“I think I will,” I tell her.
I take a shower, wash my hair and put on a gauzy blouse with my tiered skirt. I carry the stone in my pocket.
We borrow Bitsy’s Volvo and drive down to Philomena’s, which is the only decent restaurant in town. It is near the Los Alamos airport. We park in the lot, and as we walk across it I look up at the spring sky and see Leo.
The restaurant has a glass roof and all of the tables are shaded by yellow umbrellas. I suppose that during the day, with the sun pouring in, it makes sense, but at night, it feels funny to sit at an umbrella table.
We order green chili enchiladas and a pitcher of Sangria, which is wine that tastes like fruit punch. I like the slices of oranges and apples, floating on top.
“This is nice,” I say. What I mean is that it is nice to be alone with my mother. This is the first time since we came to Los Alamos that it is just the two of us.
“Yes,” Mom says. “It’s very nice.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Yes,” Mom says. “And I’ve wanted to explain that to you, Davey.” She is arranging and rearranging her silverware, moving the spoon into the fork’s place, then the fork into the spoon’s. “Up until now, I’ve been afraid to be alone with you.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“I was afraid you’d ask me questions and I wouldn’t have any answers. I’ve been afraid you’d want to talk about Daddy … and the night he was killed … and the pain would be too much for me.”
“I did want to talk about it,” I tell her. “For a long time … and it hurt me that you wouldn’t.”
“I know,” she says, reaching across the table and touching my hand. “But I had to come to terms with it myself, first. Now I think I’m ready … now I can talk about it with you.”
“But now I don’t need to,” I say.
The waitress brings our enchiladas. I take a bite and the green chili burns my mouth. “I had to deal with it too,” I tell Mom. “In my own way.”
Mom nods. “I guess we all did … in our own ways.”
My mouth is on fire, and I pour myself another glass of Sangria. I think about Jane and wonder how she’s doing. She would probably guzzle down the whole pitcher in five minutes. I hope she’s reading the pamphlets that Miriam gave me for her.
“Ned has asked me to marry him,” Mom says quietly, not looking up from her food.
I feel as if a bomb has been dropped in my lap. I can’t swallow.
“But I’ve said no …”
I am so relieved I pour honey all over my plate instead of into the sopapilla I am holding.
“It’s much too soon,” Mom says. “I like him, but I don’t love him.”
“He can’t compare to Daddy!” I tell her.
“No one is going to compare to Daddy … but Daddy is dead … and he’s not coming back.”
“I know that.”
“Yes,” Mom says. “I guess you do.”
The waitress clears away our plates and asks if we’d like dessert.
“Want to share a bread pudding?” Mom asks.
“Okay.” I can’t help thinking about the way we are talking about my father in one breath, and in the next, we are ordering a bread pudding to share.
“When are we going home, Mom?” I hold my breath, afraid that she will say we’re never going home, Davey.
Instead she says, “I’ve been thinking about it … I’ve been thinking we should leave as soon as school is over. What do you think?”
What do I think? I am overjoyed! “I can’t wait,” I say. “I can’t wait to go home!”
“We’ll have to sell the house and store. There’s no way I could go back there and besides, we’ll need whatever money we can get for it.”
“That’s okay. Maybe we can get an apartment near the beach.”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been thinking. And I’ll have to find a job. I’ve written to Audrey and she thinks she might be able to help me land something in one of the hotels. I’ve got some credentials now. Maybe I can get into office management.”
“What about Jason? Have you told him yet?”
“No, I wanted to talk to you first.”
“And Walter and Bitsy?”
“Not yet.”
“What do you think they’ll say?”
“I think Bitsy will be terribly disappointed. She’s always wanted a family and now that she’s got one it’s going to be hard for her to give us up.”
I nod. “But Walter will be glad.”
“I doubt that. He’s become attached to us, too.”
“Not to me.”
“Even to you, Davey. It’s just that he’s a very rigid person … he only sees things his way.”
“I’m glad you’re not afraid anymore, Mom.”
“Who says I’m not afraid?”
“You don’t seem afraid tonight.”
“Let me tell you something, honey … I used you as an excuse to come out here, and then, as an excuse to stay. I kept telling myself it was better for you and Jason, but it was really better for me. Because I was so afraid. I was running away … running away from the truth … running away from responsibilities.”
“Did Miriam tell you that?”
“No … but it’s what I learned through my sessions with her.”
“She’s nice. I like her.”
“I thought you would.”
“Daddy was never afraid of anything, was he?”
“Not true, Davey. He was afraid to take a chance on his talent. Afraid to give up the store and open a gallery. Afraid of not being a good enough husband and father. He was human. And you’ve got to remember that.”
“I miss him a lot.”
“I know. So do I.”
“But I think I’m ready to get on with my life. I think that’s what he’d want me to do.”
Mom smiles. It is a sad smile and there are tears in her eyes.
I reach into my pocket and touch the stone.
“Hey … you’re eating up all the bread pudding,” I say.
Mom looks down at the empty dish and we both laugh.
THIRTY-SEVEN
On Sunday afternoon Mom and I go for a walk with Jason and Mom tells him that we are going home. He is full of questions. Will Walter and Bitsy come with us? What about Minka? What about Ned? What about school? What if somebody tries to kill us?
“Nobody is going to kill us,” Mom tells him.
“But what if they do?”
“They won’t.”
“Atlantic City isn’t safe. This is the only safe place,” Jason says.
“That’s not true.” Mom is firm.
“Well, what about my cookies?”
“You can bake cookies in Atlantic City,” Mom says.
“But who will help me?”
“I will,” I tell him.
“You?” he says, as if that is the dumbest thing he has ever heard. “You don’t know how to bake anything.”
“I can learn,” I tell him.
“Really?” he asks.
“Yes, really.”
For the rest of the day I get the feeling that now that Jason knows we’re going home he is preparing himself. He seems to be drawing closer to Mom and to me, and pulling back from Walter and Bitsy. Little kids are amazing. They seem able to adjust to anything.
I can tell that Mom is dreading telling Bitsy and Walter. She has decided to do it right after supper. Bitsy has a new pasta maker and she is cranking out whole wheat spaghetti. The sauce has been simmering all day, filling the house with a wonderful aroma, making me feel hungry long before supper time.
While we are waiting to be called to the table, Jason asks me to read him a chapter from Charlotte’s Web. At the dinner table, he asks to sit between Mom and me. Walter looks as though he knows something is up.
After dinner, while Bitsy is sipping her second cup of coffee, Mom tells Jason he can go outside to play. As soon as he is gone she says, “
I have something important to tell you.”
Walter and Bitsy exchange knowing looks. Then Walter says, “I want you to know that we think Ned Grodzinski is one of the finest men we’ve ever met.”
Bitsy smiles.
“No …” Mom says, realizing that they have it all wrong. “This has nothing to do with Ned. This is about us … Davey and Jason and me.”
Now Walter and Bitsy look at each other as if to say. Do you know what this is all about? No, do you?
“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve done …” Mom begins.
I really feel for her. I’d hate to be the one to have to break the news to Bitsy. I wish she’d just say it quickly and get it over with.
“What are you talking about, Gwen?” Bitsy asks.
“It’s time for us to leave,” Mom says. “It’s time for us to start making a life on our own. We’re going home. We’re going home to Atlantic City.”
“No!” Bitsy says.
“When?” Walter asks.
“As soon as school is over.”
“But that’s just a few weeks away,” Bitsy says.
“Yes,” Mom says. “I know.”
There is an uncomfortable silence at the table. I can’t look directly at either Walter or Bitsy. I fool around with the crumbs that are on my plate.
“What about the children?” Bitsy says. “They’re secure here. You can’t keep moving them around.”
“I’m not going to,” Mom says. “I’m taking them home.”
“But Atlantic City … it’s not safe … you, of all people should realize that, Gwen.”
“I can’t let safety and security become the focus of my life,” Mom says.
I can’t believe how sure of herself my mother sounds. I want to stand up and cheer for her.
“I thought we’d done everything to make you want to stay,” Bitsy says.
“You did,” Mom tells her. “You’ve been wonderful. Both of you. I doubt that I could have managed without you. But now …”
“If you want to be on your own we could help you find a place here … in Los Alamos … and you could get a permanent job at the Lab … and the children wouldn’t have to change schools again. We have the best schools … everyone says so …” Bitsy chokes up and I realize this is going to be harder than I’d imagined.
“I can’t stay,” Mom says. “Please understand. I have to go home.” She is on the verge of tears, too. The calm, sure voice is gone.
Bitsy stands up. “I think you’re being selfish and unfair,” she says, raising her voice. Then she turns and runs out of the room.
No one speaks for a long time. Finally Walter says, “She doesn’t want to lose you.”
“Yes, I know,” Mom answers.
THIRTY-EIGHT
I ride Bitsy’s bicycle to the canyon for the last time. In the bike bag is the stack of letters I have written to Wolf.
I climb down slowly, taking in the beauty of the canyon, knowing that I won’t be back for a long time. That I may never come back. I want to remember the canyon exactly as it looks today. It is the place where I have felt closest to my father.
At the bottom there are lizards scurrying around. I sit on a rock and watch, turning the tiger’s eye over in my hand. After a while I put the stone back into my pocket, get up, and walk to the cave. I place the letters inside, next to the pile of rocks that are covering my clothes. I have written For Wolf Only across the top envelope. I want him to open that one first, because inside is my note thanking him for the tiger’s eye. I’m sure he will come back one day and find my letters, and when he does, he will understand. I feel certain that we will see each other again. It just won’t be today.
THIRTY-NINE
“This looks like a good buy,” Walter says to Mom, examining a car on Lemon Lot. Anyone who wants to sell a car in Los Alamos parks it here and potential buyers come to see what’s available.
“The engine’s clean, the tires are in good shape, and it will be good on gas,” Walter says.
“I like the color,” Mom says. “And the inside is attractive, too. What do you think, Davey?”
“I like it,” I say. It is a blue Subaru and I wonder if it is the car that Jane threw up on the night we went out with Reuben and Ted.
“What do you think, Jase?”
“Is it four or five speed?” Jason asks as if he knows everything there is to know about cars.
“Five,” Walter tells him.
“That’ll be better for highway driving. Right, Uncle Walter?”
“Right,” Walter says, tousling Jason’s hair.
“Should I make them an offer?” Mom asks.
“Let’s go home, call them, and set up an appointment to take it for a drive,” Walter says.
“Okay … fine,” Mom says. “And Walter … I really appreciate your help.”
Walter nods and begins to walk toward the Blazer with Mom. Jason runs in front of them, and I hang behind.
“It’s not us, is it Gwen?” Walter asks. He doesn’t know I am listening.
“No,” Mom says.
“Because I’ve been thinking about it and maybe I came on too strong.”
“You were strong when I needed you to be strong,” Mom says. “When I couldn’t be strong myself.”
“We’re going to miss you and the kids,” he says.
“Maybe you’ll come to Atlantic City for a visit,” Mom says.
Walter doesn’t answer.
Jane comes over on the morning we are leaving and watches as I pack. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Davey,” she says. She is crying. She’s been crying ever since she got to our house.
“You’ll be okay.” I try to reassure her. But I don’t really believe it. She has admitted that she has a drinking problem. She took a test in one of those pamphlets I gave her and the results proved that she has alcoholic tendencies and might actually be an alcoholic. Now it is up to her to go to the Alcohol Abuse Clinic and get help. I set up two appointments for her last week but she freaked out and didn’t keep either of them. “You’re getting too dependent on me,” I tell her. “It’s good that I’m leaving. It’s really unhealthy when you get too dependent on someone else. Believe me … I know …”
“But you’re my only friend,” she cries, “and I’m never going to see you again.”
“Sure you will,” I say. “You’ll come to Atlantic City for a visit. It’s about time you saw the ocean.” I laugh, trying to cheer her up, but it’s no use.
“I’m never going to see anything,” she says. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life here, in Los Alamos, just like my sister. I know it.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to … but I’m scared not to.”
“You’ve got to stop being scared.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I’m sorry … I didn’t mean …”
“It’s okay. Forget it.”
“Davey …” Bitsy calls. “Are you almost ready?”
“In a minute,” I call back.
Jane and I hug each other. “I’m glad we got to be friends,” I tell her.
“Will you always be my friend?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Always.”
I am throwing some last minute things into my knapsack when Bitsy comes to my room.
“Your mother’s waiting for you, Davey.”
“I’m ready,” I say. Minka is sitting on my bed wondering what’s going on. I pick her up and look around my room. It looks the way it did on the day I came here.
“I don’t know what Gwen’s trying to prove,” Bitsy says. “I don’t know why she thinks she has to do this.”
“La vida es una buena aventura,” I say, pleased with myself. I have picked up several Spanish phrases and this is one of them.
“What does that mean?” Bitsy asks.
“It means that life is a good adventure.
”
Bitsy hugs me. “Sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t,” she says. “I’m going to miss you, Davey. I’m going to miss all of you.”
I pat Bitsy on the back.
“And I’ll be so worried about you.”
“You don’t have to worry, Aunt Bitsy. We’re going to be all right.”
FORTY
Jason races down the beach, his Dracula cape flying behind him. Mom and I are quiet, listening to the sound of the surf crashing against the jetty.
There are so many memories here in Atlantic City. But you can’t go back. Not ever. You have to pick up the pieces and keep moving ahead.
I think about Lenaya and Hugh. Will they know how much I’ve changed this year? Will they have changed too? I’ll wait until tomorrow to find out. And then it’s possible I won’t find out after all. Because some changes happen deep down inside of you. And the truth is, only you know about them. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
Judy Blume talks about writing
Tiger Eyes
Although there’s a violent crime at the center of the story, Tiger Eyes isn’t about violence. It’s about the sudden, tragic loss of someone you love. I lost my beloved father suddenly, when I was twenty-one. He died, not as the result of a violent crime, but of a heart attack at home. I was with him. I still can’t write this without choking up, remembering. Davey’s feelings about her father’s sudden death were based on mine, though I’m not sure I was aware of it while I was writing the book.
I lived in Los Alamos, New Mexico, the setting of the book, for two years. My teenage children went to school there. It wasn’t a happy experience, but it helped me write what George (my husband) and Larry (my grown son) think is my best book. It allowed me to write about a world I would never have known, about characters I’d never have imagined. Yet I had no idea, while I was living there, that I would ever write a book set in that town. All I could think of was getting out. It took a few years to look back and see it more clearly.
Deenie
Print ISBN: 978-0-385-73985-6
Ebook ISBN: 978-0-307-81775-4
When Deenie sees the brace for the first time, she wants to scream, Forget it … I’m never going to wear that thing. Everyone will know. Everyone!