Wish You Were Here (30 page)

Meg had gone down to breakfast. The girls were showered and dressed, their wet towels dropped on the floor. For the first time in ages they were alone.

“Not too late. One, one-thirty.”

“More like two-thirty. What did you two talk about for so long?”

“The usual. You know.”

“No, I don't know. I was up here by myself.”

“She said she's getting the divorce.”

“I knew that.”

“I didn't,” he said, as if he'd really been surprised. Sometimes he played dumb, a turtle pulling in its limbs, hoping she'd leave him alone. It was a child's trick, it only worked if you indulged it.

“What else?”

“We talked about Dad a lot, and the cottage. The good old days.”

“There were no good old days for her, I thought.”

“There were. Anyway, she's not too happy about Mom selling the place.”

“I don't think anyone is,” Lise said, and wondered if she was. Relieved, maybe. But she could see how they'd miss it. She liked the lake, the dock, the tennis courts hidden in the woods. It would actually be a nice place to go by themselves. “Arlene's not pleased, I know that.”

“It's too late,” Ken said. “The time to say something was February.”

“No one wanted to upset her. And Arlene can't afford this place, none of us can. The only person who can afford it is your mother. It's her decision.”

“I know.”

He turtled again, but she would not feel bad for nailing this fact
down. He could defend Emily if he wanted, but he had to acknowledge the truth.

“That's what you talked about for four hours.”

“That and her rehab, how she's doing.”

“You didn't talk about us at all.”

“Is there something to talk about about us?”

“Was there?” she asked.

“No,” he said automatically. “I told her about my job and how I've been a little frustrated with my work lately.”

He'd discussed this with her too, but unwillingly, only because she insisted, after weeks of unhappiness, and then she had to pull everything out of him, so that it seemed more of an interrogation on her part, and he a prisoner giving up his secrets.

He sighed and covered his forehead with a hand, silent but mulling something larger, as if building up to a confession. She would almost welcome one, to change or explain the way they'd been these last months— anything but this good-natured passivity. What troubled her most was the possibility that none of this mattered to him, that he could go on like this indefinitely, pausing to contemplate their problems only when she decided to bring them up.

“She's going through a bad time right now,” he said, but with such a lack of emotion that it sounded memorized, banal. “I wish there was some way we could help her.”

“Money-wise.”

“Any way at all.”

“I don't think we're in a position to, money-wise. You're always reminding me—”

“That's what I told her.”

“She knows we would if we could.”

The door to the stairs shuddered opened, staying the conversation. The footfalls were an adult's, and in a second Meg's head appeared behind the slats of the bannister. Lise noted how mussed she was, her nightshirt holey under one armpit.

Meg made straight for their bed. She had two mugs of coffee, and instructions from Emily to roust them.

“It's that list. She's been obsessing about it ever since we got here.
I think she honestly thinks we're going to fight over things. As far as I'm concerned, she can toss it all in the lake.”

Lise raised her mug to the idea, then tipped her chin at the window. “Looks like a Book Barn kind of day.”

“The boys are making noise about going to the casino. I haven't said anything to them yet.”

“I can take them,” Ken said. “I don't think it opens for a while though.”

“What about the girls?” Lise asked.

“They're fine. Mom and Arlene are going to the Lenhart for lunch, but there's enough cold cuts and stuff. Sarah can feed herself.”

“Ella's fine by herself too,” Lise agreed. “So, how long can we look at books?”

“They've got that new addition,” Meg said.

“While you're down that way, you can pick up some videos,” Ken said.

“You'll be closer than we will,” Lise argued.

“There's no way I'm taking the boys there.”

No one wanted to choose what they should get, and Meg headed back downstairs. Ken said he'd take his shower first, he had things to do. Lise thought of grabbing him before he could swing himself out, but didn't. The day had already started.

He closed the door to the bathroom, and she spread herself under the cool sheets, pinned like a butterfly by the weight of the covers. She wished he hadn't volunteered so quickly to take the boys. Now she wouldn't see him all day. Meg he would stay up all night to be with. She could see he was uncomfortable, that he thought she was jealous. That wasn't it. She didn't want secrets, just to be included, to not be forgotten. He and Meg formed their own little world, could go for hours recounting their favorite stories, never getting tired, never getting bored. Ten minutes with her and he had nothing to say, gave her the turtle. To Lise, it seemed just one more problem they had to face before they could get to the heart of what was wrong. As always, she had the feeling that they were not done talking.

“Charmander is evolving!” Justin read off his screen.

“Whoop-dee,” Sam said, too busy with his to look up.

“So I guess you already have a Charmeleon, huh?”

“So I guess you still sleep with stuffed animals, huh?”

“So?” Justin said.

“So that's what babies do.” Sam kept playing his game, hunched over, leaning to one side in the middle of a battle, and Justin went back to his, hurt and mad at him, but at the same time afraid he might be right.

They asked together, she and Ella, pretending they wanted to be helpful.

Aunt Arlene had already taken him for his walk, Grandma said. It was pouring out, did they know that?

“It's not raining that hard anymore,” Ella said.

Sarah had chosen her to argue their case because everyone knew she was smart and responsible (unlike Sarah, even if her grades were straight A's and she made breakfast every morning and helped Justin find clean clothes). It seemed to be working. Ella had answers for everything. The thunder and lightning had passed, and it was warming up. For insurance, Sarah had taken the leash off the doorknob, and Rufus pranced and clamored at her side, his breath hot on her hand.

“Let them take him,” Uncle Ken said. “It'll get them out of the house.”

“You're not going to wear him out,” Grandma asked (it was more of an order), and they shook their heads no, of course not.

“At least take an umbrella,” her mother said. “And wear your water shoes—or go barefoot. I don't want you ruining your sneakers.”

Barefoot! They hadn't even thought of it. They rolled up the cuffs of their jeans and yanked mothball-smelling ponchos over their heads. Uncle Ken found them two umbrellas and they were set, except now the boys wanted to go too.

Her mother overruled them, and before Justin could start whining, said they could splash in the puddles out front.

“But you have to put on the clothes you wore yesterday. I am not doing any more laundry.”

“Mo-om,” Justin grumped.

“Can we go?” Ella asked nicely, and with a word they were through the door and into the cool, heavy air smelling of the lake. Rufus nosed the screen open, the stone step of the porch pebbly and slick, the grass wet, freezing their toes. They ran across the yard, leaving everyone behind, laughing at how easy it was.

“You were great,” Sarah said, and Ella smiled and rolled her eyes like it was nothing and twirled her umbrella.

Twigs and green whirlybird seeds were all over the road, and worms they had to scoot around. Someone had a fire going, and the smell of it made Sarah hungry for something like soup. Back in the woods, wind rocked the branches. Most of the cottages were dark. Drops of water hung like ice from the power lines. The lake was a sea green, and the boats were covered up, puffed gulls standing on the tall pilings, all facing one way. She and Ella slapped their soles in the shallow puddles and looked at each other, dry under their umbrellas, lucky to be out of the house, free.

Rufus wanted to pee on everything. He yanked Sarah toward every tree and reflector and miniature fence, marking his spots. He was so old he didn't lift his leg, just squatted and squeezed out a weak stream. By the time they got to the shortcut it was just drops, but he kept trying.

“I think he's running out,” Ella said.

“Let's hope so,” she said, but then at the Loudermilks' mailbox he went so much it foamed.

“That is so nasty,” Ella said, turning her face.

“Oh, like you never pee.”

“Not outside I don't.”

Again, they looked at each other right at the same time, thinking the same thing, and laughed.

“Can you imagine?” Ella said.

“Guys do it all the time and they don't get weirded out about it.”

“Those are guys.”

Sarah couldn't help but see him at the edge of a mowed field, unzipping his faded jeans in sunlight, his long arms tan—and then stopped herself, not wanting to imagine that far.

“Quick, tell me something else.”

“They don't wash their hands either.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said, “I
have
a brother.”

They took the shortcut past the see-through A-frame, nobody home, the furniture waiting for its owners, and she thought she could meet him there, that they could sneak in and make out on the couch the way she and Mark did in the Kramers' pool house, their hair still damp from toweling off, the humidity and bite of chlorine part of their excitement. She had to help him with her top and then wished she hadn't. She made rules, then let him break them—like the time on the chaise longue when they almost got caught by his mom—and she was mad at herself afterwards.

This would be different, more romantic. She could see them in the A-frame, eating by candlelight, a fire behind them, classical music.

“We should have brought his ball,” Ella said, and Rufus looked up hopefully, as if she might have one.

“We're not supposed to tire him out.”

“He's not tired, look at him.”

They turned the corner onto the marina road and the sky opened up, the fishponds spread out on one side, the trees in the distance misted, hazed by rain. Far ahead, a single car ground by on the highway, the swish of its tires faint as a jet speeding high above the clouds. The road was cracked and they walked in the tangled grass, soaking their cuffs. Rufus blazed a trail, sniffing, his snout flecked with seeds from the timothy.

It was hot in the poncho, and Sarah slowed, worried for her hair. The poncho was the doofy bright orange kind crossing guards wore, or football fans. She didn't really expect to see him, she was just hoping.
And then she started thinking about Mark. She knew he wouldn't write, they'd even joked about it. She thought it shouldn't bother her so much.

“Let's look at the fish,” Ella said. “That way you can scout out his house before we go by.”

“Right,” Sarah said, like she'd thought of it.

An official pickup truck with a sticker on the door sat in the hatchery's drive, and the caged light above the entrance was on. From the back came the hum of a pump running. The ponds were raised above the ground, and once they were past the hatchery itself, they crossed the road and climbed a muddy path onto the checkerboard of dikes. Frogs plopped into the water to escape them. Rufus barked, way too late, and across the ponds a heron launched itself, flapping its hinged wings as it banked, giving them the profile of its hooked neck before sailing over the treetops. Sarah imagined the guy on the mower growing up across the road, seeing this every day, playing here. It would be part of him the way the lake was.

The rain made circles on the water, bubbles that floated a moment, then popped. Rufus tracked along the edge, his tail up in the air like he'd found something. In the shallows they could see ghostly fish nosing the surface, expecting to be fed.

As a girl, she'd come here with her father to watch the men cast handfuls of meal from burlap sacks, the slippery fish thrashing and flopping on top of each other to get it. The ponds could be drained, the fish running with the water through pipes, then captured in tanks and released into the lake, just to be caught again. The cycle had seemed unfair to her then, and still did.

She wondered if he fished. Her father didn't. He thought it was a waste of time.

“Looks like someone's home,” Ella said, ahead of her, pretending to examine the next pond.

Below, across the road, the coach light was on, a large, dark car in the driveway—his father's probably. The house was small but neat, custard yellow with white shutters, nothing like the ones in Silver Hills. The front door had a half basket with flowers in it. She pulled Rufus along and caught up.

“Nice car,” Ella teased.

“It must be his father's.”

“And I love the gnome by the birdbath.”

“Where?” she asked, just as she saw it, hiding in a patch of ivy.

“Did you see the kitten? On the roof of the garage?”

She tried to be inconspicuous, shielding herself with the umbrella, peeking around the lip. The kitten was the ceramic kind old ladies bought at the garden store for a joke.

“So what?” Sarah said, but she had to laugh too.

She hadn't expected him to be waiting for her on the porch. All she wanted was some sign of him, a promise that she would see him again.

“This is dumb,” she said finally, and passed by the last pond, Ella right behind her. They followed a narrow trail down the dike and through a grassy ditch, climbing back up to the road.