Wish You Were Here (61 page)

“Where'd you get this?”

“Dad's tackle box.”

“Nice.” She tried to give it back.

“Keep it. I've got no use for it.”

He wanted her to be thrilled with the gift, touched the way he'd been when he discovered it. She just thumbed the lid open and flicked the wheel, testing it, then folded it closed, unimpressed.

“Arlene might like it,” she said, and despite himself, he agreed. Nothing could make up for losing the place. He couldn't believe he really thought it would comfort her, a lighter that didn't even work.

They went back outside and reclaimed their chairs, laid their napkins in their laps. His meat was gristly and tasteless, dots of fat congealing on the plate. His mother was telling the story of Duchess being sprayed by the skunk who used to live behind the woodpile and the shopping cart full of tomato juice they bought to wash her, how in the middle of it Duchess got away from them and they had to chase her through the neighbors' yards. She was young then, and too fast for them. They finally found her hiding under the Loudermilks' toolshed, covered with dirt.

“Can you imagine, on a hot day? It was worse than the skunk.”

She laughed at her own story, enchanted with their history. In her corner, Meg was busy eating, completely ignoring her, cool and solitary, and Ken thought that she was right. Things didn't change.

They didn't have to do the dishes tonight, Grandma and Aunt Arlene would take care of them so they could play miniature golf.

“Go,” they said, “have fun,” and everybody jammed into his mother's van and went to Molly World. Usually they only went there for bumper boats and go-carts, but the old Putt-Putt was closed. This was supposed to be a harder course.

“I'm gonna kick your butt,” Sam said, sticking a finger in Justin's face.

“I'm gonna kick
your
butt,” he said.

“I'm going to kick all your butts,” Uncle Ken said from the front.

He would, too. Uncle Ken always won at miniature golf. He was even better than his father.

“Can we do the bumper boats?” Sam asked.

“We'll see.”

“That means no.”

“That means we'll see.”

“Are we going to have ice cream?” Ella asked from the middle seat.

“Yes, we are going to have ice cream,” Aunt Lisa said, right beside Justin. “You can't go to Molly World and not have ice cream.”

It was weird sitting in the way back with Sarah's scrunchy in front of him. She was mad about something, because she didn't talk the whole way there, and Justin thought it was because their father had called and they didn't get to talk to him. Justin missed him too, but come on, they were going to Molly World. And besides, it wasn't their mother's fault. They'd see him when they got back. She promised.

They went by the house with all the goofy stuff in the yard, and the one with a goose for a mailbox. They went by the sign for the
McDonald's and the bar like a log cabin with all the motorcycles outside, by the Pizza Hut and the Blockbuster.

“Can we go to Blockbuster?” he asked his mother.

She made him say it twice because she couldn't hear, and by the second time he already knew the answer.

“We won't have time tonight.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow we're going to Webb's for dinner.”

Sam groaned.

“Can it,” Uncle Ken said.

They went to Webb's every year on the last night. They had to get dressed up, and it was boring. Even the gift shop didn't have anything except gross goat-milk fudge.

The lights were on at Molly World even though it wasn't all the way dark yet. Inside the fence he could see fake palm trees and the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State Building with King Kong waving at a plane. The ice-cream stand was a giant sundae with a cherry on top.

On the roof of the booth where they got their putters was a flashing yellow light like on a tow truck. When it was lit, the guy in the Molly World shirt explained, the first person to make a hole in one won a free game.

“Why do they have to play the music so loud?” Aunt Lisa asked.

“Because it's fun,” Ella said.

Justin took a green ball and Sam took a blue one. They had a sword fight until Aunt Lisa stuck an arm between them.

“Calm down,” she said.

There were too many of them, so they had to split into two groups. His mother and Uncle Ken went with him and Sam while Aunt Lisa went with the girls. They had a choice of two courses.

“Let's play both,” Justin said.

“We're only playing one,” his mother said, “so pick the one you want.”

They picked the one with King Kong; the girls wanted the Eiffel Tower.

“Okay,” Aunt Lisa said, “we'll see who's faster.”

“I don't know,” Uncle Ken said. “You've got Miss Pokey there.”

“Dad,” Ella said.

“We're gonna cream you,” Sam said, but then they had to wait to tee off. The people in front of them had three little kids and none of them could hold their putters right. They chased their shots around like hockey.

“Come
on,
” Justin said.

“Shush,” his mother said. “It's not a race.”

“But—”

“But nothing.”

It was just like at home. She was always yelling at him for no reason.

“And don't give me that face,” she said. “You start with that, you can go sit in the car.”

By now the other people were done.

“Sam, you go first,” his mother said, like she was punishing Justin, but she wasn't because he didn't want to play anymore.

The hole was boring. It was straight and went up a bump like a triangle at the end. If you hit it to either side, it would send the ball down a dead end. Sam hit his too hard; it went up the bump like a ramp and jumped the back wall, bouncing past the other family and under a pine tree. He chased it down and did it over again, and this time it was too soft, and then he almost kept it on the bump but it just rolled off; he did that again, then came back the other way, bouncing it off the back, and it went in.

“How many?” Uncle Ken asked.

“Four,” Sam said.

“Okay, Just,” his mother said.

It wasn't a four, but he knew not to say anything, his mother would just get mad at him.

Justin put his ball on the center spot on the rubber mat and looked at the hole.

“Nice and easy,” Uncle Ken said.

His mother said nothing, and he thought of Sarah in the van, if she was mad like he was now. When his father got mad he yelled so you could hear it upstairs.

He didn't want to hit it too hard. He pulled back the putter just a little and swung.

It was straight, and going for the hole. He was afraid it was too soft, that it would stop or swerve when it hit the bump, but it climbed the triangle and rolled past the hole.

“Get in!” Uncle Ken yelled as the ball knocked off the back wall. It almost stopped, then curled, made a slow turn like water swirling down the drain, and went in the hole.

“Who's the man!” Justin said, and raised his putter like Steve Yzerman when he scored.

“Wow!” his mother said. “Nice going.”

“Good job, Just,” Uncle Ken said.

And then Sam was in his face, pushing him, almost knocking him over. Justin thought it was part of the celebration, like when you won the Stanley Cup, but Sam was shoving him, shouting like he'd messed up. “The light's on, you idiot!”

It was.

Both of them ran, dashing past the soda machines with their putters. There was another kid there and Justin thought he'd lost, but he was just getting change. Sam called to the guy, “We got a hole in one.”

“I got it,” Justin said.

“What hole?”

“One—the first.”

The guy looked over their heads at his mother and Uncle Ken. “Must be your lucky day. What's your name?”

Justin told him. The guy picked up a microphone and pressed it with his thumb and the rock'n'roll stopped.

“
Just
-in Carlisle,” he said, making his voice crazy, like the commercials for the monster-truck show, “
you
are the lucky
hole-in-one
winner of
one
—count it, one—
free pass
to the fabulous thirty-
six
holes of
Molly
World! How does it feel, big guy?” He held the mike in Justin's face.

“Great,” Justin said, and he could hear his voice come back to him over the speakers.

He wished his father was here to hear it, but that was okay.

“Next
lucky
hole-in-one
con
test in just
five
minutes,” the guy said, handing Justin an orange ticket good for a free game. It was the first time he'd ever won anything.

He let Sam look at it, and they ran back to his mother and Uncle Ken.

“Let's see,” his mother said. “Very nice. Do you want me to hold it for you?”

“I won't lose it.”

The rest of the game he kept checking his pocket, touching it, feeling the piece of paper through the material, and then when they were eating ice cream, he took it out and set it on the table in front of him. No one else made a hole in one, not even Uncle Ken.

It was dark out when they drove home. Sarah was talking with Ella, so she wasn't mad anymore. Squished in the way back, Justin held the ticket up, reading the words by the headlights of the cars behind them. As he did, he saw the ball coming off the back wall and slowly turning, curling for the hole, and the same feeling spread through him like a shiver, perfect happiness. It was something he'd never forget.

Emily joined her on the dock to watch the stars come out, both of them bundled up in their jackets and caps. She sat down on the bench beside her, and Arlene saw she was drinking Henry's scotch. For a while they said nothing. A radio was playing somewhere behind them. A duck came in for a landing, skiing on its feet.

“It's very still tonight,” Arlene said.

Emily murmured assent, and then silence enveloped them again, the slop of the water.

“Why am I selling the place,” Emily said, “if none of you want me to?”

Arlene looked at her and then up at the stars, but there was no answer there. “I don't know.”

“I feel like I'm being put in a position here, and I don't think it's fair.”

Nothing's fair, Arlene wanted to say. Being alone your whole life isn't fair. Henry being dead isn't fair.

“It's your decision,” she said. “It's your place.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about,” Emily said. “And then everyone resents it.”

“What did you expect?”

“I expected some help. Some support. I guess I should have known better with this family.”

“Yes,” Arlene said, “we're evil. We've been sent here to torture you.”

“It seems like it sometimes.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you know what, Emily? Join the club.”

“Touché.”

Emily sighed and set her glass down at her feet and sat back, and Arlene thought the serious part of their talk was over. It never ceased to amaze her how successful she was when she talked to people as if they were her students, how willing they were to be treated like children.

They sat side by side, not talking. A thread of music blew across the water. The stars beamed and twinkled. The bell tower rang the half hour.

They wanted to stay up and play cards, but her mother told them to go to bed.

“Tomorrow's going to be a long day. First thing after breakfast, that upstairs is getting picked up. I want all your dirty clothes in one pile.”

It wasn't even her regular bedtime, but rather than argue with her in front of everyone, Ella climbed the stairs behind Sarah, trying to ignore the white fringe of her cutoffs, the taut hollows of her knees. Earlier in the week this would have filled her; now she bit her lips and kept her eyes on the steps. She had no chance, and it seemed cruel that Sarah was so close.

She really didn't know. At the miniature golf she'd grabbed Ella's arm and whispered, “Did you see the guy in the white?” She still hadn't said anything to her about Mark's letter.

Ella wasn't mad at her, it was just a feeling—on top of feeling like she was lying all the time, pretending to be her friend.

She wasn't even that.

Upstairs the air caught in her throat. There was nothing they could do. The fan was already on. Justin and then Sam used the bathroom while they changed into their PJs, Sarah pulling on her nightshirt before taking off her bra. Ella didn't want to see her like that anyway, it wasn't right. She turned her back and slipped on her pajama top, tossed her shorts on the floor. The room wasn't that bad.

Sarah was taking her earrings out in front of the mirror. “I can't believe I lost my watch.”

“I know,” Ella sympathized, thinking: Sam.

“I loved that watch.”

Because it was from Mark. Sarah didn't have to say it. Ella knew it was wrong to be glad that it was gone but couldn't help herself. Lately she'd been having all these crazy thoughts.

The bathroom door was unlocked.

“Get out,” Sam said, on the pot.

“At least turn the fan on.” She did, half for the noise. She didn't want Sarah to hear them. “Where is it?”

“What?”

“Where is it?”

“Where's what?”

“You know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Where's the watch? I know you took it.”

“I did not.”

“Sam, don't lie, I know you did it. I'll tell Mom.”

“Go ahead.”

“I will.”

“I didn't do anything. Now get out, I'm trying to poop.”

She couldn't tell if he was lying, he was that good at it. The watch was exactly the kind of thing he'd steal.