Continuing my sprint, I soon hit the upstairs and rush to the door, out onto the front stoop. Only two deep breaths later, my stomach simmers down, and my pulse slows. I shake off my nerves. I’m good. While I’m outside, I may as well gather up my few things from the car.
In two steps, I pause in the dooryard, lulled by the chirps of crickets and peepers. I close my eyes. How could I feel so panicked in one moment, and then two seconds later, breathe so easily, as relaxed as a kid at the outset of summer? I move forward. Why did I come out here? That’s right—to retrieve my overnight bag.
My stomach growls. Rather than reach for my clothes and overnight luggage, I snatch the lunch bag on the back seat and my Birkenstocks from the floor. Better grab the fold-up lawn chair I bought on my way up from Logan Airport. Distracted by the coffee-spoiled drawing pad on the dashboard, I roll my eyes. I’m not sure if I feel worse about ruining the lady’s sketch or insulting her with a fifty. I can’t say I would have been any less ticked than she was. Oh well. I’m glad she took the fifty. For the money, I should at least thumb through my purchase—maybe later.
Down on the beach, I set aside my lunch, wrestle open the contraption-of-a-chair and sit. With the Birkenstocks at my feet, I leave my ‘Dr. Seuss’ socks on and slip out of my boots and into the sandals. Wiggling my red and white toes, I reach for Pastrami on rye. Seconds later, I’m squirming as my rear end numbs. Makes me think of our old aluminum chairs and how we sacrificed Adirondack aesthetics for supposed utility and style, and ended up with a nylon-weave pattern engraved in the backs of our bare thighs.
I open the potato salad, finishing it off in a few minutes. Chewing the last of my sandwich, my eyes close. Perhaps I’ll doze for a minute; but no—as if the image of Mom’s outstretched body on her lounge chair were burned into my retinas, I not only ‘see’ her, but my heart rate spikes, just like that morning when I returned from looking at Doc’s clock. I’m awash with excitement and guilt for having gotten away with something.
I approached Mom from behind her lounger while keeping an eye out for Dad. Part of me hoped to hang out with him even if it entailed a lecture on smoking. Maybe we would end up fishing or something. Not that we had done much fishing over the years, but it seemed to me that’s what fathers and sons were supposed to do at camp.
“Hey, Mom,” I said in a low voice, in case she was snoozing. She didn’t respond. I cleared my throat. She flinched, sloshing the lemonade in her paper cup.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?”
“Sorry. I was just wondering where Dad is.”
She heaved a deep sigh and shut her eyes. “He had to take care of some business for a few hours.”
“What? We’ve only been here a couple days.”
Her lips pressed, forming thin, bright pink lines as her jaw tensed, and her eyes again flew open. “Something unexpected came up at work. You know, someone has to pay for our vacations here—we’re not like the Burns, who come and go as they please and have everything handed to them on a silver platter.”
My focus cut across the cove toward Whispering Narrows. Fortunately, no one had taken up sunbathing on Amelia’s beach. Why did Mom’s voice have to be so shrill whenever she spoke of the Burns?
Mom’s whole body shuddered as she raised the cup to her lips. Her eyes rolled and shut as she sipped and then slid back into her seat as if all tension drained in an exhalation.
As she snoozed, I went for a swim. Penny joined me. We raced, from the float to the mouth of the cove and back again, enough times for me to win just once. She was a great swimmer, way better than I was, but every so often, she would throw me a victory. Out at the mouth of the cove—at the Narrows—we treaded water.
“You wanna try for the island?” I asked.
“Mom would have a fit—besides, it’s too far.”
“Like, only a quarter mile.”
“In your dreams. It’s a mile if it’s a yard.”
“Is not.”
“Who’d wanna swim out to that mound of brush and trees, anyway? It’s smaller than our float.”
“Is not! It’s at least ten times the size of the float.”
“Big whoop! It doesn’t even have a beach,” she said and splashed water at me, swimming backward toward shore. Again, the race was on, and I beat her by a hand’s width. It was a pity win, but I didn’t care. I was just glad to have someone to hang out with while I waited for Dad, even if she was my big sister.
Mom slept most of the afternoon, which gave her plenty of energy for slamming pans and cabinet doors around the kitchen at dinnertime. Dad still hadn’t returned by the time we sat down to eat. It wasn’t until after I went to bed that I heard the Falcon’s transmission grind into low gear and the engine quit in the dooryard. I waited for the car door to shut. A few minutes later, careful steps moved toward our room. Our door closed with a quiet click and then came the muffled clunk of my parents’ door. Soon their voices began, low and hushed at first. All I could make out were Mom’s usual accusations—Frank, you always … You never … You said … Leaving me alone with the kids—and Dad’s mumbled rebuttal, Now, Beverly … Don’t be … I’m not … You’re so … before the closet door slammed, sending a tremor through the wall.
Frankie snored loudly on the lower bunk as I climbed out of bed, my Mad magazine falling to the floor. I cranked open the window overlooking the cove, letting in a burst of air that shrank my skin, tight over my chattering bones. The breeze had felt too cold earlier, yet now provided relief. Moonlight scattered across the water. I thought about sneaking down to the beach, but with two parents in a foul mood, why risk it?
I glanced at Frankie. Bluish light washed his sweet little face, giving it an eerie and devious tinge. I tugged his blanket from his ankles up over his chest. Crickets and bullfrogs chirped and blatted like a pubescent chorus. They sounded way better than the feebly stifled argument next door. I waited until Mom’s voice cut through the muddle, as always.
“Quiet! You’ll wake the children.”
From then on, it was just the usual scuff against the wall or a muted thud. It would soon quiet down. I scooted between my sheets, letting them settle at my waist. Now all I needed was a fantasy about Amelia, and I would drift off in no time.
We kids were the first ones up the following morning. Frankie grabbed a piece of toast with jam before hurrying down to the water, ever oblivious to anything that had happened in the night. I never knew anyone who slept more soundly.
Penny sat at the table with me, eating a bowl of Rice Krispies. When something inside our parents’ room rustled, we both glanced at their door and then at each other.
“Did you hear ’em last night?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes while nodding, her cheeks bulging. A dribble of milk escaped the corner of her mouth, and we both smirked as she tried to catch it, making it worse.
“You are so gross for a girl,” I said.
Still chewing, she stuck her finger up her nose, trying to restrain a close-lipped grin. She was the only girl I knew who could do that and still not look completely disgusting. Amelia could, but I was certain she would never do a thing like that.
Dad stepped into the kitchen, carefully closing their bedroom door behind him. Penny brought her bowl to the sink and sidled past him toward the bathroom. He pulled a folded paper from his breast pocket.
“We’re going to the market for some groceries,” he said and shoved the list at me. So much for going to Doc’s this morning, but going to Garver’s wasn’t a bad tradeoff.
My gaze shot toward his bedroom but I didn’t dare ask.
“Your mom’s sleeping in,” he said. I waited for him to blame it on me, as if somehow having a middle child the likes of me might frazzle any mother. But he said nothing more except, “Meet me out at the car in five minutes—and make sure you brush that crud off your teeth.”
So what! I had forgotten to brush the night before.
I tapped the bath
room door.
“I gotta brush my teeth to go to Garver’s,” I said in the loudest hushed voice I could without rousing Mom. I tapped again and the door flung open.
“I’m going too.” Penny pulled her hair into a ponytail. “Don’t let Dad leave without me.”
As if he would ever do that to his Sweet Pea.
A minute later, I climbed in the back seat of the station wagon. Dad cocked an inquisitive brow.
“Penny’s coming,” I informed him.
He nodded but said nothing, as if my words didn’t register. We waited a few minutes, and then Penny slid into the front seat. The knot at the nape of her neck meant that she wore her halter-top beneath the buttoned-up, button-down shirt. Of course, Dad didn’t notice. He simply stared ahead, twisting the corners of his mouth. As he pulled out of the dooryard, he didn’t even react when he nearly clipped the Falcon’s bumper.
We drove past Whispering Narrows, where Doc stood in his driveway. He flashed a friendly wave, but Dad seemed not to notice that either. I offered a discrete wave, glad that Doc could see I had plans for the morning, and that’s why I wouldn’t be showing up to work on the clock, that I wasn’t a slacker. Although it embarrassed me that Dad didn’t wave back, I was just as glad he had missed my exchange with Doc. Penny, on the other hand, turned her head all the way around, flipping her ponytail and raising one brow. At least I could count on her not saying anything in front of Dad. We had an unspoken pact.
Our car pulled into the parking spot at Garver’s Market. Dora sat in front of window advertisements for Yoo-hoo, Coca-Cola and Orange Crush. Dad tucked a newspaper under one arm as he climbed from the car. I followed him up the steps, keeping some distance between Dora and me.
Penny lingered behind. “I’m just gonna sit out here and enjoy the sun.”
“Sure thing, Sweet Pea,” Dad muttered, still preoccupied as he stepped through the jingling door.
“Hi, Ben,” Dora called out.
“Hi, Dora. You didn’t eat all those Mary Janes at once, did you?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head and smiled.
Mr. Garver grinned through the window as he taped a poster beside the door. Colorful letters and brightly illustrated rides announced the annual carnival, August 22nd through 24th. Every year, carnies assembled the event out in the field behind the store, where it brought business for the Garver’s and provided a diversion that broke up the summer monotony of swimming, fishing, and rowing around the lake. It was the highlight of our summers, the one event Mom always agreed she would take us to.
I went inside as Penny sat at the edge of the porch, stretching sun-pink legs as she undid all her buttons and tied the shirttails in a knot at her waist. Through the screen, I glanced at the pickup across the street and the longhaired hippie in bellbottom jeans that climbed out. Percy Wade—the lifeguard at the public beach last summer.
“I’ve gotta make a phone call, in back,” Dad said, grabbing my arm. “You got that list?”
“Yeah, Dad.”
“Have Mrs. Garver put it on our tab,” he said as he pulled out his wallet. My eyes gaped at the sight of more greenbacks than I had ever seen crammed into any wallet in my life. He pulled out a five.
“Get me a dollar’s-worth of dimes,” he said with urgency. He studied my face for a moment before saying, “And keep the change—get yourself something.”
My jaw dropped.
“Don’t just stand there like a moron.”
I walked straight to the cash register where Dora had joined her mother. Mrs. Garver made change. I stuck four singles into my pocket and, with a handful of dimes and a shopping basket, I headed toward the back of the store. Dad tucked the phone between his shoulder and chin, scribbling something on his newspaper. He waved me over. Even while I was depositing the coins in his open hand, he turned away, falling into the shadows of the narrow corridor leading to the rest room. That was my chance to grab a copy of Mad and move on to the groceries.
With my magazine in the basket, I scanned the list and headed to the third aisle from the storefront. Even from there, Dora’s heavy breathing alerted me to the likelihood that she was watching my every move. I glanced across aisles of chest-high shelving, catching her big grin. She let out a throaty sigh. I returned a hesitant smile and got down to the business of shopping. Rice Krispies, margarine, green beans, ginger ale, Spaghetti-Os, hot dogs, Marshmallow Fluff—What? Since when had we started buying Marshmallow Fluff? Four dollars in my pocket and now Fluff? I smiled, looking for Penny. Out on the porch, the hippie paused in front of her, stroking his goatee as they talked. I felt Dora’s continuing stare.
As I flopped a loaf of Wonder bread into the basket, the front door jingled open. I expected the hippie, but instead, Amelia walked in, all backlit like an angel—until Doc’s large figure overshadowed her. She tugged her sleeveless, white blouse and smoothed her plaid pedal pushers. On impulse, I glanced at Dad. He had disappeared into the shadows. I stood motionless and then snatched the first thing in front of me.
“Well, good morning, Ben,” came a deep voice that would certainly draw Dad’s attention. I didn’t dare check.
“Good morning, Mr. Burns,” I said as Amelia stepped over to the magazine rack between the register and the door. I stared at the coils of her ponytail as she thumbed through a Seventeen Magazine.
“Didn’t I tell you to call me Doc?” he said.
“No, sir,” I replied as she replaced the magazine and then turned her attention to the paperback rack.
“Well, I’m sure I meant to.”
I nodded, mustering the courage to monitor Dad’s attentiveness. He remained absorbed in his phone exchange. I relaxed a little.
With each groan of the carousel, Amelia picked one book, perused the back, returned it to its place and picked another. With her final choice, she moved to the outside aisle. Froot Loops, laundry detergent, and cookies separated us. As she picked up a package of Oreos, I tried not to stare. Act casual! I kept her in my peripheral vision. She must have been aware of me only three aisles over—after all, her grandfather had just talked to me.
“Ben,” came his booming voice again as he held up a pint of mineral spirits. “Will this do?”
I recalled the note I had left in his shop and nodded, now certain that I must have had his granddaughter’s attention. I glanced her way. Our eyes met at the very same moment—her gaze far steadier than mine, as if it were nothing to stare at someone she had never uttered one word to, in all the years we had been aware of each other. My resolve weakened as the corners of her mouth rose simultaneously with her single brow. If I had tried to smile, my lips would have trembled and splintered, falling right off my face, and so I only returned her raised brow. She bit her moistened lip.
“Ben,” Dora’s voice cut in. “Mommy says I’m allowed to swim. Could I come and swim at your beach?”
My gaze darted from Amelia to Dora and back. Gah! Why does she have to talk to me in front of Amelia? “Um—” I huffed, rolling my eyes. “I don’t think so—” My snotty tone surprised even me.
Before Dora could respond through her tears, Mrs. Garver interrupted, “Dora, it’s not polite to invite yourself. Besides, we already talked about this. You’ll have to wait to go swimming with Lenny and the group, remember?”
With a big sniff, Dora’s chin sank into her chest. Great, now I’ve made her cry. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at Amelia. I’m such a moron!
“You ready, sweetie?” Doc spoke up, setting his purchase on the counter.
Without so much as a glance at me, Amelia joined her grandfather, placing her cookies and paperback beside the can of solvent, then twirled and exited. By the time Doc paid for the mineral spirits, the hippie guy stood next in line. I shuffled to the front of the store as Doc exited. Where’s a comic-book character with an ‘earth-shattering Kaboom!’ when I need one? I stared at the frayed hem of the hippie’s bellbottoms as he stepped forward.
“A packet of Zig-
Zags,” he said.
Dora wandered from her stool to the stock room as he laid a bill on the counter. I couldn’t look at Mrs. Garver when she rung up our groceries and asked, “Some penny candy, Ben?”
“I guess—” I shrugged, still hot, as if I had been caught lying or stealing, except way worse—I had made Dora cry.
Chapter 8
A squawking crow accuses me, rousing me back to the present. I still feel bad about making Dora cry, although I was just an immature kid and kids do stupid things. Even so, I had always considered myself above downright meanness. Looking back on that incident—on my reaction to Dora—I’m grateful for having become acutely aware of my flawed character and the need to redeem myself. I didn’t view that revelation as progressive at the time; all I felt was overwhelming shame. A tinge of it resurfaces even now and triggers my tick.
As if looking for reassurance, I glance up at where Doc’s Cessna once moored and then narrow my vision to the cove. A ghost of a rowboat floats by with fourteen-year-old me at the helm and more passengers than a dinghy could ever hold in real life. Each face comes in and out of focus. In a flash, the apparition vanishes. Mustering a half smile, I wiggle my red and white toes.
Time to get on with it and move ahead. I stand, arching the slump from my back. Might that old aluminum rowboat still be lurking somewhere? It seems unlikely, though it’s worth a look. Drawing in a deep breath, I peek behind the shack at a heap of pine needles and layers of decomposing foliage. I kick at the dross of leaves and they return a hollow thud. The upside-down boat doesn’t budge. It’s now as much a part of the landscape as the nearby boulders. The old relic probably houses a happy family of mice, safe from predators, and I’m not about to disturb it.
While I’m here, I can’t help checking the shed to see if the previous owners have left anything behind. Rusted hinges moan as I push open the door. Dust filters the light shining on old coffee cans sitting upon rows of shelving. Mom’s old recliner, covered in every god-awful insect and web, is as twisted and misshapen as the shelves above it. Two oars lean in the corner, paddle ends up. I force back a snatch of a memory—an impulse; a swing in the dark; a thud—and wade through bits of debris and a curtain of spiderwebs.
Spilled Coffee Page 5
