by Sarah Dessen
“It’s a fantastic property. Our number is on there if you have any questions or problems. Have a great week!”
He grumbled a goodbye, then pulled away, making room for a Cadillac packed with people.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Morris.
“Margo was freaking,” he replied, helping himself to a water bottle from the cooler.
I didn’t doubt this, but it still didn’t answer my question. “Yeah, but why were you here in the first place? Looking for me?”
He shook his head as the Cadillac rattled to a stop beside us. “I came for my other job.”
“McAdams,” a red-haired older woman with a deep tan announced from the passenger seat of the Caddy, skipping a greeting entirely. “We’re renting Sea Door.”
“Right.” I found the envelope, got them a bag, and handed both over. “Have you stayed with us before?”
“Yep,” she replied. “Just hope the air conditioner works this year.”
“Call us with any problems. Have a great week!” They drove off. I looked at Morris, saying, “You have another job? Since when? And doing what?”
He nodded towards the front of the office. “Working for them.”
A minivan, radio blaring, was pulling up right as he said this. So it was with the number one song of the summer so far—a bouncy dance track called “Mr. Right Now”—playing in my ear that I looked over to see Theo and his boss, Ivy, standing by their white van. They were talking to Margo, and all of them were looking right at me.
* * *
“I told you,” I said again. “I don’t even know Clyde.”
We were inside now, in the conference room. Normally I would have been thrilled to be relieved of sandbox duty—Rebecca was suffering temporarily instead—but this kind of third degree was not really an improvement.
“Theo was under the impression that you did,” Ivy said. She wore jeans and a black tank top, her arms pale and sinewy, and she folded and unfolded her sunglasses. “And we could really use some help reaching out to him.
“Why don’t you get in touch with him?” I asked Margo.
“I’ve been away at school for four years,” she replied, glancing at Ivy. She was so clearly starstruck, or New York–struck, or just struck, it was embarrassing. All it took was the word movie or something similar and she threw Clyde, and me, right under the bus. “I don’t know anybody here anymore.”
I would have liked to point out, for the record, that she’d only been a couple of hours away, not overseas. “I don’t know Clyde either,” I said again.
Ivy looked at Theo, her expression displeased.
“So you’ve never had contact with him?” he asked me. For the first time, I realized he looked kind of nervous. There was that flush again. “Because I thought—”
“I mean, I’ve met him a few times,” I said. Which was a huge mistake, because they both literally leaned forward, hearing this. “But he’s a pretty private person.”
“This is a ridiculously small town, though,” Ivy pointed out. “Can’t be too private.”
I glanced at Margo, to see if she was equally offended by the use of the word ridiculously, but she was too busy checking out Ivy’s bag, a big leather number with a bunch of buckles. “He does a pretty good job flying under the radar.”
“Which is why,” she replied, leaning forward again, “we need you, Emaline. We’re not from here, don’t know the back roads and locals. If we want that part of Clyde’s life accurately represented, we need someone to help us get to them.”
I could practically feel Margo breathing, she was so excited by this prospect. Bet she was sorry now she claimed to be all worldly and distanced from Colby. I couldn’t savor this, though, because I was looking at Theo, whose expression could only be described as pleading. Crap.
“I can’t bring you to Clyde,” I told them both. Theo’s shoulders slumped, just slightly, and Ivy shot him a look. I swallowed. “But I can … I mean, I guess I could show you around Colby.”
The minute I said this, I knew it was a mistake. I didn’t know Ivy well, but I had a hunch that once you gave her something approximating what she wanted, she wouldn’t let up until she got it all.
“Wonderful,” she said now, smiling at me. “We’ll start this afternoon. Yes?”
“I have to work here,” I say.
“Only until six,” Margo piped up, clearly having now moved on to directing the bus in what was, exactly, the best way to run me over.
“Then why don’t you come over to the house around seven.” Ivy pushed out her chair, getting to her feet. “We’ll talk, figure out a game plan. Yes?”
I didn’t answer, not that she was waiting for me to do so. As Theo moved to follow her, I started to glare at Margo, only to realize he was trying to catch my eye. Ivy was already halfway down the hallway as he mouthed the words thank you. I nodded, despite myself, and then he was jogging after her, towards the exit.
“Well, isn’t that something,” Margo said, watching them go. “Someone’s shooting a movie right here in Colby.”
“It’s not a movie, it’s a documentary,” I told her.
“Either way, it’s interesting.” She craned her neck, keeping them in sight as they got in the van.
I saw Morris was with them as well, sliding open the back door. Earlier, he’d explained to me that he was in the Wave Nails parking lot, having just visited Daisy, when Theo approached and asked if he wanted to make some quick money toting boxes. Fifteen minutes later, he was at the Shipping Depot, unloading cartons. When Theo asked him if he knew anyone who was really familiar with either Clyde or Colby in general, Morris immediately thought of me. What a coincidence.
“I didn’t know you were already friends,” he’d said, as I handed over another envelope to a family in a car with Delaware plates.
“We’re not,” I’d told him. “We just met when I did a vip drop-off over there.”
He looked at Theo again, then back at me. “Huh.”
Morris was not one for innuendo. It was pretty much beyond him. What you saw was what you got, which was alternately refreshing or frustrating, depending on the situation. “What?”
“I dunno,” he said, as the next car pulled up. “He just acted like he knew you well, or something.”
“Really.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “But maybe he’s just like that with everyone.”
Saying this, he had been assuming a lot himself, but I figured it wasn’t worth pointing it out. Still, now, as I watched them leave, I wondered how, exactly, I’d come to feel like I owed Theo anything, especially something I couldn’t even promise to deliver. It couldn’t just be that he was cute when he blushed. And what a weird coincidence that Morris now, too, had been sucked into his orbit, making our paths cross once more. On the flip side, it wasn’t like it was so difficult to find connections. This was, after all, a ridiculously small town.
* * *
At six thirty, I finally left the sandbox to go home, exhausted. I was so worn out, in fact, that when I started down the hallway towards my room and saw the door ajar, the sound of a TV drifting out, all I could muster was a loud sigh.
“Look!” Amber said, as I stepped into the doorway. She was on my bed, the orange hair now gone, replaced with a jet-black dye job. Not for the first time, I wondered if she ever did anything at cosmetology school besides adjust her own look. My mom, sipping a light beer, was beside her. “It’s the movie star!”
I just looked at them. “I can’t believe you guys.”
“Fumes,” my mother explained.
“Excuse me?”
“Your dad is doing something upstairs with the floors and epoxy. We can’t breathe it, it’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous,” Amber echoed, flipping a page of one of my magazines.
I walked over to my (crowded) bed, kicked off my shoes, and flopped facedown across the only space remaining. After a moment, a foot nudged my shoulder blade. “You okay?” my mom asked.
“Margo totally sold me out,” I replied, my voice muffled by the pillow.
“She’ll do that,” Amber said. “Especially if there’s money involved.”
“But I thought that boy was your friend,” my mom said. “That’s what he said, anyway.”
I lifted my head. “Said?”
“When he came in. I was there. He said he was a friend of yours, wanted to talk to you about Clyde and Colby.”
“I’ve met him twice.” I put my head back down. “Three times, max.”
“Around here, that’s practically dating,” Amber said.
“He’s not from here, though.”
“Then maybe you should date him.” A pause. “Is he cute?”
“Emaline has Luke,” my mom reminded her.
“Yeah, but high-school romances never last.” The bed wiggled as, I assumed, my mom gave her a shove. “What? Did yours?”
We were all quiet for a moment, the only sound some mobile phone commercial on the TV. Then my mom said, “Oh, before I forget. Benji called.”
I was so tired, my brain cluttered with Theo and Clyde, that it took a second for my half brother’s face to pop up and pair itself with this name. “Really.” I sat up. “What did he say?”
My mom, clearly proud of herself, picked up a pad of paper. “He wanted to know when you could play minigolf. Left a number and everything. He was very sweet. How old is he now, eight?”
“Ten,” I said, as she handed over the pad.
“Is Leah with them?”
“Not this trip.”
My mom nodded, taking another sip of her beer. Watching her, I felt a weird twinge, aware that I hadn’t yet told her about my father being separated. It wasn’t a trust thing, or that he swore me to silence: I just hadn’t mentioned it. The more time that passed, though, the bigger a deal it seemed.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I slid it out. It was a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Emaline, hey. It’s Theo.”
“Oh,” I said, turning myself slightly towards the door. “Hey.”
Despite this attempt at subterfuge, I now had Amber’s full attention. She made this clear as she asked, loudly, “Is that him? He sounds cute.”
I slid off the bed, going out into and down the hallway. “Sorry to bug you,” Theo was saying, “but I just wanted to confirm our meeting tonight, here at the house, at seven? Ivy’s got a conference call with some backers, so it’ll just be us at first.”
“Seven,” I said, sitting down on the bottom step of the stairs leading to the second floor. “Right. I’ll be there.”
“Great.” He sounded relieved, making me wonder if he’d thought I’d change my mind. I wished I’d known it was an option, but oh well. Too late now. “I really appreciate it. I’ve been trying to get her to give me some more, you know, hands-on responsibility, and this is … a good first step. So thanks. I, um, owe you one.”
“Sure,” I said. “It’s no—”
And that was as far as I got before the smell of whatever my dad was using on the floors upstairs suddenly hit me. It was harsh, stank of chemicals, and filled my throat immediately, spurring a hacking cough. One minute I was having a conversation, the next I was about to puke my guts out. Whoa.
“Emaline?” Theo sounded worried. “Are you … is everything all right?”
I heard footsteps, then looked up to see my mom in the hallway in front of me. “Fumes,” she said, gesturing for me to get up and come towards her. I did, still hacking away, and she grabbed my elbow, leading me outside to the fresh air. Theo was still talking as I gave my mom the phone, bending over to put my hands on my knees.
“Hello?” she said into it, watching me with a worried look. “No, this is her mom. She’s fine, just … hold on a second.”
I could only imagine what Theo was thinking in the moments that passed before I felt relatively sure I wasn’t going to pass out. Finally, though, I motioned for my mom to return the phone to me. “I’ll be there at seven,” I croaked into it. “Okay?”
“Sure, great,” he replied hurriedly. “See you then.”
I hung up, then bent over again, taking in few more deep breaths. My pulse, which had been beating wildly at my temple, was finally slowing down. “You weren’t kidding,” I said to my mom. “That stuff is lethal.”
“Yep,” she replied, rubbing a hand over my back. It was nice and familiar, the same way freshly cut grass and chicken soup were, and I wished I could just stay there, deep in it, forever. But it was creeping close to seven, and I’d made promises. So when I could breathe on my own again, I stood up straight and we walked back inside, together.
7
WHEN I PULLED up to Sand Dollars a couple of minutes past seven, the first thing I saw was Ivy. She was on the side deck of one of the master suites, dressed in jeans and a tank top, phone clamped to her ear. Not shockingly, whatever conversation she was having appeared to be heated, involving hand flipping, facial contortions, and constant pacing. I sat and watched her go back and forth—ocean to sound view and repeat—until I started to feel hypnotized. Then I shook my head, hard, and got out of the car.
Theo was waiting for me at the door. I knew this because he opened it as soon as I knocked, instead of me having to cool my heels for however long it would have taken to get there from either upstairs or downstairs. This struck me as cute, for some reason, and made him, again, seem sort of cute as well.
“Hey,” he said. “I was watching for you.”
Like I said: cute.
“Yeah?”
Now, he flushed, as if only just realizing how eager he seemed. “The doorbell doesn’t work. Between the ocean and the size of this place people can knock forever before we hear them.”
“The doorbell’s busted?” He nodded as I leaned in, inspecting it.
“That’s not good. Did you call the office to let them know?”
He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Ivy’s a light sleeper. If it did work she’d probably be even crankier.”
“Yeah, but this place is brand-new. Nothing should be broken. Yet, anyway.” I pushed the Call button. Nothing: no buzz, no click, no annoying blast of mariachi-like music that came as the default chime.
“This house is new?” Theo asked.
“Yeah. Just built this year.”
He looked around the foyer as I came inside. “Wow. I didn’t even realize.”
“You’d notice the difference if you went into one that had been around awhile. Wear and tear and all that.” I checked out the inside console, hitting buttons. Still nothing. “I’ll let maintenance know about this tomorrow. It’s probably just a fuse or something.”
“Do you ever stop thinking about work?” he said, shutting the door and motioning for me to follow him upstairs.
“Doesn’t feel like it, no.” I wanted to add that this visit also felt like being on the clock, but I held my tongue. Hopefully they’d realize soon enough I was of no use to them and go bother someone else.
The third and main floor, which housed the kitchen and living room, had been transformed since my last visit. Gone were the couches and coffee table—making me wonder (1) where they had put them and (2) if the floors/walls were scratched during the process—replaced by a row of foldout tables lined with computers, video equipment, and several half-full bottles of Diet Coke. The kitchen was equally cluttered, with to-go containers and newspapers piled on the counters. By the dishwasher, three different cell phones were plugged in and charging, a row of tiny lights.
“Sorry about the mess,” Theo said, pushing aside a plastic crate of cords with one foot so we could pass. “We’ve been working nonstop the last couple of days. Have a seat.”
The only chairs were also folding ones, lined up along the tables. I pulled one out, only to see a stack of thick books piled on the seat. Urban/Rural: A Retrospective was the title of one, with a shot of a brick wall on the cover. Another, Modern Coast, featured a close-up of a painting of what looked like sand
magnified into tiny grains.
“Cool, huh?” he said when he saw me checking it out. “You’ve seen that before, right?”
“What?”
“Clyde’s painting.”
I shook my head. “This is his?”
“Yeah.” He reached across me, flipping the book open and turning to a page marked with a sticky note, which featured the same sand image. Here, though, it was just a small center square, surrounded by a cityscape: slabs of concrete, brick wall, and storefronts. The street view was dark and grimy, and in contrast the tiny piece of beach almost glowed. “His early stuff was more collage, standard cutouts. But after a couple of years, he started this contrast series. It’s what he’s best known for.”
“Really,” I repeated, turning to the next page and another painting, this one featuring alternating squares of dune grass and barbed wire. “I didn’t even know about this stuff.”
“That’s not really an accident. Just going by our New York interviews and the personal history we’ve been able to gather, it’s pretty clear he’d prefer to keep this part of his life to himself.”
“If that’s true,” I said, “why are you guys chasing him down?”
“We’re not,” he replied, sounding somewhat defensive. Upstairs, a door banged. “We want to tell his story, give his work the attention it deserves. That’s what’s so maddening about his resistance. I mean, he put this out there. Why not own it?”
I flipped back to the sand painting, looking at it again. “Maybe because it’s part of his life he’d rather forget?”
“Most painters spend their lives looking for this kind of attention for their work.”
“But he’s not a painter anymore. Right?”
Theo drew in a breath, ready to reply to this. Before he got the chance, though, Ivy’s voice came booming down the stairs at full volume. “Theo!”
I jumped, startled both by the volume and her impatient tone. It sounded like a third or fourth attempt at contact, not an initial one. But he hardly seemed ruffled as he said, “Yes?”
“Didn’t I ask you to contact that guy from here who was at Parsons? The one cited in that article?”