All Things Different

by Underhill, Shawn

  “I hope so.”

  “I won’t talk much. I know you need sleep.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I like talking, I’m just tired. Aren’t you?”

  “Hush. You don’t have to entertain me. I’ll be fine. Go to sleep.”

  I took a long breath. It was very quiet in the room, and we both were calm. That’s the last I remember. I slept all through that night.

  24

  At the regular time I woke when I heard my old man downstairs. I got out of bed carefully so that Sara could sleep, pulling my shirt on as I descended the stairs. I caught Dad just before he went out the door. He turned, surprised that I was up.

  “I tried to be quiet.”

  “I just woke up like usual.”

  “Not a bad night?”

  “She never woke me up.”

  “Good,” he said, standing in the doorway. “Maybe that’s a good sign.”

  I stepped into some sandals and followed him outside, carrying the water cooler for him to the truck. Buck was in the drive, his own truck parked off to the side. He was loading his stuff into our truck for the day.

  “Got a few off?” he said to me.

  “Might as well. What’s up?”

  “Same old, you know. Work with the old man for a bit. Needed a break from my other gig anyway.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “’Bout that time a year again, hey?”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Yeah, it’ll be over soon enough. You can be a full-time stiff like me.”

  “I wouldn’t mind it.”

  Buck looked up and over my shoulder then. I looked back to the house. Sara had come out and she stood on the porch looking over at us. Her arms were wrapped up in her sweatshirt.

  “Hell, boy,” Buck said a little quieter. “Looks like you got a good day going. Be nice to that one.” He leaned over closer. I could see bits of Skoal Long Cut on his teeth. “She’s gonna be killer like her mama.”

  “Fah-Q,” I said without thought. I’d always gotten along great with Buck.

  “Easy,” he laughed. “I’m just sayin’…”

  “If you ladies are done,” Dad broke in before I could go on, “we should get rolling.”

  I stepped back. Then they were both climbing into the cab. I joined Sara on the porch as the truck pulled away, the old man tapping the horn.

  “Is he your friend?” she asked.

  “He’s an all right guy.”

  “He was after Mom for a while.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Were we being loud out here?”

  “No. It got cold in the bed once you left.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet it was Alaska in there.”

  “Shut up,” she smiled.

  We stepped into the kitchen. I went for coffee and Sara sat down at the table.

  “Do you drink coffee every morning?”

  “Just one small cup,” I said. “Why?”

  “Doesn’t it stunt your growth?”

  “Doesn’t seem to.” I shrugged and took a sip. “I usually go for a row in the mornings,” I told her. “You can stay here or go home. Or go with me. Whatever you want.”

  “Isn’t that something you do on your own, your routine or whatever?”

  “Yeah. But you can go.”

  “Only if you’re sure.”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Okay,” she smiled, “I’ll go.”

  “What about your mom? Should you check in before work?”

  “She’s probably already gone by now.”

  “She knows you’re here?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Really?”

  “Honest. She just said if I made trouble I could find a better place to live.”

  “Did you explain that we like having you over here?”

  “She knows that, she just stresses.”

  “So it runs in the family, hey.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Anyway …”

  “Should we eat first?”

  “I need something, yeah.”

  “Let me cook,” she said, standing.

  “I can cook too.”

  “Let me. I want to. What do you feel like?”

  “How about pancakes? French toast?”

  “French toast! I am so in the mood.”

  It was settled that easily. I drank my coffee while she cooked. We small-talked about nothing, comfortably, easily, like it was old habit of the oldest friends. For one foolish moment I was ready to check with her, to make sure she hadn’t dreamed or had any trouble during the night, but I caught myself. If she was able to put it all out of her mind during the day, I figured it best to go along with her.

  We ate together at the table, a casual, relaxed breakfast rather than my usual weekday rushing. I had five pieces of toast to her two, covered in real maple syrup and with extra cinnamon sprinkled over the pile. The worst part was that I could’ve eaten more, but I figured by then she was probably tired of cooking.

  Out on the lake it was a beautiful morning. The sun was beginning through the treetops behind the house as we pushed out. The air was still cool and the wind lightly blowing on our faces. I rowed out of the shade into the open water where the early sun was reaching down in streams through what little remained of a very thin mist. Sara dipped her hand in the water, smiling at the warmth, letting it trail in the water. Then she laughed at the cold when she removed it and wiped it dry on her sweatshirt.

  “You’re such a copycat,” I said.

  “But you like me anyway,” she returned.

  I couldn’t argue and rowed on. The sun seemed already higher now. I was warming fast from its warmth combined with the rowing, and the rising temperature made the morning feel like a different season in a matter of minutes. The sky continued to brighten as the mists dissipated and the air warmed. I rowed, breathing, surrounded by all those beautiful, calming transitions of the growing morning, and I kept looking back to Sara in the bow. Her hood was up and her hair stuck out funny over the life vest. She hadn’t stopped smiling, hadn’t stopped staring at me. In a way, she was brightening along with morning around her. Or maybe to me it just seemed that way. I rowed and breathed and took in everything around me, loving it all as always, but I could not keep my eyes off her for long. She was stealing the show.

  The sun continued its rise. The morning gave way to bright, sparkling day. Warmth took over, within and around me. After a while I set down the oars and took a long drink from a bottle of cold water. She watched me with what I swore to be a knowing smile, but neither of us spoke. My heart was really beating, and I was dizzy and thirsty. God knew I had not wanted to care for her this way, to share my father or my home or anything with anyone. I’d asked for none of it. But here it was happening all the same. It was humbling for me to accept that a ninety-pound girl had quite easily bested my old man. Once she’d conquered him, I guess I didn’t stand much of a chance against her.

  25

  Saturday morning Sara was awake before me. When I opened my eyes, there she was facing me, inches away. I blinked and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Her eyes were bright and clear and not sleepy. She’d been awake for some time.

  “You know what?” she said softly in the quiet room as my eyes adjusted to the morning.

  “What?”

  “You have really long eyelashes for a boy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh-huh. I never noticed them before. They’re more obvious when your eyes are closed.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I’m just telling you,” she smiled. “I’m a little jealous.”

  I scoff-laughed.

  “Know what else?”

  “You smell?”

  “I smell wonderful. And you snort a little when you first wake up.”

  “Okay, sorry?”

  “It’s funny. And know what else?”

  “I can’t even guess.”

  “You h
ave a little bit of a unibrow starting.”

  “God, no.”

  “It’s not a bad one. The hairs are bleached from the sun.”

  “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “I can fix it,” she laughed lightly. “I’m lucky that way. Mom gave me almost perfect eyebrows, like hers—almost maintenance free. But I can fix yours.”

  “I don’t wanna be fixed.”

  “Why not?”

  “I want breakfast.”

  “Well, at some point I should fix it before school starts.”

  “At some point I should toss you in the lake, fully dressed, for making fun of my unibrow and reminding me of school. How’s that sound?”

  “You wouldn’t …”

  I took a deep breath, gathered some energy, and kicked off the covers, sitting up fast and reaching for her. She flew away screaming high and giggled her way out of the room, down the hall to the bathroom.

  “Keep your tweezers away from me,” I warned after her.

  “Wax!”

  After breakfast I was on the porch. The yard looked like it could use mowing. By then, after the lazy Friday and another quiet night, I was feeling the need to be productive. I looked at the grass drying under the rising sun. I thought about a row. Then I thought the old man would be pleased to get home and find the grass looking good. The dew seemed mostly dry now, so I went out to the shop, topped off the gas in the tractor and got it started.

  I began on the lake side of the house where the sun had been hitting longer on the smaller portion of lawn. After making a few passes near the porch, Sara came out waving her arms. I stopped and lowered the throttle to an idle so I could hear her.

  “Can I drive that?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes!”

  “Have you driven a tractor before?”

  She shook her head no.

  “It’s not really a toy.”

  “But I can do it. I’ve seen people do it.”

  “I’ve seen people flying jets,” I said.

  “Please?” She made a sad face. “Just for a minute.”

  I pushed the throttle down. The tractor sputtered to a stop. Sara jumped and clapped, celebrating. Once I was out of the way, she climbed on. She put her hair back in a ponytail and mustered a serious game face while I explained which levers did what, which ones she should touch, and which ones she should not touch. I explained it all very clearly.

  “I’ll be careful,” she said. “Just get it going for me.”

  “There’s no power steering, so it turns hard. You have to anticipate the turns ahead of time.”

  “I can do that. Mom lets me drive her car in big parking lots.”

  “This isn’t a car, though.”

  “This thing’s smaller than a car. I can drive it easily.”

  “Right. But what I’m saying is that cars have power steering. This tractor does not. So be ready for the turns ahead of time. Turn the wheel hard with both hands. And whatever you do, once you get going, don’t touch the throttle.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right.”

  “Wait, which one’s a throttle?”

  “That,” I pointed.

  “Oh, right, right.”

  “See these shapes at the top and bottom?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The turtle means slow. Rabbit obviously means fast.”

  “Obviously.”

  “You stay on turtle.”

  “Aw, but the bunny rabbit is cuter.”

  “You’re a turtle.”

  “But—”

  “Turtle,” I said firmly. “Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Don’t touch it,” I said.

  “No, sir. Or is it ‘yes, sir’?”

  I looked at her, staring her down for a moment as she held back a smile. Against my better judgment, I leaned over and started the tractor.

  “I’ll show you how helpful I can be,” Sara shouted over the motor. “You’ll be so impressed, you’ll wonder how you ever survived without me here to help.”

  “Get ready,” I said, my foot on the clutch as I shifted the tractor into the forward gear.

  “I’m ready!”

  I let my foot off the clutch slowly and stepped back. Sara’s head snapped when the tractor lurched forward. She laughed, startled, looking over at me instead of where she was going.

  “Pay attention,” I pointed.

  “Right.” She stared forward, gripping the wheel seriously, anticipating her first turn. But then she had second thoughts and changed course, heading out toward the larger backyard. “More space,” she called.

  “Okay,” I nodded. Not a bad idea.

  “Can’t I go a little faster?” she asked, chugging by the corner of the house.

  “No.”

  “Just a little?”

  “Practice going slow first.”

  “Not a hundred. Just a teeny, tiny bit faster.”

  “A very little. You barely have to touch the—”

  The tractor roared, practically rearing up, and then shot off full throttle. There was a puff of blue smoke around me, and Sara sang with laughter, both hands death-gripping the wheel while the rest of her was bucked and pitched like a cowgirl at the rodeo, ponytail flip-flopping behind her, with me, the clown, running after. She wrestled the wheel and veered at an angle, cutting a diagonal line across the center of the lawn, and I realized then, too late, that I’d neglected to raise the mower deck before sending her off.

  “Slow down,” I shouted, running alongside, reaching for the mower-deck handle.

  “You’re distracting me!”

  “Stop!”

  “I can’t drive distracted!”

  Finally I got ahold of the deck-adjuster handle, just in time for Sara to decide to cut the throttle sharply. I lost my balance as the tractor suddenly slowed, my arm went forward, and down went the mower deck to the lowest possible setting, the blades bogging in the damp grass as the motor chugged and sputtered. Reacting to the boggy sound, Sara’s first instinct was to raise the throttle once more, not quite to full speed but close enough so that we were off to the races yet again.

  “Stop, stop,” I was shouting as she took off, smiling back at me while she scalped a jagged line through the middle of the green lawn. Then I switched to pointing and shouting “Look out!” as she rapidly neared the back of the house, the outside wall of Dad’s bedroom.

  Sara faced forward again, screamed, and commenced a full-body cranking of the wheel. In a wide circle she came back around toward me, and that’s when she realized the mess she was making. Her smile instantly faded and she cut the throttle, letting the tractor stall.

  “Oh my goodness.” She raised her hands to the sides of her face. “I’m sorry, Jake. You’re not mad, are you?”

  “No,” I panted, stopping and resting. “But I’d say your work here is done.”

  “No. Let me try to make it look better.”

  “I don’t know, Sara. I think you should—”

  “Please?” On came the sad face. “I won’t touch that rabbit speed handle thingy ever again. Swear to God.”

  I stood there awhile with her staring at me before I gave in.

  For the next hour I walked along beside the riding mower, sweating in the sun, coaching Sara in the fine arts of lawn care and touchy throttle control.

  “Besides that one bad part,” Sara beamed upon completion, “I think it looks pretty.”

  26

  Later in the afternoon, after a swim to calm my nerves, I was relaxing on the porch. Sara had been with me until Kate returned from work. When she left, I decided to take advantage of the quiet time, kicking back with a fishing-gear catalog and letting my imagination wander. Within fifteen minutes I was interrupted and coaxed from the quiet comfort of the porch with the promise of food. Like a fool, I fell for it.

  “Mom’s taking us for ice cream at DQ!” Sara called from the corner of the shop. “Get your wallet and get over here!”r />
  In the cramped back seat of Kate’s Jetta, I gained a new appreciation for those old comics where Garfield is promised Italian food, but once lured to the car discovers the truth: Jon’s actually taking him to the vet.

  “We just went by DQ,” I said sadly, watching it pass.

  “We’ll stop on the way back,” Kate said.

  “Back … Back from?”

  “Should we tell him, Mom?”

  “He’s far enough from home now. I think it’s safe.”

  “You need clothes,” Sara laughed, looking back at me. “We’re taking you to the outlets, and like it or not, you’re getting at least a couple new outfits for school.”

  My stomach rumbled and sank. “Are you serious?”

  “The sooner we’re done shopping, the sooner you can eat,” Sara explained, as if I were a toddler.

  “Full cooperation,” said Kate.

  “No complaining,” chimed Sara.

  “This is our specialty.”

  “Trust us.”

  “I think I hate you both,” I said. “What have I ever done to you?”

  “At least two pairs of jeans and two decent shirts,” Sara explained, “and you’re off the hook.”

  “I’ve got decent shirts.”

  “I mean dress-type going-somewhere shirts. Carhartt, Mac Tools, and Thornton Construction are not dressy.”

  “I like my Thornton shirts.”

  “Those aren’t as bad,” Kate said. I could see her eyes in the rearview mirror. “But Carhartt is pretty lame for school. Makes it seem like you don’t care.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “I really don’t.”

  “You should.”

  “I don’t have money to burn.”

  “Excuses, excuses,” Sara said to Kate. “He’s got almost two hundred in cash in his wallet.”

  “You little snoop,” I glared.

  “Maybe something with a collar,” Sara thought aloud, completely tuning me out.

  “You tell me,” Kate replied. “I haven’t seen his closet.”

  “I noticed maybe two or three decent button shirts.”

  “No polo’s?”

  “Not that I’ve seen.”

  “What about the Mac Tools polo?” I said. “That’s a good brand.”