Free Everybody's Daughter by Marsha Qualey

inspiration.”
    “No, I don’t think so,” said Peter as he joined them. “I’m certain Sue—”
    “Don’t tag it on me,” said Sue.
    “Who, then?” said Maud. The group was silenced by its collective reach for memory.
    “Good Lord,” muttered Beamer. She zipped her jacket and left.
    Martin was approaching the store.
    “Hello,” he said. “Still open? I need some ski wax.”
    “Open until eight.”
    “I was hoping to see you, too. Would you be interested in doing something tonight? A movie?”
    Beamer was wearing a hat, scarf, gloves, and down jacket, but the chill ran through. “Thanks,” she said after a long pause, “but I have a date.” She gestured toward Andy’s car.
    “Steady date? Steady boyfriend?”
    She nodded.
    “Figures. Well, have fun.” He reached to open the store door.
    “Martin,” said Beamer.
    “Yes?”
    “Be careful when you go in there.”
    “Why?”
    She paused. “There are some very strange people in there.”
    “The Woodies? The people you talked about? I was hoping to meet them.”
    “You were? Well, have fun then.”
    She walked toward Andy’s car, head lowered against the wind. Okay, she thought. I warned him.
    *
    The Woodies lost no time in evaluating Martin. “He’s just marvelous company!” said Maud and Jeffrey.
    “Patient and caring,” said Jenny. “Funny and smart,” said Peter and Sue. “A boy to be proud of,” said Daniel, who immediately adopted Martin as his own long-lost son. Always reticent and quiet, Beamer’s parents reserved their judgment but simply extended their customary warm welcome.
    Martin began work at the station, where the staff and membership had been suffering from budget cuts and battles over program philosophy. Martin refused to take sides and agreed to make coffee. Within one month he had his own half-hour early morning program, “Martin’s Place,” a personal forum which he used to air his favorite music and to interview people who interested him—a taxidermist, a midwife, a school crossing guard. Beamer’s father soon had a regular segment, “Bob’s Bait Bets and Fishing Report,” on Martin’s show.
    Beamer now turned the radio on immediately in the morning and lay in bed, putting off the day while she listened to Martin. His voice was lazy and low and provided a gentle rousing on the gray, cold winter mornings.
    Martin was often at the bait shop when Beamer returned from school, and the two often went for a quick ski around the lake, stopping at the north shore clearing for a candy bar, a nose wipe, a joke, then sprinting the long last mile to race the quickly settling dusk.
    The winter days were lengthening, though, and one afternoon Beamer and Martin took a light picnic when they went skiing. They stopped at the clearing, wiped the snow off a large tree stump, and set out the food.
    “Oh, good,” said Beamer, “you brought mostly junk food. I never get enough, you know. I was raised on yogurt and soybeans and I absolutely crave sugar and chemicals.”
    “Have some chips, then,” said Martin, handing her a bag.
    Beamer lay back against a packed snowdrift and munched. Martin opened a Thermos and poured two cups of cocoa.
    “I slept late and missed your show this morning,” said Beamer. “How did it go?”
    “Today was absolutely the worst day of my life,” said Martin.
    “Absolutely?”
    “Nearly so. I had two guests scheduled—a local cop who goes around to schools talking about sexual abuse and this housewife—”
    “I think they’re called homemakers now.”
    “—this homemaker who works as a dancer for stag parties. Neither one showed up.”
    “Maybe they ran off together.”
    “Could be. And then this new technician messed things up and all the national news and program feeds were lost and I had to fill in air time. Then there was a budget meeting—do we give air time to ‘Popular Politics’ or ‘Senior Sexuality’?”
    “Are you going to eat that Twinkie, or is it for me?”
    “For