Summer People, page 15
“You’ve been . . . a little abrasive lately. And sometimes, when you’re having a problem with everyone around you, it might be that you’re the—”
“Give me a break,” Christmas said, cutting her mother off, glaring. She suspected that her mother was repeating something she’d learned during one of her stints in AA.
“I’m not trying to upset you, baby,” her mother said. “It’s just . . . you’ve been combative lately. You’re angry with me, with Lexi, with Cash Ford—”
“I never said I was angry with Lexi.”
“Still,” her mother pressed on. “You have a chip on your shoulder. And now you want to test the lake water? What for? Can’t you just let it go? People are really on edge. Are you just trying to call attention to yourself, make yourself the center of everything?”
“Call attention to myself?” Christmas repeated. The suggestion was misguided and offensive, and yet she felt her face flushing, as though it were true, as though she were some preening narcissist.
“Why would you want to make yourself the face of some sort of campaign—” her mother continued.
“There’s no campaign,” Christmas tried to interject. “This isn’t about anything except for finding out the truth.”
“I mean it, Christmas. Let’s move on,” her mother said. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t want you contacting Cornell or getting any more involved in this Lake Association business. You need to leave it to the adults to take care of it.”
Christmas could barely believe her ears. “You mean, like the way you adults have been ‘taking care of it’ so far? ’Cause right now the lake seems pretty toxic.”
“It’s global warming,” her mother said, as though that settled it. “And while we’re on the subject, I don’t want you swimming in the lake anymore this summer. Maybe next year will be different—maybe next year—”
“My friend was attacked!” Christmas said, too loudly. An elderly man at a nearby table looked over and Christmas hunkered down, lowered her voice. “How does that not even seem to register with you?”
“There you go again,” her mother hissed, leaning forward as well. “First of all, one thing has nothing to do with another. And second of all, if Lemy was attacked, how come the police haven’t arrested anyone?”
Before Christmas had a chance to respond to this absurdity, her mother’s phone buzzed.
“Excuse me,” she said, flipping the phone over and bringing it close to her face to read. “It’s just your dad,” she said.
But Christmas knew it wasn’t her father because she could see it was a text. Dad didn’t text.
Her mother stood and, taking the phone with her, slid out of the booth. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom before we head home.” She looked meaningfully at Christmas. “And I meant what I said. Let’s try to move on with our lives, okay?”
Christmas gaped for a moment. Was her mother actively working against her? She still burned with shame at the suggestion that her interest in cleaning up the lake was really about making herself the center of attention—a charge that was basically the worst kind of insult to people like her parents.
Why did she have the feeling that she wasn’t going to find that testing kit back at the house? Had her mother thrown it out?
Her mother was wrong. She was wrong about what Christmas was doing and why Christmas was doing it. And not only that—her mother was lying to her.
While her mother was gone—for what seemed like a long time—Christmas opened her phone, pulled up the Cornell website, and ordered a new testing kit. She’d just hit Submit when her mother returned to the table.
“I paid up front,” her mother said, suddenly seeming pale and tired, the fight gone out of her. “Do you want to drive us home? Good practice for when you’re commuting this fall.”
“All right,” Christmas said, sliding out of the booth and following her mother to the door.
They returned to Sweet Lake mostly in silence, Christmas’s mother resting her head against the window and, seemingly, dozing off. Christmas didn’t mind not talking; her own brain felt like those scenes of the stock market in old movies, with lots of angry voices yelling and waving papers, trying to get her to pay attention.
Almost home, Christmas noticed some kids in the front yard of a house sitting in an inflatable pool. One of the children—a little girl—wore her hair in two pigtails, reminding Christmas of her childhood self, of one day in particular when Aunt Inez had come upstate and Christmas’s mother had allowed Christmas to fill her own inflatable pool with dirt and water, making it, in effect, a mud bath. Christmas had loved the cool softness of the mud, of squeezing it through her fingers, rubbing it on her arms, her legs, her face. Aunt Inez and her mother had laughed and encouraged her; Christmas realized that her mother had always allowed her to do things that might make a mess, and how that was sort of unusual, and actually pretty cool.
Christmas smiled and was about to remind her mother of the day with the mud, to share this fond memory as an olive branch, but then she suddenly remembered something else, her mother holding a clear glass, with ice cubes and a small green leaf, maybe mint. Had her mother been drinking on that day? And then she remembered another thing: waking up early one morning—could it have been that same visit?—and coming downstairs to find her mother on the floor of the kitchen, having passed out. She’d peed her pants.
Christmas had gotten on her knees. “Wake up, Mama,” she’d said and, eventually, her mother had roused, collected herself, and stumbled from the room. Christmas remembered being glad that she’d gotten her mother up before her father or Aunt Inez had come down and seen, how she’d felt like a good girl for covering for her mother.
She shouldn’t have had to do that. She shouldn’t have ever had to see that. And thinking of the past in this way, having to wonder what role alcohol had played in her childhood, in her cherished memories, was like turning over a smooth stone to find squirming, wet insects underneath. Christmas pushed down the sob that was rising in her throat, and concentrated on just making it home.
27
Christmas, always the first to arrive, climbed the steps to Owen’s back deck, where she was greeted by three huge, squirming, and friendly mutts. Madison and Owen then emerged from the house and their warm welcome made Christmas feel like an honored guest.
Ultimately, Christmas had opted to bike over, in part because Owen’s house was only about two miles from the lake, and in part because it would give her an excuse to leave the party early. But really, the reason she didn’t drive was because her mother was already out somewhere with the car, and Christmas hated to impose on Madison for a ride.
While Owen worked on tapping the keg, Madison gave Christmas a tour of the new house, a split-level ranch on four acres that Owen had bought just a month earlier. Owen had, until then, lived in a trailer on his parents’ property, bartending and doing seasonal work, and Christmas couldn’t help but wonder if it was selling drugs that had made the big purchase possible.
As Madison had warned, the house itself remained largely unfurnished and unadorned, save for an old pleather sofa, television in the living room, and mattress in the bedroom. “He’s spent more time shopping for fireworks for this party than he has for dishes and cups,” Madison complained again, as she pulled open the screen door to the back deck. However, Madison confessed, she didn’t really want him to get too much stuff. She wanted to do the decorating herself when she moved in after the wedding that fall.
A deck overlooked the backyard, which had been set up with tables covered with white tablecloths and lanterns, electric candles, and twinkle lights. “Wow, Mad, this is amazing,” Christmas said. Though it wasn’t yet dark, the lights glowed enchantingly, set off by the deep woods that ran the perimeter of the yard and, beyond, the red of the setting sun. It was magical, and Christmas found herself again thinking first of Rory, wishing she could share this beauty with him, and then of Lexi, wishing she, too, could see what Sweet Lake had to offer.
“It’s nice, right?” Madison asked, so pleased Christmas was impressed. “I did all the lights and stuff. Owen would have just, like, set a mattress on fire or something. But I think it turned out really pretty. By the way, Christmas, you look hot,” Madison said, giving Christmas’s outfit—her beloved cutoffs and a newish tank top—a once-over as she led her to the keg. “You are so skinny. Did you get skinnier? You need to stop. I’m jealous.”
“Mad,” Christmas groaned. This was not the kind of compliment she enjoyed.
“You need to start sharing your Ritalin,” Madison teased. “At least before the wedding. Right, babe?” She turned to Owen, who handed Christmas a red cup filled with beer. “Just until I get down ten pounds.” Christmas looked around uneasily. The new knowledge that Owen sold drugs was like a low hum in her mind and she wondered, feeling paranoid, if Madison had told Owen that Christmas had given her drugs too.
Owen, at least, seemed not to care about anything except Madison, whom he grabbed around the waist, saying, “Baby, you’re perfect. No offense, Christmas, but I like a girl with something to hold on to.”
“I think Madison is perfect too,” Christmas said, taking a sip of the beer, which was bitter but went down easily. She immediately felt a warm, pleasant sensation in her chest and stomach and resolved to dump the rest as soon as no one was looking.
Madison smiled up at Owen, and the two continued to stand there with their arms wrapped around each other. Christmas could picture them in twenty years, thirty, a middle-aged couple: Madison a chubby, happy housewife and Owen, tall and beefy, pretending to be long-suffering, but really the happiest man on earth. It was so easy to see that future in the waning light. And yet, Christmas thought, the chances of this outcome were slim if Owen continued on the path he was on. No one ever retires and says, “Well, I’ve got the good pension from selling drugs for twenty-five years and we’re thinking of getting a place down in Florida now.”
“So where’s Lexi?” Madison asked, interrupting Christmas’s thoughts. “She didn’t come with you?”
“Oh, she’s not hanging out,” Christmas said. She knew this was a possible opening—had considered using Lexi’s absence as a way to ask Owen about that night at the Cup—but found herself unable to begin. How could she ask Owen about it without seeming as though, as her parents put it, she was either stirring up trouble, or drawing attention to herself and her own role as a “hero”? Or worse, accusing him? Instead of forging ahead, she said, lamely, “She hasn’t been feeling well.”
Madison made a slight frowny face to suggest sympathy and then charged ahead, “And
what’s this about this mystery man I heard you were hanging around with?” Christmas opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted as Madison announced, “Let’s put a pin in that. My sisters are here!”
Two of Madison’s sisters came through the sliding back doors, and there were hugs and chirped greetings. Moments later, a steady stream of people began to stomp up the deck stairs: a handful of Owen’s friends and some other kids from their graduating class. Cash was among them.
Owen slapped Cash on the back. “How’s your old man?” he asked. He grabbed a sleeve of red cups and began to pass them around.
“You probably see more of him than I do,” Cash replied. He turned to Christmas. “Hey, slugger.” He feinted backward as though Christmas had made to hit him.
Christmas froze, uncertain. They were already joking about the slap? She shook her head. “I’m sorry about that,” she murmured.
Madison had returned to Christmas’s side and, never one to let an awkward moment pass unexplored, leaned in, wide-eyed. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Christmas said. “We just ran into each other earlier today.”
“I pissed her off, as usual,” Cash said. He moved toward the keg to fill his cup. He winked at Christmas and then turned to Madison. “You know it’s all an act though. She’s crazy about me. Just mad I won’t take her for a ride on the back of my Jet Ski.”
Christmas rolled her eyes.
“I don’t think so, Cash,” Madison said. “Chrissy has a new guy.”
“Stop,” Christmas groaned.
Cash turned to Christmas with real interest. “Is that so? Who? I hope it’s not that Harry Potter wannabe again. What a dick.”
“Marshall hasn’t worn those glasses since middle school,” Christmas said, annoyed at herself for taking the bait. Marshall was the self-proclaimed class nerd, an overachiever who constructed a personality around his disdain for his peers. He’d always made an exception for Christmas, though, and for that he’d earned her loyalty. “And he’s a really nice person. And we were together for, like, fifteen minutes.”
“Seriously, though,” Madison crooned, ignoring Cash. She held her red cup with both hands and raised her eyebrows. “Owen saw you biking around with some cute dude.”
Christmas shook her head. She would have loved to have talked to Madison about Rory. Just not with Cash as an audience. “We work together at the camp. He and his mom have that blue house, you know the one—”
“Summer people,” Cash interjected.
“Yeah,” Christmas said. “He is summer people.”
“You can tell I’m not summer people because I got them autumn teeth,” Cash joked. Everyone waited for a punch line they’d heard several times before. “Autumn had ’em fixed years ago.” He smiled widely, revealing a missing lower tooth and some overlapping canines. “Does your new boyfriend have summer teeth, Christmas?”
“Some are here, some are there. Ha, ha,” Christmas said, pretending boredom, but smiling. The old joke, the twinkle lights, maybe the sip of beer: it all made her feel disposed to forgive Cash, and despite the weirdness with Owen, she felt almost safe, as though she were among friends. “No, he doesn’t. You know city people, with their fancy orthodonture and what not,” she joked.
“So, is it serious?” Madison asked, angling her body in such a way as to suggest that Cash should move along. “With this guy? What’s his name?”
“Rory. We just met,” Christmas said, trying to act casual. “But he’s really nice.”
“Why didn’t you bring him?”
“He and his mom had to go back to the city this weekend,” Christmas explained. She wished she could tell Madison about Fiona and the ex-girlfriend. She longed for someone with whom she could dissect every conversation she’d had with Rory over the past week. But Cash loomed, and then, suddenly, music began to blast, too loud, from the outdoor speakers.
“Oh my God. Let me get him to turn that down,” Madison yelled. She went into the house in search of Owen.
Christmas walked toward the other side of the deck, out of the direct line of the speakers, and stood at the rail, looking out at the backyard. Cash followed, placing his beer on the rail, before leaning forward and resting his elbows.
From the deck they watched the newer arrivals milling in the yard below. She knew every single one of them, but there wasn’t a person she’d go up to and talk to. She thought of Marshall, who, unlike herself, had enough sense to stay home.
The music was abruptly lowered and, as though reading her mind, Cash said, “Just like the old days, huh, Christmas? The two of us together. The two misfits.”
“Hmm,” Christmas said, surprised. “Were we misfits?”
He smiled, apparently genuinely amused. “Aren’t we still? You never wonder why we were always paired up, put in the same groups for projects?”
Christmas cut a look at Cash. “They knew I’d carry you,” she said. “Do the work.”
Cash nodded and sighed. “That’s probably true. And it’s ’cause we had some of the same learning problems.”
Christmas nodded. “Maybe. I have ADHD,” she said.
“You don’t say,” Cash said, laughing. “Everybody knows that, Christmas. It’s like the joke, how do you know someone is a vegan? Don’t worry, they’ll bring it up every fifteen minutes. How do you know Chrissy has ADHD? Don’t worry, she never stops telling you about it.”
Christmas turned away, looked back into the yard and the woods beyond, stung. Did she really talk about her ADHD all the time?
She wanted to get away. She was about to say that she needed to go see if Madison needed help with anything when Cash put a hand on her arm.
“Oh, don’t get all pissy. I’m just giving you a hard time. You know I have it too?”
“What?” Christmas said. She pulled her arm away and Cash let his hand fall back on the rail. He took a long swig of his beer.
“ADHD, ADD, whatever,” Cash said. “Unofficially. My mother always said I had it, but my father refused to have me tested. They’d fight about it.” He took another, long drink. “That medicine sure did work for you, though. I wonder if things would have been different for me if I had gotten on that medication. I might have done real well.”
Christmas snorted. She didn’t mean to. She’d thought, for a moment, that he was joking. It was only the angry darting of his eyes that let her know that he’d been serious. And then she felt awful, realizing that maybe Cash believed that he could have achieved more if he’d had the kind of help that Christmas had received. Or if his mother hadn’t died.
“Whatever,” he said, his lips curling down. “I’d rather not be a drug addict. You think that runs in your family, too, Christmas?”
“What?” Christmas asked. She felt her eyebrows pulling down, her face crunching up in anger. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Cash said, again drinking jauntily and turning to look back at the house. “You can say what you want about my family, but we don’t do drugs.”
“I have a prescription,” Christmas hissed. “I don’t know why you always have to be such an asshole.”
“Whatever you say, Chrissy,” Cash said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He lit one and walked away, leaving her alone on the deck.
Christmas sighed and lifted her beer to her mouth. On impulse, she chugged it, taking long gulps of the cool beer.
