Smashed (4 page)

“The one she broke up with?”

“No,
he
was nice. The surgeon.”
Why was I talking so much?

The windows were down, but it was hot and sticky. Maples and oaks, their lush, green leaves heavy in the dead air, stood motionless in rolling fields. The occasional house rushed by. In between, long stretches of pines and birches closed in around the road, a thick, scraggly forest grown in where farmland used to be. Alec turned on the air conditioner and we closed the windows, racing silently along the bumpy back roads toward Deerfield.

“What’s your stepmother like?” I said finally.

“She never changes.” In Deerfield now, we pulled onto the narrow dirt road that led to Cheryl’s camp. “She moved in, like, the day after my mother died, and she’s been a pain in the ass ever since.” He glanced over at me. “When she first came home with my dad, I thought she was the maid or something—no joke. What does a four-year-old know? One day my mom was in the hospital, the next day she was gone.”

“That’s awful, Alec.”

He parked in the tiny dirt driveway at Cheryl’s camp; we climbed out of the truck and walked down toward the water.

“My dad married her right away,” Alec said. “It turned out, she’d worked with him for years—was his
secretary
or some bullshit cliché like that. They’d known each other way before my mom got sick. I hated her for that. Just fucking hated her. It got so bad that in eighth grade she tried to sign me up for boarding school. Part of me wanted to go just to get out of the house. We looked at some good schools. I could have played on a better football team, gotten into a better college.”

“Why didn’t you go and get away from her?”

“I almost left. But then I thought, why should I let her drive me out of my own house?” He paused and skipped a rock across the lake’s surface. “I stayed around just to spite her.”

The rock hopped six times and disappeared into the water.

“I’ll be out of here next year for college, and I don’t care if I never see this place again,” he said.

I looked out across the shimmering lake and couldn’t
imagine ever feeling that way. “I love it here,” I said softly, more to myself than to him.

He looked at me suddenly, as if he’d just remembered I was standing there. “You know what I mean,” he said. “I can’t wait to get out of my house.”

That
I could understand.

*     *     *

That night, I pulled into my driveway just after midnight. My headlights swung across the lawn, landing on my empty house. Coming home late at night still spooked me, and I’d been so anxious about Alec picking me up that I’d forgotten to leave the porch light on.

I shut off the car but left on the headlights, my heart picking up speed. Something was different, not as I had left it; I could feel it. I ran for the door, flicked on the kitchen and porch lights, and ran back to the car. Stopping short on the edge of the lawn, I realized what it was: the grass.

The grass, which eight hours earlier had been a rough mess, up above my ankles, had been trimmed down to a smooth three inches.
Matt?
I thought. It was something he would do, knowing how busy I was with two jobs. I looked at his house and smiled. Who else would do such a nice thing unasked?

But as I walked back toward the house, an image of a blue and silver pickup truck, lawn mower in the back, crept into my mind and lingered.

Alec?

Will dashed past me, feet pounding across our porch’s old floorboards. Leaping over the granite steps, he landed with a thud on the grass and ran toward the car idling in our driveway, his best friend, Ben, in the backseat.

“Hey, get back here!” I called after him.

Will tossed his duffel bag on the ground next to the car and turned toward me, rolling his eyes.

“No leaving until you hug your big sister. That’s the rule,” I said sternly.

Will made his way back to me, dragging his feet in a display of exaggerated hardship. “Do I
have
to?”

“You do.” I hugged him, then looked him straight in the eye. “Behave yourself,” I said. “These are nice people.”

Will rolled his eyes again, but we both cracked a smile. This was our routine. Of course he’d behave himself at the McSherrys. But I was one of Will’s moms, too.

“Okay if we keep him a couple of nights?” Mr. McSherry
asked. He knew I worried about leaving Will home alone when I worked at night.

“Sure,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Call us if you need anything at all,” he said, and met my eyes before they pulled away. The McSherrys worried about me, too.

The trim grass felt cool between my toes. I glanced at the small perennial garden my mother had planted years ago—it had been weeded, too, by whoever mowed the night before—and walked around the perimeter of the house.
What would my father think if he saw our house like this,
I wondered. The white paint was chipped and peeling, and a hole in the screen door had been patched up with thick gray electrical tape to keep the bugs out. My mother said he was lazy, but at least he’d kept the place up. I ran my fingers along the wood and wondered if I could somehow handle the job of scraping and painting it myself.

But who was I kidding? I couldn’t even manage to get the lawn mowed. It was evening now, and I still had no idea if Matt or Alec had done it. I’d called my mother to ask her if she’d paid someone to do it, and she’d laughed.

“
Paid
to have the lawn cut and the garden weeded? We’re not the hired help kind of people, Katie. Where’d you get an idea like that?”

“Never mind” was all I said.

Above Matt’s house, the sky turned pale gold, then dusky blue. The only sound besides the peepers was a car in the distance, moving slowly down the road that ran by our houses. There was no traffic through here; about fifty yards beyond us,
the road turned to dirt. Matt was at work. One of his parents was coming home, I figured.

A moment later Alec’s pickup truck appeared, the handle of his lawn mower poking up high above the bed of the truck. Alec hadn’t come to the beach that day, but here he was now, at my house—just showing up. My heart skipped a beat. Why was he here?

His smile was easy when he climbed out of the cab. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a glass of ice water for a desperate man? Today was a scorcher.”

“Sure. Sit down on the screened porch away from the bugs. I’ll be right back.”

Inside the house, I turned off the music I’d left repeating on the CD player an hour ago. Not many kids my age listened to Janis Joplin—or even knew who she was. I imagined he didn’t either.

In the small mirror over the kitchen sink, I caught a glimpse of myself. I’d had no shower after the beach, leaving my dark hair curlier than usual. Running my fingers through it made it worse. A stray elastic I found next to the dish soap would have to do; I pulled it up quickly. Who was I kidding, anyway? I was a lost cause, at least for tonight. And why did I even care?

Back on the porch, I handed Alec a tall glass and switched on the fan that sat atop a table in the corner. A breeze wafted across the porch.

“Nice,” he said, looking around. “I bet you spend a lot of time out here.”

“This is my favorite place in the house,” I said. “Sometimes I even sleep out here,” I said, then wished I hadn’t. I could feel my face coloring. “When my mother’s home, anyway,” I added.

“Actually, if you’re not expecting your mom anytime soon, I’ve got a cooler in the truck. . . . Care for a beer?”

I hesitated. A beer sounded great right now. I glanced across the street at Matt’s house. Lights had flicked on, and no one lingered outside. Matt was busing tables at McCormick’s.

“Why not?” I said.

We drained our water glasses. Alec poured the beer and then tucked the empties back into his cooler. I took a sip. It tasted great, ice cold. It flowed through my body, relaxing every limb. Nothing calmed me like a drink. Beer, vodka, wine—it didn’t matter; it all did the same thing. Anxiety drifted away, words came more easily. For a fleeting moment, all seemed right in the world.

“Oh my God,” I said suddenly, like I’d forgotten something of vast importance. “Did you . . . ?”

“What?”

My face flushed. “Never mind . . .”

He grinned. “Your lawn? You’re welcome.”

“I meant to ask you at the beach today, but you weren’t there.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I didn’t, really. But I don’t know a lot of guys who are driving around Westland this summer with lawn mowers in the back of their trucks.” I smiled. “I really appreciate it. I don’t have much time with my two jobs.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“And weeding the garden . . .”

“It was no problem—really. Glad to help.”

“Well, thank you.”

Alec held up his hand to stop me.
Don’t gush
, I thought to myself. He’d meant it when he said it was no problem, I could tell. Sure, it was something Matt would’ve done, but I was used to Matt. Alec’s help had come out of nowhere.

Alec sipped his beer. The sun had turned his face brown, and his blue eyes were a startling contrast. He was so comfortable, so relaxed here on my porch, his legs stretched out casually across the floorboards in front of his chair. There was something disarming about that, about his ease with me. It put me at ease, too.

The sky was dark now. I turned on a light and got a bag of chips from the kitchen. Alec poured two more beers.

“So what were you listening to when I showed up?” he asked.

“Oh, old stuff—Janis Joplin. You probably never heard of her.”

“I have. I just never really knew what she did.”

“She’s great,” I said. “I discovered her in my dad’s old record collection years ago. Now I think I have everything she recorded before she died.”

“Show me sometime?”

“The collection? Sure.”

We talked about music—who we liked, who we didn’t. I said the Fly was the best band in the world, and he agreed.

“I heard they’re coming here this fall, to Portland. Cassie and I are getting tickets no matter what.”

“Good luck,” he said, and laughed. “Everybody’s saying that.”

The moon rose in the sky, higher and higher above Matt’s house. It was late now, but I didn’t care. The fan purred in the corner, rotating on its base, blowing warm air. It was easy sitting here with Alec, easy talking to him. I put my feet up on a nearby chair, and Alec poured me a third beer.

We sat quietly for a long time, the summer night still and quiet, no sounds but the fan whirring and the peepers peeping in the pond behind Matt’s house.

Then I felt his gaze, his eyes on my face. He was studying me, taking me in.

“So, your mom’s never here,” he said finally. “Do you ever see your dad?”

“My dad?” There was a familiar ache in my throat the second I said the words.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“He’s gone. He took off.” Alec knew that much already.

He nodded, waited.

I looked away. When was the last time someone had asked me about my father? When was the last time someone had really wanted to know? Cassie, probably, when she’d moved here. But that was years ago. I wasn’t used to talking about my dad.

I looked out into the darkness. The beer was cold in my hand. Drops of moisture trickled off the glass and onto my leg. Alec was looking at me, waiting patiently, waiting like he had all the time in the world and would gladly give it to me.

No, I hadn’t talked about my father in a very long time. But that night, to my surprise, I did.

*     *     *

The day my father left had been an ordinary day in November: cold, rainy, bitter. The unraked leaves clumped like mushy brown pancakes on the dying grass. I was twelve, in the middle of seventh grade; Will was just six. My father was lying on the couch watching football, empty beer cans cluttering the coffee table in front of him, while my mother sped around the house on her day off from the local hospital, vacuuming, doing laundry. The last time I’d walked by him, he’d been asleep, mouth half-open, snoring loudly.

The rain had gotten us off the hook with stacking the woodpile that day, but Mom asked us to go upstairs, clean our rooms, and strip our beds. Downstairs, I heard voices rising. I threw my sheets in a pile on the floor and shut out the sound of their words.

There were some loud bangs, then the front door slammed, and my dad’s truck revved up and sped out of the driveway. Standing by my bedroom window, I watched him pull away. For all I knew, he was headed to the store for another six-pack. I never in a million years thought that would be the last time I’d see him.

November passed painfully slowly that year, with no sign of him and no word. He’d left before, but the longest he’d ever gone missing was two and a half days. This time, it was like an alien spaceship had come down and just zapped him off the earth: there he was driving his truck, then
poof
, he was gone. Vanished. He left no trail.

A week passed, then another, and another. I was convinced my father would have come home by now if he could and that something terrible must have happened to him—something we knew nothing about. But my mother had different ideas. She called him Mr. Undependable and talked like he’d show up any day now, the way he had in the past. I was furious at her for not worrying, too.

When Will and I begged her to call the police, she’d say, “They know about your father. Believe me, he’ll show up when he’s good and ready and not a minute sooner.”

Those first few weeks, Mom had a sharp gleam in her eye. She was ready to blow. Will and I could both feel it. But by January she was scared, too. Her hands shook when she put our dinner on the table and washed the dishes. Mail had stacked up on the counter, unopened. She’d look at it out of the corner of her eye, sometimes even shuffle through it, but then she’d throw it down, pour a glass of wine, and sit on the couch, staring into space. Without our father, she couldn’t pay all the bills that were piling up, and she swore the refrigerator, which had been rumbling loudly for several weeks, was about to die. She had been biding her time until he would walk through that door and she could let him have it. But she was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to show up at all.