The Summer List

by Amy Mason Doan

  “No way.”

  “Way. She laughed it off when I wouldn’t do it, but I know she really wanted to. She has this blood-gathering pewter thingy, special-ordered from that store in Sacramento. Remember that place? Moonstruck?”

  “Moonshadow.”

  “Moonshadow. So you put this silver thing over a syringe...”

  “Ugh.”

  “Right. You and blood. Anyway, it’s pretty out there even for her, right?”

  “It’s Alex. She told me she was worried about the bus.”

  “I guess. Anyway, I’m taking her to this spa in Reno Sunday. Thought it might get her to relax. You’ll come?”

  “You’re a good daughter. I know how into facial masks and pedicures you are.”

  “Different kind of spa. Come. Watch her for me. Let me know what you think.”

  Saturday

  High of 95

  Project status: complete

  After we finished Alex walked over for dinner. She was trying to act the adult, shaking hands with my father, who she’d met at school events. But Alex trying to be an adult was unsettling. If Casey hadn’t said anything I would have assumed she was only keyed-up because she was around company, but there was something else. She did seem off, jittery.

  When I introduced her to J.B. she said, fluttering her hands, “He looks familiar. Why does he look so familiar?”

  “We met when I delivered your sawhorses for Pedersen’s,” he said.

  “The sawhorses, of course. I still use them.” She whirled to face the deck. “And this looks amazing. I’m impressed.” She paced around, admiring.

  “Have a seat in the shade, Alexandra,” my dad said. “You, too, Red. I have a little something for you two. Nothing much.” He pulled a flat brown package from under the table and set it on the picnic table.

  “You got us a present?” Alex said. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Laur, know what it is?” Casey said.

  “I do. You’ll love it.”

  “Just tear into it, Mom.”

  Alex picked at the masking tape carefully, keeping the stiff brown paper intact as it slowly revealed the framed black-and-white photo.

  Casey leaned close. “This. Is. Awesome.”

  “July 4, 1945.” My dad pointed at the caption. “See the flags and bottle rockets? Sorry it’s so grainy. Gal at the photo place did her best.”

  “It’s the kids who used to sleep in your house, Alex,” I said. “See the dock?”

  She nodded.

  Casey breathed out, “So cool. I’m surprised they didn’t burn the dock down. Mom, look at this tiny barefoot guy with the pirate flag. He’s my favorite. I wish we had a flag like that for the dock.”

  “I know some of these boys didn’t meet a happy end, but thought you might like it just the same,” my dad said.

  “That’s why I like it,” Casey said. “They don’t know they have the Collier curse.”

  “Small-town gossip,” my dad said. “Plenty of boys around here died in the wars.”

  It really was a wonderful photo. The kids were in front, showing off their arsenal of homemade fireworks, and the adults were standing behind them, so the photographer had only captured their lower halves. The grown-ups existed merely as a backdrop of skirts, wide pants, a couple of martini glasses cradled in fingers. The boys’ arms were blurry from movement, legs planted wide apart. Expressions daring the camera. Even the littlest one seemed bold—a boy no more than two, his honey-colored curls shining in the sun.

  It seemed they might stride out of the photo and tell us a thing or two about how to have fun on their lake.

  I’d been so sure Alex would go crazy over it, I got a little annoyed with her then. She still hadn’t said a word. My dad had paid a lot of money to have it blown up and framed. He’d driven all the way to Tahoe City.

  “Gal thought the frame would go with anything,” he said, worried. “But let me know if you want to change it out.”

  Finally, Alex remembered her manners. “No, I love it. Thank you.” She wiped her eyes, a swift upward flick of her pinky fingers.

  Dinner was take-out chicken and potato salad and corn on the cob. A feast; I’d bought too much. The photo of the Colliers leaned against the trunk of the big pine by the picnic table, facing us as we ate.

  “Join us, boys, there’s plenty,” my dad called, and everybody laughed.

  Alex laughed a beat behind everyone else.

  I continued to watch her closely, as I’d promised. But she was polite during dinner. Calmer. She asked J.B. about his summer jobs, how he liked grad school.

  “Casey’s going to UCLA, too,” she said.

  “Stop, Mom. I probably won’t get in.”

  “You will,” she said. “And Laura will have her pick of art schools in LA, you’ll see.”

  Casey and I had a master plan. If I got into CalArts and she got into UCLA we’d live together.

  Later Alex pulled me behind the shed and squeezed me, whispering something about the perfect first boyfriend, her eyes filling again.

  “He’s hardly a boyfriend,” I whispered, wiping chocolate ice cream from her chin.

  “Oh, he will be,” she said.

  “Are you okay? Casey’s worried.”

  “I told her I’m fine. Tell her I’m fine.”

  “It’d be normal to freak out about her leaving for college next year, with her gone at the swim meet.”

  “I’m just getting used to you growing up. My sweet girls.”

  “We’ll drive home all the time.”

  “Of course you will. So stop worrying. I’m fine.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. Come on. Your boy’s over there eating ice cream all by himself.”

  * * *

  At eight my dad called out, “Another tiny surprise.”

  We followed him to the shed to see the secret project.

  Two secret projects. Twin benches made from the leftover cedar. One for our house and one for Casey’s. Casey’s had a mermaid silhouette and waves cut into the back and mine had a half-moon and stars.

  “For your hard work,” he said. “Didn’t want that good cedar to go to waste.”

  “Daddy,” I said, hugging him. “You made these in two days?”

  “Oh, they’re nothing. Simple things. This young man’s a fast worker.”

  “Thanks, J.B. I love them.”

  “I know where mine’s going,” Casey said. “In the shade by the garden gate. It’ll be my reading bench. I’ll sit there every chance I get, until I’m an old lady.”

  “I can bring it over tonight,” J.B. said.

  We were all admiring the benches, circling around. So I didn’t notice right away. I turned only because I caught the expression on Casey’s face.

  Alex stood apart from the four of us. “They’re just so beautiful,” she said, her face distorted from crying.

  * * *

  “What was that?” J.B. said.

  We were alone in his truck, rattling through the dark back to my house. Casey was spending the night and had oh-so-casually decided to keep my dad company while we dropped off Alex and the bench and photograph. Alex had carelessly shoved the photo of the Collier boys on the mantel next to her vase of dried lavender, so some of the kids were hidden by purple branches. But I’d repositioned it, carefully rearranging the stalks of lavender until the grinning, cocky boys could see the entire room without obstruction.

  “Alex is always pretty high-strung. Up and down. She’s freaking out about Casey going to college.”

  “Tough one. My mom hides it but I know she gets lonely. So you’re looking at art schools in LA, huh?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  He grinned as he drove the short distance back to my house.

  “Another question,” he
said, when we were idling in my driveway. “Will you be around over Thanksgiving break?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Good.”

  “Well, good luck with school.” I opened the car door.

  “You, too. Good luck with senior year.”

  Before I could think about it, I leaned across the cab of the truck and kissed him. It was a fast, imperfect kiss; he was startled and I aimed too low, scraping my lower lip on stubble. I started to pull away, embarrassed, but he cupped his hand around the back of my head and said, “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Can you do that again?”

  I kissed him again, slower this time, a hand on his bare knee, my mouth open the slightest bit. His hand moved from my hair down to my neck, closing around the strap of my tank top and slipping it down, resting on my bare shoulder.

  When I finally pulled away, and said, “I should get in,” he laced his fingers in mine and said, his voice low, marveling, “I’ve wanted to do that for two years.”

  30

  Doctor Mona’s Hot Springs and Holistic Spa

  Sunday

  Casey, Alex, and I lay on our backs. Getting pummeled.

  Casey had done a Netscape Navigator search to find Doctor Mona’s Hot Springs and Holistic Spa in Reno. Eighteen dollars got you a relaxing deep-tissue massage, a detoxifying mud bath, a refreshing shower, and a soak in a mineral hot tub. We hadn’t seen the fine print until we were in our robes signing liability forms on clipboards: Staff may include trainees.

  “We don’t have to go in, you guys,” Casey said when we pulled up, taking in the green, barracks-like building. “This looks a little sketch.”

  “You planned our whole day, honey, of course we’re going in,” Alex said. “This is probably where the locals go. We don’t need all that touristy wildflower and wind-chime stuff.”

  Now Alex, on my right, was letting out strange little whelps and gasps, trying to conceal them with conversation. “Oh, whoa, guess I was a little tense there.” A minute later—“Eeohmy, you’re strong for such a petite person.”

  I turned my head to watch. Alex, suppressing laughter, mouthed, Help.

  I turned to face Casey. “Sorry,” she whispered, giggling.

  Even though my masseuse was pulling my arm so aggressively I worried she might dislocate my shoulder, I looked up at the mildewed ceiling tiles and smiled. It was so good to see them laughing again.

  * * *

  Alex tried to reassure Casey in the mineral bath. We sat on the edge in our scratchy white robes, soaking our feet next to a silent older lady.

  “I feel so relaxed,” Alex said. She sipped from her cone-shaped cup of lemon water.

  “Mom. It’s been a horror show. That mud bath nearly gave me third-degree burns.”

  “My neck actually feels amazing,” Alex said. “I don’t stretch when I paint. Honestly. My body hasn’t felt this good in months.”

  “You shouldn’t drink that water, Mom. Those lemons look like they’ve been there for a decade.”

  Casey was right about the brown lemon slices bobbing in the dispenser. I hadn’t said anything, but I’d passed on a drink even though my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth from thirst.

  Alex took a big, showy sip and clasped Casey’s hand. “Let’s come here every summer. Laura, don’t you want to come back next summer?”

  “Sure,” I said, in such an artificially high tone that Casey laughed, and even Alex had to smile.

  “Laura, you should see your skin, you’re glowing!” Alex said. But the floodgates were open. She was giggling. Our tubmate gave us a sour look and decamped for the locker room.

  Alex, trying to suppress her laughter, threw her cup at Casey.

  “I know why Laura’s glowing,” Casey said, laughing, peeling the cone-shaped white paper cup into a strip and bouncing it like a spring.

  “Don’t start. He’s probably already met someone else in LA.”

  “I saw the way he looked at you,” Alex said. “He’s sweet. And cute.”

  I tensed the same way I had on the massage table, anticipating my masseuse-in-training’s hands. We’d been having a perfect day. Alex hadn’t teared up once. I didn’t want anything to spoil it. But Alex went on.

  “...I wish Casey’d find somebody. Some nice boy like your J.B.”

  “I’ve gotta pee,” Casey said, dropping her torn paper cup and scrambling out.

  “Is she mad?” Alex asked, her eyes on the locker room entrance. “Guess she doesn’t want me teasing her like that, about dating. I should know better.”

  “Alex.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me. It’s because I was teasing her about boys, right? I was being a typical mom?”

  I picked up Casey’s paper cup strip and studied the shiny wax coating on the inside.

  When Casey returned she still wouldn’t meet Alex’s eyes. “I think that massage did something to my bladder. I’ve never had to pee so much. Ready to go?”

  “Casey,” Alex said. “I’ll stop teasing you about boys. I didn’t mean to be annoying.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Mom.”

  “It does. Of course you should date on your own time. What’s the rush?” She knotted her robe tighter and picked up her towel.

  Tell her, I mouthed behind Alex’s back. I moved to leave, standing up and cinching my own robe.

  “No. Don’t go, Laur. Mom?”

  She was actually going to do it. Finally. Now. In front of me. Wearing a Doctor Mona–issue robe and towel turban, an arc of detoxifying mud in her right eyebrow. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Sure, we can go. Although I’m a little disappointed we didn’t get to meet the actual Doctor Mona. Do you think she—”

  “Mom, I don’t like guys I like girls I’ve known since forever so there you go.” Casey inhaled.

  Alex looked from Casey to me. Back to Casey.

  “Are you going to say anything?” Casey said.

  I held myself as still as I could, hoping one of Doctor Mona’s other patrons wouldn’t choose this moment to troop in, disrobe, and plunge into the mineral bath.

  “You’re...?”

  “Gay. Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You never asked.”

  We were silent for a minute. Finally, Alex spoke. “I’m the worst parent in the world.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Did you think I’d mind or act weird or...”

  “No.”

  “Laura, you knew?”

  I nodded, hoping Casey wouldn’t volunteer that I’d figured it out on my own.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I’m not mad anymore. Laur sees me with kids at school all day. It’s different.”

  Alex hugged her. Their robes were so big that for a second they seemed like a single creature made of white terry cloth.

  Quietly, I padded away to the locker room.

  * * *

  We ate dinner at the Lucky Duck Casino. An all-you-can-eat $5.99 buffet, complete with a guy in a tall white hat sawing away at a roast.

  “I don’t know about this meat.” Casey laughed, poking a hunk of wobbly pink beef with her fork. No matter what she’d said before, I knew it hadn’t been okay, Alex not knowing. Because I’d never seen her so happy. “It looks kind of weird.”

  “It’s prime rib,” I said. “No, wait. The menu says primo rib.”

  We watched as Casey got up for more shrimp and waited in the buffet line behind a man with a walker. He had to scoot his plate down, push the walker, dish out his food, then repeat the process. But she was patient.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t realize,” Alex said quietly. “I’m furious with myself. Look at my sweet girl.”

  “Look how happy she is.”


  “I thought I was helping her, when those boys started hanging around on Saturday nights. I thought she’d love it. Because I would have loved it if my parents had... I’m screwing everything up.”

  “Alex. Do you have any idea how my mother would’ve reacted if I’d told her what Casey just told you? She’d kick me out of the house. I’d be living with you.”

  “You’d be welcome to.” She smiled, wiped her eyes. “But you don’t know that. You’re much too hard on her. And too easy on me.” She paused before going on, her forehead scrunched, and I knew what she was going to ask. “Laura. Have you and Casey ever...”

  “Never,” I said, laughing. “There’s never been anything remotely like that between us. We’ve joked about it, how it would feel completely wrong. We’re just friends.”

  “I was only wondering.”

  Casey was now dishing out green beans for walker man.

  “Are the kids being jerks about it?” Alex said, her eyes crinkled in worry.

  Were they? Casey didn’t go around scattering rainbows, but she’d decided after a lot of thought not to hide who she was, either.

  One Friday in January Kirk Elfinger had muttered “dyke” as he walked past our cafeteria table. At first I’d been mute and useless, frozen in shock, my turkey sandwich halfway to my mouth.

  Casey had thrown her Coke at Kirk’s feet, told him to fuck himself.

  Only when soda was fizzing on Kirk’s high-tops had I stood, hands shaking, and said the first thing I could think of, my voice thin and strained, “Elf weiner!”

  We laughed about the Kirk Elfinger incident now—mostly about my absurd, impulsive insult.

  I could tell Alex about the Kirk Elfinger day, but then she would feel even worse. And it wasn’t my story to share. “Most of them are okay,” I said. “Unless Casey’s hiding things from me.”

  “Like she did with me.” Alex shook her head in disbelief. “She couldn’t be herself with me. I’ve made so many mistakes, wasted so much time.”

  “What are you talking about? You two have all the time in the world.”

  She faced me with an expression I didn’t understand at the time, but would never forget. It was a kind look, full of pity. Because I truly believed what I’d said. I was seventeen.