The Hidden Summer (15 page)

I do not feel so empty. I feel a spark of something where the emptiness was. It’s not a spark of anger or hurt feelings or misery, either. Mom has turned carnivore and attacked, and, for the first time, I don’t want to attack her back or make her feel better or even disappear inside myself. What I want doesn’t have anything to do with her. I want Lodema. I want the me that I’ve found at Lodema.

I follow Mom into the kitchen. I can only think about one thing. I can’t wait any longer.

“Hey, can I stay at summer school overnight next week for a special study session?” I ask. “They’re saying it would really help.”

“Overnight for the whole week?” she asks, stirring the peas. “Even July Fourth?”

I forgot about July Fourth. Shoot. That’s what I get for doing this on the spur of the moment instead of planning it better.

“Uh, right,” I say, thinking she’ll never fall for it.

“That’s fine,” she says. “Maybe Lionel and I will take a little trip.”

And that’s that. Clearly she’s really going to miss me.

CHAPTER 15

WATER SPORTS

Three days go by. Our first night on the golf course, it’s the lightning bugs that amaze us. We’re coming out of the rocket ship, walking toward Marvin, and the course looks dark. Trees, bushes, hills—all pitch-black, nothing but outlines against the sky. Then I see something blink off to my left. I look toward it, and it’s gone. But as I keep staring, I see another blink, then another. The trees are lit up with lightning bugs, flashing like strings of white lights. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. It’s like our own private light show.

Then we look up, and there’s a glow around the moon, a halo. Usually the moon is a clear-cut thing—a circle or a sliver pasted over black—but now it’s all hazy at the edges. It’s like the ghost of a moon.

This is what I learn on our first night: when you look carefully, you see things you usually miss. The longer we stare into the bushes, the more lightning bugs we see. When I stare at the downtown skyline, I see the red lights of a huge crane. There’s so much here. Not just on the golf course, I mean, but in the dark itself.

“I’m glad we did this,” says Lydia.

“Which part?” I ask.

“All of it.”

There’s thunder in the distance, very far away. That night I tuck myself into my air mattress with my pillow and old blue blanket, and I listen to the chirping and croaking and rustling outside of Marvin. And for the first time, I’m nervous. There’s no lock on Marvin’s door. There could still be snakes out here—we haven’t proved there aren’t. There could still be coyotes. There could be anyone out here. All that chirping and croaking starts to sound less friendly. I lie awake and stare at Marvin’s ribs. I don’t want to admit to Lydia that I’m too scared to sleep by myself out here.

So I count to one hundred, then to two hundred, then to three hundred. I’m wide awake. Then, because I’m looking for other things to count, I start counting Marvin’s ribs. There are only twelve of them, but after I count the ribs, I start really paying attention to his heart and his lungs and the trails of veins all along his insides. I’m inside a dinosaur, I think to myself. I imagine I can hear his heart beating, and it beats along with the chirps of the crickets outside. My dinosaur. My bed. My golf course. And, eventually, I fall asleep to the imaginary sound of Marvin’s heart
thump-thumping
.

Our second night, we decide to check out the sprinklers. Gloria told us the sprinklers come on at ten minutes past midnight, and she said the best spot was at Hole Seven. We’ve been hanging out at Hole Seven for nearly an hour—we wanted to scout out the territory before the downpour started. It wasn’t hard to find the sprinklers: Lydia tripped on one of the metals heads sticking out of the ground as soon as we started wandering around. Now we’re sitting near a whole row of sprinkler heads, all of them maybe ten feet apart. We’re in the middle of a valley—a fairway—surrounded by the hilly greens of Hole Seven, Hole Seventeen, and Hole Eighteen.

“My legs really itch,” says Lydia.

“I told you to wear pants.”

“Why would I wear pants when we’re going to run through sprinklers?”

“So your legs won’t itch.”

We already had this conversation once. I’m wearing Capri pants over my bathing suit, and I can’t even feel the tall grass we’re sitting on. Lydia is wearing nothing but her bathing suit. I think it’s pretty clear who made the right choice.

“Is it time yet?’ she asks.

“Almost.” I check the clock on my phone. “Five more minutes.”

“Don’t fall asleep,” she warns.

“I won’t.” I wonder if she’s noticed that I’ve already fallen asleep twice. The sound of crickets is very relaxing. To keep myself busy, I break off a few blades of grass and start making a chain. I puncture the end of one piece of grass with my fingernail, then I slide the other end into the slit. It makes a loop. Now I fit another piece of grass through the circle, slit the end, and add a second loop to the chain. My record for grass chains before I came to Lodema was fifteen loops. My record now is 140 loops. That’s what free time can do for you.

“What time is it now?” asks Lydia.

I’m about to tell her to make a grass chain when we hear a clicking noise. Then the clicking stops and there’s a whirring sound all around us. Just as we look toward the sprinklers, water starts spraying from every direction. I gasp as a spray hits me in the eyes.

A shot of water straight in the face really knocks the sleepiness right out of you.

“Let’s go!” yells Lydia, scrambling up.

We’re soaked before we take a single step. My pants stick to my legs as I peel them off. My skin is cool, and when I start running, the breeze makes me even cooler. The water is waving over the grass in huge arcs, swooping toward us then away from us. It shoots at least a dozen feet in the air, giant sheets of water falling down in the moonlight. The water shines silver. I bet in the sunlight, we’d see some spectacular rainbows.

Lydia leaps straight into the water, trying to jump over it and instead getting sprayed from her feet to her head. I follow her. We run and jump and cartwheel and dive headfirst. The grass is so wet that if we get a running start, we can slide for several yards on our bellies. Then Lydia gets the idea to slide down the hills. We fall down at least a dozen times running up the hill for the Hole Seven green, then we flop on our stomachs and race each other to the bottom. We wind up in a tangled heap at the bottom of the hill, covered in bits of grass, laughing hysterically. Then we run to the top of the hill again.

It’s sledding without a sled. And without snow. We call it sprinkler sledding.

Eventually we’re sore and exhausted and panting for breath, so we go wash some of the grass off us in the nearest spray of water.

“How much do you want to bet me,” asks Lydia, “that I can run from here to Hole Seventeen without letting the water touch me?”

“No way,” I say. She’ll have to go straight through the sprinklers to get to Hole Seventeen.

“I’ll bet you a pack of M&M’s,” says a voice we can barely hear over the whirring sprinklers.

“Maureen!” I say, turning toward her. I can just see her silhouette; she’s got a towel in one hand. Gloria is behind her—I guess Jakobe’s in bed.

“You didn’t tell me they were coming,” whispers Lydia.

“I didn’t know for sure that they were,” I say. “I just told her we’d be here.”

“Hi, girls,” says Gloria. She drops her towel behind a tree and holds out her arms as the water swoops toward her.

Lydia sits down in the wet grass. “Is she camping with us?”

Camping is the second part of our plan. We’ve brought blankets to spread out under a tree. I did mention that to Gloria.

“Gloria, y’all didn’t bring stuff to sleep outside, did you?” I call.

She’s holding her hair over a sprinkler head, and a curtain of water is dripping down. Her shorts and T-shirt are drenched. She sounds like she’s spitting out water as she answers, “No way. We can’t leave Jakobe for long. Maureen may stay longer, but I thought I’d cool off a little, wash my hair, and then head back.”

“I’m glad you came,” I say.

Lydia doesn’t say anything. And she doesn’t try to run to Hole Seventeen at all, not even for the pack of M&M’s. She says she’s gotten really tired. So I let her rest and let Gloria show me how fast sprinklers can wash the shampoo out of your hair. Then she shows me how to sit a few inches away from the heads, at just the right angle, and let the water massage my back. I watch the thin, smiling mouth of the moon, and I can feel the water pressure work its way up my spine, across my shoulder blades, then over my neck and head. It’s like a thousand tiny fairy fingers, if fairies were massage therapists.

I try to get Lydia to join us, but she says she’s drying off. By the time Gloria and Maureen leave, Lydia’s already picked out a spot for us to sleep. I think maybe we’ll talk like we usually do when we spend the night together, but her eyes are closed when I roll over toward her towel.

The next morning, I wake up when the sun is already in the sky. I nudge Lydia, who’s already muttering and smacking her lips under her yellow towel. Once we’ve rubbed our eyes and woken up all the way, we gather up all our towels and start the trek back to the putt-putt course.

“You want to do this again tonight?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

I try to read Lydia’s face. “You don’t want to go sprinkler sledding again?”

“It was okay.”

I don’t even know what to say to this. Sprinkler sledding is okay like ice cream and chocolate cake are okay or like roller coasters are okay.

I’m hanging my towel over one of Marvin’s ribs when my phone rings. I’ve almost forgotten what it sounds like. I sit there for a second, wondering where the music is coming from. Then I snap out of it and reach into my pocket.

“Nell!” Dad says. “Your mother just told me you’re in summer school. Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you’d come over this weekend like usual.”

Huh. I sort of forgot Dad.

CHAPTER 16

DAD

“Hi, Dad,” I say. “I guess I forgot.”

I have, at various times in my life, really adored my father. And I think there are times he really adores me. But those times never last very long. Dad has a short attention span. He promises to come for my birthday party, and he never shows up. He begs Mom to let him take me to hear Tina Turner when she comes through town, then he shows up twenty-four hours late. Once, years ago, when he picked me up on Friday, he told me how he’d found a turtle in his backyard, and he saved him specially for me. He talked about that turtle all the way to his house, how pretty he was and how I could name him anything I wanted, and how I could feed him lettuce leaves and change his water. Well, we got to the house and Dad had put the turtle in the drawer of his nightstand. I opened the drawer, and he was right—the turtle was beautiful. It had a brown shell with bright yellow markings.

It was also dead. Dad had forgotten to feed him.

I guess really it would be worse to be Dad’s turtle than to be Dad’s daughter.

Anyway, to forget about him in some ways is only fair. I’m supposed to stay with him every other weekend, but between traveling and working and girlfriends, usually he only wants me about half that time. I don’t count on going over there unless he calls me first.

“You forgot?!” he says from the other end of the phone. “You forgot your own dad?! You’re turning into a real teenager.”

Dad loves to make jokes about how I’m a teenager.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say. “I don’t know how I forgot to tell you about summer school.”

“Well, you can come this weekend,” he says.

“Ahh, I don’t think we have any free weekends. Rules and stuff.”

He snorts. “That’s crazy,” he says. “What kind of school doesn’t give you weekends off? And aren’t you supposed to be a straight A student? Where did summer school come from? I think I’ll just call the principal and see if he can’t make an exception for you to have your regular weekend with me. Or maybe I’ll come down during my lunch hour tomorrow—what’s the address? Sometimes that works better, you know, to do things in person.”

I hadn’t counted on this. Dad’s in an attentive mood. That’s the thing about him—sometimes he really does pay attention. And he’s really sweet and likable when he’s paying attention. Even though eventually, you still wind up dead in a drawer.

In this case attention is not good. Not a single one of those questions was good. And there’s only one way to answer them all.

“What if we do lunch tomorrow, Dad?” I say. “I can arrange it.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Meet me at John’s City Diner at noon. I’ll get a friend to drop me off. How’s that?”

“Perfect,” he says. “The more time, the better. You can stay after lunch, right? Spend the whole afternoon with me? You’re not too old for father-daughter time yet, huh?”

“You want me to spend the whole afternoon?”

“I always want time with my daughter.”

I can hear him smiling.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll tell, um, them that I’ll be out with you all afternoon.”

At least seeing him will mean free food. I love the mac and cheese at John’s. The steak and fries are also excellent.

I stare at the blank screen on the phone and realize I’m not just excited about the food. I wouldn’t admit that, of course. It’s just a thought that flies through my head, quick and skittish as a moth. Dad can be fun, really. We used to go for long walks, and he’d hold my hands and flip me over in midair. He knows a million knock-knock jokes, and the stupider they are, the funnier they are. Maybe we’ll go to Railroad Park and walk around, and he can tell me the names of flowers. He’s like an encyclopedia when it comes to flowers. We could go see a movie—we both like action. Or go wander around the bookstore—Dad likes books as much as I do. As I step outside into the breeze, I’m starting to feel very optimistic about my Saturday. Then Lydia peeks around Marvin’s front leg.

“I’m baking out here,” she says.

“It’s hotter inside. It’s at least two hundred degrees inside Marvin.”

“You want to go for a swim?”

“Not right now,” I say. “Maybe later. Gloria’s gone for a job interview, and Maureen’s going to the movies with a friend. I told them I’d watch Jakobe. I told him he could show me how high up in the oak tree he can climb.”

Lydia’s lifting her hair and swinging it from side to side, trying to cool off her neck. She doesn’t say anything. I’m not an idiot—I know she’s annoyed.

“We can swim later,” I say.

Lydia drops her hair. “It was supposed to be us this summer,” she says. “Our adventure. Like always. But it’s not about us at all. I don’t know why you even wanted me to come along. You’d be fine if you were just out here with Gloria and her kids.”

“That’s not true.”

“You can’t stay here forever, you know. You have to go back to real life.”

I think of my tiny little bedroom in Marvin’s rib cage, and I think of seeing myself in Gloria’s mirror, seeing a version of me that I didn’t even recognize. I want to see that girl in the mirror again, and so far she’s not showing up in my mirror at home.

“I know I can’t stay,” I say. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“Why would I tell you anything when you won’t even listen?”

“What’s the matter with you?” I ask.

Her shoulders slump, and her hair’s damp against her neck and shoulders. “Oh, never mind, Nell. Forget it.”

“Forget what?”

But she’s stalking away from the tree now, not even looking back. I nearly go after her, but I decide she’s just miserable from the heat. She’ll get over it.

The next day I tell her good-bye and start the hour-long walk to John’s. My legs are stronger than they were a month ago, and I’m used to the heat. It’s 101 degrees now, according to the digital sign by one of the banks, and I’m hardly sweating. I feel like I could walk forever, all the way to Alaska or New York or Buenos Aires.

I’m turning onto 5th Avenue when I catch sight of a silver car a couple of blocks away, turning toward me. It’s Lionel’s car. I know because it’s a Buick with a bumper sticker on the front that says “WWSD? What Would Scooby Do?” I mean, how many of those bumper stickers can there be?

He’s turned onto 5th now, and only two cars separate him from me. He’s close enough that I can tell he’s wearing sunglasses. I dive—actually dive—behind an azalea bush. A few hot pink flowers land on my knees. I think I’m hidden, but did he already see me? I listen for the sound of brakes, the sound of a car door slamming, the sound of footsteps. I wait, perfectly still, for as long as I can stand it.

All I hear is the
whoosh
of cars going past. I stick my head out and don’t see Lionel or his car. Still, I’m shaken. All it would take is one person—Lionel or Mom or a neighbor—to see me, and Lodema would be over, finished. I’d be dragged back home, and I’d never spend another night inside Marvin or running through sprinklers. I start walking again, this time with my shoulders hunched and my face down. I wish I had a baseball cap or a scarf or some sort of disguise. I feel so exposed walking down the street now, like I might be snatched up any second, like the ripe plums we pick off the trees. I start to feel sorry for poor defenseless fruit.

Finally, I’m at the restaurant door. Safe. No one will snatch me in here. If we see anyone I know, Dad will say I’m just on a break from school.

I’m surprised to see that Dad is waiting for me. He’s not usually too punctual. He holds the door open for me and then hugs me, warm and tight. I smile against his T-shirt. He’s put on weight in the last few years, and the fabric is stretched tight across his belly. Every inch of his skin is covered in freckles, so until you get close to him, he looks like he’s got a really good tan.

We sit down and order, and he gulps down half his glass of tea before he’s ready to talk. To give him credit, he does let me talk first. He asks me about summer school.

“It’s going okay,” I say.

“You usually make such good grades,” he says, and I think he might be about to ask me to tell him more about my life these days. To explain why I’m so different from the daughter he’s always known. And if he asked me that question, if he showed me that he’d been paying attention all this time, I might give him a real answer. If he just asked me, I might tell him.

“Everybody has tough times,” he says, taking another swig of tea. “I’m struggling a little right now. Bored with the job, you know. I’m on the road so much, and it’s hard to eat right. I’ve been gaining weight, and my back’s bothering me. But the worst thing is the new guy they’ve hired to run the office—he’s twenty years old if he’s a day. Complete idiot. Making my life miserable checking all my logs and calling up my customers.”

Dad drives a truck delivering snack foods around the northern part of the state. He’s been doing it a few years now, and he’s never liked it. He tells me more about his boss and more about his back and then some about his cholesterol.

“It’s high,” he says. “Way over two hundred. They’ve been warning me about heart attack risk. I’m supposed to exercise. Supposed to eat more soluble fiber.”

I nod and crunch on my ice as he talks. Our food comes, and the mac and cheese is phenomenal. It has prosciutto in it—I learned that word here at John’s. It means sophisticated ham. I savor every bite of it as my father keeps talking. I finish my meal at least fifteen minutes before him because I’ve had nothing to do but eat, and he’s hardly had a chance to take a bite. He’s eating a hamburger, by the way, which can’t be good for cholesterol.

“Ah, it’s good to catch up with you, sweetheart,” he says, finally, as he tosses his napkin on the table. I now know that Dad’s boss is the nephew of the company’s owner, that Dad thinks he has a wasp nest in his garage, and that Dad has started dating a woman named Brenda who collects unicorns.

I hand the waiter my empty plate. Dad’s always been more of a talker than a listener. He probably needed to get that out of his system. I’m envisioning a stroll through the park where I can talk to him about
A Wrinkle in Time
. It’s about a girl who meets three magical women—one of them used to be a star—and she’s whisked away from her home to faraway corners of the galaxy so she can save her missing father. I’ve been trying to figure out whether she’s disappointed when she comes back. It seems like it would be very hard to visit other planets and battle the forces of darkness and then have to go back to school the next Monday.