I could hear the others saying they were ready. I tied the sweatshirt around my waist in a hurry. Then I dug through my duffel bag for my baseball cap. I put it on backward and ran outside.
I was the last one out. So I didn’t know Ben had put on a baseball cap. Backward. We looked at each other and didn’t say anything. After a moment, he took off his cap and threw it onto the backseat of his mother’s car.
Vicky grabbed him around and gave him a big hug. She meant she loved him but she also hoped he wasn’t going to make trouble. Mothers have their own language of hugs.
We rode in Vicky’s car, which was sort of horrible. Not just because the car was awfully hot but because I sat with the boys. Vicky said, “You look like a happy family back here,” as she strapped Harris into his car seat. None of us answered her.
Ben sat next to the window, like he thought he’d get cooties from sitting next to me. I stayed in the middle, because I didn’t want to sit very next to Harris, who was driving a pretty spitty truck to the restaurant.
His car seat came with a steering wheel and plastic keys and a stick shift that made a grating noise right in my ear. Twice I had to wipe a little spray of spit off my arm with my sweatshirt.
At dinner, Daddy still acted polite. He put Harris next to Vicky. Ben took the seat on the other side of Daddy, so I sat across from Ben.
Really, I didn’t mind that I didn’t get to sit beside Daddy. I was glad I didn’t have to sit with Harris in case he turned out to be a messy eater.
I scooted my chair to the side nearest Vicky so Ben wouldn’t have to worry about the cooties. Harris wouldn’t sit in a booster chair, so I could only see him from above the little dent in his chin. We all knew he was there. He made quiet little motor noises while we waited for the waitress.
Daddy asked the boys what they wanted to order, the way he never asked me. “Anything fried for Mack,” Ben said. “His taste buds aren’t fully formed yet. He’ll eat octopus brains so long as they’re fried in batter.” He made it sound as if his little brother didn’t know any better.
Harris’s eyes went puppy sad.
“Good for him,” Daddy said. “Octopus brains are one of my big favorites.” Harris perked right up again.
I was sort of proud of Daddy for making Harris feel better. I started teasing him anyway. “Daddy’s taste buds aren’t either, what you said, formed.”
Harris said, “Haaah.” It took me a second to know he was laughing.
Vicky brushed her hand over his head, messing up his hair. “Silly boy,” she said. And she smiled at me like I’d helped make him feel like he was included in a big boy club.
Ben said, “I’ll have the surf and turf.”
“Me too,” I said before Daddy could tell me what I wanted. I love the surf and turf picture on the menu.
“That isn’t what you usually order,” Daddy said.
“I want something different,” I said. I looked up in time to see this little smile flit over Ben’s face. He thought I ordered surf and turf because he’d ordered it.
I felt my face go all hot. I wore my cap backward and now I’d ordered the same thing he did and he thought it was because, well, just because. The way Vicky smiled, I knew she thought so too.
“I changed my mind,” I said in a hurry. “I’ll have the crab cakes.”
“I think you’d better have the fried shrimp, the way you always do,” Daddy said.
“I want the crab cakes.”
“Me too,” Harris said in a deep voice. It was the first thing I’d heard him say that didn’t sound like a truck. I didn’t know he could talk.
“They aren’t the kind of cake you think,” Vicky said to him.
“Me too,” Harris said again.
“That’s it,” I said, closing the menu. I didn’t mind if he copied me. “We’re decided.”
“Mack,” Vicky said, “crab cakes don’t come as a child’s meal.”
“It’s okay,” Daddy said. “Two or three crab cakes isn’t that much. I’ll eat one if there’s a leftover.”
The corners of Harris’s mouth turned up. Vicky shrugged, but I thought she liked Daddy’s answer too.
The restaurant was awfully busy, and it wasn’t our turn to be served for the longest time. Vicky asked Ben to take Harris to the restroom to wash his hands. He’d been washed right before we left the house. Stuff had already stuck to his fingers again.
I saw Ben didn’t mind holding one of those furry hands as he took Harris off to the restroom. For a minute I felt bad for him. Then I thought, He’s Harris’s big brother, probably he had furry hands when he was little too. Furry hands don’t bother him.
Daddy and Vicky talked to each other while the boys were gone, almost as if I wasn’t there.
I didn’t know why Daddy liked Vicky so much. Everything about Mom looked better to me. And Mom would have talked to me sometimes, because that’s good manners.
I fiddled with my silverware until the knife hit my water glass and made a noise that hurt my ears. Daddy gave me a look that meant Settle down.
I was glad when the boys came back. Harris purred along on his own, no conversation there, and Ben and I tried not to look at each other. We mostly read our menus all over again. Still, it wasn’t as bad as being alone with Daddy and Vicky.
Whenever a waitress passed our table, which was pretty often, Harris revved his motor louder. Daddy said, “The service is usually much better here.”
Another waitress went by and Harris revved his motor again. Really loud. Two waitresses looked our way, and one of them walked over. Either it was finally our turn or they got tired of being revved at.
Daddy ordered two crab cake baskets and three surf and turf dinners. Ben said, “You know, those crab cakes sound really good. Think I’ll change my order to that.”
When I looked at him, he grinned. I stared. It was like finding out Harris could talk. I was so overwhelmed I didn’t smile back.
Then Harris spilled his water all over the tablecloth.
Daddy leaped up as if the water had gone into his lap. Vicky leaped up too, blotting furiously with her napkin, trying to stop the water from soaking the tablecloth. Daddy dropped his napkin over the spill.
“Are you wet?” Vicky asked him.
“No.”
Vicky sat down. “We don’t really need to get all excited, then,” she said. “It’s just the tablecloth. And it’s just water.”
Daddy sat down, clearing his throat a little.
It left us with a funny feeling over the table, the air felt sort of tight. I thought it might help if someone said something. Like Daddy’s not that good with spills and stuff.
I couldn’t make myself say it.
Up until now, Ben had ignored the whole thing, like he was sitting at somebody else’s table. He’d gone very still, watching his mother.
Vicky took care of it. “I’m so glad you asked us out to your place,” she said to Daddy. “It’s a new experience for us.”
“The shore?” He looked shocked. “You’ve never been to the shore?”
“Not since Ben was too little to remember it,” Vicky said happily. She made it sound like she chirped. I guess it cheered her up to have the right thing to say.
Daddy kept looking at her like he couldn’t imagine someone not coming to the shore every weekend. She added, “Well, I can’t swim, have I mentioned that?”
Daddy asked, “How about Ben and Harris?”
Vicky gave a little shrug and sighed. I took that for no.
“Does anybody else feel kind of itchy?” Ben asked. He reached down to scratch his leg.
“Itchy?” Vicky said. “You feel itchy?”
“It’s not bad,” Ben said. “Maybe I got into some poison ivy.”
“You probably got a mosquito bite,” I said. I could get itchy just thinking about it. “Mosquitoes come out early when they haven’t eaten all winter.”
Daddy and Vicky laughed like I’d said something cute. “Those aren’t last year
’s mosquitoes, Lexie,” Daddy said. “It’s all new mosquitoes this year.”
I didn’t see that it mattered. Old or new, they were pretty hungry when people first arrived at the shore.
“I felt like I might have gotten a bite or two,” Vicky said. “Oh, look, our dinners are coming.”
The sides of the basket were too high for Harris to see what he had in there. He felt around, nearly spilling his basket. Vicky set a crab cake on a bread plate for him.
Harris ate with his fingers. He crumbled everything up before he ate it. And he wanted ketchup on everything, the crab cakes and the fries and the coleslaw in the creamy sauce.
Vicky didn’t seem to notice that it bothered Daddy that Harris ate with his fingers. All the time she was fixing stuff for Harris, she talked about her sister, who was getting married.
I bet Daddy didn’t hear a word she said. I think he was trying not to look at Harris. I couldn’t figure out how Harris kept his motor going while he chewed.
Vicky didn’t see that Ben kept scratching his bites. Once I thought Vicky reached down to scratch a bite, but she might have been straightening her skirt.
Mainly I ate my dinner. A couple of handfuls of chips and part of a turkey sandwich were all I had gotten since breakfast and I was hungry. I used a fork, even for my fries.
I didn’t want to look at Harris anyway. He kept going back to feeling around in the basket with his messy hands, like there might be something he’d missed. The whole basket had ketchup and creamy sauce splotches. The waitress was going to have to throw it out.
Daddy looked like he was listening hard to all this boring stuff about the wedding plans. Probably he was thinking about that leftover crab cake he’d promised to eat. He nodded a lot. It was only when he nodded at something when he should have shaken his head, like oh, no, that Vicky stopped talking about her sister’s wedding.
“Yikes!” Ben said.
I stared at him. Who says yikes?
He stared at his legs under the table edge like they belonged to someone else. Vicky and Daddy went right on talking. Suddenly, he scooted his chair back. “There’s another one.”
“Another what?” Vicky asked in an irritated way. Like she thought he was about to be rude or something.
“Bug,” Ben said.
Vicky said, “Ben.” Very no-nonsense.
He stood up. There were red marks on his legs where he’d been scratching, but no mosquito bites. Vicky looked startled now. I figured I knew what it was. I wasn’t saying a word.
Daddy wasn’t saying a word either.
Ben said, “Not a big bug, a flea. Fleas, like on a dog.”
“Where?” Vicky asked.
“On me,” he said. “There are fleas on me.”
“I doubt they’re fleas,” Vicky said. She reached down and scratched.
Daddy cleared his throat. “It’s possible,” he said, “that Ben picked up sand fleas out in the grass.”
“Sand fleas?” Vicky said.
“Mom always gets about a hundred bites,” I said. I would have added that they always made her swell up and itch for days but Daddy interrupted.
“It’s nothing,” Daddy said. “I usually spray around the house to kill them off. I’ll do it tomorrow and we won’t be bothered.”
“Oh. Okay.” Vicky gave another good scratch. “You were out in the grass too.”
“Nothing bites me,” Daddy said. “Not fleas, not mosquitoes, not dogs.”
“Lucky you,” Ben muttered.
“What do you think about dessert?” Daddy asked.
Harris didn’t pick up a fork or a spoon once. Although he did let his motor die out when he got chocolate cake.
I was glad I wasn’t sitting next to him. I could see Daddy wanting to show him how to use the utensils. Then he looked over at somebody else’s table. I figured the utensils would come tomorrow.
When Harris finished eating, he started his motor. “Put, vut, vrrm, vroom,” he said. Vicky eyed him the way Mom eyes my plate to decide whether I’ve eaten enough. Vicky said, “Ben, would you help your brother?”
She meant wash his hands again, which he needed now more than before. When Ben got up, we saw how red his legs had gotten from scratching. The sand fleas had given him a rash.
“Good heavens,” Vicky said, looking him over. “Sand fleas?”
Ben looked a little alarmed himself.
Daddy said, “He must be one of those people who have a big reaction to them. We’ll stop at the drugstore on the way home and get some Benadryl. He’ll be good as new in the morning.”
When we got up to leave, Vicky lifted her skirt a little to go down the stairs at the front of the restaurant. She had a blotchy red rash too.
Harris fell asleep on the ride home, and woke up as Vicky carried him inside. He had to get down immediately and start his motor. He had engine trouble all the way up the stairs.
Vicky said, “Ben, let’s get that stuff on your legs.”
Daddy handed Ben the plastic bag with the calamine lotion and the Benadryl.
Vicky looked like she would go into the bathroom with Ben. “I don’t need help,” he said.
“You have to get the backs of your legs,” she said.
“I can do it,” Ben said.
“He can manage,” Daddy said. “He’s fourteen years old. Practically a man.”
Harris stood there with his motor humming and his face turned up, waiting to see how everything was going to turn out. A truck waiting for the traffic lights to change.
“Don’t be long,” Vicky said with a sigh. “I need to use that stuff too.”
Ben looked at his mother and she raised her skirt to her knees. Her legs were red and puffier-looking than his, although she hadn’t scratched as much. I was pretty sure she didn’t have puffy legs before.
“All right,” he said, giving in. “Come on.”
Harris wouldn’t be left behind. The three of them could hardly fit in that tiny bathroom. We listened to Vicky getting Harris to stand in the shower stall.
“It’s too wet.”
“We won’t turn on the water.”
“Wet.”
It took a while to convince him he wasn’t going to have to take a shower. I flopped down in a wicker chair and stared at the door. Daddy sat down on the sofa and looked at me with what Mom calls his sheepdog look. He used it whenever he disappointed her. I hoped he wouldn’t start saving that look for me.
He kept the same face going, expecting me to say something nice. Everything we said could be heard inside the bathroom. And everything they said could be heard where we were.
“You sit on the seat, Ben,” Vicky was saying. “You’ll be able to reach the backs of your legs easiest that way. We have to make sure we cover all the skin.”
“Harris, quit squeezing the cotton balls,” Ben said. “They’re sticking to you.”
“Harris,” Vicky whined. And then she said in an annoyed tone, “His hands were clean before we left the restaurant. What did he touch that was sticky? That’s what I want to know.”
“Stickiness just oozes from his pores,” Ben said, making me grin. I listened to the sounds of brakes screeching and water running in the sink, and then a few minutes of quiet busyness.
I saw out of the corner of my eye that Daddy had seen me grin. I knew he wanted me to look at him and smile. I stared at the picture over his head, a picture of three pots of geraniums. He’d ruined my vacation.
I didn’t want to sit there with him any longer. I could go read my book or I could go out on the deck.
I heard Ben ask his mother, “Did you see these shore houses are kind of run down? Especially this one.”
“It needs a paint job,” Vicky told him.
We painted the porch last summer, I thought as if I was telling them. Daddy did it right before Mom and I left. Then he came home and moved out of the house in Baltimore.
Which reminded me all the more that this would be our first summer of weekends here together alon
e. At least, it was supposed to be.
“It’s like this house was built by one of the three little pigs,” Ben said. I glanced at Daddy to see how he was taking this.
He looked like he might have some bites too, but not from fleas.
Ben said, “Even with a paint job—”
“Benjamin, you’re dripping all over the floor,” Vicky said.
“Harris is dropping cotton balls on the floor,” Ben said.
“Harris, cut that out,” Vicky said.
“With a paint job, this is still a shack,” Ben said.
“It’s a very expensive shack,” Daddy said as if Ben stood in the room with us. There was a kind of dead moment when I think nobody moved, nobody breathed. Not even Harris.
Then from the bathroom came a sound like a hissy fit, the kind a cat has right before it scratches. It had to be Vicky.
“I apologize,” Ben said loudly. “It was only an observation.”
I went out to stand on the deck. After a minute, Daddy came out there too. “I want you to get to know them,” Daddy said.
“I don’t need to know them,” I said.
I heard nothing then but the sound of the water. Slap, lap. Until Daddy said, “Look, water fairies.”
I looked where he pointed and saw light flashing under the water. White and green mostly, bits of blue and purple. Like light dancing there. When I was little, Mom and I used to say those were water fairies. Daddy told me what they really were.
“Those are schools of fish with tiny, tiny animals clinging to them,” I told him. “Tiny little animals with specks of light like lightning bugs. I don’t like fairy tales anymore.”
Vicky came out then. I moved down to the other end of the deck and stared out to sea. I listened to Daddy tell Ben and Harris about the little animals. He didn’t say anything about water fairies.
Ben asked some questions, like did we ever see sharks or dolphins around here. He sounded pretty excited about being near the ocean, and for a minute, I could forget I didn’t want him here.
Between Ben’s questions, Vicky said how wonderful the air felt, how beautiful the stars were, how special the world was. Mary Tyler Moore doesn’t come up with such a lot of dumb remarks. Well, she does, but she doesn’t make them all at once.
Lexie Page 3