Learning Not to Drown (13 page)

When my shift is up, instead of staying for my built-in hour, I choose to go home. Far away from curious eyes and Mandy's lens. Even far away from Drea.

Riding Bike-a-saurus Hex home, I'm pushing the pedals as hard as I can, trying to create some kind of breeze that will wash the weird uncomfortable feelings of the day away, when I hear a
beep
,
beep
behind me.

I feel like a complete idiot for several reasons. One—because when the horn honked, I jumped. Not a little jump, a big jump. Like a murderer had lunged out from behind a tree with an axe.

Two—because my knees graze the handlebars when I
pedal, and my legs are locked in bent position. A clown on a three-year-old's bike possibly looks more graceful than I do.

And three—because the person honking at me is Ryan.

“Hey, you're back!” I say between breaths.

“Just got home today. Need a lift?” He's amused.

“Okay.” We both laugh at my current mode of transportation.

“Should I even ask why you are riding this thing?” he asks as he throws my bike into the back of his truck.

“I'm still grounded.” I'm red. Bright red. I can feel it, almost see it beaming from my cheeks. We jump into the cab, and he starts to drive.

“Your parents must be really strict,” he says. Ryan smells like summer: sunblock, sweat, and some kind of cologne. I lean back against the seat, breathe in deep, and start to relax. He looks even better with a tan and his messy hair full of sun highlights.

“How was Venice?” I ask, allowing myself to admit I
really
missed our mornings on the lake together.

“It was pretty awesome. A good warm-up for Seven Sisters.”

“How long are you home for?” I ask him.

“Three days, and then I take off again for Mexico. This is your place on the left?” Are we really almost to my house?

“Yep,” I say. Whether it's an advantage or not, everyone in a small town knows where everyone else lives.

He gets out of the truck and hands me Bike-a-saurus.

Mrs. Brachett peeks out her window. A second later she is in her yard, trimming a bush that she just trimmed yesterday. Might as well figure that she's going to give a full report of this conversation to Mom. Luckily, rides home from work are approved, even when grounded.

“I think I like the rust stains the best. How 'bout you, Clare?”

“The streamer barely holding on to the handlebars,” I say. Ryan's hand grazes mine; his body leans in close. Is he flirting? A quick vision of Mandy's face pops into my head. I am just friends with Ryan. Friends. As in, I am not stealing him from Mandy because we are just friends.

His thumb brushes against my ear as he tucks back a stray hair.

If I were brave, daring, or Lala, I'd lean in for a kiss. But I'm not. I'm plain-scared Clare. And besides, I'm not the type of girl to kiss a guy who has a girlfriend. That's tacky. And slutty. And stealing. Besides. Ryan shouldn't be flirting with me if he is with Mandy. That's tacky. And slutty. And cheating.

I take a step back, just as I hear a throat clear behind me.

It's Luke.

“Hey, Clare.” He crosses his arms, looking Ryan from head to toe. Luke has at least two inches on Ryan. Maybe three. “Who's your friend?”

As I introduce the two of them, I see Ryan shift from one leg to the other, his eyes alert but lacking that glare of judgment I see in most people when
they
see Luke.

“You know my little sis is one of the sweetest, smartest girls alive,” Luke says.

“You're totally right. And you left out ‘athletic.' If I get her out in the ocean, she's going to rip.” Ryan's hazel eyes light up.

“Oh, yeah? Teaching her to surf?” Luke asks.

“If she'll let me,” Ryan says. “You surf?”

“No, I don't trust the ocean. Too much you can't see, know what I mean?” Luke says. “Clare is
the
most important thing in the world to me. You take her out in the ocean, you make sure she's safe. She gets hurt in any way, I will hold
you
responsible.”

Skeleton jumps from the trees above. He starts to circle the three of us. With his big toe bone he draws a stick figure of Ryan in the dirt, then stomps on it.

I watch Ryan's tan face go pale.

This needs to stop. I need words. The right words.

“Ugh. Luke,” I protest. “You sound worse than Mom and Dad. You must be getting old.” I force out a laugh that thankfully sounds more natural than I expected.

“Ouch,” Luke says, uncrossing his arms and letting them drop to his side. “Alright. I've got to get my old ass to my buddy's house. Clare, let Mom know I'll be back by dinner. Ryan, don't get eaten by a shark.” He looks next door. Rolling his eyes, he says, “Mrs. Brachett, tell my parents I say hi when you report to them.” Her eyelids turn to slits as her lips pucker. Then she goes back to pretending to trim.

“I'd better jet too,” Ryan says. “Luke.” He gives a nod. “Clare, see ya later.”

As I watch Luke walk away in one direction, Ryan drive in the other, I feel a moment of fury at Luke. Still, it seems like Luke's comment didn't do too much damage. Then I remember the way Ryan looked at me, how his thumb felt brushing the hair behind my ear. Maybe he was flirting. Maybe he wasn't. Either way, I wish he were single, so my only concern would be if he likes me or not, instead of worrying, worrying, worrying that he might be a jerk who cheats. And, worse, that I might be a person who steals.

•  •  •

The next night, Luke comes home from work around six p.m. with cement crusted along the tips of his fingers, under his nails. He worked today. “But only today,” he tells us dejectedly. “We finished pouring the foundation. But the boss has enough workers until they get into finishing work. Painting and stuff. He says to come back in a month to check in on things.” Luke picks at the cement under his nails. “He didn't have any other job leads. It's gonna be tough finding something here.” He sits down on the couch and scrapes at the cement on his hands, letting the gray flakes fall to the carpet. “But I'll find something.” He smiles up at Mom and me, our brows equally furrowed. “Don't worry.”

“A mother,” Mom says, leaning forward as she plants a kiss on his forehead, “never worries too much about her children.” Then she surprises me, putting her hand on my shoulder and placing her lips to my forehead too.

There's a knock on the door.

“That's for me. I'm grabbing dinner with a friend,”
Luke says, hopping off the couch. Mom and I both crane our necks to see who it is. Through the glass we can make out the unmistakably skeletal outline of Dan. I am positive that Mom's heart drops as quickly as mine does.

Mr. Jerkland was pounding on the front door.

“My DVD player is missing!” he exclaimed angrily as Mom opened it.

“I don't know what that has to do with us,” she said, her body blocking the entrance. Scrubbing the front windows with an old rag, my hand slowed as I listened.

“My kitchen window is smashed in and my DVD player is stolen! And guess what? Mrs. Brachett saw one of your good-for-nothing boys sneaking back inside your house with my DVD player in his hands.” His beard shook with each word. I stopped scrubbing.

“Mr. Kirkland! This is ridiculous. Ever since that misunderstanding about that silly statue, you've been blaming my son for everything! That was over three years ago!” Mom started to close the door. “We are done here.”

Jerkland put his foot squarely against the door, blocking her from slamming it.

“Misunderstanding!” he said, his arms flying. “Your son stole my duck statue and gave it to you as a Mother's Day present!”

Luke had told us he'd bought the duck at a garden store and that it had cost twenty dollars. Peter and I had each given him five dollars to pitch in for the gift. Mom had returned the duck to Mr. Kirkland. Luke had forgotten to give us our money back.

“I will not be yelled at in my own home.” Mom pushed on the door with both hands. Jerkland's foot held it open.

“Then step outside.” His lips disappeared under his mustache.

Mom's mouth dropped open. Speechless.

“Now you listen here,” Jerkland said. “I don't want to deal with a police report over this, but I will if I have to! I'm getting an estimate to have the window fixed tomorrow. You'll be receiving the bill. And the one for a new DVD player if it's not returned immediately.” He pulled his foot out of the door, turned, and marched away.

“Well, I never!” Mom yelled. Then, looking up, she realized I was there. “Are you eavesdropping? Get back to work, young lady.”

My hand started spinning in quick circles. I wanted to make the windows shine so much that Mom forgot all about Mr. Kirkland.

When I was done, I grabbed Mom's hand and pulled her to the entryway.

“Ta-da!” I said, pointing to the spotless windows.

“Very nice, Clare Bear,” Mom said. I beamed, until she added, “Do you think you can make your room windows look like that?”

I sighed. More work.

“Do I have to?” I asked.

“Idle hands . . .”

“I know, I know.” I really didn't want to clean more windows. Then I had an idea. “Wait, Mom! What if I knit something instead?”

“Okay for today,” she agreed. “Tomorrow clean your room windows.”

I had to eavesdrop again that night when Luke got home. Drea and I had made guesses on what we thought had happened. Drea thought Peter was guilty but changed her mind when I told her he had a strong alibi. He had been camping all week with friends in Arizona. I was sure Mr. Kirkland and Mrs. Brachett had some sort of secret plan to get cash and a new DVD player. With my ear pressed against the crack of my door, I listened to the whole conversation.

“Ma! It wasn't me,” Luke said. “I swear!”

“Mrs. Brachett said it was either you or Peter. And considering how much trouble you've gotten into, I thought I'd start with you,” Mom said.

“You're trusting Mrs. Brachett as an eyewitness? She's practically blind.”

“She does have some vision problems,” Mom conceded.

“Come on, Ma. You know I'm working a good job. I don't need to take a worthless DVD player for cash. I'm clean, and I'm not about to screw things up again. I didn't do it,” he said. “You believe me, right?”

Mom sighed. Paused. “Yes, I suppose.”

A few days later Mr. Jerkland showed up at our door. Mom handed him cash. Did that mean she didn't believe Luke? Or she didn't want police asking questions? Was she afraid that Luke could go to jail again, even if he really hadn't stolen the DVD player?

The answers to those questions really didn't matter. I was glad she paid Mr. Kirkland. Glad that the police weren't going to get involved. Because that meant that Luke could be with us for longer. Even if it was just a little bit longer. It was worth it.

As we gather around the dinner table, all I can think is, Four more days. Four more days of Mom's hard labor. Four more days and I get my cell phone back and I can watch TV and I can use the computer and I can drive. I want to burn Bike-a-saurus at the end of it all to celebrate.

“You'll never guess what I picked up today,” Dad tells us, pulling his chair to the table. “Anyone?”

Silence.

“Raccoon. A poor shot didn't kill it. So the animal dragged itself under a porch to die in peace. Then along comes little Kimmie Walker, playing house out in her yard. She got her blankets all hung up under the porch before turning to find herself face-to-face with this half-dead raccoon. When I got there, she was still screaming and carrying on. That Walker family spoils her, if you ask me. It was no big deal. There was blood, but she couldn't even see the hole in the belly where the shot went in. The raccoon hissed at me when I walked up. Of course I had to go and put it out of its misery.” He shoves a forkful of red meatballs into his mouth. Chews loudly.

“Dad! That's disgusting!” Now I can't even look at my
own plate. Outside, the sky has turned from light blue to thunderstorm gray. A few raindrops hit the window. “Can't you think of anything else to talk about at dinner?”

Before he can answer, Mom cuts in, “I have news. Clare, Luke, what do you think about the three of us going to Tennessee to visit Grandma in two weeks? We'll be staying there till mid-August.”

“What?” I drop my fork. I want to see Granny, but not now. In four days I won't be grounded anymore. I can actually hang out with my friends, not just at the lake. Movies. Bowling. A trip to the beach.

“That's great, Ma,” Luke says. “But I'll have to check in with my PO to make sure it's okay.”

“I'm sure it'll be fine. He called earlier, and we had a nice chat. He says you'll need to apply for a travel pass. But considering your grandmother's age, he doesn't think it'll be a problem. And, Luke, good news. Grandma's fixing up the farmhouse and Papa's workshop in the barn. She was going to hire a construction company, but I told her that you were looking for work, so she agreed to hire you at the same rate.” Granny's fine with Luke coming to her house? Mom must have promised that he's 100 percent sober.

“Thanks, Ma.” Luke is grinning so wide, I can tell he is honestly excited about the trip. But I'm not.

“I can't go. I have work,” I tell my mom, trying to keep the wavy feeling out of my voice. “Remember, college fund?” This is awful. I need to work. I need the money. Mom can't force me to go with her to Tennessee.

“Granny will have plenty of work for you, too, Clare.
And she will pay you, if you work hard.” Mom taps her nails against the table. “Anyway, I called Lucille and gave her your two weeks' notice today.”