“What a jerk!” Kelsey said, helping herself to another slice. “Do you think we could get it back? It seems kind of tragic to waste good zucchini bread on ungrateful neighbors.”
Melanie laughed, which was a good thing because Kelsey knew her sister wasn’t going to like the next thing she said. She wanted to hop into the closet and her mom’s past for an hour or two before they had to leave for the beach party. Kelsey could only imagine what was going on just on the other side of the tapestry right then. Were Mom and Vinnie really romantically involved, as Melanie claims? Is Mom still in high school, or have her teenage years zipped by as I worked this past week? But even more intense than her curiosity about her mom’s life before kids was her longing simply to see her mom—to hear her voice and be in her presence again.
IT WAS LATE MORNING in Kelsey’s world but nighttime in her mom’s. As she crept out of the closet into the dark bedroom, careful not to trip over anything, she wondered if everyone was sleeping. She was going to be irked if one of her only chances to see her mom was wasted on the wee hours of the morning when nothing was happening. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. The bed was empty. That was good. The window was open, and a gentle lake breeze was fluttering the curtains.
Kelsey could hear the low murmur of voices outside. She peered out the window and saw the orange flames of a bonfire in the Fletchers’ backyard. The fire reflected off the inky lake, making two twin blazes that seemed to blur toward one another. Several silhouettes congregated around the bonfire, and Kelsey just knew that her mom would be one of them. She hurried to join the group.
“Where did Bruce go?” a boy asked.
“He snuck off with Mary Ann,” a girl said. “They’ve been gone for a while now,” she added meaningfully, setting off a round of laughter.
“I heard he’s got some primo weed,” another boy said, and Kelsey was amused to see it was her uncle Bob. He looked incredibly out of place at the “cool kids” bonfire, with his knobby knees, bowl haircut, and huge seventies glasses. She suspected he’d only gotten an invite because they were neighbors. Or maybe Christine had had something to do with it.
“Don’t be stupid, Bobby,” someone with a familiar voice snapped from across the circle of lawn chairs. The fire flickered and illuminated Vinnie. Her long hair had been cut into a pageboy bob since Kelsey had last seen her, but it somehow made her face even prettier. “You can’t smoke it here. My parents’ window is right over there, and they’ll smell it.” Her tone softened a little, as if she were placating a small child. “When Bruce gets back, you can go down to the boathouse.”
Kelsey tried to make out the other faces in the circle. Feather-haired Lance was sitting next to Vinnie, and on his other side was an apple-cheeked blond girl Kelsey didn’t recognize. Next to the blonde was her mom, wearing a white peasant blouse with her flat midriff exposed. She turned to look at the person next to Christine.
Holy crap! Is that Dad? Her teenage father was tall and broad shouldered and had a lot of thick brown hair—not a dreamboat like Lance but somehow both wholesome and powerful looking, like he might need to step into a phone booth and morph into Superman at any moment. He was wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt and what her mom would have called “slacks,” which made him look a little older and more important than the other teens around the fire. Probably because he was, Kelsey remembered. He had been twenty, two years older than her mom, when they first met.
“Christine said you’re going to be a sophomore at UW-Madison,” the blond girl said, turning toward him. “What are you studying?”
“Prelaw,” her dad said. Even the way he was holding his bottle of beer made him look more mature. “I want to practice environmental law. Specifically protecting the wetlands.”
Ha, Kelsey thought. No wonder her Rachel Carson–idolizing mom had fallen for him. She suddenly remembered a photo she’d seen of them together at an antinuclear power protest at the capitol square. But her dad had hastily parted with his ideals midway through law school in favor of corporate law, which, coincidentally, made a lot more money.
“Righteous,” the blonde breathed, appropriately impressed. “That’s where you’re going in the fall, too, right, Christine? I wish my dad weren’t so set on sending me to Concordia.”
Kelsey was transfixed by her parents. They were so young—younger than her, even—and in the first bloom of love. They reminded her a little of Melanie and Ben, how whenever they sat side by side, they always found a way to subtly touch each other. Kelsey aspired to that kind of nauseatingly sweet love one day. Her mom’s elbow was draped on her dad’s thigh, and he was absentmindedly playing with her curls.
Oh, why isn’t Melanie here to see this? So maybe their mom and Vinnie had kissed. Maybe they had even had a romantic relationship. But that had been before their mom had met their dad, the person she was meant to spend her life with. And now that they had met, things were clicking along rapidly, like pieces fitting into an already half-finished puzzle. Kelsey lowered herself into one of the vacant lawn chairs. She had the satisfied feeling of rereading one of her favorite novels, recognizing the important plot points that would lead to the inevitable conclusion.
“I can’t believe Mr. and Mrs. Prim and Proper are letting him stay,” Vinnie said to no one in particular. She had wiggled herself into Lance’s lap, and his stunned expression revealed that he couldn’t believe the turn of events. They looked good together, Kelsey thought, like a Hollywood power couple. Lance wrapped his arms around Vinnie’s waist, another piece of the puzzle snapping into place.
“I’m bunking with Bobby for the week,” her dad clarified, as if worried Christine’s reputation was at stake.
Vinnie whispered something to Lance that Kelsey couldn’t hear. He laughed and touched her cheek.
“When Mary Ann’s boyfriend came from New York last month, her parents made him stay in the guest house,” the blonde volunteered. “Lot of good that did, though.”
“Why don’t you mind your own potatoes, Patricia?” A curvy brunette, presumably Mary Ann, retorted as she and Bruce rejoined the group, holding hands. Kelsey had to jump up from her chair to avoid being sat on by the girl.
“Yeah, Patricia,” Bruce said, a swagger in his step. He dropped Mary Ann’s hand and peered into the cooler. “Who drank all the Schlitz?”
“There’s more in the basement,” Vinnie said. “I’ll go get some.” She untangled herself from Lance and flirtatiously pushed him back down when he attempted to follow her. I’ll be right back, she mouthed.
“I’ll help you,” Christine said, standing up too. It was the first time she had spoken since Kelsey arrived. Vinnie didn’t acknowledge that she had heard her friend. She was halfway across the lawn to the red-roofed house by the time Christine had squeezed Charlie’s hand and set off after her.
Kelsey lingered undecidedly behind Mary Ann’s chair. Melanie’s words reverberated through her head. “An invasion of Mom’s privacy... like snooping in her diary but even more intrusive. I mean, would you want someone digging around in your teenage years without your permission?” She watched Christine get smaller and smaller. Soon her mom would disappear into the house behind Vinnie. Kelsey looked back at the gray-and-white Victorian, imagining simply going back through the portal.
But it was what she had gone there to find out—the extent of her mom’s relationship with Vinnie. And if she left, if she didn’t tail them, she might never put her suspicion to rest. But if she headed down to the Birdwells’ basement and watched them chatting with each other and carrying beer, she could go back to Melanie and confidently tell her that she had been wrong, that Vinnie had been only a blip on the radar, and that their parents had fallen in love and everything was back on course.
Kelsey sprinted after her mom. Christine was paused on the front porch, her hand frozen on the doorknob, almost like she was waiting for her daughter to catch up with her.
Kelsey was meant to be there. She felt the conviction deep in her gut. Ou
t of the countless moments she could have stumbled in on—her mom sleeping, her mom reading a book on the porch, the family playing Parcheesi or eating a meal—she had been transported into that one, the first week her dad had come to Lake Indigo, when a bonfire where all the key players in the love quadrangle were present. It seemed too significant to be a mere coincidence.
Her mom let out a deep breath and opened the door. Kelsey crept behind her into the silent, sleeping house.
Chapter Thirteen
“Real mature, Vinnie.” Christine stood with her arms folded across her bare midriff. “Do you even like him, or are you just trying to get back at me?”
Vinnie glanced up from her crouched position in front of the open fridge. “Who? Fletch? He’s a hunk. Anyone with eyes can see that. And the last time I checked, you were unavailable.” She continued sorting through the cans of Tab and Pepsi. It appeared the beer was hidden in the back.
“You used to call him The Pretty Boy. You said he has no personality. You compared him to plankton.”
Vinnie looked up with a smirk. “Did I?” She grabbed a couple of cans of Schlitz and Pabst Blue Ribbon and set them on the concrete floor. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Christine. People change. I change. You change. Maybe even Pretty Boy Fletcher can change.”
It was an unfinished basement, and Kelsey felt chilled in her T-shirt and shorts. She was sure, in their skimpy outfits and bare feet, the girls were even colder. Across from the fridge were a vintage brown-floral couch with a wood frame, a round rag rug, and a few shelves of board games. It looked like the ideal hangout for teenagers, the perfect place to smoke pot and make out.
Christine watched Vinnie without comment, her fists balled up at her sides. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” she said at last. “Bringing him here wasn’t my idea.”
Vinnie tossed a disinterested look over her shoulder.
“I just wanted you to know that I’m not deliberately... parading him in front of you. My parents asked him to be our guest. My dad loves him more than me and Bobby combined, I think.”
A deep and turbulent current was flowing just beneath the surface of their words, an unspoken shared past. Kelsey curled herself up on the bottom step. It somehow felt less like blatant spying that way and more like watching the events of a drive-in movie unfold—or so she tried to convince herself.
“Of course Jack loves him,” Vinnie said. “He couldn’t have custom ordered a better future son-in-law—polite, prelaw, and Protestant. The question is...” She closed the refrigerator door with a metallic click. “Do you?”
“Here, let me help you.” Christine took a few steps toward Vinnie and bent down to cradle the beer cans in her arms. “They’re going to be wondering where we are.”
“I don’t care. I asked you a question, Christine.”
Christine bit her lip and tilted her head. “And I told you I didn’t want to hurt you.”
They stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time, so long that Kelsey had to lower her eyes. “I just don’t think I can go inside the time portal in good conscience anymore,” Melanie had told her. Kelsey had thought Melanie was being melodramatic at the time, but now she had to admit that Melanie kind of had a point. Watching her mom in this private moment with her first love made Kelsey feel confused and abandoned and misled and heartsick all at once. She knew she should probably climb back up the stairs and go, but she needed to hear what her mom had to say about her dad first. She wanted her to defend him, to list off all the reasons she had fallen in love with him, to use his name at the very least.
“He can’t know you better than I know you,” Vinnie said softly. Her almond-shaped eyes were glistening.
“Maybe not yet,” Christine conceded. “But Charlie and I haven’t known each other as long.”
“He’ll never know the real you. Not like I do.”
Christine laughed mirthlessly. The first hint of frown lines appeared on her otherwise-smooth cheeks. “How can you say that, Vin? I don’t even know the real me.”
Vinnie reached her thin arms tentatively across the space between them, as though worried Christine would slip away. She didn’t, though, and Vinnie gripped her shoulders. “She’s right here,” she said. “Looking at me. How can you not know?”
“If your parents wake up...” Christine started then drifted off, touching a turned-under lock of Vinnie’s sleek new haircut. “The beer, and oh God, if your mom finds us down here together again...” Her face blushed bright red, and Kelsey wondered what exactly Mrs. Birdwell had seen on another occasion.
“They won’t. My mom drank about four brandy old fashioneds before bed tonight.”
“We should go back anyway.” Christine gently shook herself free from Vinnie’s grip. “I want to go back. Help me with the beer, okay?”
“Fine.” Vinnie stooped to collect the remaining cans. “Just answer one more question for me.”
Christine shook her head but turned to follow Vinnie anyway. Kelsey stood up as the girls headed for the basement stairs. She clung to the railing to steady her balance. Her hands were freezing.
“Why him and not—”
“It’s just easier, Vinnie,” Christine cut her off. Her voice was suddenly tired. She sounded the same way she had during the last argument she and Kelsey had had before her death—resigned. “It’s just easier to be with him.”
KELSEY HAD NO IDEA how much time had elapsed since she’d stepped into the time portal. It could have been twenty minutes, an hour or two, or even ten hours. Melanie had warned her about the erratic disconnect in time that existed between the two parallel worlds. For all she knew, she had missed the Memorial Day cookout, and Melanie was probably freaking out, imagining the havoc she was wreaking in the past, but she couldn’t work up the energy to care about that right now.
It’s just easier to be with him. Her mom’s words rang in her ears—a confession, an indictment. Was my parents’ marriage only one of convenience?
Kelsey was sitting on the bench in the closet, trying to compose a letter on a sheet of butterfly stationery she had brought along expressly for this purpose but now felt stupid for using. Butterflies? What am I? Ten years old? She kind of felt ten years old, filled with the righteous indignation of a preteen daughter whose mother had done her a serious wrong. Incensing her further was a new pack of cigarettes on the bench.
Easier, like that was a quality poets touted in their sonnets. “The Road More Easily Traveled.” Like her dad was her mom’s second choice—because he was.
Didn’t you ever love Dad? she wanted to ask. The furious force of her pen would rival the deep impressions her mom’s note had left. Or not even in the very beginning? Was Vinnie the one who always had your heart? Why did you marry him if she was the one who understood you so well? Why did you choose to have two children with him and grow old with him if he was only ever second best? Was it the societal restrictions of the time? You thought that your life would be easier if you chose to be with a man? Or was there something more to it?
But she didn’t write any of that because she knew it would never pass Melanie’s censorious inspection, and more importantly, she suspected it was what she would recognize as a selfish, unfair tirade once she had a clearer head in the morning. That was not the way she wanted to introduce herself to her young mom. Accusatory and meddling was definitely not the first impression she was hoping to make, especially after the false start Melanie had already accomplished. Kelsey wanted to come across as warm and generous in spirit, but the struggle to do that with her mom had never been harder. Just who the hell were you, Mom? was all she really wanted to say in the letter.
Then she had an idea, a different way to introduce themselves, no letter needed. She ducked out of the closet—thank goodness Melanie wasn’t waiting on the other side for her—and dashed into the master bedroom, where her duffel bag was sitting on the queen-size bed. She dug inside for the red Moleskine journal she brought with her everywhere. It had been a Christmas g
ift from her mom the year she passed away, though Kelsey had never written in it. Instead, she had tucked a few photographs between its pages as well as her mom’s funeral program.
“Kelsey?” Melanie’s voice floated from downstairs, and Kelsey hurriedly flipped through the blank pages until she found the particular three-by-five color photograph she was looking for.
“Kelsey?” Melanie called again. “Are you back already?” Her voice sounded closer. The stairs creaked as she started to climb them, and Kelsey darted back to her sister’s bedroom and the door behind the tapestry. Before Melanie could interfere, Kelsey slipped into the closet and dropped the photograph on the bench for her mom to discover. Then for good measure, she stole the cigarettes for a second time.
HARRIS BEACH WAS BUSTLING. Tables and chairs were set up in the paved apron adjacent to the sand, and two men were manning a giant black barbecue grill that looked like a locomotive. Games of horseshoe and bean bag toss were being played on opposite ends of the beach, and some generous neighbors had tied their colorful kayaks and paddleboats to the dock for anyone who wanted to take them out for a spin. Only a few brave souls—mostly kids—were swimming in the still-seventy-something-degree water. Lake Indigo wouldn’t properly warm up for at least another week or two, at least in Melanie’s opinion. She preferred bathwater temperatures.
“There’s Everett!” Kelsey exclaimed.
Melanie caught sight of him making his way through the crowd to them. He looked even more like a college kid in his cargo shorts, sleeveless T-shirt, and flip-flops. Kelsey definitely had a type. She liked her guys to be clean-cut and dark haired with a swimmer’s build, and if they had dimples or a British, Irish, or Australian accent, so much the better. She also tended to gravitate toward guys who were cocky and self-absorbed, Melanie thought glumly. She hadn’t met the last one, Tristan, but he sounded like a real douche canoe.
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