My Kind of People

by Lisa Duffy

  Instead, he goes into the bedroom, sits on the edge of the bed. Of course he can’t tell her that—he doesn’t even know if it’s true.

  He’s barely processed what happened with Xavier. How he’d woken up from his drug daze at the hospital and decided to tell his husband about his plans before he lost his nerve.

  Xavier had listened. And then stood up.

  “The surprises just keep coming,” he said. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

  Leo shrugged. “Since July, I guess. Right after Mrs. Pearse died. It wasn’t an option until then. I mean, I wasn’t going to kick an old woman out of the house.”

  “No, right. That would be inconsiderate,” Xavier said sarcastically.

  “What’s that mean?” Leo sat up straighter, ignored the twinge in his back.

  “We’re supposed to spend this great weekend together—the first time we’ve seen each other in months. And we end up here. In this shitty room. And then I stop at the house and Sky’s there, catching me totally by surprise—”

  “Wait. Sky’s home? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Xavier looked at him as though he might be insane. “You just woke up ten minutes ago! I leave to take a leak and come back and here you are, wide awake. Apparently ready to share the news about where we’re moving next!”

  Leo paused, aware that this was not going as he’d hoped. But it was out there in the open now. He wanted to explain.

  “Look—I’m sorry. It’s not the best time. But I can’t lie to you anymore. And I’m lying to you because it’s on the tip of my tongue when we talk, and I don’t say anything! Regardless of the fact that I really want to do this is also the fact that Sky’s house is a money pit. And small and old and full of memories that don’t belong to us. We sell it. Start fresh.” He reached for Xavier. “Say yes.”

  Xavier stepped back. “Who will start fresh? You and Sky? Am I even part of this equation anymore?”

  The question startled him. He needed Xavier to understand how much he wanted him in his life. Needed him in his life. “Of course you are. Look—I know you have to go to LA. I’m not asking you not to. We can keep the condo if you want. We’ll make it work. I’ll come see you. You can spend time on the island—”

  “I can’t believe you want to live here!”

  Leo flinched, stunned.

  “I’ve walked around this town, Leo. I’m not kidding when I say you’re pretty much the only black guy on the island. And gay? Sky swears there are gay people here, but not like where we live. We fit in where we live, Leo. Here? I don’t fit in. At all.”

  There were so many things he wanted to say. He could’ve talked about the years and years of his life that he’d tried to blend in and then, finally, the freedom that came when he stopped caring if he did.

  He thought of his father. How many times he’d told Leo to be himself—to be comfortable in his own skin. Leo never listened.

  Until one day, he did.

  He looked at Xavier. “The only people you need to fit in with is us. Me and Sky,” he said.

  Xavier walked toward him. Leo leaned in for an embrace, but Xavier stopped, kissed Leo on the forehead.

  “Goodbye,” he said, and turned and walked out the door.

  A piercing noise makes him jump. The smoke alarm in the kitchen is beeping, and he stands up from the bed, walks to the door. Sky peeks around the corner of the kitchen, yells that it’s fine. They’re making pancakes and one burned.

  He nods, shuts the bedroom door behind him. He should take a shower. Start on the house plans. Look for a job.

  Instead, he sits back down on the bed. Lowers his body until his head is on the pillow. He stares at the wall, concentrates on the pattern in the wallpaper, traces the circles with his eyes.

  Anything to keep his mind off the fact that he has no idea how to live the rest of his life without his husband.

  * * *

  On Tuesday, he gets Sky off to her first day of school. For the next several hours, he has no idea what to do with his time.

  Or his emotions.

  When he was younger and he felt like this, he’d put on his running shoes and go for a jog. Let whatever was eating him up inside escape through his pores; he’d be sweat-drenched by the time he was done but less tense.

  But he’s on doctor’s orders to take it slow. His lower back is still stiff, making him walk as though he’s an old man.

  So now he’s stuck with this feeling boiling up inside of him. He doesn’t have any idea how to make it go away. The image of Xavier walking out of the hospital room replaying over and over in his mind.

  Each time, he grows angrier. More convinced that moving ahead with his plan is exactly what he needs to do.

  Then he changes his mind. Wonders if he should even be on this island anymore. He could just leave. Go back to his life with Xavier.

  He woke up this morning with this thought. Then he drove Sky to school, and she leaned over in the car and kissed him goodbye. A peck on the cheek, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  After she got out of the car, he drove back to Winding Way and straight over to his childhood home. He got out of the car and walked to the middle of the lawn, squinted at the old house. A picture of the new house forming in his head.

  Now, it’s almost lunchtime when he sits down at his drafting table. He’s just hung up the phone with Joe. Hired him as the builder.

  “You ready to get back to work?” Leo asked.

  “You give me the go-ahead and that house will be history by the end of the week. Maybe sooner,” Joe said.

  After they hung up, Leo put a clean sheet of paper on the table, sharpened his pencil, and closed his eyes.

  And imagined the possibilities of what could be.

  37

  Her new teacher isn’t as nice as Miss Maggie, so the only thing that makes the first week of fifth grade fun at all is that Frankie gets her cast off so she can finally climb up the ladder to the tree house.

  Which means their plan is on.

  Frankie came up with the idea to spend the night in the tree house. She’d left another picture on the easel, hoping the mystery artist would finish it. But it rained all through Labor Day weekend, and when they went to the easel after school today, the painting was on the ground, a soggy, crumpled-up ball of paper.

  They hadn’t bothered to leave another one with the sky dark and gloomy, a light drizzle in the forecast.

  Instead, they went back to Sky’s house, made hot chocolate, and locked themselves in Sky’s bedroom so Leo wouldn’t overhear them talking about their plan.

  Now, Frankie is stretched out on her bed, making a list of things they’ll need.

  “I think that’s it,” she says, sitting up. “You have snacks, water, and a lantern. I have a sleeping bag, a pillow, and binoculars.” She looks up at Sky. “Should I add night goggles?”

  “Night goggles?”

  “My brothers got them for Christmas one year. They’re on a shelf in the basement. I don’t know if they work though.”

  “My teacher said there’s supposed to be a full moon this weekend. Plus, it’s a clear view from the tree house to the easel. There’s a lantern out there already for when we shut the door to sleep.”

  Frankie shrugs. “If you say so. So here’s the plan. We leave a painting on the easel in the late afternoon. We’ll tell Leo we’re sleeping at my house. My parents are away, so I’ll tell my grandmother I’m sleeping here. She’ll never know the difference anyway. She goes to bed while I’m eating dinner.”

  Frankie’s been staying at her grandmother’s house all week while her parents get her brothers settled at college. She’s about to ask what they should do if Leo wants to talk to Frankie’s mother. But she decides not to. He hasn’t checked up on her once.

  “Then we go to the tree house and wait. The easel isn’t far. We’ll hear someone walking through the woods. Plus, we can take turns with the binoculars. See if our mystery artist shows up.�
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  “Why don’t we just walk over to that artist studio you keep talking about and ask whoever’s staying there if it’s them?”

  Frankie rolls her eyes. “And you think they’ll be all, oh yeah—that’s me. I did that. It’s like painting 101 that you don’t mess with someone else’s work.”

  She sighs. She doesn’t like lying to Leo.

  He made her promise that if she wanted to stay overnight in the tree house, he would sleep in a tent down below, just like her father used to do. But now with his back still bothering him, he can’t do that. Plus, they can’t have him there anyway.

  Not if they want to stake out the easel from the landing of the tree house.

  Still she’s making Frankie tell Leo. In her mind, it’s not actually her lie.

  “Come on,” Frankie says. “It’ll be our last summer adventure. We deserve it after camping got rained out.”

  “Let’s go ask,” she says to Frankie. “No sense planning all of this if he says I can’t sleep over your house. Remember—you ask. It’s your plan anyway. But first we’re stopping at Lillian’s. If she’s home, we’re going in. I still think it’s her.”

  Frankie stands up, and heads for the door. “You want it to be her because you’re afraid the mystery artist is really a psycho. An axe murderer luring us into the woods so he can chop us up in tiny pieces!” She whips around, shrinking back in horror.

  Sky walks past Frankie, rolls her eyes as though she’s not fazed.

  She doesn’t admit that a small part of her is thinking just that.

  * * *

  Lillian answers on the first knock. Sky and Frankie had agreed they’d ask to use the bathroom, tell some lie about the plumber working on Sky’s bathroom. But they don’t even have time to speak before Lillian opens the door wide.

  “Come in!” she gushes. “This is kismet because I baked this morning and I never bake. But I had a craving for homemade chocolate chip cookies. Come help me eat them before I gain ten pounds.”

  “What’s kismet?” Frankie asks, stepping into the house. Sky follows, scanning the walls for paintings. But the only thing she sees are gold-framed pictures of unsmiling women in lace bonnets and men who all look like Benjamin Franklin.

  “Fate. Destiny. The universe bringing us together by chance but also at the perfect time.”

  “Oh,” Frankie says, sitting at the table. “Do you paint?”

  Sky glares at her. Frankie takes a cookie off the plate and pretends she doesn’t notice the way Sky’s eyes are burning a hole in her forehead.

  “Paint?” Lillian takes glasses out of the cabinet and puts them on the table. She fills a pitcher with water and places it next to the plate of cookies. “Yes, actually. I do.”

  Sky glances at Frankie, raises an eyebrow.

  “Mostly landscapes. A portrait here and there. I know Sky paints. Do you too?”

  “Can we see one?” Frankie asks.

  “I didn’t bring any with me. They’re all in storage.”

  “You haven’t painted since you’ve been here?” Frankie presses.

  “I’ve dabbled a little. Nothing serious though,” Lillian says vaguely. “No more about me—tell me how camping was. The two of you were going to sleep in the backyard, right?”

  Sky nods. “We did, but Leo hurt his back—”

  “We’re painting by the cliff later,” Frankie blurts. “But I don’t know if we’ll finish. We’ll probably just leave it and finish it in the morning. Great view out there, isn’t it?”

  There’s a buzzing noise from the counter, and Lillian stands, picks up her phone.

  “I’m sorry, girls. This is work. They were going to call if they needed me. Do you want to take some cookies to go?” she asks.

  “No, we’re fine. Thank you!” Sky stands and grabs Frankie’s arm, yanks it before she can open her mouth again.

  “Come back soon,” Lillian calls out as they walk through the house and out the door.

  “What?” Frankie says when they’re on the sidewalk. “Stop looking at me like that. You said you wanted to see if it was her.”

  She has no idea if the mystery artist is Lillian. Thanks to the way Frankie practically came right out and accused her. “I thought we might figure it out without being so obvious.”

  “What I told her is only obvious if she’s the one who’s doing it. I wasn’t going to leave it to you. You probably would’ve asked her to start clapping.”

  “You’re hilarious. Come on, there’s Leo. You can ask him about tonight.” She points to where Leo is standing on the front lawn of his old house, except there is no house anymore.

  He turns when he hears them walk up the steps to where he’s standing.

  “What do you think?” he asks. “They just took away the last dumpster from the demolition. Sort of surreal, isn’t it?”

  She looks at Frankie, then back at Leo. “If surreal means good, then yes. When do they start building it? Walls and stuff.”

  “Next week, I think. Joe told me he was going to move fast. I guess he wasn’t kidding.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith,” Joe says, suddenly appearing on the grass next to them. “Sign these.” He hands a clipboard to Leo. “I might be on the bottom of the social ladder on this island, but I’m the top dog when it comes to pulling permits.” He winks at Sky and Frankie. “Helps when your poker-night buddies are the town inspectors.”

  Leo glances up, his pen in the air. “These are legit, right? I don’t want to cut any corners.”

  Joe frowns, taps the clipboard. “Whose name is under general contractor?”

  Leo looks down. “Armstrong Incorporated,” he says.

  “That’s right. Joe Armstrong Incorporated. Never cut a corner in my life. Not about to start now. I build. You design. Got it?”

  Leo scribbles on the page, hands the pen and the clipboard back to Joe. “Want to come over for burgers tomorrow night? Have a beer or two? I’ll show you the final plans.”

  “Can I bring a plus one? Maggie’s coming over for a drink. How about we bring a side dish and walk over around seven thirty?”

  Leo nods as Joe hands him a piece of paper. “It’s the bill for everything up until now. Hate to say it but get used to these. See you later, Sport One and Sport Two,” he says, tapping Sky then Frankie on the head with the clipboard.

  After he’s gone, Sky nudges Frankie with her arm. They lock eyes, and Sky tips her chin in Leo’s direction.

  “So, Mr. Irving,” Frankie begins. “Do you mind if Sky sleeps at my house tomorrow night?”

  Leo’s looking down at the bill, and he glances up at her, distracted. “Huh?”

  “Sky,” Frankie says. “Can she stay over? On Saturday night?”

  Leo glances down at the paper again. “What? Yeah. Whatever. Just make sure it’s okay with your parents. Give me a second, girls. I need to look at this,” he says, walking away from them.

  “Well, that was easy,” Frankie whispers as they turn and hurry down the steps.

  Sky just swallows, nods. Wondering what she’s gotten herself into.

  38

  Tomorrow is her last day on this earth. She’s ready. She still has her strength but the pain is worse. All week she’s painted and slept. Nothing else.

  Now, she lies in bed. Looks around the studio. Her paintings surround her. Held up on the walls by thumbtacks she found in a drawer. The last one she painted was something she hadn’t seen with her own eyes. Only heard it from Mac.

  The storm was raging when Mac had carried the baby from the shed to the truck just outside the door, already warmed and running. Mac had driven to the fire station and stuck her head in, leaving the newborn alone in the car for a brief moment. Just long enough to put a casserole dish on the table. Long enough to make sure the station was empty. Which Mac knew it was—she’d been on the phone with her husband when the fire alarm screeched, and he’d told her there was a fire on the waterfront.

  Then Mac drove to the hospital. Rushed inside with
the newborn. The story rolling off her tongue as the nurses tended to the baby. How Mac had only gone to the fire station to drop off dinner for her husband. Instead, she’d found a baby in the empty kitchen. A newborn wrapped in blankets. Safe and warm in a basket on the table.

  The painting on the wall was of that scene. A baby in a basket on a long, wooden table. She remembers the basket. Remembers Mac swaddling the baby expertly. Placing the small bundle in a deep, cloth-covered basket, so deep the newborn disappeared before her eyes.

  Only to be seen again through pictures Mac sent her over the years. Of a girl. Happy and smiling. And loved.

  39

  Maggie avoided the house as long as she could. She finally went home on Monday of Labor Day weekend, only to find the driveway empty, Pete’s truck not parked in his usual spot.

  She found a note on the table that said he’d gone to Dean’s cabin for the weekend and her phone must be broken or lost because he’d tried to call and text her and she hadn’t answered.

  She waited all Labor Day for him to show up. Finally, she called him when the sun went down, shadows lurking in the corners of the house.

  He picked up on the second ring, as though he was expecting her call.

  “So, it’s not broken or lost,” he said. “I had a feeling.”

  “You’re intuitive like that,” she snapped, and then felt bad about it.

  But she didn’t apologize.

  She couldn’t muster the words or the feeling inside her. There was just anger. And disappointment.

  “I’m just calling to say that we need some time apart. Longer than a weekend. Your note didn’t say if you were planning on coming—” She paused. She didn’t want to say home. “Back,” she finished finally, after a moment.

  “For how long?” he asked.

  Forever, she thought. “I don’t know,” she said.

  The line was quiet. “Do you still love me, Maggie?” Pete asked.

  She nodded, her eyes welling up. She didn’t trust her voice. She did love him. But somewhere along the way, their love had turned into something that made her feel lonely and broken and not enough.