The New Yorker Stories - Ann Beattie [45]
“You’re drunk,” Wanda says. “What’s going on? Who’s that in the car?”
“It’s awful, Wanda,” Ray says. “Here I am, and I’m drunk, and I’m taking May away.”
“Daddy—were you in Colorado?” May says. “Is that where you were?”
“Colorado? I don’t have the money to go West, sweetheart. I was out at Gus and Sugar’s beach place, except that Gus has split, and Sugar is here with me to pick you up.”
“She’s not going with you,” Wanda says. Wanda looks mean.
“Oh, Wanda, are we going to have a big fight? Am I going to have to grab her and run?”
He grabs May, and before Wanda can move they are at the car. The music is louder, the door is open, and May is in the car, crushing Sugar.
“Move over, Sugar,” Ray says. “Lock the door. Lock the door!”
Sugar slides over behind the wheel. The door slams shut, the windows are rolled up, and as Wanda gets to the car May’s father locks the door and makes a face at her.
“Poor Wanda!” he shouts through the glass. “Isn’t this awful, Wanda?”
“Let her out! Give her to me!” Wanda shouts.
“Wanda,” he says, “I’ll give you this.” He puckers his lips and blows a kiss, and Sugar, laughing, pulls away.
“Honey,” Ray says to May, turning down the radio, “I don’t know why I didn’t have this idea sooner. I’m really sorry. I was talking to Sugar tonight, and I realized, My God, I can just go and get her. There’s nothing Wanda can do.”
“What about Mom, though?” May says. “I got a letter, and she’s coming back from Colorado. She went to Denver.”
“She didn’t!”
“She did. She went looking for you.”
“But I’m here,” Ray says. “I’m right here with my Sugar and my May. Honey, we’ve made our own peanut butter, and we’re going to have peanut butter and apple butter, and a beer, too, if you want it, and go walking in the surf. We’ve got boots—you can have my boots—and at night we can walk through the surf.”
May looks at Sugar. Sugar’s face is set in a wide smile. Her hair is white. She has dyed her hair white. She is smiling.
Ray hugs May. “I want to know every single thing that’s happened,” he says.
“I’ve just been, I’ve just been sitting around Wanda’s.”
“I figured that’s where you were. At first I assumed you were with your mother, but I remembered the other time, and then it hit me that you had to be there. I told Sugar that—didn’t I, Sugar?”
Sugar nods. Her hair has blown across her face, almost obscuring her vision. The traffic light in front of them changes from yellow to red, and May falls back against her father as the car speeds up.
Sugar says that she wants to be called by her real name. Her name is Martha Joanna Leigh, but Martha is fine with her. Ray always calls her all three names, or else just Sugar. He loves to tease.
It’s a little scary at Sugar’s house. For one thing, the seabirds don’t always see that the front wall is glass, and sometimes a bird flies right into it. Sugar’s two cats creep around the house, and at night they jump onto May’s bed or get into fights. May has been here for three days. She and Ray and Sugar swim every day, and at night they play Scrabble or walk on the beach or take a drive. Sugar is a vegetarian. Everything she cooks is called “three”-something. Tonight, they had three-bean loaf; the night before, they had mushrooms with three-green stuffing. Dinner is usually at ten o’clock, which is when May used to go to bed at Wanda’s.
Tonight, Ray is playing Gus’s zither. It sounds like the music they play in horror movies. Ray has taken a lot of photographs of Sugar, and they are tacked up all over the house—Sugar cooking, Sugar getting out of the shower, Sugar asleep, Sugar waving at the camera, Sugar angry about so many pictures being taken. “And if Gus comes back, loook out,” Ray says, strumming the zither.
“What if he does come back?” Sugar says.
“Listen to this,” Ray says. “I’ve written a song that’s about something I really feel. John Lennon couldn’t have been more honest. Listen, Sugar.”
“Martha,” Sugar says.
“Coors beer,” Ray sings, “there’s none here. You have to go West to drink the best—Coooors beeeer.