If I Told You So

by Timothy Woodward

  I try to keep the surprise out of my voice. “What’s up?”

  “Came for an ice cream—without my cousin this time.”

  “He was cute.”

  “Yeah, for the first five minutes. Try babysitting him the whole summer. He had a birthday party today, so I’m off the hook.”

  “Lucky you. What can I get you?”

  “Purple Cow, small.”

  “Cool.” I almost forget to offer our special flavor. “Hey, you wanna try the special? Becky and I are having a contest to see who can sell the most.”

  “Umm.” Matt bites his lip and wrinkles his nose. “Will it help you win?”

  “Yes,” I lie.

  “Then, okay.”

  I get him his ice cream, but the afternoon has finally started to slow down, and there’s no one else in line, so Matt hangs around to talk with Becky and me. He takes a seat at one of the tables on the porch while Becky goes out to wipe them down. I stay inside, but near the window so I can still hear and in case any customers show up.

  “Tell me something embarrassing about Sean,” Becky says to Matt as she refills a napkin dispenser.

  “Becky! I can hear you!”

  She throws one of her cleaning rags at the service window.

  “Something embarrassing?” Matt bites his lip in thought. “What about the time I caught him buying women’s clothing at Walmart? ”

  “What?! I did not!” I sputter, sticking my head through the service window and hitting it on the sash.

  “You did, too,” Matt says.

  “Sean, what did I say about buying your clothes at Walmart?” Becky says. “No good can come of it.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “It was for the drama club. Remember when Allison was sick at dress rehearsal for The Butler Did It?”

  And then I remember. “You were there?”

  Matt turns to Becky. “Sean was the student director for that show, and when Allison got sick, he was the only one who knew all her lines on short notice. He thought he was going to have to play Miss Maple for her.”

  “But how did you see me? I made my mom drop me off and wouldn’t even tell her why I was there. I told her I needed to pick up some last-minute props.”

  “I was there picking up some supplies for a science project. I saw you trying to pick out a woman’s dress and pantyhose. I didn’t say anything though.”

  I can feel my cheeks start to burn.

  “I didn’t know you were a cross-dresser!” Becky lets out a high-pitched laugh. “You’ll have to do a drag show for us!”

  “I didn’t even end up wearing it. Allison got better just in time to play the part.” My face is so hot, I’m about ready to go sit in the deep freeze for ten minutes just to cool down, but I’m smiling anyway. I can’t believe Matt saw me.

  Becky has finished wiping down all the porch tables and returns to help me clean the back when Renée walks in the back employee entrance.

  “Fabulous. I like to see smiles. I’ll be in the back restock—” She stops next to the freezer, her eyes wide. “What. . . is. . . that?”

  Becky puts on her two-hundred-watt smile. “What is what?”

  Renée pulls the tub of raspberry latte out of the freezer and tilts it toward us.

  “Oh, that. That’s raspberry latte?” Becky asks as if Renée is testing her on flavor identification like she did at orientation.

  “And since when do we sell raspberry latte?”

  “Um, two hours ago.” Becky keeps smiling.

  “It looks like shit. This is fabulous, just fabulous.” Renée slings the tub back into the freezer. It bounces with a rubbery thunk.

  “Customers love it; just ask Matt,” Becky says, pointing.

  Renée crosses to the window and glares at Matt. He looks at me and then back at Renée.

  “It was really good. You should put it on the menu. And I don’t even like coffee ice cream.”

  “You don’t like coffee?” I say.

  “Enough!” Renée’s voice is sharp, but low and dangerous. “Go get changed into your street clothes. You’ve worked enough today.”

  “Uh, are we fired?” I ask. I can already hear my dad’s voice telling me how much fun I’ll have spending the rest of the summer in Georgia.

  “No, but don’t tempt me.”

  Becky and I don’t stick around to let Renée change her mind. We have a race back to the break room.

  It’s only been two minutes, and I’m waiting for Becky to find her purse when Renée walks in.

  “We’re going! Becky’s just grabbing her purse,” I say.

  But Renée is smiling, and I notice she has a dish of ice cream in her hand. She holds it up. “You two are brilliant. This is fabulous!”

  Becky and I exchange a smile. Becky says, “So we don’t have to leave?”

  “No, I want to look at your faces about as much as I want to look at this ice cream. But I’ve decided to put raspberry latte on the menu. Now get!” We make for the door, barely holding in our laughter, but as we pass Renée, she stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Sean’ll be right there,” she says over her shoulder to Becky. Her voice is serious. I swallow hard.

  “Listen. I know a little something about growing up in a small town and not quite fitting in. I know it’s not as easy as Becky wants to make it for you.” I nod slowly. “If you ever need someone to talk to, not someone who will tell you what to do, but just to listen, talk. I’m here. Okay?”

  I have to clear my throat to get my voice to come out. “Okay.” I start to leave, and Renée pats my shoulder. Then she says, “Have you talked to him?” I pause just a moment before I head out the door. Something tells me that Renée isn’t just finding out that I’m gay. Did she know when I met her that day I came looking for a job? I feel oddly exposed, and yet knowing that Renée’s on my side is also comforting. I’m finding allies in all sorts of places.

  But who does she want me to talk to? Jay? My dad? Both?

  Chapter 25

  Becky is waiting by the back door for me. “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing.”

  Becky tilts her head and looks down her nose with the no bullshit expression. She will make a very good mother someday.

  “Renée just wanted to talk to me about Jay, okay?” I say. “Thanks for letting that one out, by the way.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Sean. Renée’s known you were gay since orientation. ”

  “She did not!” I say, even though she’s probably right. “Why do you assume that everyone just knows? Why are we even talking about this again?”

  Becky and I have rounded the corner of the Pink Cone, and before she can answer, we discover Matt has been waiting for us.

  “Hey,” he says.

  Happy for the change of subject, I walk over to him and put a fist in the air. “Hey, it’s cool you waited for us.” We knock knuckles and Becky falls in beside us.

  “You two aren’t in much trouble, are you?” he says. “I hope I didn’t . . .”

  “Are you kidding?” Becky says. “You were great! Renée tried our ice cream and now it’s going to be on the menu!”

  “Really? That’s awesome. You two are ice cream chefs!”

  “Yeah, I guess we are,” I say. “Hey, we’re out early. Let’s do something to celebrate!”

  Becky and I look at each other and say in unison, “Gold House!”

  I leave my bike at the Cone and the three of us walk together down Main Street.

  We order a large cheese fries and take them to a picnic table by the water. Becky and I sit across from each other, and Matt sits beside me, straddling the bench seat, so he can face both of us. We take turns pulling out long strings of greasy potatoes dripping with yellow-orange cheese sauce. Petrochemical goodness, Becky calls it.

  “What should we do with our sudden extra free time?” I ask.

  “I wish we had a boat. This is the perfect day to be on the lake,” Becky says. She slaps her hand over her mouth almost a
s soon as she says it. “I’m sorry, Sean. I didn’t mean. . . ”

  I smile with thin lips. “It’s okay. I wish we had a boat, too.”

  Matt looks from Becky to me. “What?”

  No one says anything.

  “I don’t get it. What’s the big deal about a boat?” Matt says.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  Becky opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

  “It’s nothing.” I shoot lasers from my eyes into Becky’s skull. She closes her trap and gives me a slight nod. I mouth the words Thank you.

  “Well.” Matt interrupts our moment. “I have a boat.”

  Becky and I both turn. “You do?”

  “My dad’s boat, but I’m sure he would let us use it. You guys ever water-ski?”

  “Water-ski? Does that require balance or coordination?” Becky asks.

  Matt laughs. “A little.”

  Becky snags the last french fry. “Not my strong suits.” And as if to make her point, a glob of half-congealed cheese sauce drops from the fry onto the middle of her shirt. “I hate breasts! They are always getting in the way.” She grabs a napkin and starts dabbing at the spot, but the grease stain isn’t going away.

  “You’ll have to change into your bathing suit anyway,” Matt says. “C’mon.” Matt punches me in the shoulder and jumps up from the table.

  Becky starts to gather our trash, but Matt stops her. “I’ll get it.”

  “What a gentleman,” Becky says, sticking her tongue out at me. “Sean, you should take lessons.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “I don’t charge much,” Matt says, returning from the trash can. Then he holds out his hand to Becky to help her from the table. Once she is on her feet he gracefully bends over her hand and kisses it. Becky giggles.

  “I think I’m going to vomit,” I say.

  “Lesson number one,” Matt says, “vomiting is so not gentlemanly.” He turns back to Becky and sweeps his arm in a broad arc. “M’lady.”

  “Did I mention that Matt is in the drama club?” I say.

  “I think it’s cute,” Becky says. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 26

  After a quick stop to grab Becky’s bathing suit, we get to Matt’s house. Becky has to scrape my chin off the ground. “Nice mansion,” I say.

  Matt laughs. “It’s not a mansion, but thanks.”

  I wonder how I could have known Matt for so long without realizing that his family was so well-off. I think about this for a few minutes and realize that Matt never does anything to let on that he has money. He doesn’t wear designer clothes (although he does dress well); he doesn’t have expensive toys like the flashiest new cell phone or MP3 player, and he doesn’t throw money around. He even has a normal summer job babysitting his cousin.

  His parents are home, even though it is still the middle of the day. “My father is an investment manager,” he explains, “and he works from home most of the time. My mother is an artist and a writer.”

  In fact, we find his mom in her studio working on a painting. The studio looks like a paintball tournament just ended; besides the splotches of paint, which seem to have landed on every surface, the room is filled with canvases, paint tubes rolled up like used toothpaste, and brushes in mason jars. I stop to look at one painting leaning near the door. It’s a water-color of Bell Cove, looking from the water. In the painting the sun is setting and the buildings are reflected in shades of pink, orange, and purple. I must have seen this same view a thousand times, but it’s not just a quaint lakeside tourist town in her painting. It’s pretty, sure, but the watercolors aren’t precise, and if you look closely, the splotches of color blend together and the details are blurry. It’s almost like the town in the painting is hiding something, and you wish you could get closer to find out what it is. For the first time that I can remember, I find myself wanting to see more of Bell Cove.

  Apparently, Matt has introduced us to his mom, because Becky kicks me in the shin, bringing me back to the chaotic studio. “Nice to meet you, Sean,” Matt’s mom says. “Call me Jo Anne.”

  “You’re a really good artist,” I say, looking around the rest of the studio.

  “Thank you.”

  I realize that most of the paintings in the studio are scenes from around Bell Cove. “You must really like it here,” I say.

  “I draw a lot of inspiration from my surroundings, yes, but I think you can be inspired anywhere.” She starts digging in a pile of canvases near the window and pulls out a small oil painting of a city street. “This was the view from our first apartment when Matt’s dad and I were just married. It was only a one-bedroom and I had to go out on the fire escape to paint because there wasn’t room in the apartment.”

  She hands me the painting. It shows brick buildings along a strip of city street. There are people on the sidewalks and cars lining the curb Vibrant squares of green and red are the awnings of shops, where the pedestrians are window-shopping. I start to imagine what they might be buying: fruits and vegetables at a small market, a gauzy sundress in a seamstress’s shop.

  “I keep this painting to remind me where I’ve come from, and that sometimes you need to look beyond the surface to find what you’re searching for.”

  I hand back the painting. “I think I know what you mean,” I say, looking back at the painting of Bell Cove by the door.

  “Sean’s a really good artist, too,” Becky says.

  “I’m okay.”

  “That’s great,” Jo Anne says. “I’d love to see some of your work.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Matt says.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  Jo Anne nods her head, and gives me a smile.

  “You’ll have to invite me to your house next time,” Matt says and turns to his mom. “Where’s Dad? We wanted to use the boat to go water-skiing.”

  “That sounds like fun; maybe we can all go. I think he’s up in his office.”

  Matt’s dad seems only too eager to get away from his office. As soon as we walk in, he’s out of his chair and over to shake Becky’s and my hands.

  “Hi, guys! Call me Nathan,” he says, pumping our hands in a firm grip. He’s very tall, with gray hair in a stylish cut that didn’t come from Stan the Barber on Main Street. It’s hard for me to imagine Matt’s dad in a suit; he looks so relaxed in khaki shorts and a light blue golf shirt. He’s very fit, and I notice he has a tattoo on his left forearm of a rose and a cross. He also has a small diamond stud in his left ear.

  “Absolutely,” Nathan says after Matt asks him about water-skiing. “I’ll meet you guys at the boat.”

  Matt lends me a bathing suit, and I change in one of what I imagine are several bathrooms in the Maguires’ house. I find my way to the back deck where Becky is flirting with Matt. She snaps her towel at his chest, but he refuses to retaliate because she’s a girl. This only makes her snap her towel at him more. I have to grab both her arms and wrestle the towel from her hands to make her stop.

  “Your parents are so cool,” Becky says as we walk down to the boathouse. Matt has an actual boathouse, so I know the boat must be amazing, and I am not disappointed. A thirty-foot Baja Islander floats majestically in front of us. It’s white with a sleek blue, yellow, and green stripe curling around the engine housing.

  “Whoa.”

  “My mom calls her my dad’s midlife crisis,” Matt jokes, pulling down a couple of life jackets for Becky and me. We climb in the boat to wait for Matt’s parents.

  “This thing has a toilet!” Becky squeals. “Do you think your parents would mind if I moved in? This boat is better than our cottage. ”

  A few minutes later Matt’s parents show up. His mom has changed into a turquoise bathing suit and a multicolored serape wrapped around her waist. Her jet-black hair is tied into a youthful ponytail. She could easily pass for early thirties, even though I know she must be at least ten years older.

  Nathan backs the boat out of the boathouse, and we are speeding out onto the lake in no ti
me at all. “Who’s going first?” he says when we’re a good distance from shore.

  Becky and I smirk and both look at Matt.

  “Sean, you live on the lake and you’ve never been water-skiing? ” Jo Anne asks, smiling.

  “We have a twelve-foot fishing boat.”

  “Well, don’t be afraid. All it takes is a little balance.”

  “That leaves me out,” Becky says.

  Matt crosses to me. “Put on your life jacket. It’s time to get wet. ”

  The next thing I know I am in the water struggling to get my feet inside the rubber “boots” attached to the water skis. I imagine I look like an injured seal, thrashing around helplessly, waiting for a shark to put me out of my misery, but finally I do manage to get the skis on. Matt throws me a rope with a foam-covered handle at the end, instructing me to keep the rope between my skis.

  “Hold on tight!” Before I can think, Nathan has started the boat, and the slack line is pulling away in a rapid snaking motion. It goes taut, and I am yanked forward with a sudden lurch. Somehow I manage to hang on, and in the next instant I am gliding above the water. At first all I can think is to hang on for dear life. The water is rushing by so quickly, I’m terrified. Becky is kneeling in the back of the boat with her hands in the air. Her screams of encouragement float back to me from the speeding boat. I start to realize that I am not mere seconds from certain death, and I take the time to look around. What a rush. Flying across the water on a couple of boards is liberating. It’s like coasting down Mann’s Hill at top speed on my bike, only with the real sense that I am flying. I imagine myself as a lake bird, skimming across the water’s surface. The spray that hits my face is dried instantly in the rushing wind. I look around in the afternoon light. It is a calm afternoon, and the lake surface is glassy, reflecting the shoreline in perfect symmetry. I wonder how Jo Anne would paint the picture.

  Finally, my arms start to get tired, and I run a finger across my neck, the signal that Matt showed me to tell the driver to kill the engine. After the cool air, the water feels warm as I sink back down. Nathan circles the boat around to pick me up, and I lift the skis into the boat first. I didn’t realize how tiring water-skiing is, and my legs don’t fully cooperate when I try to climb back in the boat. I trip trying to climb over the stern, and I practically tackle Matt when I fall into the boat.