Jackpot Summer, page 10
Austin hesitated before shrugging. “Maybe look up how much it’s worth? I could sell it on eBay.”
“And what do you need money for? What do you want that you don’t already have?”
“I dunno. A skateboard maybe.” It felt like yesterday Austin learned to ride a two-wheeler. Beth had paid a kid working at Ron Jon to teach him because she and Matthew were too busy. “Is Mom right that buying a lottery ticket is stupid? Aunt Laura, Aunt Sophie and Uncle Noah aren’t dumb, are they?”
Matthew rubbed his eyes. He was still shaking the sleeping sand from his eyes and already he’d discussed Laura’s marriage, buying a house he couldn’t afford, and his siblings’ intelligence.
“Everyone is different, kid. Don’t try to understand anyone else’s actions but your own. It’s a fool’s errand.”
“What’s a fool’s errand?”
“A fool’s errand is attempting to relax this weekend.” Matthew looked down at his son’s feet, coated in sand so thick it looked like he was wearing tan socks. “Go wash up before your mother sees.”
* * *
—
Matthew, family in tow, arrived at the beach house at quarter past nine. Harvey Cedars was a good twenty-five minutes to Beach Haven in holiday traffic.
“I gotta pee,” Austin said, darting inside.
“Remember not to flush in case someone is showering,” Matthew called after him.
“I’ll be inside in a few,” Beth said. “I’ve got to make a couple of calls.” Matthew also had work to attend to, but he planned to be surreptitious about it around his siblings.
In the light of day, the house’s crumbling facade looked even worse. He noticed that the mezuzah, a bronze tube attached to the doorpost containing ancient Hebrew prayers that Matthew didn’t understand, was dangling from a single rusted screw. Matthew stepped into the living room and winced. A sharp staple supposed to hold the carpet in place had come loose and jammed into his heel. In the kitchen, he found a box of Cheerios from the Clinton administration. The tower of dirty dishes in the sink made him think the dishwasher was on the fritz again. Most of the appliances, like the pantry items, were past their shelf life. When they did work, it was only half-heartedly. Wet towels took three spins in the dryer to dry. Over time, the family started to drape them outside on the hammock, along with the wet bathing suits.
Still, Matthew wanted to give the house its proper due. It had stood up to Hurricane Sandy when so many others in their vicinity were destroyed. In reality, the Jacobsons were just lucky the strongest path of the storm hopscotched over their little street, but he liked to think there was something magical in the infrastructure.
Sophie bounded down the stairs. “That sounds amazing,” she said into her cell phone. “I’m so excited for you. Yes, I mean us. Thank you for showing her my work. Fam’s here, gotta go. I miss you.
“Just got off with Ravi,” she explained. Sophie lifted Austin’s backpack, which was propped against the wall, and visibly slumped under its weight. “You keep rocks in this thing?”
Austin smiled and his dimple, a centimeter wide and at least as deep, surfaced. It was the same dimple Sylvia was famous for, a one-sided wonder that she’d passed down to Noah and Austin. Matthew inherited her lactose intolerance. “Just books. Guess what? I collected shells this morning and one of them had a slug inside. And I found a sand dollar.”
Austin had the slightest hint of a lisp, which grew more pronounced the more excited he became. Matthew appreciated the glimpse of fleeting youth from his son’s trampled Ss. Austin’s extensive vocabulary and ability to sit still for hours reading could otherwise make Matthew forget he had only just completed the seventh grade.
“Sand dollars are cool. Maybe we can paint shells together later? Or make shell necklaces? Ooh, we can even tie-dye them. I’m doing that right now with my campers at the Y. My only rule is no glitter. I don’t glitter in July and August.” Sophie winked at Austin, who looked both excited and puzzled.
To Matthew, she said, “Remember when we—”
“Tie-dyed our sheets?” Matthew chuckled at the memory, though nobody was smiling when Sylvia discovered their mess.
“Yep! This morning I found the sketch I made for that mural I painted in Mom and Dad’s room. On the back of the paper, I had drawn all these hearts with my initials and Josh Siegel’s. Remember him? He lived down the street. I was totally obsessed with him.”
“Of course.” Boy did Matthew remember the Siegels. He had been equally obsessed with Josh’s older sister, Samantha. But since meeting Beth twenty-three years ago, Matthew’s sole romantic and sexual focus had been his wife. Beth was nearly his height, with a firm figure she was religious about maintaining. Her olive complexion (the only really great thing she got from her parents) tanned to a golden brown in summer, unlike him, with his Ashkenazic pasty skin that turned lobster-red, ironically a nonkosher animal.
They had met in the early days of sophomore year and immediately started dating. Under Beth’s tutelage, his GPA climbed four-tenths of a point. He went from undeclared to a political science major and made dean’s list. Beth coaxed him into applying to law school along with her, something he never imagined having the gravitas for, nor the grades. He was far more enchanted by the idea of staying with Beth than he was of becoming a lawyer, not that he had an alternate future planned out. Thinking now of Samantha Siegel, who had been bubbly and frothy as a teen and wondering what she might be like as a woman, he felt a longing for the first time since he’d smashed the glass under the chuppah. The memory of his awkward yet magical kiss with Samantha at the Barnegat Lighthouse some twenty-five years earlier awoke a part of him that had been hibernating in Beach Haven. Goofy Matthew. Magician Matthew. B+ Matthew. He wondered briefly if he should see a therapist.
“What were you congratulating Ravi about?” Matthew asked, eager to shift the gears in his head. He nudged his son gently. “Austin, go sit with Grandpa on the back porch.”
“He’s in Nantucket for the weekend with a gallerist.”
Matthew vaguely recalled Sophie’s text about a big opportunity this weekend. “And how is your art coming along? What are you working on?”
“A multimedia landscape, with a twist.” She smiled. “Actually, I may have sold it to someone like you.”
“Like me?”
“You know, a fancy suit person who can use Excel.”
Matthew chuckled. “Touché. Should we go upstairs? I hear Laura and Noah.”
As they passed the sliding doors that opened onto the back porch, Matthew was pleased to see Austin’s and Leo’s heads bent together, attacking the Times crossword while Austin fooled with his grandfather’s magnifying glass.
Upstairs, they found Noah flopped on their parents’ bed and the hump of Laura’s behind jutting out from the opening in the bifold closet doors.
“Mothballs,” Laura said, crawling out backward. “Mom was really into them. I’m pretty sure I’m high from the smell.”
“Mothballs are toxic.” Beth announced herself to the room with this remark. “I better tell Austin to keep out. What can I do? I’m here to serve.” She flexed her biceps.
Laura, now on her feet, yawned with her whole body. “Jeez, Beth, you are looking very fit. I just hope you don’t get too hot in all that spandex.”
Matthew cringed, praying Beth wouldn’t repeat what she’d said when they came upon a walking group in Central Park: Spandex is a privilege, not a right.
“Oh, I’ll be fine. Lululemon athleisure is very breathable. Maybe I’ll get you a set for your birthday. Thanks for the compliment, by the way.” She flexed again, this time to show off well-defined triceps. “I completed my thousandth Peloton class just last week.”
“Did you ever call Peloton customer service by chance?” Noah asked.
“I sure did. The software updates are very frustrating. Why do you ask?”
Before Noah could explain, Sophie pulled a sparkly dress from the closet. “I remember this! Mom wore it to your bar mitzvah, Matty.” She held it against her frame. “I need to try this puppy on.”
“You were six,” Matthew said. “How could you possibly remember what Mom wore?”
Sophie already had both legs enrobed and was shimmying her arms through the sleeves.
“It’s hard to forget a masterpiece like this. I thought big shoulders were an eighties thing, but Mom dragged that trend right through the nineties.” Sophie waddled in the unzipped sequin gown over to Beth, motioning for her to pound the shoulder pads. “Let’s see those muscles again.”
Inspired by Sophie’s transformation into the Liza Minnelli of the Jersey Shore, Laura adorned herself with their mother’s fake pearls and fastened a gold brooch to her “JCC of LBI Family Volunteer Weekend” T-shirt. “Loehmann’s finest,” Laura said, showing off her accessories.
“Or Daffy’s,” Sophie said as she and Laura recited in unison, “Clothing Bargains for Millionaires.”
“Our mother loved a bargain,” Matthew said.
“Enough to change in that gross communal dressing room at Loehmann’s,” Laura said with a shudder. “I saw body parts in there that I’ll never unsee.”
“At least we won’t fight over the family jewels,” Sophie said, retrieving a silver bangle that had tarnished to near-black in a Nine West shoebox.
“Most definitely not,” Beth said, pulling a chunky cocktail ring from the box and slipping it on next to her updated engagement ring.
“Holy shit!” Sophie grabbed Beth’s hand. “You could ice skate on that thing.”
Everyone’s gaze fluttered to the emerald-cut diamond on his wife’s ring finger. The salesperson had sworn that diamonds shrink over time, but Matthew was pretty sure this one had grown.
“Thank you,” Beth said. “Anniversary present from your brother.”
Matthew, embarrassed, busied himself by emptying his parents’ dresser.
“Speaking of ice skates,” Sophie continued. “I found my old ones in the garage. I can’t believe Dad agreed to the lessons. Mom must have convinced him. I had zero talent. Laur, remember you were into tap dance for a hot second? That was unfortunate.”
Laura’s gaze was fixed on her phone, her brows knit together like spiderwebs.
“Laura? Hello?” Sophie said, waving her hands in Laura’s face.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “Was checking up on the girls.”
“How’s Doug managing back home?” Matthew asked, attempting a “nice weather we’re having” tone.
“He’s fine. Replacing the crown later today,” Laura said.
“I thought it was a root canal,” Matthew said, catching Beth’s eye as Noah trundled back into the room with a stack of flattened cardboard boxes tucked under each arm. “Doesn’t matter. What room should I start in again?”
Though Laura had gone to the trouble of divvying up the house, the Jacobsons spent the day moving from room to room together, reminiscing and laughing until their sides hurt. Laura grew noticeably cheerier. By the time it turned dark, they were crowded into the attic, using flashlights to sort through boxes and plastic bins.
They found yellowed issues of Bay Magazine (LBI’s “culture” rag), for which Sylvia wrote a book recommendation column, Sophie’s headgear (“No wonder I never had a boyfriend back then,” she mused), Laura’s tennis trophies (“You were athletic?” Beth asked), Noah’s report cards (“Mom was so much easier on you,” Sophie whined) and Matthew’s magic sets (“Abracadabradoo!” the four siblings chanted, citing his signature finish). Combing through the box of foam rabbits, trick decks, metal rings, stacking dice and wands, Matthew realized he couldn’t recall a single trick.
“Hey, check this out,” Sophie said. She had unearthed a stack of canvases tied together with twine. “I didn’t paint these. I’d remember.”
She held up the top one from the pile, a watercolor of the ocean with a lifeguard chair as its focal point. “L.J.” she read aloud, making out the initials in the bottom right corner.
“Dad? No way,” Noah said. Sophie was flipping over the other canvases. Each one was signed L.J. except the last one, where “Leo” was scribbled.
The discovery silenced them. Their father was so right-brained he was practically lopsided. He showed zero interest in the arts beyond mumbling “Nice job” to Sophie when her drawings got tacked to the fridge. He was a numbers guy through and through. Artistry, to their father, was a beautifully balanced checkbook. To imagine the man who taught his kids about Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and why recessions happen taking a paintbrush to a palette and swiping it across a canvas was inconceivable. And yet, there was his name in a loopy script that tapered off by the O as the paint ran thin. Matthew looked at Sophie. She was mesmerized by one particular painting, a self-portrait done in the graphic style of a comic book. To her, this had to come as the greatest shock of all.
“Maybe this is the sign we shouldn’t sell,” Noah said. He was also looking at Sophie. “We’re rushing to pack up. Who knows what else there is to find? I’m sure it’s not too late to call it off. We barely discussed the possibility of renting the house out.”
“The closing is around the corner, Noah. And Dad doesn’t want to deal with renters every time the toilet is clogged,” Laura said. “But I’ll take the boxes back to my house and go through them carefully. The girls are gone. I’ll have plenty of time this summer to sort through them.”
A loud crack that sounded like a gunshot startled everyone as Austin burst into the attic.
“Guys, come outside, the fireworks are starting. I’m watching with Grandpa.”
Matthew had forgotten it was the Fourth of July. Everyone went downstairs and onto the deck, but they could only hear evidence of the display.
“Too much fog,” Leo said. “Looks like we’re not going to see much of anything.”
“Maybe it’ll clear up,” Austin said. “Cumulus clouds travel quickly.”
“Guys, look up,” Laura said, pointing to the sky. “I’m pretty sure I saw fireworks behind those clouds. Or lightning, but it was really pretty.”
“Speaking of pretty,” Sophie said, unscrewing a sweating bottle of wine. “Dad, we found these beautiful canvases you painted in the attic. How in the world did you not show those to us before? To me?”
Leo shifted in his seat. “Those are here?”
“Yes,” Sophie said. “Dad, you were good. I love the self-portrait.”
He waved her off. “It was a hobby a lifetime ago. Matthew, would you bring out my Alka-Seltzer? It’s upstairs in the bathroom.”
Matthew hopped up, catching Sophie’s disappointed face.
When he returned, his family was discussing the Powerball.
“I bought eight tickets,” Noah said. “They’re two bucks each, if anyone was curious. You can either choose your own numbers or they get randomly picked for you, so I did half and—”
Noah was interrupted by a sudden outburst. Austin was splayed on the deck, clutching his leg. He’d stumbled over a loose plank while trying to glimpse the fireworks and his shin was bleeding. In Sophie’s scrambling haste to locate Band-Aids and ice, a kitchen drawer came off its tracks and landed on her foot. She yelped as Laura slipped on an ice cube and landed on her behind.
“Austin! Are you okay?” Beth rushed to him. “I hope he didn’t get a splinter on top of everything. I’m sure the wood is rotted.”
Matthew crouched down and stroked his son’s cheek. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re going to fix you right up.”
“Good riddance to this place,” Beth mumbled, gesturing to the plank of wood that tripped up their son. Matthew felt strangely offended on the house’s behalf.
“She’s not so bad,” Matthew whispered into his son’s ear as he applied bacitracin to his leg. He meant the house, and it was only later when he replayed the evening in his head that he realized Austin might have thought he was talking about Beth.
* * *
—
The next day, Matthew was in the midst of obtaining a Skee-Ball record when Beth came running over, interrupting his flow.
“Shit!” he bellowed, realizing he missed his shot at a personal best. He shouldn’t have cursed at Fantasy Island, which despite its lascivious name, was very much a family establishment. It was a small amusement park in Beach Haven and had been around since the dawn of time. Matthew lost all control when he was competing against his sisters at Skee-Ball.
“Have you seen Austin?” Beth tugged at his free arm, her face in a state of total panic.
Matthew looked around instinctively, as though his son might suddenly materialize between the race cars and basketball shoot-out. “What? No? I thought he was with you.”
“I thought he was with you!” Beth was panting, beads of sweat erupting from every pore. “Austin! Austin! Austin!” She was screaming, turning in circles.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “You said you were going to do bumper cars with him.” Matthew’s heart beat wildly as he realized that he might be living every parent’s worst nightmare.
“I meant later. I had to make a work call. I never said I was taking him now. You said you were going to the arcade with your sisters and Austin said he wanted to do that.” Beth was fumbling through her phone. She stopped on a clear picture of Austin and held it in the air. “Has anyone seen this boy? Has anyone seen this boy?” She was spinning around while Matthew remained frozen in place, his shoes glued to the carpet.
“I didn’t hear that,” Matthew said, though it wasn’t the time to determine whose fault it was that their son was missing. Missing! Why hadn’t he heard Austin ask to go to the arcade? Matthew had been voice dictating a response to a work email that couldn’t wait. Couldn’t wait. Of course it could wait! Everything could wait until the end of the world if it meant keeping Austin safe.
