The Last Saturday by Iris Rosewater

On the last Saturday of the month (as well as every last Saturday), Martin waited with anticipation in the crowd of onlookers to see his little girl. He was tall, which put him at an advantage as he searched the gush of passengers for a mousey brown ponytail and the feminine version of his own face. Spotting Anna finally, he waved until she caught sight of him, her face lighting up, her smile carving out the dimples in her cheeks. Martin rocked up on the balls of his feet and back, his hands stuffed in his jean pockets. When she reached him, he gave a ceremonial soft yank to her ponytail as they hugged. She was growing fast now, looking more like a young woman than a little girl, he thought to himself.

Nearly 9 years had passed since the messy divorce. Virginia had moved on, she said, and she didn’t love him anymore. When exactly had she moved on? He wondered. Was he at work when it happened, changing oil and fixing transmissions for 10 hours a day? Or was it at home, when he fell asleep on the living room chair while they watched TV at night, waking to darkness in the early hours of the morning, and trudging groggily up to their bedroom. The 4 years they’d been married were quiet. There were few fights. He loved her dearly but silently, and just assumed that she returned his affection without feeling the need to be demonstrative about it. So, it came as a shock when she calmly informed him that she was leaving. She had found someone else and he was moving to Colorado (hundreds of miles away) and she wanted to go with him. And, by the way, she would be taking Anna with her. While Virginia had cycled through several relationships as the years passed by, Martin stayed single. Marriage was something he had tried and failed at, and had no intention of failing again.

Poor Anna, he thought, glancing at her sideways as they drove out of the parking complex. Only 3 years old when their marriage dissolved, it was really all she remembered of her family. This visitation business was all she knew of the fathering-part of family life. She was a good sport about it. Easygoing. Never kicked up a fuss about sacrificing a weekend to stay with her dad in his crummy apartment. He tried to make it special and traditional when they were together. On Saturdays, he brought her to games when it was baseball season, and they always had a hot dog and a bag of peanuts. Other times, he would just take her to the neighborhood diamond and they’d play catch. She had a good arm, even when she was a little bitty thing, but she never joined any team in Colorado. Maybe because baseball belonged to the two of them. Or maybe she only liked it because he did and she was placating him. Whatever the reason, he treasure their time together, however sparse it was.


Driving home was Anna’s favorite part about visiting her Dad. The whole weekend lay ahead of them. A whole two days. Sitting in the front seat of his Plymouth Horizon, she watched the Idaho scenery go by, never seeming to change any, and she liked it that way. She also liked the catching up they always did as they puttered home. He always asked the right questions about school and friends, sensing somehow when to stop, and gently redirecting if she fell silent. Especially when he asked, out of politeness, how her mother was doing. Or Earl. She would answer as briefly as possible and look away to hide her blatant dislike for both of them. She almost plucked up the courage to tell her Dad what was happening in 6 weeks, and then took a deep breath and decided to wait and let him enjoy the trip for a while.

When they got home, Anna greeted Chip in his cage by the front window. Martin bought her the canary for her 10th birthday, and she insisted that they keep the bird at his house. He was grateful in the end to have someone to come home to and make noise in the lonely apartment. They fixed up some omelets for brunch. No onions, of course… just some cheese and mushrooms. The tiny kitchen filled with the sulfuric aroma of eggs, the electric burners on the avocado-green stove glowing red and warming the house. Martin opened a window. The yellowing ruffle of a curtain flopped a little in the gusty breeze. It was spring in Idaho, and blustery. He wondered for a moment if it was a bad day for catch.

“What do you want to do today, Ann?” Martin asked, spearing the last few clumps of egg and mushroom with his fork.

Anna smiled. “I dunno, Dad. What we did last time and the time before that, I guess.” He could see she was teasing him and felt a bit sheepish.

“I just wondered if you were getting a little bored with the routine. We could do something else, you know. Just say the word, Kid.” Martin liked to test the water every now and then to make sure she hadn’t grown out of anything she used to like without him knowing it. They were together so rarely.

Despite his offer for a change of pace, they both grabbed their worn-out baseball gloves and a ball from the hall closet before getting in the car. It was breezy. They didn’t talk much, Martin taking her lead. Playing catch was pleasantly monotonous, like the ticking of a clock, and they fell into the familiar rhythm quickly. But, Martin sensed an undercurrent and it made him uneasy today. Her eyes were serious and she was throwing a bit harder than usual. He waited for her to break the silence.

“He’s moving in, you know. Earl is. They’re getting married in 6 weeks.”

The ball rolled out of Martin’s glove as he sucked a tight breath into his chest and held it. The men in her life hadn’t seemed threatening before. They flitted in and out in an annoying way that irritated him because it irritated Anna. But, someone was about to become a permanent part of her life. A man who she would live with and see every day and eat dinner with… a father. He crouched down to pick up the ball and consciously rearranged the expression on his face. Hopefully, it would look indifferent at worst.

“Well, that’s news. Are you going to be a bridesmaid, or something?” he asked with forced interest.

“Are you kidding? She’ll be lucky if I even go to the stupid thing.” Anna responded, holding up her mitt impatiently. He floated it to her like a softball.

“You’re not excited about it? Your mom finally settling down and all that? No more first dates and her ‘acting silly.’ I thought you’d be happy that was all done with.”

“You try living with Earl. No, I take it back. You try being in the same room with Earl for fifteen minutes. I hate his guts, dad. I don’t want to live in the same house with him. I’m happy for mom, but not enough to be a martyr for her.”

“Oh,” he said, releasing the rest of that air he was holding in the bottom of his lungs. He was ashamed at the relief he felt in her dislike for the man who would replace him. She should be happier than this. She deserved it.

“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Dad.” She fidgeted with the ball, examining the faded stitches as she talked. “I want to come live with you.”

He should have answered right away, but he didn’t. They played without speaking for a half hour longer, listening to the whir of the ball as it sailed and thumped into the glove, back and forth.

Anna tried not to take it personally. She could see the gears in his head working to figure it all out, and she honestly appreciated his taking it so seriously. She imagined his planning. Was their school a good one? Would they wait for Summer to move her in?

They wandered around the desert for a while after plopping their mitts into the backseat through a window that was stuck halfway rolled up. He pointed out animal tracks in the sand – a lizard, a rabbit, a coyote? And identified some of the vegetation. She already knew all of it, but she pretended not to, because she enjoyed listening to him.

Dinner that night was one of the three dinners he knew how to make: Chili and cornbread. They rented a movie (he let her pick) and he fell asleep on the chair (as always). She left the light on for him, so he could see to get to his bed when he finally woke up.

The next morning, they ate breakfast together in their pajamas – some off brand of Lucky Charms and whole milk. Martin hadn’t slept all that well. His tired eyes swept over the kitchen… over the linoleum floor which reminded him of his middle school cafeteria, over the oil-splattered wall above the stove, the refrigerator without a handle. The living room sofa was orange plaid and threadbare. Her tiny room (which doubled as his office most of the time) had no pictures on its white cinderblock walls. Why on earth did she want to live here? They had a nice house in Denver. He’d seen it in pictures. He worked long hours… who would keep an eye on her during those afternoons just after school? An enormous sense of inadequacy washed through him and settled uneasily into his stomach. He got up and plunked the remaining Marshmallow Maties into the sink. He looked up and sighed. In the windowsill sat a red ceramic pot she’d made at school. She made two of them, she said, and its twin sat in her kitchen windowsill at her mom’s house. She taught him how to poke the soil and check when it needed watering, and how much to give it. Secretly, he worried that it wouldn’t survive in his care. But, he could see now that it was flourishing. A green shoot rose out of it, slender and graceful, leaves beginning to part from the stalk. And, at the tip, a purple bud promised glory in his humble kitchen. He looked across, catching Anna’s expectant gaze and smiled.