Jackpot Summer, page 8
A laugh escaped Beth’s lips. “Sorry, sorry.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Austin is enrolled in a very competitive summer program run by NASA. Only ten middle schoolers nationwide were chosen and he got one of the spots. They meet on Zoom for four hours every day and the rest of the time is for independent study.”
“So he doesn’t go outside?” Laura asked.
“He can take his laptop outdoors anytime he wants, as long as he’s careful with sunscreen.” Beth patted Austin’s head and Noah thought he saw the boy squirm. “He loves the program.”
“It is really cool,” Austin said. “We get to visit NASA in Washington, DC, at the end of the summer.” Noah couldn’t tell if he meant it. Maybe the program wasn’t so bad. Astronauts were cool. The closest Noah had gotten to space was the collection of plastic glow-in-the-dark stars he stuck to the ceiling of his childhood bedroom.
“Hannah’s in DC, sweetie,” Laura said. “She’s working there for the summer. Hopefully you two can get some cousin time when you visit. I’m sure she’d love to show you around the GW campus.”
Beth pursed her lips. “Or Austin can show Hannah around NASA, if there’s time. He’s going to be very busy.”
“Hannah will be quite busy too. I doubt she’d have time to see him anyway.” Noah felt embarrassed for both women, jockeying for position in their invisible chess game.
“Let’s get started on dinner?” Matthew removed his blazer and rolled up his sleeves, shedding light on his ghostly white arms. Old family photos confirmed he and Noah had once been the same color. “I can start the grill if someone can find the lighter. Hey, where’s Doug, by the way? We need the grill master.”
“Working,” Sophie all but shouted. “Doug is working this weekend.”
“I’ll be working all weekend too,” Beth said in response to no one. “I’m on a very big case. Huge, actually. Major banking client. I can’t say who, of course, but these folks have been in the news quite a bit recently so I’m sure you know who I mean.” Others nodded, but Noah had no clue who or what she was talking about. But if Beth was super busy at work, she’d hardly notice his presence if he slid into her beach rental.
Just then Noah felt his cell phone buzz. It was the text he’d been waiting to receive from his roach-killing, beehive-slaying buddy Joe, who worked over at Buzz Off. Dude, we doing this? Joe had written, including an insect emoji. Give me a few hours, Noah responded, tilting the screen to block it from view.
“Lemme help you with the grill, Matty.” Noah clapped his brother on the back and reached for the jumbo tongs.
* * *
—
Master chefs without their matriarch the Jacobsons were not.
Noah had forgotten to defrost the meat that morning despite Laura’s multiple reminders. Austin’s tofu skewers caught on fire and crumbled to a blackened pile of ash. And then, following a scary hiss and a terrifying burst of flames, the grill broke down entirely.
Everyone grew hungry and cranky at once. Leo, who had indigestion from the afternoon’s pastrami delight, settled for oatmeal. Sophie threw a package of frozen hot dogs into a pot of boiling water, but Noah, who was rarely picky, couldn’t bring himself to eat one of the pink logs after listening to Beth detail their chemical makeup. What was nitrate? It sounded terrible.
“What’s the shelf life of frozen kugel?” Noah asked, palming a rectangular dish triple-coated in aluminum foil. “There’s also a loaf of gefilte in the freezer but it’s labeled “Do Not Eat” for some reason.” He got nothing but apathetic shrugs.
Somebody, probably Laura, thought to order pizza. When the pies arrived, Noah dug around his pockets to tip the delivery guy. He only had the hundred-dollar bill from Mrs. Harrison.
“Matty, can I grab a five?” Noah asked his brother, who was seated on the living room sofa, Austin sandwiched between him and Beth. Their trio was hunched over numerous textbooks spread across the coffee table. Matthew fished a twenty from his wallet. “Smallest I have.”
“Ten back,” Noah said to the delivery boy, pleased to be generous with Matthew’s money.
“Thanks, man,” the pimply teen said, appreciation gleaming back at Noah. It must be nice to be rich, Noah thought, eyeing his brother. A shiny gold watch glinted on his wrist. Beth had a matching one. Probably a Rolex. Not that Noah lusted for brand names. He was happy enough to dispense a generous tip.
“Okay, people, we need to discuss the plan for tomorrow,” Laura said. She had finished doling out pizza slices and was perched on a faded suede ottoman with a torn tassel border, clipboard in hand. Sophie, seated at the folding card table where their mother played countless rounds of canasta, was sopping up the oil on her slice. A younger Noah had subbed in on occasion when someone in the card foursome canceled. He’d loved when the women praised his card skills. Betty called him a genius the first time he got a special hand.
“I’ve divided the rooms and I think if we start early, we can get through the bulk of packing by dark. Then we can watch the fireworks.” Laura consulted her pad. “Soph, you’ll do the kitchen and living room. Noah, the room you’re staying in and the porches. I’ll do Mom and Dad’s room, my girls’ room and all the hallway closets. Matthew and Beth, you guys can take the attic. There are boxes, tape, labels and markers in the garage, along with all the crap we took from East Brunswick.”
“The attic has no windows. We won’t be able to breathe up there.” Beth gulped for air as though she was already suffocating.
“How am I supposed to pack the kitchen up if we still need to use it for the rest of the weekend?” Sophie asked.
Noah wasn’t loving his assignment either. “How do I pack up porch furniture? It’s huge.”
“Well, maybe keep some of it until the closing,” Laura said. “Where are you going after anyway?”
Finally, someone was curious.
“Your basement? Hannah’s or Emma’s room?” Noah’s tone walked the line between joking and seriousness. Laura didn’t bite. In fact, she looked petrified. Was he that bad a houseguest?
“You should live at our beach house this summer, Uncle Noah,” Austin said. “We can hang out when I come on the weekends. And I won’t have to bring Polly back and forth.”
“Polly?” Noah asked.
“My bearded dragon.” Austin pulled up a picture of the scaly creature on his phone.
“I thought she was your girlfriend,” Sophie teased and Austin tossed a pillow at his aunt. Noah launched a pillow at Austin’s head, but his nephew impressively intercepted it.
“That’s very generous of you, Austin,” Beth said. “Daddy and I need to talk about that later though.” Beth probably preferred hosting Polly, but it was nice that Austin wanted his uncle around.
“Laura, what time do you want us here tomorrow?” Matthew asked, clearly eager to shift topics.
Noah was also fine with ceasing discussion about his next residence. “I don’t think Dad’s armchair is going to make it down the stairs,” Noah said, gesturing to the sharp turn at the midlevel landing. “Laura, any ideas?”
“Jesus, I’m not a professional mover,” his sister said, flinging down her pencil. “I have enough crap on my plate. We should have done a tag sale.”
“And have all those people trampling the lawn while they paw our stuff?” Leo piped up after being eerily quiet all evening. The “lawn” of which he spoke was a tiny square of neglected patchy grass.
“C’mon…let us have a lawn pawn,” Sophie pleaded.
“Absolutely not.” Leo folded his arms across his chest.
Noah flipped on the TV, an outdated flatscreen Leo acquired during the DVD era. He cranked the volume on the local news. They all needed the distraction.
“I didn’t realize how late it was,” Beth said. “Matthew, we have to get Austin home. You must be tired, sweetie.” She looked at her boy.
Austin shrugged. He clearly relied on his parents to tell him what he felt.
Noah also hadn’t realized the time. He found another text from Joe that read Hello??? He quickly marked the text unread and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
“Hey, she’s on LBI!” Sophie exclaimed. “That’s our 7-Eleven!” She pointed at the TV screen. They all turned to look.
“New Jersey residents are lined up for blocks for their chance to win a $261 million Powerball this holiday weekend,” said the perky field reporter standing with a handheld microphone outside their local 7-Eleven.
The camera panned to a line of people waiting single file to enter the convenience store. Noah passed by it nearly every day when he went for his morning donut at Crust and Crumb. “There hasn’t been a major Powerball winner from New Jersey in the past five years, but these folks are hoping to change the Garden State’s luck. To boost lotto ticket sales in the state, participating 7-Elevens are giving away a free slushie with the purchase of a Powerball ticket. That’s enough to get these folks out in the heat.”
“What’s the Powerball?” Austin asked.
“It’s a tax on stupid people,” Beth said. “Pack up your books.”
“Okay, then what’s a slushie?” Austin persisted.
“You’re shitting me,” Sophie said, crossing the room to cup Austin’s chin. “A slushie is like the best drink ever. Imagine a milkshake version of a soda.” Austin’s eyes turned to saucers. “Your dad used to love them.”
“It’s pure chemicals,” Beth said.
The reporter outside 7-Eleven was now in a split screen with the in-studio anchors, chatting about what they would do with the money if they won.
“Listen, guys, I’m beat,” Laura said as she collected the detritus of their meal. “Let’s just figure out the plan tomorrow. Most of the stuff is junk and can be tossed.”
Junk? Noah noticed his father didn’t even flinch. Why was he the only Jacobson who cared?
“Since the buyers are tearing the place down, do we even need to get everything out?” Matthew asked. “We can just take the photos and whatever else and let them trash the rest?”
Noah felt physically ill.
“I could ask the broker.” Laura tied a double knot in the garbage bag. “Let me see if the dumpster in town is accessible tomorrow because of the holiday.”
“It’s probably closed the whole week,” Leo said. “I don’t know what the mayor does with our tax dollars.”
“We can fill big trash bags in the meantime,” Sophie said.
That was it. It was time for The Plan. Noah reached for his phone and texted Joe. Meet you in ten.
Where? Clock’s ticking, Joe replied.
The flash from the TV caught his eye. A white-haired lady hooked up to an oxygen tank was being interviewed as she exited the 7-Eleven about how she picked her numbers.
7-Eleven, Noah texted Joe. Leaving now.
FANTASTIC FOURSOME
MATTHEW
Offer still stands re hiring movers. Happy to pay
SOPHIE
Why are U texting? We r all in same room
LAURA
Because Dad doesn’t want us to use movers. Waste of $
NOAH
We could just not sell
LAURA
OMG Noah get over it
SOPHIE
M—why is B worried about A going to bed? It’s 9 pm
MATTHEW
Mind your own biz
SOPHIE
Sheesh
MATTHEW
Sorry. Idk. she’s into sleep
LAURA
Why is Mr. Archer looking through our window? OMG he’s not wearing pants!
4
Matthew
Matthew, annoyed with everyone and everything, rose to greet a partially nude and fully confused Stanley Archer on the back porch.
“When’s the barbecue starting?” Stanley asked. “I brought drinks.” In his hand was a two-liter bottle of off-brand diet cola. Matthew tried to look anywhere but at the old man’s loose, threadbare skivvies.
“Unfortunately, the barbecue didn’t work out,” Noah said to Stanley. “Let me take you back.”
“Probably for the best. My ulcer’s flaring,” Stanley said as Noah escorted him through the sliding doors on the ocean side of the house. Matthew could hear Stanley walking Noah through his Mylanta and TUMS routine.
“Ruth will be back in two days,” Noah said when he returned. “I think Mr. Archer needs the supervision.”
“He’s not a baby,” Leo snapped. Nobody dared to argue.
“I gotta run out for a bit,” Noah said, scooping up the Volvo keys.
Out. Out sounded delightful. Matthew could use some fresh air and a break from calculating jet propulsion. Not that he wasn’t overjoyed when Austin was selected by NASA for the highly competitive program. It was basically MIT-in-training. He wished his mother was alive to shep nachas. But his joy quickly receded when he realized Austin’s enrollment meant more work for him. Monitoring Austin’s extracurricular and summer programs was a full-time job, and Beth wouldn’t hear of letting their son go it alone.
“Where are you going?” Matthew asked.
“Huh?” Noah said, looking up from his phone.
“You said you had to run out. I’ll come with you. We can take the Tesla. You’ll love it.” The electric car glided like silk. Driving it was like playing a video game. It even had a button that made a fart sound, though Matthew only played it for Austin when Beth wasn’t in the car. Noah would get a kick out of it. Matthew produced the key fob from his pocket. “You can drive. Where we off to?”
“I’m…I’m going to 7-Eleven,” Noah stammered.
“Really? The line looked killer. Bring me back a pint of ice cream if you go,” Sophie said. “Get a few, actually. I don’t want to share.”
“Good idea,” Laura said. “Rocky Road if they have it. Also bring me—” She mouthed something that Matthew didn’t catch. Laura made a head nod in Austin’s direction.
“Hey, Austin, can you grab the bag of pretzels from the kitchen?” Matthew said. Once he was out of the room, Laura brought two outstretched fingers to her lips, miming smoking.
“I got you,” Matthew said. He’d love to join her for a smoke. He’d puffed his way through law school, Beth too, the two of them sharing a pack a day during exams. She’d kicked the habit by her final year, once her job at Meyer, Packer & Driscoll was signed in ink, but Matthew went on smoking until they started trying for a baby, when Beth flushed all his smokes down the toilet with no warning.
“Ready to go?” Matthew asked, giving his brother a friendly push toward the door. “What do you need at 7-Eleven?”
Noah was staring at the TV. The in-studio reporters were still chirping about the odds of winning the lottery, which were significantly lower than getting struck by lightning. “I want to buy a Powerball ticket,” Noah said.
“You?” Matthew was dumbfounded.
“Yeah.” Noah shrugged.
Sophie crawled over to her tote bag and fished out a few singles. “Count me in for the Powerball. They’re jacking the rent at my studio and I may be out of a job come the fall. Budget cuts at school.”
“Yikes. I’m in too,” Laura said, handing a five-dollar bill to Noah. “I could use a cash infusion right about now.”
“Two private college tuitions at once has to hurt,” Matthew said, but he instantly wanted to jam his loafer in his mouth. He and Beth were in a totally different financial situation than his siblings and he usually found it best to avoid the topic of money altogether. As junior partners at the same top-tier law firm, they both earned enough that even with the exorbitant price tag of their Manhattan condo, the beach house rental and Austin’s private school tuition, there was just enough left over to afford them many of life’s daily comforts. They splurged on Juice Press shakes, a twice-weekly housekeeper and top-tier gym memberships, which admittedly Beth made better use of. None of his siblings were in that position, nor had his parents been.
Leo, who had been preoccupied reading the Star-Ledger with a magnifying glass, put down the paper. “Rutgers was good enough for you kids,” Leo said. “And so was your kindergarten through twelfth-grade public school education.”
“Austin is gifted,” Beth said. “He needs special programming.”
There were exceptional public schools for gifted students in New York City, but you had to test in. Austin would almost definitely have passed, but it seemed like Beth was too afraid to chance it. Further, these magnet schools, as they were called, often had close to a thousand students per grade. With those numbers, Beth couldn’t as easily get the teachers’ attention when Austin brought home a less-than-perfect grade.
“Two college tuitions is painful. Plenty of things in life are,” Laura said, her face growing dark. She looked at Matthew. “Luckily, you don’t have to sweat it.”
“That’s for sure,” Sophie said. “Unlike the rest of us mortals about to lose their leases.”
Don’t have to sweat it? Sweat was all he did. Did his sisters have any idea how hard he worked? That he was haunted by deal memos in his dreams? That when he stood at his mother’s graveside he imagined what his own tombstone would say? All he could come up with was: Here Lies Matthew Jacobson. He died at his desk while reviewing an S-1 filing for a chemicals company whose products pollute the earth. His death occurred one minute before his next twelve-minute billing increment. Would they like to trade? Would anyone who hadn’t been schooled in the Beth Moore-Jacobson “more is Moore” way of life? He didn’t think so.
“I’m leaving,” Noah said, stepping into his Havaianas. He was still holding the Volvo keys.
“What about the Tesla?” Matthew asked.
Noah scratched the back of his neck. “I’m just gonna run out solo. One of my customers thinks she deleted an important file. I’m going to call her from the car to help.”
