MOM STILL HADN’T come back by the morning, but her patchouli scent lingered in the bed, lending me her comfort without her presence. The bed was a queen-size with a pillow top with six fluffy pillows and a thick quilt. I rolled from side to side, cocooning myself in the quilt and listening to the birds clamoring in the trees.
I didn’t consider getting up until I heard Ella and Luke arguing in the hall about when Dad and Uncle Manny would show up. Ella thought by nine o’clock and Luke said noon. They were both too early with their guesses in my opinion. My dad and uncle had to pick up Luke and Caleb’s car from the mechanic and then get supplies, like milk and butter, before they would even start picking up the rest of The Pack. Cole and Frank lived on opposite sides of town, and they still had to get Jewel, Sophie, and my sisters’ friend, Carrie. It was a lot of driving.
I slid out of bed and looked out the window for Beatrice. She wasn’t in the yard, and I hoped Mom remembered to put her in her pen. She’d never hunted me at night before, and I took it as a bad sign. I bet she was itching to let me have it. I’d stay well clear of her pen, in case she extended her range even farther. Eighteen feet was pretty far. Surely Beatrice couldn’t go much beyond that.
I went straight to the living room to look up llama spit and maybe Brazilian bikinis, if no one was looking. I’d ignore the emails from Melody. She sent me at least one a day and they made me feel guilty. I liked to handle guilt by ignoring it.
The computer’s cooling fan spun up, and the screen went through its series of checks. Behind me I heard the sizzle of a match striking. I turned and saw Mom standing at the mantel. She wore a short, tattered robe. Her wet hair was slicked back, making her eyes larger, her face more angular. She lit a fresh taper of incense in the trunk of Ernest’s elephant.
“What are you doing, Mom?”
“Just reminding Ernest we’re here.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Just seemed like a good idea.”
The smoke snaked toward the ceiling in an undulating, sensual way. The scent of lavender filled the room and I glanced at the portrait of Ernest in his white suit. His smile said no reminder was necessary. He was ever watchful.
Mom left for her porch. A few minutes later, I heard the clank of metal being dragged across the floor and the puff and hiss of her blowtorch being lit. I searched the Internet for llamas and came up with glowing reports of their gentle natures. None of the Web sites depicted a llama like Beatrice. They said llamas spit only when extremely aggravated and didn’t like to do it at all because of the taste it left in their mouths.
“Yeah, right,” I said under my breath.
Behind me, Luke yelled, “Puppy, get up!”
I turned. “I am up!”
Luke jumped, hit the door frame, and let out a shriek that sounded very much like April when Ella pulled her hair.
“Get a grip, dude. I didn’t scare you that much,” I said.
“I’m not scared, assmunch. My hair’s caught on the hinge.” Luke stood on his tiptoes and tugged at the back of his scalp.
“What happened?” asked Caleb as he, Ella, April and Aunt Calla came out of the kitchen. They began laughing as Luke fell off his tiptoes and shrieked again.
“It’s not funny!” he yelled, but it only made them laugh louder. Aunt Calla snorted into Caleb’s shoulder. Ella and April clasped onto each other’s necks and staggered around the room. I just sat and watched. I wasn’t surprised that Luke got his hair caught on a hinge. I was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.
Mom came in with her leather apron on over her robe. She pulled off her huge protective gloves and flipped up her welder’s mask. “What on earth?”
Then she looked at Aunt Calla, who burst out in fresh peels of laughter.
“Oh, Christ,” Mom said. “Why is it always the hair?” She left, returning a few seconds later with a large pair of scissors.
“No! No way!” Luke shouted. “You’re not cutting off my hair!”
“Luke, be reasonable. It was bound to happen,” said Aunt Calla, as she wiped the tears off her cheeks.
“No, it wasn’t. It’s an accident.”
“It’s always an accident, honey. We’re lucky you haven’t lost a limb yet,” said Aunt Calla.
“I don’t care,” said Luke. “You’re not cutting off my hair. Just pull it out.”
“Out of your head?” asked Caleb between guffaws.
“No, asswipe. Out of the hinge.” Luke’s face got redder by the second.
“That’s enough,” said Aunt Calla. She brought a chair out of the kitchen, climbed on it, and started picking at the hinge.
“Nice, Luke,” said Caleb. “Too bad Sophie isn’t here yet.”
“Shut up,” said Luke.
That’s when we heard the crunching of tires on gravel and a hard hand on a horn.
“Oh my god. No way. It’s too sweet.” Caleb dashed across the living room to the front door.
“They’re here!” he yelled as more honking ensued.
“Get it out! Get it out!” Luke wiggled and pulled, dancing on his toes. His underwear twisted and slipped down past his hipbones. He snatched them back up and groaned.
“Stop moving, boy. You’re working the hairs deeper into the hinge,” said Aunt Calla.
Mom put the scissors on the dining table and took charge. “Puppy, you’re dressed, go delay them. Ella, get me a flathead screwdriver. April, you get Luke some shorts.”
“And a shirt,” said Luke.
“How are you going to get a shirt over your head?” I asked, wondering why Luke even cared about a shirt. Sophie had probably seen him naked.
“Ah, crap,” said Luke.
“Just go outside, Pup,” said Mom.
Caleb slapped the front door and howled with laughter.
Mom pointed at me. “Take Caleb with you. Now!”
I jumped up, grabbed Caleb, and pulled him out the door. By then, the cars had stopped in front of the house.
“Hey,” I yelled. “You’re early.”
Dad got out of his car, unfolding his limbs the way one would unfold a pocket knife. He leaned on the car door and watched me dragging Caleb across the lawn.
“I started at dawn,” Dad said, looking around. “What’s wrong, boys?”
Before I could reply, Luke’s girlfriend, Sophie, called out from the driver’s seat of Luke and Caleb’s car. “Mr. MacClarity, our doors are stuck.”
Through the windshield, I could see her face redden with irritation, so that it nearly matched her hair. Sophie was unpredictable; one of the things my dad liked most about her. That and she could drive a stick.
“Dad,” I whispered. “Tell her to stay in the car.”
Dad lowered his tone to match mine. “Why? No Sophies allowed?”
“Luke had an accident.”
With that, Caleb started laughing again and I punched his shoulder.
“All right, but I’ll expect a full account later.” Dad motioned to Frank and Cole, who’d gotten out of the car and were staring at Caleb as he beat on the hood.
“Stop that, idiot. Whatever it is, it can’t be that funny,” Dad said.
“Yes it can,” said Caleb. “Wait, I have to get the camera.”
Caleb dashed back into the house, leaving a trail of laughter behind him.
“Mr. MacClarity!” Sophie spun in her seat and began kicking the car door the way kangaroos box in cartoons, except she was funnier. Her hair whipped around in a frenzy and her shoes flipped out the window, scattering the chickens and ducks. She gave it all she had which wasn’t much. I loved to look at Sophie. Not in a creepy way. She was just so different, all soft and rounded. Mom said she belonged to the painter Botticelli. Her face was that perfect. But what made her awesome was the kicking and cursing. She made Mom look like an amateur.
I started toward the car, but Dad held me back. “Let’s see what happens.”
“They’ll wreck Luke and Caleb’s new car,” I said.
Dad raised an eyebrow. “New?”
“You know what I mean, Dad.”
Luke and Caleb’s new car was only new in that it was new to them. It was a 1984 LTD, the size of a large bass boat. The car was their seventeenth birthday present. It would’ve been for their sixteen birthday, but they blew out the windows in the university chemistry lab and had to wait another year in penance. Then they only drove it for a week before a head gasket blew and the radiator sprung a hundred leaks. These tragedies did nothing to quell their love for the boat, which they picked out on their own, ignoring parental advice, a mechanic’s warning, and my laughter.
So the LTD went to the mechanic, and Luke and Caleb bagged groceries on the weekends to pay for a monumental amount of repairs. To everyone’s surprise, they didn’t seem to mind the setback. They worked extra shifts and visited their car like one would visit a sick kid, but there were certain things they wouldn’t pay for, like a new paint job and doors that opened. The LTD was a four-door, but the two front doors had severe rust problems and tended to seize up. The mechanic told them what to do to fix the problem. They bought the steel wool, wire brushes and lubricant necessary, but none of it was helping Sophie get out of her door.
She kept jackhammering her door, ignoring Jewel who was trying to get her attention. Finally, Jewel gave up and slid out her window, Dukes of Hazzard style.
“I was wondering how long that would take,” said Dad. “Everybody stay here and we’ll…uh…help Sophie get the door open.”
He made gathering motions with his arms and we all went to the driver’s side of the LTD. Caleb came out of the house and took Jewel’s hand. His face was mottled and a camera swung from his other hand.
“Why can’t she just climb out the window?” Jewel asked.
Dad rubbed his chin. “Because we have to get this door open sooner or later. We might as well do it now.”
Sophie stopped kicking and attempted to smooth her Medusa locks. “Where’s Luke?”
Caleb snorted and I jabbed him in the ribs. “He’s coming. He had to do something for Aunt Calla.”
Just then, Luke sauntered out of the house. “Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Dad?”
“Manny’s stuck at a tournament,” said Dad. “And Sophie’s stuck in your car.”
Luke leaned over the car window and grinned down at Sophie. “Did you try and kick it open?”
Sophie’s face transformed from disheveled rage to a serene look worthy of being painted by Botticelli. “I could get it. Eventually.”
“We don’t have that long,” said Dad. “Luke, you get in the car. Push with Sophie and we’ll pull from the outside.”
Caleb tried to get behind Luke to check out the back of his head, but Luke countered, eventually walking around the car backwards.
“What happened to your hair?” asked Cole, who’d come around the other side of the car to peer at the back of Luke’s head.
“Nothing. I just caught it on something.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe he hasn’t cut his hair yet.”
“I thought you liked it,” said Dad.
“It’s okay, but I’d rather he didn’t set his head on fire. Did he do that yet?”
Dad laughed and looked at me.
“Not yet,” I said.
Luke climbed in through Jewel’s window and squeezed in beside Sophie. They got ready to push. Dad, Caleb, and I got good grips on the door. In one massive effort, the door screeched open and released a puff of powdery rust into the air. Sophie and Luke popped out of the car like a cork out of a bottle and tumbled into the dirt.
Dad helped Sophie up, while Luke smoothed the hair on the back of his head.
“So what did you catch your hair on?” she asked.
“Nothing. Let’s get your stuff.” Luke countered her movements while she tried to get a glimpse of the back of his head.
“Hey there, stranger,” said Mom, coming out of the front door.
“Hey, baby. Miss me?” asked Dad.
“Of course.” Mom wrapped her arms around him and squeezed until all the breath whooshed out of his lungs.
“Get a lot of work done?” asked Dad.
“A ton. Six pieces. And two pies and a cassoulet for Lorraine.”
“What kind of pie?”
“A peach with ginger and a blueberry.”
Dad groaned.
“Don’t worry. I made extras for you. Let’s hurry and unload. I can’t wait to show you my new pieces.”
Mom went to the LTD, lifted four gallons of milk out and carried them into the house. Ella and April argued over who was carrying more. Luke and Sophie kissed. Jewel rubbed Caleb’s spiky head and made fun of how much his ears stuck out as she lifted bags of apples and oranges out of the car. I grabbed a couple of sacks of potatoes out of the trunk. When I turned around Dad was standing in the middle of the riot, smiling with his hands on his waist. Camp had the same effect on Dad as it did on everyone else. Stress of school, jobs, responsibilities, and life in general rolled off backs like beads of sweat.
Dad gathered his briefcase and accordion files from work. I followed him into the house with my potatoes. We dumped our loads on the dining room table between the ice-cream makers.
“Something’s different,” said Dad.
“Nothing changes at Camp,” I said, flushing with my fable. Lots was different for me. Maybe it was obvious. It had to be if Dad noticed.
The rest of The Pack rushed in, putting away the groceries and yelling plans of baseball and swimming to each other. They ran down the halls, bumping into walls, and stepping on feet. They screamed about lost swimsuits and then found them exactly where they’d left them. Then in a matter of five minutes, the house was silent. The yellowed old curtains hung still in the sudden quiet. I caught a glimpse of Luke and Caleb running down the trail to the creek, their long brown bodies bursting with joy, unaware part of their white asses were showing.
Dad chuckled and kicked off his shoes. They thumped against the wall and landed in a pile of shoes on the floor. He wouldn’t put them on again until he left. He craned his head back, and his vertebrae crackled. He reached down with one hand to slip off his socks and touched the table for balance with the other. His fingers brushed Aunt Calla’s fabric scissors on the table with the hinge next to them. A tuft of blond hair sprouted from the top of the hinge. Dad fingered the hair and laughed, making warm feelings bubble out of forgotten places inside me.
“What are you laughing about?” Mom peeked around the edge of the door to the hall.
Dad showed her the hinge and laughed again.
“I know,” she said. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Truly amazing, but nothing those kids do surprises me anymore.”
“You want some lemonade?” asked Mom.
“Fresh?”
“Of course. April made it this morning.”
“I’ll have a huge glass then.”
I followed Dad into kitchen, hoping to hear if they knew anything about what I’d been up to. Mom filled a tall glass with ice and lemonade. Then she stepped out of the kitchen and off the porch. She came back with a sprig of mint, rinsed it, and popped it into his glass.
“Ready to start your mini-vacation?” Mom handed him the glass and turned to dump a bag of apples into a bin on the floor.
“You bet.” Dad watched her bustle around, dropping things into their proper places, although it was hard to tell which was proper and which wasn’t. The kitchen was a mess with bins and containers spread over counters and floors, but Mom and Aunt Calla never had problems finding what they needed. She rooted around until she came up with a tin of cookies and turned her triumphant smile on Dad and, for a second, me.
She realized I was there, so she wouldn’t let anything slip. I stayed with them anyway. I loved them in the summer. Well, I loved them all the time, but in the summer especially. Dad was so easy at Camp. He played, and smiled all the time, especially at Mom. I didn’t know what it was about her, but I was her kid, so I’d probably never know. She wasn’t my idea of beauty even on a good day when she was all fixed up. Just then her hair was damp from a morning swim. She wore no makeup and her clothes were rags at best. The ancient tank she wore hung off her shoulder blades. It was worn beyond redemption, but a favorite. Mom had no interest in fashion, no normal interest anyway.
Dad sipped his lemonade, then jerked his head up. “I’ve got it. It smells like incense in here. Did you light the elephant recently?”
Mom clipped off a part of an aloe vera plant. She squeezed the thick, green stem-like leaf and a gelatinous substance oozed out onto a fresh burn on her forearm. She rubbed it in and gave me a look of quiet consideration. It made me nervous.
“So did you light the elephant or not?” asked Dad.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Mom.
“I wasn’t worried, but I am now.” Dad squeezed her shoulder. “I’m not exactly a newbie around here, you know.”
“I lit the elephant, but there’s no specific reason.”
“Did something happen?”
“Things aren’t always clear at Camp.”
“Ernest?” Dad asked.
“There’s always Ernest.”
Mom looked at me and then flicked her eyes toward the door. If she was going to tell Dad anything, I wasn’t to hear it. I went out the door and listened to the distant sounds of happiness at the creek. Their song, the perfect chorus, lured me to where I ought to have stayed.