All Things Different

by Underhill, Shawn

  “I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “Good. This is all very sudden, I know. It happened suddenly to me as well. But I’d appreciate it if you showed that girl a little kindness. She’s a sweet kid, and I don’t believe she intends to pester you. She’s just been awfully lonely and a little mixed up about it all.”

  “I’ll try, Dad,” I said, and I meant it. I was feeling differently about the whole thing.

  “Good man,” he nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I don’t know what to say to her, though.”

  “I’m not asking you give her a speech,” he half smiled. “She needs a friend.”

  I nodded. “Is this why she’s so clingy with you?”

  “It’s understandable, I guess. They’ve had very little security or stability. Kate got in over her head when she was quite young. And now Sara’s experiences with men—”

  “She really likes you, though,” I broke in. “They both do. It’s as obvious as a sore thumb.”

  “They just needed a little help, that’s all.”

  “No, I’m serious.”

  My old man shook his head. “I can’t solve all their problems. I’m no superman, Jake.”

  “Maybe to them you are.” He practically was to me.

  “Why don’t you go take a swim,” Dad said again.

  I guessed he needed to be done with it for a while. “So should you.”

  “Let me take care of the cooler and get changed, and I’ll be out.”

  “I’ll be better with them,” I told him.

  “Good, now get outta here,” my old man said in his usual tone, stepping toward the door. “I’ll be out in a while, and then we’ll figure out what to do for dinner.”

  7

  After dinner I was on the porch reading. With the day fading around me, I read Now I Lay Me for about the fiftieth time. In the story Nick was afraid to sleep while it was dark, so he occupied himself by reliving his old fishing spots until it was light out. He was not afraid of the dark itself, but of the feeling of his spirit leaving his body that came when falling asleep in the dark. It had left him once before, during World War I, and he wished never to revisit the sensation. The story fascinated me as always, but that night it only worked to distract me for a short time. I knew it too well, and I kept catching myself looking beyond the shop toward the old camp. It was not visible from the porch, but knowing it so well, I kept on picturing it there, and kept on looking up from my book.

  It was full dark now, and I gave up reading and walked over by the shop. I was tired from the day but could not seem to rest. I started into the shop, but then for some reason I stopped and instead walked around the corner by lilacs and looked toward the former camp. My eyes adjusted and I saw the little place silhouetted in the dark, the lake reflecting behind it and a soft light in the windows. It looked very peaceful from the outside. I wondered about them inside and felt a little strange for standing there staring. After a while I turned away and went out to sit on the dock.

  With the water all around me, I felt more relaxed. It was a clear night, cool but not yet cold, and in the distance I could see the dark outline of the mountains. Overhead it was all stars and from behind the trees the pale glow of the rising moon. I sat there quietly and listened to all the usual sounds of night, waiting for them to calm me. A shooting star streaked across the sky. I watched it tear from right to left in the darkness and burn out. Then my eyes landed on the little house. On the small point I could see the shore and a faint outline of the place against the deep darkness of trees in the background. The lights were all off now.

  Before long there was a sound and feeling of light steps on the planks of the long dock behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw her. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who was restless that night.

  “Hey, Jake,” she said softly. “Whatcha doing out here?”

  “Just sitting here,” I said, skipping over the issue of what she was doing.

  “Do you mind some company?”

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  “I just love it out here,” she said, settling down beside me and letting her feet dangle over the edge of the dock. Once she was down she drew her hands up into her sleeves and closed her arms over her chest. “I get cold easy,” she explained.

  “I see that.”

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “No.” I looked away from her and stared out over the water. I could feel her watching me.

  “Is your dad asleep?”

  “Probably snoring in his recliner by now. He’ll go to bed later.”

  “Guys and their recliners,” she giggled quietly. “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m a couch man, myself.”

  “I’m a bed-and-lots-of-pillows-and-blankets girl.” Her voice cracked before she could finish. “I’m really not as dumb as that sounded.”

  “All right,” I said. I couldn’t stop smiling. “So you really like him, hey?”

  “Your dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your father is the nicest man I’ve ever met,” she said, like she was endorsing him for political office.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, feeling the pride for him swelling within me. “He’s a good guy.”

  “You’re lucky to have him.”

  “I agree.”

  “Do you love him?”

  I looked at her and raised my brow. “You and your questions.”

  “Sorry,” she shrank slightly.

  “Sure I love my dad.”

  “I love my mother to pieces, but sometimes I miss my dad. I don’t see him much anymore since they split up. That’s why I wondered.”

  I said nothing. An unfavorable picture of the guy was forming in my mind.

  “Sometimes I wish we could live with him again,” Sara thought aloud. “But, I don’t know. I think right now, I’m pretty lucky to be out here.”

  I looked over at her again. She was staring down into the water, watching her dim reflection shimmering under the star glow. I looked back up at the stars again. All she wanted was to be happy, and I think she tried very hard to be happy, but it didn’t always come easily to her. I think she knew that too and it weighed heavily on her, like an internal tug of war.

  “Look,” I said. Another shooting star had started across the sky. I nudged her with my elbow, gently, to get her attention quickly, but all I ended up doing was startling her so that she flinched and pulled away from me.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “I’m fine,” she smiled. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

  “I wanted you to see the shooting star.”

  “I know,” she said, and looked up. The whites of her eyes looked very big and very bright under the star glow.

  “Keep watching. There’s always a lot in August.”

  “I hope so.”

  I hated knowing what I knew, and I wished I hadn’t startled her. I couldn’t imagine what must be going on in her head—the thoughts, the memories a simple conversation must invoke. I sat there trying to think of something to say and trying not to think about what I knew, but the more I tried to think, the less I could I come up with, and the longer we ended up sitting there in silence.

  “It’s fun sitting out here,” Sara finally said. She was looking over to me again.

  “I love it.”

  “Fun in a relaxing way.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You work with your dad, don’t you?”

  “Every chance that I can.”

  “So that means tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, bright and early.”

  “Mom’s working too. Over at that diner.”

  “The Star. Actually it’s the Morning Star. We just say Star.”

  “Do you go there much?”

  “Now and then. Not a whole lot.”

  “The food’s not that great.”

  “It works in a pinch.”

  “Mom says the tips are okay at least.”

  I yawned a deep yawn. Sara looke
d over again.

  “Are you going in soon?”

  “I guess I should, pretty soon.”

  “I don’t think you should.”

  “You’re welcome to stay if you want.”

  “Not by myself.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about out here.”

  “I’m not scared of the place,” she said. “Well, except for that weird loon sound.”

  I tried to keep a straight face. I felt a little guilty for laughing at her so much, but it was tough not to sometimes.

  “Don’t make fun,” she smiled.

  “I’m not. It just sounded funny.”

  “Are you really going in now?”

  “Thinking about it, yeah.”

  “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

  “A little, I guess.”

  Sara edged a little closer to me. I felt her shirt against my arm but not the pressure of her arm. I kept very still. She was looking at me from the corner of her eye. I was looking up at the stars again. Then she looked up too.

  “I’ve never lived anywhere that the stars were this bright.”

  “I’ve only lived here,” I said.

  “Always?”

  “All my life.”

  “Lucky.”

  “I guess I am,” I realized.

  “Are you fifteen?”

  “I’ll be sixteen in November.”

  “I’ll be fifteen in January.”

  “Dad said you were thirteen.”

  “I’m fourteen.”

  “Well, he is getting old.”

  “He’s not old,” she laughed under her breath.

  Maybe not. But he had been unsure of her age. A meager hope rose up in me that maybe he’d been mistaken about the other things too.

  “I take it you’ve lived a lot of places,” I said.

  “Uh-huh. But this is by far the nicest, I think.”

  “I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  She was looking at me again. I could feel it and I kept on looking up.

  “You asked about my mom,” I said out of nowhere. “I never met her.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sara said.

  “It was right after she had me, the day after she got home from the hospital. I can’t remember a thing.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “Apparently I was early. Dad says I’ve always been eager to get on with things. Well, he took her to the hospital and they sent her over to Dartmouth to be safe. She was all right at first. It seemed like the problems all blew over. But something went wrong after she got home. Dad got her back to the hospital as fast as he could. He says they sent her home too soon.”

  “Jake,” Sara whispered. It sounded like she was about to cry.

  “Dad remembers it all,” I rambled. “He doesn’t talk about it, though. We never talk about it. I don’t know why I’m telling you now. It’s just …”

  Sara put her hands back through the cuffs of her sleeves, and a moment later she was hugging me. She was cold at first, then warm. Her face was on my shoulder.

  “It makes me sad to think that happened to such a nice man.”

  “It’s rotten,” I said, holding still. I was not accustomed to being cuddled, and so I sat rigidly and uncomfortably while she hung on to me.

  “And you,” she added.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Are you really?”

  “I only know her by pictures. Most of those are in Dad’s room. For a long time they didn’t think she could have kids at all. Dad says she knew the risks and wanted me anyway. He never made it seem like it was my fault or anything.”

  “Jake …”

  “Now you know,” I said. “So you won’t have to ask all your questions.”

  “I didn’t mean to be so nosey.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “I was thinking you had the perfect life here.”

  “Our life is great,” I said. The feeling of knowing it was like holding on to something solid.

  “He must miss her so much.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Isn’t he sad though?”

  “He was in the Army, back before I was born. Bet he didn’t tell you that, did he?”

  “No.”

  “No, he wouldn’t tell you guys something like that. He wouldn’t want sympathy or attention or anything. He doesn’t pull that crap. It wasn’t his choice, you know. He got drafted. There’s my old man minding his own business and he got the news. He went to basic and then they sent him to Vietnam, just like that. What a hellhole. Every now and then he’ll tell a story about it. All he wanted to do was build, like my gramps taught him. He didn’t whine about it, though. He just went, and did it, and came back.”

  “He hasn’t told us a lot.”

  “He wouldn’t. Not you guys. God, you know he’s tough as hell, my old man. He could handle just about anything. Everyone knows it. Ask anyone that knows him. Ask about my old man and anyone will tell you.”

  “All I know is that he’s a beautiful man, Jake. I see why you love him so much. I just love him already.”

  I took a deep breath and felt Sara move with me as my chest rose and fell. Nothing would go away for talking. Sara lifted her head from my shoulder.

  “Are you okay, Jake?”

  “I’m fine.” I was looking up to the sky. If I could see one more shooting star I thought I might feel all right.

  “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry if I did.”

  “I’m not sad.”

  “What’s wrong then?”

  “I’m just tired, I guess.”

  “No,” she said quieter.

  “No, what?”

  “Don’t go in.”

  “I should.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “But why does it matter?”

  “It’s not that late.”

  I was quiet for a moment. She was pressing closer to me, with her head on my shoulder again.

  “Why?” I asked again.

  “I don’t like nighttime.”

  “But why?” I had always enjoyed nights.

  “I hate it,” she said low and strangely.

  A moment later I felt her shaking softly against me. She got up, sniffing, without a word. My side went cold. I looked back and saw her running down the dock. Her hair danced behind her in response to her movements, I remember, but differently, like it had a life of its own. Then she was gone, out of sight in the dark.

  8

  At sunup I was awake. I dressed, ate a hurried breakfast, and went out for a row. It was cold outside and colder on the water. I had come in very late, and having not slept well, I hadn’t warmed up all night. Now I was dressed in layers, a heavy sweatshirt over a tee, and I rowed hard out of the morning shadows and into the light shining on the open water. A fish rose by the boat while I was resting. I watched the ripple spread out into a ring, and then the ring smooth back out to flat nothing. The peace was gone for me after the fish rose, so I rowed back in, drifted onto the beach, and turned the boat over in the sand.

  My old man was loading the truck. “See anything?” he asked.

  “Something big rose right beside the boat.”

  “We’ll catch a few more before the season is out.”

  “A guy can hope,” I said.

  At the job I got on my tool apron and made sure everything was in its place, then put on some sweat-proof sunblock that would sweat off within the hour. We were finishing the roof on a big Adirondack-style place with a pitchy, complicated roof pattern—there was even a tower on one end. It was hell to deal with, but the customer wanted it a certain way, and my old man wanted me to have the experience before school started.

  Sitting on the truck tailgate at break time, we drank cold water from our water coolers and ate our sandwiches. The truck was in the shade. There was a breeze coming in from the lake.


  “Doing all right?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah, fine. Hot.”

  “Thinking about things?”

  “What things?”

  “About the girls.”

  “Eh.” I picked at the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.

  “It’s a foul thing to digest.”

  “It’s messed up.”

  “You look tired.”

  “I stayed out too late.”

  “Well, don’t dwell on it.”

  “I’m not.”

  “That’s fine. But don’t dwell on it.”

  I considered telling him about my run-ins with Sara, but I knew if I started I’d end up spilling everything. I didn’t want him to know I was talking about Mom or that I’d pressed Sara and upset her. So I took the high road and had another bite of my sandwich.

  “Want a few days off before school starts?”

  “Nah.”

  “You sure?”

  I chewed and nodded.

  “It’s a long time before the next break.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “There’s no shame in it.”

  “Nope.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I’d rather work while I can.”

  “I remember that feeling,” he laughed. “Anything else?”

  “Not the girls.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I don’t know. It’s so hot nothing sounds good right now.”

  “That’ll change later.”

  “I could use something good.” I finished off the sandwich and thought.

  “I need a break from the grill for a night.”

  “How about The Lobster House?” I was picturing the dark wooden building decorated as a lobster trap around the big glass entryway.

  My old man shifted around at the thought of the lobsters. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “It’s a plan, I say.”

  “Sounds good.” He stood from the tailgate, ready to give it hell. “I was thinking, maybe we’ll invite the girls, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind” is how I left it, but it sort nagged at me that he’d read me so easily. I had been thinking about Sara all day. In a way I did want to talk more of it, to get rid of it. But in another way I wanted to avoid it altogether if possible. I didn’t know. And we had work to do.

  9