She sniffed again, with her eyes closed, then opened them and said curtly, “You’ve been smoking.”
Casey turned bright red. “I have not.”
I glanced out the window. The fire was still burning, looking like it might spread to a wad of leaves nearby. I had to do something, so as Mrs. Melvin crossed the room, eyes closed again and still sniffing, I panicked and flung the rest of my Coke out the window, most of it hitting the glass with a splat but thankfully enough getting to the edge of the roof where it somehow, miraculously, doused the fire. I thought we were home free until I turned around to see Mrs. Melvin, hands on her hips, looking at me. Just past her was Casey, who threw her hands up in the air and shook her head, surrendering.
“Yes you have,” she said, walking past me to the open window and glancing out at the smoldering gutter. “Look at that. You’re setting fires and still lying to my face.”
“Mom,” Casey said quickly, “I didn’t ...”
Mrs. Melvin walked to the door. “Jake, get up here.” Parenting in the Melvin household was a tag-team affair. Any conflict had to be dealt with in tandem, attacked from both sides. I heard Mr. Melvin pounding up the steps before he appeared in the doorway in jeans and loafers. My father called Mr. Melvin the consummate frat boy. He was forty-three but looked eighteen and was about as whipped as any man could be. One look, one call from Mrs. Melvin and he snapped to attention.
“What’s going on?” He had a newspaper in his hand. “Hello, Haven. How’s it going?”
“Good,” I said.
“We have a situation here,” Mrs. Melvin said, directing his attention out the window to the gutter, which was still smoking a bit and thus providing the proper dramatic effect. “Your daughter has taken up smoking.”
“Smoking?” He looked at Casey, then out the window. “Is something on fire out there?”
“It’s that 4-H camp, Jake, where she picked up every other bad habit this summer.” Mrs. Melvin walked to the dresser and opened the box on top, taking out the pack of cigarettes. “Look at this. There are probably birth control pills in here too.”
“Mom, please,” Casey said, “I haven’t had sex yet.”
“Haven,” Mr. Melvin said quietly, “maybe you should get on home to dinner.”
“Okay,” I said. This was the way I always seemed to leave the Melvins’ house, under some sort of duress. Things were always exciting over at the Melvins’. During the divorce I’d spent most of my time there, sitting on Casey’s bed reading Teen magazine and listening to arguments and situations that blissfully had nothing to do with my world whatsoever.
On my way out the door I saw Casey’s brother, Ronald, on the porch petting the Melvins’ cat, a hugely overweight tabby named Velvet. Ronald was only five, not even born when I’d met Casey the day they moved from New Jersey all those years ago.
“Hey, baby Ronald,” I said.
“Shut up.” He hated his family nickname now. At five, he was beginning to resent anything with the word “baby” attached to it.
“See you later,” I said.
“Haven?” he called after me. “How’d you grow so much?”
I stopped at the end of the front walk to face his shock of Melvin red hair and his toughskin cutoffs, the cat shedding a cloud of hair all around him. “I don’t know, Ronald.”
He thought for a minute, still petting. He had the freckles, a faceful plus the ones Casey had lost once she hit fourteen. “Vegetables,” he said slowly, pronouncing it carefully, then added, “probably.”
“Yeah.” I hit the sidewalk in full stride for the one hundred and fourteen squares of cement, cracks and all, that led to my own front walk. “Probably.”
I saw Sumner again later that week at the mall, during my midevening break from Little Feet. It had been a long night, too many tiny shoes to put on smelly feet, too much pressure to move the socks, always the socks. I bought a Coke and took a seat facing the stage in front of Dillard’s, now complete with its fall decorations, big leaves in all different colors, with black silhouettes of glam-looking girls interspersed. I was studying the sign sitting center stage that said FALL FASHION PREVIEW! FEATURING ... THE LAKEVIEW MALL MODELS AND FASHIONS FROM YOUR FAVORITE MALL MERCHANTS ... COMING SOON! with a hokey tear-off calendar counting down the days, as if anyone was that excited about it.
It was almost eight o’clock, which meant I had one more hour of Little Feet before I could leave. The mall was clearing out now that it was prime time, and I tossed my cup and was heading back to the store when I saw the little mall golf cart heading erratically my way. The horn was beeping. Loudly.
It whizzed right up in front of me, dodging ferns and benches and the fountain, skidding to a flourishing stop. Sumner, the Lakeview Mall Security Man. The uniform was too big, rolled up at the cuffs, and his name tag said Marvin. He was grinning at me.
“Hey there. Want a ride?” He extended one arm across the passenger seat, “Price Is Right” showcase style. “It’s better than walking.”
“Are you supposed to drive people around in that?” I asked, sure I’d never seen Ned, the other guard, taxiing the help up and down the mall.
“No.” He grinned. “But you know me, Haven. I call it my Chariot of Love. Now get in.”
So I did. He waited until I was settled, then turned us around and hit the gas, and we zoomed down the center of the mall with Yogurt Paradise and Felice’s Ladies Fashions and The Candy Shack whizzing by in a blur. Sumner was laughing, barely dodging obstacles and people, yet managing to look official whenever we passed anyone who appeared to be important.
“If we get stopped by management,” he yelled at me above the whirring of the engine as we blew past Little Feet and my boss, who was selecting socks for someone, “act like you’re injured. Say you sprained your ankle and I’m rushing you to help.”
“Sumner,” I said, but he couldn’t hear me. We did another lap, slowing down a bit for the scenic tour. Sumner beeped the horn occasionally, scattering groups of teenagers in front of the arcade or pizza parlor, before finally being flagged down by a woman in a flowered dress, towing a toddler.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sumner said, pulling up smoothly beside her.
“I wonder if you could tell me where I might be able to buy a personalized letter opener.” She had a high-pitched voice, and the kid was drooling.
Sumner reached to the back of the cart, pulled out a clipboard, and rifled through it, concentrating. “Your best bet would be Personally Personalized.” He snapped a sheet of paper from the clipboard, drew a long winding arrow on it, and said, “Here’s a map. We’re here”—he put a black mark on one spot—“and it’s there.” Another mark. “Ought to be able to find it with no difficulty.” He put his pen back behind his ear as he handed her the page, one smooth movement.
“Thank you,” the woman said admiringly, map in hand. “Thanks very much.”
“No problem,” Sumner said. I expected him to salute or something. “Have a good evening and shop with us again.” And we cruised off, maneuvering smoothly through a thicket of potted plants.
“You were born for this job,” I told him. We took another pass by the stage, coming to a stop by the side steps.
“I was born for every job,” he said with a smile, climbing out of the cart and onto the stage. He walked to the sign in the middle and reached for the calendar, pulling the top sheet so that six days were left instead of seven. Then he stood at center stage and took a long from-the-waist bow, low and dramatic, before an invisible adoring public.
After climbing back down the stairs he jumped back in beside me and handed me the seven. “For you.”
“Thanks so much.”
“So,” he said, shouting over the sound of the engine. “Where do you work?”
“At Little Feet.” I realized how stupid it sounded even as I said it.
“Selling shoes,” he said, smiling. “I did that one summer. It sucks, huh?”
“Yeah.” The mall was whizzing by ag
ain, storefronts and people blurring past. Traveling with Sumner next to me, the mall was like an undiscovered country. He’d always had a way of making even the ordinary seem fun; during that summer at the beach he stayed in the water with me almost all the time, bodysurfing and doing handstands, diving for shells and making up games. Ashley spent the whole week on the beach with her towel and sunscreen, tanning, while Sumner and I swam until our fingers were pruny and white. He was the only one who had time to play with me. If Ashley pouted and made a fuss when he tried to include me, he could usually get her to come around. And when he couldn’t and we fought, he had a way of taking my side without it looking like he was betraying her. He stuck up for me, and I never forgot it.
As we zoomed past the fountain I looked up at the huge banners that hung from the ceiling, each with its community motif: a house, a school, a flower, an animal that looked like a goat but I figured was a deer. I had this sudden, crazy urge to stand on the seat and rip every one of them down as we passed. I could almost feel my fingertips on the sheer fabric, smooth and giving as I yanked them from their bases. Speeding through the Lakeview Mall, dismantling it as I went. I glanced at Sumner, thinking of how much had changed, with the visions of those tumbling banners still in my head. I almost wanted to tell him, to ask him if he knew how it felt to be suddenly tempted to go wild. But we were flying along, the engine drowning all other sounds, and I let it go, for now.
Chapter Seven
After my chariot ride through the mall it seemed like I ran into Sumner everywhere. This was partly due to the fact that he had so many jobs. Besides pepper-and-cheese man and mall security, he was also mowing the lawn at the cemetery and driving a school bus for retarded children. Sumner did not believe in idle time.
I thought it must be fate that I kept bumping into him, some strange sign that he was meant to come back into my life and fix or change something, a voice from the past arriving in the present with the answers to everything. I knew this was silly, but it was hard to dismiss Sumner’s timing.
Lewis and Ashley continued to bicker and make up, almost daily. The moods she’d made a habit of inflicting exclusively on the family were now fair game to him as well, and as the wedding crept ever closer he approached our front door as if it was a bomb and the wrong word, compliment, or even expression could cause everything to blow. My mother and I commiserated silently, watching him climb the stairs to Ashley’s room like a soldier going off to battle. I found myself liking Lewis more now that he was suffering with us; I imagined it being the way crisis victims bonded, joined by the unthinkable.
It was now an even two weeks until the wedding. My mother’s lists had taken over the house, yellow stick-it notes flapping from anything that was stationary and big enough to hold them. They lined the bannister, grabbing my attention as I climbed the stairs. They hung from the fridge and the television, last-minute reminders, things not to forget. They were like caution signs, flagging me down and giving a warning to proceed carefully around the next turn. The wedding, so long churning over our house in a steady pattern, was beginning to whip itself into a storm.
“Where’s that other package of thank-you notes?” I heard Ashley say from the kitchen as I got out of the shower one morning. “I need more than just the six that are left in this pack.”
“Well, I put them in that same drawer,” my mother answered, her shoes making a scuffling noise across the floor as she went off in search of the notes. “They can’t have gone anywhere by themselves.”
“Obviously not,” Ashley growled under her breath, that same constantly grumbling, incoherent voice I seemed to hear behind me whenever I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I heard my mother come back and pull out a chair. “Here they are,” she said in her singsong placating voice. “And I brought this list in so we could go over what needs doing today.”
“Fine.”
“Okay,” my mother said, and there was a rustling of plastic that I assumed was Ashley ripping open the new cards. “First, there are the final fittings at Dillard’s today at ten. I know Haven has traded shifts so she can be there, and I called this morning to make sure the headpiece was ready.”
“She’s probably grown another four feet and we’ll have to get fitted again later,” Ashley grumbled, and I stared at myself in my bathroom mirror, through the steam. I had almost outgrown my mirror, the top of my head barely within the frame. I examined myself, the geometry of my ribs, elbows, and collarbone. I imagined lines intersecting, planes going on forever and ever. My arms were long, lanky, thin, and my knees were hinges holding the bony parts of my skinny legs together. I was sharp to anyone who might brush against me.
“Ashley, you know your sister is sensitive about her height.” This was the closest my mother came to scolding Ashley, who was old enough not to need it. “Imagine being fifteen and reaching six feet. It’s very hard for her, and comments like that don’t help.”
“God, it’s not like I’m saying it to her face,” Ashley said bitterly, and I wondered if all those thank-you cards and all that gratitude were having an adverse effect, leaving no niceties for anyone in person. “Besides, she’ll be glad later. She’ll never get fat.”
“That’s hardly a comfort now.” My mother cleared her throat. “After the fitting we can have our final meeting with the caterer. He called yesterday and said the appetizers are in order and you just have to make some final decisions about desserts.”
“God, I am so sick of making decisions.” A pause, during which I heard my mother stirring her coffee. “And writing these damn thank-you notes. Does anyone really think that I’m not grateful for their gift? Is it really necessary for me to state it in writing?”
“Yes, it is,” my mother snapped, and I turned to look at the vent as the words came up through it, surprised at the impatience in her voice. “And I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Ashley, about your attitude lately concerning this wedding and those who are doing their best to make it a success.”
“Mother,” Ashley began in that bored voice. I could almost see her waving her hand, dismissing the words even as my mother said them.
“No, you’re going to listen this time.” My mother was hitting full speed now, gearing up. “I understand that you are under a lot of pressure and that it’s hard being a bride. That is all well and good. But it does not, ever, entitle you to be rude, selfish, uncaring, and generally obnoxious to me or Haven or anyone else. We’ve been very patient with you because we’re your family and we love you, but it stops here. I don’t care if the wedding is two weeks or two hours away, you were never raised to behave this way. Do you understand me?”
And there it was. I stood naked, my eyes fixed on the steel grate of the vent that transmitted my mother’s words, clear as bells, up to my own ears. It was quiet down there now, with only the sound of the ceiling fan creaking in slow circles.
Then, a sniffle. Another. A sob, and the floodgates opened. Ashley was wailing, her usual response to any justified attack. “I don’t mean it,” she began. “It’s just hard, with my job and the Warshers and all the planning, and sometimes I just ...”
“I know, I know,” my mother said, having jumped back into her soothing mode, easing off the troops and letting the skirmish settle down. “I just wanted to let you know how it was affecting everyone else. That’s all.”
I combed my hair, put on deodorant and eyeliner, and got myself ready for work while the gushing and apologizing continued. By the time my mother had gently suggested that Ashley come up and apologize to me for her behavior of, oh, the last four months, I was fully dressed and waiting on my bed. I opened the door when she knocked, trying to act spontaneous.
“Hey,” I said, making a point not to notice her red eyes and the crumpled Kleenex clutched in her hand. “What’s up?”
“Well,” she said, leaning against the doorjamb and rubbing one foot with the heel of the other, “Mom and I were just talking about how crazy everything’s been with the wedd
ing and all, and I wanted to come up and say I’m sorry if I’ve been a jerk lately. I mean, I’m sorry for taking it all out on you, you know, when I did.”
“Oh.” I sat on my bed, nodding. “Well. That’s fine.”
“I’m serious, Haven.” She came in and sat down beside me. “I’m sorry. It’s the last time we’ll ever be living under the same roof and I’ve been impossible. So I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “And you have.”
“Have what?”
“Been a jerk. And impossible.” I smiled at her. “But I’m used to that from you.”
“Shut up,” she said, staring at me. Then she looked down and added, “Okay. You’re right.”
“I know,” I said.
She stood up and walked to the door, turning back to me as she stepped out into the hallway. “You know, you’re going to be really grateful someday.”
“For what?”
“Being tall.” She looked at me, her eyes traveling from my feet to my face. “You don’t think so now, but you will.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “But thanks for making the effort.”
She scowled at me, halfheartedly, and I listened to her tiny feet patter back down the hallway to the stairs. Ashley had two weeks left in the bedroom beside mine, with a wall so thin between us that I always knew when she cried herself to sleep or had nightmares and tossed in her sleep. I knew a lot more about Ashley than she would have allowed me to if she could have controlled such things. There was a strange bond between us, however unintentional: the divorce, the wall, the years that separated us or didn’t. My sister was leaving the house, and me, in just two weeks. And regardless of it all, good and bad, I would be sad to see her go.