Life and Other Inconveniences

by Higgins, Kristan

  “The articles all talk about Otter Point, which is this way,” I said, and we walked down the path, side by side, our shoulders bumping occasionally. We could hear other people laughing and yelling—the ubiquitous Mommy, watch me!

  “Do you get along with your parents?” I asked. “I mean, it seems like you do.”

  “They’re the best,” he said. “Seems like you do, too.”

  I nodded. “My mom is amazing. She was a teenager when she had me, you know.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Single mom, worked her butt off, put herself through school but she was always around. Came to all those dopey parent things at school. Science Night. Math Night. Girl Scout stuff.”

  “She seems fun,” Rav said, and it was so nice, having a conversation about how great our parents were! Mikayla, Jenna and Annabeth back home loved to dis their parents. You’d think they were chained in the basement or something.

  “How about your dad?” Rav asked.

  “Yeah . . . he’s a good guy, too,” I said. I picked up a tiny pine cone, examined it and put it in my pocket, a souvenir for when I was back in Downers Grove. “He’s kind of . . . I don’t know. Childish. Childlike? Not in a bad way, really, but my mom seems so much older and wiser.”

  “Do you like your stepmother?”

  “Oh, she’s all kinds of fabulous,” I said. “And she’s incredibly nice to me.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be? You’re pretty great, too.”

  I felt my cheeks getting hot. No hiding a blush when you’re a redhead. “Thanks. Oh! Here we are.”

  A faded wooden sign said Otter Point, and underneath that was a newer sign: Swim at Your Own Risk. No Lifeguard on Duty.

  Given the purpose behind our trip, the words were creepy.

  This side of the lake was farther than the other swimming spots and little beaches. No one was this deep in the park just yet, having taken the beach spots closer to the parking area. Plus, it was only around ten in the morning, still early on a summer day. It was definitely pretty here, with big pine trees and huge gray rocks. A blue jay called, and a crow clicked and clucked nearby.

  I told Rav what I’d been able to find out. I knew my grandfather and his brother had been playing while Garrison London packed up the car. He called the boys, and only Clark came.

  “So Sheppard probably drowned?” Rav asked.

  “They dragged the lake four times and never found anything,” I said. “But the bottom of the lake is really mucky, so . . .”

  “Wouldn’t he float?”

  I’d done a lot of reading on that. “Yeah. In almost all cases, bodies come up. That’s why Gigi thinks he was taken.”

  “Man. That’s grim.”

  We looked out at the lake, which seemed ominous now. I was glad our moms had forbidden us to swim, because I had an excuse not to.

  Sheppard might have drowned here. Almost all bodies came up . . . but not all.

  Or he’d been kidnapped and raised by someone else, like in that movie I’d found when I Googled “forced adoption.”

  Or he was just taken and maybe raped and murdered. It happened way, way too much.

  This view might’ve been the last thing he saw. Poor Sheppard. I hoped he hadn’t been scared.

  “Was there anyone else out here that day?” Rav asked.

  “Not according to what I read. I guess my grandfather thought there might be someone in the woods, but he was only five.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I barely know him. I think I’ve met him, like, twice in my whole life.” Rav had told me all four of his grandparents were coming from India to stay with them for two months. To say I was jealous wouldn’t have been a lie. The Finlay grandparents had ignored me all my life (and all summer). That was fine, because if I saw them, I might’ve flipped them off.

  But I had Pop, and now Gigi and Donelle. I was hardly a pathetic orphan.

  “Let’s climb up there,” Rav said, pointing to the giant rock at the edge of the little beach. “See what we can see.” He went first, offering me his hand, and when I clambered up, he didn’t let go right away.

  I could feel my heart thumping. Man, all those clichés were embarrassingly true.

  The view was gorgeous. Across the lake, we could see the bright little specks of color, people having fun with their families. I wondered if they knew about Sheppard.

  “Want to look around in the woods?” I asked. “Not that we’re gonna find anything after all these years.”

  “That’s why we’re here, right?”

  We climbed down and went along the narrow little path into the woods, side by side. I wished he’d hold my hand again, but maybe he’d just been helping me up. It had felt so nice, though.

  “This is a deer trail,” Rav said.

  “Cool.”

  “I wish you were staying here,” he said, looking at the ground. “I never met a girl I liked so much.” He looked up. “Sorry if that was weird.”

  “No,” I said. “That was . . . that was nice.”

  Then, before I could think too much about it, I leaned forward and kissed him, just a quick kiss on the lips, just enough to feel that his were soft and warm.

  Then we looked at each other. “You have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice cracking a little.

  “And you have the darkest.” I smiled, then he did, too, and we kept going, wandering in the woods, pushing back branches, climbing over rocks.

  My first kiss. His too, I’d bet.

  It was nice. It was more than nice. It was exactly right.

  We didn’t find anything relating to Sheppard, of course. We checked in what might’ve been fox dens, and under fallen trees, but there were no skeletons, no fifty-five-year-old scraps of clothing, no lonely little shoe. And I was glad. I wanted Gigi’s scenario to be true—somewhere, far away, her son was a grown man with a happy family.

  At some point, Rav and I held hands again, and he killed a mosquito on my arm. Chivalry. We surprised a deer and stood in awe for a second, so close we could see its eyelashes and the veins in its ears before it bounded into the woods.

  I got two texts from my mom, asking how it was going and reminding me to reapply sunscreen. Rav got three from his, mostly the same, but with a reminder that he was a gentleman and there would be hell to pay if he put a toe out of line, and she had her ways of knowing. We laughed a lot over that one.

  We didn’t kiss again. We didn’t have to. Instead, we ate our food, talked about school, movies, normal stuff. I told him about being iced out by my friends, and he said, “They sound like bitches,” and for the first time, the thought of seeing the girls again didn’t make me feel anything other than bored.

  When we got back to Sheerwater, he walked me to the door. “You want to do something this week?” he asked.

  “Sure. Anything.”

  He smiled, and my heart felt weird and hot and stretchy.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” I said.

  “Thanks for letting me. Bye!”

  And that was that, no big deal, except I felt incredibly happy. Just pure, clear happiness, because a nice boy liked me back.

  CHAPTER 30

  Emma

  Riley helped me pick out clothes for my date with Miller; she’d become quite the little fashionista since living here. “Color, texture and pattern,” she said, sounding way too much like my grandmother.

  “And here I thought jeans and a T-shirt was fine.”

  “It is fine. You just don’t have the right jeans and T-shirt. Too bad you’re too busty for Genevieve’s clothes.” She rustled in my closet, sighing from time to time.

  “It’s just dinner, honey. Not the Oscars.”

  “It’s a date, isn’t it?”

  I felt my face getting warm. “Um . . . maybe? Kind of?�
�

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She popped out of the closet with some clothes in her hand.

  “What time are your brothers coming over?” I asked.

  “Seven. Listen, Mom. I wanted to wait till we were alone, but . . .”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing!” She sat on my bed. “I kissed Rav today.”

  Be cool, be cool, I told myself. “How was it?” Don’t cry, she’s sixteen, it’s fine, it’s normal.

  She smiled. “It was nice. No tongue, don’t worry.”

  “Honey—”

  “Please, please, please don’t tell me about you and Dad. I know where I came from, okay?”

  I swallowed. “Okay. So . . . tell me about it.” Was that the right response? What would I tell a client? Was I screwing this up?

  “It was very . . . quick. But it was a legit kiss just the same. He said he liked me a lot, and I just leaned in and kissed him. And we held hands for a little while.” She blushed and picked at the fringe of her shorts. “That’s all.”

  “It sounds really . . . romantic.”

  She beamed at me. “It was, Mom. It was legitimately perfect. I mean, I’m not in love. But I’m in crush, I think.”

  “And he’s a nice, kind boy? He seems like it, but . . .”

  “He is. Don’t worry, Mom. You taught me well.”

  Did I? Not by example, at any rate. “Thanks. Just . . . take things slow, okay? And talk to me about anything, no matter how personal or embarrassing. I’ll always give you my best advice. I love you, and I’d never steer you wrong on purpose.”

  “See? You say these things, and I’m like, ‘I have the best mother in the world.’” She hugged me, and I tried not to cry. Then she pulled back. “Aw! You’re crying! You’re so cute, Mama. Okay, back to your clothes. Then we’ll do your makeup. You older women need to embrace highlighting, you know.”

  “I’m thirty-five.”

  “Like I said, highlighting can be your best friend.”

  A half hour later, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a little jacket, sandals, borrowed earrings and with my hair sprayed with argan oil and with a solemn promise not to put it in a ponytail, I was deemed fit for a date. Riley led me into the den, where Donelle, Gigi and the five dogs were relaxing (or slowly dying) in a fog of canine gas.

  “Ta-da! Doesn’t she look great?” Riley said.

  “Gorge,” Donelle said. “Hope you get a little some-some, sweetie.”

  “Donelle! Gross! That’s my mother we’re talking about! Gigi, what do you think?”

  “I think Donelle should stop aborting words in order to sound youthful,” she said, flicking a glance at me. “You look much better, Emma.”

  “Thank you, Genevieve.” I rolled my eyes.

  “You look quite nice,” she amended.

  “Thank you,” I answered without eye rolling.

  The doorbell rang its multi-toned chimes. “I’ll get it,” I said.

  “Oh, we’re all coming,” Donelle said, and so I greeted Miller with my three womenfolk and five dogs. Allegra mounted his leg, and Mac attempted to jump on him.

  “Let’s run for it before these dogs get rapey,” I said. “Bye, girls! Have a fun night!”

  “Bye!” they called, and I have to say, it was kind of sweet, all of them watching, Riley holding Minuet, Mac barking at the hydrangea bush, Donelle making gestures that probably meant get a little some-some, Carmen squatting to pee, and my grandmother giving us a regal wave.

  “How are you?” I asked my date.

  “Great,” he said, not sounding particularly happy. “I thought we could go to Mystic, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “I just don’t want . . . well, basically, everyone in town will talk if they see us together, and my mother-in-law is already upset because you brought up Ashley at the party.”

  “I . . . yeah. I felt bad that she . . . felt bad.”

  “It wasn’t you.”

  He was driving in jerks and sprints. “Hey, there. Relax, okay? We’re gonna have a nice dinner. That’s all.”

  “Okay.”

  Not in the most talkative mood . . . “How’s Tess?”

  “She was screaming and naked when I left.”

  “So, normal, then?”

  He didn’t smile. “Sorry. That was rude. I was trying to lighten things up.”

  “It’s fine.”

  I was fairly carsick by the time we got there. “Miller,” I said as he closed the car door, “if you want to go back home—”

  “No. I don’t. I’m sorry. I just . . .” He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “This is the first date I’ve had since Ashley died. The last first date I had was when I was fifteen.”

  I nodded. “Should we call it something other than a date, then? Like, dinner between friends?”

  “No. Let’s call it what it is. A date.”

  This did not appear to make him happy. “Okay! Super!” Easy on the jolliness, Emma.

  We went inside the restaurant, which was one of those kitschy “guess what? we’re near the ocean!” places with nets and mermaids and shells for décor. A wooden pirate with a hook for a hand and a patch over his eye stood next to the maître d’ stand.

  “Uh . . . this place was different the last time I came,” Miller said.

  “It’s cute!” I said. “It’s fine!” Exclamation points seemed to be my stress go-to.

  “G’day, mateys,” said the hostess in a toneless voice. She was dressed like a porno version of a sailor—a shirt tied under her breasts and a skirt that barely covered her butt. On her head was a little white hat with red horns. “Can I get ye a table by the water, me pretties?”

  “So much wrong with this picture,” I murmured.

  “If you want to go somewhere else, we can,” Miller said.

  “Please don’t!” the girl said. “Hardly anyone comes here, and I really need this job. Please, please, just look like you’re having fun. Don’t leave.”

  Miller looked at me.

  “It’ll be super fun!” I said.

  “Thank you. I mean, thanks, my hearties. Or something. Do you have a reservation?”

  “Finlay,” Miller said.

  “Right. Okay. Welcome aboard, then,” she said. “Right this way, mateys.”

  The poor girl. It was chilly tonight, and she was barely dressed. Plus, she was wearing three-inch heels. “Are you cold, honey?” I asked as we sat down.

  “Freezing,” she muttered. “Here’s our grog list. Avast, me fine beauties.”

  “Poor girl,” I said as she walked away. “I hope you speak pirate, because I’m a little lost.”

  If there’d been a stage, this place would’ve passed for a strip bar. The servers were all women, all dressed like the hostess, and all having about as much fun. The lighting was dim and red, the tables adorned with plastic parrots and lanterns. Miller was rubbing his forehead.

  “Hey,” I said. “It’ll be fun. It’s different, right?”

  “Right.” He tried to smile, then looked at the grog list.

  “Blimey!” barked someone, and we both jumped. “What can I get ye to slake yer thirst?” It was our server, a pretty girl with a fearsome glare. Clearly, no one worked here of their own free will.

  “I’ll have a Treasure Chest,” I said, picking the first cocktail that appeared.

  “Me too,” Miller said.

  “Don’t get yer scurvy selves hornswoggled,” she said loudly, then lowered her voice. “I don’t know what that means. The drinks are strong, that’s all.”

  The restaurant was largely empty, aside from a family with about six children seated not far from us. The parents were ignoring them as the children chased each other around the tables. There was also an elderly couple by the window, eating in silence, not lookin
g at each other, just shoveling in their food. The portions looked massive.

  “How was your day?” Miller asked, and thank God, because I thought he’d never speak.

  “It was pretty good,” I said. “I had a few clients online this morning, and then I went up to Rose Hill and did an intake session with a family.” It had been really emotional. And kind of beautiful. And heartbreaking. But beautiful.

  Truth was, my work at Rose Hill was a lot more rewarding than working with clients online. There was really something about being face-to-face, being able to give someone the occasional pat on the shoulder or, in this case, a hug.

  “It must help the families, knowing that you’re one of them. That Hope is there.”

  “I only tell them if they ask,” I said. “But I think it helps me understand them a little better. I mean, I’m her sister; most people are the parents, so it’s different. But it does help.”

  Our drinks arrived, and good God, they were huge.

  “Ye ready for yer rations?” our server asked.

  “Uh, not really,” Miller said. “Can we have a few minutes?”

  “Aye.” She rolled her eyes and went away. I caught a glimpse of the hostess, now wrapped in a blanket. I sipped my Treasure Chest, then winced. It was apparently every alcohol known to pirate-kind thrown in a blender.

  “I feel like I should tell you something,” Miller said. “I . . . shit.” He took a few swallows of his drink.

  “Easy, big fella,” I said. “Our serving wench didn’t lie. They’re strong.”

  “Yeah, I need the liquid courage. So. Here goes. Uh . . . I’ve never been with anyone other than Ashley. Never held hands with, kissed, slept with, loved anyone but her. So I’m not sure how this goes. Also, you’re Jason’s . . . something, and I don’t want that to be a thing. And you know, I’m a widower with a horrible child and I work a lot and have kind of a shitty home life. So I’m not really much of a prize.” He took another pull of his drink. I would be driving home, it appeared.

  I looked at him a long minute. “How about if we just kiss now?” I suggested. “Get it over with. If it’s horrible, we can just eat our fried clams and go home and be friends, no hard feelings.”

  He pondered this. “Okay,” he said.