Spilled Coffee

by J. B. Chicoine

  Chapter 18

  Nothing in this mansion-of-a-house stirs. Even if I stand on Whispering Narrows’ doorstep until the sun goes down, no one is going to answer my knock. As I pass the sidelight, I half expect to see the reflection of my thirteen-year-old self. My facial hair brings adulthood rushing back. I started growing the beard during my first semester at college. I loved that it changed my entire look—like a disguise. It’s been years since I’ve seen my naked face. I wonder if I’ll recognize myself when I shave it tonight.

  As I step off the granite, I recall the look on Amelia’s face. All those years ago, I wasn’t sure if she hoped I would kiss her, but in retrospect, I know that’s exactly what she wanted. Even at fifteen, she was such a complex—no, complicated person. It was no wonder I never quite figured her out, and no wonder she made such a lasting impression. After that summer, I compared every girl I dated to Amelia. Until she married and there was no chance of ‘us’, ever, I couldn’t seem to commit to anyone else. And that was in spite of my suspicion that there was another reason why a relationship with Amelia was out of the question—or at least taboo.

  Even now, as I close my eyes and envision her face, the strength and depth of my yearning stirs physical discomfort. The idea of Amelia—the idea of loving that intensely—has never let go of me. As much as I loved Gretchen, I could never quite get there. Gretchen sensed it and that was part of why it didn’t work out between us.

  That familiar ache continues as I walk away from Whispering Narrows. I’ve grown weary of suppressing and ignoring what I felt for Amelia, but indulging it is pointless.

  A breeze lifts a curl from my forehead, cooling my overheating body. Off in the distance, cumulonimbus clouds gather. Big mushrooms, building and billowing. If I’m going to swim, I had better do it sooner than later.

  Before heading to my room, where I’ve laid my overnight bag, I stop at the kitchen table. The box still holds another item tucked against the inside. I pull out an old Polaroid photo, its colors faded, unlike my memory of that Friday morning before the wedding.

  With the upcoming big event of the summer, Whispering Narrows had been abuzz all week. Doc even had a special trellis built for the ceremony. The wedding would take place on Saturday. By Friday morning, a crew of workers had delivered chairs and tables, all waiting to be set up under the tent, which they had not yet erected.

  Mom had already left with Frankie for her Friday morning errand run. I was out riding my bike, pedaling about a half mile beyond Whispering Narrows. I met up with Doc’s Land Rover, and he stopped as I pulled up beside the driver window. Karen sat in the passenger seat, her eyes and nose red.

  “Some mix-up with the party tent,” Doc said. “Gotta fly downstate and pick up the missing lines and straps. You game for a quick flight?”

  With that, I followed him to his place and parked my bike. Less than a half hour later, Doc and I were at 7500 feet.

  Doc was more quiet than usual, and although he did let me take the controls for a little while, he didn’t seem to be paying close attention. After ten minutes solo, every vibration or rattle amplified and set my nerves on edge. Was I still on course? Oh God, what if I crashed us?

  “Hey, Doc?”

  His gaze seemed focused on the horizon. It took a moment for him to respond. “Yes, son?”

  “Just wanted to make sure I was doing okay. You’re being really quiet.”

  He scanned all the gauges and dials. “Nope, you’re fine.”

  Not that I minded bearing responsibility for our lives or spiraling 7000 feet to a fiery death, but I had to question the wisdom of a kid flying an airplane for that long, without a license or anything. I held my breath.

  “You want me to take over?” he asked.

  “Yeah, maybe until on the way back.”

  “Sure.” He grabbed his control yoke, making no adjustment to our bearing or altitude.

  Again, silence. I didn’t mind being the one who wasn’t talking, and I didn’t mind periods of quiet, but this was unlike Doc. He sighed a couple times, and then the lack of conversation started gnawing at me. All I could think to say was, “Are you looking forward to the wedding?”

  “Oh, sure.” He nodded and sighed.

  I didn’t know why—maybe it was my own nerves, or maybe I had been curious about it for a while—but I blurted, “So, is your son coming?”

  As soon as it slipped out, I regretted asking, especially when he stared ahead for a few seconds, blinked, and then looked at me for another long second before answering, “I don’t know.”

  My next, even more stupid question was, “Do you want him to?”

  Doc chuckled, though not like usual, and glanced at me again. “It’s understandable that you’d be curious about my son, Ben ….” He gave the inside of his cheek a good chew and then continued, “It’s complicated. It’s not that I don’t think you’re smart enough to understand, it’s just that sometimes trying to explain is … it’s pointless and doesn’t change anything. People make choices for their own reasons and they grow apart, that’s all.”

  I nodded, trying to grasp what he meant.

  He let go of a deep breath. “It’s not that Brad doesn’t have legitimate gripes—God knows we all have them—but I can’t change the past, and the choices he’s making now don’t fix any of that.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about and wished I hadn’t asked.

  He peered over at me again, his lips pursed. “Sorry. Crazy old man talking again.”

  “That’s okay—not that I think you’re crazy.”

  “Sometimes I am a little crazy, but I do know one thing and the sooner you learn it, the better. Don’t get stuck in the past. For your own sake and for the sake of others, learn to let go. Do you understand?”

  “You mean, don’t stay mad at people forever?”

  “Yes. Even if they stay mad at you.”

  “Is your son mad at you?”

  “I guess we’re both a little mad at each other. Sometimes I have trouble practicing what I preach.” After a moment of quiet, he looked over at me again. “So, let’s do our best to live in the present, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Shortly after that, we landed on a big lake, where someone met us with a large canvas bag full of the rope lines and ratchet straps for the tent. Doc tossed them back into the third passenger seat. He said it was fortunate that the wind was on our side, helping us along on the return flight. Now, the extended silences felt easy and natural.

  When we landed on Rockette Lake and moored the Cessna, and after I unhooked my seatbelt, Doc said, “Your whole family is welcome to come over for the wedding reception. Be sure to invite your mom.”

  My gaze wandered. “Yeah, sure.”

  I must have sounded a little hesitant, because he added, “Do you think it would help if I came over and invited her myself?”

  Then I responded a little too fast, “Oh, no, sir. No.”

  He looked at me askance. “Your mother doesn’t know you’ve been flying with me, does she? Or that you’ve been over fixing things, or that you came to watch TV.”

  Oh crap. Which was worse—getting caught in an almost-lie right now, or possibly getting caught in a full-out multiple-lie, later on? I bit my lip. “Not exactly sir. I got permission when Penny was in charge, and I kind of used that for everything.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s just that Mom … well, she’s … she’s kind of ….”

  The fragment of a memory, which always seemed to dissipate before it solidified, flashed again. This time it lingered just long enough for me to see them—Mom and Doc, face to face, his hands holding hers … that is, Mom yanking her hands from his. Or maybe it was Mom and Dad….

  “Never mind, Ben. I understand your mom better than you think.”

  I shook off the memory. “I’m sorry, Doc. I didn’t mean to lie. It’s just that … I don’t know … I need to be here.” I was choking up. Oh God, I couldn’t well up in front of Doc. I sta
red ahead and breathed deep.

  “I know that, son.” He gripped my shoulder. “Whaddaya say this little part of our conversation—right after I invited you to the reception—never took place.”

  “Really?”

  “One condition.” He faced me and waited until my focus landed on him. My eyes must have been watery, but I couldn’t look away. His grip tightened. “Don’t lie to me again, son.”

  I didn’t answer right away. I wanted him to know I had thought about his words before I replied, “Yes, sir.”

  As soon as Doc climbed out, I checked our beach for Mom—all was clear—and then followed Doc.

  Sunshine met us at the end of the mooring. “I’m so glad you’re back. Karen is wigging out.”

  He ducked under the wing. “Oh no. What now?”

  She swung a newfangled camera from a wrist lanyard. “Most of the tent crew had to leave.”

  Doc rolled his eyes and ran fingers through his silver hair. “Great.”

  I stood beside Doc. Sunshine gestured for us to pause. “Wait. Let me get your picture.”

  I shrank back, stepping out of the way.

  “No, Ben, you too.” She pulled me back over, planting me beside Doc.

  Doc put his arm around me and winked. “Get the plane in there, too.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. She clicked and then pulled the tab on a snapshot and handed it to me. “Wait a hundred and twenty seconds, and then peel this back.”

  I started counting as Doc grabbed the tent lines from the plane and then nudged me forward. “Come along, Ben. Looks as if we’ll need some extra hands.”

  I checked our beach for Mom. Still safe. The three of us walked up the lawn together. They had already rolled the tent out in front of the east wing. The poles lay on the ground. It was going to be huge. Dick and Ricky stood off to the side as Lenny, Sunshine, Percy, and Candace bent at each corner, while some other guy with a long pole pointed and explained what they needed to do. Doc went over to talk with him. Ricky already had his sights glued on me. Amelia was nowhere around.

  One hundred eighteen … one nineteen … a hundred and twenty … I peeled the tab slowly. A picture of Doc and me stared back. That was about the coolest thing I had ever seen. Who had figured out how to develop a photograph that fast and without a darkroom? I wished I had a camera like that, so I could take it apart and put it back together.

  Doc snagged my attention with a quick whistle and beckoned me over to between Lenny and Candace at the west end—the end that faced our camp. I tucked the photo in my back pocket.

  “Fixer-man. How’s it hanging?” Lenny’s thumb looped the front pocket of his low-slung jeans. Shirtless, the guy was all muscle. Penny was right—I did notice that stuff. I wished that when I grew up I could look like him. Nobody would mess with me.

  “Good,” I replied. “How are you?”

  He exhaled a puff of smoke with the words, “Good, man,” and flicked a cigarette butt into the grass a few feet away and snuffed it with his boot.

  On my other side, Candace winked. “Hey, Ben.” She wore her standard tie-dye, stretched to the limit, and a long denim skirt.

  There were enough of us around the tent that I hoped to blend in, given my proximity to our camp. I glanced up at the second story of Doc’s mansion. Amelia appeared in the open floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the yard. When I nodded, she gave me a shy smile and a half wave. I wasn’t the only one who noticed her, because when Doc called out, “Ricky—a little help—at the other end,” Ricky stared up at Amelia, peeled off his polo shirt, and strutted below her window, over to the pole opposite mine. I couldn’t help catching how Amelia’s eyes rolled but kept watching him. Not that my gaze followed him for the same reason, but I did notice his build—like he must have been on the football team or something.

  Lenny let out a snort under his breath. “Oh, give me a break. Who’s he trying to impress?”

  I smirked.

  It must have finally dawned on Dick that he was the only one not doing anything, because he put down his beer can and filled in a gap on the south, lakeside of the tent.

  Once all the lines were in place, we each pulled on the rope, hoisting the pole we had fed through a loop.

  “Take my rope, man,” Lenny pushed his line at me, “I’m going under.”

  “No way!”

  “Go ahead, you’re fine. Just grab it and lean all your weight back.”

  I centered myself between the two poles, leaning more toward the corner as he disappeared under the red-and-white-striped canvas. My back and arms strained.

  On the other corner, Candace grinned at me. “You’ve got quite the muscles, Ben. You kind of look like Lenny when he was your age.”

  My confidence skyrocketed like the heat that burned my cheeks. I checked on Amelia—she was still standing at her window. Had she heard Candace’s remark? As the tent lifted, Ricky glared at me from the opposite end. I guessed he hadn’t forgotten about the spilled coffee.

  Now that the center poles were in place, Lenny reclaimed his rope. The tent man walked the perimeter, double-checking the placement of each pole, and ratcheted straps. Lenny pounded stakes. As I backed away, Sunshine brought a tray of lemonade and passed me a glass.

  “How did that picture turn out, Ben?”

  I pulled it from my pocket and showed her. “Can I keep it?”

  “Of course you can, but promise that even though I’m not in it, you’ll think of Doc and me every time you see it.”

  “I promise.”

  She looked into my eyes and stroked my cheek. “You are a beautiful boy.”

  Moving along with her tray of refreshments, she left me in a full blush. Beautiful boy? I wasn’t sure what that meant. Even though beautiful or boy were the last things I wanted anyone to call me, coming from her, they sounded better than great.

  Then, Karen came from behind and grabbed my arm.

  “Oh, Ben, thank you so much for helping.” She gave me a quick hug. Over her shoulder, Amelia came into sight, stepping out of the French doors. At the moment Karen released me, I was going to go over to say hello to Amelia, but Mom’s shrill voice echoed across the cove. “Ben Hughes! You come home right this minute!”

  The heat of a few minutes ago felt like a cool breeze compared to the furnace that now exploded from my chest.

  Doc approached me and fished out his wallet. He passed me a ten. “Here, this might smooth things over with your mom if she knows I hired you to help out.”

  “I can’t take your money, Doc.”

  “Of course you can!” He grabbed my hand and pressed it in my palm.

  I couldn’t muster the dignity or words to thank him, let alone look at Amelia. I saw only Ricky’s smirk as my mother’s voice shrieked again. “Benjamin Hughes! Right now!”

  Chapter 19

  My calves burn as I walk uphill, back toward camp. I’m out of shape—that’s the problem with spending too much time sitting at a drafting table. Before I know it, I’ll need one of the prostheses I designed. Ha! Christopher would get a kick out of that—and then he would chuckle at my pathetic pun.

  I have never been as fit as when I was a kid, always on that bike. Pedaling up this hill that afternoon—after Mom’s screeching voice ordered me home—required so little effort. Maybe it was the adrenaline, turbo-boosting me uphill. As it turned out, aside from the humiliation of it, Mom catching me at Doc’s didn’t turn out to be the disaster I had imagined. Maybe it was because Mom had downed a stiff drink before I came home, or because I told her I was just trying to be neighborly, or that Doc had paid me for my time, but she didn’t have the conniption I thought she would.

  Mom could be surprising. We called it moody. Day-to-day life revolved around gauging her vicissitudes and trying to catch her on the upswing when we wanted something. That could be difficult because sometimes her moods lasted for days. Penny tried to convince me that it was as simple as Mom drinking too much, or that it was “her time of the month.”

&
nbsp; The afternoon when Mom ordered me home, providence handed me one of her good moods. The only reprimand I received was a warning—I was “not to pester that man or go over to their house uninvited.” That provided me with all the license I needed for the rest of the summer—after all, Doc had given me an open invitation. And now that I was on his payroll, it would be a whole lot easier to explain the clock when I brought it home. Even the Polaroid snapshot could be explained away should my mother come across it. As I hold it up for inspection, I think of Doc and the plane, and of course, I think of Sunshine—her cool hand on my burning cheek.

  I kind of fell in love with both Amelia and Sunshine that summer. The cousins were so different in some ways, and yet so similar. I couldn’t help looking at Sunshine and imagine Amelia at twenty-two. Sunshine, the unattainable ideal, and Amelia … well, I suppose in the end, she turned out to be just as unattainable.

  Perhaps it’s the heat of late afternoon, or the memory of them, but I’m now warm—too warm, like I need to get rid of layers.

  In the bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror staring at a face I’ve grown tired of. The beard always made me look older, and maybe I’m hoping that shaving it off will also shave off a few years, now that I’m on the verge of my thirty-second birthday. That’s not old, I know, but I feel old. Or perhaps I just feel jaded. Either way, the beard is coming off.

  I remove three straight razors from my kit and lather up. Two razors down, and moving on to my neck, I already feel lighter. I rinse my face and can’t help smiling at a glimpse of someone I used to know. Aside from a few fine lines, I look like a kid—like a beautiful boy. I blink and blink again. The face returning my gaze is no longer mine. The harder I look, the more it pleads for answers. As my own eyes water over, the image staring at me blurs. I look away. Time to change into my swim trunks and move on.

  Down at the cove, I step out of my Birkenstocks and make my way to the group of boulders, counting off each one until I stand at the launch pad. A light breeze reminds me of the storm rolling in, and that I no longer have facial hair. I stroke my smooth cheeks. As long as I don’t look at my hairy chest, it’s as if I’m thirteen again. I breathe deep and dive. When I emerge, my sights settle on Amelia’s dock beside her sandy beach. In a way, that’s where all the trouble started, though the buildup had been in the works since the day Amelia and I began our staring game at the beginning of that summer. Up until her mother’s wedding, everything was largely fantasy, fed by my big imagination. Fantasies tend to embolden a person. If the mind dwells on it, the idea is more likely acted upon, and that doesn’t go for just kissing a girl, because boys don’t fantasize about girls alone, but about being strong and brave and clever, too.