Mary Wolf Read Online Free PDF Page A

a little girl I left home on a big trip. At first it was fun seeing all the different places. Now everywhere we go looks like this goddam trailer park.”
    â€œThat’s great Danielle. That’s swell.”
    â€œYou said I could write whatever I want.” She crumples up the paper and turns on the TV. Erica and Polly draw close to the flickering screen, as if it were a cozy fire.
    Danielle knows we’re going nowhere, that we’re driving in circles. She remembers how life used to be, back home. A house without wheels. A yard of our own. Erica and Polly were little; their memories are hazy. Daddy loves to tell them stories about the old days. He makes our house sound like a fairytale castle; countless rooms, closets bulging with clothes, fluffy towels in gleaming bathrooms, a row of shiny bikes, a swing set and slide, a wide lawn swept with melting diamonds and the laughter of children playing in the sprinkler, the sun above us like a big white smile, shining down upon our family.
    Daddy and Mama tell the girls we’ll move back there someday.
    They don’t know I know the house is gone.
    I heard them talking one night when they thought I was asleep.
    â€œYou sold it?” she repeated. “What do you mean, you sold it?”
    â€œI sold it. It’s gone. Aren’t you listening to me?”
    â€œYou’re lying,” Mama whispered fiercely. “You couldn’t sell the house without my signature!”
    He said, “Where’d you think all the money was coming from?”
    â€œI don’t know! We had money in the savings. We had money in the savings! That’s what you said.”
    â€œI made some investments. Things didn’t pan out.”
    His voice was flat. She asked no more questions. I lay in the dark, listening to Mama weep.
    Daddy and Mama return, bearing sacks of groceries and a white paper bag from the bakery.
    â€œDid you bring me something?” Polly leaps at the bag. Mama kisses her and hands her a cookie.
    â€œI got hired at the furniture factory,” Daddy announces. “They make picnic tables and lawn chairs. I can do that in my sleep. The pay’s not great but it’s a start.”
    â€œYou’ll be running the place in a week,” Mama says, cupping her hands under her big belly.
    â€œWe checked out the schools. They look good,” he says. “You girls can start tomorrow.”
    â€œDo we have to?”
    â€œOf course you have to, Danielle,” he tells her sternly. “It’s against the law for children to be dumb.” He winks to show he’s kidding. She smiles uncertainly. “After lunch we’ll drive down and look around. I’m sure you girls are curious about your new town.”
    Erica snuggles on his lap. “What’s it called, Daddy?”
    He has to think for a moment. There have been so many towns.
    â€œCloverdale. It’s a pretty little place. I think we’re going to like it here. And Mary, you’ll be pleased to know we’ve ordered new tires. A complete set. Are you happy now?”
    I say, “It’s like a dream come true.”

Four
    I thought Daddy would drive us to school the first day, but he said we should take the bus.
    â€œIt will pick you up at the bottom of the hill. You can make new friends right away,” he said.
    Erica shrank. She’s shy with strangers. “I want you to take us, Daddy,” she whimpered.
    â€œYou heard your father. Get dressed,” Mama said. “The bus will be here at seven thirty.”
    My parents usually act like they can’t breathe without us. Other times, we seem to suffocate them. It’s strange.
    Safely nestled in their bed, Polly watched us get dressed. “I can’t tie my shoes,” Erica cried. I helped her. Then we gulped down our breakfast and left the RV, the fog enveloping the girls’ bare legs. California’s supposed to be warm, the climate kind to migrating