I put the building down in its spot, the tape catching and sticking. Then there was a click, the sure sign it was there to stay. “Yeah,” I told him. “It was—”
“Oh my goodness! Would you look at this.” I turned my head, just in time to see Lindsay Baker, dressed in black pants and a tight red sweater and smiling wide, appear on the landing. My dad, looking markedly less effervescent, was right behind her. “I assumed you all would have made a lot of progress. But this is really impressive!”
Deb, across the model, beamed. I said, “We appointed a good leader. Makes all the difference.”
“Clearly,” she said as she started around the model, making approving noises. After a few steps, she reached back for my dad’s hand, taking hold of it. “Gus, had you seen this? I had no idea the detail was so specific!”
“It’s taken from the most recent satellite-scanning information,” Deb called out. “Model Community Ventures really prides itself on accuracy. And, of course, we’ve tried to follow their lead.”
The councilwoman nodded. “It shows.”
Deb flushed, beyond pleased, and I knew this was her moment, and I should be happy for her. But I was too distracted watching my father as he was led around the far corner of the model, avoiding making eye contact with anyone. Lunch dates and phone calls were one thing. But hand-holding, or any kind of PDA for that matter, was a big red flag.
“Whoa,” Dave said, his voice low. “Your dad and Lindsay Baker, huh? She is a serious Friend of Frazier. Pounds lattes like they’re juice.”
I shook my head, although I was in no position to confirm or deny anything. “I don’t think it’s serious.”
“Gus?” Opal yelled up the stairs. “Are you up there?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “I’ll be right—”
But he didn’t move fast enough. Before he could even begin to extract his hand—and something told me once Lindsay took hold, she had a good grip to her—Opal was already on the landing.
“The meat supplier’s on the phone,” she said, slightly breathless from running up the stairs. “He says you put a change in on our standing order, so it’s week to week now instead of set by the month? I told him that couldn’t be right, but he’s phon”
She stopped suddenly, and I followed her gaze to my father’s hand, still wrapped in the councilwoman’s. “I’ll talk to him,” my dad said, letting go and starting for the stairs. Opal just stood there staring straight ahead as he walked by her.
“Opal, I’m so impressed with what I see here!” Lindsay said to her. “You should be very proud of the progress these kids have made.”
Opal blinked, then looked at the model, and us. “Oh, I am,” she said. “It’s great.”
“I have to admit, I was a little nervous after my last visit !” The councilwoman scanned the model again. “Not that I didn’t have total faith in you, but at the time you seemed a bit disorganized. But Mclean says they’ve got a new team leader—”
“Deb,” I said. I nodded at her, and she beamed again. “It’s all Deb.”
I could feel Opal watching me, her gaze like heat, and I realized too late it was exactly the wrong time to draw attention to myself. “Well, Deb,” Lindsay said, turning her bright smile in that direction, “if that’s true, we’ll look forward to commending you properly at the unveiling ceremony.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” Deb said. She thought for a second, then said, “Actually, I have some ideas about the best way to display it. You know, to really get that optimum wow factor. If you’d like to hear them.”
“Of course.” Lindsay glanced at her watch. “Shoot, I’ve got to get back to my office. Why don’t you walk down with me while I go look for Gus?”
Deb’s face lit up, and she grabbed her clipboard, rushing over to join the councilwoman as she started down the stairs. We all watched them go, none of us talking. When the door at the bottom shut behind them, Opal turned to me.
“Mclean?” she said. “What’s . . . What’s going on here?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Opal swallowed, then looked around the room, as if only then realizing we had an audience. She shifted her attention to the model, scanning it from one side to the other, then back again. “I had no idea you guys had done this much,” she said. “Guess I need to pay more attention all around.”
“Opal,” I said. “Don’t—”
“I’ve got to go open,” she said. “You guys, um, keep up the good work. It all looks great.”
She turned, disappearing down the stairs. We were only down by about half, but suddenly the room felt downright empty.
“Is it just me,” Heather said in the quiet, “or was that weird?”
“Not just you,” Dave told her.
Riley, from across the room, said, “Is everything okay, Mclean?”
I didn’t know. All that was clear was that everything, including me, suddenly felt wholly temporary. I looked down at the model again. There, the entire world was simple in miniature, clean and orderly, if only because there were none of us, no people, there to complicate things.
That night, like most nights, we only worked on the model until 6:00 p.m. This was Opal’s rule, although I sensed my dad had a part in it. It made sense, though: it was one thing to have people moving around upstairs and coming and going for the first hour of service, but another to have to deal with it during the dinner rush.
Dave and I walked back to our houses together. His was lit up, as usual, and I could see his mom and dad in the kitchen, moving around. Mine was dark, except for the side porch light that we always forgot to turn off. I knew this was far from ecofriendly, and I needed to stick a Post-it or something on the door to remind me. Times like now, though, I was glad for the oversight.
“So. You got big dinner plans?” Dave asked me as we started up my driveway.
“Not really. You?”
“Tofu loaf.” He made a face before I could react. “It’s better than it sounds. But still . . . not so good. What’s on your menu? ”
I thought of our fridge, how I’d not had time to get to the store for a few days. Eggs, some bread, maybe some deli meat. “Breakfast for dinner, probably.”
“Aw, really?” He sighed. “That sounds awesome.”
“You should suggest it to your mom.”
He shook his head. “She’s got egg issues.”
“Excuse me?”
“The short version is she doesn’t eat them,” he explained. “The longer one involves certain dietary intolerances combined with ethical misgivings.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
We were at the basketball goal now. I looked over his shoulder into the kitchen, where Mrs. Dobson-Wade was stirring something in a wok while Dave’s dad poured a glass of wine. “It’s nice that you guys eat as a family, though. Even if eggs aren’t allowed.”
“I guess,” he said. “Although more often than not, we’re all reading.”
“What?”
“Reading,” he repeated. “It’s something you do with books?”
“You all sit together at the table and don’t talk to one another?”
“Yeah. I mean, we talk some. But if we all have things we’re engrossed in . . .” He trailed off, looking embarrassed. “I told you that I’m weird. Hence, my family is weird. Although honestly, you should have figured that out already.”
“Weird,” I said, “but together. That counts for something.”
Now he looked at my house, that single outside light, the kitchen dark behind it. “I guess.”
I was ready to go inside. “Enjoy your tofu loaf,” I told him, turning toward my stairs.
“Eat an egg for me.”
I unlocked the door, then immediately turned on the kitchen light, followed by the one in the living room. Then I put on my dad’s iPod on the speaker dock—he’d been in a Zeppelin mood that morning, apparently—broke a couple of eggs into a bowl, and mixed in some milk. The bread in the fri
dge was a bit old, but not moldy, perfect for toasting. Five minutes later, dinner was done.
Normally, I ate on the couch, in front of the TV or my laptop. This night, however, I decided to get formal, folding a paper towel under my fork and sitting at the kitchen table. I’d just taken a bite of toast when I heard a knock at the door. When I turned around, there was Dave. And his dad.
“We need your TV,” Dave explained when I opened the door. They were both standing there, plates in hand. Behind them, I could see into their dining room, where Mrs. Dobson-Wade was alone at the table. Reading.
“My TV?”
“The Defriese-U game is just starting,” Mr. Wade said. “And our TV is suddenly refusing to change channels.”
“Probably because it’s about twenty years old,” Dave added.
“It is a perfectly fine television,” his dad said, adjusting his glasses with his free hand. “We hardly watch it anyway.”
“Except tonight.” Dave looked at me. “I know it’s asking a lot. But can we—”
I stepped back, waving my hand. “Sure.”
They came in, their silverware rattling on their plates, and bustled into the living room, sitting down on the couch. I turned on the TV, then flipped channels until I spotted my stepfather’s face. The game was about ten minutes in, and Defriese was up by nine.
“How did that happen?” Mr. Wade said, shaking his head as I went and got my plate, sliding into the leather chair beside them.
“Our defense sucks,” Dave replied. Then he sniffed and looked at me. “Oh my God. Those smell amazing.”
“They’re just scrambled. Nothing fancy.” Now, Mr. Wade was eyeing my plate as well. “I . . . I can make you guys some. If you want.”
“Oh, no, no,” Dave’s dad said. He gestured to his plate, where a beige square was bordered by some broccoli and what looked like brown rice. “We’ve got perfectly fine dinners. Your generosity with the TV is quite enough.”
“Right,” Dave said as on the screen, a whistle blew. Mr. Wade grimaced, reacting to the call. “We’re good.”
I turned my attention back to the screen. After a few minutes of fast back-and-forth, one of the U players got fouled and the clock stopped. We watched a couple of beer commercials and a news update, and then the game returned, showing Peter saying something to one of his starters. He clapped him on the back, and the guy started back out onto the court. As Peter sat down, I saw my mom behind him. No twins this time: she was alone, watching the game with a serious expression.
“Making eggs is really no trouble,” I said, jumping up. “I’m done eating, and it will only take a second.”
“Hey, Mclean, you really don’t—” Dave began. I looked at him, then at the screen, where my mother was still in view. “Oh. Well. That would be great. Thanks.”
It was easier to listen to the game than to watch, so I moved slowly as I scrambled the eggs, added milk, and preheated pan. I wasn’t sure what their position was on toast. Gluten issues? Was wheat bad ethically? I stuck some bread in the toaster oven anyway. While I cooked, the U came back, tying up the score, although they racked up some fouls in the process. Between listening to Dave and his dad reacting to the action—groans, claps, the occasional cheer—and the smell of eggs cooking, I could have been back in Tyler, in our old house, living my old life. I took my time.
There were about five minutes left in the half when I came back in, balancing two plates and the roll of paper towels, and deposited them both on the table in front of Dave and his dad. It was just eggs and toast. But by their reaction, you would have thought I’d prepared the most extravagant of feasts.
“Oh my goodness,” Mr. Wade whispered, slowly pushing his half-eaten tofu loaf aside. “Is that . . . Is that butter?”
“I think it is,” Dave said. “Wow. Look at how fluffy and yellow these are!”
“Not like Neggs,” his dad agreed.
“Neggs?” I said.
“Not-eggs,” Dave explained. “Egg substitute. It’s what we use.”
“What’s in them? ” I asked as Mr. Wade took a bite. He closed his eyes, chewing slowly, his reaction so full of pleasure I had to look away.
“Not eggs,” Dave replied. He exhaled. “These are amazing, Mclean. Thank you so much.”
“Thank you,” his dad repeated, scooping up another heaping forkful.
I smiled, just at the game came back on the screen. Immediately, the players were in motion, moving down the court, the U out in front with the ball. As they passed the bench, the action slowed, and I saw Peter again, my mom behind him. As the team set up their offense, I watched as she pulled out her phone, opening it up, and pushed a few buttons, then put it to her ear.
I turned around, looking at my purse, which was on the floor by the couch. Sure enough, I could see a light flashing inside. I pulled out my phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, honey,” she said over the din behind her. “I just had a quick thought about our trip tomorrow. Have you got a second? ”
Dave and his dad erupted in cheers, plates clanging in their laps as the U stole the ball and moved down the court. Where my mom was, there was noticeably less of a reaction.
“Actually,” I said, “I, um, have some people over for dinner.”
“You do?” She sounded so surprised. “Oh. Well, I’ll just call back later, okay?”
“Great,” I said, watching Dave as he took another bite of toast, then smiled at me. Real bread, real butter. All real. “Talk to you then.”
Thirteen
That night, I tried to wait up for my dad, so I could ask him about the councilwoman and what I’d seen between them at the model that day, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. Still, I busied myself packing and repacking my suitcase for the beach, trying not to think abt all the other times I’d folded clothes this same way, in the same bag. Once that was done, I made myself a pot of coffee and sat down on the couch to study for my last big test before break, feeling confident that the task and the caffeine would keep me awake until he returned. Instead, I woke up at 6:00 the next morning, the room cold and my mother’s quilt tucked over me.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. My dad’s keys were in the dish by the door, his coat thrown over our worn leather chair. Distantly, down the hallway, I could hear the water running in his bathroom. Just another morning. I hoped.
I took a shower, then got dressed before making a bowl of cereal and another pot of coffee. I was pouring a second cup when I heard a knock at the door. Glancing out the front window, I saw a black Town Car parked at the curb. Which could mean only one thing. Sure enough, when I opened it, I found myself facing a wide expanse of gray cashmere. I looked up and up, and there was Chuckles. Opal had mentioned he was back in town, but a home visit was a surprise.
“Mclean,” he said, smiling at me. “Good morning. Your dad around? ”
“He’s in the shower,” I told him, stepping back so he could come in. He had to duck under the low door frame, but something in the easy way he did it made it clear he was used to this. “He should be out in a minute. You want some coffee?”
“No thanks, I’m already covered,” he said, holding up a travel mug in one of his huge hands. “This stuff has totally spoiled me. I have to take it with me when I travel now. Nothing else compares.”
“Really? What is it?”
“A special blend, grown and roasted in Kona, Hawaii. I’ve been doing some business there lately and discovered it.” He uncapped the lid, holding it out to me. “Take a whiff.”
I did, although it felt a little odd to do so. It smelled amazing. “Wow,” I said. “Hawaii, huh?”
“You ever been?”
I shook my head. “I’d love to, though.”
“Really,” he said, watching me as I folded the quilt, putting it back on the arm of the couch. “Well, that’s good to know.”
I glanced up, wondering at this, but then my dad was coming down the hallway, hair damp, pulling a sweatshirt over his head. “Isn’t i
t a little early for door-to-door salesmen?” he asked.
“Trust me,” Chuckles told him, capping his coffee and taking a sip, “you want what I’m peddling.”
“You always say that.” My dad picked up his keys and phone. “You on your way out of town?”
“Yep. Just wanted to stop by to bug you one more time.” He smiled at me. “I was just telling your daughter about how good this Kona coffee is.”
“Let’s talk outside,” my dad said, pulling on his jacket. “Mclean, I’ll just be a sec.”
“Good to see you,” Chuckles called out as he ducked back through the door, onto the porch. “And aloha. That means hello and goodbye in Hawaii. Remember that, okay? It’s useful information.”
“Okay,” I replied a bit uncertainly. “Aloha.”
My dad shot him a look, and then the door was shutting behind them. I watched them go down the walk, their contrasting heights the oddest of pairings. Just as they got into the back of the black Town Car idling at the curb, my phone rang.
I pulled it out, then flipped it open, my eyes still on the car. “Morning, Mom,” I said.
“Good morning!” she said. “Are you in a rush? Or can you talk for sec?”
“I can talk.”
“Great! Today’s going to be nuts, getting packed and driving down, so I wanted to just confirm our times and everything before the madness starts.” She laughed. “So are we still on for four, do you think?”
“It should be fine,” I told her. “I’ll be back here by three forty-five at the latest, and I’m already all packed.”