“You look so much like your dad, Mattie,” she said, and her voice had a dreamy, liquid sound that I’d never heard before.
I also couldn’t remember the last time she’d mentioned him. After he died it was like he’d never existed. I stared straight ahead and all I could say was, “Don’t call me that. It’s such a kid name.”
She laughed. “What should I call you?”
The light changed and I started across the intersection. “Mac,” I said. “Just call me Mac, okay?”
We ended up at Dairy Queen, because most of the kids I knew would be at Mahon’s and I didn’t want to be seen having ice cream with my mother on a Saturday afternoon. We sat out at one of the little old picnic tables and I had a butterscotch sundae while she smoked a cigarette and drank a Tab.
“So you’ve got a girlfriend now, I hear.”
I scraped the last of the butterscotch from the bottom of the plastic dish. “Only for the last eight months, but who’s counting?”
She was unruffled. “What’s her name?”
“Amanda Petrie.”
“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Petrie’s daughter?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you bring her around sometime?”
“She’s in Italy,” I said.
Suzanne smiled this kind of amused half smile she had, blew out some smoke, threw her cigarette on the pavement and stepped on it. “Presumably she’ll be back at some point.”
“Before school starts, I guess.”
“Maybe you’d like to bring her over for dinner.”
“Maybe.”
We got back in the car and I drove home. When we pulled into the driveway, I turned off the engine and handed her the keys.
“I think you’re gonna ace this driving test.” She looked directly at me, and for a second I thought she might cry. “You’re a good kid, Mattie—sorry. I mean Mac.” And she tousled my hair again.
When Amanda came back from Florence, she looked different. Older, more sophisticated. She wore eye makeup. She had a lot of new clothes, mostly very short skirts. She said ciao all the time and everything was primo and she kept mentioning some guy named Tonio. Now she liked red wine. And she shrugged a lot.
Still, she acted glad to see me, so I tried to ignore all the new stuff. Or look behind it for the Amanda I’d known last year. But she seemed to have pulled out into the passing lane, waving at me as she went by.
She and Kevin were now seniors. He was class president, star running back of Harrington’s best football team in years. He’d been offered football and baseball scholarships by Yale and Dartmouth and Brown, and was trying to decide where he wanted to go. I was hoping he’d choose Brown—the farthest away.
Life is full of inconsequential bullshit stuff that starts out being a minor annoyance and snowballs, picking up speed and setting things into motion, like one of those Rube Goldberg contraptions. Things that can change a whole day or a whole life. Things like a flat tire on a bike.
Amanda’s birthday had happened in August while she was in Italy, so in mid-September we decided to celebrate with dinner at an Italian restaurant. Then I was going to surprise her with tickets to see a band called Hard Time. They were local guys, and one of them was a buddy of mine. He’d given me backstage passes. Okay, she hadn’t been that excited lately about the music I liked, but I wanted to see them with her. Or maybe I just wanted them to see her with me.
All these plans, and I still couldn’t drive. She said no problem, she’d get her mother’s car and pick me up at six-thirty. I had soccer practice till five-thirty, but I was only fifteen minutes away by bike, and I figured I had plenty of time to get home, shower, and change. I wanted to be ready when she got there so we didn’t have to spend any time chitchatting with Suzanne while Kevin strutted around checking out Amanda.
I came out of soccer practice, skipped the showers, and went straight to my bike, headed for home. I had left the village behind and was pedaling furiously past Cahill’s farm when my rear tire suddenly started wobbling. I knew it was a flat.
I used every curse word I knew. I thought about leaving my bike in the ditch and running home, but I knew it wouldn’t be there when I got back, so I walked beside it, as fast as I could. Past the farm there was a gas station. I called her house, but there was no answer. Then I called our house. No answer there either. Kevin had taken to hanging out after Friday football practice with some of his friends, one of whom worked at the convenience store and could usually come up with a six-pack.
The guy at the gas station tried to fix my tire, but the inner tube was so old and patched and cracked that it wouldn’t hold. He said I could leave the bike there and pick it up the next morning, so I took off running. I was in pretty good shape, but I’d just spent two hours running up and down the soccer field, and it didn’t take me long to get winded. Finally, at ten till seven, I limped up our street. Amanda’s car was in front of the house. Our car was in the drive.
When I walked into the kitchen, she was sitting at the table with a glass of wine in front of her, laughing at something. Kevin, showered and dressed and reeking of Jade East, was sitting on a stool drinking a beer. I was so pissed off and frustrated and exhausted that I just blurted out, “Where the hell is Suzanne?”
Kevin laughed. “She worked today, remember? I’m picking her up at the train in thirty minutes. And we’re fine, too, thanks for asking.”
Amanda laughed again, like that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.
I felt all my blood taking the express elevator to my head. “I’m sorry.” I looked only at her. “I had a flat. I tried to call you, but—”
“That’s okay.” She gave me one of her life-altering smiles. “I had to run an errand before I came. Go get dressed so we can go.”
It was nearly seven-thirty by the time we left the house, and I knew there was no way we were going to have dinner and still make it to the show.
Amanda talked animatedly and laughed at everything, even things that weren’t funny, while I sank lower and lower into gloom.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked at one point. “You can get your bike back tomorrow morning.”
I just stared at her, and the chasm yawned almost visibly between us. She thought I was upset about the bike? I couldn’t explain. I didn’t even know where to start. She continued to chatter.
“Honestly, Mac, from the way you always talk about Kevin, I was expecting a two-headed monster. He’s actually quite nice. And very funny. He said I should meet your mother. You never told me she was an artist—”
“I did, too.”
“No you did not. You said she worked at a gallery. I thought she was, like, a receptionist or something. Kevin said she was accepted to study at the Sorbonne. I’d love to talk to her.”
When I took out my wallet to pay for dinner, the tickets fell out, and she picked one up.
“But these are for tonight.” She looked at me questioningly. “Why didn’t you say something?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t think we’d have time.”
“We could have had dinner after the show.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to go.”
She gave me a strange look. “Then why did you buy the tickets?”
“I don’t know. Just in case. I don’t know, okay?”
“Are you mad at me?”
I looked into her eyes then, and I was too tired and miserable to hide what I felt, so I just let it all rise to the surface and I held it there. Like an offering. “No. Not at you.”
She pursed her mouth and shrugged. “I don’t think I understand you anymore. Ever since I came back, you’ve been acting weird. You don’t like my hair or my clothes or the way I talk. What is it you want from me?”
What did I want from her? Just everything. I wanted her to realize what was happening. Without my having to spell it out. I wanted her to say she would’ve liked to go to the show. I wanted her to say, “You were right about your brother
. He really is a dork.” And then laugh. Hell, what I really wanted was to rewind this day and play it back from the top, the way it should have gone.
“What, then?” There was no concern in her voice. Only curiosity.
I leaned back in my chair and let out a slow breath. “I don’t know.”
She picked up her purse. “I guess I better take you home,” she said.
Two weeks later she and Kevin had their first date.
I didn’t see her for a while. I knew the places she hung out at school and around the village and I scrupulously avoided them. But I did talk to her on the phone. When she called for Kevin.
He liked to pretend he was too busy to pick it up, so I’d have to answer it and then tell him Amanda was calling. I got to be like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Every time the phone rang, I felt like throwing up.
What kept me from going completely into the void was the thought somewhere in the darkest recesses of my mind that it would be over soon. He’d dump her like he dumped everyone else, and I’d be there to pick up the pieces and magnanimously take her back. I spent quite a few nights imagining that conversation before I fell asleep.
The last football game of the year was November 1. By tradition, the last game of the season was a face-off with Palmer, our archrival, and everybody was psyched because we all knew we were going to wipe up the field with them this year. No way could we lose.
Amanda would be sitting in the bleachers—just above the place where I kissed her for the very first time, as a matter of fact—with all the other players’ girlfriends. I took some comfort in thinking how much she’d hate that. Then after the game, there would be a dance, and after that, everyone would go on to private parties at people’s houses. We’d be celebrating that victory for weeks.
My first inkling that things were not going according to plan was when I got to the game at seven and started looking for Jason Garfield and Buddy Love, the two guys from the soccer team I was supposed to meet. I was standing in front of the concession stand looking for them when a gang of about eight girls came out of the bathroom together, laughing hysterically. It didn’t take more than a quick glance to see that Amanda was right there in the middle of it. All chummy with those girls she used to make fun of. The really creepy thing was that, except for her hair, she looked just like one of them.
When they walked past me, I stared at her so hard she must have felt it, because she looked up and our eyes met just for a second. She sort of hesitated, like she wanted to say something—or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part—but then I looked down at my watch and around like I was waiting for someone, and when I looked back, the girls had passed by and were going up the steps to the bleachers.
The second thing that went wrong was, at halftime, we were trailing, seven to six. Obviously our team wasn’t the only one who’d gotten psyched up for tonight. Nobody paid any attention to the halftime show. We all just stood around in a stupor, muttering to each other.
I have no idea what went on in the locker room that night. What the coach said to those guys. I’ve never played football, but I’ve played a lot of sports, and I’ve known a lot of coaches. Everyone has a different approach to that kind of situation. Some rant and rave and try to shame you into winning. Some give the “Let’s win one for the Gipper” kind of pep talk. Others act really calm, try to convince you with logic that you can go back out there and take over the momentum. I’ve even known a few who insisted on praying. As if God would give a shit if we beat Palmer.
Anyway, the team came out in the second half and did what they were supposed to do in the first half and we cleaned Palmer’s clock twenty-one to seven. Two of our three touchdowns were scored by Kevin, of course. I was glad we won, but I knew he wouldn’t be fit to live with for the next three weeks.
I don’t know why I went to the dance. I knew exactly what would happen. And it did. I stood around with my hands in my pockets, trying to pretend I was excited about winning, having a great time, checking out the girls…and all the time, my eyes were scanning the dancers, looking for Kevin and Amanda. And finding them, far too often.
He was all over her, and I think she started to get embarrassed. Once I saw her step away from him, and she looked pissed. I wanted to go punch him in the face, but I kept telling myself that she’d made her choice and she could take care of herself.
At least twice I saw them go outside with some of the other players and their girlfriends. I knew they were going to the parking lot to drink or share a joint. Finally they left and didn’t come back, so I figured they’d gone to a party. Buddy and Jason wanted to go to a party at one of the cheerleaders’ houses, but I’d had enough.
I went to get my jacket where I’d left it on the back of a metal folding chair, and when I turned around, Amanda was standing there. She looked like she’d been crying. Her eye makeup was kind of smeary and her nose was red. My first thought was that it had happened sooner than I’d expected. Kevin had either dumped her or pissed her off so badly that she’d dumped him. I was trying to remember the noble, magnanimous speech that I’d worked out in my head for the occasion.
Then I started to listen to what she was saying. How even though we weren’t together anymore, she really liked me and had always thought of me as someone she could turn to if she needed help. She kept going on and on, and I went from being elated to disappointed to crushed to resentful to really pissed off.
What I finally understood was that Kevin was totally blasted, and he was determined to drive and wouldn’t give her the keys, and anyway, she was not feeling much pain either, and so would I take the keys away from Kevin and drive her home?
I stared at her. “Why don’t you call a cab?”
Tears pooled in her eyes and started to run down her cheeks. “You really hate me, don’t you?”
Part of me really did. But another part felt like a shit. And a third part wanted to put my arms around her and let her cry all over my Harrington High School soccer jersey.
She could see I was waffling, so she turned it all the way up. “Please, Mac. I’ll never ask you for anything again. I’m just so scared to ride with him. He’s totally wasted.”
I eased into my jacket. I knew I should just walk over to the pay phone out by the gym and call her a taxi. I was still four days away from getting my license. But there was that fantasy I kept having about her falling into my arms at some point—yes, out of gratitude, first. But then, she’d gradually realize that she’d made a mistake, and tearfully beg me to take her back. How could she not feel the same way I did?
I sighed. I pulled on my gloves. I said, “Where is he?”
She took my arm and walked me out to the parking lot. Kevin was sitting in the driver’s seat. Conscious, but just barely. He didn’t put up much of a fight. The hardest part was getting him around to the other side of the car, but we managed and he promptly passed out. She climbed in back, and slumped against the door, exhausted.
I went out the back entrance onto Dunham Street, came around the corner, and pulled up at the red light.
“Thank you, Mac,” she whispered.
The light turned green. I put my foot on the gas and pulled out into the intersection and the whole world ripped apart.
They said the guy in the van never even touched his brakes.
twenty-two
January 12, 1991
Ms. Ellen Liederman & Ms. Wynter Morrison
Queen Street Bakery
6005 Queen Street
Seattle, WA 98110
Dear Ms. Liederman and Ms. Morrison:
I am writing to introduce myself—Dr. Harvey Mendina, D.D.S. I am the new owner (as of January 15, 1991) of the Conant Wren Building, 6005 Queen Street, Seattle, WA 98110, of which your corporation, dba The Queen Street Bakery, is a tenant.
Even though I’m a resident of Bellevue, I very much appreciate the history and charm of the Conant Wren Building, and its place within the context of Upper Queen Anne. However, I would like to share with you my
vision for the future of this architecturally significant building. As you are probably aware, there is a need for improvements to the structure and an upgrade of its surroundings, e.g., landscaping, lighting, parking. In my opinion, this will bring the Conant Wren more into line with other businesses in the neighborhood, and will contribute to the overall improvement of the neighborhood and the surrounding community. Of course, as we are all aware, these kinds of improvements require a substantial outlay of funds.
To that end I find it will be necessary to increase rents in the building by 20 percent, effective with your new lease (May 1, 1991). This will enable me to address complaints that have recently been directed to Mr. Walsenberg regarding plumbing, wiring, and general maintenance such as painting, the pressure washing of the brick, the replacement of doors and windows, as well as the restoration of some of the architectural details that have been lost or have fallen into disrepair.
Enclosed are two copies of your new lease reflecting this change, and I would appreciate your signing and returning them both to my office as soon as possible. I will then forward to you a fully executed copy for your records.
I look forward to working with you to ensure that the Queen
Street Bakery and the Conant Wren Building live up to their full potential. In the meantime, should you have any questions or comments, please do not hesitate to contact me at (425) 433-0076.
Yours truly,
Harvey J. Mendina, D.D.S.
I read the letter again, just to be sure I haven’t missed some vital piece of information. Like the words “Just kidding!” buried somewhere in the text.
Baker's Apprentice Page 29
