The Jeweler

by Anderson, Beck

  Fender’s curiosity was up. “Practice?”

  Pop grew an inch, he was so proud. “She’s in a band. Plays bass and sings backup. I’m getting them a gig at the Rendezvous. I already squared it with the owner.”

  “Hey, Pop?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We found her hair clip. In the couch. Fiona’s.”

  Pop grinned. “Adults do things, Fender. Do we need a review of that talk? I thought that was one of the only times I really had your attention. Guess not.” Pop was enjoying this and would probably milk it for eons. He’d be insufferable at the Rendezvous.

  Fender slapped him on the back. “You’re amazing, Pop. Really.” He silently scolded himself for worrying about the old man. Pop was going to outlast him, easily.

  Pop looked at Fender in surprise. “Oh! Fender, I’ve got news for you that you’re going to love. I tried to find you. I left a message on your phone, but you didn’t call back, and when I called Sam’s house, I thought he was going to bite my head off.”

  Fender plopped down on the couch. “Don’t worry about Sam. He probably hasn’t paid his Sears bill again. He gets kind of testy.”

  Pop sat down beside him. He would get to the news, but he seemed to want to pause dramatically.

  “So. Pop, you had something important to talk to me about?”

  “I won’t beat around the bush. This is big, Sonny. I saw her.”

  Fender’s mind was a few steps ahead, but he didn’t let the thought gel. He kept it crouched in the corner of his head, hoping. “Who? Who did you see?”

  Pop readjusted on the couch. “Well, I was visiting Augusta—”

  Fender panicked and broke in. “You saw Mom? You thought you saw her alive? She’s been gone a long time, Pop.”

  This wasn’t a good move. “Fender Barnes. Are you looking for a way to put me in a nursing home? No, I didn’t see your mother. I saw your girl. Ring girl.”

  Fender’s eyes hurt. Blood built up behind them from excitement. “Ginger? Really?”

  Pop loved when people asked that. He had a stock answer: “No, not really.” He slapped Fender on the thigh. “Yes, of course! She was at the cemetery.”

  The memory of Dead Boyfriend reared its ugly head. “She was visiting him, huh?”

  Pop nodded solemnly. “Yes. This morning. She was lost, but I helped her find his grave.”

  Fender was mad for a second. “You’re not supposed to do that, Pop. You’re supposed to be helping my cause.”

  “Well, apparently I did something good, oh son of little faith, because she and I talked for a while.”

  “About what?”

  “I introduced her to your mother.”

  Oh, Jesus. Now the crazy father-son team of Barnes and Barnes is going to steal the show. “What did she say?”

  “She liked the inscription. She seemed a little unsettled or lost.”

  “You already said she was lost, Pop.”

  Pop shook his head. “No, not literally this time. When she was standing there, she just looked like she didn’t know what to do next. Lost.”

  Fender could still see her standing on that hill in the summer sky. “She looked that way at the funeral.” He sighed. “She could have been the one, Pop. The big time.”

  Pop looked like he was holding his breath. “She said to tell you hello.”

  They both were on their feet. Fender was very close to doing something that could only be described as jumping for joy. Then he suddenly saw his reflection in the sofa table and stopped before he horrified himself. Trying to regain his composure, he patted Pop on the back. Then he hugged him.

  “I’m glad for you, son. Now go take care of business.”

  Fender felt a little scared. The proverbial door was open. She had obviously opened it. Even a social misfit like Fender could tell when a girl was giving a guy another chance. Maybe. At least he thought he could. “I’m going to find Sam. Thank you, Pop.” He had his keys in his hand and flew out of the house.

  Sam would know what to do. Please, God, let Sam know what to do. Fender tried to breathe and rushed to the car.

  Sam didn’t answer the door at first. He did that sometimes, especially now that he and Molly were dating. Fender knew he was home, though—he’d said as much in the message he’d left about Pop’s phone call. Fender would bet money Sam just didn’t want to answer the door. But he changed his mind, apparently, after Fender pounded with his fist for a full five minutes.

  By the time the door finally opened, Fender was readying himself to break it in. Kick at the lock with the heel of your foot, he reminded himself. Sometimes a misspent youth had its advantages. He’d lifted his foot and was psyching himself up when the door flung open.

  “Jesus Christ!” Sam wore a wifebeater T-shirt that didn’t do a lot for his physique. “This had better be the damn Second Coming! I was sleeping.” Sam surveyed Fender, whose foot was still poised for judo action. He hadn’t put it down, trying to gauge whether or not he was going to have to defend himself against Sam. “And what the hell is the deal with the foot? Who the hell are you, Ralph Macchio?”

  Fender put his leg down.

  “Go away!” Sam slammed the door in Fender’s face.

  Never give up in the face of adversity. Some high school guidance counselor had said that to him a long time ago. He took the advice now and began to pound on the door again.

  It opened again, slowly. Sam stood away from the door with swim goggles on his eyes and a Super Soaker in his hand, aimed at Fender. “Again, this had better be the full-on Four Horsemen, because your level of intensity is scaring me. I have taken the opportunity to arm myself, and I will fire if provoked.”

  Fender stayed very still. He and Sam had ruined an entire set of living room furniture in a water fight once. And while the prospect of playing with Sam was diverting, he remembered that he did have a certain life-or-death matter on his hands: Ginger was ready to speak to him again.

  Sam looked like he was losing interest. “Speak, or I will again close the door, never to reopen it until I’ve had a good nap.” He made a threatening gesture with the giant squirt gun for emphasis.

  “Ginger. It’s about Ginger. There’s hope.”

  Sam pulled the goggles up onto his forehead. “Hope? For what?”

  “I think she’ll speak to me. Pop saw her at the cemetery, and she told him to tell me hi.” Fender hopped in the air. Try to control yourself. Hope is one thing, but it’s not everything.

  Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He set the Soaker down on a chair by the door and pulled Fender into the house by his shirt. “Okay, then. We have to come up with a plan, pronto. Before she thinks about it again and changes her mind. You know how chicks are. They’re so flighty.” His eyes lit up. “Well, you’re lucky your friend is such a genius of staggering proportions. I think I already have an idea!”

  Fender sat down on the couch. This could be good. Sam and he would fix it. We’ll fix it. He let himself smile as Sam dug under the couch cushions for the phone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE MORNING GINGER AND BODE were due to drain the pool, it was actually brisk outside. The long holiday weekend was over, and the heat had loosened its grip on the valley ever so slightly. She watched Bode checking the pumps and thought about the change of seasons. When fall crept in, it meant winter and skiing were not far behind. If the weather was good, she’d be teaching on the snow by Thanksgiving weekend. And it would be her second season without Brad. Everything would be easier.

  Everything had seemed a little bit easier since the visit to the cemetery, actually. It had done something good for her soul. She didn’t feel as out of sorts. In the space of just few days, she’d remembered to buy her mom a birthday card and make an appointment to get the oil changed in her car.

  She hadn’t taken one step that was huge, though. It still felt scary. Molly had been bugging her to go out on a date with someone ever since she’d revealed that she was dating Sam. She said it was becau
se she wanted to double date, but Ginger knew it was just Molly trying to fix things, like she always did. Molly never pressed the issue too hard, but Ginger had the feeling she and Sam were kind of rooting for Fender. Molly mentioned his name every once in a while. It was always kind of a lightning-quick, on-the-fly mention, like “Sam and Fender went to that restaurant together, I think,” or “I think I’m free for lunch tomorrow, ’cause Sam has plans with Fender.” And then she would change the subject and avoid looking Ginger in the eye for a few minutes. She could probably feel the look Ginger was always giving her.

  But since she’d seen his father at the cemetery, Ginger had sort of been rooting for Fender, too. She caught herself thinking about him. She remembered his attempts at learning to ski, or just the way he looked at her when she was talking. That was the nicest feeling in the world. No one had ever looked at her like that before. Fender locked his eyes on her, and that seemed to make her beautiful. She felt like she could be something better when he looked at her that way.

  She missed that. But there were still things to be considered: The ring. The lying. And it was Fender’s job to fix those things, not hers. She wasn’t going to go looking for him. He had to come find her and make things right.

  Ginger looked out over the pool, the waterline slowly ebbing away, the water whooshing out through the hoses into the storm drains. School had started for the kids in the valley. Families were scurrying around, finishing their shopping for three-ring binders and new sneakers.

  Bode scrubbed the tiles of the emptying pool with zeal. He had so much energy all the time. Ginger had read books all summer when it was slow. That drove Bode crazy. He couldn’t hold still long enough to read. It might help if he tried once in a while, though. He was the human equivalent of a Golden Lab, she’d decided—lovable and in beautiful shape, but always in motion and, bless his heart, he just wasn’t that bright. Molly had been right about him, just like she was right about every guy Ginger had ever dated.

  Bode’s ears must’ve been burning. “Do you want to go? There’s no point in having us both here. We’re watching water drain out of a hose. Go home.”

  Ginger stood up. “I think I will.”

  Bode shook his head, shaking droplets of water and sweat out of his hair. “Have a good one.” He bent back to his task, scrubbing the steps in the empty shallow end.

  Ginger headed home. It was definitely cooler today. Not cool, but not toaster-oven hot like it had been for much of the summer. She felt like doing something.

  When she walked into the house, an idea came to her. The kitchen had always been in need of a fresh coat of paint, but she’d never gotten started. Sure, she’d always been busy, but standing here today, she remembered the other reason.

  Brad hadn’t let her choose the color. “Kitchens should be yellow or white. End of story.” Those had been his words.

  I’d forgotten that. What a narrow-minded ass.

  She covered her mouth. Was that sacrilege? She couldn’t believe she’d thought that. But it was true. Damn it, it’s the truth. Brad, as much as she cared about him, had been a jerk a lot of times. Boy, could he be opinionated. And it was like he ruled the house. He must have picked that up from his mom and dad, married in the Leave It to Beaver era.

  Ginger sat down on the floor of the kitchen and looked up at the walls. She called the dog. Zoë came trotting in from the living room and plopped down, nosing in to get a kiss.

  “Hey, Zoë, what do you think of orange?” Ginger stood to get her car keys. Orange it would be.

  When she started painting that afternoon, it felt almost liberating. She put on her now-favorite Red Sox hat, cranked the music, and went to work. The color was like a ripe tangerine. Ginger immediately liked the way it brightened up the kitchen.

  There was a knock at the door. No one knows I’m home. She answered with a paintbrush in her hand.

  It was Molly and Sam. Molly grinned from ear-to-ear.

  “Hi, Molly. What are you guys doing?”

  Sam answered. “Could you come over to the park with us? We have something we want to show you.”

  Now that’s just odd. What are they up to? She thought about the pair in front of her for a second. Maybe they’re getting married in the park!

  She must’ve waited too long to say anything, because Molly started talking very quickly. “It’s a beautiful day, and we were thinking about you. It’s too nice to stay inside.”

  Ginger remembered herself. “I’m kind of in the middle of painting the kitchen.”

  Sam nodded. “Hence, the paintbrush.” He grabbed it out of her hand and tossed it in the bushes unceremoniously. “Ditch it. Life’s too short to paint on a day like this. You can finish tomorrow.”

  Ginger had already decided to go along with their plan, but why not give him a hard time? “I can’t finish tomorrow because you just threw my paintbrush in the bushes.”

  Molly looked frantic. She nudged Sam in the side. “Get her the paintbrush.” She smiled oddly at Ginger. “He’ll get your paintbrush, and you can go wash it off and close up the paint, and then we’ll all go over to the park. Okay?”

  “But I’m completely messy. I have paint in my hair.” Ginger had never seen Molly this rattled, and it was kind of fun.

  “It doesn’t matter!” Molly’s ringlets shook up and down. She rushed Ginger inside and helped her wash the brush and close the can of paint. Sam stood in the front hallway, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking nervous and fiddling with the pockets of his pants.

  Ginger hoped she was right about the surprise. It’d be cool if Molly got married. But why would they be so frantic for her to be there? I mean, I’m a good friend and everything, but they could get hitched without me.

  “Okay, let’s roll, people!” Molly hustled everyone out the front door. Sam kept shooting Molly looks, and Ginger started to discount the wedding theory. They weren’t acting very romantic toward each other, actually.

  “What’s this all about?” Ginger looked at Molly.

  “Let’s get to the park, and I’ll explain.” Molly looked both ways and herded her and Sam across the street. Ginger felt like a kid in preschool.

  The park across the street was busy for a change. It had been so hot lately that most people stayed out of the sun until late in the day. Today, with the weather cooling a bit, families had emerged from the air conditioning to play on the swings.

  This was the park where the Ultimate Frisbee players gathered, although Ginger didn’t see any of them today. She smiled, thinking of them. The opposite of Brad, no doubt about that. But not a better alternative.

  She thought of something. “Hey, we should have brought Zoë over with us. She loves to play in the park.”

  Sam shook his head. “No, she’d be a problem with the—”

  “Sam, shut up! You’re going to ruin it, you lunk!” Molly pushed him so hard, Ginger thought he might fall over. He flinched but nodded in submission.

  Amazing. Molly had this man trained, by golly. Or he really loved her, to put up with abuse like that. Or whatever was going on was really important. But what could be such a big deal?

  She looked up to see the big deal standing under a tree about ten yards away.

  Fender watched Molly and Sam bringing Ginger across the street. His heart raced. He took two deep breaths, trying to maintain some composure. God, I hope this works. He tried to think of a prayer to say.

  Ginger spotted him and stopped. Molly touched her between the shoulder blades. They walked a little closer, Sam tagging along behind them, and when Ginger seemed to pause again, Fender heard Molly speak to her. “Go on, honey. It’s time to talk to him. You two need this.”

  Fender held his breath. She walked toward him.

  “Hi.” She looked scared.

  He tried to sound normal, safe. “Hi. I’m glad you came.”

  “I didn’t know you were here. I thought maybe Molly and Sam were getting married or something.” He could tell she was holding back,
waiting for something from him.

  He looked over her shoulder at Sam and Molly. “They probably would get married like that. They were supposed to tell you why you were coming over here.”

  “They” were obviously listening. “We got her here, didn’t we?” Sam called. “Don’t be fussy, Fender.” Molly tugged at his arm, trying to get him to be quiet. She started to lead him back to Ginger’s house.

  Fender called, “Thank you, again. I’ll owe you for a very long time over this, I’m sure.” He turned and looked at Ginger again. If I scare her away, I’ll cry. Please give me a chance. She chewed on her lip a little. There was orange paint in her hair. She looked gorgeous.

  “Why do you look at me that way?” she asked. “You did it all the time in lessons. You weren’t really paying attention, were you?”

  “I was paying attention to you. When I first saw you—”

  “At the funeral?”

  “Yeah, at the funeral. When I first saw you there, you looked lost. You looked like you needed me, maybe. You looked beautiful.”

  “What about Brad? Didn’t you like him when you met him? Why’d you go after me?”

  It was clear she was going to bring him back to this until he fixed it. She deserves at least an explanation. She deserves a lot more than that. “I wasn’t after you. I wanted to give you the ring. But then I saw you, and I couldn’t, not right away. I made a lot of attempts to give it to you, but something always stopped me. The bottom line is, I screwed up. I should have told you the truth right away. Brad wanted to propose to you. I’m sorry.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and fidgeted with a button on his shirt.

  “What was he like, when he bought the ring?”

  Fender leaned back against the tree’s trunk. “I was in a bad mood. I was about to close, but he was very excited. He wanted to talk all about you. He mentioned your dog. Oh, and a pair of earrings you always wore, little dolphins?”

  She looked up at him, and he could see tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t wear them anymore. They remind me too much of him.”