My Life Next Door

by Huntley Fitzpatrick

  “Samantha! Samantha!” Nan shouts. “Can you hear me?”

  “Gotcha.”

  She continues yelling, as though that will help. “I’m on my cell, but I have to talk fast. Tim’s used all my minutes again! Daniel’s taking me out on his parents’ boat. Can you hear me? My reception stinks!”

  I bellow that I can, hoping it’ll go through.

  “TELL MY PARENTS I’M WITH YOU,” she hollers. “OKAY?”

  “IF YOU TELL MY MOM I’M WITH YOU! OKAY?”

  “WHAT?” she shrieks

  “WHAT?” I shout back.

  “WE MAY STAY ON THE BOAT TONIGHT. SAY IT’S A SLEEPOVER AT YOUR HOUSE!” She’s loud enough to make my cell into a speakerphone. Tim sits up, alert.

  “I want to talk to her,” he tells me urgently.

  “TIM WANTS TO TALK TO YOU.” He grabs the phone out of my hand.

  “I’LL TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT,” Nan roars. “JUST DO THIS ONE THING.”

  “OF COURSE!” Tim hollers into the phone. “ANYTHING FOR YOU, MY PRIZE-WINNING SISTER!”

  He hands the phone back to me.

  “Is Tim okay?” Nan asks, in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t—” I start, then the phone gives that depressed-sounding doo-dle that signals the end of the battery, and shuts down altogether.

  “You’re not in trouble, are you, Sam?” Jase asks.

  “I note you don’t ask me,” Tim calls, taking off his pants to reveal boxer shorts with little crests on them. He notices me looking.

  “Ellery Prep sells boxers. I got these for Christmas from Mom. They don’t confiscate them when you’re kicked out.”

  Jase is still looking at me quizzically. I scrounge in the back of the Bug.

  “We’ll meet you at the shore after you change,” Jase says. “C’mon Tim.”

  Rustling through the available suits in the trunk, buried under lacrosse sticks and soccer balls, Gatorade bottles and sports bar wrappers, I get what Jase means. The only matching pieces are these two tiny bits of black fake leather. Other than that, there’s nothing but a few pairs of Jase’s Stony Bay soccer team shorts and what looks like a one-piece bathing suit for Patsy. That’s probably Alice’s too.

  So I put on the black leatherish stuff, grab a towel, and try to march nonchalantly onto the beach.

  Not exactly possible.

  Jase looks at me, blushes, looks again, and backs into deeper water. Tim looks at me and says, “Holy fuckin’ Catgirl!”

  “It’s Alice’s suit,” I say. “Let’s swim.”

  The rest of the day is just lazy. Jase, Tim, and I lie on the beach, get hot dogs at the Clam Shack, and lie around some more. Finally, we go back to the Garretts’ and hang out by the pool.

  George snuggles up next to me. “I like your bathing suit, Samantha. But you kind of look like a vampire. Have you ever seen a vampire bat? Did you know that they don’t really get tangled in your hair? That’s just a myth. They’re really very nice. They only drink from cows and stuff. But blood, not milk.”

  “Nope, I’ve never seen one,” I answer. “I’m in no hurry to, actually, however nice they may be.”

  The back door slams and Andy drifts out onto the pool deck, beaming. She collapses against the fence, closing her eyes dramatically. “It finally happened.”

  “Kyle Comstock?” I ask.

  “Yes! He finally kissed me. And it was”—she pauses—“actually kind of painful? He’s got braces too. But it was still wonderful. He did it right in front of everyone too. After the parade? I’m going to remember it for all eternity. It’ll be my last thought as my eyes close for the final time. Then he kissed me again after we got ice cream and then when—”

  “We get the picture,” Jase interrupts. “I’m happy for you, Andy.”

  “Now what, though?” she asks, looking anxious. “Do you think he’ll use his tongue next time?”

  “He didn’t this time?” Tim’s incredulous. “Christ.”

  “Well, no. Was he supposed to? Did we do it wrong?”

  “Ands, there aren’t any rules about this sort of thing.” Jase stretches out on his back on the towel next to me and George.

  “There really should be,” Andy argues. “’Cause how on earth are you supposed to figure it all out? That was nothing like kissing my bedpost. Or the bathroom mirror.”

  Both Jase and Tim burst out laughing.

  “No tongue there,” Jase mutters.

  “Or only your own. And solo’s never as good,” laughs Tim.

  “Why would you kiss your bedpost, Andy? That’s kinda yuck.” George wrinkles his nose. Andy gives all three boys an annoyed look and floats back into the house.

  Tim reaches for his jacket, taking his cigarettes out of the inside pocket and tapping one into his palm. George’s eyes get round.

  “Is that a cigarette? Are those cigarettes?”

  Tim looks a bit nonplussed. “Sure. D’you mind?”

  “You’ll die if you smoke those. Your lungs get black and shrivel up. Then you die.” George is suddenly near tears. “Don’t die. I don’t wanna see you die. I saw Jase’s hamster die and it got all stiff and its eyes stayed open but they weren’t shiny anymore.”

  Tim’s face goes blank. He glances over at Jase as if for instruction. Jase just gazes back at him.

  “Hell,” Tim says, and shoves the cigarette back in. He stands up, stalks to the pool, and dives in deep.

  George turns to me. “What’s that mean? Does that mean no or yes?”

  Mrs. Garrett sticks her head out the back door. “Jase—the garbage disposal broke again. Can you help me out?”

  The Garretts have fireworks, thanks, Mrs. Garrett tells me, to her brother Hank, who lives down south and ships them up illegally every year. So we’re all on the Garretts’ lawn as the summer sky darkens.

  “Jack!” Mrs. Garrett calls. “Please don’t burn off your hand! Why do I need to say this? I tell you this every year.”

  “If I do,” Mr. Garrett says, placing some fireworks in a circle of stones, “I’m suing your brother. He never sends instructions. Light up, Jase!”

  Jase strikes a long match and hands it to his dad. Mrs. Garrett encircles George and Patsy in her arms. “You wouldn’t read them anyway!” she calls out as the match flares blue and the fireworks shoot into the night sky.

  As the last firework fizzles down, I roll onto my side, following the lines of Jase’s face with my index finger.

  “You’ve never played for me,” I say.

  “Mmm?” he sounds sleepy.

  “I’ve seen Andy and Duff play their instruments. You claim you can play the guitar. But I’ve never seen evidence. When are you going to play me a ballad?”

  “Uh, never?”

  “Why not?” I ask, tracing the arch of one of his dark eyebrows.

  “Because that would be incredibly lame, not to mention goofy. And I try to steer clear of lame. Not to mention goofy.”

  He shifts to his back, pointing into the night sky. “Okay, what’s that star? And that one?”

  “The Summer Triangle. That’s Vega, and Deneb and Altair. Over there is…Lyra, Sagittarius…” I follow the path of the flickering stars with my index finger.

  “I love that you know this,” Jase says softly. “Hey, is that a shooting star? You can wish on those, right?”

  “An airplane, Jase. See the little red taillight?”

  “Jesus. Okay. So much for not being lame and goofy.”

  I laugh, lean over to kiss his neck. “You can wish on the airplane anyway, though, if you want.”

  “Somehow the thrill is gone,” he says, pulling me close. “Besides, what else would I wish for?”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Hello sweetheart.” The voice is cool as water. “Have anything to say to me?”

  I freeze in the act of silently closing the front door. Oh God. Oh God. How did I not see Mom’s car? I thought the fireworks and steam train would take longer. How could I have stayed out so late?
>
  “I never thought I’d be doing this for you.” The voice is amused now, and I look up to see Tracy sitting on the couch, shaking her head at me.

  I’d forgotten her pitch-perfect imitation of Mom, which, combined with her impressive forgery skills, got her out of field trips she didn’t want to go on, school days with tests she hadn’t studied for, and health classes she was bored by.

  I laugh and take a deep breath. “Jeez, Trace. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  She’s smirking. “Mom called right at curfew to make sure you were safe and sound. I told her you’d been tucked up in your little bed for hours, dreaming sweet innocent dreams. Good thing she can’t see you now.” She stands up and walks behind me, turning me to face the mirror in the hallway. “So who’s the guy?”

  “There isn’t—” I begin.

  “Samantha, please. Your hair’s a mess, your lips are all puffy, and you’ll be needing that stupid Breakfast Ahoy scarf to cover that hickey right there. I repeat: Who’s the guy?”

  I do indeed look flushed and rumpled, a look I’ve seen on Tracy many a time but am still getting used to on myself. “You don’t know him,” I say, attempting to straighten my hair. “Please don’t say anything to Mom.”

  “Little Miss Perfection has a secret lov-ah!” Tracy’s giggling now.

  “We’re not…We haven’t—”

  “Huh,” Tracy says, unimpressed. “Judging by the expression on your face, it’s just a matter of time. I covered for you. Now, spill. If I don’t know him, there’s got to be a reason why. Please tell me it’s someone Mom won’t have a fit about.”

  “She would not be happy,” I admit.

  “Why? Is he a druggie? A drinker?”

  “A Garrett,” I say. “From next door.”

  “Holy heck, Samantha. You’re really pushing the limits, aren’t you? Who knew you’d turn out to be the big rebel? Is he the one with the leather jacket and the motorcycle? If so, you are doomed. Mom’ll ground you till you’re thirty-five.”

  I blow out an impatient breath. “Not him—his younger brother. Jase. Who’s probably the best person I’ve ever met…kind and smart and…good. He…I…” I run out of words, rub my lips with my fingers.

  “You’re a goner,” Tracy groans. “I can tell by listening to you that he’s totally got the upper hand. You can’t let that happen no matter how amazing you think the dude is. If you are going to be knocking boots, make sure he thinks you’re doing him the favor. Otherwise you’re just asking to be done and dumped.”

  My sister, the hopeless romantic.

  Well? I text Nan the next morning.

  ???? she replies.

  R U still on the boat? What happened?

  No. Daniel had 2 get it back b4 parents knew he’d had it all night. I’m home.

  And???

  Where R U?

  I’m at the beach before work at the B&T, watching Mr. Garrett train Jase. At the moment, Jase is slogging through the water knee-deep, emerging to do some push-ups and wading back in. If you’d told me I’d find this riveting a few weeks ago, I’d have laughed. My fingers hover, still hesitant to reveal too much to Nan, but finally I type: At SB beach.

  Give me 10, she texts back.

  Nan shows up fifteen minutes later, just as Jase flops onto the sand for another round of push-ups.

  “Oh, I get it now,” she says with a knowing smile. “I thought you were swimming, or catching some early sun. But it’s all about the boyfriend, huh, Samantha?”

  I ignore her. “What happened with Daniel?”

  Nan flops on her back, wrist over her eyes—almost exactly what Tim did yesterday. Even after all these years, I’m fascinated by the way they sometimes unconsciously echo each other. She squints in the sun, then rolls onto her stomach, turning to look at me with serious gray eyes.

  “On the boat? Well, we went upriver to Rocky Park, and anchored there and had a picnic. Then we went out in the sound. Daniel swam, but I was freaked that there might be great white sharks. He said it was too cold for them but—”

  “Nan! You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “I do?” she asks innocently, then relents. “Do you mean did Daniel and I ‘Take Our Relationship to the Next Level’?”

  “Um, no. Because who calls it that?” I flick a toenail shell at her.

  “Daniel calls it that.” Nan sits up, looking out at the water now, shielding her eyes from the sun. “We did not.”

  “Because…? You decided you weren’t ready? Or it wasn’t what Daniel had in mind?”

  Jase slogs back into the water, massaging his thigh as though he has a cramp.

  “Why’s he doing this?” Nan asks. “It seems like torture. I keep expecting his dad to get out a hose and spray him in the face with cold water. Or make him sing one of those macho rhyming songs—Navy Wings are made of lead, hup, two, three…”

  “Training for football season,” I say, flicking another orange-pink shell at her. “You’re evading the question.”

  “It was what Daniel had in mind. What I had in mind. But at the last minute…I just couldn’t.” Nan sits up now, pulling her knees to her chest, ducking her chin down. “He overtalked it. First he got me wine, which would have been okay, but he had to explain that it was ‘to loosen my inhibitions.’ Then he went on and on about how this was a big step and it was irrevocable, and it would Change Our Relationship Permanently. I kept waiting for him to pull out a release form.”

  “Sexy, baybee,” I say.

  “I know! I mean…I know life isn’t like Love With the Proper Stranger.” This is Nan’s favorite movie, with her beloved Steve McQueen and Natalie Wood. “I don’t expect…bells and banjos. Well…not from Daniel.” She ducks her head. “Maybe not ever.”

  I watch Jase, and, as though sensing it, he turns, flashing his incandescent smile.

  “Why not, Nanny?” I ask gently.

  “I think these things through.” Nan’s biting her already too-short thumbnail, a habit she’s had since kindergarten. I reach out, pull it away from her mouth, a habit I’ve had since kindergarten. “There’s not going to be mad passion here. We’ve been dating for two years…We’re compatible. It wouldn’t be awkward.”

  Mr. Garrett gives Jase a thumbs-up, calling, “You’re good, son.”

  “Joel,” Jase replies, in between deep, ragged breaths, “could do it faster. I think.”

  “And I couldn’t,” Mr. Garrett calls. “Still had colleges looking. You’re doing fine.” He claps Jase on the shoulder.

  “Shouldn’t it be better than ‘not awkward,’ Nanny?”

  Nan pulls her hand away from mine, starting on her pinkie nail. “In the real world? The only advice Mommy’s given me about sex is: ‘I was a virgin when I got married. Don’t do that.’”

  I pull her hand away again and she swats at me playfully. Jase has thrown himself down for another round of push-ups. I can see his arms trembling.

  “Mom told me the mechanics when I got my period, then told me never to have sex.”

  “That approach worked so well with Tracy.” Nan giggles, then her brows pull together, following my gaze.

  “Daniel’s going places.” She traces a finger in the sand. “Clearly. He was valedictorian, he got in early-decision to MIT. We’re alike that way…All I want is to get out of here.” She sweeps her hand across the horizon as though she could erase it with that one gesture. “I’ll apply ED to Columbia in the fall, I’ll get away from Tim and Mommy and Daddy and…everything.”

  “Nan…” I say, then don’t know how to continue.

  “Who’s he going to be, this Garrett guy?” Nan asks. “I mean, he’s gorgeous now, God knows. But in five years, ten…Just like his dad. Running some hardware store in this podunk Connecticut town. Having too many kids…Daniel and I may not stay together, but…at least…he’s not going to drag me down.”

  I feel my face prickle. “Nan, you don’t even know Jase,” I start, but then he jogs up to us at exactly this moment
, bends, his hands splayed on his outspread thighs, gasping for air.

  “Hey Sam, Nan. Sorry, have to catch my breath. I gotta stop, Dad.”

  “One more run,” Mr. Garrett says. “Just pull it out. You can do it.”

  Jase shakes his head, shrugs at us, but wades into the water anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Much to everyone’s surprise, and probably his own, Tim thrives at Mom’s campaign office. He makes voter registration calls in twenty different accents. He convinces ordinary folks who believe in Mom to write in to local papers about how their lives have been changed because Senator Grace Reed cares. Within two weeks, he’s even writing short speeches for Mom. She and Clay can’t stop talking about him.

  “That kid really has it all going on,” Clay marvels as we drive to yet another meet-and-greet, where I stand next to Mom, trying to look wholesome and supportive. “He’s got smarts and he’s wily. Always thinking on his feet.”

  “Yeah, well. Turns out it’s all about manipulating things—and people,” Tim allows when I repeat this to him. We’re hanging out in the driveway of the Garretts’ house while Jase works on the Mustang. I’m sitting on the hood, on a blanket, which Jase sheepishly insisted on, saying he didn’t want any of the primer scratched off. He’s wrestling with some sort of wiring issue. “Who knew that years of lying and bullshitting would be so useful?”

  “You’re cool with this?” Jase asks. “Hey, Sam, can you hand me the wrench? God knows what the guy who owned this before me did. Drag races? The clutch is completely burned out…and the five-speed’s making this whining noise even though it’s still operable. Plus all the u-joints are loose.”

  “English, dude?” Tim requests as I hand Jase the wrench. He’s under the car, working hard, and I feel this urge to kiss the line of sweat trailing from his throat. I’m out of control.

  “Somebody didn’t take care of this car,” Jase responds. “But you—sorry Sam—you don’t believe in anything Grace Reed is supporting, Tim. You aren’t even a Republican. Don’t you feel wrong helping her out?”