by Inda Herwood
Sigh.
Moving through the store to the paintbrush and tool aisle, I spot a detail brush I decide I can’t leave without. It has a gel grip so my fingertips won’t go sore, the hairs made into a pristinely fine point. I’ve been looking for one of these for a while now. And at five dollars, it’s easily in my price range.
Stepping up to the counter, I place my lone brush on the weathered butcher block. When I look up after grabbing my wallet out of my purse, I find only a golden retriever and a little boy sitting there, his dark blue eyes obscured by midnight curls and round glasses.
Uh… “Hi, Theo,” I greet him, remembering his name from yesterday, though more than a little surprised to see him here – and the fact that he was left alone without supervision.
He doesn’t say anything in reply, just blinks.
O-kay then. I look left and right, searching for an adult while I ask him, “Is someone here with you?”
Again, no answer.
Hmm.
The sound of a door closing at the back of the store catches my attention, and I look over to see a man with brown hair and blue eyes walk towards the counter, his own glasses half falling off his nose. Greeting me with a smile, he says once he’s behind the cash register, “Hello there, sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It’s no trouble. Theo and his friend were keeping me company.” I try smiling at the boy again, but he only stares back, his expression just as lukewarm as before. I’m starting to see the resemblance between he and his brother.
The dog wags his tail.
Who I assume is the owner gives me a funny look while rearranging his glasses. “You know my son?”
Huh? Son? Looking between the two, it slowly starts to make sense. Their resemblance is spot on, their eyes in particular. “Oh, you must be Mr. Lyons. I’m Blaire Cromwell. I just moved in next door. Your wife, Leigha, and Theo came to visit me yesterday.” I explain to him.
“That’s right. I forgot that Elise mentioned new neighbors. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ms. Cromwell. I’m Edwin Lyons.” He takes my brush and rings it up, asking me, “So, what kind of an artist are you? Oils, pastels, graphite?”
“Watercolors mostly,” I say, deciding to state the obvious, “Your store is beautiful.”
“Why thank you. I only opened it last year. I used to be in finance before I decided that life is too short to just throw numbers around.” He hands me my small bag with a warm smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, reminding me of my dad. “Are you liking it here in Airings so far?”
I nod, admitting, “Yes, it’s a beautiful place. I love the constant view of the water.”
“It’s great, isn’t it? Back when I used to paint, I’d take my easel out on the porch and get lost for hours. A really great way to take in the scenery, if you ask me. Constant inspiration.”
“Used to?” I ask.
He holds up his hands that are slightly curved with knobby joints in the fingers. “Progressive arthritis. Can’t paint for more than half an hour anymore. But I still love art, and I knew the shop would give me interactions like these with other artists. That’s the true joy of the job.”
“Do you have any of your work here?” I wonder aloud.
He nods, pointing to the wall behind me. When I turn around, I spot a beautiful framed landscape done in what I would suspect is oil paints, showing our corner of the ocean in almost hyper realism, making my eyes bulge a little. It’s absolutely stunning. A master’s work, really.
Turning back to him, I say with undisguised appreciation, “It’s gorgeous. Do you sell your paintings?”
A shake of the head. He leans back on his stool, crossing his arms. His son adorably tries to mirror him, looking at his dad out of the corner of his eye to get the stance right. “I used to do prints, but not anymore I’m afraid. I could never part with the originals, and that’s what most people want. Something that takes so much of your time and energy is hard to let go of.”
I nod, understanding completely. When you finish a piece that comes out better than you hoped, and it took hours and hours to create, it’d be like parting with a piece of yourself if you sold it. And if your work turns out as perfect as Mr. Lyons’, it’d be even harder.
The chime above the door rings, signaling a new customer. Deciding that I better let him get back to things, I thank him for my purchase and say goodbye to him, Theo, and the dog, smiling as I leave.
***
Saturday comes way too soon for me. One minute I’m getting home from town, excited to try out my new brush, and the next thing I know, Mom is asking me at breakfast the following morning if I got the suit for the party today.
When she said “today” I nearly spit my bite of toast in Nana’s face. Something she most definitely would not have appreciated.
I somehow managed to completely forget about it.
“Y-yeah, I got it. But I think it’s supposed to rain today. I’m sure it’ll be cancelled.” I say this with having only seen one cloud in the sky this morning. But who knows, maybe luck will shine down on me and soak the party.
“Really? I didn’t see the forecast.” Mom looks out the window at clear, sunny skies, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Nana kicks me under the table.
“Ow! What was that for?” I grumble, massaging my shin where her granny shoes connected.
She rolls her eyes at me. “It’s not going to rain and you know it. You’re just afraid to go because that boy is going to be there.”
Every muscle in my body freezes like a stun gun was taken to them when she says this. She…she couldn’t…she couldn’t possibly know. I haven’t told anyone about Headphones Guy. There’s no way –
“Every night I enjoy a glass of wine on the patio. But it’s not like you would notice. You’ve been too busy staring at that boy and vice versa,” she harrumphs, sipping her orange juice like she didn’t just sell me out to Mom like a complete snitch.
I glare at her. “Not cool, Nan.”
“I am so confused. What boy?” Mom asks, her blonde bun half falling off her head when she turns to look at me.
I sigh, letting my forehead fall in my hands. “He’s no one, just the guy that lives next door. His window is right across from mine. We’ve both kind of been…staring, at each other. Sometimes. Twice, really.” I’m rambling and everyone knows it. Thank heavens Dad isn’t here to make fun of me for it.
“More like undressing each other with your eyes, if you ask me.”
“No one did, Nana. So please, for the love of all that is holy, stop. Talking.” I stare at her with pleading eyes to just shut up for once. I don’t need a bad situation turned into something worse just because she’s a nosy busy body.
“Staring? Is that all it is? You’ve never even talked to him?” Mom asks, thankfully skipping right over Nana’s inappropriateness.
“Well…no.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t want to go to the party because a boy looked at you?”
“It’s not just that. He acts like I killed his dog or something. And I don’t want to go because I hate talking to a bunch of people I’ve never met before. It’s stressful.” How do they not get that? Were they never young once and nervous to hang out with new people?
Placing her hand over mine, Mom looks into my eyes and says, “You are an amazing girl and anyone would be lucky to be your friend. All you have to do is be confident, smile your pretty smile, and be your charming self. You’re always overthinking things. Just relax and have fun. Don’t try to put pressure on yourself, okay?”
I nod, knowing in theory that she’s right, but my body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, especially not when I start to notice people arriving, flooding the Lyons’ driveway with cars. Staring at the mess through my window, I see tons of teenagers swarm the yard and beach, all in either bikinis or swim shorts. Most move to the back of the house, where the pool is, while others go into the house, probably to find a drink. All the while I stare down on it all like Rapu
nzel in her castle. But unlike Rapunzel, I don’t want to come down.
My eyes flicker over to Headphones Guy’s window every once in a while, hoping it will help me make my decision. I keep hearing Nana’s voice in my head now when I think of him, saying, More like undressing each other with your eyes, if you ask me. She really shouldn’t have cancelled her appointment for the cataract surgery, because she clearly isn’t seeing right. The only thing Headphones Guy wants to do to me is put a curtain between us.
He moves from one side of the room to the other, head bent, either looking at a book or messing with his phone. Sometimes he’ll move to the window and look down at all the people, his dreaded expression much like my own. Whenever he does this, I pull back into the shadows, like Igor, hoping he doesn’t see me purposefully staring this time.
When half an hour goes by, and I don’t see him going down to join the others, I decide it’s a safe enough bet to say he isn’t going at all. Knowing the chance for an awkward encounter is nearly zero, I feel better about the prospect of going over there.
After a good mental pep talk, I force myself to put on the stupid bikini, my low-rise shorts, and some sunglasses. I leave my hair in its perpetual bun, because there are just some things I refuse to change about myself.
When I get downstairs, I find Nan and Mom watching TV in the living room, some tragic Lifetime movie playing on the screen. I hear Dad messing with a hammer off in the distance, which is a good thing. Having Nana and Mom see me in this skimpy suit will be embarrassing enough.
Once they notice me, Mom pauses the TV, smiling like she got away with murder. “Don’t you look like summer personified.”
“I will give you a hundred dollars of my babysitting money if you refuse to say another word about this.” I bribe, hoping they’ll take it – knowing they won’t.
“Not a chance in hell, babe.” Nan chuckles.
“Did you bring a towel?” Mom asks, going back into mother mode.
“No, because I’m not going to swim.”
“Sunblock?”
“Put it on fifteen minutes ago.”
“Flip-flops?”
I hold them up for her.
“Well it looks like you’re ready to P.A.R.T.Y. Have fun.” She waggles her eyebrows at me with a grin before turning back to her program and hitting Play again. “And remember, no kissing boys I haven’t met yet.”
“Mom.”
“Honestly, you’d think you were a perfect angel when you were her age,” Nana says, shaking her head at Mom while she does her crossword in a leopard print robe. “I caught you plenty of times sneaking out at night, only to come back at four in the morning with your shirt on backwards and your hair made into a tumble weed.”
“Too much information. Always way, way, WAY too much information,” I grumble to myself while the two of them bicker about whether Mom was a saint or a troublemaker as a kid. Rolling my eyes, I step out the door and into the sun without them even noticing.
The sound of blaring music hits me hard, not just in the ears, but also in the chest, giving me a second heartbeat. It pounds through every one of my nerves while I walk across the yard, dodging large male bodies attempting to play with a football. I decide to go to the back of the house near the pool first, figuring it’s my best chance at finding Leigha. At least I hope it is. The whole point of being here is so that she can see I came, made the effort, and then go back to my art studio and disappear again.
When I get there, I see no less than thirty people in the pool, emphasizing just how large it is. Girls in even skimpier bikinis than mine lay out on the numerous lounge chairs set up next to it, sunning their long, lean legs. Once in a while some of the guys will splash them, sending up a roar of fake complaints on the girls’ end.
Through the chaos of bodies and voices and music, I search for Leigha’s face and her long, dual colored hair, but come up empty. It forces me to move into the house, something I really hadn’t wanted to do. But I see no other choice at this point. And so I open one of the three sets of double doors, leading into the large, open living room. It’s styled in a similar way to ours, what with the chef’s kitchen attached to the living space. But the design is different in that this house clearly has a theme to it.
With earth tones and splashes of red, it reminds me of cool autumn days and nights around a fire. Very cozy even though the place is gigantic. I also see that some of the paintings on the walls are similar to the one Mr. Lyons showed me at his shop. I think it’s safe to assume the beautiful landscapes were created by his skilled hands.
It’s almost too easy for me to get lost looking at them, inspecting each brush stroke he made to create such a spellbinding effect. As an artist, I can appreciate the care and time he took with each piece. I only wish all these people weren’t here to distract me from looking at them.
“There you are!” I hear a voice shout behind me, causing me to jump in surprise before I turn around to face it. There I see Leigha smiling at me, a red cup in her hand when she goes to hug me. I return the embrace, seeing her smile widen even further when she pulls away. “I’m so glad you made it. I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone.” She grabs my hand with her free one, and in the blink of an eye, she’s touring me around the room, repeating my name to what feels like a hundred people, all who give me polite smiles and words of welcome in return. My cheeks start to hurt from all the fake smiling, and I realize my five minutes were up a long time ago.
“I think it’s time we get you a drink. What do you want? We’ve got ginger ale, every flavor of Mountain Dew, some Coke and Pepsi…” Leigha trails off, her hands picking up different liters and cans of soda from the kitchen counter, all while I try to hear her over the music, which someone seems to have turned up even louder since I got here.
I grab whatever it is she has in her hand and pop the top, not caring about what flavor it is anymore. I feel parched, overwhelmed, and I just need something wet. Taking my first sip, I’m surprised at the tangy sweet flavor. Looking down at the label, I see it says pineapple soda. Different, but good, I decide, taking another sip.
“Finally! I was wondering where you went,” Leigha says next to me while I continue to chug my soda. “Blaire, this is my cousin, Catcher. Catch, this is the girl I was telling you about, the one that just moved in next door.”
I turn to look at the guy she called Catcher, my stomach in my throat until I see that the face attached to the name is unfamiliar to me.
Catcher is a good-looking guy, that much is obvious. Tall, and with arms toned in all the right places, he has a warm smile that makes me think of his mother’s. He also has blue eyes like his little brother’s, but his hair is a lighter shade than his, more of a milk chocolate than a dark coffee. His lacks the signature Lyons curls, but certainly not charisma. His eyes practically glow when he says, “Wow, you’re gorgeous.”
My eyes bug out for a second, my mouth forming an embarrassing O.
Leigha smacks a hand to her forehead, groaning. “Shoot, I forgot to warn you.”
“I – what?” I stutter, still watching Catcher smile at me like he said nothing surprising.
“Catch is a CTT, a compulsive truth teller. Gets us in trouble all the time. Catch, apologize to her,” she tells him with a pointed look, hands on hips like he paid me an insult.
“No, that’s not – it’s fine. I –” This could not be more embarrassing. Not only because there’s nothing I can say that will diffuse the situation, but the guy is attractive enough that he has my tongue feeling like it’s swollen. Anything I try to say will just come out sounding like I’m choking.
“Sorry about that. But I’m sure you’ll get used to it over the summer. I just believe that lying to people is a waste of time,” he says with an innocent grin. After a stunned few seconds, I can’t help but laugh at his reasoning.
Leigha still looks annoyed, though. “I hope this new fact doesn’t make you go running back to your house now.”
I wave my hand at
the whole mess. “No, it’s okay. Just remind me to never ask him anything I don’t want the truth to. Like if this bathing suit makes me look like an albino.” I motion to the bikini top, trying not to compare it to Leigha’s. Hers is adorable with white daisies printed all over the black wetsuit fabric. She also has on a choker necklace with a matching hairband to keep her locks back from her face. Cute and trendy.
Catcher goes to open his mouth, but Leigha smartly throws a hand over it before he can say anything.
“Have you gone in the pool yet?” she asks me instead, fingers still sealing his lips shut.
“Uh, no.” After a second’s deliberation, I decide to explain, though it’s embarrassing, “I can’t swim.”
Finally, Catcher takes the liberty of removing his cousin’s hand, looking at me disbelievingly when he says, “Seriously?”
A nod.
“We’ll just have to fix that this summer then. You can’t live next to the ocean and not know how to swim.”
“Catch is the best swimmer at school,” Leigha tells me, using her cup to motion to him, as if I didn’t know who she was talking about. “You won state how many times?”
He holds up three fingers and dances them around. “But it’s not polite to brag, L.”
She shrugs. “Just sayin’.”
“So, do you guys throw these parties often?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.
“Usually at the start of summer and the end. It kind of bookends the season. Otherwise it’s just the three of us hanging out, though sometimes Theo joins us, too.”