Part 3 (1/2)

”Not specifically. I'm saying no one is. She looks like your typical blond beauty, right? But in actuality”-now he leaned closer to me, sharing secrets-”she has an extra toe.”

”She does not,” I said firmly.

”I swear to G.o.d, she does.” He went back to his pasta, nibbling. ”Sandals. Just yesterday. Saw it myself.”

”Yeah, right,” I said.

He shook his head. ”Well, I guess those childhood full-of-trust days are over for you, huh? You don't believe me the way you used to.”

I watched my father talking to Tony Trezzora, his face pinkish from a few beers and a good session of male bonding. ”I don't believe a lot of things.”

The extra-toed waitress pa.s.sed by again, smiling a big warm smile at Sumner, who smiled back and nodded towards her feet. I was embarra.s.sed and concentrated on the fern that was hanging over us.

”So,” he said after a few minutes, ”how's Ashley?”

”She's good,” I said. ”She's getting married.”

He grinned. ”No kidding. Man, I never would have pegged her for the early-married type. Who is it?”

”This guy named Lewis Warsher. He works at the mall.” I wasn't sure what else to say about Lewis. It was hard to describe him to strangers. I said, ”He drives a Chevette. ”

Sumner nodded, as if this helped. ”Ashley Warsher. Sounds like you have a mouthful of marbles when you say it.”

”He's okay,” I said. ”But now Ashley's miserable 'cause the wedding's so close and everything's going wrong.”

”Ashley's getting married,” he said slowly, as if it was a different language and he wasn't sure where the syllables fell. ”Man. That makes me feel old.”

”You're not old,” I said.

”How old are you now?”

”Fifteen,” I said, then added, ”I'll be sixteen in November.”

He sighed, shaking his head. ”I'm old. I'm ancient. If you're fifteen, I'm a senior citizen. Little Haven. Fifteen.”

My father was looking for me now, having noticed I was missing for longer than it takes to go to the bathroom. Tony Trezzora, undaunted, was still talking.

I took Sumner back to the table with me, and as we came up my father smiled and said, ”There you are. I was beginning to think I'd been ditched.”

”Dad, you remember Sumner,” I said, and Sumner stuck out his hand as my father stood up to shake it. ”He used to date Ashley.”

”Sumner, how's it going?” my father said energetically, pumping Sumner's hand within his own large one. ”What have you been doing lately?”

”I've been in school up North,” Sumner said when my father finally let go of his hand. My father believed in the power of a strong, masculine handshake. ”I'm taking the semester off, though. To work and take a break from school.”

”Nothing wrong with that,” my father said firmly, as if someone had said there was. ”Working is the best learning you can do, sometimes.”

”And that's the truth,” Tony Trezzora added.

”Well, I should get going,” Sumner said. ”My next s.h.i.+ft starts in about fifteen minutes.”

”Here?” I asked.

”Oh, no, at my other job,” he said. ”One of my other ones.”

”Now that's a work ethic,” my father said. ”Take care, Sumner.”

”Good to see you again, Mr. McPhail.” He turned to me as my father sat back down to his now-cold food. Tony Trezzora made his excuses and disappeared to the bar, probably in search of another audience. Sumner said, ”It's really good to see you again, Haven. Tell Ashley ... well, if it comes up, tell her I asked about her. And congratulations. On the wedding.”

”I'll tell her,” I said. ”I know she'd want to see you.” I didn't know this, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

He grinned. ”Well, maybe not. But pa.s.s it on anyhow. Take care of yourself. Remember what I told you.” He raised his eyebrows at the six-toed waitress as she swept past again, long blond hair s.h.i.+mmering. ”See ya.”

”'Bye, Sumner.” I watched him walk towards the front of the restaurant and then out the door, onto the street. I thought about Virginia Beach and the ride in the back of the Volkswagen under the stars, so many summers ago. As I sat back down with my father I could have sworn I heard the soft putter of the VW, the theme music, curving above the noise and mingled voices of the restaurant, just as I'd last heard it outside my window on that night, long ago.

In the car on the way home I looked over at my father, his new hair fluttering in the breeze, and said, ”Wasn't it great to see Sumner again?”

”You know, I'm not sure I remember which one Sumner was. Was he the football player?”

”Daddy.” I looked at him. ”I can't believe you don't remember him. You really liked him.”

”Oh, honey, I liked them all. I had to.” He laughed, taking the turn into our neighborhood just fast enough to squeal the tires a little bit. My mother said his personalized license plate should not read MAC, as it did, but MIDLIFE CRISIS. I tried to tell her that was too many letters, you could only have eight, but she said that wasn't the point. He added, ”They all run together in my head now. There were too d.a.m.n many of them.”

”Sumner was different,” I said. ”He went to Virginia Beach with us, remember? When you did that golf tournament and we stayed in that nice hotel?”

He squinted, as if it took great effort to reach so far back. Then he said, quickly, ”Oh yeah. I remember that. He was a nice kid.”

And that was all my father, with his selective grasp of the past, chose to remember. He was skittish whenever I brought up the past, our vacations, family events. He was eager to start over-brand-new wife, brand-new house, brand-new memories, the old carelessly tucked away.

We pulled into the driveway, right beside Lewis's Chevette, which was parked with the motor off and he and Ashley still in it. As we slid up beside them Ashley looked over, with a scowl that told me they were fighting and not to get involved. Unfortunately, my father is not skilled in reading my sister's expressions: he was waving at her. She just looked at him; Lewis slumped beside her.

”They're fighting,” I explained. ”Thanks for dinner.”

My father sighed and put his car into reverse. ”See you next week.” He kissed my cheek when I leaned over. I waited a beat for what I knew came next. ”Need any money?”

”No, I'm fine.” I never took it, even when I did need it. Ashley always said she just couldn't take any even though it had been a hard month and her credit card was due ... well, okay, just this once. She had it down to an art. I would have felt strange taking my father's pocket money, a twenty slipped here or there to make up for his day-to-day absence. Besides, I had my four twenty-five an hour at Little Feet, no big deal but enough to get me by. It would have been nice to have an extra bit, but whenever I felt tempted I thought of my mother's face and said no. The tether, stretching beyond my mother and out of the house, was always attached and I was ever mindful of where my obligations lay.

I stood in the driveway as my father pulled away hitting the horn twice, that happy beep-beep! as he turned out of sight. I started up the walk towards the door, Ashley's voice now audible without the rumbling of my father's car.

”Lewis, that's not the point. The point is that you didn't do anything to stop it.” I recognized the tone, the clipped ends of each word, like speaking right into a wall. ”I just didn't think you'd ever act that way. I a.s.sumed you'd defend me.”

”Honey, I don't think it was as bad as you're making it out to be. They were only giving their opinion. They didn't mean it to be some kind of attack.”

”Well, Lewis, if you can't even see why it was so upsetting to me, then I guess I can't expect you to understand why it bothers me that you didn't take the action that I thought, as my fiance, you would take.”