Bones trotted by as I put my feet up. His tags jingled. I wondered how much work it would take to train him to fetch snacks and more wine. He put his front paws up on the end of my chair and licked my toes. I leaned forward to pat his head. Two familiar sneakers sticking out from underneath the Dogwood tree caught my attention. I ignored them as I settled into the cushions. Chloe was going to have to find a better place to hide.
“Aren’t you even going to ask me what’s wrong?” she called.
How did she even know I was there? I opened my book, read a few words, then glanced in her direction not saying anything. Finally, I closed my book. “What’s wrong?” I called back.
“Nothing,” she shouted, her voice sharp and ugly.
“Okay.” I opened my book again. I read a few lines wishing for the prose to suck me in and deliver me to another place and time, preferably a time approximately three weeks into the future when I didn’t need to set an alarm and my days would consist of trying to find my marbles and reassemble the nerves.
“You really should check on me.” Chloe persistent tone grew more agitated.
“Okay,” I replied, not moving. A twinge of guilt prodded me to move as I sat trying to do my best to ignore her. I sipped at my wine and peered over the rim as I tilted the glass up. Chloe’s feet wiggled then disappeared. “Damn it,” I said. “Are you hurt?”
No answer.
I read a few more words then put the book down, drained my glass, and went over to Dogwood tree.
Bones followed me, his creased brow judging my actions.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Like you didn’t know she was under there,” I muttered.
Bones wagged his tail then sat on my feet. The soles of my feet sunk into the green grass.
I sat down, and Bones rolled over onto his back. I patted his muscular chest. “So, what seems to be the problem?” I asked, playing with Bones’ floppy jowls.
Chloe didn’t answer, but her feet popped out from underneath the tree.
I leaned closer to get a better view. She was lying on her back with her hands behind her head. Thin green eyes peered out at me like a cat in the night, the waves in her chest, an easy pace.
“Well for starters, Grandpa is leaving tomorrow.”
Bones licked my ear. I rubbed his head and snuggled with him. “You need a bath,” I said after getting a whiff of his fur. He gave a little grunt and trotted under the tree with Chloe. “You know you can’t stay under there forever.”
“Are you talking to me or the dog?” Chloe asked with a huff.
“Both of you.”
The scent of lilacs drifted down over me as the breeze picked up.
“I don’t want Grandpa to go. I like having him here,” she continued. “Why can’t he just stay here?”
“Well …” I plucked some grass from the ground and began shredding it. “He does have a ranch to get back to. I’m sure the cattle miss him.”
“I doubt it,” she retorted. “They’re probably glad he’s not there. Then they can play more, get away with stuff, whatever cows think is fun.”
“So what else is bugging you?” I asked, pressing my luck.
Chloe sat up and scooted out from underneath the tree. “And I have to wear these!” she clamored, slipping on a new pair of eyeglasses.
“You didn’t tell me you were getting glasses,” I said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Maggie, I got glasses. There I told ya’, now how can I get out of wearing them? That stupid Barnyard spent all day staring at me. She’s so rude.” Chloe’s eyes searched mine in a plea for help.
“Sorry, Charlie, if you have to wear them, you have to wear them. Glad wears glasses sometimes,” I said, trying to console her.
“Yeah, but she’s old.”
I scowled. “Hey now, that’s my mother you’re talking about. I wear them, too.”
“Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t be mad at her, but it’s not fair. Hardly any of the kids have glasses and besides my dad and my grandpa don’t wear glasses. Mom doesn’t wear glasses.”
I tucked my legs up into my chest and wrapped my arms around my knees. “Maybe you won’t have to wear them all your life. Later you could get contacts or have that fancy eye surgery like all the sports stars.”
Chloe grimaced. “Yeah, that sounds like fun.”
I chuckled at her sarcasm, then felt the seat of my pants. “I gotta get up, I’m getting wet.”
“Seriously?” Chloe whined, popping up on her feet. “Can’t something just go my way?”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Nothing works out for me. I think I was born under an unlucky star,” she surmised with her hand on her chin.
Chloe sauntered alongside with her hands crossed over her chest as I meandered back to the patio. “I guess I see it differently,” I said.
“Of course you do. You’re a grown-up. Grown-ups always see things differently. They’re always trying to convince kids that things aren’t so bad, but really, they should try being eight sometime.”
“We were all eight at one time or another,” I reminded her.
“Look, I’m just sayin’. I have glasses, my grandpa’s leaving, my dad’s on the phone with the house guy, and the worst of all, the teacher rearranged our desks, and now I sit right next to Hilary Barnhardt, princess of the land of evil. She stinks, and I feel like my life is over.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said, hoping it would stop the rambling list of everyday life.
“Yeah, now is it registering?” she asked, squinting up at me.
“I really like those frames.”
“Dad helped me pick them out. I wish Mom could have been there. She’s all about accessories. She probably would have fought for me, told the doctor I didn’t need glasses cause glasses were not her accessory of choice.”
I grinned, grabbed my wineglass, and headed inside for a refill. Upon opening the refrigerator, I retrieved the bottle of chardonnay.
Chloe climbed up on a stool at the kitchen counter and put her head down on the speckled granite. “Seriously, Mom wouldn’t make me wear glasses.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I replied. “Just think how much better you’ll be able to see.”
“Woo-hoo,” she bellowed, like a dying seal that’d been clubbed inhumanely.
“Sorry,” I said, patting her head. “Want some lemonade?”
“No,” she said. “Is Glad coming over tonight?”
I shrugged. “Don’t know. Usually, she just shows up. Do you need to check in with someone at your house?”
“No, my grandpa’s taking a nap on the sofa and my dad’s in the garage. How am I going to get my motorcycle helmet on with these things?”
“Just like you did before. Or don’t wear them on the bike. It’s not like you’re driving.” I opened the dishwasher and stuck the morning dishes on the top rack.
“Someday I’ll have to drive.”
“But not anytime soon.”
“Thought I’d find her over here,” John said as he came in through the French doors.
My eyes met his with a smile.
“Come on, kiddo, Maggie’s probably exhausted and we need to get some dinner. Thought we’d show Grandpa the park tonight. We can get ice cream.”
“Woo-hoo.” Chloe’s bellowing tone became more dreadful. Bones howled at her. “Like that’s gonna make me feel better.”
John tucked his hands in his pockets. He came inside and helped his daughter down from the stool. Her arms and legs flopped around like limp noodles.
“Ice cream would make me feel better,” I said. She rolled her eyes at me. “Just trying to help.” I lifted both hands in a friendly surrender.
John made her stand up. “Get going, short stuff. I’ll be right behind you. I have something to tell Maggie.”
Chloe slumped forward and dragged her feet as she moped toward the door.
“I’ll be home in a minute, go wash up. You get to pick the restaurant,” he said.
/> Chloe’s green eyes twitched with interest. “Really?”
“Really,” John said, lowering his gaze and his tone.
Chloe patted the top of Bones’ head. “Did you feed him?”
Oh, crap. She’s a better dog owner than I ever could be. “No.”
Chloe opened the cupboard closest to Bones’ dish and scooped out his dinner. “There ya’ go, boy.”
“Thanks,” I said. “What am I going to do without you?” The words escaped my lips without a second thought. A shard of worry dimmed her green eyes.
“I don’t know,” she answered.
Chloe left quietly. I silently scolded myself for bringing up the move. John watched his daughter move like a sloth out the door.
The swig of wine settled my nerves as I sat at the counter staring at my pathetic friend leave. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. She needs to get used to the idea sooner or later. The house is going up on June seventeenth. Just got a few things to do to get it ready.”
Disappointment washed over me. Now I was on Chloe’s island.
“You’re really good with her. You must be a great teacher,” John said.
“It’s a little different there, another playing field,” I explained.
“Still, you’re really good with her. Thanks.”
“No problem. I kind of like her, an awful lot.” I sipped more wine. The second glass of chardonnay slid down more easily than the first. And a third was calling. “So Winston’s leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but we’ll see him soon enough when school gets out,” John answered.
I finished the last of my wine. The glass tinged against the counter when I set it down. I smiled. I strained to hear, but John wasn’t saying anything. I thought I heard the echo of horse hooves across the open meadows. Must have been the alcohol.
“Why don’t you meet us at the park?” John asked.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Please,” John said, “I’d really like it if you’d bring your camera and snap some pictures of Chloe and her grandpa.”
The corner of my mouth drew upward as if it was being snagged by an invisible lure. “Sure, why don’t you text me when you’re done with dinner and you’re on your way toward the lake.”
“Thanks, Maggie.”
John stepped closer. Leaning into me, he kissed my right temple. I closed my eyes hoping to see blue sky smooching the snowy Montana mountain peaks. “You’re welcome.” Taking a breath, I listened. He touched the scar from last summer that peeked out from underneath my hairline.
“It’s the scars that give us personality,” he said.
I stared into his eyes. “It’s the scars that remind us of our pasts.”
“It’s the scars that remind us that we can heal.”
Chapter 32
Behind the wheel of Mom’s new Volkswagen, I grinned wildly as I settled into the leather driver’s seat. Mom had a new pink and orange paisley scarf tied around her neck. I stopped the car, shifted it in park, then held out my hand in her direction. She reached into the glove compartment and produced the scarf she’d given the other day.
“Hang on.” I tied my hair up with my ponytail holder then tied the orange and blue paisley scarf around my ponytail. Chloe wasn’t the only one letting her hair grow out.
“Your hair is getting long there, Marjorie Jean.”
I grinned, ignoring the middle naming then put the car in reverse, checked behind me, and slowly backed out of the driveway. I gripped the wheel with both hands. The tail of my silk scarf whipped around lashing my cheeks. Mom propped her arm up on the door. With each day of spring, the smell of the lake drifted further into my neighborhood. Children played in the driveways and rode bikes up and down the sidewalks ushering in summer. Coasting to the stop sign, the lake greeted us. Mom glanced at me from the passenger’s seat.
“It will always welcome you home,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“No matter where we go, the lake will always welcome you home.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “You’re right about that.” I wondered if I could live without the water. I wondered if I could live without the endless horizon.
“You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” Mom asked.
I eased my way into the road. Peering left, right, then left again with caution, I veered onto Lakeshore Drive toward the park entrance, avoiding her question. A pod of lightweight sailboats bobbed in the cove just off the shore.
“If you don’t go, you’ll regret it later,” Mom said. “I know you.”
“I’m glad somebody does, cause most days I’m not so sure I know myself.” I put on the blinker and entered the parking lot.
Eager to snap photos of Chloe, Winston, and John, I packed my camera in the backseat. Its viewfinder offered a veil. I could see others one frame at a time and if I was lucky enough I’d capture them in a thread of time that portrayed some sense of their true selves that provoked understanding. I unbuckled then glanced over to Mom. I hated it when she was right.
“Let’s go, Glad,” I said, reaching for my camera.
Mom peered over the rim of her sunglasses.
“What?” I shrugged.
“You’re impossible.” She shut the car door with a huff.
“People keep telling me that,” I replied, knowing it was true. I slung the camera strap over my shoulder.
Chloe barreled down the pathway which led to the point that jutted out into Lake St. Clair. Her hair trailed in the wind as her shoes slapped against the pavement. Mom held her arms open and Chloe fell into her basket of love.
“Man, it’s about time you guys got here. Come on.” She beckoned us to follow her and tugged at Mom’s hand. “My friend Autumn is here with her mom. You can meet them. Come on, we’re all by the gazebo.”
A voice called my name. I shaded my eyes, scanning the horizon.
“Hey, Judy,” I called, waving at her.
Harry and Walter ran toward Chloe. Walter squeezed Chloe’s middle and grunted.
“Easy, cowboy. I’m not a tube of toothpaste.” She moaned.
“How’s it going?” Judy asked.
“Same as always,” my mom said, shooting me a look.
I held her gaze. “Nice,” I responded. “My mother thinks I’m a kook.”
“Not a kook, just a stubborn old lady,” she retorted.
Judy chuckled.
“I’m not an old lady,” I said with raised eyebrow. Judy rubbed my arm. “What? You think I’m a ninny, too?”
Judy squinted into the sun, its fiery orange hues close enough to sizzle on the lakes horizon. “I’m not sure. What are we talking about?”
Chloe, Harry, and Walter stood before me like a jury taking notes.
“Maybe we should discuss this later,” I suggested.
“Go on, you Three Musketeers, we’ll be along in a moment,” Judy said, waving her hands as if she were shooing away flies.
“All I’m saying is—” Mom took a deep breath. “Don’t squander any chances that involve adventure. Here’s your chance to take that fork in the road, veer off the beaten path.” Judy shifted her weight and nodded in agreement.
“I know, Mom. I know,” I murmured.
Judy put her sunglasses on. “I think I’ll stay out of this mother-daughter love fest. Besides, look at that.”
Mom and I watched Winston as he reeled in a fish. The children squealed with delight as it wiggled. I took the lens off my camera and moved closer. Peering through the viewfinder, I blocked out the rest of the world. Zooming in, I clicked a few frames. Judy and Mom scurried ahead of me. I followed with my eyes focused on the new girl with shoulder-length dark hair, sleek as midnight and bright green eyes. She and Chloe shared glances and giggles.
“Hey, Maggie. This is Autumn.”
“Hi, Autumn.” I held out my hand to shake hers.
“Hi, Maggie,” she said. Her crooked smile captivated me. “I’m the new girl.”
&nbs
p; “Chloe’s told me a lot about you.”
Autumn giggled then pinched Chloe in the arm in friendly jest.
“Nothing bad,” Chloe said. “You are the coolest girl in school.”
Autumn smiled. “Thanks.”
“So, Chloe tells me you just moved here,” I said.
“Yeah, we did.”
Her smiled disappeared. I didn’t press for information as the woman on the bench in the straw hat focused her attention in my direction.
“That’s my mom,” Autumn said. “Hey, Mom, this is Chloe’s friend, Maggie.”
The woman stared with a forced smile, her shoulder-length hair even darker than her daughter’s, her eyes solemn, her shoulders curved like she carried a burden, but then didn’t we all? I held out my hand. “Hi, I’m Maggie Abernathy.”
“Hi, Sylvie Peterson. Nice to meet you.”
Autumn’s eyes met her mother’s. Her smile flatlined, and my instincts bristled. “I live next door to Chloe and John,” I said. “That’s my mom, Glad, the one putting the worm on the hook.” Ironic. “The curly dark-haired woman is my friend Judy and those are her boys, Harry and Walter.”
Autumn’s mom’s thin lips pressed together as I introduced everyone. “Come on, I’ll introduce you. I know how hard it is to be the new kid on the block.” A shadow crossed her face. She adjusted her sunglasses and walked with me to the group of chattering people. Mom let go of the hook and Chloe dropped her fishing line in the water. Harry peered into the water.
“Well done,” Winston claimed as he nodded to Glad.
Mom wiped her hands on the towel that John held out.
“Thanks, Glad,” Chloe chimed.
Chloe wound the line in and gave it a little jerk every few seconds.
John leaned next to her coaching every move.
Mom’s words, advice, wisdom loomed over me.
“Hi, I’m John McIntyre,” he said.
John nodded in Sylvie’s direction. She introduced herself, and I listened.
“How many pictures have you taken?” my mom asked me then she turned her attention to Autumn’s mom. “Hi, I’m Glad Abernathy, Maggie’s mother. Welcome.”
A thin smile crept across Sylvie’s lips.
Walter tugged at my shirt. I glanced down at him.
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