It's Not Summer Without You
Page 39
I said, “Susannah will never forgive you for this, you know. For losing her house. For letting down her boys.”
My mother’s hand reached out and struck my cheek so hard I rocked back. I didn’t see it coming. I clutched my face and right away I cried, but part of me was satisfied. I finally got what I wanted. Proof that she could feel something.
Her face was white. She had never hit me before. Never ever, not in my whole life.
I waited for her to say she was sorry. To say she didn’t mean to hurt me, she didn’t mean the things she’d said. If she said those things, then I would say them too. Because I was sorry. I didn’t mean the things I said.
When she didn’t speak, I backed away from her and then around her, holding my face. Then I ran out of the room, stumbling over my feet.
Jeremiah was standing in the hallway, looking at me with his mouth open. He looked at me like he didn’t recognize me, like he didn’t know who this person was, this girl who screamed at her mother and said terrible things. “Wait,” he said, reaching out to stop me.
I pushed past him and moved down the stairs.
In the living room, Conrad was picking up beer bottles and tossing them into a blue recycling bag. He didn’t look at me. I knew he’d heard everything too.
I ran out the back door and then I almost tripped going down the stairs that headed down to the beach. I sank to the ground and sat in the sand, holding my burning cheek in the palm of my hand. And then I threw up.
I heard Jeremiah come up behind me. I knew it was him right away, because Conrad would know not to follow me.
“I just want to be alone,” I said, wiping my mouth. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want him to see my face.
“Belly,” he started. He sat down next to me and kicked sand over my throw up.
When he didn’t say anything more, I looked at him. “What?”
He bit his upper lip. Then he reached out and touched my cheek. His fingers felt warm. He looked so sad. He said, “You should just go with your mom.”
Whatever I’d been expecting him to say, it hadn’t been that. I’d come all this way and I’d gotten in so much trouble, just so I could help him and Conrad, and now he wanted me to leave? Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes and I wiped them away with the back of my hands. “Why?”
“Because Laurel’s really upset. Everything’s gone to crap, and it’s my fault. I never should have asked you to come. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Pretty soon we’ll all have to.”
“And that’s it?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
We sat in the sand for a while. I had never felt more lost. I cried a little more, and Jeremiah didn’t say anything, which I was grateful for. There was nothing worse than your friend watching you cry after you just got in trouble with your mother. When I was done, he stood up and gave me his hand. “Come on,” he said, pulling me to my feet.
We went back inside the house. Conrad was gone and the living room was clean. My mother was mopping the kitchen floor. When she saw me, she stopped. She put the mop back into the bucket and leaned it against the wall.
Right in front of Jeremiah, she said, “I’m sorry.”
I looked at him, and he backed out of the kitchen and went up the stairs. I almost stopped him. I didn’t want to be alone with her. I was afraid.
She continued. “You’re right. I’ve been absent. I’ve been so consumed with my own grief, I haven’t reached out to you. I’m sorry for that.”
“Mom—,” I started to say. I was about to tell her I was sorry too, for saying that thing before, that awful thing I wished I could take back. But she lifted her hand up and stopped me.
“I’m just—off balance. Ever since Beck died, I can’t seem to find my equilibrium.” She rested her head against the wall. “I’ve been coming here with Beck since I was younger than you are now. I love this house. You know that.”
“I know,” I said. “I didn’t mean it, what I said before.”
My mother nodded. “Let’s sit down a minute, all right?”
She sat down at the kitchen table and I took a seat across from her.
“I shouldn’t have hit you,” she said, and her voice broke. “I’m sorry.”
“You never did that before.”
“I know.”
My mother reached across the table and took my hand in hers, tight as a cocoon. At first I felt stiff, but then I let her comfort me. Because I could see it was a comfort to her, too. We sat like that for what felt like a long time.
When she let go, she said, “You lied to me, Belly. You never lie to me.”
“I didn’t mean to. But Conrad and Jeremiah are important to me. They needed me, so I went.”
“I wish you would have told me. Beck’s boys are important to me, too. If something’s going on, I want to know about it. Okay?”
I nodded.
Then she said, “Are you all packed? I want to beat Sunday traffic on the way back.”
I stared at her. “Mom, we can’t just leave. Not with everything that’s happening. You can’t let Mr. Fisher sell the house. You just can’t.”
She sighed. “I don’t know that I can say anything to change his mind, Belly. Adam and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. I can’t stop him from selling the house if that’s what he’s set on.”
“You can, I know you can. He’ll listen to you. Conrad and Jeremiah, they need this house. They need it.”
I set my head down on the table, and the wood was cool and smooth against my cheek. My mother touched the top of my head, running her hand through my tangled hair.
“I’ll call him,” she said at last. “Now get upstairs and take a shower.” Hopefully, I looked up at her and I saw the firm set of her mouth and the narrow of her eyes. And I knew it wasn’t over yet.
If anybody could make things right, it was my mother.
Chapter thirty-four
jeremiah
There was this time—I think I was thirteen and Belly was eleven, about to turn twelve. She’d caught a summer cold, and she was miserable. She was camped out on the couch with balled-up tissues all around her, and she’d been wearing the same ratty pajamas for days. Because she was sick, she got to pick whatever TV show she wanted to watch. The only thing she could eat were grape Popsicles, and when I reached for one, my mother said that Belly should have it. Even though she’d already had three. I got stuck with a yellow one.
My mother’s hand reached out and struck my cheek so hard I rocked back. I didn’t see it coming. I clutched my face and right away I cried, but part of me was satisfied. I finally got what I wanted. Proof that she could feel something.
Her face was white. She had never hit me before. Never ever, not in my whole life.
I waited for her to say she was sorry. To say she didn’t mean to hurt me, she didn’t mean the things she’d said. If she said those things, then I would say them too. Because I was sorry. I didn’t mean the things I said.
When she didn’t speak, I backed away from her and then around her, holding my face. Then I ran out of the room, stumbling over my feet.
Jeremiah was standing in the hallway, looking at me with his mouth open. He looked at me like he didn’t recognize me, like he didn’t know who this person was, this girl who screamed at her mother and said terrible things. “Wait,” he said, reaching out to stop me.
I pushed past him and moved down the stairs.
In the living room, Conrad was picking up beer bottles and tossing them into a blue recycling bag. He didn’t look at me. I knew he’d heard everything too.
I ran out the back door and then I almost tripped going down the stairs that headed down to the beach. I sank to the ground and sat in the sand, holding my burning cheek in the palm of my hand. And then I threw up.
I heard Jeremiah come up behind me. I knew it was him right away, because Conrad would know not to follow me.
“I just want to be alone,” I said, wiping my mouth. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want him to see my face.
“Belly,” he started. He sat down next to me and kicked sand over my throw up.
When he didn’t say anything more, I looked at him. “What?”
He bit his upper lip. Then he reached out and touched my cheek. His fingers felt warm. He looked so sad. He said, “You should just go with your mom.”
Whatever I’d been expecting him to say, it hadn’t been that. I’d come all this way and I’d gotten in so much trouble, just so I could help him and Conrad, and now he wanted me to leave? Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes and I wiped them away with the back of my hands. “Why?”
“Because Laurel’s really upset. Everything’s gone to crap, and it’s my fault. I never should have asked you to come. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Pretty soon we’ll all have to.”
“And that’s it?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
We sat in the sand for a while. I had never felt more lost. I cried a little more, and Jeremiah didn’t say anything, which I was grateful for. There was nothing worse than your friend watching you cry after you just got in trouble with your mother. When I was done, he stood up and gave me his hand. “Come on,” he said, pulling me to my feet.
We went back inside the house. Conrad was gone and the living room was clean. My mother was mopping the kitchen floor. When she saw me, she stopped. She put the mop back into the bucket and leaned it against the wall.
Right in front of Jeremiah, she said, “I’m sorry.”
I looked at him, and he backed out of the kitchen and went up the stairs. I almost stopped him. I didn’t want to be alone with her. I was afraid.
She continued. “You’re right. I’ve been absent. I’ve been so consumed with my own grief, I haven’t reached out to you. I’m sorry for that.”
“Mom—,” I started to say. I was about to tell her I was sorry too, for saying that thing before, that awful thing I wished I could take back. But she lifted her hand up and stopped me.
“I’m just—off balance. Ever since Beck died, I can’t seem to find my equilibrium.” She rested her head against the wall. “I’ve been coming here with Beck since I was younger than you are now. I love this house. You know that.”
“I know,” I said. “I didn’t mean it, what I said before.”
My mother nodded. “Let’s sit down a minute, all right?”
She sat down at the kitchen table and I took a seat across from her.
“I shouldn’t have hit you,” she said, and her voice broke. “I’m sorry.”
“You never did that before.”
“I know.”
My mother reached across the table and took my hand in hers, tight as a cocoon. At first I felt stiff, but then I let her comfort me. Because I could see it was a comfort to her, too. We sat like that for what felt like a long time.
When she let go, she said, “You lied to me, Belly. You never lie to me.”
“I didn’t mean to. But Conrad and Jeremiah are important to me. They needed me, so I went.”
“I wish you would have told me. Beck’s boys are important to me, too. If something’s going on, I want to know about it. Okay?”
I nodded.
Then she said, “Are you all packed? I want to beat Sunday traffic on the way back.”
I stared at her. “Mom, we can’t just leave. Not with everything that’s happening. You can’t let Mr. Fisher sell the house. You just can’t.”
She sighed. “I don’t know that I can say anything to change his mind, Belly. Adam and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. I can’t stop him from selling the house if that’s what he’s set on.”
“You can, I know you can. He’ll listen to you. Conrad and Jeremiah, they need this house. They need it.”
I set my head down on the table, and the wood was cool and smooth against my cheek. My mother touched the top of my head, running her hand through my tangled hair.
“I’ll call him,” she said at last. “Now get upstairs and take a shower.” Hopefully, I looked up at her and I saw the firm set of her mouth and the narrow of her eyes. And I knew it wasn’t over yet.
If anybody could make things right, it was my mother.
Chapter thirty-four
jeremiah
There was this time—I think I was thirteen and Belly was eleven, about to turn twelve. She’d caught a summer cold, and she was miserable. She was camped out on the couch with balled-up tissues all around her, and she’d been wearing the same ratty pajamas for days. Because she was sick, she got to pick whatever TV show she wanted to watch. The only thing she could eat were grape Popsicles, and when I reached for one, my mother said that Belly should have it. Even though she’d already had three. I got stuck with a yellow one.
