Free Mary Wolf by Cynthia D. Grant Page A

albatross around my neck.”
    â€œWe can get another tire!”
    â€œIt doesn’t even run! Listen to me, Mary. Will you listen to me? We’re going to have to leave it. It’s too bad, I’m sorry. But we don’t have the money to fix it.”
    â€œYou’re going to get a job. We can fix it later!”
    â€œMary, we’re dealing with reality here. This thing has been dying since we left Nebraska. It’s dead now. It’s finished. That’s it.”
    â€œWe can’t just leave it.”
    He gets out a wrench. He pulls off the Jeep’s license plates and gets the registration out of the glove box, throwing everything into the RV’s tool compartment. Then he disconnects the Jeep from the Wolfs’ Den.
    â€œLet’s go,” he says. “You drive.”
    He sits in back with his arm around Mama. When we pull away, he stares straight ahead. The little girls watch the Jeep until it disappears. No one says anything.
    The campground we stay in that night is crummy. We’re up early the next morning and on the road. The crack on the windshield is a river of mist. I’ve got the tape deck blasting and the wipers going.
    Then we pass through the fog and the sun is strong.
    â€œThe banana belt,” Daddy says.
    â€œI don’t see any bananas.” Polly’s looking around.
    â€œWhat that means, honey, is that this area is sunny. Some parts of the coast have less fog than others.”
    â€œAndrew, look at those gorgeous houses,” Mama says.
    Enormous homes loom on either side of the road, with lots of land around them fenced by beautiful pines.
    â€œWouldn’t you love to live here.” Mama sighs.
    â€œMost of them are probably second homes,” Daddy says. Erica asks what he means, and he explains that some people have so much money that they can afford to have a house just for vacations.
    â€œThat’s not fair,” Erica says. “We don’t even have one house.”
    â€œYes we do, dummy. In Nebraska,” Danielle says.
    â€œTurn off here, Mary. Let’s look around.”
    Daddy’s pointing up a road. We drive into the development.
    Most of the houses are two stories tall, with walls of windows and redwood decks. A few of the houses appear occupied but most of them look vacant.
    â€œCan you imagine having so much dough you could let one of these babies sit empty?” Daddy points out a house barely visible from the road. “Stop here, Mary.”
    â€œWhat’re you doing, Andrew?”
    â€œI’m going to look around for a minute.”
    He walks up the driveway and disappears. The empty lots on either side of the house are overgrown with brush and orange poppies.
    â€œLook, Mama, you can see the ocean,” I say.
    â€œI know. Isn’t it gorgeous? How would you like to look at that view while you’re standing at the sink doing dishes?”
    Daddy gets back in the RV. “Nobody home,” he says. “I wanted to see if the house is available. There’s usually a lot of vacation rentals in a place like this.”
    â€œAndrew, we can’t afford to rent one of these houses.”
    â€œLike you always say, Wendy, you never know until you try. Mary, go back down the highway to the real-estate office. I want to get some information.”
    â€œAre we going to live here, Daddy?”
    â€œNo, we’re not, you dope.”
    â€œDanielle,” Mama says, “don’t call your sister names.”
    â€œAre we going to live here, Daddy?” Erica doesn’t give up easily.
    â€œProbably not, honey. But we’ll see,” he tells her.
    I drive back to the real-estate office on the highway. It’s surrounded by flapping blue-and-white flags emblazoned with the name of the development: SeaScape.
    Daddy puts on a fresh shirt and combs his hair. Then he goes into the office by himself. He’s in there a long time.
    â€œThis is stupid,”