In the House On Lakeside Drive (2 page)

The chair across from Sam shifted outward, and the clatter of old worn shoes on rough wooden floor caught Sam's ear. “Good thing I got home first, then. Let's finish up these cookies, and then I'll give you the good news.”

Sam grinned. “We get the day off school tomorrow?”

“Hah hah. No, but we
are
going out for dinner tonight. All of us.”

“Brilliant!” Sam made his way toward the slightly winding staircase in the front hall, his foot brushing against the long white cane he had left underneath his seat. “Hey, Remy!” he called up the stairs. “Guess what?”

The sounds of deep soulful din radiated from the first door Sam reached, just eight steps from the end of the steps. Throwing caution to the wind, he turned the doorknob. To his right he knew was a full-sized bed, and a quick search with his fingers told Sam there was room enough for him to sit down next to the sprawled-out form of his best friend. “Hey, guess what?” he called out, knowing full well Remy could hear him over the sound of his stereo blaring.

“Josh dropped off the face of the earth?” a voice intoned dully, belying a trace bit of Cajun accent that came from sixteen years of life with parents from New Orleans.

“No. Better.”

“Miss Rachel and Evan are throwing him out?”

Sam shook his head. “Not so much.”

“Then what do I care?”

“Well, for starters, you don't have to make dinner tonight.”

Music-filled silence reigned for a moment before Sam felt his friend's figure lift from the overstuffed mattress and snap off the stereo. “How's that? You decided to take an extra night or something?”

“No. Evan's home. He said we're all going out to dinner.”

The mattress wobbled as Remy fell back onto it. “Meaning that idiot is coming too.”

Sam sighed. “Remy, we know he's a pain.”

“He's a moron. Takes up all the hot water in the morning, forgets to do his end of the chores, and he
constantly
has to pick some sort of
stupid
ass argument…”

“I know. He drives me nuts too.”

“I mean,
why
did Miss Rachel and Evan let him move in here? Things were great, before.” The loud report of a chest-deep sigh filled the room, and the sound of fabric rubbing over skin sailed through Sam's sensitive ears.

“Maybe they're trying to teach us something?” Sam sat back on the mattress, dropping his stick to the floor.

“That people are idiots?”

“No,” Evan's deep voice said, startling the young occupants of the room. The well-worn soles of old shoes came in a couple of steps, and wood creaked as the bedroom door opened inward and a weight leaned against the doorframe. “Josh driving you nuts again, Remy?” Evan asked.

“I take it you heard?”

“All the way up the stairs.”

“Evan, he's a pain in the ass.”

“I hate to say it, but you can be a pain in the ass too, sometimes.”

“I'm not
that
bad.”

“Okay, maybe not
that
bad. But he's gotta learn how to live with other people—people maybe not as understanding as his folks. That's one of the reasons he's living here.”

Remy snorted. “Is the other one to torment the rest of us?”

“No, smartass,” Evan replied, though Sam detected no malice in his voice. “He also has to learn how to live by himself—and he needs a lot of help. He's too advanced for a group home, but he's not responsible enough for an apartment…”

“Probably burn the place down, left to himself,” Remy muttered. Sam gave him a poke.

“Maybe. I'd rather see him get something out of the experience other than ‘people suck and I'm an idiot,' wouldn't you?”

Another giant sigh. “I guess.”

“See? You're learning too.”

“Sam said something about dinner?”

Evan laughed. “Yeah. We're going out. You can make up your dinner night on Saturday.”

Sam spun at that. “Oh, no. We were planning on going to see that new movie…”

“No one said you can't go to the movie. Work it out. Put those problem-solving skills from class to work for you, and I'm sure you'll come up with an answer.” The worn shoes started downstairs, and the two young men stared at each other—though Sam's cloudy eyes veered slightly left of Remy's face.

“Well, great. What am I going to cook that will let us go out Saturday night?”

Sam's mind raced. Then he got an idea. “Here's what we do…”

* * *

Rachel Colosanto hummed along with the radio in the old baby-blue minivan as she drove past the few houses standing along the lakeside. Otter Lake was considered a “giant” lake, even by Michigan standards, and it was hard to see the scattered summer cottages that sat on the other side of the water. Her own house was nestled in-between a sizable public beach area and a thick stand of pines and willows, and it made a perfect place to run what some in town considered a “boarding house for OLBC kids.” It was quiet, had few neighbors, and offered easy access to the center of town for the students that chose to take rooms. A bus line stopped at the beachfront, and it was only a little bit of a walk to the front door. A wooded area gave them a place to take a walk and “cool off” if tensions ran high. All in all, it worked as a central location for just a little bit of everything. As she drove, she spotted a familiar figure trudging along the side of the road, scowling and looking as though he was having a serious conversation with himself.

Oh, no,
she thought.
He and Remy have been at it again…

She slowed, pulling up alongside the sullen figure. “Hey, Josh.”

The young man stopped. “Oh. Hi, Miss Rachel.”

“What happened?” she said, putting on the flashers.

“Remy and I got into a fight. Then he got mad. All I said was that my mom makes great cookies…”

Rachel sighed. “Get in. Let's talk about it.”

Josh hesitated, but soon pulled open the passenger door and buckled his smallish frame into the worn fake leather seat. “So,” Rachel said once her charge got himself situated and she pulled back onto the road, “you and Remy got into a fight.”

“I didn't mean it. Sam was makin' cookies, and I said how about oatmeal raisin ones, and Remy said no, make chocolate chip ones, and then I said nuts, and…”

“Josh, shouldn't
Sam
have decided what kind of cookies to make?”

Josh thought about that a minute. “I guess.”

“You guess? Wasn't
he
the one making them?”

“Yeah, but…”

Rachel shook her head a little. “Josh. No ‘buts'.” If you wanted cookies, couldn't
you
have made some?”

“Yeah. I guess.” His round face looked crestfallen. Bits of dusty blond hair swirled in the breeze as the minivan swept around the south end of the lake. A deep sigh came out of his wide chest. “I mean, I didn't mean to piss him off…”

Now it was Rachel's turn to sigh. “Josh, what exactly did you say? I'm getting the feeling you're leaving something out here.”

Bright brown eyes danced nervously inside an oval shaped head. “I said my mom makes the best cookies in the world. Even better than Remy's mom.” As the words spilled out, a look of realization crossed the young man's face. “Oh, crap.”

“Now you see why he got pissed?”

“Man, I didn't mean it like that! I mean, maybe they are…how do I know?”

A ghost of an understanding smile flashed underneath Rachel's bright green eyes, and a long hand flicked though a mass of flaming red curls. “Remember, Remy takes that hard. It's not easy to lose your family suddenly, especially like his.”

“I…I wasn't thinkin'. I forgot.”

“Happens a lot, Josh. For starters, you forgot to put the dishes away last night.”

Josh grimaced. “I know. I was gonna put them away this morning, and then my alarm didn't work, and then I was late in the shower…”

“…and you complained that Sam and Remy used up all the hot water. I know. We're lucky we made it to school on time.” The minivan circled the south end of the lake, heading for its original destination.

“Well, they did! I mean, Remy spends like, half an hour in the shower.”

“And Sam? He takes the other half hour?”

A sheepish look crossed the young man's face. “Well, no. He's pretty quick, really.”

“And Evan and I take showers at night. Think about it, Josh. Who's using all the water?”

Silence reigned inside the gray-blue interior of the vehicle. “Me. And Remy.”

“Right. I'm beginning to think you two get on each other's nerves because you're so much alike.” The well-used conveyance turned down an eight-hundred-foot driveway, leading to the old Colonial-style house that had been passed down three generations. “Now, do you think you can go in there and bury the hatchet—and
not
in each other, for heaven's sake?”

Josh slid out of the passenger seat, opened the sliding door, and reached for the groceries lining the back seats. “I guess.” He glanced over toward the side of the house, seeing a familiar white work truck parked next to the well-worn wooden garage. “Evan's home.”

“Great. Hopefully he's kicking Remy out of his likely foul mood and starting him on dinner.” Rachel grabbed the rest of the plastic-covered parcels and headed up the rickety stairs, the third step before the wraparound porch squeaking like an unwanted herald. The front door stood open, and before the young woman could get inside three bodies spilled out of it.

“Hey, let me get those,” her boyfriend said, giving her a quick kiss as he took the burden from her hands. “I'll take the keys too.”

“What's all this? There a fire sale I didn't know about?”

“We're going to dinner,” Sam said.

“We are?”

“Let's say someone had a good day at work,” Remy supplied. The skinny young man looked like a cattail swaying in the breeze, kept balanced only by a swaying dirty-blond ponytail set near the base of his skull and the fuzzy black fleece jacket that was a staple of his wardrobe. Patched jeans and one of his many printed t-shirts peeked out of the jacket, today's reading “Speak up—I'm blind.”

“Raiding Sam's closet again?” Rachel asked with a grin, her eyes flicking through her charge's attire. Next to him, Sam wore a plain gray long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans, both looking well-kept.

“Nah. I bought one when he got his. It's funny.”

“Should have gotten one that says, “I'm with him” and an arrow pointing in a direction. I never seem to find the two of you apart except for class, said Rachel.”

“Well, except for yours,” Sam pointed out.

“True.” All three of the boys were in her Problem Solving class, and Josh was currently going with her to a jobsite at a local deli, Olive's, where he and two other students cleaned tables and floors and washed down counters before opening. “So, where are we going?”

“I wanted pizza,” Sam said.

“I want chicken,” Remy said.

“I want a sandwich,” Josh chimed in. He looked at Remy. “I'm sorry, man. I wasn't thinking.”

Remy's eyes closed briefly, then he gave a small smile. “It's okay. I know. Just try to
think
next time, all right?”

Josh nodded. Rachel inwardly heaved a sigh of relief. Crisis averted. For now.

“All set,” Evan said, locking the door behind him. “Who wants what?”

“Pizza, chicken, sandwich, and a steak,” Rachel rattled off, pulling her opened white parka around her, the blue trim of the collar looking like a necklace around her throat. “What?” she said, responding to the stunned faces of the men in her life. “Dead cow sounds tasty. Medium rare, please.”

“Okay then. We'll go to Gio's. Besides, I'm in the mood for ice cream.”

“Ice cream? On a day like this?” Josh challenged.

“Why not?”

The youngest of the three tenants thought about that a moment. “I guess.”

“That's one of the great things about being an adult—you can eat ice cream for dinner if you want. Luckily, I also plan on having some of the house salad—with chicken and French dressing.” He pointed to the minivan. “Last one in has to get the table.”

The couple stared as three newly minted adults—all old enough to buy lotto tickets but just shy of drinking age—raced for the van, jockeying for seating position. “Sam's getting really good with that stick of his,” Evan commented drily, watching Sam wield his mobility device like a weapon. “Those lessons of yours are helping.”

“Eh,” Rachel said. “The fencing lessons in college are coming in handy. Wish my English degree could do the same.”