Bouncing

by Jaime Maddox

  “I’m great, Dad! How are you?”

  “Perfect. I’m so glad you’re here early. Your mother will be delighted to see you. And I’m sure she’ll put you to work.”

  Alex had left the sanctuary of the beach to come home for her mother’s sixtieth birthday party. An intimate affair for a hundred of her closest friends and family would be catered in the backyard of their home later the next afternoon. To guarantee her arrival in the midst of shore traffic, Alex had decided to return the day before. As much as she loved the beach, she did miss her parents when she was gone for the summer, and she could tell from their recent conversations that her mother was stressing over the party. Alex’s presence would calm her, and her dad was right—a million small tasks would need to be completed. Because she was efficient and skilled, Alex was sure her mother would assign each and every one of them to her.

  Not that it’d been easy to get away. Alex was used to her freedom, and this morning as she’d packed her bag and her car, she’d had to deal with a jealous, brooding Anke, who suddenly wanted to take the weekend off to attend the party. Explaining all the reasons why that was a bad idea had only fueled Anke’s anger, and Alex had left the beach on such bad terms she wasn’t sure they’d be able to patch things up when she returned. It wasn’t until she reached Philly and stopped to stretch that the sting of Anke’s harsh words began to fade. When she passed through the Lehigh Tunnel, and the flat planes of the valley magically transformed into the mountainous landscape she loved, Alex finally began to relax.

  “That’s why I’m here, Dad. Whatever she needs.”

  “Good, good. How are you feeling?” He didn’t look at her but instead shuffled some papers before him.

  “I’m great. My summer’s been a blast and my batteries are recharged.”

  Now he did look, with squinted eyes that tried to understand the inconceivable fact that someone so young and healthy-looking might really be sick.

  “Good! That’s good!” he said, and smiled with obvious relief.

  Changing to a more comfortable topic, Alex asked about his business, a subject she knew would both brighten his spirits and occupy the conversation for the foreseeable future.

  “Not good, sunshine, not good at all. All of this wash-and-wear and casual work attire is killing the dry-cleaning business. Thank God for kids who throw up in bed. We can still get forty bucks a pop for cleaning bedding! The other businesses are fine. They’ve become our bread and butter.”

  Sitting back in her chair and assuming a comfortable pose, Alex looked at the joy on his face even as he talked about business going down the drain. She’d heard it all before, from her grandfather, and from her dad, yet here they were thirty years later, still going strong. She humored him, though.

  “Will anything be left for Andrew to inherit?” she inquired about her older brother, who’d worked for their father since he was big enough to walk, or so it seemed, and had essentially never left. He’d attended the local college for both his bachelor’s and master’s degrees, married a local girl, and settled into the same neighborhood as their parents.

  He sighed. “I don’t know, sunshine. Probably not much future in dry cleaning. But I’m looking into a couple of liquor licenses.”

  Alex knew the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania was investigating the sale of their liquor monopoly. Under the current system, the state owned all of the hundreds of stores that provided liquor to both the public and private sectors. The governor was looking to privatize the system. Good arguments on both sides of the debate made the decision a difficult one. Revenue from alcohol sales funded everything from building roads to paying state salaries. Those who supported the sale of the stores touted the economic opportunity for people like her father.

  “That’s good,” Alex replied. “Where do you buy those?”

  He laughed. “They’re only going to award a handful. You need to have money to get one. Lots of money. And you need the right political connections. But I’ve contributed to the campaigns of every senator and congressman and representative in the area, and you know—it’s all who you know.”

  Alex studied him for a moment, choosing her words carefully. She’d never agree with him about things like this, but she didn’t want to offend him by expressing her opinion too strongly. “That doesn’t seem very fair, Dad. I mean, shouldn’t they sell licenses to people who’ve lost their jobs and give them an opportunity to make a living?”

  He squinted again, appearing confused. “They couldn’t afford them.”

  “Maybe they could, if they dropped the price.”

  Again, the squint. “Then how would the state make money?”

  “Just sell more licenses. Give everyone a chance.”

  Waving a dismissive hand, he shook his head. “That would never work, Alex. If the little guy spent, say, fifty grand on a license, it’d be a waste of his money. The outlet liquor stores would undercut the prices, and everyone would go there. Sure, people would go to the corner store to pick up one bottle of wine for dinner, but if they were having a party, buying a dozen bottles, or if they owned a restaurant or a bar—they’d drive a few extra miles to save money. And your little guy would be out of business in six months and fifty thousand dollars in debt.”

  Alex tried not to show her anger at her dad’s logic, but it reflected his sense of entitlement, which infuriated her. He wasn’t a bad man, though; in fact he was a good one. Quite generous with his wealth, he supported local causes like children’s basketball leagues and the animal shelter, his employees had good salaries and health-care benefits, and he was a fair employer.

  “Dad, do you really think that’s right?”

  “Sunshine, it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the way it is. And if I don’t buy the licenses, someone else will. Then they’ll be making all the money and I won’t. It doesn’t matter if they’re wearing casual clothes to work. They’re still going to happy hour afterward, and booze is always going to be a moneymaker.”

  It was pointless to argue, and besides, this trip was supposed to be a happy one. She decided to change the subject. “I don’t suppose you can get out for nine holes before I report for duty with Mom?”

  Shaking his head he frowned. “Not today. But let’s get some lunch. I won fifty bucks on the Yankees game last night.”

  Alex smiled. Her dad had always been a gambler, and while he’d probably lost more than he’d won over the years, he’d always spoiled her and Andrew with the winnings. “And how is Mr. Merck?” Alex asked as they stood to leave. Mr. Merck was a friend of her dad’s, a jolly man who owned the largest bakery around, as evidenced by his enormous waistline. He also ran an illegal gambling operation.

  “Not so good. He hasn’t recovered from his bypass and was forced to turn the business over to Greg.”

  “It’s too bad about Mr. Merck. But I’m sure Greg will do well.” Greg Merck was two years older than she, but they’d grown up at the country club together, playing tennis and golf in the mornings and attempting to drown each other at the pool in the afternoons. A dozen of them were in that age group, a year or two older and younger than Alex. The parents were all friends and the kids got along as well. Alex was sure the Mercks would be there to celebrate her mother’s milestone.

  “Shall we invite your mother to lunch?” he asked as he guided her from his office.

  “Let’s just make it a special date for us, Dad.”

  Her car knew the way to the country club, and they took a table on the massive covered patio overlooking the eighteenth green. On the way they were greeted by a dozen members, most of them women who were friends of her mom or whose husbands did business with her dad. He’d grown up here, as she had, and served on the board, and knew everyone.

  “I love it here,” Alex said as she wistfully looked out at the golf course and to the forest beyond, the hills slowly rising, blending into the Endless Mountains in the distance. A group was teeing off on a picturesque hole that climbed the mountainside, its green carved i
nto the trees at the end of the fairway. She loved that hole and all of them at Mountain Meadows.

  “You could be the pro here, Alex, if you just said the word.”

  She laughed. “I couldn’t kiss that many asses, Dad.”

  He laughed, and as the waiter took his order, Alex watched a beautiful drive sail down the middle of the fairway. She was itching to play. Maybe she could talk her mom into it, after the party.

  Their lunch was pleasant, and after promising to see each other at home later, they went their separate ways. As expected, her mother was delighted to see her. She quickly put Alex to work taking care of the little things that needed to be done for the party. And what a party it was. Rather than lawn tents, the catering company actually set up a series of gazebos on the back lawn, some designated for the service of food and cocktails, others with bench-style seating and tables to allow people to eat without fear of attack from insects in the grass or the sun overhead.

  Alex saw people she hadn’t seen in years—the parents of her friends, local doctors and lawyers, a judge, a congressman, businessmen and women—all the important people in Lackawanna County. The number one hundred had been mentioned as an estimated total of guests, and Alex wasn’t sure if anyone was counting, but she must have given out at least twice that many hugs before the night was through.

  Cleanup was part of the package with the caterers (as well as restoration of the lawn trampled by human feet and gazebo floors), so without an ounce of guilt Alex sought the solitude of her childhood bedroom overlooking the quiet, tree-studded front yard, while the party was still in full force in the back. The sheer size of the property and the thickness of the old leaded windows combined with the soothing hum of the air conditioner to create for Alex a sanctuary a world apart from the one she’d escaped.

  After showering, she stretched out in her bed and closed her eyes, thinking about the night. Her mother had been radiant, charming guests with her warm smile and kind words, and her father had entertained everyone with stories and off-color jokes. They were a remarkable couple, still happy after thirty-five years together.

  Her parents were already married when they were her age, and while Alex wasn’t concerned with finding a wife, she found herself envying them—the companionship they shared, the obvious love, the comfortable life. Would she ever have that?

  When she was younger, it was something she’d never thought of. After her diagnosis, it was something she couldn’t think of.

  Uncomfortable with these thoughts and suddenly feeling quite alone, Alex rolled over and pulled her blanket up under her chin, desperately fighting the impulse to call Anke.

  Chapter Five

  Crepes and Dates

  The first rays of the morning sun were lending their light to the day as Brit climbed onto her Trek and began pedaling. As she headed north out of Bethany Beach, her view of the sunrise was blocked by the rows of houses to the east of Route One. All manner and size of beach homes had been erected over the years, from cottages that had been handed down through generations of families to multimillion-dollar dwellings housing the summer visitors from Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. She passed a gas station, empty at this early hour, and a twenty-four-hour pharmacy, which was surprisingly busy. The coffee-shop lot was filled.

  How different this place was from Brazil. She hadn’t had long to recover from her service trip before embarking on her family vacation to the beach, and it was still shocking to see the evidence of civilization around her. It didn’t last long.

  After a few miles Brit entered the Delaware Seashore State Park, and the development came to an abrupt halt. Suddenly, nothing obstructed her view of the waves of the Atlantic crashing on the shore except the grass on the dunes. Britain sucked in a breath, not from the effort of her exercise but from the sheer beauty before her. The waves shimmered as the bright rays of morning sun danced on their peaks. She was close enough to see the spray of water as the waves shattered on the beach. Under cover of darkness the ocean had delivered the treasures children would spend their morning discovering—petrified wood, seaweed, human trash, and seashells, broken and chipped and priceless to little seashell hunters.

  She hadn’t encountered much traffic at this hour on a Saturday morning, but her return trip would be more hazardous, as Route One swelled with thousands of cars filled with families heading south to Ocean City. She’d take her time on the way back, stopping at the state park to watch the fishermen and venturing across the road to the bay where she could observe the wind surfers practicing their craft.

  She didn’t usually rise this early, but she was conditioned from six weeks in South America, and lately, opening her eyes in the morning was an easier task. Since coming back home she’d discovered a love of the peace she found when the world was still asleep. It was as if she’d awakened from a coma and all the stimulation was putting her brain into shock. Even before she’d had time to adjust to the climate and the noise and the new apartment she’d rented, she’d left with her family for their annual vacation, and a day at the beach house, crammed with kids, was like a normal day on LSD. As she imagined it, anyway. She’d never actually tried the drug.

  Her family had been coming to Bethany Beach since before she was born, but since her sisters had married and had children, the small beach house had become quite crowded. She loved her family, she truly did. She wouldn’t have traded her sisters Sam and Jordan for the world. Their husbands, Mike and Mike, were tolerable. Her nephews were the lights of her life. She loved her parents. Even though they all expected her to give up her vacation for them, she didn’t mind. Sometimes, she liked the kids better than the adults. So, she’d babysit while they all went out and enjoyed a nice dinner, or had their nails painted.

  It was what was expected, and it had always been this way, and so had Britain. She was the devoted daughter, the dependable sister, the spirited aunt who was fun to be around. It had never seemed to bother her before, but now, for some reason, it did.

  Brit felt like she didn’t fit in with the family she loved so much, and this new reality troubled and saddened her. They’d always been her anchor, and now she felt like she was drifting away.

  She knew it was her and not them, yet she could do nothing to quiet the restlessness that had overcome her. So much in her life was changing. Her priorities were certainly different after spending time with people who had so very little but gave so very much. Listening to Sam whine over her car’s entertainment system malfunctioning, and Jordan’s concerns about the highlights in her hair, made Brit feel like a stranger to them. Work was scary, too. Getting hired for a full-time job was exciting but, at the same time, a little unnerving. She had absolutely no experience, but in just a couple of weeks, she’d be responsible for the education of hundreds of impressionable teens.

  Was this angst just fear that she wouldn’t be the teacher she hoped to be, unable to connect with her students? Would she handle the pressure of working every day and of being responsible for a bunch of unpredictable kids? Any one of those could have caused a nervous breakdown, she mused.

  Or was it the responsibility of living on her own that was scaring her? She’d leased an apartment and already moved in, and she was enjoying decorating it and choosing furniture. But would she remember to pay the rent and could she afford the expenses and what would she do when she ran out of milk for her cereal?

  It was all so overwhelming, and perhaps it wasn’t any one of the things she’d thought of, but the combination of all of them. All of them, and the little secret about her sexuality she was so carefully hiding. Spending time with Syl and Marianna in Brazil had thrilled her. Working so closely with two women who openly proclaimed their love was inspiring. Yet it saddened her a little, too, because she knew it would be difficult for her to enjoy that same freedom. Her family wasn’t like other people. They were the ultra-conservative, super-Catholic sect and generally viewed homosexuals in the same light as terrorists and murderers. Coming out to them wasn’t an option. On
e day, when—if—she met the right woman, she might tell them her truth. Until then, she saw no sense in causing a family crisis.

  The property line at the edge of the state park was marked by the reemergence of development along the shore. With the homes and shops came more traffic—car and bicycle and foot—as vacationers and residents began their days. Brit weaved through the congestion, taking some back roads through Dewey and into Rehoboth Beach to avoid the chaos. On Delaware Avenue she turned right, and when she reached the beach block she parked her bike and secured it. Then she traded her helmet for a baseball cap and, after stretching her trembling legs, began walking toward her destination.

  Brit loved Rehoboth Beach. The quaint shops lining the main streets had always drawn her, with their array of unusual gifts and art, beach clothing, and souvenir trinkets. The restaurants offered everything from gourmet meals with vintage wine to pizza by the slice served with fountain soda. For the past few years, she’d watched the women here, so many of them coupled, walking hand in hand, or in groups strolling the boardwalk and Rehoboth Avenue. She could spend her entire day people watching, if only she had the time, but soon her family would miss her and one of her nephews would call her cell phone asking her to toss a ball or fly a kite.

  Brit headed into Penny Lane and wasn’t surprised to see the long line gathered at Café Papillon, the tiny shop where fresh crepes were made to order. She’d been in this line every day since she’d been at the beach, and still, she never tired of the delicate French pastries. Every day she ordered a ham-and-cheese crepe, but she always chose a different type for dessert. Nutella and bananas. Nutella and bananas with nuts and whipped cream. Nutella with strawberries. Peaches and cream. The combinations were endless and each more delectable than the other, and as she stood there gazing at the handwritten menu, contemplating her options, she couldn’t help feeling like she was on a quiet Parisian street.