Zigzag (9 page)

M
y sleeping bag and duffle fit neatly into a corner in the back of the van. Dory kept asking me if that was all I was bringing. “We can squeeze more in if you want to bring more,” she assured me. But that didn't actually seem very likely. Between the three of them, they had five suitcases crammed into the rear storage space, plus sleeping bags, and the backseat was full of stuff Iris and Marshall obviously couldn't be without for a minute: CD players, earphones, books, magazines, drawing supplies, bags of food, thermal water bottles, head pillows, neck pillows, and polar-fleece blankets. It looked like we were going on an expedition, not a vacation.

There was just enough room to squeeze in four people. Still, the van was comfortable. We each had our own cup holder and our own volume control for our own speaker. The seude-covered seats both reclined and swiveled, and were as padded as easy chairs. Poor Rupert with his cracked upholstery—I hoped he wasn't looking.

I took the front passenger seat and put my shoulder bag at my feet. In it was one novel, a bottle of Poland Spring water, Mom's old camera, two hundred dollars in traveler's checks—which Dory assured Mom was more than I'd need because she'd pay for
everything—my driver's license, and a pre-paid phone card. “Just in case you want to call me without telling Dory,” Mom said.

She'd come into my room the night before while Dory and the kids were getting ready for bed. Or rather, while Dory was refereeing the fight over who would sleep where. “You think you'll be okay?” Mom asked me. I was hoping she'd come in to say there was no way on earth she was letting me get into a car with such crazy people.

“
I'll
be okay. The question is, will
they
?”

Mom sat down on my bed. “I'm sorry, Robin. Dory didn't give me the whole story over the phone. I didn't realize the kids were in such a state.” She tried to smile. “Once you're on the road, seeing the country, I'm sure things will be better.”

“They couldn't get much worse.”

She leaned in and gave me a quick hug. “I hope this isn't a disaster. I know the kids are annoying, but maybe you can find a way to like them, anyway. All three of them could probably use a friend right now, and you're good at that kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

“You know. Helping people who feel kind of lost and alone. Scared.”

“I'm good at that?”

“Sure you are. Just ask Franny.”

By nine the next morning we'd had
our pancakes—all of us but Iris, who selected a nonfat yogurt instead—and were arranging ourselves in the suddenly much too small vehicle we'd be calling home for a ridiculous amount of time. As we pulled out of our driveway with Dory at the wheel, Marshall yelled happily, “Now we're really rolling!”

“Don't forget to send my letters!” I called back. Dory had given Mom a list of addresses where we could get mail; I didn't want to miss a letter from Chris.

She nodded. “I will!”

I watched as my waving mother got smaller and smaller, willing myself not to cry. What was there to
cry
about, for heaven's sake? Sure, it wasn't my dream trip, but at least I was going somewhere. I guess I wished Mom was coming, too. As much as she got on my nerves sometimes, I'd never been away from her for more than a night or two, and never in the company of crazies like these.

“So, where are we going first?” Marshall asked as we turned onto Interstate 80.

“We're going to Minnesota!” Dory announced.

“Minnesota? That's back up north!” Iris said.

“Yes, it is. I'm glad to see you know your geography.”

“Jesus Christ. It'll take us a year to get to Los Angeles if we have to stop and see every stupid state in the country!”

“Iris, I told you, this is not a race. The purpose of the trip is the traveling itself, not arriving in California.”

“That doesn't even make any sense,” Iris said. She pulled one of the big pillows into position against her window and punched it into shape. “Wake me when we get someplace interesting. I've seen enough cornfields to last me the rest of my life.”

We weren't quite out of the
cornfields when Dory woke Iris up. In fact, we were in Farmer's Paradise: the Iowa State Fair in Des Moines. I could hardly believe it when Dory turned the van into the parking lot. Neither could Marshall.

“What are we stopping here for?” he asked suspiciously.

“We're stopping here so that you and Iris can learn a little something about the culture your cousin and your mother were brought up in,” Dory said, smiling at me. “This is one of the biggest state fairs in the country, you know. It's the one the musical is based on!”

“What musical?” Iris said groaning.

“
State Fair
!” Dory said.

“Never heard of it.”

It's true that Mom and I used to come to the fair all the time back when Grandma and Grandad were still alive, but then we kind of stopped. Last year Chris and I came one night, but all we did was go on the rides so I could hold on to him and scream. Oh, and he won me a stuffed alligator by throwing tennis balls at plastic frogs. We had a great time, but we didn't bother with the actual farm stuff. I could tell right away, Dory planned to bother with it.

She headed to the vegetable exhibit barn first—it seemed to make her extremely happy. “Oh, you guys, I used to come here
all
the time when I was a kid. Look at the size of those peppers! And that spinach—no wonder that took a first prize. Look down there—have you ever
seen
so many enormous eggplants?”

No one answered, so she kept going. “I always used to enter the pea-shelling contest—the winner was the kid who could finish the bowl first. I came in second once and got a huge red ribbon. It was just thrilling.”

“Wow. That
does
sound exciting,” Iris said.

Marshall picked up a zucchini and gave it a good bang on the edge of the table.

“Look at those strawberries! They're gorgeous!” Dory was in heaven.

“So, this is, like, a competition for
vegetables
?” Iris said.

Dory ignored her. “Robin, I bet you come here all the time, don't you?”

“I used to, but not much anymore.”

“Did you enter things? Did you do 4H Club?”

I shook my head. “We didn't live on the farm back then. I never did 4H.”

Dory looked disappointed. “Really? I
loved
4H!”

I'd never thought of Aunt Dory as somebody who'd loved 4H. I mean, she left Iowa as soon as she could and went to school in Chicago. And never came back. If she loved farm life so much, how come she lived in a city? She didn't even have a vegetable garden in her yard—only a little patio with fancy furniture.

We trudged after Dory until she was finally ready to leave the lettuce and head for the mammals. First the sheep shed, then the cow barns, then the pigs.

Iris had been complaining since the moment her foot hit the the straw of the first animal barn, but the pigs put her over the top. “My God,” she said, holding her nose. “I thought the cows were bad, but these animals reek!”

“You would too if you slept in your own shit,” Marshall said.

Dory gave him a look. “Marshall, don't say
shit.
Besides, humans have an odor, too—we just don't notice it as much in ourselves.”

“I notice it when it's old Mrs. Morrissey,” he said. “Phew!”

“This isn't a bad smell,” Dory said, but she was going to have a tough time proving it. She took a deep breath to show us how much she enjoyed the scent, but she coughed a bit on the exhale.

“I saw baby pigs born once,” I said, just to prove I was not a complete idiot about this farming thing.

“You did? When Grandad was still alive?” Dory asked.

I nodded. “The part I remember best is that he had to clip their teeth right after they were born so they wouldn't rip their mother's belly when they nursed.”

“Gross!” Iris said, holding her arm straight out, her hand up
like a traffic cop. “That is definitely more information than I ever wanted to know about pigs.” She stomped ahead of us and out of the barn.

Lunch was hot dogs and fries for those of us who allowed ourselves to eat, and a salad made with graying lettuce that must have been lying around the vegetable barn all week for Iris. No dressing, of course. Plus, she tossed it in the trash after about three bites. We managed to steer Dory past the crafts barns—there wasn't room in that van for a hand-painted saw or a rag rug—and over to the sheep dog trials.

Marshall got into watching the dogs run side to side, obeying their owner's commands, herding five sheep at a time into a small pen. “That is so cool,” he said. “I'd like to have a dog like that.”

“Why? So he could herd the bugs in your bedroom?” Iris said.

“I don't have bugs in my bedroom.”

“Right.”

“Mom, do I have bugs in my bedroom?”

“Iris,” Dory said. “Please don't taunt him.”

“I'm not! He leaves food on the floor in there. He's probably got bugs.”

Marshall's face tightened and his fists clenched. He shoved his face as close to his sister's as he could. “I don't have bugs! I
do not
have bugs!”

Iris pushed him away and before you could say
Australian sheep dog,
they were swinging at each other. Dory had to get between them and grab their arms. People around us were staring so I stared back.

“What is the matter with the two of you?” Dory said.

“I don't know about Slugger, but I'm bored to tears,” Iris told her.

Dory thrust the fair booklet at her daughter. “Well then, what do
you
want to do? Or should we just leave?”

Leaving sounded like the best option to me. I liked the fair fine, but I'd been away from home all day already and I hadn't even gotten out of Iowa. If we were going on this trip, let's go, is how I felt.

But suddenly Iris's eyes lit up. “They have horses here. Show horses. Thoroughbreds. We missed that barn.” She looked at her mother. “Please?”

“I'm tired of those smelly barns,” Marshall said. “I want to go on some rides.”

Dory looked sick and tired of both of them, and it occured to me that this was the kind of moment I'd been brought along to deal with. I figured I probably ought to start earning my keep.

“I'll take Marshall on some rides if you two want to go see the horses,” I said. Dory gave me a grateful smile and we agreed to meet in half an hour. I liked going on the rides, anyway, even though, in this case, I wouldn't have the pleasure of holding on to my companion.

When we got to the midway, Marshall couldn't decide which ride he wanted to go on first. “I usually like the Ferris wheel the best,” he said, looking up at it nervously. I suggested we start with something easier and work up to it.

“Okay,” he agreed. “How about the Tilt-A-Whirl?”

So we did that twice, and then bumper cars, and then it was time to either do the Ferris wheel or forget it and go meet Iris and Dory. We got in line and inched our way to the front. I checked my watch, hoping we wouldn't be more than a few minutes later than planned.

“Are we late?” Marshall wanted to know.

I shrugged. “I think we're still okay. We can make it.”

But as we got closer I could tell Marsh was having a problem. He was breathing really fast and licking his lips. He couldn't stop himself from looking up to the top of the wheel. When there was
only one couple ahead of us, he suddenly exploded. “It's too late!” he yelled at me. “We have to go now! It's too damn late!”

He bolted out of the line and started running back to the place we'd left Dory and Iris.

“Marshall, wait! Wait for me!”

I didn't catch up to him until right before we saw them. He slowed down a little so we could approach together.

“We didn't even get to go on the Ferris wheel,” he screamed on the verge of tears. “Robin goofed around so long on the baby rides, we didn't have time! You know I love the Ferris wheel the best!”

I was dumbfounded at his ability to rewrite the truth, but I knew better than to argue with him. He was furious already.

“I'm sorry, Marsh,” I said, hoping to calm him down. “I wasn't keeping my eye on the time.”

“I hate you, you dumb bitch!” he screamed.

Dory grabbed his arm. “Marshall! Don't you ever say that to anyone! Do you hear me?” Marshall quieted down a bit, sulking and kicking up dirt with the toe of his sneaker. “Apologize to Robin right this minute.” It was a rare moment of anger on Dory's part, but she couldn't sustain it. When Marshall didn't respond, she melted and pulled him in to hug, then
she
apologized to me.

“I don't know what came over him, Robin. I'm so sorry.”

I shrugged. “It's okay. I'm sorry I messed up about the Ferris wheel.”

Marshall curled his lip at me, and I was pretty sure he'd already convinced himself that the whole thing really
was
my fault. He and his mother started back toward the van, arms wrapped around each other, while Iris and I stood for a moment looking after them.

“He was scared to go on it, wasn't he?”

I wasn't sure how to answer her, whether it was okay to betray
the little creep who'd just called me a bitch by ratting him out to his obnoxious sister.

“You don't have to tell me. I know. That's how he gets when he's scared. Mean as hell. Mom can't seem to add two and two, though. She can't believe her little angel has turned into the Antichrist, so it's easier to blame everybody else.”

I nodded my head, the closest I'd come to agreeing with Iris since she'd showed up in Iowa.