by Lisa Duffy
I mimicked them, my voice high, hand movements and all, thinking Jess would laugh. But her face was stone.
“My ice cream was dripping down my hand, so I had better things to do than care about what they were talking about, but then Smelliot next to me, who got to eat at the tree because he came in second in the race—well, he said he tied me, and then cried like a baby when I told him he didn’t, so they called it a tie, but it wasn’t, not even close—”
“Kat!”
“Okay! So Smelliot says, that’s my brother and points to the kid that they’re talking about. And Abby and Alyssa go nuts, swarming all over him, asking a million questions about how old his brother is, where he goes to school . . . blah, blah, blah.”
“He pointed at Alex?” Jess asked.
“Are you even paying attention? Yes, Alex. Who do you think?”
“Well, what did he say about him?”
“He said his brother’s name was Alex and he was eighteen and they moved here from North Carolina, and he’s going to college somewhere up here.”
Jess closed her eyes, and when she opened them, I could tell she was putting two and two together.
“And then I walked up,” Jess said slowly, her voice a whisper.
“Yup. I almost dropped my ice cream when you climbed up on the hood next to him. And I almost threw up when he scooched over until he was as close as he could get to you.”
“He wasn’t that close. I was just sitting next to him.”
“Your legs were touching.”
“Our shorts may have been touching. It’s not a big deal.”
“Dad would think it was a big deal.”
Jess’s face colored. I wrinkled my nose at her.
“Is he your boyfriend?” I asked.
“We’re just friends, Kat.”
“How do you even know him?”
“I met him the day I went to talk to that kid. I hurt my ankle, and he drove me home. He came to the dock after that, and we just started talking. Anyway, what about the girlfriend part? You said you knew something about a girlfriend.”
I’d only seen them together for five minutes that day. Our snack time had ended right after Jess showed up, and my next activity was across the field. When I came back to the tree later, they were gone. But I’d seen her face when she climbed on the hood next to him. The way she looked at him. They hadn’t touched, really. I was just digging for more information. But they had sat close to each other, close enough that Abby, my counselor, had asked if that girl was his girlfriend. I didn’t offer up that that girl was my sister, mostly because my mouth was still on the ground.
But Smelliot had shook his head.
“I don’t know who that is,” he’d said, pointing to Jess, “but my brother has a girlfriend in North Carolina. Her name is Amy, and they’re getting married someday.”
I told Jess this part of the story, and she starting pacing up and down the floor of the bedroom, her thumbnail in her mouth, chomping away. I raised my eyebrows.
“So, um, who is Amy?”
“Huh?” Jess looked at me from a million miles away.
“Amy . . . the girlfriend? The one he’s going to marry?”
Jess sat on the bed, stood up, and started pacing again. This was what she meant when she did the little side-to-side nod, the nod when she agreed to tell me everything. Apparently everything meant nothing.
“Sounds like a love triangle,” I said. Emphasis on love.
Jess screwed up her face at me. “Where did you hear that?”
“I know things, Jessica. I’m almost ten. Double digits.” I held up one finger and made a circle with my other hand to show her the number.
“You’re eight, and you don’t know things. Where did you hear it?”
I sighed. “Abby said it when Smelliot told us about Amy. She looked right at you two and said, ‘Well, it looks like the new boy in town has a little love triangle.’ ”
“That sounds like Abby.” Jess made a disgusted noise. She sat on the bed and stared at the wall. She stayed that way while I watched her. Jess was hard to read, like Mom, always quiet when they got upset. I hated how it changed the mood in the house. Dad and I had the tempers, but at least the upset didn’t sit in the house, make it hard to breathe or move. That’s how it felt now. Like a wool blanket was on top of us.
I slid over on the bed next to her until my shoulder rested against her side. She didn’t look at me, but I felt her lean against me. I knew she was thinking about Alex. Alex who hadn’t told her about his girlfriend. Alex who wasn’t her boyfriend. I hoped he just went away, back to North Carolina, along with his brother and his lies about my parents getting divorced.
19
Jess
The week had been busy, and I was glad for it. It was August, and the tourist season in Alden was in full swing. The shop was closed on Sundays, and I had Saturday off, but Monday through Friday, my alarm went off at seven in the morning. I showered at night and let my hair air-dry. Most mornings it was still damp when I pulled it into a ponytail. I tried not to think about how Alex said my hair was a color he’d never seen.
I tried not to think about Alex at all.
I hadn’t seen him since we argued last Friday. I’d spent the rest of the weekend with Bets, catching up with her now that she was home. When she asked me what I’d been doing all summer, Alex’s name was on the tip of my tongue. But I didn’t mention him. I was afraid once I said his name out loud, I wouldn’t be able to stop talking about him. To stop thinking about him.
Monday took forever to arrive. And then at lunch, Alex wasn’t there. I’d walked over to his truck to have lunch in our usual spot in the parking lot, and the space was empty. I’d wanted to talk to him about what happened. To tell him I knew about Amy. To ask what it meant. I’d sat on the curb next to the spot, bit into my apple, and waited. I left when fifteen minutes had passed. When I knew he wasn’t coming.
He wasn’t there on Tuesday or Wednesday either. On Thursday, I went back to my spot on the deck where I always used to eat before I met Alex. I figured if he wanted to see me, he knew where to find me. Then again, he would’ve known where to find me all week.
Now, it was Friday. A week since we’d kissed.
The alarm had pulled me out of a dream, a good one, although I couldn’t remember it, only that Alex had been in it. Then slowly, detail by detail, the past week trickled into my head. The argument we’d had at the Salt House. The look on his face when he’d shouted, I can’t kiss you. The empty parking space.
I got out of bed and dragged myself to the bathroom, getting dressed in a daze, wishing I could crawl back into bed to my dream.
In the kitchen, my mother was sitting at the table. Kat was lying on the floor on her stomach in front of the TV, a cartoon flashing on the screen in front of her.
My mother smiled at me over the glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, a pad of paper in front of her. She was holding a pencil in her hand, but the page was blank, just tiny doodles in the corner of the paper.
“Writing?” I asked.
“Eh. If that’s what you call staring into space.”
I opened the refrigerator and grabbed my lunch to take with me.
“What do you want for breakfast?” she asked, getting up from the table.
“I’m not hungry.”
“How about cereal, then?”
I shook my head, and she put her hand on her hip. “You need to eat, Jess.”
I gave her a look. She’d dropped at least two dress sizes in the past year, and she hadn’t needed to lose weight in the first place. Although, these days, she did seem more like her old self. She was almost back to her normal size, and most days, if not all, she was dressed when I came home. I should have commented on it, recognized it. But I was tired of thinking of her, tired of worrying about her.
“Do you feel okay? You look a little pale.” Her hand reached out to my forehead, and I moved my head to the side, dodging her touch. A flash of hu
rt crossed her face, making me feel worse than I already did. I felt my eyes well up.
“What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. I didn’t even know if I could explain it. “I’m just tired, I guess.”
“I was worried about this being too much for you—you were only going to work three days, four at the most. Why the jump to five?”
“I don’t know. I like the money,” I lied. What I liked was having lunch with Alex every day. I didn’t say this, though.
“If you need money for something, let’s talk about it. You’re only sixteen, Jess. You can ask us if you need something.”
“I’ll be seventeen in two weeks,” I reminded her. “In case you forgot.”
“I didn’t forget.” She crossed her arms. “You seem angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I said, even though I knew it wasn’t true. I grabbed my backpack off the table and stuffed my lunch inside, yanking the zipper closed.
She raised her eyebrows at me but stepped back, away from me, as if she sensed I needed the space. “Okay. Well, can I give you a ride, then?”
“I have my bike,” I said, already walking to the door.
“What’s the matter?” Kat peered up at me as I stepped over her.
“Mind your own business,” I mumbled, and she crossed her eyes at me, held them there. It usually made me smile, but not today.
“Grump,” she said, and put her chin back in her hand and looked at the screen.
I opened the door and slammed it behind me as hard as I could, satisfied at the loud noise it made. My grandmother was in the hallway of the foyer, her hand on the brass knob of the heavy front door, and she gasped at the noise and put her hand to her chest.
“Jessica Barbara Kelly, you almost took that door off the hinges.” She patted her heart, breathing out dramatically.
“Sorry, Grandma,” I said, feeling ridiculous. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She was wearing a flowery short-sleeve top over cotton elastic-waist pants, the dark panty hose beneath them sagging at her ankles, peeking out from under the straps of the sandals on her feet. In her arms was a polka-dot yoga mat.
“I thought you hated to sweat,” I said, looking at the mat.
“I don’t hate to sweat. What I hate is exercise. But this is just for old-lady yoga at the Y. We put the mats down, and stand on them, lift our arms to the ceiling a half dozen times, and then we eat coffee cake.” She grinned at me, her pink lipstick bright against her heavily powdered face. “And then I’m not a liar when I tell my doctor that I enjoy fitness.”
“You shouldn’t worry about exercising,” I said. “You’re too thin as it is.”
“Oh, you know doctors these days. Pay them enough, and they’ll find something wrong with you. Apparently, I have high cholesterol. You know what my nutritionist told me after she did some fancy body analysis on me?” she asked, looking down at her body, her clothes loose on her petite frame. “She said I was skinny fat. Can you believe that? She didn’t mean it as a compliment either. I left her office and called Roger right away and said, guess what, honey? We’re two skinny-fat people. And he laughed. Like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. It’s one of reasons I love that man. His idea of exercise is an after-dinner stroll for ice cream.”
She pointed her finger at me. “Speaking of cake and ice cream. Somebody has a birthday coming. Seventeen!” She shook her head and whistled. “When did I get so old?” she asked. “You know, I remember being your age like it was just yest—”
“I have to go, Grandma,” I said, interrupting her, pointing to the door she was blocking. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be late.”
“Well, look at me. Going on and on. Hop in. I’ll drive you,” she said, hurrying out the door and down the steps to her car.
“I have my bike,” I said, walking out the door behind her. I’d driven with my grandmother before, and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to repeat. I had a better chance of walking to work and getting there on time. “Have fun. I’ll exercise for both of us,” I called to her.
“And I’ll eat cake for both of us,” she said over her shoulder, waving both her hands in the air as a good-bye.
The day was cool, the air gray and thick. The wind was salty against my face as my bike picked up speed down the long, winding road into town.
At the shop, I brought my bike in and got to work. The fish case needed to be filled, the ice replenished, the planters out front watered. By midmorning, there was a line of customers, locals getting their fish before the parking lot filled from the Wharf Rat.
Still, the morning crept by.
In between customers, I scrubbed the counters, cleaned the bathroom. Boon was out of the office for the day, and I organized his desk.
At noon, the door jingled. I was at the register, arranging receipts, and suddenly, there was Alex, standing in front of me, fiddling with the brim of his baseball hat.
“Hey,” he said.
My mouth was dry, and I didn’t trust my voice. I held up my hand as a hello. I dropped the pile of receipts I’d been arranging in the drawer and closed the register.
He was quiet while I did this, and I saw through the glass case that he was wearing khaki pants and a white button-down shirt. When I looked up at him, he smiled nervously.
I wanted to say: Where have you been? Who is Amy?
Instead, I crossed my arms, cleared my throat, hoping the thickness that had settled there would disappear.
He fiddled with the brim of his hat again. He didn’t seem in any hurry to speak. I looked down at my watch, then back at him.
“So what’s up?” I finally asked.
“Oh, nothing. I mean, well . . . I hadn’t seen you. I mean not that we planned to, but, you know, during lunch, we usually . . .” He stopped talking, and a dot of pink appeared on the top of each cheek.
“I walked over to your truck on Monday, but you weren’t there,” I said.
“No,” he agreed. “Sorry about that. I should’ve called. It was a busy week. It just got away from me.” His face went from pink to red.
Got away from him? He worked at the sail camp. I’d been a camper there years ago. You had to wait for the tide to be almost high to go out. The rest of the time was spent watching movies and waiting. Playing dodgeball and waiting. Tying knots and rigging sails. And waiting.
I didn’t say anything. Just opened my lunch and took out my sandwich, unwrapped it.
“Anyway, I’m actually heading to the airport. I have to go home for the weekend. I mean, back to North Carolina.”
“Is everything okay?”
He nodded, but it was more of a shrug with a halfhearted tilt of his head. Maybe, I don’t know, it said.
He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. There was a long silence between us, and he seemed to be waiting for me to speak. The fact that I was quiet was surprising even to me—there was so much I wanted to ask him. But I was suddenly aware that I’d given as much as I was willing to give. I could have asked about Amy. I could’ve asked him to explain. But he was standing in front of me and hadn’t explained. And I could see he wasn’t going to.
All week I’d gone to the spot in the parking lot and felt my heart sink when it was empty. That seemed to be all the explanation I needed.
“I’ll be back next week,” he said. “Can I see you then?”
“You know where to find me,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Have a safe trip.”
He fiddled with his hat again. Then he turned and walked out the door, the bell jingling as it closed.
Through the large glass window in the front of the store, I watched him leave, shielding my body behind the wall. He walked to the curb, stopped, and turned around, as if he might come back. But then he walked to the parking lot. When he faced me again to get in his truck, he was biting his bottom lip.
Long after he pulled away, I pictured him biting that lip. I knew the texture of that lip, the softness of it.
; I wondered if a girl named Amy did too.
20
Hope
I didn’t hear Jack come home, but he was next to me when I woke up. Sunlight crept under the window shade. The red numbers on the clock read 7:00. I sat up, put my hand on Jack’s shoulder. His eyes opened. They were glassy, disoriented.
“Jack,” I whispered. “You overslept.” It was Saturday. A workday for Jack.
He put his arm on my hip and closed his eyes. He pushed the sheet down until it was bunched around his middle. I pressed my hand to his bare chest. His skin was hot to the touch, slick under a thin film of sweat from his fever.
“I’m getting up,” he mumbled, but his eyes stayed closed.
“That’s it, Jack,” I said. “I’m calling the doctor. We’re going.”
He shook his head. “I need sleep. That’s all.”
He patted my hip, and I saw there was blood covering the back of his hand, dried and flaky, a deep gash on his knuckle.
“Jack. What happened?” I touched his wrist, and he glanced down, shut his eyes again.
“I banged it on the engine. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. It’s deep. You need stitches.”
“I need sleep, Hope. Let me sleep.”
I sighed. “Let me clean it, and you can sleep. But if you’re still hot later, we’re going to the emergency room.”
He groaned and turned over, and I left to get a washcloth.
He was breathing deeply when I returned. I cleaned the blood off. If it hurt, he didn’t show it, not even a flinch when I swabbed some ointment in the cut, covered it with a bandage and wrapped it with gauze to keep it in place.
I climbed back into bed next to him, and looked down at him. He’d called last night to say he was working late, and I heard the weariness in his voice, the drained edge of it. Come home, I said, and he whispered, I can’t. And I thought of the last argument we had. And the one before that. I knew when he said I can’t, he meant I won’t.