Home for the Summer

by Holly Chamberlin

  “Don’t worry about it,” Clara told her. “The woman I buy it from gives me a discount.”

  For about half a second Bella wondered why someone dealing drugs would give a customer a discount. Weren’t drug dealers all about making as much money as they could? Maybe Clara was lying. But why would she lie?

  Clara lit the joint with a disposable lighter and handed it to Bella. “Inhale,” she instructed, “and then hold the smoke in for a few seconds. Then exhale.”

  With some trepidation Bella did as she had been instructed. When she exhaled she thought she felt a bit loopy but not in a scary way, like when you had a fever. Or maybe she was just making it up. Was one hit enough to make you feel anything different? Could you talk yourself into feeling high? She didn’t want to sound stupid or naïve by asking Clara those questions.

  “My grandmother sees my sister at night,” she blurted, passing the joint back to Clara. “I mean, Ariel shows up like she’s alive and she tells my grandmother stuff.”

  “Freaky,” Clara said. “What does she say?”

  “She says that she and my father are happy.”

  “Do you believe they’re happy?” Clara asked, taking another hit.

  “My sister isn’t a liar. I mean, she wasn’t a liar. When she was alive. Can you lie when you’re dead?” Bella laughed and accepted the joint back from Clara. “I don’t know what I mean!”

  Clara grinned. “Don’t worry; you’ll get used to it.”

  Bella took another hit and coughed before she could hold in much of the smoke. “Oops,” she said, handing the joint back to Clara, who extinguished it and put it back into the metal box on top of the dresser. “Anyway,” Bella went on, “you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when my grandmother told us about Ariel. She probably thinks my grandmother is nuts.”

  “Well, it is pretty strange. Ghosts and all.” Clara shivered dramatically.

  “I wish Ariel would come to me some night,” Bella went on. “I want . . . I want to apologize.”

  “For what?” Clara asked.

  Bella shrugged. “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “Talking about dead people is too depressing. I want to feel good, not bummed out.”

  “Sorry,” Bella said.

  Clara didn’t reply. She picked up her phone again and began to type. Bella felt a little let down by Clara’s lack of attention but not as much as she had earlier. “I guess I should go,” she said.

  “Yeah, okay.” Clara looked up briefly before turning back to her phone.

  Bella left the cottage without seeing any of Clara’s housemates. My life has just taken another totally unexpected turn, she thought as she got on her bike. In spite of swearing she would never take drugs other than maybe an aspirin when she got her period she had just shared a few puffs of a joint with Clara. And she didn’t know what all the fuss was about. She felt fine. Better than fine, she felt mellow. And a bit like she was going to burst out giggling. And she felt hungry. A box of those little powdered sugar doughnuts they sold by the checkout at the convenience store would be awesome. Or chips. Barbeque-flavored potato chips.

  Bella dug into her cross-body bag and pulled out a few crumpled singles. It was enough for a snack. Her mother would probably have dinner on the table by the time she got home, but she was hungry now. Bella stuffed the bills back into her bag and started off. And, she thought, pedaling down Valley Road toward the heart of town, if that woman who had babbled on about God was at the convenience store again she would totally tell her to keep her opinions to herself.

  Chapter 41

  Frieda opened the toaster oven to check on the potatoes. The fork went through the skin and into the flesh easily, so she closed the door and turned off the machine. Tonight’s dinner couldn’t be more classic—steaks, baked potatoes, and snap peas. The snap peas had already been briefly boiled, blanched in ice water, and drained. The steaks would take only moments; they all liked their steaks rare. A classic meal and, more important, an easy one, which was good, because there was so much on Frieda’s mind she felt she would fail at any more complex kitchen task.

  Interestingly, the confrontation with Bella over Jack Tennant had brought back memories of those years after Steve Hitchens’s defection and before Frieda had gone off to college, the years when with both Tony and Steve gone, her mother and Phil had grown even closer. In some very important ways Phil had taken her father’s place. It was Phil who went with Ruby to Frieda’s school plays. It was Phil who taught her to drive when Ruby gave up in frustration. At the sophomore Father-Daughter Dance, it was Phil who proudly led Frieda onto the dance floor. And at her high school graduation, it was Phil who clapped the loudest when she won top honors in English.

  A girl in Frieda’s junior year French class, Patti something or other, had once asked Frieda why her mother and Phil weren’t married. “Because Phil is gay,” Frieda had told her. Patti had shrugged. “Yeah, I know, but they’re like, best friends and all, right? So it could work. I’m sure people do that sort of thing all the time.”

  Maybe, Frieda had thought, a marriage between Phil and her mother could work—if they both wanted it to—and then Phil would be her official stepfather. And as appealing as that sounded to Frieda, who truly loved and trusted Phil, the idea of someone moving into the house she shared with her mother and forever altering their new family had caused her something akin to panic. There had been too much alteration already. Just as there had been too much alteration in Bella’s world. Of course Bella feared another radical change in the new life she and her mother were building, and though that new life wasn’t perfect and never would be, it was theirs and that meant so very much.

  Frieda turned on the gas under her mother’s big cast-iron frying pan. No. She was sticking to the resolution she had made earlier outside the diner. She simply could not continue to see Jack Tennant, not at the risk of injuring or, worse, losing another child. Bella’s threat, however vague, had to be taken seriously. Aaron would understand. He would think she was doing the right thing in choosing to put her child’s happiness ahead of her own.

  “Hey.” It was her mother, come into the kitchen. “What’s on your mind?” Ruby asked. “I could smell the wood burning. Or was it just the pan heating up?”

  Frieda managed a smile. “I was just thinking about the new marketing project I landed, the one for that landscaping center in Wells. Writing brochures and catalogue copy for an owner with very specific requirements isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

  “Nothing wrong with a challenge,” her mother pointed out.

  “Your indomitable spirit is showing.” Frieda carefully placed the steaks into the heated frying pan. “Would you take the potatoes out of the toaster oven, Mom?”

  “Gladly.”

  A moment later the front door slammed, causing Frieda to flinch.

  “It’s our delicate little Bella,” her mother said.

  “Hey. Is dinner ready?” Bella asked, loping into the kitchen. “I’m starving.”

  “Is Phil working you too hard?” Frieda asked worriedly, glancing over her shoulder. She noted with pleasure that Bella’s cheeks had a healthy flush to them.

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Ruby scolded, setting the plate of baked potatoes on the table. “He would never take advantage of an employee, let alone the granddaughter of his dearest friend.”

  “I know but . . .” Frieda turned off the heat under the pan, placed the steaks on a platter, and brought it and the bowl of snap peas to the table.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just hungry.” Bella took her usual seat. “Oh, good,” she said brightly. “Baked potatoes. I love baked potatoes. Do we have any sour cream?”

  Frieda paused for a moment before answering. This was a surprising change for the better. It seemed like ages since Bella had exhibited enthusiasm for anything, and enthusiasm for baked potatoes was better than enthusiasm for nothing. “Afraid not,” she said. “But I’ll pick some up tomorrow, okay?”

  Bella smiled, s
liced open her potato, and reached for the butter. “Cool,” she said. “Awesome. Grandma, that shade of green looks totally great on you.”

  “You’ve seen me in this blouse a million times,” Ruby remarked as she took her own seat.

  Bella shrugged. “I guess I never really noticed it until now. But green is definitely your color. Mom, the steak is amazing.”

  “Thanks,” Frieda said as she joined her mother and daughter at the table. She was grateful for whatever miracle had occurred in the last twenty-four hours resulting in Bella’s sudden high spirits. Confused—a teenager’s mood swings could baffle even the most learned psychiatrist—but grateful.

  “This was like the perfect summer day,” Bella suddenly announced.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Ruby remarked, and Bella laughed.

  Frieda smiled at her mother and daughter. And in that moment of welcome peace and harmony she knew without the shadow of a doubt that she was doing the right thing in ending her nascent relationship with Jack Tennant. Without the shadow of a doubt.

  Chapter 42

  Sweat was trickling from under Bella’s helmet and she blinked rapidly, hoping the sweat wouldn’t get into her eyes. The afternoon was beyond sultry and, stupidly, she had forgotten her water bottle at Clara’s cottage. Now she felt totally dehydrated and . . . Whatever, she thought. She would be home soon enough.

  Bella heard the short beep of a horn and a moment later a pickup truck passed her; the passenger waved as the truck drove slowly by, and Bella waved back. She didn’t recognize the truck or the people in it, but that was one of the cool things about Yorktide. Most people were genuinely nice. You could pretty easily make friends if you wanted to. Not that Clara wanted to. Not once had Bella heard Clara say a positive word about her housemates or her colleagues at The Flipper, even the ones she smoked pot with.

  Then again, Bella thought, glancing at a few cows grazing in a field to her left, Clara’s housemates and colleagues might not have a positive word to say about Clara, either. They might very well find her boring, because as far as Bella could tell Clara never talked about anything but Marc. Take that afternoon, for instance. The entire time they had been together at the cottage Clara had gone on about how great Marc was and how much she loved him and how she totally couldn’t understand why he had ended their relationship. Bella, who had been smoking pot and feeling mellow enough not to care about Clara and her problems for the moment, had pretty much been able to block out Clara’s voice and had found that if she said things like “oh” and “wow” and “seriously” every minute or two Clara seemed to be satisfied.

  The only really annoying thing about the afternoon was that the pot smoke was kind of hard to get used to; she had had a bad coughing fit after one hit. And she would have to watch the munchies after or she would blimp out. And for about a split second before leaving Clara’s cottage she had wondered if maybe riding her bike when she was probably still high was such a good idea; maybe her reaction time would be impaired or something, but so far everything had been okay. She hadn’t ridden off the road into a ditch or been spooked by the passing pickup truck—

  “Shit!” A deep pothole had suddenly appeared a yard or two in front of her bike. Bella swerved and as she did so her tires hit a patch of loose gravel and the bike started to slide sideways out from under her. Somehow, miraculously, she managed to put one foot on the ground and let the bike drop to the pavement. She stepped away, tripping on one of the pedals and stumbling several feet before she could stop herself.

  “Shit,” Bella said again as she took off her helmet to wipe the sweat from her forehead and then put a hand to her pounding heart. She had come way too close to being thrown off the bike. Yeah, she had seen the pothole in time to avoid it, but she hadn’t seen the patch of loose gravel. Usually she was super careful when she rode along roads like the one she was on now with long stretches of rough shoulder.

  When Bella felt calm enough to continue her journey home she picked up the bike, checked it for damage—there was none that she could see—and rode the rest of the way with extra deliberation. When she reached her grandmother’s house she breathed a sigh of relief. Next time she smoked with Clara she would wait awhile before getting on her bike. Maybe get a cup of coffee or tea (even though she didn’t usually drink either) or a soda, something with caffeine. She didn’t know if caffeine helped straighten you out after smoking pot, but it was supposed to help if you had been drinking alcohol, so . . .

  After checking the bike again for any damage she might have missed, Bella went inside and found her grandmother in the kitchen, sitting at the table with one of those professional nursing journals she was always reading opened before her.

  “Where were you?” her grandmother asked with a smile.

  Bella went to the sink and ran the water until it was icy cold. “I stopped by to see Clara after work,” she said. She reached for a glass from the drainer, filled it to the brim, and gulped the entire contents.

  “How is she?”

  “Fine,” Bella said.

  “Why don’t you ever bring her around? You know she’s welcome.”

  “I told you,” Bella said, rinsing the glass and putting it back in the drainer by the side of the sink. “She’s shy.” And, Bella thought, I don’t really want her here. The idea surprised her. Why didn’t she want Clara in her family’s home? The possible answers to that question seemed too upsetting to contemplate and Bella pushed them aside.

  “Where’s Mom?” she asked her grandmother.

  “I don’t know. She was gone when I got up from my nap. Usually she leaves a note. Maybe she went down to the beach for a break. She’s been working on this latest project nonstop for the past few days.”

  “Oh,” Bella said. “Right.” Of course Mom would be working, Bella thought, especially now that it’s her sole responsibility to support me. To support us. She felt a pang of guilt and tried to push that aside, too, but it refused to budge.

  Her grandmother closed the journal and got to her feet with a groan. “Well,” she said, “I’m off. I’m getting too old for these night shifts. It takes me days to recover a normal sleep pattern. But at least I have a job, and so many these days don’t.”

  Bella managed a smile. “Bye, Grandma,” she said.

  When she was alone in the kitchen Bella sank into a chair, folded her arms on the table, and rested her head on them. Her grandmother worked so hard and was so generous. And Mom is so much the same, Bella thought. She was always available when Bella needed her to be. It had been seriously wrong of her to make that threat of doing something terrible if her mother continued to spend time with Jack Tennant, but she had been so upset and she just hadn’t been thinking right. The threat was another unusually dramatic gesture like running off the night of Ariel’s sixteenth birthday. And slamming doors. And smoking pot with Clara?

  Bella lifted her head and sighed. She wondered what her grandmother would say if she knew her granddaughter had been smoking pot; maybe, being a nurse, she could tell that someone was high just by looking at her eyes or something. That was a frightening thought, but if her grandmother was able to tell if someone was using drugs, why hadn’t she noticed anything just now? Because she had been too tired to pay close attention? Because her family’s being with her this summer was a drain on her energy?

  Bella got up from the chair and began to pace the kitchen. The worst thing about smoking dope was the lying about it. And the worrying about getting caught wasn’t so great, either. But as long as she only smoked in Clara’s room she was probably safe. Unless one of Clara’s housemates decided to rat them out. Unless her grandmother, Nurse Ruby Hitchens, decided to pay closer attention to her granddaughter and gleaned the truth. And then her mother would also know the truth and . . . It would be one big disaster.

  Bella stopped pacing and felt a wave of confusion sweep over her. What did I get myself into? she wondered. The lying. The deceit. Still, there was a way out. She could decide right then and t
here never to smoke again, but . . . But the thing was she enjoyed smoking, at least the part of it that didn’t involve coughing. It wasn’t exactly fun, like she had thought it might be, but it was as close as she had come to fun in what seemed like forever.

  Suddenly Bella remembered the little locked book in Ariel’s dresser drawer. Maybe Ariel had written something meaningful that might help her figure out the mess she was in. Some people believed that if you were in trouble and needed advice you could open the Bible or some other book of received wisdom at random, poke your finger at a line of text, and the message of the line would be just what you needed to hear.

  Bella went up to her room, where she opened the bottom drawer of the dresser. The diary was where it had always been, under the plain blue and white T-shirts. Bella picked it up and stared at the image of the unicorn on its cover. No, she thought. It didn’t feel right, the idea of violating something so personal of Ariel’s, and that’s what it would be, a violation, breaking the lock just to satisfy her own selfish needs. And all because she couldn’t figure out how to handle the mess she seemed to be creating of her life this summer.

  Bella tucked the diary back under the T-shirts and closed the drawer. Suddenly she felt very, very tired. She lay down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. The house felt very empty. She hoped her mother would be home soon.

  Chapter 43

  Frieda had been sitting on a wooden bench at the top of the beach for close to half an hour. Jack wasn’t late. It was just that she needed to breathe and to gather the courage for what she was about to do. Sometimes the sight of the magnificent blue Atlantic rolling before her brought a sense of strength and purpose. Sometimes, but not so much today.

  “Hey.”

  A smile came automatically to Frieda’s face when she looked up to see Jack standing there. Gosh, he’s so handsome, she thought. What she said was: “Hi. Thanks for coming.”