From here at the top of Mann’s Hill, I can see everything. Main Street runs along the shoreline, with shops and buildings on one side and a paved walkway on the other. During the summer it’s crowded with walkers, bikers, and joggers enjoying the lake breeze. The chamber of commerce publishes brochures that call Bell Cove “quaint.” I looked it up: small, old-fashioned, and odd. I guess it’s an accurate description; I’m just not sure it’s the kind of thing that should be advertised in brochures. Anyway, it’s still early in the season, and there are only a few couples enjoying a stroll along our “quaint” Main Street.
Summer means everything to a town like Bell Cove. Pretty much everything revolves around the lake and the tourists it brings in during the summer. The spring is nice, but the water’s too cold for swimming, so people tend to take their vacations to places like Florida or somewhere in the Caribbean. The fall brings beautiful foliage, but most of the tourists will head over toward Conway and the Kancamagus Highway, with its beautiful hiking, waterfalls, and scenic overlooks. In the winter, everyone’s in the North Country for the skiing. Which leaves the summer for Bell Cove and the other small lake towns. What this means for me is that, with the first day of summer this week, I am getting a very late start on finding a job. Since the tourist season really starts to ramp up starting on Memorial Day, most kids started looking for jobs over a month ago to line up summer work. I cross my fingers that there will still be jobs left.
I ride into town only to discover that, as I suspected, most of the downtown shops have already hired for the summer, and what’s left is left for a reason. The harbormaster is looking for someone to clean boats; I can just imagine myself in rubber boots, scrubbing green-bottomed hulls and smelling like bleach all summer. No, thank you. There’s also an opening for a cashier at the gas station, which doesn’t sound too bad until I realize that I’d be responsible for cleaning out the bathrooms. I’d rather smell like bleach.
Since I don’t have a car, I can’t get out to the Walmart by the highway. It’s also too far to ride my bike to the McDonald’s or the Burger King by exit 23. A lot of kids take boats across the lake and get jobs in neighboring towns, but I only have a twelve-foot fishing boat my dad left behind, which is no good in bad weather. Besides, my mother would never let me; she’s afraid of boats. I know, I know, living on a lake and afraid of boats. Don’t get me started.
All afternoon on Main Street it’s the same story. I’m turned away at every pretentious boutique selling sun catchers and wooden moose carvings and at each nautical-themed restaurant with fishing nets tacked to the walls. I’ve come to the end of the row of clapboard facades that line Main Street. All that’s left is the Pink Cone. I’ve deliberately avoided the local ice cream shop, as I see it as a last resort. First of all, only girls work there, and the idea of being caught in the middle of half a dozen divas fighting over boyfriends and who has the best lipstick color is only a notch above cleaning bathrooms at the gas station. And second, I’ve heard all the rumors about “Fabulous Renée,” the crazy, bitchy owner of “the Cone.”
I’m not sure I want to work for someone with a reputation for tyrannical insanity, so when I walk in the front door of the Cone to ask whether they’re still hiring for the summer, it’s not with a lot of confidence.
“How old are you, hon?” the woman behind the counter asks, a hand on her hip and the other pointing a plastic ice cream scoop in my direction.
“Sixteen.”
“Fabulous. You got any references? A resume?” She catches me off guard. I’m hoping to get an application to fill out. “Never mind. You kids never do. You live around here?”
“Morgan Beach.”
“Fabulous. I like local kids. Tell me why you want the job.”
Since I really haven’t thought this summer job plan all the way through, I don’t know how to answer that question. Finally, I settle on the truth.
“My mom and dad are making me get a job, and if I don’t find one around here, I’ll have to go live with my dad and work in Georgia.” It’s not exactly the best pitch for a job ever, but I do remember to smile.
She gives me a long look, but after about fifteen seconds she lets out a small snort and one corner of her mouth turns up. “Well, at least you’d be motivated to keep the job once you got it. Fabulous. We’re having an orientation for the late-season hires on Monday at nine A.M. Don’t be late.”
It happens so fast, it takes me a second to realize I’ve been offered a job. “Thank you. I’ll be there. Thank you!”
“You don’t have a job yet. My manager will be running the training, and you’ll have to pass muster with him. What’s your name?”
“Sean Jackson. Thank you for this!”
“Well, Sean Jackson, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Renée Bouchard, the owner here. We’ll fill out the paperwork at Ice Cream Orientation—if you make it through orientation.”
So this is the infamous “Fabulous Renée.” She doesn’t seem so scary. “Thank you. This is great! This is . . .”
“Fabulous?” Renée offers, amused by my excitement.
“Fabulous,” I agree. “Fabulous.”
I get home ready to gloat about my employment victory, but my mother has gone out. So I jump online, ready to IM whoever I can find signed on. Almost before my computer beeps to tell me that the sign-on process is complete, my screen fills with a message from LuvBug922. It’s my girlfriend, Lisa.
LuvBug922: What’s up?
I’m about to tell her my news, but decide to kid around with her a little first.
NHBeachBoi: OMG, the rents totally shafted me today! I have to go to Georgia to live with my dad for the summer.
LuvBug922: What!??
LuvBug922: That sux!
NHBeachBoi: I know. My dad says I have to help his friend with his landscaping business
LuvBug922: I’ll never see u!
NHBeachBoi: You’re going to be at your camp all summer anyway
LuvBug922: But that’s only across the lake and I get some days off.
LuvBug922: u can’t go to Georgia!
NHBeachBoi: But my rents said I can’t just sit around the house all summer
LuvBug922: What are u gonna do??
I’ve had enough fun. I smile while I type the next message.
NHBeachBoi: I got a job!!!
While I wait for her reply I scan my buddy list to see who else I can tell, but I guess people have things to do on the weekend, because no one else is signed on. Bummer.
LuvBug922: Where!?
NHBeachBoi: The Pink Cone. Pretty crazy huh?
LuvBug922: LOL That IS crazy! You’ll probably be the only guy working there! LOL
NHBeachBoi: At least it’s a job. Hopefully now that I have one they won’t make me go to Georgia
LuvBug922: I know. They can’t send you to Georgia!! It’s too hot!
LuvBug922: j/k! I’d miss you too much
I wait a long time before I type.
NHBeachBoi: Me too.
LuvBug922: Hey, GTG, I’m supposed to go be social with my cousins who are in town for the weekend. TTYL {{{{Hugs}}}} I Luv U
I wait for her to sign off, trying to avoid having to reply, but her icon stays lit up in my buddy list. She’s waiting for it. I feel like a jerk, but I type
NHBeachBoi: <3 u 2. {{{{Hugs}}}} ttyl.
I decide to sign off before she can write back, just in case.
Just as I sign off, I hear the front door open, and my mom calls up to me.
“Sean?”
“Yeah,” I shout from my room, but get up to go to the top of the stairs. My mom hates having to shout through the house.
“Can you help me with the groceries? There’s two more bags in the car.” She heads toward the kitchen with a brown paper bag clutched in one arm, her purse on the other shoulder, car keys in her hand.
I go out and grab the two bags from the open trunk of the car. I close it with a thud, and take a deep breath to steel myself for the confrontation wit
h my mother. It’s time to tell her I’m not going to Georgia.
When I get to the kitchen, her back is turned to me while she puts soup cans away in a cabinet near the stove.
“I found a job.”
Her hand pauses in mid-reach for just a moment before she continues putting cans away. “Here in Bell Cove?”
“At the Pink Cone. I start Monday.” I decide to leave out the part about having to survive orientation.
I can see her purse her lips, and I’m sure she’s going to shoot me down, but then one side of her mouth goes up in a wry half smile.
“Your dad is just going to love that,” she says.
Obviously, my dad is going to be furious that I’m refusing to go along with his plan, but I don’t see what my job at the Pink Cone has to do with anything.
“Does that woman—what’s her name?—Renée something, still run that place?” Mom asks with sincere curiosity.
“The Fabulous Renée? Yeah.”
And then I get it. Renée is the most prominent—heck, the only—gay person in Bell Cove, and while I wouldn’t necessarily call my dad homophobic, I’m pretty sure he’d be less than thrilled to have his only son working for her. Working at an ice cream shop isn’t exactly a “manly” job like landscaping in Georgia, and working for a lesbian is just the cherry on top, pun intended.
“You’re going to have to tell him yourself. I’m not going to do your dirty work for you.” As if to make her point, Mom gives the cupboard door a little extra shove as she closes it, causing a bang loud enough to make me jump.
I open my mouth to respond but realize I have no words that won’t get me in trouble with her. The last thing I need is to have both parental units mad at me, and especially not the one I live with. I press my lips together and exhale through my nose loud enough for my mom to hear. She gives me a look that says, You made your bed.
“Can I at least wait until after dinner?”
I sit on the edge of my bed and punch in my father’s number on the phone keypad. I decided I wanted to be alone for this. The phone rings three times before someone picks up. A woman’s voice answers.
“Hello?”
It’s Jill, my dad’s girlfriend. He met her up here in New Hampshire, and it’s pretty serious because she agreed to move to Georgia with him. I don’t really have anything against her; my parents have been divorced long enough that it’s not like I have any secret wish for them to get back together.
“Hi, Jill. It’s Sean. My dad there?”
“Sean! Excited about coming to visit? Your dad’s right here. Hold on.” I can just hear her say, “It’s Sean,” and I imagine her holding the phone out to my dad.
“Yello.” My dad’s distinct phone greeting. I guess it’s a Southern thing. He’s from the South originally, and he answered the phone that way even when he lived in New Hampshire.
“Hey, Dad.”
“What’s up, son?”
“I need to talk to you about coming to Georgia.”
“Oh?”
“I really don’t want to go.”
“Your mom and I discussed this. It’ll be good for you. I want to see you.”
“But you didn’t discuss it with me.” I try hard to keep any anger out of my voice. I know that will get me nowhere.
There’s several seconds of silence. “Let’s discuss it now. Why don’t you want to come?” I’m surprised how calm Dad is being. I wonder if Jill has anything to do with that.
“I have friends here.”
“Your friends will still be there. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell them when you get back.”
“I don’t need stories. Besides, I got a job.”
“A job?”
“Mom said you guys thought I needed a summer job, so I went out today and found one.”
“Doing what?” I can tell he’s impressed that I’ve found a job so quickly. I may just win this battle.
“Um, working at the Pink Cone.”
Dad starts to chuckle, but I can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad thing. After about twenty seconds, he says, “That lesbian woman still running that place?”
Mom was right. “Yeah, so?”
“So you’re saying you’d rather spend a summer working for a dyke in an ice cream shop than spend it with me?” Okay, maybe a little homophobic.
“That’s not what I said! What I said is I want to spend my summer here, with my friends, by the lake, and since you and Mom won’t let me do that unless I also have a job, I went out and got one.”
“That’s not good enough. I already paid for your plane tickets. ”
“I’ll pay you back. I’ll send you the money from what I earn at my job.”
“Sean, I’m your father. If I want you to spend the summer with me, you’re going to spend it with me.” There’s a note of finality in his voice. The case is closed.
But I have one last Hail Mary. I take a deep breath and just blurt it out. “I don’t want to spend the summer away from Lisa.”
“Lisa?” I’ve caught him off guard, and he’s listening.
“My girlfriend.”
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. How long has it been?”
“We were in the winter play together.”
“So you’re pretty serious?”
Not exactly. But if that’s what you want to hear, “Yeah, we’re serious.”
“I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me about having a girlfriend.” He’s silent for a long moment. I think he may have covered the phone receiver and is talking to Jill. When he returns, his tone is softer; it’s Southern Gentleman Dad on the line now. “Well, son, I was a teenage boy once. I know that I would have done just about anything to not leave my girlfriend for the entire summer. Can’t say as I’m happy about it, but it sounds like you’ve got a good reason not to come visit me. Give my best to Lisa. I’m happy for you.”
I fall back on my bed, relaxing for the first time since I’d picked up the phone. I can’t believe that worked.
“I’m going to need to talk to your mother. She around?”
I call downstairs for Mom to pick up the phone and wait until I hear her come on the line. Mission accomplished. I feel a little weird about using Lisa to convince my dad to let me stay, especially since Lisa’s going to be away at her summer camp all summer, but it’s worth it. I’m sure Lisa wouldn’t mind. After all, she is my girlfriend.
Chapter 2
Ice Cream Orientation starts in less than an hour, but I’m standing on the dock while Lisa drapes her arms around my shoulders. “I’m going to miss you,” she whispers, letting one hand creep up the back of my neck where my brown hair is trimmed close. Lisa loves to rub this spot on my neck because she says it feels like velvet.
“It’ll go by in no time.” I remove my girlfriend’s arms and straighten her shirt where it has bunched up while she hugged me. She smiles.
In the morning sun, Lisa’s long blond hair is radiant, right out of a shampoo commercial. She’s wearing a white T-shirt with a sunflower silk-screened on the front, and pink shorts that only go about halfway to the knees of her long, bronzed legs. She’s beautiful in any light, but this light especially.
I’ve known Lisa since grade school, but we only started dating last November when we were both cast as the leads in The Music Man. My Harold Hill to her Marian the Librarian. The whole school was buzzing about how our stage romance extended into real life. I’ve always been a bit on the fringe in school—drama club, art club, band—but Lisa ran with the popular crowd, so by association I became popular, too. I may not be in love with Lisa, but I am in love with our relationship. I’m not sure I’m ready to give that up. But still, I’m happy that Lisa will be at camp most of the summer. I need the break. Playing the part of the perfect boyfriend becomes exhausting when your heart is just not into it.
Lisa doesn’t look like she needs the break at all, not when she throws her arms around me again, but this time her lips go straight for mine. Lisa’s not usually too
big on PDA, but she’s breaking her own rules this morning.
From the motorboat tied up next to us, her father breaks the mood. “C’mon, you two, say good-bye already. We’re going to be late.” I take the opportunity to end our embrace. I look at her dad and can feel my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He looks amused though.
“All right, Dad,” Lisa says over her shoulder and then turns back to me. She kisses me lightly on the cheek. I help her into the boat.
Looking up at me, Lisa smiles again. “It’s only just across the lake.” Her father starts the inboard motor, and the boat sputters briefly while he backs out of the slip. He shifts to forward and deftly steers the boat out of the marina. Lisa kneels on the back seat and waves to me.
“Finally,” I say to myself. I wave to Lisa and wait patiently for her boat to get beyond the no-wake zone and speed around the point. While I stand there waving, another boat captures my attention, or rather, another boater. Even though my arm doesn’t stop waving for Lisa, my eyes follow the new arrival as he rounds the point. His boat is a beautiful blue-and-white twenty-foot Craftsman, but my attention falls on his shirtless—and even from this distance I can sense—well—defined torso. The wind has tousled his hair, and I imagine it is streaked with blond from the same sun that has turned his skin caramel. As the boat drifts into clearer focus, I am surprised to discover that he’s not much older than I am. Eighteen or nineteen, at most.
It’s not until his boat bumps lightly against the dock that I realize my arm is still waving over my head, even though Lisa’s boat is long out of sight. I hope the new arrival hasn’t noticed.
“Hey,” he calls up to me, a coil of yellow nylon in his right hand, “little help?” He makes as if to toss me the rope.
If I Told You So Page 2