Grace (21 page)

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Authors: T. Greenwood

BOOK: Grace
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“Just leave me alone,” Trevor said and moved to the far side of the pool.
“Just leave me alone,”
Ethan mocked.
“Okay, that's enough, boys,” Lisa said, gently knocking Ethan in the back of the head.
When it was time to practice turns, Lisa had them all line up next to each other. Trevor swam the length of the pool as fast as he could, and when he got to the end, he executed his turn, feeling that strange and wonderful feeling of not knowing which way is up or down. Then something brushed against him. Legs. He was tangled up with someone else. He burst, disoriented, to the surface of the water, struggling for air.
“Hey, pervert!” Ethan Sweeney screamed in his face. “Homo perv.”
Mike swam up to them then, pushing his chest out. “What'd he do?”
Trevor wiped the chlorine out of his eyes. He searched frantically for Lisa, who was at the opposite end of the pool, in the water, helping the other new kid with his turn.
“He tried to
molest
me,” Ethan said, smirking. His face was sunburned, his hair and eyes both red. “He had a total boner.”
“Shut up! You ran into me,” Trevor said, tasting metal in his throat, acrid. Bitter.
“Yeah, right,” Ethan said, sneering.
Trevor's legs were suddenly weak; he was having a hard time treading water.
“Guess since your old-lady girlfriend got sick, you're lonely,” Mike said, laughing. “Sorry to hear about Mrs. D. Guess now you're a full-on faggot.”
Trevor felt like he was drowning.
“What's the problem over here, boys?” Lisa asked. She had swum over to them. She bobbed up and down in the water like a toy.
“No problem.” Mike smiled.
“Okay then, make your way back to the other side. We're almost out of time. You too, Ethan.” She dipped under the water then and disappeared like a minnow at the bottom of a lake.
Mike flicked his tongue in and out of his mouth, like some thick slug, mock making out with her.
“That's my fucking sister, asshole!” Ethan said and pushed Mike's head under the water.
His sister
. Trevor let himself slip under the water, sinking slowly to the bottom of the pool, and then kicked off against the wall, swimming as fast as he could to the other side.
At home that afternoon, he told his mother he was going to go walk in the woods. She was at the kitchen table painting Gracy's fingernails. The whole room smelled like chemicals, clean but poisonous. Gracy looked up at him and smiled. “Can I come with you?” she asked, and he saw his mother stiffen. Not so much that anybody would notice, but Trevor did. He knew the way her shoulders looked when she didn't like an idea. He knew the way her mouth twitched, her eyes scrunched into slits. She didn't trust him at all anymore, not since he took off and scared her half to death. Since he threw his camera.
“Not today, Gracy,” he said, so his mother wouldn't have to.
“Be back by supper,” his mom said without looking up from the delicate work of painting Gracy's miniature nails.
The first thing Trevor needed to do was to replace the caboose's windows, though not with glass. What he needed was plywood, four or five sheets that he could use to keep out the light. So no one could see in. Or out.
He went to the shed and started to rummage through the piles of stuff they'd transported over from Pop's house. He dug through the rubble, looking for something that might work. Finally, he found a stack of sheet metal that looked about the right size. He was pretty sure his dad wouldn't mind, but then thought maybe he should call him anyway just to check. He was doing his best to stay on his dad's good side. He went back into the kitchen and grabbed the phone from the counter.
“Look at my fingernails, Trevor!” Gracy said, hopping down from her chair and wriggling her fingers in his face. “Do you want me to paint yours?”
“No thanks, Gracy,” he said.
“Thought you were headed to the woods,” his mom said.
“I forgot something.” He brought the phone outside and dialed the shop. He could picture his dad at the counter, tapping away at the adding machine, the tape like a snake's tongue, flicking out of the machine.
“Dad?” he said. “I found some sheet metal. Can I have it?”
“What for?” he asked.
Trevor had anticipated the question but wasn't sure if his story would be enough to convince his father. “I'm going to build something,” he said. “A tree house or something.”
His father had promised him a few years ago that he'd build him a tree house in the backyard. There used to be a big oak tree that would have been perfect, but during a big summer storm it fell over and crushed the garage roof. They hadn't talked about the tree house after that.
“Aren't you a little old for that now?” Kurt asked.
Trevor shrugged but didn't answer.
“I don't care,” his father said. “Go ahead, but don't cut yourself.”
“Thanks,” Trevor said and returned the phone to its cradle in the kitchen. He loaded the pieces into his dad's wheelbarrow. He'd need some metal screws too. The Makita. Some electrical tape or weather stripping. He returned to the shed and dug through the coffee cans of hardware that littered the wooden worktable, taking what he needed and started loading it into the wheel barrow.
He pushed it through the pasture behind the house, into the woods, and all the way to the river, navigating bushes and trees and upturned roots along the way. Then he parked it at the river's edge and made three trips up the trestle with all of his supplies to the caboose.
Inside, the light coming through the cracked windows was green, as though he were submerged underwater. As if the caboose were at the bottom of a swimming pool. He lingered in that aquatic light, trying not to think about what had happened at the pool. Trying not to think about the way his whole body had ached.
Homo perv
.
He had a total boner
. He tried to remember what his body had felt when Ethan touched him. He couldn't recollect anything now but the disorientation of being upside down in the water. Sometimes, he felt his body stiffen despite himself; it didn't take much. It wasn't his fault, though; there wasn't anything he could do to control it. He didn't think so, but was it possible he'd actually had a hard-on? And what if he did have one? Did that make him what they said? Was he really queer?
He shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his shirt sleeve, rubbing the snot from under his nose afterward. Then he reached for the first piece of sheet metal and got to work.
W
hen Twig asked Elsbeth what she and Kurt were doing for the Fourth of July, Elsbeth had shrugged. Most of the time they grilled burgers in the backyard, had some friends over, and then Kurt and his buddies would set off firecrackers in the field behind the house. But now that Kurt was working so much, they hadn't bothered to make any plans. The yard was closed for the holiday, though, so at least he had one day off. She thought she might convince him to go to Twig's party, to have some fun for a change.
“Twig's having a party up at Gormlaith this afternoon. Then fireworks tonight. You wanna come?”
“Jesus, El. I'm exhausted. I haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks. I just need to catch up a little.”
Elsbeth sighed. The bed was empty three nights a week now, and Kurt was a walking zombie. When she spoke to him, she was pretty sure he was only pretending to hear her most of the time. Nodding, his eyes glazed over. She knew he was tired, but for Christ's sake.
“You go,” Kurt said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Take the kids. Have fun.”
“Trevor's not going to want to come without you,” she said.
Trevor wasn't any better than Kurt. Both of them moping around. Eyes glassy and sad. It was depressing. So they weren't going to Disney World—it was still
summer
. Couldn't they at least enjoy that while it lasted?
“I just really need to get some sleep, El.”
“Fine,” she said. “You and Trevor stay here. Take a
nap
. I'll take Gracy.”
Elsbeth spent the rest of the morning making food for the picnic. She boiled potatoes for salad, made deviled eggs freckled with paprika. She played the radio loudly and sang along. Gracy helped her make brownies, and they sat together on the back steps licking the bowl, watching the hummingbirds buzz against the red plastic feeder. Trevor took off for the woods again, and Kurt went back to bed.
It was a beautiful sunny day. Not too hot. She tried to focus on the sunshine.
She packed everything up into a picnic basket and tiptoed into the bedroom to grab her new suit, careful not to wake Kurt, and then ducked into the bathroom to try it on. It had arrived, along with all the other things she ordered a couple of weeks ago. She hadn't tried it on yet, though, because all those packages just made her sad. She knew she should send them all back, get the charges taken off the credit card. She'd hidden the FedEx boxes and UPS envelopes in the back of her closet.
She slipped the suit out of the plastic it was wrapped in and held the pieces up. She wriggled out of her jeans and T-shirt, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the floor as well. She pulled the top on and studied her reflection in the mirror. Definitely no Victoria's Secret model, but she looked pretty good for thirty. She slipped the suit off again and pulled the paper panty liner out. She wouldn't be returning this one.
“I'll be back after the fireworks,” she said to Kurt as she buckled Gracy into her booster. Kurt stood in the driveway, his eyes red and shadowed, his hair a mess.“Go back to bed. You look like hell,” she said and immediately regretted it.
“Jeez, thanks,” he said.
“Sorry. But seriously, get some sleep. I left some potato salad, and there are some burgers in the freezer for supper.” She put the picnic basket on the floor and shut the car door. As they backed out of the driveway, her spirits were lifted with every inch they drove away from the house.
Gormlaith was about a forty-five-minute drive from Two Rivers. Twig's family had a camp up there. They had a dock and a motorboat and water skis. She'd only been there a couple of times, and never for the Fourth of July. She was excited. It was the first time she'd looked forward to something since Kurt squashed their plans for a vacation. Elsbeth also missed Twig; she hadn't really seen her since the night she colored Elsbeth's hair. They'd communicated exclusively through sticky notes on the mirror.
Hey, girlfriend! What's new?
Date tonight. Nothing to WEAR!
I remember dates. LOL.
HUNGOVER.
Try Vitamin B.
She hadn't heard back from Wilder, which was just as well, even though it left her feeling a hollow pang of something unfinished. He'd most likely gone back to Florida by now. If he was looking to write a whole book about Two Rivers, he'd probably been pretty disappointed with what the town to offer.
She'd
only been able to offer him a little bit about the town's history: just a couple of anecdotes and the stuff she'd learned in grade school. He'd wanted to know more about the beauty parlor, but she didn't really know much of anything. Babette would have been able to help him: the real Babette. It was good he was gone; because she could hardly pretend she was Babette now the
real
Babette was back from Colorado. Elsbeth had been stupid. Impulsive and stupid. She thought about him flying back to Florida, looking over the notes he'd scratched in his notebook while they talked. He'd come for answers and instead just got some silly woman pretending to be somebody she wasn't.
She pulled into the driveway at Twig's camp, and there were already about a half dozen cars parked in the driveway and all along the edge of the road. She hadn't expected so many people. She recognized Mireya's car right away. Mireya was Twig's baby sister. Twig always had wild stories about her. She'd hitchhiked by herself to California during Easter break when she just fifteen. She got all the way to LA before their parents figured out where she'd gone. Mireya drove an electric blue Camaro; she waited tables at Luigi's and was the 2009 New England regional karaoke champion runner-up. Elsbeth was also pretty sure she'd gotten a boob job last year.
“Hi, Mookie!” Elsbeth said, bending down to pet Twig's rescued mutt, who sniffed her legs and begged for attention. Ollie, Twig's Italian greyhound, was barking behind the screen door.
“Ollie, shut
up! Sorry!
” Twig hollered, coming to the door. “Hey, girls!” She rushed down the steps in her bikini, giving Elsbeth a big hug. Elsbeth could feel her ribs in her back. She'd been on this cabbage soup diet for two weeks already, and it seemed to be working. Twig took the picnic stuff and the beer Elsbeth had picked up at Hudson's on the way. “Oh my God, I am so excited for your potato salad. If I ever see another bowl of cabbage soup, I'll kill myself,” she said.

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