Everybody waited. For once, nobody was talking over me. I sat up a little. “All kinds of stuff. Archery, horseback riding, canoeing, arts and crafts, fishing. We spend practically the whole week outdoors.”
Manning listened with his whole body, his eyebrows drawn. It almost looked as if he wanted to go to camp himself. “I haven’t been fishing since I was a kid. You get paid for this?”
“I volunteer. It’s just for my college apps. But the real counselors get paid.”
“Are you interested?” Mom asked him.
Manning pulled back. “Am I?”
“Do you honestly think he wants to spend a week of his summer with a bunch of children?” Tiffany asked.
“Believe it or not,” Manning said, “I like kids.”
My heart nearly burst out of my chest at the idea of it. Manning. At camp. For a whole week. With me.
“What about your job?” Tiffany asked uneasily. She must’ve been thinking the same thing, except that she’d be spending a week away from him.
“We’re breaking soon for a few weeks while we wait on some permits,” Manning said. “I don’t have anything solid lined up. I’m actually looking for work.”
“What do you do?” Mom asked.
Manning stopped chewing at the same moment it occurred to me—Dad still didn’t know the truth about how we’d met Manning. I looked to Tiffany for help, but as the realization hit her, too, her eyes sparkled.
Manning set down his fork. “I didn’t realize Tiffany hadn’t told you.”
That got Dad’s attention. He looked up. “Told us what?”
“I work construction right now. To put myself through school.” He nodded behind Dad, toward the backyard. “I’m on the crew at that house next door.”
“Excuse me?” Dad asked, looking at Tiffany. “What’s he talking about?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it, Daddy.” She looked contrite. “I didn’t want you to get mad.”
“I told you to stay away from there.” Dad’s voice rose. “What is the matter with you, Tiffany? Anything I tell you, you do the opposite.”
“Charles.” Mom touched his arm. “Stop.”
He turned on her. “Did I not say this would be a problem? That transients in the neighborhood is never good?”
“What’s a transient?” I asked.
“Someone who can’t hold a job because they’re not skilled enough to find work.”
My mouth fell open. I’d known it was coming, some terrible insult meant to drive Manning away. So had Tiffany, yet she’d invited him over anyway.
Manning took his napkin from his lap and stood. “I should go. I honestly didn’t realize this was an issue.”
“No.” My mom’s voice cut like a knife through the tension. “Sit down, Manning. You’re a guest in our home, and you’ve been nothing but polite.”
Manning slowly lowered himself back into his chair.
“Polite?” Dad asked. “He didn’t have the decency to mention he worked next door. It should’ve been the first thing he said when he came in.”
“I agree,” Manning said evenly. “I thought you knew.”
“You have to excuse my husband,” Mom said. “Charlie’s been so upset about the construction.”
“I understand.” Manning shifted in his seat. “We try to keep it to a minimum outside work hours. We start early when it’s cool, but we rarely go past five in the afternoon.”
“That’s a lie,” Dad said. “I’ve heard you during dinner.”
Tiffany played with her hair, and the daisy fell out. She tried forcing it back in.
“There’s construction on the house behind yours, too,” Manning said. “Maybe it’s that.”
“This is a safe neighborhood.” Dad looked between us and him. “We don’t like trouble.”
Worried Manning might get up and try to leave again, I interjected. “There’s no trouble. I’ve been over there.”
Dad turned his head. “When?”
“Last week,” Tiffany answered. She gave up on the daisy and put it on the table. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was with her.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Dad asked. “I’ve repeatedly asked you not to bring your sister into your drama.”
“I didn’t.” She balked. “She went over there first.”
“Last week,” Dad spoke over her, “Lake was in summer school. She should’ve been doing her reading, not—”
“Tiffany’s right,” I said. It was stupid of me to say I’d been there knowing how Dad would react. Quickly, I tried to come up with an excuse. “He didn’t have a lunch, so I—”
“Don’t interrupt me, goddamn it.”
Manning sat forward. “With all due respect, sir—”
“Do you have daughters?” Dad asked him. “Are you responsible for a family? For keeping them safe?”
Manning held his stare, something dark passing over his face. “No.”
“Then stay out of this. That lot is full of men who could be dangerous. Teenage girls don’t need to be around that, bringing you lunch or anything else.”
Manning took a deep breath and hesitated. “Lake didn’t bring it to me. I came in the house.”
“I beg your fucking pardon?”
“I invited him,” Tiffany said.
I nodded, scared, but willing to take the rap so Manning wouldn’t have to. “We both did.”
“Are you hearing this, Cathy?” Dad asked, but kept his eyes on Manning. “I’m going to have a word with your foreman. You—”
“That’s enough,” Mom said. “Charles, you’re overreacting. It’s just lunch for Christ’s sake, and Tiffany already told me about it.”
Dad turned to her. “You knew he’d been in here?”
“Briefly. For a sandwich. It’s not the end of the world.” She picked up her wineglass. “Maybe you should go back to your study.”
“That’s fine,” he said, tossing his napkin on the table as he stood. “Why should I sit at my own dining table and try to have a nice meal? I hope you’re happy, Tiffany.”
Once he’d left the room, we all turned to look at Manning. “I’m so sorry,” Tiffany said.
“He doesn’t dislike you,” Mom added. “That’s just how he is. He works hard and a lot, so he’s grumpy when he gets home.”
“It’s okay. I’m just grateful to have a home-cooked meal.” Manning had cleared his plate a second time. He pushed his chair back from the table. “Thank you, Mrs. Kaplan, but I really think I should go.”
“But the pie,” I said. I’d wanted to make Manning as happy as he’d been when he’d eaten the Lake Special the other day. I made it for you, I wanted to tell him, but I knew I couldn’t, so instead I just said, “I made it.”
“Please stay,” Mom said to Manning. “Lake was so nervous about getting the pie right for company. She made it with fresh blueberries just for tonight. Even the crust is from scratch.”
Manning hesitated. “But what about Mr. Kaplan?”
“Don’t worry about him,” Tiffany said. “He’s always like that, I swear.”
I stood. “I’ll go get the pie.”
Manning picked up his plate, too. “I’ll help serve. It’s the least I can do.”
Together, we went into the kitchen. Suddenly, my palms were sweaty. I wiped them on my dress and opened a utensil drawer to find a pie server. With my back to him, I said, “I’m sorry about my family.”
“What for?” Manning asked.
“All of it.” I glanced at him over my shoulder. “If my dad offended you at any point, I’m sorry.”
Manning smiled warmly. “Don’t worry about that, all right? I can take care of myself.”
“I know, but I—” I want to take care of you. I wanted to protect him. Comfort him. Feed him—as many servings as it took to fill him up. I couldn’t think of anything more simultaneously appropriate and inappropriate to say. A sixteen-year-old girl taking care of a grown man? It felt completely natural, like I could slot myself into his life, but it
wasn’t. Not yet anyway.
“Your dad’s strict,” he said. “I’m glad he is. He cares about you.”
“Why’d you tell him you were in here?”
“This is his home. I owe him that respect.”
I didn’t understand it. Maybe it was a man thing.
The pie sat on a cake plate on the island. I uncovered it while Manning looked for plates.
“Use the ones with the gold leaves,” I told him. “Mom likes those for guests.”
“When you grow up, will you be one of those women who has specific plates just for guests?”
I smiled to myself and cut the pie as he held out a dish. We were like a couple already. A couple who could get married one day, buy a home, own special china. Tiffany would get tired of him soon, and in a few years, when I was older, nobody would even remember that Manning had once come here to meet Tiffany’s parents. The real obstacle would be keeping Manning close. I was too young for him, I knew it, and he obviously knew it, but I’d be eighteen in two years. USC was close to Orange County, too. Maybe he’d come with me, back to L.A.
Was Manning the type of man who’d keep special plates for guests? I couldn’t see it, but then my dad wasn’t, either, and he had them.
“I don’t know,” I said, gently sliding a slice from the server to a plate. “Maybe. It’s not just the dishes, you know. There are guest towels and guest sheets. The guest bathroom has nicer toilet paper than Tiffany’s and mine.”
He held out the next empty plate. “I guess for some people, it’s something to aspire to.”
“Not for you?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I didn’t say that. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford things like that on a cop’s salary. Your dad doesn’t seem to think it’s anything great. I guess if my wife wanted all that stuff, I’d find a way.”
I looked down, breathing a little harder. The word wife from his lips gave me goosebumps. What kind of girl would make him happy enough that he’d marry her?
“What’d I tell you?” Manning asked. “I can handle myself.”
It took me a moment to realize he thought I was upset about what my dad had said about law enforcement. I was, but luckily, Manning didn’t seem to be. “Are you really thinking of coming to camp? The first meeting is next week. I can find out if they’re still hiring.”
He avoided my eyes, looking at the pie. “It smells good. You like to bake?”
“When it’s for someone special.”
His smile looked almost sad. “Guest pie?”
I nodded. Manning was a good person. He took what my dad gave him, even though he didn’t have to. He put up with Tiffany. He brought my mom flowers. I hoped a small part of the reason why, or a large part, was me.
He picked up two plates, and I took the others.
“Hey, Lake?”
I stopped on my way out of the kitchen and looked back at him. “Yes?”
“Get me more information. On the camp thing. I could use the work.”
“Sure,” I said, my voice calm, casual, but only to hide that I felt as though his words had just set off a battery of fireworks inside me.
10
Manning
That blueberry pie. I took my time eating it to be polite, but I could’ve inhaled it in under two minutes. For one, it was delicious, but also, sitting at the Kaplan’s dinner table after the fight I’d just seen was fucking awkward. It wasn’t as if I’d expected Tiffany’s dad to welcome me into their life after one dinner. Nor did I guess he’d be such a prick.
Lake didn’t see it. Not yet. She’d been embarrassed, ashamed, and tried to take the fall for Tiffany. My sister had been like that, thinking she could help an argument by interfering when she should’ve just kept out of it. You don’t stick your hand in a dogfight—I’d told her before, but a lot of good that’d done. I could tell by the way Lake looked at her dad, she still loved and respected him. I didn’t understand that. Family shouldn’t mean an automatic free pass to treat others like shit. At some point, you had to recognize people for what they were.
Charles stayed in his study. As the clock behind my head ticked on, Tiffany seemed to become more agitated. It was as if she wanted something, was waiting for something. I wanted something, too—a cigarette. I’d eaten a little too much, thankful for real, flavorful food. Between school and work, I didn’t care about learning to cook. I just made what I could.
Unlike Lake, Tiffany knew her dad was an asshole. But I’d met plenty of girls who’d willingly tethered themselves to jerks. Maybe it was worse for Tiffany because it was her dad. I didn’t have a good track record with dads. Hell, I hated my own. I thought I saw some of that in Tiffany’s eyes tonight, but she’d also watched him a lot of the meal, more than anyone else.
Lake only ate half her slice. She hadn’t finished her dinner, either, while I’d cleaned up a salad, two steaks, and dessert. Was she upset or just not hungry? As it was, I worried she was a little too thin. Then again, maybe it was a girl thing. Maddy’d rather have read or explored than come to the dinner table. Or bead. I’d forgotten about her jewelry phase until it’d hit me that day on the wall, when I’d fixed Lake’s bracelet. Maddy’d stay in her room for hours beading stuff like necklaces and anklets. I didn’t even know where those were. At my mom’s, maybe.
“Thanks again for dinner,” I said because they were looking at me. “I’ve never had better pie.”
Cathy smiled. “The crust was a little soggy, but it was a good first effort.”
Tiffany shrugged. “I didn’t think it was soggy at all.”
Cathy covered Tiffany’s hand on the table. “I’ve been trying to tell Tiffany the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. That’s why we’re teaching her to cook.”
I was more uncomfortable now than I’d been with their dad at the table. At least then, I’d known where I stood. Now, all eyes were on me. Why had I come here? Partly to see how Lake and Tiffany fit into this family. I figured the dynamic would help me understand them. Neither Lake nor her sister wanted for anything. I knew the property value of their home, the prestige of their neighborhood. They had a bar and expensive wine and special dishes. I suspected those things were important to Tiffany, but what about Lake?
I wasn’t in the habit of wondering these things about anyone. I went about my life and did what was necessary to put food in my own stomach and a roof over my head. I didn’t need much, not even to be happy or loved. Everyone I knew was killing himself somehow. Drugs, alcohol, work, shitty relationships, boredom. They pretended things mattered that didn’t. They stopped asking questions because they didn’t like the answers.
I’d seen too much and lost the goodness in my life young enough to understand nothing was fair. There were no guarantees. Lake didn’t know that yet, and I wanted her to keep that innocence as long as possible. Maddy? I could’ve protected her better. I did my best as her older brother, but if I’d known what was to come for her, I would’ve done more. I would’ve done whatever it took.
And I wanted to do the same for Lake, except that men in their twenties didn’t just hang around teenage girls they weren’t related to. And that left me only two options, one of which was to walk away. The other was sitting across the table from me, smiling like she had me trapped in a corner.
“Let’s get the dishes,” Cathy said to Lake. “Give these two some privacy.”
I didn’t know what in the hell went through Lake’s mind. Her eyes got huge and sad. At that moment, despite the makeup I was sure she’d stolen from Tiffany, Lake was a kid at the grown-up table. She reminded me of Maddy. Not physically, they were complete opposites, light and dark, but she looked up at me the same trusting way Maddy had. Like I could tell her anything and she’d believe it.
“Are you guys going out?” Lake asked.
“It’s not your business,” Tiffany said. “Mom told you to clear the table.”
I stood. “I’ll help.”
Cathy put her hand on my shoulder. “Absol
utely not. Please, sit.”
“I really should take off,” I said. “Maybe you can walk me out, Tiff.”
“Sure.” She got up, exchanging a look with her mom.
I took that moment to check on Lake. She wanted to come outside, I could tell, but Tiffany wouldn’t invite her and I sure as hell wouldn’t, either. Best she stayed away after the fight I’d just witnessed. I nodded goodnight, hoping she’d understand in her own way. Damn if the hurt in her expression didn’t ease up.
Tiffany looped her arm in mine and walked me out front. “Was it awful?” she asked. “You were so good to put up with my dad.”
“It was all right. Don’t worry.”
“My mom likes you a lot. I can tell. Plus, I’m sure she loved that you had a second helping, and complimented her cooking . . .”
I stopped listening. The food and a ten-hour work day and two glasses of wine hit me all at once. I just wanted to lie down. There was a small grassy hill down to the curb, and when we reached the bottom, I cut her off. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“I’m glad you came.”
She leaned back against the driver’s side door. “You want to do something?”
“I worked all day, Tiffany. I’m exhausted.”
“We don’t have to go out. We can stay in.”
“Where?” I nodded behind me. “Here? At your parents’?”
She wiggled her foot out of her shoe and ran her toes along the inside of my ankle. “No, silly. We can drive around a little. Or go back to your place.”
Ah, fuck. I inhaled deeply to give myself a few seconds to think. I was tired, but the prospect of sex always gave me a second wind. It’d been a few months, which didn’t bother me until it did. Like now. She tugged on my shirt a little, pulling me closer. Her breath smelled like blueberry, like the ones Lake had used to make a pie.
For someone special. For me.
“Your heart’s racing,” Tiffany whispered, her lips suddenly near my chin.
I felt like I was doing something wrong, and not in a good way. I didn’t want to be thinking about Lake when I was this close to her sister. I took a step back.
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