Mary Wolf by Cynthia D. Grant

got new clothes and a bunch of schoolbooks, and Daddy had some work done on the Jeep but it’s still not running right. I asked him to put new tires on it but Daddy says there’s nothing wrong with those tires, and besides, what difference does it make; we’re towing it, not driving it.
    Last night we were heading toward a state park. It took longer to get there than we expected. I drove through the dark, down a winding road, the fog wrapped around the RV like a blindfold.
    When we got to the campground there was a chain across the entrance, and my father got out and said, “What the hell?” The fog had lifted and in the headlights we could see that there had been a bad fire and the campground was closed. The trees were scorched and bare.
    We were too tired to keep driving, so we camped for the night. Andy cried a lot. Daddy’s stomach hurt. “Can’t you do something about that baby?” he said. Mama jiggled Andy and patted his back, but she was frantic; he got more upset.
    I wrapped him in a blanket and took him outside and we walked around and around the RV. He stopped crying and turned up his face to the sky.
    â€œThose are stars, Andy,” I whispered. “They’re really far away. If you knew how far away they are, you wouldn’t believe it.”
    When we went back inside, my father and the girls were sleeping. Mama nursed Andy and put him in his laundry-basket bed.
    â€œThank you, Mary,” she whispered. “You’re such a help.”
    â€œIt’s not your fault Andy cries. Daddy shouldn’t get mad at you.”
    â€œHe doesn’t mean to. He’s just got so much on his mind.”
    â€œWho doesn’t?”
    â€œThings will be better soon.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œSoon,” she said firmly. “Let’s not wake up the girls.”
    â€œI’m not waking up the girls. I just want to talk to you, Mama. We never get to talk. There’s always people around.”
    â€œNot people,” she said. “Your family.”
    â€œWhat’s going to happen to us? We can’t keep driving around.”
    â€œWe won’t. We just haven’t found the right place to settle down yet.”
    â€œAnd we never will, thanks to Daddy. Everywhere we go, he gets in a fight, or something happens and he gets mad and quits. I know why we had to leave Cloverdale. I know what really happened at the gas station.”
    â€œI don’t know what you mean. Keep your voice down, Mary.”
    â€œHe stole those parts. They didn’t give them to Daddy. He was putting gas in the Jeep without paying.”
    â€œThat’s not true! Those parts were used. They were just going to throw them away! Anyway, so what if he took a little gas? That man hardly paid Daddy anything.”
    â€œThat doesn’t make it right. I don’t understand what’s happening here. Why is everybody changing? Back home he wouldn’t let us take one peanut out of the grocery store. He said that was stealing.”
    â€œIt was. It is.” Mama’s face looked tired and heavy. “Mary, you don’t understand how hard this is for Daddy. Losing that company just about killed him. He ran that office. That was his office, Mary. Your father was an important man. Now he feels like a failure, a loser, like he can’t even feed his own family.”
    â€œHe can’t.”
    â€œDo you know how hard that is for a man like Daddy? The last thing he needs is to feel like you don’t love him.”
    â€œI do love him.”
    â€œOr trust him. He’s your father, Mary. He’s still the head of this family.”
    â€œBut why does he get to decide what’s right? I mean, look at us, Mama. We’re camped in a graveyard.”
    â€œHow was he supposed to know there’d been a fire?”
    â€œHe’s not. The point is, we shouldn’t even be here. We should be in Nebraska, in our beds, sleeping. He