Just 18 Summers

  Soon the walls on this house would be up, the roof would be on, the windows in, the carpet laid. It would be inhabited by Doug and Ruth Porter and their three kids. He was a dentist and she was a real estate agent.

  Butch walked to the back of the house. For all the luxury it would contain, the view was horrible—just a ten-foot fence and the top of somebody else’s luxurious home. If he were going to pay all this money for a house, he’d at least want to see some trees or a field or something.

  “Hey, Ava.”

  That was Tippy’s voice. Butch turned to see Ava walking toward the guys under the tree. She held a sack of break-and-bake cookies she’d insisted on making last night. All the laughter died down quickly as she approached. Good thing. It had probably been about something highly inappropriate for a young girl to hear. Butch realized he was well-hidden by the beam he stood by, so he peeked around to watch.

  “Whatcha guys doing?”

  They glanced at each other. A few shrugged. What? Nobody knew how to talk to a little girl?

  “Anybody want a cookie?”

  The guys stared at her and Butch sighed. Ava didn’t fit in his world. It was becoming clearer by the second.

  Then Steven sheepishly raised his hand. “I’ll take one.”

  Ava smiled and handed it over. The next thing he knew, all the guys were raising their hands, and Ava was proudly passing the cookies out one by one.

  Ava pushed her hat out of her eyes again. “Can I hang out with you guys? My dad’s kind of boring today.”

  “Really?” Jack asked. “Your dad’s not laughing it up? Imagine that.”

  Butch slid behind the beam, completely out of sight, and closed his eyes. He remembered the days, long ago, when he was just one of the guys. But when he started his own company, married Jenny, and had Ava, suddenly work was more than work. Everything rested on his shoulders. He had a family to support, and the pressure got to him sometimes. The first time he had to fire one of his guys was the last time he ever ate lunch with the rest of them.

  From behind the beam he heard Ava ask, “Anybody wanna play I Spy?”

  CHAPTER 23

  BETH

  BETH PULLED INTO her driveway and parked the car. Next door at Helen’s house, everyone had already arrived for their weekly scrapbooking session. She pulled herself taller to look in her rearview mirror. Evidence that she had been crying was clear by the ring of black mascara under the bottom lid of each bloodshot eye. She quickly licked her fingers and tugged at the skin, trying to get the marks off. Were her eyes really that red? She couldn’t tell with the sunlight. She had to look normal. Women were very in tune with other women not looking as they normally did. She didn’t even feel like scrapbooking, but she had to go. Not showing up would raise more questions, and Daphne had already witnessed her meltdown. She could only pray she wouldn’t mention it to the other women, but that was the key: Beth had to show up. If she didn’t, Daphne would almost be obligated to share what she’d witnessed in the kitchen.

  Beth pulled her giant scrapbook off the seat and got out of the car, breathing in the air and trying to refresh herself enough to look presentable. She smoothed her shirt, her hair, and her anguish as she casually walked over to Helen’s house.

  “Sorry I’m late!” She breezed in, smiling and patting backs, taking the free chair at the end of the table. Daphne and Helen smiled and went about their scrapbooking. Marlene Waters was busy trying to get her six-month-old son to calm down in the car seat while their other friend, Jackie Mendez, attempted to help. Jackie pushed the pacifier into the baby’s mouth and Ethan pushed it right back out. Only Jackie’s gaze hovered a bit as Beth sat down.

  The problem with Jackie was that she was older and wiser, which meant she was less self-absorbed and could sense things the others could not. Not only that, she cared a lot, which was awesome in most cases but not today. Beth didn’t want to be cared for. She’d been stricken with the incurable disease of somewhat-undefined regret and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

  “Fresh-squeezed limeade?” Helen asked, pushing a silver tray toward Beth. “I used agave nectar to sweeten it.” Red cherries bobbed just underneath the ice. There was also the faintest smell of mint.

  “Lovely,” Beth said, reaching for the pitcher. She only said words like lovely when Helen was around. Admittedly, Helen’s pearls intimidated her. Something about those white, iridescent beads strung tightly around her neck made Beth feel inadequate. And today, in particular, they seemed to mock her with a choking motion. Helen was rarely seen without them.

  Beth poured her drink, set it aside, and leaned toward Jackie, who was still watching her. “Oh, Jackie, that one’s beautiful,” Beth said, touching the photograph in the middle of the page, hoping to distract her. “Where was that taken?”

  “Yellowstone,” Jackie said, handing the cutter to Marlene, who was still trying to get Ethan to take the pacifier.

  Beth opened her book. “We really have to take a trip there one of these days.”

  Helen reached for the paper. “You’ve never been?”

  “No.”

  “What a shame.”

  Shame. Was that what was suffocating her? Yes, it must be. Shame was the punishment for regret.

  Jackie touched Beth’s book with her fingertips. “This isn’t yours, Beth.”

  Beth looked down and then smiled to herself. No, it wasn’t. It was something even better, at least for today. She closed it, picked it up, and turned it around for everyone to see.

  Everyone grabbed their hearts except Helen, who grabbed her pearls.

  “Yeah, I decided I’m taking over Jenny’s album. I thought I’d finish it for her and give it to Ava for her next birthday.”

  “That’s so nice of you,” Daphne said.

  “I figured it was the least I could do.” She hated herself for even uttering that sentiment. Jenny had been struck down in the prime of life and it was like Beth was doing her a favor. Except she knew, as she turned the book back around, that this was exactly what Jenny would want done. Her love for scrapbooking was the reason they were all together in this group. She’d started it and invited everyone. And when Jenny was a part of it, all the pieces of the machine worked. Without her, the wheels barely turned. Nobody wanted to say it, but they knew—Jenny was the strand that had strung them all together.

  Also, this book was a good excuse not to do Nathan’s and Robin’s. Maybe if Beth stopped scrapbooking their lives, time would stand still.

  “How is Butch doing?” Jackie asked.

  “I noticed at graduation he needs a little help in the dressing department,” Helen said.

  “I know.” Daphne shook her head. “I thought that poor girl was going to drown in her own sweat.”

  “I meant his undying attraction to plaid,” Helen said, sipping her drink, “but yes, the sweater in May was disastrous on many levels.”

  Beth sighed, opening the book and looking over the pictures of Jenny, Ava, and Butch when they went to SeaWorld, just a month before the accident. “He’s not very good at asking for help.”

  Jackie took the scissors. “What would he do if I just showed up at his door with a pan of lasagna and a box of laundry detergent? Because we all know that’s what Jenny would do for any of us.”

  “I think he’s coming out of the grief a little bit,” Daphne said. “Tippy has managed to talk him into going to do something fun. I’m babysitting Ava tonight.”

  They all looked up from what they were doing. “You are?” Beth asked. “Butch hasn’t gone out since Jenny died, other than to go to work.”

  “I know. I was shocked too. But Tippy asked me and I said yes.”

  Beth nodded cheerfully, though she was a little hurt Butch hadn’t asked her. But then again, she was on the emotional roller coaster that put all other coasters to shame. She cut her eyes to Daphne. Maybe Daphne had let that story about the kitchen meltdown slip out in conversation with Tippy somehow.

  Beth’s nose ti
ngled, which was alarming because that was always the first sign she was about to cry. She sniffled under the guise that an allergy attack was coming on—ridiculous because Helen’s home was so clean, there wasn’t an allergen that could live through it. She pretended to search for Benadryl in her purse.

  “So, Marlene,” Daphne said, “how often does Ethan use a pacifier?”

  Beth sighed in relief. All attention would now be on Marlene because there was no doubt Daphne was about to quote a statistic on how toxic rubber nipples were or something to that effect. It didn’t matter as long as nobody was looking at Beth.

  Baby Ethan finally cooed into a quiet sleep and Marlene returned to her scrapbook. “Oh, he loves it. Can barely fall asleep without it.”

  “Oh?” Daphne clipped the top of the contact paper she was holding. “You probably ought to have some money saved for orthodontia, then. And by money, I mean thousands of dollars.”

  Beth bit her lip as Marlene’s expression turned sour—like she was sipping the version of limeade without the agave nectar.

  “Hm” was all Marlene said, her eyes narrow as she pretended to be consumed with the stars-and-stripes stickers Jackie had brought.

  “It’s true,” Daphne said. “In the book I’m reading right now, they also say that you should never use a pacifier to calm a baby down. They become reliant on it, when they’re supposed to be able to calm themselves.”

  Marlene raised her hand, scissors pointing toward Daphne, who was bent over retrieving something out of her bag. Beth calmly helped her lower the scissors and gave her a knowing, reassuring smile.

  When Daphne popped back up with her stamps, Marlene excused herself to the bathroom and Beth blew out a relieved sigh. These days Daphne was getting on everyone’s nerves. She had been a know-it-all ever since Beth met her, but she was so sweet nobody cared. But since she’d gotten pregnant, her “child expertise” made everyone in the group feel like utter failures in every aspect of parenting, from not checking the number on the bottom of plastic cups to the simple act of microwaving green beans. Somehow, some way, everyone was doing it wrong.

  Beth tried to divert the conversation by leaning over to Helen’s book. The picture she was working on showed Madison, her oldest, holding a trophy.

  “What is this one, Helen?” she asked, tapping the picture.

  “Oh, that was in December. Madison won an essay contest.”

  Beth glanced around the table with hopes that jets were cooling. “I remember you telling us about that.”

  Helen pulled a stack of paper from her bag. “Here’s the essay. I was going to put it into the scrapbook too.” She handed it to Beth, who offered the obligatory smile.

  “Oh. Yeah. Long, huh?” She glanced over the first three pages, pretending to be interested while only catching random words.

  “Twenty-five pages,” Helen gushed. “It’s a formula for peace, based on the history of the world.”

  “Ambitious,” Marlene growled as she returned. She picked up her scissors and snipped the corner of some ribbon.

  “The history of the world.” Jackie didn’t even force a smile. “Suddenly twenty-five pages doesn’t seem as long.”

  Well, at least everyone’s attention was off Daphne, but Beth was starting to come to an understanding—parenthood made the most normal of people turn into freaks. And currently the freak show was wearing pearls.

  “. . . and then the school administrators sent it to Washington, and Madison received a handwritten message from Senator Polk, thanking her for the ideas. I can’t confirm this for sure, but page 14 sounds a lot like part of the president’s State of the Union address this past January.”

  Everyone stared at Helen as if their eyelids were trying to keep the words in their heads from popping out their eyeballs. Jenny, Beth knew, would’ve had something funny to say right at this moment. She always knew what to say, when to say it, how to say it.

  Marlene smirked. “You think he ripped her off?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way,” Helen said. “‘Borrowed heavily,’ perhaps.” She used air quotes.

  “That’s amazing,” Beth said, resisting the temptation to say amazing also with air quotes.

  Silence ensued for a moment, each of them pasting and cutting and arranging. Then Helen cleared her throat. “So, Beth, what about your kids? They’ve been quite active lately out in the yard. What are they up to?”

  Beth looked up, looked around, looked down. She didn’t want to talk about Robin right now. She couldn’t. Yet it came flying out of her mouth. “Robin’s getting married.”

  That brought a rush of silence right over the table, swallowing up even the soft sound of Ethan sucking on his pacifier.

  Beth stretched that smile again, a smile that seemed unable to come out without a good deal of beckoning. “We’re just so blessed. So happy.”

  “What good news!” Jackie said. “Robin is such a wonderful young lady. Any young man is lucky to have her.”

  “Thank you, Jackie,” Beth said.

  “I hadn’t even realized she was dating someone,” Daphne said.

  “A college, um, sweetheart.” He wasn’t in college, but proximally close enough.

  “Tell us all about him,” Marlene said. “You must be so excited!”

  “Oh yes. I can hardly sleep at night. He’s a fun young man. A lot of, um, drive and passion for . . . what he does.”

  “What does he do?” Marlene asked.

  “He’s in the food service industry. Anyway, we’re just so delighted.”

  “What’s this precious boy’s name?” Jackie asked.

  Beth gulped her limeade. She didn’t want to say his name. Either of his names. She set her glass down. “Marvin Hood.”

  “Marvin?” Helen snorted. “He’s not a cradle robber, is he?”

  “No, he’s . . . he’s her age. And yes, Robin will be Robin Hood. Isn’t that great? Larry and I laughed for hours.”

  The women chuckled and the conversation diverted to all their maiden names and their married names and, thankfully, left Beth sitting and pretending to be the happiest mom on earth.

  She looked down at the scrapbook, Jenny’s smiling face gleaming brighter than the sunshine she stood under. “I miss you,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 24

  BUTCH

  “BOB, LOOK, I need to get that order in by the end of the day. Do whatever you have to do, okay? Call me back.” Butch slid his phone into his work vest and finished walking the perimeter of the house, noticing the guys hadn’t done the job he normally required for cleaning up before going home for the day.

  Through the slats, he saw they were all gathered around something. When Jack stepped out of the way, Ava appeared, sitting on a pile of wood. Butch checked his watch. He was going to have to get Ava home. She’d been out here with him all day, and he’d realized around noon, when her cheeks began glowing like hot steel, that he hadn’t put any sunscreen on her.

  He pulled out his notepad and was jotting some to-do notes when he suddenly heard a catcall. He sighed. As a general rule, the guys didn’t catcall when Butch was around—they knew he hated it—so he imagined this must’ve been one hot woman walking by.

  Except to his amazement, it turned out not to be. Hot. Or a girl. It was a boy, about Ava’s age, riding by on his bike. Butch gripped the beam next to him as he realized the catcall had come from Ava.

  The guys were high-fiving and knuckle-bumping her as Butch rushed over, trying not to be in a rage but basically in a rage. “What’s going on here?”

  The smile dropped off Jack’s face. “Nothing, Butch. We’re just having some fun.”

  Half of them stuffed their hands in their pockets while the other half found something interesting to look at in the sky.

  “Ava,” Butch said sternly, “why don’t you leave these guys alone? They’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Fine,” Ava groaned and walked next to him, dragging her feet and falling a little behind. She took off h
er yellow hat and threw it to the side, then said over her shoulder, “Steven, let me know what happens this weekend.”

  Steven gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Did you know that Steven’s proposing to his girlfriend on Saturday?” Ava asked.

  Butch took off his belt and put it in the bed of his truck as he glanced toward Steven. “No. That’s cool.”

  “Right?” She grinned, then spit, except it only drooled down her chin. “I’m working on that.”

  “Ava, stop that,” Butch groaned. Tippy was walking toward them, so Butch opened the passenger side of the truck. “Hop in. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He went to the other side, stuck the keys in, and turned on the air, in hopes of keeping Ava from rolling down the window and eavesdropping as she liked to do. “Here,” he said, handing over his cell phone. “You can play on this for a second.”

  “Thanks!”

  Butch took a few steps from the truck, peering around to see if any other guys were nearby. Tippy was doing the same thing. It looked like a drug deal was about to go down.

  “Did you make all the arrangements?” Butch asked.

  “Yeah,” Tippy whispered. “Daphne is going to watch Ava. You and I are going to go get hot wings. Our appointment is at six thirty.”

  “I’ll be at your house by six.”

  “Okay, see you then. And, dude, we have to play this so calm and cool, okay? We can’t even hint there’s something going on besides hot wings.”

  Butch nodded and got in his truck. The blast of cold air felt good, and Ava seemed to be totally immersed in Angry Birds on his phone. Ka-kaw!