The Miles Between Us

by Laurie Breton

  “Is there a point to this story?”

  “I’m in the mood for sharing. It’s a beautiful day, neither one of us has to be anywhere, and I have a captive audience.”

  Their food arrived, and Phoenix looked at his boiled lobster with mild horror. “I’m supposed to eat this thing? It looks like a giant insect.”

  “Best insect you’ve ever eaten. I guarantee it.”

  Phoenix picked up the plastic bib the waitress had left, looked at it curiously, and said, “Dare I ask what this is?”

  “It’s a bib. Eating lobster can get messy, although I had them cut it open because I thought the horror of trying to break open a hard-shell lobster might be too much for you to take your first time. The bib’s to protect your clothes.”

  “You’re not wearing yours.”

  “I’m not wearing it because only wussy tourists from Duluth wear plastic bibs when they eat lobster. Look around. You don’t see any wussy tourists from Duluth, do you?”

  “Definitely not. Although I have to confess that I haven’t a clue where Duluth might be. How am I supposed to approach this creature?”

  “Since they so kindly sliced it down the middle for you, just pull the meat out with your fingers and dip it in your butter. Start with the claws. And prepare yourself to be blown away.”

  Gingerly, the kid pulled out a piece of claw meat, dipped it in the butter, and took a bite. “Not bad,” he said.

  “The tail meat’s better. And you have butter all over your chin.” Rob handed him a napkin. “Take a few of these steamers, too. Second-best thing you ever ate.”

  The kid reached into the bucket and scooped out a few steamers. “Interesting,” he said, picking one up and studying it.

  “Open it like this and pull it free from the shell.” Rob demonstrated. “Then you peel off this little black thing and throw it out. Now, clams can be gritty sometimes. They live in sand. So your best bet is to swish it around in your bowl of water to clean it. Then dip it in the butter. Don’t nibble at it. Just pop the whole thing in your mouth and eat it.”

  Phoenix did as instructed. Studying his face, Rob said, “Is that fantastic, or what?”

  Through a mouthful of clam, Phoenix said, “Fairly tasty.”

  “Fairly? Jesus, man. That’s like saying Freddy Mercury was an okay singer.”

  They ate for a time in silence. Then Rob said, “Your turn.”

  “My turn?” The kid looked puzzled.

  “I told you about my life. Now it’s your turn to tell me about yours.”

  “I don’t talk about my life.”

  “I know the official bio. Born in London, raised in a working-class neighborhood. Mother was a secretary, father worked in retail. You were discovered singing at a school talent show by some record exec who was there to watch his own kid perform. Yadda, yadda, yadda. So how much of that is true, and how much is bullshit?”

  “It’s all true. Every word of it.”

  “I don’t believe you. It’s too pat. It’s standard record company press release bullshit. So, spill, Phee. What’s the real truth?”

  “The real truth? I’m eighteen years old, I’m from London, and when I get up on stage and shake my hips, twelve-year-old girls fall into a dead faint. That’s all anybody needs to know.”

  “My dad. The bus driver? He’s an alcoholic. He hasn’t had a drink in twenty-three years.”

  “I’m sure you’re proud of him.”

  “My oldest sister, Cathleen, had a double mastectomy last year. She’s only forty-nine years old.”

  The kid continued to eat, ignoring him. “Damn it, Phee,” Rob said, “I’m trying to establish some kind of genuine communication here.”

  “I told you, I don’t talk about my life.”

  “How old were you when your old man died? And what’s the story with your mother?”

  The kid looked up. “My mother?”

  “Luther implied there was something about your mother.”

  “There is nothing about my mother,” the kid said hotly, “and if you insist on continuing this line of conversation, I will be forced to get up and leave.”

  “Good luck finding your way back from Brooklyn, Russell.”

  Fire flickered to life in the kid’s eyes. Fire, and something else Rob couldn’t identify. “My name,” he said, “is not Russell. It’s Phoenix. And this conversation is over!”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re a hard nut to crack. Listen, I don’t know what your deal is. But I’d like to help. I’d like to be your friend.”

  “Why? Why in bloody hell would you want to be my friend?”

  “Because! Because I think you’re needy. Because there’s something in your past that’s screwed you up, and you won’t talk about it. Because you’re headed down a self-destructive road. Because I don’t think you’re so far down that road that you can’t turn your life around and make it into something meaningful.”

  “Meaningful?” The kid said the word as though he’d never heard it before.

  Rob leaned over the table. “This isn’t what it’s about, Phee. The parties, the girls. The booze, the sex. Blowing money just because you can. There’s so much more to life, and you’re missing it all because you’re wearing blinders. You have talent, but you’re squandering it. This career of yours? It’ll disappear, faster than you can say Jack Shit. Because this music you’re making won’t last. It’s a fad, and in a year or two or five, a new fad’s gonna come along, and you’ll be yesterday’s news. And then what? Your money will be gone, your fans will all be lusting after the new flavor of the month, and when you walk down the street, people will say, ‘There goes Phoenix what’s-his-name. Didn’t he used to be famous?’”

  “Are we through with today’s morality lesson?”

  “You know what? I give up. I tried, but you’re obviously not ready to hear it.” He picked up his napkin and wiped his hands, scraped back his chair, and stood. Pulled out his wallet and tossed a couple of bills on the table. “That should be enough to cover lunch and your cab fare back to Manhattan. Go get ‘em, Tiger. Just remember, if the time ever comes when you decide I was right, you know where to find me.”

  And he turned and stalked out of the restaurant.

  He walked two blocks, then stopped at a pay phone and dialed Luther’s number. “I just thought you should know,” he said, “that I just left our friend sitting in a little seafood restaurant on a street corner in Brooklyn.”

  “Outstanding. I suppose now I have to go and fetch him.”

  “I don’t mean to make your job more difficult. But, you know what? He’s a big boy. As he pointed out to me twice within a half-hour, he’s eighteen years old. An adult. Old enough to figure out his own way home. I left him money for cab fare. He may be a pain in the ass, but he’s not stupid.”

  “And I have a responsibility.”

  “Which is why I called you. Look, I said some hard things to him. He needs to think those things over and come to his own conclusions. There’s only so much you or I can do. If he keeps being pampered and coddled and babied, he’ll never grow up. And he’s in desperate need of growing up.”

  There was silence at the other end of the phone. Finally, Luther said, “I could lose my job.”

  “I’m the one who left him. I’ll take the heat. You had no way of knowing. This phone call never happened.”

  Again, silence. “Listen,” Rob said, “I’ve spent a lot of time with that kid over the last three months. I’ve watched, and I’ve listened, and I’ve held my tongue. But what that boy needs, more than anything, is tough love. He needs to stop being mollycoddled, and he needs to learn to take responsibility for his own life. I just offered him the first step.” He took a hard, sharp breath. “The rest?” he said. “It’s up to him.”

  Casey

  Home at last. Nothing had ever felt quite so wonderful as her own house. Or quite so stuffy, since the place had been closed up for all those weeks. While Rob and Paige carried in the luggage, Casey ran around the
house, flinging open windows to let in some badly-needed fresh air. Her house plants had survived and thrived, quite miraculously, considering that it was her sister who was tending them. Colleen had good intentions, but no green thumb, and Casey suspected she may have had a little assistance from Harley or his teenage daughter, Annabel.

  Labor Day traffic, driving up from New York, had been a nightmare. All those tourists headed to Maine for the final summer holiday of the season: trucks hauling trailers, SUVs loaded with kids and dogs, compact cars carrying canoes and kayaks. Their drivers were tired, cranky, and in a hurry. State troopers dotted the landscape. Rob had insisted on doing the driving, despite the fact that he had no license to show, should he be pulled over. In spite of her concern, she bit her tongue and kept her opinion to herself. His license was still valid, but if he was stopped somewhere out of state, driving without it, he could still wind up with a ticket and a tangle of bureaucratic red tape.

  But they made it without a hitch, pulling into the driveway midway through Saturday afternoon. The summer heat they’d left behind in Manhattan was little more than a memory here in the foothills of Western Maine. Already, even though it was only the first weekend of September, patches of red foliage were visible here and there, and the onset of fall was evident in the air. Some of those campers, especially the ones in tents, were going to get the surprise of their life when evening fell. September nights in Maine could be chilly.

  Even Leroy was thrilled to be home. He raced from one room to the next, skidding on her hardwood floors, and she made a mental note to take him to the groomer to have his nails clipped. When he was done cavorting, he began sniffing quiet corners and secret spots, all the places where Igor used to sleep. They’d unexpectedly lost Rob’s geriatric but feisty Siamese cat back in May. Igor had been in good health in spite of his age, and his unexpected death had upset the entire family. Even though the cat had never fully warmed to Casey—the little hypocrite had liked her well enough when she had an open can of tuna in her hand—she’d still considered him a beloved family member. Cats and dogs, they said, weren’t supposed to get along. But Igor and Leroy had bonded. It had been nearly four months since Igor had died in his sleep, and Leroy was still searching everywhere for his old friend.

  The construction was completed, and after she unpacked her clothes and hung them in the closet, she and Rob took a quick tour of the facility. The contractor—the same one who’d built their house—had done an amazing job. As well he should have, considering how much money they’d poured into the project. In a few weeks, when she’d settled back into the rhythm of her everyday life, she and Colleen would head over to Four Winds Farm and pick out their first herd of livestock.

  When they came back into the house, the phone was ringing. It was Trish, calling to invite them to a family barbecue she’d planned for tonight. Rob, who answered, turned down the invitation.

  “We’re wiped out,” he said into the phone. “I think we need a little down time tonight. We’ll probably see you sometime tomorrow.”

  He hung up the phone, saw the look on Casey’s face, and said, “What?”

  “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said no to anyone in this family.”

  “Yeah? Well, I suspect there’ll be more of that in the future. You’re not very good at saying no. I, on the other hand, am not the least bit shy about turning down invitations.” He studied her face. “You look tired. Maybe you should take a nap.”

  “I don’t want a nap. It’s a beautiful day, I don’t want to sleep away what’s left of it.”

  “Then a nice, long soak in the Jacuzzi. Turn on the bubbles.” He waggled his eyebrows. “If you play your cards right, maybe you’ll even have company.”

  It sounded wonderful. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

  So she headed upstairs to the Jacuzzi, threw open the bathroom window to let in fresh air, filled the tub with steaming water, and settled in. The bubbles were relaxing. Casey leaned back until the water reached her chin, and just let go. So much had happened in the last few weeks, all of it pretty intense, and she could feel the tension in her body. She took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths, then practiced the relaxation technique she’d learned in Lamaze, deliberately releasing the tension from one set of muscles at a time.

  She’d reached a stage of deep relaxation when Rob came into the bedroom. She heard him undressing, the clink of his belt buckle as he peeled off his jeans. Naked, he walked into the bathroom, gave her one of those smiles that shot straight to her pelvis, and climbed into the tub.

  They adjusted arms and legs and bodies, until he was sitting behind her and she was leaning back against him. He wrapped an arm around her, kissed her neck, and said, “Hi.”

  “Hi. Where’s Emma?”

  “Asleep. Paige is downstairs, talking to one of her friends on the kitchen phone. Which means that you and I are all alone.”

  “Mmn. I like alone.”

  “Me, too. You feel pretty good in your birthday suit, Mrs. MacKenzie.”

  “Likewise, Mr. MacKenzie.”

  “Oh, man.” He let out a huge sigh. “I am so glad to be home.”

  She turned her head, pressed a kiss to his wet bicep, the one with her name printed on it. “You haven’t had five minutes of down time in the last few weeks.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  She closed her eyes and drifted. Said lazily, “What’s your time frame for finishing the album?”

  “I told Kyle I’d give him a call in a day or two to make plans. If we don’t run into any problems, I think we can do it in…oh, probably three weeks. He can stay in the apartment over the studio. I already told him he can bring his wife if he wants.”

  “And is he bringing her?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it depends on how much he likes her.”

  “Oh, stop. You’re awful.”

  “Why am I awful? I’d take you with me if I had an opportunity like that. But not every guy is as fond of his wife as I am.”

  “In spite of the fact that she’s a shrew.”

  “You don’t have a shrewish bone in your body.” He kissed the back of head. Then said, “Well, maybe one or two little ones.”

  “That was mean.”

  “It was. But you love me anyway.”

  “I do. That just confirms my madness.”

  “Oh, no, Miss Muffet. No negativity allowed. You know the Jacuzzi rules. No bubble bath, no bathing suits, and no talking about problems. Just lots of happy, happy, happy.”

  “Which just confirms our mutual madness.”

  “How about we stop talking and just soak until the water gets cold?”

  “And cop a feel or two along the way?”

  “I wouldn’t argue against that.”

  “And when the water’s cold? What then?”

  “I could think of a thing or two we could do to pass the time, but knowing our luck, Emma will probably be awake by then. And you’ll get up and leave me, and I’ll be stuck doing those things all by myself.”

  “Yikes! Nowhere near as much fun.”

  “Amen, sister.”

  “Good thing I’m not your sister. Or this would be a really awkward conversation.”

  “Babe?”

  “What?”

  He tightened his arms around her, cupped his hand around her breast, and said, “Shut the hell up.”

  * * *

  She spent Labor Day lying low. A big, late breakfast with Rob and the girls. An hour spent sitting on the porch steps in the sun, reading a book, while Emma played at her feet and Rob washed the New York City grime off the car. Casey pulled her skirt up past her knees to bare her legs to the afternoon sun. Its heat was pleasant, but she wore a sweater over her shoulders because in spite of the sun’s warmth, the air carried the bite of fall.

  They had a quiet dinner with Trish and Bill, and Casey spent a half-hour on the phone with her sister-in-law Rose before she went to bed. Tuesday morning, the big yellow school bus picked u
p Paige for the first day of her senior year. The girl grumbled a bit about having to ride the bus, now that her cousin Luke had graduated and started a job, but Casey could tell she was excited to be heading back to school.

  After Paige left, she and Rob drove to the DMV in Lewiston so he could get a replacement for his stolen driver’s license. That took most of the morning, so they had lunch at a local Chinese place, then hit the mall to pick up new sneakers for Emma before they headed home.

  They spent the rest of the day puttering. It was so nice to be back where the pace was slow, and the sounds outside her window were those of nature, instead of honking horns and squealing tires. While she washed windows, Rob mowed the lawn. Although he’d paid a local kid to take care of the grass while they were gone, it was long overdue for a trim. And they had a huge lawn, so it kept him busy for hours. She loved the sound of the mower that floated in her open windows, loved the smell of fresh-cut grass. When she was a kid, as often as not, it had been her job to mow the yard around their house, and it had always been one of her favorite chores.

  Mid-afternoon, she enjoyed a cup of tea and some conversation with her sister, who filled her in on the progress of their incorporation paperwork. After much deliberation, they’d chosen a simple name for their company: Sisters Woolen Yarns. Not too cutesy, not too long, but straightforward and to the point.