Free Mary Wolf by Cynthia D. Grant

else.”
    â€œAre you sure there’s no work in Mendocino?”
    â€œOf course I’m sure, Wendy. I’ve applied everywhere. Haven’t you been listening to what I’m telling you?”
    â€œWhat about Fort Bragg?” I say. “The barber said people are moving to Fort Bragg.”
    â€œToo many people. And too few jobs. The fishing and mill work have dried up,” Daddy says. He runs his hand over his jaw. He could use a shave. “I think we should head south, spend a few weeks on the coast while the weather’s nice, then head down the peninsula to San Francisco.”
    Mama hands Andy to me and crosses her arms across her chest.
    â€œAndrew, you said no more big cities.”
    â€œWe don’t have to be right in San Francisco. There’s a lot of towns down there. I’ll find some work and a place for us to live. I want the kids to start school this fall.”
    â€œWe can teach them ourselves. They’re doing just fine.”
    Why does she say that? Mama knows it’s not true. The longer we travel around like the circus, the more we seem like clowns.
    â€œI’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” Daddy says. “The girls need to be in school. They need to settle down. We’ve been fooling around long enough, Wendy.”
    I throw my arms around his neck.
    â€œI can help,” I say. “I’ll get a job after school. I’ll give you all the money for food and rent.”
    â€œYou leave that to me.” He strokes my hair. “You girls are going to have some catching up to do. We’ll find a nice house with a good school nearby. I want to see you doing homework again, Danielle. Working on science projects. Maybe join the Girl Scouts. Make some new friends. Wouldn’t you like that, honey?”
    â€œNo,” she says, glaring. But she sounds so funny we all laugh.
    We pack our stuff and put our trash in the Dumpster. Daddy empties out the septic tank. Then we get on Highway 1, heading south down the coast. I offer to drive but Daddy feels fine. His stomach hasn’t bothered him since we’ve been there.
    I hold Andy on my lap and sing the pattycake song, tapping his fat fists together. He laughs.
    â€œLook at him, Mama. Andy loves music.” She smiles, but her eyes are sad. She’s as shy as the girls, only used to the family, fearful of cities and strangers. “Don’t worry, Mama; it’s going to be fine.”
    She looks out the window and nods her head.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Daddy says.
    Something’s making a funny noise, and the RV’s lurching to the left. Daddy pulls over to the shoulder and gets out. I hand Andy to Mama and follow him.
    He looks at the engine and under the RV. Nothing looks broken or out of place. I walk back to the Jeep. One of the tires has blown out. Fat strips of rubber litter the highway.
    â€œWell, that’s just swell,” Daddy says when I show him.
    â€œLet’s put on the spare.”
    â€œThat’s the spare,” he says.
    â€œWe don’t have a spare?”
    â€œThat’s what I said, Mary.”
    â€œWe should have a spare! We should always have a spare!”
    â€œThere’s no use getting hysterical. That won’t help.”
    â€œWell, now what do we do?”
    â€œThat’s the question,” he says. He walks back to the RV and tells Mama not to worry; it’s just a tire. Then he comes back, rubbing his hands across his face.
    â€œCan we tow it for a while?” I ask.
    â€œNot like that. We’d be dragging it on the rim.”
    â€œWe’re going to have to get another tire.”
    â€œNo,” he says. “We’re going to cut her loose.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    He looks angry, as if I’m trying to be stupid. I’m forcing him to say words he doesn’t want to hear.
    â€œWe’re cutting it loose, Mary. We’re leaving it here. This thing is an