Mary Wolf by Cynthia D. Grant Page B

ocean. We sat by a window, in the sun. The sea and the sky were as blue as Andy’s eyes. The table was decorated with a bouquet of wildflowers.
    â€œThis is living.” Daddy sighs, sipping his cappuccino. “I mean, look at that view. That’s heaven. What do you say we call this place home for a while?”
    â€œThis restaurant, you mean?” Mama’s smiling.
    â€œYou know exactly what I mean, young lady. I can picture you living here, in one of those big houses on the hill. With a porch all around it and a flower garden, no bloom as radiant as you.” Daddy raises her hand and kisses it.
    The girls have fancy hamburgers and creamy milkshakes that hollow their cheeks and choke their straws. Andy wriggles on Mama’s lap, smiling. We do funny stuff to make him laugh, except for Danielle, who ignores him.
    â€œI could get used to a place like this,” Daddy says. “I wonder what the rentals go for.” He goes outside to a rack and brings back a local paper. He scans the ads, then fans himself, pretending to feel faint. “For these prices, you should own the houses!”
    â€œWe could probably find something cheaper,” Mama says. “It takes a while. You have to look.”
    There’s a high school in town; we drove past it. If we stayed long enough, I could graduate. But aside from shops and restaurants, there doesn’t seem to be much work. It would be hard to make a living here.
    â€œIt’s too expensive,” I say. “We can’t afford it.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Scrooge. Your objection has been noted.”
    â€œYou never know until you try,” Mama says. “Anyway, we could stay in the campground until we save some money.”
    â€œDoing what? The help-wanted section is only three inches long.”
    My father’s too content to feel annoyed. He leans across the table and tugs my braid, saying, “How can such a pretty girl look so grumpy?”
    I finish my pasta and have chocolate mousse, wondering how we’ll pay for this feast. My parents never say how much money they have. Some mornings Mama’s stealing Pop Tarts for breakfast but later we’ll go out to eat, so it’s hard to figure.
    I sneak a peek at the bill and review our options: Daddy could write a bad check. He could try to pass one of our expired credit cards. Or he could get up as if he were going to the bathroom, then casually step out the front door, followed by Mama and Andy, then the girls and me. We’ve done that before.
    He surprises me. He produces another thick wad of bills and pays cash, leaving a generous tip for the waitress. Polly hands it back to him. “You forgot this, Daddy.”
    â€œNo, honey.” He and Mama laugh. “We’re leaving that here.”
    We stroll along the sidewalk, Daddy and Mama holding hands, Andy squirming in my arms, trying to watch the traffic.
    I say, “Daddy, have you noticed how much Andy likes cars?”
    Daddy smiles proudly. “He’s a real little boy.”
    â€œAndrew, look at that place. It’s exquisite.” Mama points to a mansion on a hill.
    He knows what she’s asking. He puts his arm around her. “We’ll need some information before we make any decisions about living here. We need to know what makes this town tick. And what better place to find out than the local tonsilarium?”
    â€œWhat about your tonsils?” Danielle says.
    â€œBarber shop, my darling. I need a trim.”
    We eat ice cream cones and watch through the window while Daddy gets his hair cut. He and the barber are joking and laughing. When he’s done, the barber shakes his hand and tells him to come back.
    Daddy’s smile slips a little as he steps out the door. “I was talking to my old friend Jim,” he begins.
    â€œIs he really your friend, Daddy?”
    â€œYes, he is, Polly. Mary, get a tissue. Wipe her chin. Jim says there’s not much work