Just 18 Summers

by Rene Gutteridge

  She found two and turned to put them on the counter. Then she startled because sitting at the breakfast bar was Nathan, slumped over and looking a little weary.

  “Nathan? Are you okay?” She slipped up beside him, felt his forehead. He wasn’t running a fever.

  “I’m fine,” he said, gently swatting her hand away.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He glanced out the window, watching his dad and Chip for a moment. He looked reluctant to speak.

  “It’s okay, honey. What’s wrong?”

  “Getting an old car and fixing it up, that was my idea.”

  “Oh, Nathan, it’s fine. I’m not mad about the—”

  “I had that idea when I was ten.”

  Beth searched his expression.

  “And again at twelve. It sounded fun then.”

  Beth wasn’t sure she was following.

  “But I’m eighteen now. It’s too little, too late.”

  “You seemed like you loved the idea.”

  “I know,” Nathan said, resting his cheek on the arm that was propped up on the bar. “I’m trying to. I mean, the whipped cream was kind of fun, I guess. More fun than the board game idea. I’ve tried to get into Pictionary and charades every night. The motorized kite was . . . a waste of time.” He looked sideways at her. “I don’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings, but there’s a thousand things I’d rather be doing this summer.”

  Beth couldn’t hide her astonishment. “Oh, Nathan . . . I . . .”

  “But Dad is so into this. I mean, he took vacation time and is spending all this money. He told me yesterday that he has plans to buy us all metal detectors and we’re going to hunt for treasure.” They both glanced out the window as Larry clapped at something. “I would’ve loved this stuff when I was younger. Even Chip’s age.” He shrugged. “But now it’s just sort of . . .”

  Beth touched his shoulder. “It’s okay. Maybe you should talk to your dad about this.”

  He smiled a little. “You’re easier to talk to than Dad.”

  “I am?”

  “Yeah. We get each other. I know that you’re getting what I’m saying.”

  She nodded, though secretly she was astonished by everything he was saying.

  “Well, I better go back out there. I told Dad I was running upstairs to try to find a tool.”

  “Nathan,” Beth said as he slid off the stool, “you don’t have to go back out there if you don’t want to.”

  “I know,” Nathan said, and in his small smile was a manly type of wisdom she had never seen before. “But Dad needs this.”

  And with that he was gone.

  Beth stood watching him out the window, realizing she’d just seen a character trait in her son that she had prayed for ever since he was little, every time he left the house, every time she could—that he would put others first.

  She’d just witnessed it firsthand.

  CHAPTER 33

  CHARLES

  CHARLES FOUND HIMSELF WHISTLING. Helen had an aversion to sounds louder than a whisper, so he’d stopped whistling around her long ago. But when he was alone, he didn’t whistle much either. Most of the time he was too busy worrying about something or on the phone for the entire car ride home. Today, though, even as he was stuck in traffic, Charles found himself whistling. He glanced back and smiled at the supplies he’d had his secretary gather at lunch. All for Cory. All to build a kite. He had no idea how to build a kite, but Cory assured him they’d figure it out together.

  Cory never called him at work, but at lunch he’d called, whispering so his mother couldn’t hear him. “Dad! Are we still on?”

  “We’re on, buddy!” Charles laughed. “Hey, maybe your sisters will want to do this too?”

  “Aw, Dad. Come on. Do they have to?”

  Charles smiled to himself. “No, buddy. This’ll be our deal.” But he made a mental note to find something to do with the girls soon too. If he wasn’t careful, having fun with his kids might become a habit.

  His cell phone rang and the caller came up on the display screen in his car. He sighed. He specifically didn’t want to talk to anyone at the office. He’d told his secretary to hold all his calls until tomorrow. Everything could wait.

  Charles pushed the answer button. “What is it? I said no phone calls.”

  “Charles, it’s Bill.”

  “Look, Bill, whatever this is, let’s deal with it in the morning. I’m headed home, and I’m not coming back until tomorrow.” Charles glanced at his watch.

  “You’re going to want to hear this.”

  “Bill, I promised Cory I would make a kite with him and—”

  “Dean called Grant and offered him the whole sum.”

  Charles’s foot pressed on the brake, even though there was nothing to stop for. “What? I didn’t authorize him to make that deal.”

  “I always thought he was a loose cannon.”

  “You and I already discussed that this wasn’t the deal we wanted to make.”

  “I know. That’s why I called you.”

  “Well, get him back in there.”

  “I can’t. He’s on his way to London right now.”

  “What? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  Charles gripped the steering wheel. Dean going rogue could mess everything up. A thin layer of perspiration rose out of his skin like morning dew.

  “Charles?”

  “All right. All right. Let me think.” He looked at his watch again. “I’ll figure this out.”

  Charles took the first exit off the highway and pulled into an empty parking lot. What was he supposed to do? If this deal sank, rumors would get started and his reputation could be ruined. Helen was hoping for a new semicovered sundeck this summer. Madison had a scholarship, but there would be expenses, especially if she wanted to get her master’s. His head spun as he methodically traced all the lines sprouting out into the future.

  He loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He had to think. He couldn’t let Cory down again. It was all the kid had been talking about since he fell out of that stupid tree.

  Then an idea sprang to mind. A good idea, the more he thought about it. A really good idea.

  Charles took his phone off the dock and scrolled through his contacts. Unusual first name, Tippy. He was married to one of the ladies Helen scrapbooked with. And good friends with their neighbor Beth’s deceased sister’s husband, Butch—his foreman, if he remembered right. Charles had actually talked to Tippy about the possibility of building his sundeck this summer.

  Charles high-fived the air as he found the contact. He quickly dialed the number.

  CHAPTER 34

  TIPPY

  TIPPY PULLED INTO HIS DRIVEWAY. Hank Williams’s “Cold, Cold Heart” blared from his radio, and he rolled his window down so Daphne might hear a bit of it if she was home. He sat for a moment, watching the window. Then he saw her, her profile lit against the sheer drapes. She was so cute with that belly. But these days, it felt more like she was a sleeping dragon.

  He swallowed down some of the bile that kept rising in his throat every time he thought there might be a confrontation between the two of them, which was pretty much every minute he was home.

  From a Tums roll, he popped two tablets out and chewed through the chalky grit as he got out of the truck, leaving it running. Josh Turner was now singing “Punching Bag.” He walked to the front door and hesitated, gaining his courage. He started to open the door, but it swung open before he even touched the knob.

  “You’re late.” She was both teary and furious. Great.

  He spread his feet into a wide stance. “I’m home at all different times. You know that.”

  “I sit on that couch and think, What if something happened to you? What if you’ve been in a car wreck? What if I have to raise this baby all . . . ? Why is your truck still running?”

  “That’s what I was coming in to tell you. I won’t be home tonight because I got a one-night job.”

  “A what?�
��

  “Just some extra work, you know.”

  She stared at him, holding her belly up like a ball.

  “We can use all the extra income I can bring in,” he said. “It’s nothing big, but every little thing helps, right?”

  “It didn’t sound small to me.”

  “What didn’t?”

  “Ava called today. Said you volunteered to help build a house. For free. A whole house.”

  “Oh . . . yeah. That. I was going to talk to you about that. But this is different. It’s a paying job.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred bucks.”

  Her bottom lip quivered. “You don’t want to be around me because I’m fat. Look at me. I’m so fat and grotesque.”

  Tippy bit his knuckle as he plugged his fist into his mouth. It was true. He didn’t want to be around her, but not because she was fat. She wasn’t anything close to fat. In fact, he thought she’d never looked more beautiful in her life.

  “You’re not fat,” he said. “But . . .”

  He tried to remember what Dr. Reynolds had said about speaking gently to her, trying to explain his position. He said there was nothing worse than passive-aggressive behavior. Tippy needed to be forthright.

  “Daphne, it’s just that . . .”

  “Yes?” The look on her face was exactly the same as the day he asked her to marry him. He realized he’d been silly not to express his feelings over this. She wasn’t some kind of monster. She was probably just scared, like he was, of all that was in front of them as parents.

  He smiled at her.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because, Daphne, you look beautiful.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “No. You do.”

  She gazed coyly at him. Gave him the first smile he’d seen in days.

  Maybe he should call Charles, tell him he couldn’t make it. Maybe things were getting back to normal.

  Then Daphne took a step back, presumably to let him in, but said, “Are you having an affair?”

  Tippy stumbled just standing still. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Her eyes were narrow and mean.

  “You’ve lost your mind.”

  “Have I? I see it in your eyes. You don’t want to be here, with me!”

  She started to slam the door in his face, but he held out his hand and stopped it. “The reason I don’t want to be with you, Daphne, is because you’re acting like a freak. A freak of a freak of a freak!”

  She gasped, her mouth a wide, black, gravity-sucking hole.

  Tippy regretted it immediately and stepped off the porch because she looked like she was about to slug him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  But the door slammed, the sound so loud the neighborhood dogs started barking. Tippy stuck his hands in his pockets and walked back to his truck, where Johnny Cash was singing “Ring of Fire.”

  “Fine,” he mumbled as he climbed into his truck. “I didn’t want to be home anyway.”

  He drove the ten minutes to Charles Buckley’s home. Next to him was a sack of supplies he’d picked up at the hardware store. He pulled to the curb and got out, grabbing the sack and trying to shake the Daphne scene off him. Nothing pulled him out of depression like building something.

  As he came around the back of his truck, he saw Larry Anderson and his boys working under the hood of a very old-looking car.

  Larry glanced up and waved. “Hey, Tippy! What are you doing here?”

  “Just helping Charles with something. What’s going on?”

  Larry handed Nathan a wrench and met Tippy at the end of the driveway. “Just doing some fun things with the boys this summer.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Restoring a car. Or at least trying to.” He chuckled. “We’re not having much luck. We don’t know what we’re doing.”

  Tippy watched the boys. “They seem to be having fun.”

  “You’re in for a treat, Tippy. I guess that baby’s about to be here, huh? Boy, let me tell you, it’s going to seem like an eternity before your kids can wipe their own noses, but then the next thing you know, they’re leaving for college or getting married. It happens that fast.”

  Tippy smiled, but from what he could tell, he wasn’t sure he could endure anything slower. The kid wasn’t even here yet and look where they were.

  “Larry, can I ask you something? . . . Get your advice, maybe?”

  “Sure,” Larry said, wiping his hands on the rag sticking out of his pocket.

  “Did your kids ever injure themselves on your carpet?”

  “What?”

  “I know. But I have to ask.”

  Larry scratched his head. “Well, not that I can recall. Chip once ate potting soil. But he was our third kid, so we weren’t watching him as closely. We once left him at the grocery store too. You’d think the kid would be scarred, but ironically he’s the most well-adjusted.” They turned to find Chip with a stick, beating the grass for no identifiable reason. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just, um, trying to assess the risk factors. Do all we can to prevent catastrophe.”

  Larry laughed. “Listen, Tippy, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news here, but kids can manage to hurt themselves with anything. Robin once got a Q-tip stuck in her ear canal. Chip knocked his tooth out with a Monopoly game piece.” He laughed. “We still don’t know how he did that. When Nathan was ten, he decided to see what would happen if he ran an eraser up and down his arm really fast. Second-degree burns. Then it got infected. Had to have a skin graft.” Larry glanced at Tippy and bit his lip. “Sorry. I’m just saying that kids are kids. They do stupid things.”

  “How am I supposed to protect him or her?” Tippy asked.

  “You do the best you can. I’ve been trying to tell Beth that. You’ve got to let go and trust God. You raise them the best way you know how, but at some point you have to let ’em go.” He looked at his boys. “This is going to be a great summer, but then Nathan’s leaving and things are going to be different. That’s the thing about parenthood. You finally get it, pull it all together, understand, and then something changes. You get comfortable, but then they grow. You buy eight pounds of chicken nuggets because that’s all your kid will eat, and then they decide they’re not into chicken anymore. It’s just the way it is. You gotta stay flexible.”

  Tippy smiled. “You seem like you’ve done a really good job with your kids.”

  “That’s Beth’s doing, really,” Larry said. “She’s the one who stayed home with them, taught them all the tough lessons. I worked a lot when they were younger, trying to afford this house in this school district. I guess I’m lucky enough now to reap the benefits. But as with everything in life, there are no guarantees. You do what you can while you have them.” He gazed toward the driveway. “In the blink of an eye, time has passed and you missed half the things you intended to do.”

  Tippy spotted Cory bounding out of the Buckley house. “Well, I better get going.” He offered his hand. “Thanks, Larry. Oh, by the way, did Ava call you?”

  “Yep! We’re on it. Don’t know exactly what we’re doing, but you know we can’t say no to Ava. She selling chocolate or wrapping paper or something?”

  Tippy smiled. “Something like that.” He returned to his truck to grab a couple of tools, including his table saw. He opened the back end just as Cory came down the driveway.

  “Hi, Tippy.”

  “Cory, my man. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How are you?”

  “Good. What are you doing here?”

  “Well,” Tippy said, dangling the bag of supplies in the air, “we’re gonna build a kite.”

  Cory looked at the bag, then back at Tippy. “We are?”

  “Yep. And not just any kite. A rock-your-world kind of kite that’ll make your friends really jealous.” Tippy handed him the extension cord. “Your dad asked me to come by and help you.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s going to be awesome. The best
kite you’ve ever seen. This thing’ll probably fly to the moon.” Tippy handed him the sack and reached into the bed of his truck, trying to grab the wood. “The secret is the wood strength. A lot of people don’t know that but . . .” He looked up to hand Cory the duct tape. But Cory had dropped the sack and cord on the sidewalk and was walking toward the house. It was a sad, slow walk.

  Tippy watched him until he went inside. He was beginning to realize something. Yes, it was true, kids could hurt themselves on nearly anything. But it seemed adults had the potential to hurt them more.

  CHAPTER 35

  BUTCH

  “MAN, BUTCH, I can’t believe we’ve gotten this much done in just a couple of weekends,” Tippy said, standing next to the truck.

  Butch leaned against it, lighting up the calculator. “I know.” He glanced up to where the guys were on break. He laughed, watching Bryn and Ava show the guys how to have a proper tea party. They all sat in a circle, legs crossed, each holding a plastic princess teacup. Ava looked to be taking this pretty seriously.

  “Hey, Eddie,” Ava said to the biggest, burliest guy on the crew. She wiggled her pinkie. “Go full pinkie or go home.”

  The guys roared as Eddie’s pinkie went obediently erect. He sipped carefully and daintily.

  Butch took a break from the calculator and looked at the house. Ava had garnered forty thousand dollars in donations from church members alone. Then another twenty thousand in donations from various home improvement stores. Butch had pitched in the rest. Every moment he was here, doing this for Keith and Bryn, he felt like Jenny was with him. He couldn’t wait to get to the project every weekend. It gave them something to do. Since Jenny died, weekends had typically been spent at home, working on the house or lounging in front of the TV. They’d become virtual recluses unless they absolutely had to get out.

  He loved hearing her laugh. And seeing her play.

  “Tippy, let me ask you something.”

  “I’ve got something to ask you too,” Tippy said, leaning against the truck next to Butch.