I step inside, my stomach empty. How many more of those small details will come to mind as the night progresses? Do I dare venture into my parents’ room? I give it a long stare and blink. As a kid, I rarely went into their room, so I don’t know that there’s any point to visiting it tonight. Yet the closed door draws me. Perhaps later—right now, I have a more profound, if not bittersweet memory awaiting me.
I glance at the clock, hoping for past-midnight, but it reads only 10:15. By that hour, I had already snuck out of my room that night to pick up Amelia. I recall that both Penny and I turned in early that evening.
Penny had already excused herself from the table when I came out of the bathroom, still queasy. Mom had cleared the table, piling the plates—unfinished Spam and all—in the sink, and then returned to her room as if everything were normal. Penny rushed straight to the ‘liquor cabinet’ and flung it open. The bottle remained undisturbed since we last checked. She looked at me and I shook my head. She said nothing. She simply went to her room and closed the door behind her.
I proceeded to scrape plates into the trash as if they contained something as ordinary as chicken bones and unfinished mashed potatoes or Spaghetti-Os. I then washed and dried the dishes. That would please Mom. When she came out in the morning, she would see how I had cleaned and she would be happy and back to normal. Everything was fine. I was going to see Amelia, build a small fire, maybe steal another kiss, and talk about all kinds of stuff. It was going to be the best night of my almost-fourteen-year-old life. And Mom was going to snap out of it.
After I finished destroying all evidence that anything out of the ordinary had happened at dinner, I roamed our yard, munching down a full packet of Saltines and collected kindling.
Just before ten, I passed Penny’s closed door. Her light was out. As I pushed away from the dock, I glanced at her window; her curtain shifted, as if she had been waiting and watching. Did she have sneaking-out plans of her own? I dismissed the thought—and its implication. Nothing was going to interfere with my perfect night.
Fireflies speckled the cove, reflecting on the still water. The heat felt like midday. Humidity diffused Whispering Narrows’ yard light and created a halo around each glowing firefly. It was surreal, as if I were entering a fantasy realm. It looked like, well, like fairy dust. I rolled my eyes—what kind of guy thinks about fairy dust?
Squinting, I detected movement over at the end of Amelia’s dock. When I rowed close enough, she came into full view, hugging the blanket. Tonight, she wore a sleeveless T-shirt and shorts.
“Hi,” she whispered as she boarded and then gestured toward the cove. “Look at that … like fairy dust.”
There was no getting around the description. Fireflies surrounded us, continuing to hover—yes, like fairy dust; or diamonds on black satin, or twinkling stars, or any other less-than-manly description.
I smiled, letting the boat drift for a minute, and snatched a fly from the air. It glowed through my closed palm as I held out my fist. She pried my fingers open and blew on the little creature, sending it on its way—yeah, like fairy dust. And then she kissed my palm, and I thought my heart had stopped.
After that, I had a hard time remembering how to row. As soon as we left the cove, the fireflies thinned to an occasional flicker. Now, only the few lights from the perimeter of the lake reflected on the water.
Propelling us away from Whispering Narrows, I headed straight for the island. Neither of us spoke, not even when we had cleared the Narrows, not until I tied off the boat. I climbed out first. “Hand me that bundle of kindling, okay?”
I helped her up and out. Standing in front of me, and without hesitation, she kissed me—but nothing big.
“It’s kind of hot for a fire right now,” she said, stepping back.
“Yeah, but it’s dark. We should at least get it going.”
“Okay, but then let’s go swimming. I wore my swimsuit under my clothes.”
Hoping it was her two-piece, I moved quickly. Within a minute, the twigs ignited and I laid a couple split logs over them. As I crouched by the flickering light, I heard her shorts unzip. I turned as she wiggled out of them, revealing bottoms. With her back to me, she raised her shirt overhead, exposing the swimsuit top. Her hair tumbled down her back. I swallowed hard as she slowly turned. My eyes traveled up her body and I forced them to land on her face as I stood.
“Your turn,” she said.
I had difficulty catching my breath. By the time I pulled my T-shirt up and over, she had already moved past me to the water’s edge.
She turned halfway around. “Is it okay to dive here?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty deep, but dive shallow, just in case.”
With that, she sprung into the water, cutting through the dark. This time, I had the good sense to take my watch off before diving in, and stuck it in my shoe. Quick as I could, I followed as Amelia swam a wide loop.
“The water is so warm,” she said. “I love it like this.”
I caught up. “Yeah, me too—until I hit a pocket of cold.”
She swam on her back. I was enjoying that view when she pointed to the sky. “Look! It’s cleared off.”
I treaded water and took in the view. The humidity had dissolved into a smear of stars overhead. With no moon to outshine them, each star came into focus and sparkled. All sounds of the lake ceased in that moment. We glanced at each other. Her eyes twinkled. “Wow.”
The water around us mirrored the black sky. She sighed. “Doesn’t it make you feel really small … and insignificant?”
I chuckled—at both the notion and at the ‘older’ words she used—insignificant. “It doesn’t take a million stars to make me feel that way.”
“You shouldn’t feel like that, Benjamin. You are one of the best people I know.”
I couldn’t think of a response. I wanted to thank her but that seemed too insignificant. She swam closer, near enough to study my face. Was she memorizing mine the way I was hers?
She asked, “Do you think it’s possible for kids to fall in love?”
“I don’t know.”
“Romeo and Juliet did, and they were practically kids—he was sixteen and she was only thirteen.”
“Yeah, but they were made-up people.”
“But don’t you ever wonder about falling in love?”
“You mean falling in love? Or—you know—” I was going to say doing it, but that sounded so immature.
“You mean sex?”
My face heated as I nodded. “Sure I think about all that. A lot.”
“I think I’m going to wait until I get married—like Sunshine.”
“You mean she and Lenny don’t—you know—”
“No. She’s kind of old fashioned, but I think I might be, too.”
I hadn’t ever thought about if I was old fashioned or not. I just figured that when the right girl and the right time came along, we would just do it. As much as I fantasized about sex, I guess Amelia had given it a whole lot more consideration than I had. As we treaded water, she kept staring. I wondered if she had ever thought about me and her—together.
“So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” she asked, squashing my fantasy.
I nodded. “I used to think I wanted to be an astronaut.”
“What about now?”
“I’m not sure, but I think I want to design stuff.”
“Like an architect?”
“No. More like an inventor.”
“You’d be good at that.” She swam a circle around me.
I rotated with her. “What about you?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I want to write books, or be an artist, or travel all over the world—like a stewardess. Maybe even learn to fly or … I don’t know ….”
“How about playing the piano in an orchestra?”
She shrugged, beginning a second loop. “I don’t like it enough.”
“Are you going to college?”
“Oh, sure. Doc will see to that. N
ot that I don’t want to, it’s just that it seems kind of crazy to me.”
“What—going to college?”
“No—that grown-ups expect us to figure out what we want to do with the rest of our life when we’re only seventeen or eighteen, but they think we’re crazy if we fall in love. It seems that if you’re old enough for one, you should be old enough for the other.”
“Yeah, but you can’t change who you’re married to—that’s for life. People change their jobs all the time.”
“Maybe. But lots of people get divorced these days.”
“Not me. I won’t marry someone unless it’s forever.”
“How will you know when you’ve met the right person?”
I shrugged. “I’ll just know.”
Right then, she let out a little yelp and it echoed across the water as she lunged toward me.
“I think something bit my toe.” Now, she was clinging to me.
“Well, there are snappers in this lake.”
“What!”
“You know, those biting turtles.”
She pushed away from me and left a wake as she made for the island. That gave me the heebie-jeebies and I swam quick as I could, back to safety.
She kicked water at me. “Why didn’t you tell me there’s snapping turtles?”
“I don’t know.” I laughed as I hoisted myself out. “I’ve been swimming in the lake for years, and they’ve never bothered me.”
She shivered. The glow of the fire drew us closer to the heat. As we stood, side by side, she turned to face me, her hands flat against my chest. Could there be a more intense feeling than what surged through me at that moment before I kissed her? This time, her tongue found mine; neither of us pulled away. I’m not sure how long we kissed, but my knees weakened. I led her over to the log bench. We sat and kissed some more. It was hard to control myself, to keep my hands from wandering. She had made such a big deal about liking her for more than just her boobs that I didn’t dare touch them, but she didn’t seem to have any qualms about feeling every inch of my body above my shorts—not that I minded, but it was making me crazy. I could hardly breathe. This time, I pulled back.
We stared at each other while I caught my breath. I held her hand. “I wish this summer wouldn’t end.”
“Me too. But we could write to each other. And there will be next summer.”
I nodded. I hated to think about how many months away that was. But we could write. Even though I hated writing letters, now I would be writing to Christopher and Amelia. It made me sad to think of this summer ending.
The fire had died down and a breeze picked up. I shivered.
Amelia grabbed her shirt and slipped into it. “Wow, it really cooled off fast, didn’t it?”
I grabbed my shirt, too. “No kidding. I wonder if there’s a storm coming in. That usually happens when there’s a big change in temperature.”
“I don’t hear any thunder.”
“Yet—”
Sure enough, a few seconds later the sky flashed. We both counted off together, “One-1000, two-1000, three-1000, four-1000 ….” We didn’t hear any thunder, which meant it was still miles and miles away.
“Maybe we should head back,” she said, pulling her shorts up.
I held my watch toward the few glowing embers. “Well, it is almost midnight. Let’s get in the boat and just row around for a little while, until the thunder gets closer.”
I covered the fire pit with sand and then helped Amelia into the boat. I passed her the blanket and boarded.
She spread the blanket over our legs and nudged my foot with hers. “So, when’s your birthday, anyway?”
“September first.” I rowed around the island.
“Will you still be here?”
“As far as I know. We usually stay until Labor Day weekend.”
“I’ll have to give you something special.”
“More special than tonight?”
“Maybe.”
I wasn’t sure what kind of special she had in mind, but there was a whole lot of special between making out and the ultimate special.
Peepers sang to us from across the lake and I headed toward the east end, out by the beach. All around us, fireflies danced. Again, lightning flashed, but more than ten seconds passed before the next round of thunder. Even still, it rolled across the lake, mingling with the chorus as bullfrogs joined in.
“I love that sound,” Amelia whispered.
“What—the frogs?”
She nodded.
“Me too.” The boat drifted closer to where the beach came into view. “If you listen real close, you can hear the sound of the Picnic Ghost. Wooohoooooo ….”
She giggled. “Stop it! You’re not scaring me.”
“WoooHooooooo ….”
“Stop!”
“Okay,” I chuckled.
She turned serious. “No, listen … did you hear that?”
“What?”
She gripped my knee. “Listen ….”
I rowed closer to shore. “Yeah … I hear it ….” It sounded like a cry, but muffled. Then it stopped. “What is that?”
“It sounds like ….”
At that moment, I looked over toward the beach where one light on a tall pole lit the parking lot. Beside the picnic area, I spotted a lone car. The Mercedes.
Chapter 32
Midnight. The clock on the counter gongs twelve ominous times, like in Saturday night Creature Features. Irony does not disappoint—on the twelfth strike, a flash of lightning punctuates the hour with a near-simultaneous crack of thunder. I’m too tired to be startle. I wish the previous owner had left a recliner or comfortable chair I can collapse into. I’m not ready to unroll my sleeping bag, but my body aches, threatening to give out.
Instead of sitting, I pace, shoving my fists into my pockets. Time to check the time. I pull the watch from my vest, but rather than flip the front cover, I pry open the back and rub the inscription.
I’ve been in possession of this watch for a few weeks and haven’t learned all of its quirks yet, but already it feels as if I’ve owned it for years. Time is such a relative thing, moving fast or slow, contingent on so many factors. In one second, it’s moving as if in slow motion—a sleight of time that exaggerates every detail; you need to move fast but your body mass can’t catch up with what’s speeding around you. And in the next second, you’re the blur, whirring past everything like a screaming rocket.
That mid-August night—those pivotal moments probably lasting all of eighteen minutes—protracted through eighteen years, suspended in time, waiting for me finally to catch up. I can’t stop the memory of it any more than I could have stayed the events of those final thirty-six hours. Adrenaline courses through me, even as it did when I spotted the Mercedes in the parking lot.
In less time than it took to shift the boat’s direction with a flip of my oar, the worst-case scenario flashed through my mind. Ricky. Penny.
The only sounds I heard were my oars thrashing the water and my own pounding chest. Amelia said something indistinguishable, which pushed me harder, closing the short distance between the shore and us—between me and unleashing my rage on Ricky.
Amelia leaned forward in her seat, squinting. “I see them.” She scrambled to the edge of the boat, still seconds away from land. “He’s on top of her.”
I twisted in my seat, straining to see through the thick of dark under the approaching trees that twisted with a sudden gust. Not until I detected movement below the boughs did I pinpoint the bodies on the ground, a few feet from the water.
I ran aground on a patch of gravel. I didn’t have time to think. Bare legs flailed beneath Ricky. I yanked an oar from the oarlock, and in those few seconds as I lunged forward, raising it overhead, I saw Penny’s arms restrained at her shoulders as she struggled against his mouth on hers. In the moment that I shouted, she cried out as he turned his face and my oar met the back of his head simultaneously with a flash of lightning.
He roll
ed off her in one direction and she rolled in the other, her skirt up to her waist. Ricky moaned, sitting up as I tossed the oar aside. My fist landed on his face as I climbed on him, straddling his body. I planted another punch—coinciding with a boom of thunder—before he grabbed hold of my arm and twisted me to the ground with a thud. His knuckle hit my cheek as I struggled under his full weight, half-shielding myself, and half-swinging back. Before he could land his fist again, I heard a crack and he tumbled off me. Amelia stood over us with the oar, ready to strike again.
I leapt to my feet, dizzy and disoriented, looking for Penny through a sudden downpour, a blanket of dark. Amelia yanked me toward the lake, where my sister was already climbing in the boat. I flew to Penny’s side. Behind me, Ricky cussed just once before I heard another crack and a thump. Amelia joined us, and then the two girls clamored into the boat together as I shoved us into deeper water. I then jumped inside, dropping to my seat. Amelia passed me the oar. It settled in the lock, seemingly of its own volition and I pulled with all my remaining strength.
By the time Ricky stumbled into view beneath the overhanging trees, I had rowed several boat-lengths away as he fell to his knees. His vague outline dissolved into the murk of shadows.
With each thrust of my oar, water sloshed inside and outside the boat. Penny buried her face in her gauzy skirt, the torn fabric of her blouse leaving her shoulder bare. She shivered and sobbed. Behind me at the bow, Amelia panted and passed the blanket forward.
I quit rowing and spread the blanket over my sister’s half-bare back, pressing my forehead against her tangles of wet hair. “You’re safe. It’s okay. I’m here.”
As I settled in my seat, her eyes rose to meet mine as her sobbing slowed to a whimper.
“Did he—did he hurt you?” It was the stupidest question I had ever asked.
She lifted her face. Even in the dark, her cheeks and mouth and chin were bright red, and her lip was split.
Spilled Coffee Page 24