Zigzag (26 page)

“Can we see her?” she asked.

“For a minute, yes. But she needs to rest. Do you have a place to go tonight?”

“They're staying with me,” Savannah said firmly. “I'm a friend of the family.”

I was glad to hear it. We needed a friend right now.

Dory was too dopey to even know who was in her room. She opened her eyes and smiled at us, but then went right back into dreamland. Still it was good to see her looking relatively normal again. Her arm and shoulder were in a plaster cast that was held up by a pulley of some kind, but her face was the right color and, wherever she thought she was, she seemed happy there. Marshall gave her a kiss on the cheek and Iris, who'd stopped crying, twirled her mother's wedding ring around her limp finger.

“She never took it off,” Iris said.

We tiptoed out and followed Savannah downstairs.

I remembered as we passed the front desk that our things from the car were there, and we stopped to get them: a garbage bag full of purses, books, CDs, and drawing supplies. And an enormous Acoma vase, unbroken.

“What a beautiful pot. I can't believe it didn't break,” Savannah said as she handed it to me to hold in the front seat.

“I grabbed it between my knees,” Iris said.

“You did?” I said. “When?”

“When the car started to roll. I don't know why. It was just something to hold on to, I guess. I protected it.”

“Or maybe the pot protected
you,
” Savannah said. “You never know.”

“Maybe it protected all of us,” I said.

“Me and the vase were the luckiest ones,” Marshall said. “We didn't get a scratch.”

I
can't believe this! Are you sure Dory's going to be all right? Are you sure
you're
all right? How could this happen?” “Mom, we're okay, really. Don't worry.” I could just imagine her pacing up and down the kitchen, twisting the phone cord into complicated knots.

“Well, you're
not
okay. Dory's in the hospital with broken bones and the rest of you . . . where
are
you, anyway?”

I was standing in the Bolton-Packer family's kitchen watching Savannah's father, Roland, flip pancakes like a professional chef while her mother, Sukey, poured milk for Iris and Marshall. (They'd told us to call them by their first names right away.) Sukey was wearing a kimono with big wing sleeves that made her seem like a good fairy flapping around the room. How could I explain it all to Mom?

“We're at a motel in Santa Fe, New Mexico. We're fine. We're actually having breakfast with Savannah and her parents now—they own the motel.”

“Savannah? Who's that? What motel? I'm going to have to fly out there right away—you need an adult with you.”

“No, listen to me, Mom. Savannah is a waitress at the place we
ate dinner last night. She was following us down the road when the accident happened.”

“Why was she
following
you?” I couldn't tell the story fast enough. Mom was trying to read between the lines without even seeing the page.

I sighed. “Will you calm down and let me tell you?”

Savannah walked over and took the phone from my hand. “Let me,” she said, and then began to talk to my mother in the same rational voice she'd used yesterday to help us all out of the overturned van.

“Hi, Ms. Daley. This is Savannah Bolton-Packer.” She related the story of who she was, how we'd met, and the rest of last night's proceedings in an orderly fashion, and I could tell Mom must be calming down because eventually Savannah laughed at something she said. I was about to take the phone back when the good fairy grabbed it.

“Hi. Sukey Bolton, Savannah's mother. Don't worry about a
thing.
Your children are welcome to stay here as long as they need to. I love having kids around and some of mine are already grown and gone, so this is fun. We'll take them over to the hospital whenever they want to go. It's not far. What a shame their vacation got interrupted like this—we'll show them around town while they're here.”

Mom must have protested that they didn't need to do that because then Sukey said, “Don't be silly! Hanging around with kids makes me feel sixteen again! Sometimes I think I'm still a teenager, one with gray hair!”

“You are, Mom, don't worry,” Savannah said.

“Besides,” Sukey continued, “I need something more interesting to do than sit behind a desk all day.”

I already knew the Bolton-Packers did a lot more than sit at desks all day. Savannah had showed me her mother's loom with a
half-finished blanket on it. Apparently Sukey's weaving sold in shops all over the area, as did Roland's black, scrubbed-looking pots, which were also displayed all over the house. His studio was behind the motel, next to a barn with two horses and several goats. And, of course, they ran the motel, too, not to mention feeding stray children who showed up on their doorstep.

I took the phone back. “Okay, do you get it now?”

“Well, they sound a little kooky, but very nice. It was a stroke of luck that you ran into Savannah.”

“I know.”

“I guess you won't get to California, though. Or Arizona either.”

“I know.” I was trying to keep myself from thinking about it. Seeing Dad and David in Arizona was what had made me want to take this trip to begin with. I'd gotten so close—one state away—but now I wouldn't make it. All morning I'd been fighting off that
it's not fair
feeling—it never makes you feel any better, anyway. It wasn't fair that Chris left and went to Italy. It wasn't fair that Allen Tewksbury got hit by a taxi. It wasn't fair that Dory ran off the road and wrecked the van and broke her bones. It wasn't fair that Iris and Marshall were too freaked out to sleep last night. And it wasn't fair that I wouldn't get to go to Arizona. So what? I mean, you could look at it like,
nothing's fair.
But that's pretty depressing. So I was trying not to look at it at all.

“I'm sorry, honey. I know you were looking forward to seeing him and meeting your brother. Do you want me to call your dad and let him know what happened? Or do you want to call?”

“Would you call? I mean, I hate to tie up the phone here . . .” That wasn't it, of course. I was just suddenly afraid to call. What if I could hear relief in Dad's voice when I said I wouldn't be showing up? Or what if it was obvious he really didn't care one way or the other? I felt too fragile right now; I couldn't take the chance.

“I'll call him this morning. When will you hear about the car?”

“Roland is going to check about it this afternoon.”

“Roland?”

“Mr. Packer.”

She sighed again. “Well, I guess there isn't much I can do from back here. I'll call you tomorrow to see how Dory's doing and if the car can be fixed. If it can, I'll have to come out and help you drive it back.”

Even though it was great to talk to Mom and to know she was ready to come out at a moment's notice, I didn't really want her to come now. The thing was, with Dory I'd always felt more or less
equal
—like I wasn't one of “the kids.” But if Mom showed up, she'd definitely be in charge. I'd be demoted in front of Iris and Marsh.

They knew me now and they trusted me, as much as they trusted anybody. And after last night, I had the feeling the worst might not be over with them. I guess I wanted to be the one to help them get through it.

Exhausted as we were last night, none of us could get to sleep. Sukey had set up a cot in our room so we could each have our own place to sleep, but the lights were barely out before Marsh was standing next to my bed asking to climb in with me. He scooted around like a puppy trying to find a comfortable position, and just when he'd settled down, Iris sat up.

“I can't sleep either. Is there room?”

How could I say no? After what we'd already been through, sleeping in one bed should have been simple. Except that Iris's ankle was sore, and my head hurt, and just when I'd finally dropped off to sleep, Marsh woke up screaming. I knew it must be because of the accident—he hadn't awakened like that since the beginning of the trip.

I tried to rub his back like I'd seen Dory do, but he wrenched
away from me and flung himself out of the bed onto the floor, sobbing.

Iris pulled the blanket over her face and yelled at him, “Marshall, shut up! It's the middle of the night!”

“That's not going to help,” I said. “What does your mother do when he gets really upset like this?”

She lowered the blanket a little. “I don't know. She sings to him sometimes.”

“What does she sing?”

“I don't
know
! Dumb songs. Why does he
do
this? My ankle hurts and I want to sleep!”

“Iris, he's your brother. He's scared because of the accident. Don't you get that?”

“I
get
it, Robin. I just don't want to get sucked under with him. Do you get
that
?” She turned her back to me.

They kept surprising me, these little hints of Iris's humanity. I ran my fingers through her sloppy ponytail. “I know. It's been a horrible day. But we need to get Marsh to calm down, and you know how to do it.”

She groaned. “I don't know the songs. Silly stuff, like camp songs and things.”

“Like
what
? You must know one or two of them.”

Iris sighed deeply, then hoisted herself into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes. “
My paddle's clean and bright. Flashing with silver,
” she sang tunelessly.

I remembered it from years at Girl Scout camp and joined in. “
Follow the wild goose flight. Dip, dip, and swing. Dip, dip, and swing it back, flashing with silver. Follow the wild goose flight. Dip, dip, and swing.
” I sang it again, myself; it seemed like Marshall's crying was winding down a little.

When I stopped singing, he said, “Again.”

“Do it with me, Iris. In a round,” I said.

“Are you crazy? I'm
tired
!” she said.

I gave her a look and began singing; she started her part when I was halfway through and we sang it three or four times. Marshall was breathing normally by then, but he was still lying on the floor.

“Why don't you get back into bed?” I asked him.

“Sing another one,” he ordered. “Sing ‘Comin' 'Round the Mountain.'”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Get up here on the bed first—then we'll sing.” She was getting the idea anyway.

Marsh climbed back up next to me, and Iris and I started in. By the time we got to verse four, “
Oh, she'll have to sleep with grandma when she comes,
” he was breathing steadily. We carefully eased ourselves back down onto the bed as we came around the mountain for the last time. Marsh and Iris were both fast asleep within minutes, but I lay awake for a long time. I felt so responsible for the kids sleeping on either side of me. But I was also really glad to be in charge. I was glad Mom wasn't coming out to help me. And I was even glad Chris wasn't there for me to lean on and complain to. I had no choice but to
do
this. It was frightening, but it also made me feel strong. And, in an odd way, it even made me like them more, maybe even love them.

“No way!” Marsh was talking
through a mouth stuffed full of cinnamon pancakes. “You have five brothers?”

Savannah nodded.

“And no sisters?” Iris gave her a look of horror. “That's awful!”

“I don't mind. We all get along.”

“Where are they?”

“Two older brothers live in Albuquerque, where they went to college. One goes to University of California at Berkeley—he
stayed there for the summer. And the two younger ones, Tony and Cesar, who knows? They're teenagers.”

“Tony's down in the barn with Ruby and Eleanor, his horses,” Sukey said. “Cesar's sleeping late, as usual.”

Roland sat down next to Savannah and put a lazy arm around her shoulders. “Savannah is our only daughter and she goes the farthest away from us. Now, I ask you, is that fair?” He shook his head.

“I'll come back when I'm done with school. Probably.” She smooched Roland's cheek.

“Where do you go to school?” I asked. I'd been thinking waitressing was Savannah's occupation, but obviously it was only a summer job.

“University of Washington in Seattle.”

“Why did you want to go there?” I asked. All I knew about Washington was it rained a lot and they grew apples.

“I'm studying art history,” she said. “I'm mostly interested in Indian art, or Native American art, as the college catalog says. I already knew a lot about the Indians around here and I wanted to learn more about the art of the Northwest Coast Indians. So, Seattle was a logical place to go.”