“Oh—for goodness sakes—there it was the whole time,” she said, waving a ten-dollar bill. “I thought I’d lost my money or my mind. What a relief.”
Frankie kept chewing as if he hadn’t heard Mom, which convinced me he had swiped it from her in the first place. It was bad enough that he had been so bold as to lift a whole ten and not just pocket change, but he showed no remorse or embarrassment—his cheeks didn’t even turn as red as his chapped upper lip. And Penny was oblivious to it all as she filled her mouth, staring off into space, probably fantasizing about Percy Wade.
By 9:30, Mom was snoring and so was Frankie. The full moon shone through our window like a streetlight. I slipped into the hall where a bead of light came from under Penny’s door. I stepped extra careful so she wouldn’t hear. Not that she would snitch, but I didn’t want to share this with her. Simple as that.
It was weird—in little more than a week, Penny and I had gone from being accomplices to having our own secrets. I didn’t worry too much about her smoking weed any more than if it had been regular cigarettes. The idea of filling my lungs with smoke didn’t appeal to me at all, and after thinking about Mom’s drinking, and how bad alcohol had made Amelia feel, I wasn’t curious about that, either. Perhaps that was the difference between being almost fourteen and being sixteen-and-a-half. No, it wasn’t the smoking that bothered me, but rather, whom she was smoking with, or why she was smoking in the first place. At school, she had always been popular without smoking or dressing trashy, so I didn’t understand why she felt the need to do it now. Maybe she wanted to fit in with an older, looser crowd. I didn’t know a whole lot about free love, but I had a couple friends with older brothers, and I had heard the way they talked about girls—about the boy-crazy kind that would do it. I cringed to think of my sister being that kind of girl. But then again, she was smart, and she had told me she wanted to wait. She wouldn’t do anything stupid.
Chapter 24
My butt is numb from sitting. As I stand and stretch my back, the evening breeze picks up. Stroking my naked cheek, I’m glad I shaved, even if it does leave me exposed. In the dimming light, the island and thickening clouds reflect on the lake. I wish the boat were in better condition—I could row out to the island and look for remnants of our first date there, or the next. I would close my eyes and replay everything that happened.
Although the content of my fantasies about Amelia have changed over the years, many details remain the same—as long as I filter the bitter from the sweet. Of course, none of the bitter was her fault, it was only circumstances as they unfolded, things we had no control over. But prior to our first date, and even the second, there was nothing to taint my imagination. It was pure indulgent fantasy at its best because it was based on something I perceived as reality.
“I’m not late, am I?” I whispered to Amelia. She had been standing at the end of her dock, waiting as I rowed to meet her.
She shook her head as she tossed a blanket at me and eased into the boat, her bare feet meeting the floorboards without a sound.
I rowed through the Narrows and nodded back toward her house. “Which window is Doc’s?”
She pointed to one that overlooked the lake. I weighed stealth against speed. The last thing I wanted was for Doc to catch me sneaking off—speeding off—with his granddaughter. Not that this was a breach of trust, and if he later asked me about it I would fess up, but I didn’t want him to think I was the sort who would ever try to corrupt Amelia. I opted for stealth and slowed, doing my best to keep the splashing to a minimum and the oar from creaking against the lock.
“I thought it might get chilly,” she whispered, hugging the blanket against her sweatshirt, “—you know, on account of the clear skies.”
“Good idea.” I was glad I had also brought my jacket.
“It’s so still tonight … sounds carry.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I know.”
“We could always hang out on the island—I’ve seen you go out there.”
“You have?”
She nodded.
We didn’t talk the rest of the way over. We were storing up for the privacy of the island. The moon behind the treetops cast a shadow over where I usually moored. I tied off the boat and kept us steady as Amelia climbed out.
“Too bad we couldn’t make a fire,” she said, inspecting the charred remains and ashes from my last visit to the island.
“Who says we can’t?” I held up matches.
She looked around and began collecting kindling, while I pulled out my mini flashlight and scavenged for a few larger sticks in the wooded brush. When I returned, Amelia crouched over some dried leaves, pine needles, and twigs, arranging them in the small stone-encircled firepit. She then sat on the nearby log, smoothing the still-folded blanket on her lap.
I deposited my scant bundle in front of her and fished the radio out of my jacket pocket. “Do you wanna listen to some music?”
“Sure.”
I tossed her the radio and inspected her pile of tinder.
“You did a good job,” I said as she scrolled through stations. She zipped past and then returned to “California Dreaming,” lowering the volume. With the strike of a match, the pine needles caught fire and crackled. Perfect.
She set the radio on the ground and looked up at me with anticipation. “Are you going to sit?”
“Sure.” I tried to gauge how close was too close, but the short log didn’t provide a whole lot of leeway. My bare arm brushed hers as I sat.
We gazed at the fire. Her head bobbed to the music’s beat. My toes tapped in my sneaker. I sucked in a long breath and exhaled. “This is kind of weird.”
“Actually, I was thinking it’s kind of nice.”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s really nice, but kind of weird too. I’ve never actually hung out with a girl—I mean except for Penny.”
“It must be nice to have someone to hang out with.”
“It’s nice most of the time.”
“I always wished I had a brother or sister. But that was pretty much impossible, because I don’t have a—you know, ’cause my mom wasn’t married, and now it’s kind of late for her to give me a brother or sister. Besides, I don’t feel like being a babysitter—and now that I have a brother, I’m stuck with Ricky.”
“So, do you ever get to hang out with your dad?”
She hesitated, shaking her head, and then looked at me. “I’ve never met him.”
“Is he dead or something?”
“I don’t know. My mom won’t tell me anything about him. I don’t think she knows where he is. Or if he even knows I exist.”
“Oh.” I then understood why she hadn’t wanted to talk about her father the other night. I added another stick to the fire and poked at it with a long twig. Cream’s song, “Crossroads” played. “Well, sometimes knowing your father isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either.”
“Yeah, but if you didn’t know him, you’d want to.”
“Sure I would.” I looked her in the face. “I bet your dad has curly red hair, bright blue eyes, and a dimple on his left cheek.”
She smiled. “That’s what I think. It’s funny, because whenever I’m in a crowd and I see a man with red hair, I always look to see if he has just one dimple. Sunshine says it’s my best feature.”
“It’s pretty cute, but it’s not your best feature. It would be pretty hard to pick out the best feature on you.”
She smirked, making her dimple really stand out. “Stop it.”
I grinned. “Am I embarrassing you?”
She blushed and unfolded the blanket, spreading it over our laps, even though I didn’t feel the least bit cold. We continued staring at the fire until her leg bumped mine, drawing my eyes to hers. That look came over her. Now I couldn’t turn away. I studied her moonlit face as she gazed into my eyes and moved closer. Her lips brushed mine. It wasn’t a kiss to begin with, just our lips touching, but my heart beat so fast it became too hot beneath the blanket. It didn�
��t take long for our touching lips to turn into a real kiss. She tasted so sweet, not like sugar, but like cool water when you’re really thirsty. As soon as I felt her tongue, she pulled back.
I could hardly catch my breath.
She stared at the fire, smiling. “I never kissed a boy before.”
I shot her a glance.
“I know what you’re thinking, but Ricky doesn’t count.” She hugged her knees.
“You should forget it happened, then.”
“Okay, but you might have to kiss me again.” She straightened up and waited for me to lean in. I kissed her. Again, I tasted her tongue and she backed off, smiling. “You kiss really good. I bet you’ve kissed a lot of girls.”
I shrugged. “I kissed Robynne Flynn in third grade. She said she’d give me a fat lip if I didn’t—I mean, I’d have been stupid not to. She actually kissed pretty good. Then, in fourth grade, I tried to kiss her again and she did give me a fat lip. I figured I probably wasn’t any good at it, so I never tried to kiss another girl.”
Amelia giggled. “Is she still in your school?”
“Yeah. She kisses lots of guys, though. Not my type.”
“I wish we were in the same school.”
“You wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with a ninth-grader?”
“Normally, I guess so, but not with you—I wouldn’t be embarrassed at all.”
I looked at her askance. “How come all these years that we’ve been coming up here, you pretty much ignored me?”
“Because you were always staring. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be stared at—especially after I got these?” She glanced down at her chest.
Now my cheeks heated. “Sorry about that. It’s just that—well, in my defense, you did wear those two-piece bathing suits.”
“Yeah well, if a girl can’t wear what she wants on her own private beach—sheesh.”
“Okay, it was rude. I am sorry. But you made it really hard not to stare, even if you didn’t have—” I pointed “—those. Don’t you realize how pretty you were, even when you were a lot littler? And yes, I know you’re more than that, but I never had a chance to find out about the rest of you.”
She stared at me and smiled. “Okay, I have a question for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you always call me Amelia instead of Amy?”
I studied her whole face. “You look like an Amelia.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s kind of like the way ‘Amelia’ feels when I say it, like there’s something to it. Amy is just, well, it sounds flat.” Her eyes grew wide and I realized I had just said flat after talking about her chest. I rebounded. “Not like that. I mean, Amy sounds silly compared to Amelia. Amelia has character.”
She cocked her brow.
I continued my bailout. “It’s like the difference between oyster crackers and an ice cream sundae. Or peanut butter and jelly, and a lobster dinner. Or sardines and ….”
“Oyster crackers?” She giggled. “I guess it’s just like the difference between Ben and Benjamin. Benjamin has substance. It suits you.”
Nothing sounded better than her saying my name. “I really like you, Amelia Burns.”
“I really like you, Benjamin Hughes.”
With those words lingering in the embers and sparks swirling up into the trees, we stared at the fire for a long time, holding hands under the blanket. We didn’t kiss again that night, not even when I dropped her off at her dock, a little past midnight. I didn’t want to take a chance on Doc catching us. As hard as it would be, what we shared on the island would have to last ten days while she was away.
Chapter 25
It’s time to pull out of fantasy world and move on with my evening. Again, I’ll take the roundabout route up to the cottage. As I climb the rickety old stairway, I give the handrail a good shake to see just how bad off it is. That was a mistake. With a creak and a groan, the long stretch of railing falls over. It crashes and folds, its spindles splayed like bicycle-wheel spokes. I step more carefully, more reverentially, lest I further anger the god of loose nails.
At the top of the stairway, I veer toward the old lean-to, lured by a memory of wheel spokes. Perhaps my stingray is still where I left it.
I’m surprised this old shed hasn’t folded in on itself. It tilts worse than forty-five degrees toward the property line. Parting vines of overgrowth, I peer into a tunnel of greenery, old boards, and broken storm windows leaning against my bike. What a sad old relic, its spokes and rim as mangled as the stair railing. Oh well. There’s no fixing some things. With a sigh, I turn and head for the cottage. Supper awaits.
Standing at the kitchen sideboard, I set aside the Marshmallow Fluff and assemble the Wonder bread and canned Spam on the counter beside the clock. Its tick has an even tempo and appears to be keeping good time. Only 6:06. This is going to be a long night. If only I had brought a more substantial supper. And Marshmallow Fluff? What was I thinking? Sentimental sap! I would have been better off with a fifth of something.
I don’t mean that, not really. As tempting as it might have been during several episodes of my life, I have never resorted to alcohol or drugs—except that one time in high school. I’m not sure how much I drank, and maybe it was the combination of cheap beer and blackberry brandy, but I have never been so sick. As for pot, I had no desire to try it. I don’t like feeling out of control, of not having all my wits. Situations come up when you least expect, and alcohol puts you in a vulnerable position if you’re caught off guard. And I’ll never forget that hangover. Just the thought of it makes my stomach queasy—or perhaps it’s hunger. Time to fill my belly.
I inspect the can of Spam, wishing it were salad or antipasto. I think I’ve become a food snob over the years. I liked Spam as a kid—a comfort food—but at this moment, it isn’t all that appetizing. I guess it’s too late to take my upset stomach into consideration.
I dig around in the bag. No knife, just a spoon. Dora must have been too flustered. I could forgo the Spam, but even if I opt for Marshmallow Fluff, I still need a knife. I pull one under-the-counter drawer and then another. A few utensils clank forward. Butter knives lie among a few bent forks, a rusty spatula, and some stained sugar packets. A piece of faded red paper catches my eye. Carnival tickets. The highlight of our summers. I unfold it, flipping it over. A series of handwritten, repeating numbers fills the back—that, and the words, Finnegan’s Favor. So much for that happy little memento. I begin to tear it up, but no, I’ll add it to the table and dwell on a happier memory—even if it did end poorly.
The distinct buzz of Sunshine’s Jaguar carried across the lake sometime around midmorning. I waited a few minutes, so I wouldn’t appear too eager for Amelia’s return from Monhegan Island, and then hopped on my bike. I arrived in their driveway just in time to catch Amelia yanking a small suitcase from the Jag’s trunk.
She smiled over her shoulder as I pulled my bicycle up beside her. “I could help you carry your stuff, if you want.”
“Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I’m not strong enough to carry my own stuff, you know.”
I guessed I had said something wrong. “I know. I was just trying to be nice.”
“You don’t have to try that hard, Benjamin. I already think you’re nice.”
The sight of her dimple reassured me. “You sure packed light.”
“Well, it wasn’t some big fancy vacation. It was more like camping.” She grabbed the handle of a flat wooden box, tucked it under her arm, and then reached for a small canvas bag.
“You may have muscles, but you don’t have three hands.” In one quick move, I dismounted, laid my bike on the grass, and snatched the suitcase from her grasp. She gave it up with a smile.
“Shut the trunk for me?” She stood close, a glint in her eye.
“Sure.” At that second, I thought I might kiss her, but then she turned.
“Follow me.”
As we approached the granite steps, the
front door flew open and Sunshine walked out. “Hello, Ben.”
“How was your trip?” I said, swatting a mosquito as we continued through the door.
“It was a gas!”
“Far out,” I said and Amelia gave me a one-raised-brow look.
I shrugged. “What!”
Amelia shook her head and continued on to the staircase landing. It then dawned on me that I was going to be following her up to her bedroom. I glanced around the foyer as if we were sneaking and should be on the lookout for someone—maybe Doc. And what would I do if Doc was to appear? I didn’t have to wonder for long. By the time we climbed halfway up the stairs, he came through the great room doorway and shot us a look.
“Hello, Ben. Helping out are we?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s fine, but Amelia, you keep your door wide open.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Grandpa.”
He walked out through the service entrance—through the door where he had led me the first time I was there. He didn’t appear to have any qualms about me hanging around his granddaughter, which was great, but then the responsibility of it hit me. The last time I had gone flying with him, he and I had entered an honesty pact. If he was ever to ask about stuff between Amelia and me, I couldn’t lie.
As Amelia’s cute butt wiggled up the stairs, I had a hard time focusing on it—well, for a few seconds, anyway. When she opened her door wide, we entered a room ten times the size of my room at home.
“Where do you want this?” I said, glancing all around.
“On the bed.”
I laid the wooden box on her blue and white bedspread—not lacey, but very girlish. The space wasn’t as fancy as I had pictured, but she did have a small radio and record player with a large collection of 45s. I had also imagined a lot of pink and a bunch of stuffed animals, but only a worn-out bunny lay on her pillow and not a stitch of pink anywhere. “I like your room.”
Spilled Coffee Page 19