by Amy McAuley
“This is a big tourist town,” Dad says. “It’s really hopping in the summer.”
Apparently.
The light turns green and we continue on toward the lake. The patch of turquoise and navy blue water in the distance gets bigger. The street dips into a steep hill that ends at the beach, and I nearly shout out an ecstatic “woo hoo!” No wonder the town felt slow as we drove through. All the young people are at the beach.
Kalli starts chattering away about ten different things at once, but I stare out my window, mesmerized by how picturesque the scenery is.
“My house isn’t far from here,” Dad says, and the beach disappears from sight. We drive for a few minutes, and then the lake pops back into view. The car slows. Gravel crunches beneath the tires. “Here we are.”
Inside my head, I can’t help but chant a flabbergasted chorus of Dad lives on the beach … Dad lives on the beach. I fumble for the door handle. Hot air blasts my face when I open the door.
“It’s not a large cottage, but it’s winterized for year-round use,” Dad says, almost apologetically, while shutting off the car.
The front passenger door slams. Kalli sprints across the lawn, heading for a tree-lined path beside the cottage that leads down to the beach. “It’s awesome, Dad!”
I have to agree. Dad’s house isn’t very big, like he said, but it’s got a windowed sunroom and a huge wraparound deck. And it barks.
“There’s someone who wants to meet you.” Dad strides across the lawn and jogs up the deck steps. Before he’s got the door open all the way, a mass of golden fur comes exploding out. “Sandy, sit, girl,” Dad says from the deck.
The furry bullet skids to a stop, obediently parking her butt on the ground in front of me. Golden brown eyes gaze up at me with adoration, and Sandy gives me a lolling-tongue doggie smile to say she’s already claimed me as a friend.
Dad has a golden retriever … Dad has a golden retriever!
Dad rushes over, panting even more than the dog. “Sandy’s still a puppy and she gets a little excited.”
“That’s okay,” I say, rubbing the silky shag of fur behind her ears. “She’s so cute.”
“She’s cute all right, and she knows it.”
Sandy cocks her head, glancing back and forth between us as if to say, “Enough of the chitchat, when is somebody gonna play with me?”
“There’s something else I want to show you,” Dad says.
I follow him to a rundown shed at the edge of the lawn, wondering what he wants to show me. He grabs the handles of the large wooden doors and pulls them open, revealing a car. I stare at it with big question marks floating around above my head. Finally, the little lightbulb goes on.
“No way,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Yes way.”
If this car is Dad’s way of buying my affection, then I am so bought.
“It’s nothing special, but it should get you and Kalli from point A to point B,” he says in the same apologetic voice he used to describe the cottage. “You’ll probably spend most of your time at the beach, but I thought you should have a car around while I’m at work, just in case. And, well, it will give you some freedom while you’re here.”
I can’t talk. I can’t move. This isn’t like Dad at all. Dad’s not generous. Dad doesn’t think of other people’s needs.
“I don’t know what to say.”
He chuckles. “How about thanks?”
I feel a little embarrassed for not coming up with the thanks thing myself, but make up for it by giving him a quick hug. “Thanks so much, Dad.”
“You’re welcome. Now go check it out, the keys are already in it.”
My feet decide that checking out the car would be a pretty cool thing to do. In a flash, I’m sitting in the driver’s seat with both hands on the wheel. My gaze scans around in crazy circles, not focusing on anything for very long. I know I should be locating the lights and all the other necessary switches and knobs, but my brain is doing double Dutch. Wheeeee-hoooooo!
It’s about a thousand degrees in the car because it’s summer and the windows are rolled up. With a delirious smile on my face, I take one last look around. My smile sags.
The interior of the car is oddly familiar. It’s old, boxy, and well worn from decades of use. Reluctantly, I turn around to check out the backseat. And my enthusiasm evaporates into the stifling air. On the seat, next to the back door, is a small, round cigarette burn.
8
“So you have lots of bad dreams?” Dad asks, as we’re sitting on the deck, scarfing down the delicious chicken he barbecued for dinner.
I shrug while licking sauce off my fingers. I’m still freaked out about the car from my dream coincidence; I’m not about to give Dad the lowdown on my nightmares.
“You had bad dreams all the time when you were little,” he says. “Like clockwork, around three in the morning, we’d hear you calling for Mom because you’d had another bad dream, and she’d stagger off to your bed. You always had such an imagination, Penny. It never shut off, even when you were asleep.”
What kind of husband lets his wife go without sleep for years and then reminisces about it in a fond, remember-the-good-old-days kind of way? That’s going to cost Dad two of the brownie points he scored today.
“And I’ll never forget when you were seven or eight”—he reaches for a napkin and rubs his mouth—“you’d tell me you knew exactly what was going to happen every day because you’d dreamed it the night before. You were just the smartest little—”
Kalli’s chair scrapes across the deck, cutting Dad off. “Can I go down to the beach?”
“Yeah, I guess, but don’t go too far.”
Staring at a wispy cloud, I mull over what Dad just told me and a fuzzy memory pops out of storage in my brain. I’m sitting on the floor in front of our Christmas tree, surrounded by mounds of discarded wrapping paper. “I knew it! I knew it!” I’m shouting. “Remember, I always dream what’s going to happen the next day, and last night I had a dream that Santa got me skates. I knew he would and he did.” I can’t see Dad in the memory, but from above me, he says, “Yeah, that used to happen to me when I was a kid,” just like that, all nonchalant, like neither of us had said anything weird.
“Oh, there’s the phone.” Dad pushes his chair back from the patio table and runs into the kitchen through the sliding screen door.
I trail my spoon through the mound of potato salad on my plate, feeling disconnected from reality, from everything that’s going on around me, like Dad’s in the kitchen and Kalli’s at the beach and I’m in outer space. I hate when my real life feels like a dream. I spend way too much time dreaming as it is.
* * *
My first Saturday night at Dad’s. This should be interesting. What does everybody do on a Saturday night in this dinky town? Perhaps there’s a bingo game scheduled or a lawn-bowling tournament or a contest to see whose dentures fit the snuggest.
I’ve spent the last couple of hours collecting pretty rocks on the beach with Kalli, and throwing pieces of driftwood into the lake for Sandy to run and swim after, a game she’d gladly play all night, I swear.
I find an amazing pink rock near the shore and add it to my collection. Dad calls to us from the cottage. Kalli and I, both on our hands and knees on the sand, gather up our rock collections, using the T-shirts we’re wearing over our bathing suits as baskets. With Sandy cavorting alongside me, I race past Kalli, through the tree-lined path that leads to the cottage, and up the deck steps.
“Sandy drooled on my leg again!” Kalli shrieks, as if the dog spit acid at her. “Ewww!”
I unfold the saggy bottom of my shirt and let my stones tumble onto the patio table.
Kalli runs up behind me, out of breath. “What did you want, Dad?”
Dad, looking freshly showered, walks out to the deck from the kitchen holding Sandy’s leash. “You girls change your clothes. We’re going to the Pipe Band Parade.”
“The Pipe what?” I
ask. I’d bet good money this is an old-person thing. And judging by Dad’s slickified appearance, it’s a hotbed of available middle-aged women.
“You know what bagpipes are,” he says. “This town has a Scottish heritage and during the summer, the Pipe Band marches every Saturday night.”
This is sounding … unusual. Kalli and I exchange nervous glances.
“I’ll go, Dad,” Kalli says, pulling a bathing suit wedgie out of her butt.
I’m not sure I want to spend the evening with Dad at this Pipe thing. Kalli kicks me in the shin. “All right, I’ll go,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.
By eight o’clock, we’re cleaned up and on our way downtown, with Sandy leading the way. She doesn’t heel for Dad when he walks her, and every so often, she lets out a yaaak cough because she’s straining against her collar.
When we get to the traffic lights downtown, I’m shocked by how many people are already here. The sidewalks on both sides of the street are jam-packed. People are sitting on chairs, benches, and the curbs, or standing on the sidewalks talking.
“Do you want to get ice cream before the band starts?” Dad asks.
Kalli and I giddily shout, “Yes!” like we’re five-year-olds, and we walk down the street to the ice cream parlor. The three employees crammed inside the tiny building bump into each other repeatedly as they hurriedly make cones for the long line. It’s kind of funny to watch.
Dad pulls a ten from his wallet and holds it out for me to take. “You and Kalli get your cones. Sandy and I will go wait at the bench over there.”
I glance behind him to check out the position of the bench and snatch the money from his hand. “Thanks, Dad. You’re great,” I say in a Scottish accent. I like talking like that. The words seem to roll right out of my mouth.
Kalli and I go to the back of the line, trying to come to an agreement on which flavors we want. By the time we’re next in line, we’ve changed our minds about fifty times each. There are way too many delicious ice cream flavors on the planet.
“I dare you to order in Scottish,” Kalli whispers in my ear with a giggle.
“What’ll you give me if I do?”
“A quarter.”
I cackle, startling the lady in front of me. “C’mon, Kalli, make it worth my while.”
Her eyes roll back exaggeratedly. “Fine. Two dollars.”
Two bucks. Well, it’s not a lot, but it will get me fries at the beach tomorrow.
“You’re on,” I tell her, as we step up to the parlor window.
The lady behind the counter pushes her glasses up with the back of her hand, smiling at me. “What can I get you?”
Here goes. “I’ll have one scoop Rocky Road and one scoop Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough,” I say in a warbling Scottish accent. Kalli pokes me in the back, and I place her order, too, again in a Scottish accent. How mortifying. To hell with eating my ice cream, I’m going to apply it to my flaming red cheeks.
“Are you here visiting for the summer?” the ice cream lady asks, and I nod. “I have relatives in Scotland,” she says, handing me my cone. “Whereabouts are you from?”
Yikes! “I’m from Aberdeen, it’s in the northern part of Scotland,” I blurt. Is that a real town in Scotland? Not sure where that answer came from, but at least I said something. “We have a sheep farm,” I say, unable to turn off my Scottish mouth. Help.
While scooping Kalli’s cone, the ice cream lady smiles and says, “I’m not familiar with Aberdeen. I hope you have a wonderful holiday and enjoy the parade.”
I thank her, pay for the cones, get my change, and speed away.
“We have a sheep farm?” Kalli says when she meets me at the bench. “I dared you to order in a Scottish accent, not lie and make up a big dumb story.”
“I didn’t mean to say that stuff, it just came out. I was nervous.”
Dad stares at us from the bench like we’re both crazy.
“Now you can’t get ice cream from there again unless you pretend to be Scottish.”
“You dared me to do it!”
“Are you two ready?” Dad says, but he’s drowned out by the wail of what sounds like a dozen geese being fed into a wood chipper in the parking lot behind us.
With a melting glob of ice cream in her mouth, Kalli cries, “They’re starting!”
We find a place to stand farther down the sidewalk, between two sets of elderly couples on lawn chairs. Sandy sits patiently beside me, despite the noise and the crowd, and tolerates a few pats on the head from strangers hurrying past.
The band is playing music now, music that’s growing louder. I crane my neck, wanting to chant, “They’re coming. They’re coming.” But I’d never do something like that. I step off the curb to get a better look. They are coming, marching straight and tall, each piper and drummer wearing a uniform complete with a kilt and white knee socks. The leader of the band is holding this wickedly long silver staff thing. And the drumbeats are rollicking and upbeat, not what I’d expected to hear from a pipe band. It’s a pipe band song, but with a touch of rock music snuck in. It’s distinct. It’s … cool.
I turn around to smile at Dad, and Kalli snickers at me from behind her ice cream cone. “You were dancing.”
“I was not,” I protest.
“Were too.”
So maybe I was tapping my foot. And sashaying my hips a little. It’s not like I was break-dancing or doing a striptease right out on the main street. Ignoring Kalli, I turn around to catch the end of the band as they march away with a large crowd following behind. I must admit, I’m having a great time. I was so captivated as they marched past that I neglected my ice cream. Gooey trails are dripping down my hand.
Dear Dream Journal:
I’m sitting on my top bunk (didn’t get my own room—sharing one with kalli and we have bunk beds—grrrrrr), staring out the window at my incredible view of the lake. Finally remembered a dream about that Malcolm guy. He was ruggedly handsome with reddish-brown hair and he was wearing a kilt, but I think my brain added that in because I went to the Pipe Band.
Kalli and I found this place down at the beach that has the most amazing fries. We’ll probably go there every day for the rest of the summer, so I’m going to start taking Sandy for walks. This is my plan—go for a morning walk on the beach, eat fries at the beach, and then lie on the beach all day while Dad’s at work. It’s a tough life, but somebody’s gotta do it.
“Hi! How’s everything going at your dad’s?”
I smile, thrilled to hear Di’s voice again. “Gee, you’re home for once.”
I’ve called her five times since I got to Dad’s, but she was never there. According to her mom, Di “hit it off beautifully with the kids next door and hasn’t been home much.” Whatever. As far as I knew, their neighbor was a mummified old lady.
“I’m home for a couple minutes. Then I’m going to Rick and Emma’s.”
“Rick and Emma?”
“You’ll never believe this. Mrs. Peterson went to an old folks’ home.”
“Shocking. And she was only, what, a hundred and eighty?”
“Pen, a seventeen-year-old stud moved into her house.”
“Seriously?”
“Rick’s dad just took a teaching job at our high school. That’s why they moved in next door to meeeee!” Di sucks in a breath. “Who have you been hanging out with at your dad’s?”
“Sandy. She’s a dog.”
Silence. “Oh. Well, that’s probably fun, right?”
“Yeah, it is.”
To get off my friendship with a dog, I tell Di about my car. That gets a huge reaction from her. I don’t mention that I haven’t actually driven it farther than the supermarket a couple of blocks away because almost everything here is within walking distance.
“I should go, I can hear Emma calling me from her kitchen window,” Di says. “I’ll call again real soon.” She hums into the phone. “Actually, not real soon. My Summer Dance Intensive is next week. I’ll definitely call when I can,
okay?”
When I hang up, I almost start to bawl. Talking to Di only reminded me of how much I miss her. What am I doing so far away from her? Kincardine is great, and I’m having fun here, but it’s not home. And I’m not exactly jumping for joy that Di’s making all kinds of new friends to take my place while I’m gone. I haven’t met anybody here yet. Sure, I see tons of people my age at the beach every day, but I don’t know any of them. This isn’t like kindergarten, where you can walk up to a group of strange kids and say, “Hi, I’m Penny. Wanna play?” Boom, instant friends.
Kalli thumps into the kitchen, dressed only in a bathing suit. She grabs her towel from the coat hook near the sliding door, slips her feet into her sandals, and continues to ignore me as she heads outside.
“Going swimming?”
“Uh huh,” she says, sliding the screen closed.
“Can I come?”
She slings the towel over her shoulder. “Not right now. Megan and I are meeting her friend at the picnic shelters. I’ll go swimming with you after supper.” The sound of her sandals flip-flopping across the deck fades away.
Sandy pads into the kitchen, giving me a soulful look with those huge brown eyes.
“I have to take a number to hang out with my sister,” I tell her. “And who’s Megan?”
Cocking her head, she looks at me like, “Beats me.”
“Want to go for a walk downtown?” I ask.
She runs to the back door, nails clicking noisily, to retrieve her leash from its place in Dad’s odds-and-ends basket on the floor. That’s another trick I taught her, and in only two days. Sandy races back with the leash in her mouth. I give her the drop command and the leash clatters to the floor at my feet.
“You’re such a good puppy,” I say, squatting down to give her an affectionate hug and a scratch behind the ears. See, I’m not a loser. I’ve got a new friend. So what if she has four legs and a tail. Sandy pants happily in my face. Okay, add stinky breath to the list.
Dear Dream Journal,
Sandy and I have been walking on the beach every morning for a week. I don’t know what’s going on with me (too much fresh air?), but I’ve also been jogging through the cottage lanes at night! I found a dog obedience manual in one of the kitchen drawers, and I study it while at the beach. I’m proud of how well I’m training Sandy to heel beside me as we jog and to ignore distractions, like other dogs, squirrels, kids on bikes, etc. Sometimes when she’s trotting along beside me, she’ll look up and give me her doggie smile. That’s the coolest.
