The People Next Door (3 page)

Kyle was standing in two feet of chilly-ass water, bow line in hand, sandals slipping on the mossy ramp. He forgot to pee
before leaving the house and now his bladder was killing him, but he was not quite in deep enough to let it go. His head was
a washing machine full of last night’s gin and his punishment for leaving his Revos at Shaheen’s crib was the sun beating
him across the temples with a baseball bat.

His dad barked out the truck window. ‘You paying attention back there? Huh!’

‘Yes.’

‘Let me know when the fenders are below the surface. Two inches below!’

‘I know!’ Kyle glared at the back of his father’s head. Dad thought he was a fucking retard. Mom and B were on the dock right
behind him, watching every move, which only made it worse. A line of trucks above, waiting to unload. Soon as the boat started
to float off the trailer, Kyle was supposed hand Mom the bow line, climb onto the dock, and walk it all the way to the end,
because blocking the entrance was bad etiquette. They’d only
done this a hundred and fifty times, but for some reason it was always a fiasco that made his dad blow his stack.

The truck reversed. Kyle stared at the trailer’s wheel going under. His mind drifted to Michelle Harper, the way she’d dragged
her nails in a slow line up his arm last night when they were standing next to the keg beside Shaheen’s pool. Shaheen was
awesome, his house was awesome, his weed was awesome, his parents were always in Dubai. Kyle blinked, realizing the fender
was six inches underwater.

‘Stop! Stop! That’s good!’

The truck braked. His dad’s face bobbed in the side mirrors.

‘You’re doing a super job, Kyle,’ Briela said behind him, giggling.

‘Shut up.’

‘You shut up, butthole.’

‘Knock it off,’ Mom said. ‘Don’t say that word, Briela. It’s ugly.’

‘All clear?’ Dad shouted.

The boat drifted. Kyle checked the rubber fenders, the amount of play in the bow line, the wind. ‘We’re good.’

The truck eased up the ramp and the bow line went taut, pulling Kyle off his feet. He fell in the water up to his neck, shocking
him awake.

‘Stop!’ Amy shouted. ‘Stop, stop!’

Kyle popped up, rope in hand. Dad braked and jumped out. ‘What happened?’

‘I’m fine.’ Kyle peed into the lake a little.

Dad tromped down the ramp, removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes. A serpent of gray strapping lay in the water, leading up
to the trailer’s manual winch.

‘Jesus Livin’ Christ, Kyle. You forgot to unhook the tow strap. I almost dragged the goddamn boat up the concrete ramp.’

Shame climbed into his cheeks. ‘If you let me drive it off … I’m juggling a hundred things at once down here.’

‘Yeah, right. And what happens when you lower the drive onto the ramp and break a four-hundred dollar prop?’

‘I’m sorry, okay?’

‘Mick, come on,’ Mom said. ‘You’re making it worse.’

Dad sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘All right, all right. Everybody calm down. Did you hurt yourself?’

‘I’m fine.’ His knee was bleeding but he pulled away, afraid his dad would smell gin fumes oozing from his pores.

Atop the ramp, a tattooed maniac in a huge black Dodge truck with hood flames pounded his horn. ‘Let’s go, hotshot, let’s
go!’

‘Settle down, asshole! I’m talking to my son here.’

Kyle grinned at that, unhooked the strap’s carabiner from the prow, cranked it snug against the spool. ‘All clear.’

Dad drove out, leaving twin contrails of lake water across the hot parking lot. They cleated the ropes at bow and stern, lobbed
the bumpers to keep the hull from
smashing into the dock. Kyle stepped in and turned on the blower, but it didn’t make that noise. He set the choke, turned
the ignition. It went
click-click-click
.

‘What’s that mean?’ Mom said.

Kyle smirked. ‘Battery’s dead. Been sitting all winter. He forgot to charge it.’

It was a beautiful day until they saw the dentist’s boat. That’s when Briela knew it was never meant to be.

But for a few hours, it was like old times. The sun was out, the lake was smooth, and no one had gotten dibs on their favorite
dock. After the Leather Lady came down from the boathouse to give them a jump, the boat roared to life and Dad made two full
passes around the lake. Briela claimed her favorite seat in the bow and let the wind press her red sunglasses to her nose,
her mag nificent blonde hair flying behind her. Boulder Reservoir seemed huge today, even though she knew it was only a couple
miles across. As they cruised, she counted the floating docks to make sure they were all there. Yep, eight een, just like
last summer, with a fresh coat of orange paint, scattered across the lake like little islands.

Once the battery was charged, they slowed, the bow lowering toward the green surface until it seemed it would slosh up and
soak her. Briela watched the sun’s rays twirl like crystal beams in the depths, spacing out a little. They tied off at their
dock.

After Mom coated her face and shoulders with lotion, Briela spread her towel neatly across the boat’s sunbathing deck and
lay perfectly still, imagining she was a movie star. Dad turned on the oldies station, which she normally hated but was somehow
okay out here on the lake. A man was singing about a woman named G-L-OR-I-A, which Briela guessed was his girlfriend. Kyle
jumped in for a swim ’cause he was hungover, but she wouldn’t tell. She didn’t want to start an argument now that the parentals
had finally calmed down.

‘Now this is the life,’ Dad said, which is what he always said first thing on the lake. ‘Already noon but we made it.’

‘It’s gorgeous out,’ Mom said. Briela wondered when her mom was going to take off her yoga pants.

‘Water temp’s sixty-eight,’ Dad said to Kyle. ‘Don’t know what you have to complain about, champ.’

‘Feels like fifty.’ Kyle clawed his way out like he’d seen a shark. ‘What’s for lunch?’

‘Tuna fish,’ Mom said.

‘Not just tuna fish,’ Dad said. ‘Mick Nash’s World Famous Tuna Fish Sammies.’

‘Don’t worry, honey,’ her mom called to her. ‘I didn’t put tabasco on yours.’

‘M’kay.’ But she secretly liked tabasco when they were boating. It was a part of the whole scene and flavor of the day, fitting
in with the oldies songs, the tuna fish, and the smell of the lake in her hair.

A huge motor growled near them and Briela sat up, dizzy from the sun. It was bigger than their boat, white
with fast lines of sparkling blue and purple, a high metal rack for wake boards and a wall of speakers across the top like
a portable rock concert. Steering it was a goofy-looking man with bald red hair and a thick chin beard that was mostly gray.
His shirt was off and he was almost orange, like he had been out here for weeks even though summer just started. And he was
seriously buff-muscled in that icky way some of the middle-aged men at the rec center were. Briela recognized him, but she
couldn’t remember from where.

‘Hey-O, Nash family, welcome to Boulder Reservoir!’ the man said, like he owned the lake, which Briela knew he didn’t. It
belonged to the community and her family paid six hundred dollars every year so they could own part of it too. ‘Let’s get
this party started!’

She didn’t like the woman he was with, either. Reminded Briela of the women on that show,
Witches Lane
, the ones who cast spells on all the other wives’ husbands.

‘Hi, Roger,’ her mom said.

Dr Roger Lertz, that was his name. He was a dentist in town, at least before that thing happened and he was in the newspaper.

‘What’s shaking, Mickey?’ Dr Lertz said. ‘You need a vodka bomber?’

‘Little early for that, Roger,’ Dad said. Though he was drinking his second beer, Briela noticed, and she had seen some of
Dad’s little Schweppes bottles in the cooler with the limes already inside. My lake grenades, he called them.

‘This lovely gal here is Bonnie,’ Dr Lertz said. ‘She used to work for me.’

Everyone said hi to Bonnie. Bonnie waved. Her boobs were oily and her white bikini was the size of three Band-Aids. Briela
vowed she would never be caught dead in something like that.

Dr Lertz looked at Kyle. ‘You gonna ski today, big man? Get up on one?’

‘Yeah,’ Kyle said, squinting. ‘If Dad lets me.’

‘He was supposed to mow the lawn,’ Dad said.

‘Uh-oh, sounds like somebody’s got a tough guy for a dad,’ Dr Lertz said. Briela was sure the larger boat was going to bang
into them at any minute, but the dentist seemed to be an expert at sliding it back and forth, grumbling in the same little
parking place. She realized he was showing off and maybe this was why her dad didn’t like him.

‘Thanks for stopping by, Rodge,’ Dad said. ‘Enjoy your afternoon.’

Dr Lertz looked disappointed. ‘We’ll buzz you later for a little H2O bazooka battle. You sexy gals make sure you don’t get
burned.’

He looked at Briela, pointed his fingers like guns and said, ‘Smokin’!’

Briela giggled, but her mom was frowning. Dr Lertz’s boat raced away, sending a two-foot wave that almost knocked Kyle down
and spilled Dad’s beer on his shirt.

‘What a colossal a-hole,’ Dad said.

‘I thought he was supposed to be in jail,’ Mom said.

‘What’d he do?’ Kyle was grinning.

Dad looked at Mom. Mom said, ‘I don’t even know where to begin.’

Recognizing an opportunity to deliver one of his important speeches, Dad stood and adjusted his sunglasses. ‘Well, Kyle, it’s
not a secret. Dr Lertz got caught over-prescribing pharmaceutical cocaine to his patients. He lost his practice, his house,
his wife and kids. He was having an affair with one of his assistants, not that Bonnie there, some other woman, the hygienist,
real sexy little brunette used to work there, what was her name? Deena? Not important? Right. And she told the police he tried
to lure her down to the office after hours because he thought it would be fun to get high on nitrous and use the dentist’s
chair for—’

‘All right,’ Mom said. ‘That’s enough, Mick.’

‘I’m not making this shit up,’ Dad said. ‘He’s a dork who doesn’t know his limits, Kyle. He wasn’t content to have a little
fun. He had to have
all
the fun. That’s the point.’

‘That boat is beast,’ Kyle said, watching Roger and Bonnie race around the lake, that Journey song even Briela was sick of
blasting surprisingly clear.

‘It’s not his,’ Dad said. ‘He’s completely broke. That I can promise you.’

That’s when she noticed the look in her dad’s eyes. The one that was angry and disappointed. Like he really liked Roger’s
boat too, but would never admit it in front of Kyle. Briela didn’t care. Her family’s Bayliner was smaller, but it was still
clean and nice, and it was
theirs
. It
even had a sign on the back that said
Kickin’ it in Nashville
.

‘I like our boat better, Dad,’ Briela said.

‘Atta girl,’ Dad said. Mom was biting her lip.

Briela knew they wouldn’t sell their boat unless they were getting a new one just like it. Though she guessed bigger would
be okay, too. With white leather seats and pink sparkles. That would be suh-weet.

By three o’clock the water was dead calm. The sun was blazing and Kyle’s hangover was mostly gone. Dad nursing an IPA, Mom
reading in her lawn chair on the dock, B painting her face with a Snickers.

Kyle wanted to ski in the worst way, but he also didn’t want to ski at all, and the duality of this was eating at his nerves.
He had gotten really good at two, and knew how to drop one to slalom, but the deep water start was another story. Last summer
he had swallowed half the reservoir, Dad giving him pointer after pointer, refusing to let him into the boat until he tried
just one more time
. Getting up on one had become Kyle’s Everest.

‘Water doesn’t get any smoother than this,’ Dad said. He was reclining in the boat, chomping those sour Greek peppers just
about as fast as he could, belching loud and then laughing when it echoed across the lake.

‘Yeah,’ Kyle said, dangling his feet off the boat’s swim platform.

‘Gonna be a busy summer, champ. You should get a hold of it while you can.’ Why couldn’t he just say it?
They were selling the boat, everyone in the family knew it.

‘Maybe I should drop one,’ Kyle said.

‘Tell you what.’ His dad removed the Connelly from the ski locker. It was a beautiful thing, this blade of ceramic and graphite,
with the double hi-wrap bindings. A tournament ski, a five-hundred-dollar report-card bribe. ‘You’re bigger this year. Your
arms are stronger, your legs. You let it get in your head. This is a fresh start. You can do it, bud. I know you can.’

Kyle accepted the ski, dunking it to lube the bindings.

‘That’s the spirit,’ Dad said. ‘You remember what I told you?’

‘Arms straight, knees tucked to my chest, deep breath, head down.’

‘And don’t let go. That was your problem. It’s going to feel like you’re going under, but I promise you, if you keep the ski
tip right in front of you and count to five, you’ll pop right up.’

‘Okay.’ Right after I take a cold-water enema.

‘Do I get to be flag girl again?’ Briela shouted.

‘Sure, honey,’ Dad said. ‘I need you in the bow.’

Briela took her position, her yellow life vest riding up around her ears.

Mom climbed in the boat. ‘What do you say when he falls?’

‘DOWN! MAN DOWN!’

‘Except he’s not going to fall down,’ Dad said. ‘Once he gets up, he’s going to ski all the way around the lake, aren’t you,
champ?’

‘I guess.’ Kyle pushed off the dock and bobbed in the water.

When the boat had drifted a safe distance, Dad lowered the drive and fired the engine. Mom twirled the handle like a lasso,
let it fly. He caught it in mid air, suddenly had to pee again. He let it go while the tow line played out. His stomach fluttered,
he had to remind himself to breathe. The Bayliner’s 4.3 liter Mercruiser burbled blue smoke and spat water as it chugged toward
the mountains. Briela raised the flag. Dad looked over his shoulder every three seconds. Mom watched him, murmuring prayers.
The rope went taught. His body coiled into itself, hardening as the boat dragged him gently in a perfect line. His arms locked,
the ski tip poking above the surface. Breathe, breathe. Don’t let go, he told himself, don’t let go.

‘Ready?’ Dad hollered.

Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. Now or never. Okay, now.

‘Hit it!’ In the split second before his dad rammed the throttle, Kyle lowered his face to the water, waiting for the evil
suck. The deep roar filled his ears and the placid green glass before him became a white thundering waterfall. The strain
was merciless, packing water into his sinuses like a punch to the forehead. The ski danced wildly, but he used his hip muscles
to hold it true.

One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand
…

It was an endless avalanche, filling his throat, puffing his eyelids.

Four one thousand
…

The rubber handle was slipping from his palms, as if
some demon were prying at his fingertips with a crowbar. But he realized this was
the
moment, the moment when he always caved in, and he decided no, evil suck, not today.

Kyle tucked his knees to his chin, becoming more ball than man. Felt the ski rotating like a great lever, an invisible hand
shoving him up onto a table. Gallons of water fell away and then he simply unbent his knees, blinking into sunshine. The boat
reached its cruising speed of thirty-four and Kyle released a cry of victory. His entire family was standing in the boat,
fists pounding the sky. He couldn’t remember making them so proud.

Actual skiing had never been difficult for him, and he had gotten good at crossing the wake, managing the tension in the rope,
rotating from edge to edge to make his turns. But he had never been up on the Connelly. This wasn’t like the clunky O’Brien
family skis. This dense black stiletto was part of his body, reading his every intention without the slightest hesitation.
He merely
thought
about exiting the wake, and the ski led him out in a gliding arc, hissing as he rotated to his inside edge, leveraging the
boat’s horsepower to fire him back across the wake like a bullet.

He expected a huge jolt, but the slalom cut the wake with only the briefest
bump-bump
, and then he was hooking once again, free, riding the water like a porpoise, a god. The Connelly threw a twenty-foot rooster
tail and he looked back to see a handful of rainbows falling in the glittering wall. Kyle had never had sex, but he was pretty
sure this was better. He
owned
.

The swim beach raced by and he wondered if any of his friends from school were watching him now. He made six seamless cuts,
side to side, falling into an effortless snaking rhythm.
Bump-bump-hiiisssssss, bump-bump-hiiisssssss
. To the inside, the orange docks flickered, the occasional fishing boat, and then they were coming up on the dam, a long
wall of rocks to his outside right.

Boom, slide, boom, slide … Another six cuts.

Easing back into the wake with thighs burning, Kyle crooked the rubber handle inside his elbows. He shook out his cramped
hands, exhausted but nowhere near ready to give up. He would make a full loop if it killed him.