Things That Fall Page 8

  Only one person has ever had the gall to call me fat. She was in my sixth-grade class, and I poured fruit punch over her white pants and told everyone she’d gotten her period. I am, without question, capable of being a real bitch.

  But at least no one calls me a pig.

  “We have to have s’mores,” I say as we pass the cookies. I don’t even bother to check with the others before I grab two boxes of graham crackers from the shelf and then find the marshmallow packs.

  “S’mores in October?” Kayla asks, heading toward the chocolate even while she questions my suggestion.

  “Last ones of the year,” Thomas sighs. “Winter will be on us soon.”

  “October only started a week ago — don’t get ahead of yourself,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs. “And why the long face?”

  “I hate winter,” Thomas replies. He sounds like a petulant child.

  “I love it.” I grin, thinking of roaring fires and snowflakes and cuddling hot boys for warmth.

  “Enough talk of the seasons,” Kayla says. “We have an important chocolate-related decision to make.”

  “Hmm, you’re right,” Thomas says, a serious look of consideration on his face as he approaches the shelf of chocolate bars. “What do we get: Hershey’s, Jersey Milk, or Cadbury?”

  “What decision? Jersey Milk is the obvious choice,” I reply.

  I reach for the chocolate, but Kayla stops my hand before I manage to put it in the cart.

  “Um, no. Cadbury is way better,” she says.

  I gasp like she’s just offended every one of my deepest morals. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She shakes her head, reaching for the Cadbury chocolate.

  “I kid you not. Nothing beats Cadbury. Nothing,” she declares.

  “I hate to mention it,” Thomas adds, his voice meek, “but I like Hershey best.”

  “You traitor,” I say at once, giving him a look of great disappointment.

  “I honor my free will,” Thomas replies in a dignified fashion.

  I study the three choices and hold a hand up to silence the others.

  “Guys, I have a solution,” I say, waiting for their attention to shift back to me. “We can buy all three kinds of chocolate.”

  Kayla’s nod is slow as she mulls over my proposal. “All three kinds. You know, I think you’re on to something!”

  “You beautiful genius, you,” Thomas agrees, rubbing my head like I’m an obedient dog.

  “Okay, let’s grab all three, and we’ll get some gummy worms while we’re here,” Kayla says while I fix my now-tousled hair.

  She heads further down the snack aisle, tossing the chocolate into the cart. Thomas grabs a pack of Caramilk bars, throwing them over Kayla’s head when she stops to pick out the next bag of treats.

  “Three kinds of chocolate aren’t enough?” I ask, grabbing a package of Starburst candies to accompany Kayla’s gummy worms.

  “For Nolan,” Thomas explains.

  “The perfect big brother.” I smirk.

  With the cart full of food, we line up for the register. We split the bill between us, Kayla paying cash, Thomas using his debit card, me loading up the Visa my mother doesn’t know I borrowed from her wallet to hold me over until my next paycheck comes in. The cashier looks like she wants to hit us. I flash her my snarkiest grin as we collect our bags and leave.

  Thomas takes over driving on the way back to the cottage. He turns the stereo off and rolls down all of the windows. I sit beside him up front, watching the town slip away as we head back out toward the bay.

  “Do you think we’ll get everything finished by tomorrow?” Kayla asks after we’re out of town.

  “We have to,” Thomas says, but the edge in his voice betrays his worry.

  “I had no idea there would be so much to do,” I admit.

  I think back to the bedroom with the stacks of receipts and cringe, imagining what the other rooms contain. No one managed to finish up an entire space before we took a break to look at the pictures. It doesn’t bode well for the state of the rest of the cottage.

  “Me neither,” Kayla sighs from the back seat. “Can you imagine if Forrester had come up here all on his own? I can’t believe his mom wouldn’t make the trip, even if she does live in the States.”

  “No kidding,” Thomas mumbles, flicking the car’s signal to turn left. “I can’t believe we didn’t even know they were divorced. What a horrible situation for him. It’s bad enough he had those two for parents in the first place. Then to be abandoned by one and have the other one die.”

  “What do you mean, it’s bad enough to have had them as parents?” I ask.

  “Don’t you remember what they were like?” Thomas asks, glancing at Kayla in the rear-view mirror before giving me a sideways stare.

  I shake my head and look back to see Kayla making the same motion. Thomas shrugs one shoulder as he faces forward again.

  “I was only about nine the last time I saw them, so maybe I’m not the best judge. But it seemed to me Simon and Shirley were always … I don’t know, selfish? I overheard my parents talking after the funeral. They were stewing about her absence, and my dad said that was what happened when marriage came from an unwanted accident.”

  “You mean they never wanted Forrester?” I shift in my seat so I can look at both Thomas and Kayla.

  “Not at first, at any rate. Don’t get me wrong, I think they loved him and all. I don’t think they blamed him or anything. Or maybe they did, who knows? But I don’t think they were fond of each other. Forrester was unexpected, and if he hadn’t arrived, they never would have stuck together as long as they did. They weren’t a family, at least it seemed that way to me. They were a mother and a father and a son, but not a family. And now Forrester doesn’t even have the mother and the father anymore.”

  So I guess my memories are warped, at least a bit. The thought is fucking terrifying. I thought Forrester’s parents were happy together, but Thomas’s explanation makes sense. I think back to the same visions of the past I had last week when we sat around the picnic table outside the funeral home. Shirley was never outdoors with us. She didn’t like the same things my uncle did.

  Shit. My whole perspective’s shifted in a matter of seconds. Makes me curious to know what other things I’ve gotten wrong.

  The photo of the girl in the wheelchair burns like starlight behind my eyes, and as I hear the faded remnants of her screaming, I realize it’s not just what I’ve gotten wrong, but what I’ve altogether forgotten, too.

  “What will he do now?” I ask.

  No one answers me. No point in mustering up a half-baked solution for a problem we’re not equipped to solve. Forrester doesn’t have much choice. He can keep living somehow. Or he can give up. I don’t think he’ll give up. But I have no idea how he’ll handle the living part.

  “We have to help him with this, even if we can’t help him with anything else,” Kayla mumbles after a moment. I nod, twisting one of the wooden beads on my necklace as I think of the cottage and the mess within it. “We’ll have to work hard, is all,” she continues. “And if we can’t get it done by tomorrow, well … we’ll have to come back. I can find the time, I’m sure. I can make the time, if I can’t find it.”

  When we pull up to the cottage again, the sun is bright and the glistening water is tempting, even if it is too late in the season for swimming — even if I don’t like swimming, anyway. I can still picture myself lounging around, reading a magazine and laughing at my cousins as they splash like frozen idiots in the water.

  I want this to be a regular holiday break, a nice retreat with kids my age who are my friends, not just my relatives. I don’t want death or screaming. I don’t want confusion or fear. They don’t belong here, not at this cottage.

  They don’t belong so close.

  I help the othe
rs get the grocery bags, and we bring them inside.

  Nolan

  Me: Okay, I’ve got about a minute before I have to be back upstairs.

  B: You seriously have to be silent all weekend?

  Me: Yeah. They’re into this whole family bonding thing.

  B: Damn.

  Me: I’ll check in. I’ve got my phone out of my cousin’s bag. She won’t notice it’s gone.

  B: Good. I need you for this.

  Me: I’m here. Just might take a while to respond. Are you going to get the test?

  B: Yes, leaving now.

  Me: Good luck. Let me know how it goes.

  I’d better go back upstairs, I only ran down to get a garbage bag (you should see the amount of trash here).

  Talk soon.

  I don’t hear the others return. After putting away the photographs, the four of us still at the cottage returned to the dizzying task of trying to get this damned place clean. I keep my phone away, only giving it the occasional glance as a reward for making headway in clearing the heaps of junkyard scrap and garage sale fodder my uncle could only have been keeping in preparation for building a demented funhouse.

  Which is why Thomas catches me mid-text, my back to the door so I don’t see him approach.

  “I thought we took that away from you?”

  I jump, startled by his voice and annoyed he’s chosen this moment to slither in like a snake hiding in the trash.

  “Shit, Thomas. You scared me.” I give the phone a final glance before stuffing it in my pocket. “I was just checking for new messages, I swear. I’ve been working … see?”

  I wave an arm around the room, prepared — if necessary — to show Thomas the honest-to-goodness box of chipped and tarnished porcelain-faced and floppy-bodied clown dolls I shoved into a garbage bag ten minutes ago. But Thomas isn’t impressed by my efforts. He holds out his hand like I’m just going to hand over my most treasured possession.

  “We agreed, no phones,” he says. “How did you get it back, anyway?”

  He steps toward me, and I step back.

  “I retrieved it when I went down for a garbage bag earlier.” I clutch a hand over my pocket in case he decides to lunge at me, a tactic not without precedent. “Let me keep it, okay? I promise I won’t look at it in front of the others.”

  “Nolan.”

  “It’s important!” I meet my brother’s gaze and glower with impatience. I don’t want to tell him anything right now, but he’s not leaving me much choice in the matter. “There’s something going on, and I have to stay in touch.”

  Thomas leans back into a considering stance. “What is it?”

  I press my lips together, not sure how to respond. I’m tempted to let him in, but there’s nothing to actually let him in on. Yet. So, after a lengthy pause I shake my head, offering him an imploring stare.

  “I can’t say,” I mumble. “But I promise it’s important. Okay?”

  Thomas’s face clouds, and I know he’s wondering since when do I keep secrets from him. Thomas thinks he knows everything about me, and for the most part, he does. I’m not one for secrets — at least, not for keeping secrets from him. But even I have a few hidden truths. And, it so happens, Brandon’s latest messages make it necessary for this to be one of them.

  “Fine,” he says after an indecisive moment. His tone is resigned, and I do my best to ignore the whisper of disappointment within it. “But keep your phone hidden.”

  “I will, I will,” I assure him. Then I push beyond our awkwardness by turning from his questioning gaze and reaching for a pile of old clothes lying on the bed. “These must be Shirley’s,” I say, picking up a glimmering dress.

  “Either that or Forrester’s got an interesting hobby he hasn’t told us about.” Thomas smiles.

  I let out a snort of laughter, relieved he’s making jokes.

  “Good for him if he has,” I say, holding the dress up against my gangly body. “But I’m not sure this would fit.” The dress is tiny, a pink and slinky slip I’d expect to see on one of Thomas’s girlfriends. Something I can only vaguely — uncomfortably — envision my aunt wearing.

  Former aunt? Ex-aunt? What do you call the woman you were born knowing as your aunt, when she now lives in another country with another family and probably never thinks of you at all?

  “Should we even bother going through these?” I ask, dropping the dress in favor of a semi-transparent blouse.

  Thomas shakes his head. “Throw it all in a trash bag, and we’ll take it home. We can drop it in a donation bin somewhere.”

  The plan works for me, although some of the outfits — like the black and white evening gown I can’t understand having out here in the woods — would be better suited as costume pieces for a drama club or a film studio. When we sort the clothes at home, perhaps I’ll pack some away for future video projects. For now, Thomas and I stuff around twenty outfits into a garbage bag, until at last the tropical print of the bedspread is uncovered.

  “Eureka!” Thomas declares, making quick work of the last small objects scattered over the comforter. “We have a bed!”

  I stand beside him, another full garbage bag in my hands and a small, stinging cut on my arm from — I’m sure — the edge of one of those damned, probably cursed porcelain clown faces.

  “Well, look at that,” I say, admiring the view. “Maybe this won’t be impossible after all.”

  We clear out the room, tossing bags of junk over the balcony railing onto the first floor and pushing the remaining boxes out into the hallway so we can take them downstairs later. We’re both sweating by the time we stop for lunch, and scarfing down a couple of sandwiches doesn’t help us cool off.

  “It’s too hot in here,” Thomas says, downing a bottle of lukewarm water and cursing the fact even his drink fails to be refreshing. “I think I’m going for a swim.”

  “Are you forgetting what month it is?” Hailey asks, gesturing to the fall leaves hanging from the branches beyond the windows. “I’m about to start the turkey. You don’t cook Thanksgiving turkey and go swimming on the same damn afternoon.”

  “Sure you do.” Thomas grins. He peels off his sweat-soaked shirt and heads for his bag. I’m astonished — and jealous — when he pulls out his swimming trunks. “Anyway, it’s not cold. The bay will be fine.”

  “The bay will be freezing,” Hailey retorts.

  “The bay is always freezing,” Forrester adds. He eyes my brother’s bathing suit and lets out a soft breath of something close to laughter. “I’ll join you. Last chance I’ll have to swim here.”

  Thomas doesn’t let the words sink us. He keeps his expression perky, digging through his bag again and pulling out another pair of shorts.

  “Good. Nolan, you coming?”

  He throws my bathing suit at me, and I stare at him in awe.

  “Did you sneak into my room and steal my bathing suit?” I ask.

  Thomas smiles in a way that suggests he may have invaded my privacy or he may have snatched the suit from the laundry room after the last time I soaked in the hot tub in our backyard. I wish I knew which it was. Thomas likes to tread a fine line between angelic and annoying. I try to stay a step ahead of his motives, so I know when to call him out on his bullshit and when to give him a silent moment of thanks for his well-intentioned interference.

  We change and head down to the docks. I expect it to be just the three of us, but the others come outside, too. Well, some of the others. Hailey stays indoors, doing the prep work for the turkey, and Eli slumps away to keep cleaning. But Kayla sits cross-legged on the docks, and Allison surprises me by revealing her own black bathing suit underneath the baggy sweater she wore outside.

  The bay is calm but not empty when I walk to the dock’s edge. In the distance a canoe glides past us, two people-shaped specks soaking up the day.

  I peer i
nto the dark abyss of water, tempted to dip my toes in one by one. But all of us know the only true way to conquer the bay is to dive in headfirst. So I ward off my sensibilities and spring forward, reveling in the brief feat of flight until the frigid water crashes into me.

  With the comfortable numb of initial contact keeping me subdued, I open my eyes to see nothing more than murk. Then the numbness wears away, and the cold pricks me all over as I glide up toward the promise of air. My head breaks through the water, the sun sizzling against my eyes.

  “How is it?” Kayla asks.

  My hair’s flattened down over my face, and I push it back, working to keep my teeth from chattering.

  “Freezing,” I groan.

  The dogs bark in unison as Forrester approaches the water.

  “The way it’s supposed to be,” he says, nodding.

  He gives me a small smile before jumping in himself, Allison a few paces behind him and Thomas joining us last as he cannonballs into the deep.

  “Come on, Runner!” Forrester calls.

  The huge dog races forward, his legs reaching a full gallop before he catapults off the dock. Runner slaps into the water and then paddles toward Forrester, at ease and evidently an expert at navigating the bay.

  Star, meanwhile, takes a more reserved approach. Her tail wags like crazy, the force of it shaking her entire back half. But she doesn’t venture into the water. Kayla gives her a pat, and the collie barks, circling twice before lying down to watch the rest of us swim and splash.

  The bay is too cold to remain still, so I sink beneath the surface and stroke my way out past the shoreline. The muted rush of water in my ears is like the sound of tires rolling beneath a speeding car, the noise so constant it’s almost silent.

  When I pause for air, I’m not surprised to see that Thomas has passed me, while Forrester has left us both behind. His strong strokes make quick work of pulling his body out to the far reaches of the bay. I envy his ease in the water, the years of practice he’s had in his own personal swimming hole.

  Well, I almost envy it.

  The reason we’re here sloshes in my brain like water from the bay trapped between my ears. But even with the spike of guilt, the serenity doesn’t fade. Before Uncle Simon died, this year was a good one with a decent winter and spring followed by the greatest summer of my life. If only the change of the seasons hadn’t brought the bad news with it.