“Yeah,” she said, cautiously.
“You know her older brother?”
“Sure.” Emma had known Chet all her life. He was three years older, and was kind of like her own big brother, only better. He’d be the first to tease her, but also the first to stick up for her if someone else bugged her on the school bus. When they were kids, Chet and his friends used to play hockey on the frozen expanse of Candlewood Lake, and Alicia and Emma would skate crooked loops around them, begging to be included. The only bone she ever broke was in fourth grade during one of those games. Chet had picked her up and carried her all the way up the steep lakeside hill, across the street and straight to her front door, where her frantic mother took one look at her purple wrist and drove her straight to the hospital. Last year Chet had graduated and gone off to Colgate, so she didn’t see much of him. Now he was home for the summer, working at the beach as a lifeguard. The one time she’d seen him, Emma had been surprised by how much older and sophisticated he seemed. God, she hoped college did the same thing for her.
“Is he single?” Amanda asked her now.
So that’s why she was even speaking to Emma.
Alicia had mentioned something about a college girlfriend, but that was back at Christmas. “I don’t know. I mean, I can find out for you,” she added. She wondered if that sounded too eager.
Courtney was staring at her with mild interest.
“You ever hook up with him?” Amanda was so direct. Emma couldn’t tell if she was messing with her or just trying to glean more information.
“Sort of. Once.” It was a big fat lie. The closest contact Emma had had with Chet was when he pulled her into a headlock and gave her a noogie. She was the kid friend of his kid sister. But Amanda didn’t know that.
“Seriously? Like were you two a thing?” Now Courtney was paying attention.
Emma pictured Alicia’s face if she could only hear her now. She’d be pissed, because not only was Emma outright lying, but she was using her brother to do it. Not cool.
“It was no big thing,” she added quickly, trying to sound casual. “He’s more of a friend now.”
Courtney shrugged, her gaze already sliding away in the direction of the boys, but Emma could feel Amanda staring right through her. She wondered if she believed a word of it.
From the shoreline in the distance there was the clamor of voices, and the girls turned their attention back to Chicken Rock. “Hey, Amanda! Dewey wants you to hold his junk for him while he jumps.” It sounded like Kyle.
Both girls laughed, and Amanda shouted back, “Don’t be a pussy, Dewey!”
Emma rolled her eyes, grateful for the dark. Why did some girls feel like they had to resort to that kind of lingo around guys?
There was a peal of laughter, followed by three loud splashes. Moments later their voices drew closer. The boys climbed up the ladder, all three amped from the jump. Amanda started the engine and the boat roared to life. “Turn on the music!” Dewey shouted. He held up a six-pack, and everyone reached out.
Emma sat still, watching Sully out of the corner of her eye. He tugged his shirt down over his wet chest and flopped down next to her again. “Too chicken?” he asked.
“What? No. I didn’t feel like it tonight.” She’d jumped before. Though certainly not at night. And certainly not while drinking. “Next time.”
He pressed a cold can of beer into her hands. “Here’s to next time,” he said.
For the rest of the night they drove around, music blaring, until the beer was gone and the Wild Turkey bottle was empty. Emma found her head starting to flood with a strange warmth. Was she getting another buzz? Whatever it was, she kind of liked it. She felt her insides uncoil. Even though the night had started as balmy, it was cooler out on the water and the temperature had dropped with the late hour. She didn’t realize she’d begun to shiver in the wind until Sully passed her his towel. It wasn’t exactly dry, but she didn’t object when he draped it across her shoulders. When she was sure no one was looking, she held a corner of it to her nose and inhaled. It smelled like sunscreen and pine, and she smiled to herself in the darkness. She was pretty sure if she pressed her nose to Sully’s neck it would smell the same.
When they finally dropped her off at her dock, Emma’s head was swimming with alcohol and fatigue. And something more. “Thanks,” she said, as she stepped off the boat and tried to balance herself.
Dewey laughed. “Whoa, better get your land legs, Emily.”
“Emma,” she corrected him. And then she laughed. Because she was drunk and feeling bold. She was sick of being a dormouse. “My name is Emma.”
Dewey stood and saluted. “Okay, Emma.”
She braved a glance at Sully to find that he was watching her. “Next time,” he said.
The nose of the boat turned away. Emma waved. To her shock Amanda Hastings lifted a hand. “See ya.” It felt like some kind of permission had been granted.
Giggling, Emma stumbled all the way up the hill, her heart pounding. This was maybe the best night of my life. The patio door was unlocked, thank God, and it slid silently across its tracks. On the stairs, she tripped and fell hard, banging her shin. But no one came out of her parents’ room, and no lights went on.
The last thing she remembered was falling onto her bed, and the way her hair smelled as it spilled across her pillow. Like cigarette smoke and lake water. And something else.
Like freedom, she thought, right before she passed out.
Phoebe
Hemorrhage was such an ugly word. It implied blood. Internal workings. Spillage of the gravest kind. The mention of it made Phoebe nauseated. But she had to admit it, there was no other way to describe what was happening to their renovation budget.
The sill work had gone better than planned. Dave was able to get a beam delivered and had the crew working on it the very next day. The jacking up of the house, which could have resulted in other issues altogether, thankfully went seamlessly: there were no cracks or mishaps. Phoebe had stopped by that first morning with the boys and stood at the edge of the lawn watching with grave interest as the house was lifted clean off its foundation and several feet into the air.
“We’re going very slowly, an inch at a time,” Dave said. “We don’t want anything to shift suddenly, or we risk cracks.”
Phoebe could barely watch. It was discombobulating, seeing the cavern of light fill the space between house and ground.
“It’s like watching surgery,” she mused. “The house looks so vulnerable, just hanging in the air like that. All its insides exposed.”
Dave shook his head, laughed.
“What?” she asked.
“Can’t say I’ve ever worked with anyone like you before.”
“How do you mean?”
He regarded her curiously. “This house. It means so much to you.”
“I would think most of your clients feel that way about their houses.”
“You speak of it like it’s a person.”
Phoebe shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far. But it’s seen a lot of history, this old place. Surely it has a soul.”
Dave didn’t say anything.
Normally, Phoebe cared a lot about what Dave thought. Thus far his guidance had been invaluable, and she trusted his expertise. But right now she didn’t care if Dave thought she was crazy. She gathered the boys and loaded them into the car. As she backed out of the driveway, she glanced uneasily at the space of lake visible between the stone foundation and the base of the house.
Later that day, when the sill repair was complete and the house was eventually lowered back into place, Phoebe received a text. It was from Dave.
“All buttoned up. The old girl recovered nicely.”
* * *
As Dave had assured her, it had all gone well. The following termite treatment was nothing to worry about; they’d tent, spray, and air everything out. But the costs were still a punch in the gut. The previous disbursement she’d had from the bank had been earma
rked for kitchen work and replacement windows. The windows were done, and the electric started, but none of the kitchen renovation had even begun. She had about fifteen thousand left over, but the remaining work for the next phase of the renovations required thirty-two. Phoebe had kept Rob apprised of the incoming issues and subsequent costs, but she hadn’t exactly spelled out the fact that they’d leached into other expense allotments. They at least had personal savings left over from her job, but they had agreed not to dip into it except for emergencies. Did this qualify as an emergency?
At night, in bed beside her husband, Phoebe could feel the burgeoning space between them, not unlike the house being lifted from its foundation. Rob was entrenched with the new marketing campaign his firm was trying to secure, staying late at the office and working into the night at home. And Phoebe was equally rooted in the renovation. It didn’t leave much energy for family time. Couple time was an outright joke.
But even though they’d agreed she would take the helm with the renovation, it was time to loop him in. She needed his input and as much as he wouldn’t like it, he needed to know what was going on.
She decided to tell him that night after dinner. But the interruptions were endless. For starters, his cell kept ringing. It was his partner, Chris, from work. Then her mother called to ask, again, if they wanted to move in for a while. “All that dust! It can’t be good for you and the kids to breathe.”
“Mom, I appreciate all of what you’re saying. But I don’t think it’s necessary. Besides, you’ve got your hands full getting ready for the engagement party.”
Jane clicked her tongue on the other end of the line. She didn’t like being dismissed. “Still.”
“So far much of the work has been external or in the basement. Plus, the weather is great. The house aired out all day.” It was true—construction was messy and loud, and it got tiring having crews in and around all the time. Sometimes Phoebe had to scoop the boys up and leave for whole parts of the day, just to get away and also out of the way. “I admit it’s not ideal, but we’re managing.” In truth, they were. But just barely. The renovation they’d planned on was much less intensive than the one they were actually now doing. But Phoebe wasn’t too worried; she’d heard that was common. Once the workers were on-site and the equipment was there, why not go ahead and tackle refinishing the floors? Why wait to upgrade the plumbing? Better (and cheaper!) to do it now.
Her mother was not buying it. “Well, when it gets to the kitchen I don’t think you’re going to have much choice. Try going without a sink, stove, or fridge with kids. Impossible! Better to plan ahead and move the boys now before things get out of hand.” Phoebe’s mother had her there.
But as inconvenient and messy as the construction had been so far, it was also exhausting to even think about packing up and moving. Already, most of their belongings had been tossed into storage. Knowing they’d be renovating, she and Rob had rented a unit—which turned into two—so they wouldn’t fill up the house with too much stuff until the work was complete. As it was, she was driving to the storage unit almost as often as she was to building supply stores, to fetch one thing or another. Pots and pans. More of Rob’s business suits. The container of beach gear for the boys.
When she hung up with Jane, she was so drained the last thing she wanted to do was cook, clean up, and then start on the budget with Rob. Her head positively throbbed. But Rob was home early, for once, and working at the dining room table on his laptop. Phoebe popped two Advil and pulled taco ingredients from the fridge. “Honey, I was hoping we could talk about budget stuff,” she began. Then she dumped a package of ground beef into the fry pan.
Rob looked up. “Tacos? Again?”
Phoebe ignored this. The kitchen cupboards had just been ripped out and the stove stood alone against one bare wall. It was the only one-pan, low-mess meal she knew the kids would eat and she had the energy for.
“Can I update you on the renovation budget, please?”
“Not now,” he replied. “Wasn’t exactly a good day at work.” Phoebe glanced at her husband’s slumped posture at the table. He was surrounded by boxes of toys that were in a constant state of being repacked and moved from room to room, as they cleared spaces for the workers. Rob looked like the house: unkempt and beat down. She felt bad for him, trying to work in such conditions and being under pressure at his job. But it hadn’t exactly been a great week here at the house, either.
“We can talk after dinner,” she allowed. What was the difference?
At dinner the boys were loud and chatty, per usual, seemingly oblivious to their parents’ tension. Phoebe was at least grateful for that. She waited until they’d finished and gone back upstairs to play.
“You know, I think we may be getting over what we allotted for.”
Rob was pushing the tacos around on his plate, not really eating. As he explained over dinner, the presentation at work hadn’t gone so well, and the clients were holding out for a new approach.
“Honey?” she asked, when he didn’t reply.
Rob blinked. “What?”
“I was talking about the budget.” She regarded him softly, noting the deep recesses under his eyes.
“What about it?”
“Well, the sill work put us back, as you know. But we’d already dipped into the excess funds for the kitchen.”
Rob had set his fork down with a clatter. “Phoebe. I can’t do this right now. Is there something specific you need to tell me, or is this something you can perhaps figure out with Dave and loop me in on tomorrow? Because I have twelve hours to redo this entire pitch, and I haven’t a damn idea how to start.”
It was completely unlike him. Phoebe lost her cool all the time. But not Rob. “Forget it,” she said, standing up. “You’re right. I’ll figure it out with Dave.” She began gathering the kids’ plates.
Rob reached over and put his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”
Phoebe stilled. “I know. The timing isn’t good.”
Rob ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Well, it never really is. So, what is it you need to tell me?”
Phoebe waffled. Rob deserved to know the truth. Besides, it would be worse if she told him later. Just rip off the Band-Aid, she thought.
“Dave called yesterday.” She paused. There was a loud thud overhead.
Rob didn’t seem to notice. “And?”
From upstairs there was a yelp by one of the boys. Followed by a beat of silence. Phoebe and Rob looked up at the ceiling in unison. Either the boys would return to their play, or someone would begin to howl.
“Mom-eee!” It was Jed.
Phoebe groaned. “I’ve got it,” she said, heading for the stairs.
Patrick met her at the landing with a guilty look. “What happened?” she barked. What she really wanted to do was scream. Their timing was without fail.
Jed appeared on the steps behind his brother, holding out his hand. “He twisted my fingers. They’re broke.”
Patrick scowled. “He took my truck!”
“Broke!” Jed sobbed, waving his hand in the air.
“Time-out.” Phoebe pointed Patrick to the bottom step and scooped up Jed. “They’re not broken, baby,” she said, trying to soothe him. “Let’s get you some ice.” By that point both boys were crying.
Rob didn’t even look up when she carried blubbering Jed through the dining room and into the kitchen. He was back on his laptop, his dinner plate shoved aside like their unfinished conversation. “Have you seen my charger?” he called after her.
Ignoring that, she set Jed on the counter, which only set off more howling, and rummaged through the freezer. “Hang on, buddy, I’m looking for the Boo Boo Bunny.” But there was no sign of the blue rabbit ice pack. Just as she reached for a bag of frozen peas, the overhead lights flickered. Then the house went dark.
“Fuck.” Rob stood up from the dining room table, his face twisting in the blue glow of his laptop light. “I just started a new spre
adsheet. If this thing surges…” He yanked the cord from the wall. “I’m calling Dave,” he said.
Phoebe froze in the dark kitchen. “No, let me.”
If Rob called Dave, Dave would have to tell him that Phoebe had paused the electrician’s work that very afternoon. Because there wasn’t any money left in the current bank installment. And that the electrical subcontractors wouldn’t be coming back until there was.
The lights blinked on, then off. And then, to her overwhelming relief, back on. Rob stood in the doorway, holding his laptop as if it were kryptonite. “Never mind,” he said. “You call Dave. I’ve got to get out of here.”
Still holding the frozen bag of peas, Phoebe swept Jed onto her hip and followed him out to the front door. “What do you mean? Where?”
Rob snatched his briefcase from the foyer, blew the construction dust off the top. “It’s too much, Phoebe. This whole thing has gotten away from us.”
“In just a few more months it should be done.”
Rob spun around. “And how many more issues will be revealed by then? What’s next: asbestos? An electrical fire?”
Phoebe kept her mouth shut. It was not her fault the house was old. Rob had been there for the inspections. He’d signed the same papers she had.
He bent down and pecked Jed on the head. “Feel better, buddy.” Then to Patrick, scowling from his seat in time-out, “You owe your brother an apology.” To her, he said, “I’m going over to your parents’ place to finish up this presentation. I can’t work in these conditions.”
“But they’re getting set up for Jake and Olivia’s engagement party. It’ll be a madhouse over there.”
“It can’t be worse than here.” He turned on his heel.
“Rob, wait.” She trailed him through the door and out onto the lawn, where he stalked across the patchy grass, navigating the piles of lumber, his posture slumped with defeat. She halted unsteadily at the end of the walkway, her toe catching on the crooked edge of fieldstone walkway.
“You know, this isn’t easy for me, either,” she called after Rob.
The View from Here Page 13
