Just 18 Summers Read online

  “I thought we were having soda. You said snacks and drinks. That’s why I got out of bed.”

  “Your mom worked very hard to make the lemonade. We’re all drinking the lemonade,” Larry said.

  Robin opened the front door and stepped out, looking surprised they were all there.

  Larry slapped his hands together in excitement. “Robin! Just in time. We’re reinstituting Anderson Family Game Night.”

  “It’s morning,” Nathan yawned.

  “What’s that?” Robin asked.

  “Don’t you remember? We used to do it all the time. I mean, at least sometimes. At least once, on that snow day in ’99?”

  Robin smiled and patted him on the back. “Aw. That sounds fun, Dad. But I can’t. Marvin and I are registering for gifts.”

  “Oh, come on, just one game,” Beth said. “It’s been forever since we played. You used to beat us all, remember? Plus, I murdered a dozen lemons for our pleasure.” Beth gestured, more toward the ant plates than the lemonade. She wanted Robin to see the whole picture.

  Just then Marvin pulled into the driveway, honking and waving. A pizza sign, like a shark fin, was secured to the top of his car.

  Larry was trying to persuade Robin to stay for the games. “Invite Marvin!” he said. And while they chatted about that, Beth slid off the porch and toward Marvin’s car.

  “Hi.” Beth smiled.

  “Mrs. Anderson. Beth. Hello.” Marvin was ducking to see her out the passenger window.

  “Marvin. Hi. How are you?”

  “Had to work late every night this week. Summer hits and pizza sales spike.”

  “Well,” Beth said, leaning down to look at him through the window. “I feel as if we hardly know you.” She let those words linger, though Marvin seemed unaffected. “Let’s have you over for dinner again soon.”

  “I would love that,” he said with a smile.

  “Also, you do know that . . .” Beth glanced over her shoulder. Robin was still on the porch. “That she can’t cook.”

  Again, he just smiled and blinked, waiting for her to go on.

  Suddenly there was a peck on Beth’s cheek. “Gotta go, Mom.”

  Beth straightened, stepping aside. Robin opened the car door, which creaked like it could’ve worked as a sound effect in a horror movie. “Hey, Robin. Do you want me to come with you?”

  Robin was snapping her seat belt. “To register for gifts? That’s kind of our deal, what the couple does together.”

  “Oh yes. Of course. Well, maybe we can look at . . . Have you thought of invitations? Or I know a nice cake lady three houses down.”

  Robin smiled. Not the kind of smile that had delight in it, but the kind that held pity. “Sure, Mom. But I gotta run.”

  “You’re not staying for game day?”

  “What’s that?” Marvin asked. “That sounds fun.”

  “I’ll tell you later. We gotta go, babe.”

  Beth sighed, backed away from the car, and watched them drive off, a sick feeling settling in as they disappeared out of sight. Not that long ago her little girl, hair in pigtails, hands sticky from taffy, hopped her Candy Land piece from purple to purple, across the bridge, squealing and clapping and then throwing little fits when she didn’t get to the end.

  August.

  She returned to the porch and poured herself a glass of lemonade. Nathan rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Nothing like a game of Scrabble to separate the smart people from the average.”

  Larry was wearing the excitement of a man who’d scored Super Bowl tickets. His eyes were wide with anticipation as he made room on the wicker table. “You guys know that I used to dominate this game when we played as a family.”

  “The last time we played, I knew eight words,” Chip said.

  Larry had always been competitive. When he beat Robin four times straight at Chutes and Ladders, Beth had to suggest to him that he might let her win once.

  Larry grabbed the box on top and with his hand swiped away the thick layer of dust that confirmed it had been a very long while since they played board games.

  Beth leaned in to look. “That’s not Scrabble. That’s Candy Land.”

  Nathan groaned and threw his head back, staring at nothing. “Awesome.”

  Larry looked pained as he hurriedly sifted through the rest of the boxes. Chutes and Ladders. Connect Four. Battleship, the nonelectronic version.

  Chip was holding Candy Land. “Hey, the good news is that Nathan only has to know his colors for this.”

  “Hilarious,” Nathan said. “Do we really have to play Candy Land? It’s kind of lame. It also makes me hungry.”

  The magazine moment was quickly slipping through the cracks in the porch. Beth handed him the lemonade she poured. “Here. There’s a cup of sugar per glass. You should be fine.”

  “Are you guys kidding me?” Larry said. “Where’s your spirit of competition?”

  “This is a game featuring mountains made of gumdrops. It doesn’t sound all that cutthroat to me,” Nathan said.

  Chip gargled his lemonade and then gulped it down, punctuating it all with a burp. “Let’s just toss that thing. Nobody wants to play Candy Land.”

  Beth grabbed the game off the table. “No! I mean . . . no. I want to keep it.” She held the box against her chest.

  Larry stood nearby, his hands on his hips, looking like he’d just lost at a board game. This day was not turning out how they’d planned, but that’s how life had gone for most of their time as a family. Good intentions always seemed to get derailed. Yet . . . a smile emerged on Larry’s face.

  “Since when has this family ever played by the real rules of board games? I say we make up our own,” he said.

  Nathan and Chip glanced at each other.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Larry said, as charming and enthused as Tom Bergeron announcing a dance number, “Welcome to . . . Full. Contact. Candy Land!”

  Chip’s arms shot up, his fists punching through the air.

  Nathan smirked. “Seriously, Dad?”

  Beth smiled and handed the game over. Somehow, Larry always knew how to save the day. As her boys came up with game rules, including acquiring cherries and whipped cream from the fridge, Beth noticed Helen walking out her front door, dressed like it was the most important day of her life. But that’s how she always dressed. Beth was mostly all baggy jeans and sweatshirts, but Helen looked tailored, as if her clothes were made specifically for her body.

  “Hannah, don’t forget your tiara!” Helen waited on her front porch, a designer bag dangling off her arm.

  “Oh no!” Chip said. Beth’s attention returned to her boys.

  “What did you get?” Nathan asked as Chip held up the Candy Land card.

  “Queen Frostine!”

  “Get him!” Larry and Nathan shouted, and yelling like banshees, they all poured off the porch and onto the lawn.

  Nathan, with his long legs, caught Chip before he made it to the sidewalk, tackling him to the ground. For a moment all that could be seen were arms and legs rolling over the grass.

  “Beth!” Larry called, pointing to the whipped cream can. “Hurry!”

  Beth jumped off the porch and ran toward the chaos, her hamstring reminding her that jumping and running, particularly at the same time, had consequences that required ice packs. But at the moment she didn’t care.

  Nathan held down Chip, who was giggling so hard he was barely fighting it. Beth sprayed a crown of whipped cream on his head as Larry simultaneously dropped cherries on top.

  The giggling was suddenly undone by a loud, pointed clearing of the throat. Helen now stood at the fence. Queen Frostine in the flesh.

  Beth dropped the can into Larry’s hand as the chaos continued, then walked over to the property line, wiping the cream from her fingers onto her jeans. “Hi, Helen.”

  “What are you doing?” Helen’s eyes widened by the second as she observed the boys tumbling around the front yard.

  “Playing Candy
Land!” Larry shouted as he whizzed past. Beth marveled at his speed. When was the last time he chased the boys around?

  Beth turned her attention back to Helen, who motioned for her kids to hurry into their car, as if shielding them from witnessing the aftermath of a car wreck. With her children safely inside their sedan, Helen began eyeing the weeds by Beth’s porch. It had been a while since she’d weeded the area—or planted anything significant, for that matter. It was just a bunch of dirt, a few random rocks that used to serve as accent pieces, and weeds that would never pass for exotic plants like she’d once hoped.

  “Excellent use of your time,” Helen said, her narrow eyes cutting back to Beth.

  “Well, you know, we’ve just realized the kids are growing up so fast and we were going to play a board game, but then . . .” Squeals broke her concentration. Chip was on the ground again. This time his belly button was getting whipped. “Anyway, one of those moments where you—”

  “I see. Well, at least this mess won’t stick around like that TP fiasco a couple of years ago. I don’t mean to be rude, but there was a moment, six months into it, when I wondered if anybody was going to climb into that tree and get the rest of that mess. Exterior toilet paper really does bring down the value of the home and all the homes nearby.”

  Beth sighed, nodding. They’d been particularly busy that season. They were hardly home, grabbing food on the go, occupying the house only to sleep in their beds.

  “Where are you off to?” Beth tried a smile, even as the flatulent sound of the emptying whipped cream can broke the brief moment of cordial exchange.

  “Taking Madison to gymnastics. Hannah has pageant practice. Cory has a soccer game.” Her voice was low and her words clipped, as if it were a sin to show any kind of a drawl. Then her tone lowered even further. “It wouldn’t hurt to get your kids in some summer activities. Keeping kids busy prevents things like—” she gazed toward the boys—“spontaneous childishness. After all, Nathan is eighteen now. Shouldn’t he be—?”

  A horrible sound, like a pig rooting around in mush, cut Helen off. She gasped and guarded her pearls with her free hand. But it was only Nathan, attempting to eat the whipped cream off Chip’s cheek.

  Helen raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t he be looking into packing for that college he got into?”

  And then it happened, so fast and intense that it took both of them by surprise. It was so . . . abrupt . . . that Beth actually looked up because although the day was bright blue and cloudless, she thought it had started raining.

  But no. She had started crying.

  To look at Helen, one would’ve thought Beth’s clothes had turned to dust and she was now standing stark-naked.

  “I’m sorry,” Beth said, swiping the tears as fast as she could. “This is such a hard time. The kids are growing up so fast, and . . .” She shook her head, not wanting to ramble and not wanting to get into Robin’s upcoming wedding.

  Helen reached into her purse, the kind with a metal closure and sturdy, well-supported sides. Beth thought she was going to pull a tissue out, but instead she held a small business card toward Beth, as discreetly as if she’d just passed her a hygiene product.

  “What’s this?” Beth asked.

  Helen’s voice was so hushed that if the wind had blown by at that moment, Beth would not have been able to hear her. “His name is Dr. Reynolds. He’s a therapist.”

  “A thera—”

  “Shh. He mostly counsels women after botched plastic surgeries, but I’ve found him to be quite helpful with delicate situations.”

  “Like crying . . . ?”

  “You should invest in waterproof mascara. That’s one tip. But call him. He might be able to help you.” Helen reached out as if she was going to touch Beth but stopped a few inches short. Perhaps it was the warmest she could be. “I know it’s been difficult losing Jenny.” Helen tilted her head like she was trying to view Beth in another light, then sashayed toward the car, her hips swinging from side to side like a pendulum. Her platform shoes made her a good three inches taller than she really was, but Beth always felt she was a towering presence anyway. Her hair was white-blonde, the kind that nobody in their forties comes by naturally, but it was shiny and pretty and a far cry from Beth’s frumpy ponytail.

  It had been Jenny’s idea to invite Helen to scrapbooking one day after meeting her at Beth’s fence line.

  “She seems like she needs friends,” Jenny had said.

  Beth had moaned. “Must you love every stray dog?”

  “I must.” Jenny had grinned, and by the next week, Helen began coming to scrapbooking. And as Jenny had predicted, she never skipped a single week.

  Larry was suddenly by Beth’s side.

  “What this time? Our front door creaks in a way she disapproves of?”

  “Larry . . .”

  “What? She’s awful. She always has been. Don’t know how you spend time with her. Remember how she dogged us about the toilet paper stuck in our tree?”

  “Well, it was an entire roll.”

  “It was a few pieces. Nothing more.”

  “She was just wondering what we were doing with whipped cream and cherries and all that.”

  Larry punched his hands in the air. “See? How fun was that? Totally off the top of my head, too. This is going to be a summer to remember!”

  “Where are the boys?”

  Larry glanced behind him. The lawn was quiet and empty, except for a small trail of whipped cream that was sinking into the grass. “Oh. Well, um, they probably wanted some Xbox time.” He looked at his watch. “I mean, fifteen minutes is a long time to run around the yard. Plus we ran out of whipped cream.” He resumed glancing around the yard as though they might be there. “I’m going to see if I can lure them to the zoo. Remember how much they loved the zoo?”

  “That was me. They begged to go home every time.”

  “Really? I don’t remember that.”

  “Larry,” Beth said as he started to walk toward the house, “aren’t you . . . sad?”

  “About what?”

  “Robin. Nathan. The whole idea that we’re losing two kids in one year.”

  “I know! That’s why we’re planning the Summer of Fun! Intense Fun! Right? Am I right?”

  Beth tried a smile. “Sure.”

  Larry cupped her shoulder and gave her a thatta-girl shake. “I’m just diving in, Beth!” He hurried inside.

  She turned and watched Helen back out of the driveway in a sedan that gleamed like the sun had given the car its celestial blessing.

  Beth stood all alone. Even the birds stopped chirping.

  CHAPTER 8

  BUTCH

  BUTCH LOVED the feeling after a long, hard day at work of coming home to Jenny, sinking into the couch, kicking up his feet, and watching sports highlights. Before Jenny died, the rest of what made it perfect was the smell of food being cooked in the kitchen and Ava running around the house with her toys. There was a lot of laughter. A lot of peace.

  Now it was different. Ava sat on the couch next to him, curled up against his rib cage. It wasn’t comfortable, but he tried not to move. Her attention wasn’t on him, though. It was on the TV. Instead of ESPN highlights, they were watching the Food Network. It was like Ava was in a trance.

  “Sweetie? You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Bet you’re hungry.”

  She didn’t even blink. “I miss food.”

  “Food? We’ve got—” The doorbell rang. “See? Pizza’s here!”

  He hopped up, hoping Ava wasn’t super hungry because he was pretty sure he could eat the whole thing by himself. He grabbed the wad of cash on the table and opened the front door.

  “Hey, Marvin.” He took the box and handed over the cash. “Congratulations. Heard the good news.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sure you and Robin will be very happy together.” Butch tried a smile. Not the thing he was best at, but people were uncomfortable around him these days.
Nobody liked to bring up marriage or love or spouses or anything that might trigger a memory of Jenny. The thing was, she was still always on his mind, whether they did or not. “Very happy.”

  “Oh yeah. We are. I just got a Wii.”

  “Ah. Sure. That should help.”

  “See you tomorrow, Mr. Browning.” Marvin started to walk off but then turned around. “By the way, seeing that you order every night from us, I can just put it in as a standing order, and that way you don’t have to bother calling.”

  “Oh.”

  “Just a thought.”

  “Well, sure, that would make sense . . .” Butch stepped outside, out of earshot of Ava. “It’s just that Ava feels better when she sees that I’m able to take care of her. I know it sounds stupid, but I think her knowing that I know how to feed us by calling brings her a lot of comfort. Make sense?”

  Marvin was shaking his head. “No offense, Mr. Browning. I don’t understand a lot of things. I mean, people want to make it complicated, but the way I see it, it’s about loving the person you’re with. You felt that way about Mrs. Browning, didn’t you?”

  Butch nodded, casting his gaze away. “Yeah. I did.”

  “Yeah. So, I mean, I don’t know anything about child rearing and that stuff, but I bet Ava doesn’t care that you don’t cook. Robin doesn’t cook. But she loves pizza, so it all works out that way.”

  “It’s just that Jenny used to cook.”

  Marvin looked concerned. “Do you think I should be worried that Robin doesn’t?”

  Butch laughed under his breath. Yes, there’d been a time that he, too, was so self-absorbed he missed the point to a lot of conversations.

  “No, man. It’s fine. She’s lucky to be able to have pizza at a moment’s notice.”

  Marvin’s face lit up. “Exactly, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Hey, um, can I ask you something?”

  Butch glanced inside. Ava was glued to the TV. “Sure.”

  “Listen, I’m . . . I don’t think . . . I guess what I’m trying to say is . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not fitting in very well with Robin’s family.”