis moved back. Daddy got out of the car then slammed the door shut.
All morning waiting for Daddy, half the afternoon, now Mrs. Willis stood between us and Daddy. We couldn’t push past her to get to him. We had to wait longer, just look at him, until Mrs. Willis was done.
“You must be tired,” Mrs. Willis said. “Let’s get your things and I’ll show you to your room.”
Daddy looked around Mrs. Willis, at us, but Mrs. Willis still didn’t move out of the way.
Daddy went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. Danny got next to him, and pulled Sammy along, before Mrs. Willis and Buddy made it to Daddy’s other side. Renee and I moved close. Daddy reached into the trunk for his suitcase, tan colored with silver latches.
Mrs. Willis put her hand on it, “Here, my son can get that for you.”
Daddy didn’t let go. “Just a minute,” he said.
Mrs. Willis moved her hand away.
Daddy pushed the button to loosen the latch of the suitcase, and opened the lid. He moved his hand through the folded up shirts and pants, feeling for something. He got it with one hand and set it down on the other, a soft brown leather pouch with a drawstring, his fingers wrapped around the bottom of the pouch like holding a softball. Daddy undid the knot of the drawstring one handed to pull the pouch open. He turned away from the trunk and looked at us kids.
Danny let go Sammy’s hand, stood up very straight when Daddy’s eyes landed on him.
Daddy reached into the pouch and pulled out a coin. He showed it to Danny, then he held it up and showed it to the rest of us.
“See, kids. Silver dollars.”
Daddy reached for Danny’s hand, took Danny’s hand in his own bigger hands. He spread Danny’s hand out, palm up, and put the silver dollar in it. Daddy reached back in the bag and brought out more silver dollars which he added to Danny’s hand, until Danny cupped his two hands together to hold them, then pulled up the bottom of his T-shirt to make a pouch to hold all the silver dollars.
Daddy’s face was brown and a little bit red on his nose and one side. His voice started out loud, then got softer.
“They’re for you kids,” Daddy said. “I’ve been saving them ever since you left. Every time a customer at the service station paid me with a silver dollar I put it away to bring to you.”
Daddy blinked his eyes like you do when you are trying to stay awake.
He said, “There’s thirty-two of them there.”
Daddy put the drawstring pouch on top of the coins. Danny held the coins in the pouch of his T-shirt up against his body with one arm, so he could use his other hand to put the silver dollars back in the bag.
Daddy said, “You see, I thought about you every time I got a silver dollar.”
Mrs. Willis leaned against the back fender right next to Daddy.
“Well, isn’t that nice,” she said. “Would you like me to take care of all that money for them?”
Mrs. Willis reached her hand out around Daddy, towards Danny and the silver dollars. Danny put in the last shiny silver dollar and tied up the drawstring.
Daddy backed up against the fender getting out of the way of Mrs. Willis’s arm.
Mrs. Willis’s finger just touched the bag. Danny moved it out of Mrs. Willis’s reach.
“I’ll take care of it,” Danny said. He stuffed the bag into his jeans pocket, part way in, pushed at the part that hung out of his pocket to get it the rest of the way in.
Mrs. Willis moved back away from the fender so she could get closer to Danny, but Daddy stopped leaning on the fender then and stood up straight so he was still between Danny and Mrs. Willis.
“That’s an awfully lot of money for a ten year old boy to take care of,” Mrs. Willis said to Daddy. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have me put it away for him?”
Daddy put his hands in his pockets, shoved them way down. He didn’t look at Mrs. Willis, but down at the dirt. He lifted his head back up.
“That’s okay,” Daddy said. “Danny can take care of it.”
Mrs. Willis pulled back her hand but her eyes stayed on Danny a little longer.
The bag of silver dollars was a big bulge in the pocket of Danny’s jeans.
Daddy closed his eyes together again, then opened them back up. Little wrinkles around Daddy’s eyes. Daddy didn’t use to have little wrinkles around his eyes.
Daddy glanced over at Danny, then turned around and looked at Renee and me and Sammy like there was something else he meant to say or do.
“Hadn’t we better be getting you to your room,” Mrs. Willis said.
Daddy turned back around to the trunk of the car, shut the suitcase lid and pressed the latches shut. He started to pick up the suitcase, but Mrs. Willis said, “Here, my son can take that.”
Danny reached over for the suitcase. “I can get it,” he said.
Danny walked kind of funny on the way to the house with the big suitcase bumping against his leg, the big bulge in his pocket.
Inside the front door, Mrs. Willis motioned Daddy to the stairway. “I’ve fixed you a room upstairs. Let’s get you all settled in.”
Buddy followed my brother who strained to lift the big suitcase up a step. Renee, Sammy and I started up after Daddy and Mrs. Willis. But Mrs. Willis turned to face us, “The rest of you kids just wait downstairs. Your Daddy will be back down in a little while.”
All we could do was watch their backs until the stairway was empty, stayed empty.
“I’m thirsty,” Sammy said. Then I realized how hot and thirsty I was too. I let the cool water run from the faucet awhile before I filled three glasses. The water felt good after the morning and afternoon out in the sun.
From the dining room we could watch the stairway door in the kitchen. I took a sip of my water then balanced the cool glass on my leg. My hair felt damp. Sammy and Renee looked just as hot. I leaned back against the couch.
The sound of steps came down the stairway, but the footsteps didn’t sound like Daddy, but slow and heavy like Mrs. Willis. There weren’t any other footsteps.
Mrs. Willis closed the stairway door and stood with her hand on the doorknob. Her head bent down and her brown hair looked damp. She started towards the living room and just at the door she raised her head so she saw us. She stood up straighter.
“Clifford is just taking a bath and having a little rest before dinner.”
He was supposed to come right back down. She said he would.
We stayed on the dining room chairs.
Mrs. Willis looked impatient. Her voice sounded angry. “He drove straight through all the way from Yakima,” Mrs. Willis said. “Didn’t even stop at a hotel at night, just got a few hours sleep by the side of the road. You surely can understand that he needs a couple of hours of sleep.”
So we had to go outside and look for something to do like we usually did on the days when Daddy wasn’t here.
But Daddy was here.
*****
Food at the Willis’s was, most of the time, oatmeal for breakfast, milk with the cream skimmed off because they sold the cream, peanut butter stretched with coffee at lunchtime, white rice with sugar on it, black eyed peas or green beans for dinner. Greens sometimes. Greens were the worst, worse than the oatmeal, worse than the rice with sugar on it which slid down your throat quick.
Sometimes we’d have good food when Shirley would make something sweet and Renee and I helped her. Chocolate, or blackberry cobbler or gooseberry pie if we picked the berries. One time Shirley took us all out looking for roots for real root beer. Then she made it and it tasted good, but not like root beer.
Tonight there was fried chicken, green beans, potatoes and gravy.
Mrs. Willis had arranged enough chairs around the table for everyone. She put Daddy on one side next to Danny. I sat across from Daddy with Sammy and Renee. The Willises, Mr. and Mrs. Willis, the three older Willis boys, Larry, Kevin and Ben, Danny and Shirley Willis sat on both sides of us and at the ends.
“Um Um,” Larry said, “This sure looks good.” Larry, taller than Daddy, looked like Cowboy Slim on a TV show, but cowboys are different from farmers, even though they have cows on a farm.
“Just the thing after a hard day’s work in the field,” Kevin said. “You ever do any farm work, Clifford?” Kevin and Buddy were both dark, but Kevin had bushy eyebrows that met in the center.
Daddy dished up some chicken, taking just a little, not a lot like he did at home in Yakima. The little wrinkles around his eyes were gone. Maybe they were just from being tired.
“Grew up on a farm,” Daddy said. “My folks still have a place near Salem, Missouri. Did some sharecropping in St. Charles when I worked in the Ford plant near there, but I couldn’t make much of a go of it.”
“What’ya say, you mean these city kids got some farming blood in them after all,” Larry laughed.
Daddy smiled so the little wrinkles around his eyes came back. He squeezed Danny’s shoulder.
“They sure do. They come from a long line of farmers. Danny and Annie were born while we lived on that farm in St. Charles.”
I was born on a farm. Wish I’d known that when Shirley and Buddy went on and on about city kids and farm kids, talking about city kids like we were helpless. Wish I’d known I wasn’t such a city kid after all.
“Well, Clifford,” Larry said, “What say you come swimming in the creek with me and Ben and Kevin after dinner. What the heck, we could even take the two boys along if you think they could keep up with us.”
Larry didn’t say anything about me coming along. Two boys, meaning Danny and Buddy, not Sammy, for the second boy. Maybe Daddy would say that I could come too. Danny was older, but he wasn’t much older, just one year and four months older. And I could swim. I waited for Daddy to say, “Sure, and Annie can come along too.”
“Sure,” Daddy said, “I’d like that.”
After they’d gone and I’d helped Shirley with the dishes, I read stories in a chair where I could see the road to the creek through the living room window. It was nearly dark when they came, all bunched together and something odd about the way they walked. When they were nearly at the edge of the porch I could see they were all gathered around Daddy, holding onto his arms, holding him up while he stepped along.
Buddy broke away from the group up the front porch steps. He flung the front door open wide. Out of breath so it was hard for him to talk. “He got stung by hornets.”
I went to hold the screen door open but before I could, Buddy stepped back out on the porch and held it like that was the most important job in the world.
Mrs. Willis ran out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, “Who got stung by hornets?”
“Mr. Parks did,” Buddy, said from the porch. “He ran into a nest of them. They got all over him before he got away.”
I’d never been stung by hornets but they were worse than bees and I’d been stung by bees, the sting like a flu shot when the needle has gone in easy, but then the medicine reaches the vein, and you’d forgotten how much it can hurt. Mama said when I was a baby I’d been stung by a swarm of bees so she always had me brush the bees away because she said once you were stung by a lot of bees you never got stung again.
The three older Willis boys, Danny and Daddy all came in a clump, up the steps onto the porch. Daddy’s eyes were puffy and mostly closed.
Ben, the kind one who wanted to be a priest, said, “We’re just about there, Clifford.”
Danny said, “Yeah, Dad, we’re just about there.”
Larry and Kevin had their arms around Daddy’s back, holding him up, while Ben and Danny walked on the outside with Daddy’s arms resting on their shoulders. Daddy held his head down. He moved his legs like it hurt him, and like he didn’t think his legs would hold him up.
Inside Larry said, “Better let Kevin and me take him up. There’s not room enough on the stairs for all five of us.”
Ben touched Danny on the shoulder and Danny dropped back. But he followed a step behind Kevin and Larry. He reached his hand like he wanted to pat Daddy’s back, but didn’t because it might hurt.
Ben went up last.
At the bottom of the stairs Mrs. Willis called up, “I’ll make some baking soda paste.”
For a long time the sound of their steps was on the stairs, feet stepping then dragging up each stair, more steps in the hallway upstairs, then a door opening. From the dining room I heard a spoon scrape the sides of a China bowl. Ben came back down and Mrs. Willis handed him a bowl of pasty white baking soda. He went back up.
After awhile Larry, Kevin, Ben and Danny all came down.
“How is he?” Mrs. Willis asked. She had an apron on over her gray dress.
“Well, we got him to bed,” Larry said, “but he’s feeling pretty miserable.”
Ben said, “The stings are on his head and face and neck mostly. Some on his arms, and on his back where they got into his shirt.” Ben touched my shoulder, “He’ll be a lot better in a few days.”
Daddy didn’t get up until the next afternoon. Then he sat on a chair on the end wall of the living room. He had a blanket wrapped around him, one of the scratchy kind. Daddy’s eyes barely opened. His face was a mix of red swollenness and white that might have been the baking soda paste.
He didn’t look like Daddy. He seemed like a strange person, so I told myself this was Daddy, Daddy stung by hornets. I walked closer, but not very fast.
“Daddy,” I said. “Are you feeling any better?” I stopped at the wood stove.
Daddy tilted his head up so the slits where his eyes barely opened on the bottom were looking at me and it looked like he was trying to open them up further but he couldn’t. Then Daddy tried to open his mouth, moving his lips apart, but they were so swollen that even after he moved them they were still together. He kept trying. I wished it weren’t so hard for him, but also I just wanted to hear Daddy’s voice. Finally, he said, “Yes.” I think it was “yes,” but his voice didn’t sound like Daddy’s voice. Then Daddy stopped trying.
In front of Daddy on the coffee table sat a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs and toast. Daddy hadn’t eaten much of the food, but he picked up the coffee cup and held it in his hands. He moved it up against his lips and tilted it. I couldn’t tell if he got anything to swallow or not.
I decided that talking wasn’t such a good idea so I went over to the bookcase and got book 11 of the Book of Knowledge. The couch by the window was close enough to see Daddy and hear Daddy, but not so close that anybody had to talk.
Mrs. Willis appeared, not in her special Sunday gray house dress any longer, just an everyday one, and her hair wasn’t combed as nice as it was the day before. She picked up the plate of eggs and toast.
She said, “Now Clifford, you really should try and eat something. I cooked up the eggs and toast special for you.”
Daddy didn’t try to work his mouth open. He pulled the edges of his blanket to get it tighter around him. He moved his coffee cup to his lips and sipped it.
Mrs. Willis stood there for a minute. Her face was always puffy like Daddy’s was now, only not quite as much, but now, right around her mouth it puffed up a little more. Her face didn’t look like it hurt though.
“Well,” she said, swirling the skirt of her house dress as she turned away.
The next day passed and the next and the next just the same with Daddy in a chair with the blanket wrapped around him, barely moving in all that time. Mrs. Willis kept telling Daddy he should be eating more. Sammy and Renee came right over to the edge of the living room, looking at Daddy, and sometimes at me on the couch, but they never went over to Daddy. I think he was too strange for them.
Danny brought fresh coffee, and held it up to Daddy’s lips so Daddy could sip it easier. Daddy took three or four sips before he stopped. Then Danny set the coffee cup down on the table by Daddy.
The shape of Danny’s eyes when he was serious and he talked was just the same shape as Daddy’s eyes when they weren’t all swollen up with hornet stings, a little narrow like almond shapes.
Danny said, “Anytime you want some more coffee, Daddy, I can help you drink it.”
The evening before Daddy had to leave I came in from outside, through the living room door. Daddy still sat in his spot in the big chair, but his face didn’t look quite so bad. He wasn’t so puffy. His eyes opened more. The eyes that looked out looked like Daddy’s eyes.
I couldn’t tell if he saw me. Maybe he was still too sick to talk.
I stopped before I reached the couch.
If I didn’t look beneath his eyes then his face was Daddy’s face, just a little swollen so there was no sign of those little wrinkles around his eyes that came when he was tired or laughing.
But he wasn’t laughing. He probably wasn’t tired.
I moved by the coffee table.
Daddy lifted his head. His head seemed heavy so it was a struggle for him to lift his head. He looked up at me. His lips moved apart a little.
“Hi, Annie,” Daddy said. It was like his swollen lips and tongue had to force the words out. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Do the hornet stings still hurt?” I stepped from the coffee table to right in front of Daddy.
“Not so bad.” Daddy looked like he tried to smile but his face didn’t move much. Daddy’s short black hair, the shape of his eyes, just the same as in Yakima. The way he said, “Annie,” slower but still the same, saying who I was.
Then it was like when we wrote letters to Mama, and the first lines were easy, “Dear Mama, How are you? I am fine.” Then I’d stare at the paper wondering what else to say. I knew there were things, lot of things that I would have said to her during the day if she were there, but staring at the paper I couldn’t remember them.
What else could I say here to Daddy?
Maybe, if he said something else, even my name one more time then I’d remember all the things to say.
But he didn’t. His head dropped back down.
Nothing came out of me either. I waited for something. Then I reached over to Daddy’s knee where I didn’t think he’d been stung, and stroked the scratchy blanket with my finger.
Back in Yakima before the divorce, at night before we went to sleep was the time that Daddy came in our bedroom, after Mama, to give us a kiss and hug good night. After Daddy came was when it was really time to go to sleep. Even though we didn’t have a bedroom, even though we didn’t have a bed, if not for the hornets Daddy might have knelt down beside our sleeping bags and said good night.
I scooted down in my sleeping bag, even my head, to shut out the living room light. This was the last night that Daddy was here with us. Tomorrow Daddy would be in the black car with the running board driving farther and farther away from us.
Next morning I woke to voices, Daddy’s voice came from the table near where I slept. I grabbed for my shoes and socks, then my jean jacket off the hook by the door. It was chilly. Then I rolled up my sleeping bag and set it against the wall out of the way.
Larry, Ben and Kevin sat on the bench on one side of the table. Mr. Willis, Daddy and Danny sat on the other. Larry stopped in the middle of a bite of pancake, “Thought you’d never wake up, sleepy head.”
Daddy turned around to see me, “Surprised anyone can sleep through all the racket we’re making.” His eyes got wrinkles around them when he smiled, his face barely swollen at all now. He said, “Thought I’d wait awhile before I woke you to say goodbye, let you get your rest. It’s pretty early in the morning.”
“Chickens are barely up,” Kevin said. “Cows are waiting to be milked though.” He stepped out from the bench.”
“You want to get up here and have some pancakes with me?” Daddy asked.
I got up in Kevin’s place, right across from Daddy. Kevin took his plate away to the kitchen and brought me back some silverware and a clean plate with a pancake on it.
“Here you go, fresh off the griddle,” Kevin said, then he went back out to the kitchen and the door opened and shut as he left for the barn.
Daddy said, “Can I help you with that?”
I didn’t need help but I said yes, so Daddy buttered the pancake and poured syrup over the top.
Mrs. Willis brought a whole plate of pancakes, so Daddy put one on my plate, “Here, we’ll get you one for later.”
Daddy ate two more pancakes himself, so he’d gotten his appetite back.
Mr. Willis slid his thumb along the edge of the bib of his overalls and tapped the bottom of his empty mug on the red checked plastic tablecloth. He said to Larry and Ben, “You boys through? We’d best be milking those cows too and getting out to the field.”
He slid off the edge of the bench, turned to Daddy and said, “It’s been good to meet you, Clifford. Sorry you had that run in with those hornets.” He held out his hand and Daddy shook it. Larry and Ben followed Mr. Willis out the door.
At the door Larry said, all cheery like, “You take care of yourself now, Clifford.” But Ben just said, “Bye, Clifford,” before he pulled the door closed.
Daddy rested his arms on the table. In a quiet voice like he was still being careful not to wake anyone, he said, “Maybe we could get the other kids up now.”
Danny shook Sammy awake. I woke Renee and helped her roll up her sleeping bag. Daddy went to the kitchen to check on pancakes for Renee and Sammy. Danny helped Sammy get his clothes on and rolled up his sleeping bag. For once, Sammy’s clothes looked dry.
Daddy came back from the kitchen with plates, the top plate filled with pancakes and silverware. He put butter and syrup on pancakes for Sammy and Renee and cut Sammy’s pancake up into bite size pieces.
We were all here, Daddy, Sammy, Renee, Danny and me, everyone but Mama. Mrs. Willis stayed in the kitchen, so there were no Willises.
Daddy didn’t eat anymore. Instead he watched us eat. He had his hand on the handle of his coffee cup but he didn’t pick it up to drink.
Daddy said, “Shouldn’t be long now before your mother comes to get you. Hope it won’t be this long before I get to see you all again. Sorry I didn’t get to do too much with you.”
Danny put his hand over on Daddy’s arm. “It’s ok, Dad. It wasn’t your fault.”
Daddy wiped his forehead with his arm. “I know,” he said. “It’s just that I planned to do so much with you. I took all the vacation that I had.”
Sammy rubbed his eyes. “Daddy going back to Yakima?” he asked.
Daddy said, “Yes, I’ve got to take off here in just a little bit. I have to get back to my job.”
But not quite yet. We all kept eating, with sounds of forks scraping the plates, and cups of milk picked up and put down. The darkness through the kitchen window was less dark now. Daddy drank coffee and watched us eat. Just us, together.
As we each finished eating Daddy stacked up our plates in a pile with the used silverware on top.
Sammy didn’t finish his. “You want the rest of his?” Daddy asked Danny.
Danny shook his head no, and his hair fell across his forehead.
Daddy stacked Sammy’s plate along with the rest, on the top of the stack.
Daddy waited for Danny and Sammy to get up off the bench, then pushed it back away from the table to make a space for himself to stand up. He wiped his hands on his pants legs.
“You kids want to walk me out to my car?” he asked. “Better get your jackets.”
Daddy walked like it didn’t hurt him anymore. I held Sammy’s hand. Daddy’s suitcase sat next to the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen and Danny picked it up. Renee came last. Daddy stopped at the kitchen.
Mrs. Willis washed dishes at the kitchen sink.
Daddy put his hand on the table. He coughed.
Mrs. Willis turned away from the sink.
Daddy rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. He said to Mrs. Willis, “I want to thank you for your hospitality.”
Mrs. Willis dried her hands on a dishtowel. She took a couple of steps towards Daddy.
Daddy backed up one little step then held still.
Mrs. Willis said, “Well, you’re welcome, Clifford.” She smoothed down her apron, then brushed a hand up against her hair. She said, “I just hope you and your wife can work things out so you can get back together with these kids here before long. Not a day goes by that I don’t pray for it.”
Daddy’s mouth started to open, but he closed it and just shook his head. Daddy reached for the door.
Outside when we reached the gate, Daddy knelt down on the walkway. Danny set down the suitcase. Daddy waited for the rest of us to come around him.
He said, “You kids know, don’t you, that the divorce is final. Your Mom and I aren’t married anymore.”
“We know, Dad,” Danny said. He put his hand on the suitcase handle.
“So you aren’t letting Mrs. Willis get your hopes up.” Daddy looked at me.
Maybe my voice sounded softer than I meant it to. “No, Daddy,” I said, but I had been. Mrs. Willis always said how she prayed for them to get back together.
“That’s good,” said Daddy. “But I’ll see you again when I can.”
It was getting light. Dew lay on the ground and on the black Studebaker parked up next to the back fence where Daddy had left it. Daddy unlocked the driver’s side door. He opened the door and sat sideways on the seat with his feet outside. He took his keys from his right front pocket and stuck the car key into the ignition. He lifted his feet into the car, pressed his feet on the pedals and turned the key at the same time. The car started right up. Daddy turned back to us.
“Got to warm it up for awhile,” he said.
Sammy let go my hand, went to Daddy and grabbed his knee. “My Daddy,” he said.
Daddy picked Sammy up into his lap. He reached an arm around Sammy to the keys and turned the car off. Then he just kept both arms around Sammy.
“Don’t go to Yakima, Daddy,” Sammy said.
“I’ve got to go,” Daddy said, “but I’ll miss you.” Daddy kissed Sammy on the top of his head.
Danny said, “We’ll miss you too, Dad.”
I said, “Yeah.”
Daddy reached for my hand and pulled me close to him. He reached again to bring Danny and Renee close too and he hugged us all together. Daddy kissed me and his cheek rubbed against mine, all scratchy like Daddy’s cheek always was. Then he seemed my Daddy again, all the way my Daddy.
“Danny, Annie,” he said, “Now you know you’re the oldest, so you watch out after the younger two, ok?”
“We will, Daddy,” I said. “We always do.”
“That’s good,” Daddy put his hand around my head and pulled it into his shirt. His shirt was soft, but his chest was hard.
“Kids. I’ve got to get going now.” We moved away a little bit from him. Daddy handed Sammy over to Danny to hold, then he pulled his feet back in the car and turned the key again..
We moved further back. Daddy shut the door. He rolled down the window so he could talk to us, his right hand holding the steering wheel, left elbow resting on the window opening.
“Your Mom will be coming for you soon,” Daddy said. “But don’t forget that she’s been in the hospital and she’ll be needing your help too.”
Danny put Sammy down on his feet in front of him.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” Danny said. “I’ll remember. We’ll all remember.”
Daddy’s voice sounded sad, “I know you will.”
“Bye, kids,” Daddy said. He had the little lines around his eyes when he smiled, but he looked sad. He drove the car up past the house, then around so it pointed in the other direction towards the road. As he drove past us he slowed down, held up his left hand and waved. We waved back. We stood watching the car, the black Studebaker, as it got farther and farther away. It was getting light and I could still see it a long ways away. This time it didn’t churn up any dust.
Later that morning I hunted for Danny. I wanted to find him without Buddy around. I’d just seen Will headed to the pigpen with table scraps, so I knew my brother would be alone.
I didn’t usually go in the barn. It didn’t have a loft you could climb up to like Gramma and Grampa Park’s barn. It didn’t have piled up bales of hay like a castle, and loose hay in a crib at the bottom that you could jump into like the barn of Mama’s old boyfriend.
I opened the big barn door part way, went inside and pushed it closed. There were rows of empty stalls – the cows were out to pasture. Against the wall on the right were hay bales, stacked in rows several bales high, except the front row which was two high along most of it, a single bale high along part of it. Danny sat there on one bale of hay, leaning back against another.
Danny just sat there, not doing anything.
I sat down by Danny. He moved over to give me a little more room. He pulled his legs up on the bale and wrapped his arms around them. But he didn’t say anything.
“Danny,” I said, “show me the silver dollars.”
Danny stood up and brushed the loose hay off his jeans. He walked to one wall of the barn, to a place that just had the bales two high against it. He pulled one bale off the other. Danny looked towards the barn door and listened before he dragged the bottom bale out from the wall. He brushed away some loose hay so I could see the hole dug in the ground and the bag of coins lying in the hole. The leather bag was dusty with little pieces of hay stuck to it.
He pulled out the bag, brushed it off and stuck it in his pocket, not all the way in. He put the loose hay back over the hole, then moved both bales back. He sat back down, set the bag on the bale between us and undid the drawstring. He pulled the opening of the bag apart so the bag was a flat piece of soft leather, a pile of silver dollars in the center.
Danny picked up one of the silver dollars, rubbed it, then held it between his thumb and a finger.
“Here,” he said, and I held out a hand.
Danny laid the dollar in my hand.
I closed my hand over the silver dollar, warm from Danny’s rubbing.
Danny said, “Every time Daddy got a silver dollar, he thought about us.”
“I know,” I said. I sat out there a long time in the barn on the bale of hay beside Danny, holding tight to the silver dollar.
