Wish You Were Here (17 page)

“Thank you,” Margaret said again, and they stood up to hug each other.

“I'd better put out the vegetables and dip if we're going to eat by six.”

“I've got to talk to those boys.”

“I think you're brave to be doing this,” Emily said. “If there's anything you need …”

“Thanks,” Margaret said.

In the kitchen, a fly perched on the block of cheese she'd forgotten to put away. Rehab, Emily thought. An alcoholic. She set her empty glass down and wrapped the cheese in plastic and stuck it in the fridge. Rufus's food sat untouched, and she wondered where the girls were. The scotch bottle stood on the chopping block. She was sober from their talk, the beginnings of a headache seeped behind one eye. She put the bottle back in the cupboard and tossed her ice cubes in the sink. The fly had moved to the tap, walking on it like a diving board. She waved a hand and it circled away.

Divorced, with two kids still in school. Justin was ten.

What a mess.

It was not a judgment, just a statement of fact. A sadness. And probably, somehow, partly her fault. She was not blind. Margaret shared the worst aspects of her personality, the same impatience and inexplicable rage she had inherited from her mother. From the very beginning Margaret had baffled Henry, and he had withdrawn. Emily had fought her on a daily basis, giving Margaret the weapons and training she would later use on Jeff. It was no surprise to Emily that he had grown tired of bearing that kind of anger. Thank God Henry had been stronger.

The dip was cold and stuck like icing to the lid of the tub. Emily used a spatula to dish it into a bowl, then placed the bowl at the center of
the platter. The red peppers and broccoli and cauliflower made the tray look unintentionally Christmasy.

She took it outside and balanced it on the wrought-iron table between the two aluminum rockers. Margaret was out on the dock, talking to the boys. Emily looked around to make sure there were enough tables for drinks. She wanted everything to be ready so they could eat at a decent hour.

“Napkins,” she said to herself, and went back in.

“Let's just keep going,” Lise said hopefully. “We've got gas.”

She wanted Ken to laugh but he was waiting for the person in front of him to turn. His mind was so far away sometimes—probably on the gas station, or the Putt-Putt, the heroic moment of his childhood. She knew that sometime this week he'd end up there, leaving her to deal with everything.

“What about the kids?” he asked.

“They'll be fine. Your mother thinks she can raise them better than we can anyway.”

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere. Where do you want to go?”

“Iceland,” Ken said.

“Iceland.”

“Very stark, lots of light.”

“So you could work even more. How romantic.”

“They've got hot tubs.”

“Forget it,” she said. “We'll go back. Your mother's dying to discuss the Mystery of the Gas Station with you.”

“She is a little too excited about it,” he admitted.

“A little bit,” she said, pinching her thumb and one finger together.

The problem with Emily, Lise thought, was that she didn't have anything going on in her life. Lise could never figure out what she did in that big house all day. Having spent much of her childhood alone, Lise knew how slowly the hours could go, and the pain of waiting for someone to rescue you from your own harsh thoughts. That someone had been—still was—her mother, which only made Emily's coldness seem more foreign.

“I wonder if they found that other guy,” Ken said.

“You said yourself, he wouldn't have seen anything different.” She said it dully, nearly mumbling, so he'd know she was tired of the subject.

“How'd you like Ella tubing? I didn't think she'd get back on that last time.”

“She's trying to impress Sarah.”

“You think?”

“This is nothing. Wait till she has a real crush on some boy. I remember one that was so bad I couldn't eat.”

“And who was this on?”

“Josh Marcowitz was his name. He was a swimmer, and I couldn't eat for three days. Finally my mother sat down and made me eat a bowl of oatmeal.”

“What happened?”

“I ate it.”

“I meant with him.”

“Nothing. He had a girlfriend. I remember waiting for him to come out of math class just so I could walk by him. I must have lost five pounds.”

“Did he even know your name?”

“It wasn't that big of a school.”

“Whatever happened to him?”

“He's probably a lawyer or something. You jealous?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Good,” she said, and that one he laughed at, shaking his head as if she was crazy.

The drive was too short to pretend they were really getting away. It was enough to be together and alone, their own little vacation, and she let her hand rest on his leg as he drove. He reciprocated between shifts. They passed the abandoned stand of Red Brick Farm and the busy one of Haff Acres (
CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE
, their banner claimed), where they
would get the corn on their way back. She was tired from the sun and her nose felt tender. They had barely been here a whole day.

“Will you make love to me tonight?” she asked.

“Where?”

“I don't care where.”

“How about on the dock?” he said.

“That would be fine. Even here in the car would be fine.”

“I wonder if there's a drive-in around here.”

“See?” she said. “Now you're thinking.”

Sarah saw him while Ella was letting Rufus poop in the grassy ditch by the fishponds. She stopped on the hot, tarred road, her arms crossed, and watched him turn the riding mower in squares around his front lawn—or maybe it wasn't his, maybe he was getting paid, saving money for a car or something. An ugly van hauling a boat rumbled past, startling her, and she went back to watching him.

He wasn't old enough to be in college, Sarah thought, but wasn't sure. He was taller than Mark and looked too big for the mower, his knees poking up. He had on work boots and cutoffs and a flannel shirt with the sleeves torn off, open to show his chest. Over his backwards baseball cap he wore a pair of headphones. He was far enough away that she couldn't tell what color his hair was.

She wished she had on sunglasses so he couldn't see where she was looking. She wished she'd worn the white sleeveless top she'd just gotten for her birthday instead of her cruddy T-shirt. Her hair still wasn't quite dry from the shower.

Rufus was done. She wanted to tell Ella they should go back the way they came, make up some excuse like she was tired or they were late for dinner.

“He is so nasty,” Ella said. “He peed on his own leg.”

“He's just old.”

“And stinky, oh my god.”

“Just because he's wet. He's a good boy.”

A wall of pine trees lined the side of the road, and it was cool in its shadow. The buzz of the mower floated over the fishponds, filling the air. Ella didn't seem to notice him, so when he turned away from them, Sarah nudged her, making eyes in his direction.

Ella just shrugged like he was nothing special.

“Can you even see him with those glasses?”

“Please.”

“What?” Sarah said. “No way. He is so hot.”

“Whatever,” Ella said.

He turned at the end of the lawn and came back, blowing cut grass onto the road. When he saw them, Sarah had to concentrate on how to walk. He was tan and his boots weren't tied. The hair sticking out from under his cap was dark blond and wispy, one lock by his sideburn curly. The noise made her blink. He smiled at them—at her, Sarah thought—and as naturally as she could, she smiled back, just a little. She didn't want to give everything away.

The mower rolled by, the hot air tickling her ankles, and she had to squash the urge to run. Rufus was afraid and trotted into the middle of the road until Ella got him by the collar. Once they were safely past, Sarah turned to her, her whole face open with triumph, but Ella just rolled her eyes. Sarah looked back; he was almost to the driveway, so she had to snap her head around, and then she felt his eyes on her back, on her dumb running shorts and her spotty tan, her ratty sneakers.

“Is he looking?”

“How would I know?” Ella said.

“You could look, for one thing.”

She did, stiffly. “I can't tell.”

“Why do you have to be so blind?”

“F you,” Ella said.

“I didn't mean that. He's just so … Did you see his eyes?”

“I was trying to keep Doofus from getting run over.”

“Okay, Nurse Hathaway.”

“Dude!”

“Dude yourself.”

They took the shortcut through the tennis courts, the sun shooting through the trees, lying over the nets, spotting the weathered park bench. Rufus scooted ahead of them, sniffing the ground, his tail whisking. The white flowers on the bushes were like perfume. She wished they could stay here instead of going home.

“My dad told me to sign us up for tomorrow,” Ella said by the bulletin board with its little roof, then couldn't get the pen to write. Finally she got it going on her palm.

Sarah watched Rufus nose through the brush, hoping for a ball. She'd been waiting a month for the letter Mark promised her. Not even a postcard. Having a great time, miss you.

She wondered what his name was.

She imagined going out with him every weekend, sitting with him in the movies, meeting everyone at Denny's, kissing him good night. She pictured his friends, and her new ones at his school. She could see her mother's face when she told her she was moving here.

“Hello?” Ella said, bringing her back to the world.

“What?”

“You didn't even hear me. I said we should get back.”

“I heard,” Sarah said, but Ella imitated her and made her laugh at herself.

Rufus didn't want to stop looking, and Sarah had to whistle for him. The trees closed over them and they followed the path through the shadows, coming out by the basketball hoop no one used, the asphalt cracked, broken pieces like shale everywhere. Mark would expect things to be the same when school started. She'd have to tell him before that.

They walked down the middle of Manor Drive, Rufus scouting out ahead of them.

“I bet he's a jock,” Ella said, “a total airhead.”

“It's not like I want to copy his homework.”

“What do you want to do with him?”

Sarah made a face.

“Ew! He was all sweaty too.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, as if she could work on that.

Rufus stopped and looked back at them like they should catch up, then waddled on.

“Doesn't it look like he's limping?” Sarah asked.

“He's old.”

“I mean really limping.”

“He's really old.”

A bunch of little kids were running around the Nevilles' crab apple tree. There was still sun out on the lake, but the wind made it cool.

“What kind of guys do you like?” Sarah asked.

“I don't know,” Ella said. “All kinds. Why?”

“Maybe he has a friend.”

“No thank you.”

“Come on, don't be like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know, just … Can't you just be happy for me?”

“I am happy for you,” Ella said, but the way she said it made it clear she wasn't.

“Look,” Sarah said, “I promise I won't forget about you. I know how that feels, okay? What do you think it's like with my dad? It's still going to be me and you most of the time. There's no one else here I want to hang out with.”

“I guess that's a compliment.”

“You know what I mean.”

Ella said she did, but Sarah could tell she was hurt, the way Liz was when they went to a dance together and the guys only tried to hit on her. It wasn't her fault that she was pretty, but Sarah wanted to apologize anyway. “You have to be aware of your effect on people,” her mother lectured her. And while she was right, Sarah wished she wasn't. She hated when other girls didn't like her just because of the way she looked. Sometimes she wished she was ugly or just plain.

Justin and Sam were riding their bikes in front of the house, so they cut across the Wisemans' yard for the porch. Rufus stopped to mark his territory and they passed him on opposite sides, not talking. Her mother and Grandma sat on the porch with their drinks.

“Help yourself to the veggies and dip,” Grandma said. “It looks like we won't be eating till late.”

“Wash your hands first,” her mother instructed.

Inside it was dark with all the lights off. Ella took the kitchen sink and she took the bathroom. She flipped on the light and closed the door,
turned on the hot water, and let it run. For a while she stood there before the mirror, soaping her hands, glad to finally be alone. She set the soap back in the holder and held her hands under the faucet, and she discovered she had lied to Ella. Ella, her mother, her father, Mark—everything fell away when she thought of him. There was only the lake and the two of them, his house, the dark lawn and the sunset painting the sky. When everyone left, they would still be here.

She dried her hands and opened the door, turned off the light. Ella had beaten her outside and she took the chair next to her, the plastic cushion settling with a hiss. The red pepper she bit into was juicy, the dip sharp. She didn't know she was so hungry.

“How was your walk?” Grandma asked.

Ella looked to her as if they had a secret. Sarah dared her—go ahead and tell—and took a carrot stick.

“It was good,” Ella said. “Rufus pooped.”

“Doesn't everything look wonderful?” his mother said in the kitchen—to no one, to everyone.