Date: Fri, 4 Nov 2005 12:32:16 -0800 (PST) From: Robin Eagleson <robineagleson@yahoo.com> Subject: The Luckiest Summer Part Four The Luckiest Summer Robin Eagleson robineagleson@yahoo.com Part Four I did nothing the rest of the week. I watched a lot of TV, which meant alternating between cartoons and movie channels. Occasionally I would go outside and float moodily on an air mattress in the pool, glaring up at the sun. Mom wasn't calling every hour to check on my whereabouts, but she needn't have bothered anyway. I didn't set foot off our property, and neither Brad nor Tyler had come calling. It was, all in all, a lonely week. On Friday my sister made a rare appearance at the house during the afternoon, so I called Nadia and told her I could meet her at the mall. I even called Mom and told her I was having Jesse drop me off and I wouldn't be back until evening. She had been really nice to me the whole week after Monday, sensing I was upset with her and trying her best to make up for it. I wasn't so quick to forgive, though, knowing that all it would take was one visit to Brad's before she was angry with me again. My second outing with Nadia was far smoother than the first. I found myself doing all the talking as we walked around, occasionally stopping to sit. I talked about my parents, and how my dad still hadn't called even after almost three weeks, and about how my mom wouldn't let me go to my neighbor's, and about how my sister might as well have been moved out. She proved to be entirely sympathetic, and as good of a listener as Brad. What's more is that I think she felt so sorry for me that we even started holding hands halfway through our time together. We saw another movie, but I still didn't feel comfortable enough to touch her. Mom herded us off to visit our grandparents over the weekend; somehow, she even got Jesse to come along. They only lived half an hour away, and we only stayed overnight, but for that day, having almost the entire family intact felt nice. It was possible to pretend that everything was back to normal briefly, even though it wasn't and never would be again. And then Dad called on Sunday. Jesse wasn't home, but I was, so I talked with him for a few minutes after he got off the phone with Mom. She had been arguing with him the whole time, even though she'd gone in her room and shut the door and made an effort to keep her voice down so I wouldn't know. I could tell when she came out to hand me the phone that she wasn't pleased, although she tried to put on a smile and act like everything was fine, just as she had told me it would turn out. "Hello?" I said reluctantly, and never in my life had I been so nervous talking to my own father. I'd spent over thirteen years of my life with him, and in the time span of three weeks without him, it seemed like just as much time had gone by. He said he'd missed me. He had gone to Ohio to stay with his parents for a few weeks to sort things out. He was back now, and he'd found a cheap motel to stay at for a while. He wanted to see me, and he said he'd like to pick me up tomorrow evening and take me somewhere. I didn't say no, but I made no attempt at sounding cheerful about it. He tried to make conversation, but when it became clear I wasn't up for it, he gave up and told me he'd see me tomorrow and hung up. I thought I'd feel better once he'd called, but instead when I hung the receiver up I think I actually felt worse. I couldn't sleep that night. I was up until three in the morning watching TV. I knew Mom had been crying for a few hours after the phone call. I didn't ask what they'd been arguing about, and I didn't really want to know anyway. I wondered when he was going to come by and pick up the rest of his stuff. Little things of his were still lying around the house, and after a few days, I'd trained myself to stop looking at them. Like the slippers he kept beside the lamp for a quick trip outside, or the cigars he had stashed underneath the coffee table. He'd obviously not stopped to gather every arbitrary possession of his up when he'd left, and it bothered me to have to look at them. They were merely artifacts now; evidence that at one point, my life had been comfortable. I woke up at noon and dragged myself out of bed, deciding to lounge in the pool under the sun. It was a hundred degrees again, and if I had been able to sustain my breath underneath the water I would have gladly stayed below the surface of it. I was closing my eyes and resting my head against the edge of the mattress, face down, when I heard the gate latch click. I turned over so quickly that I fell off the mattress and made a loud splash in the pool. "Hey," Brad said with his usual carefree grin as he approached the pool, petting an appreciative Gunther on the way. He walked over to one of the lawn chairs and settled heavily into it, like he'd just returned from a grueling twelve-hour day at a coal mine instead of a five-hour shift at a pizza restaurant. "How'd you know to come back here?" I asked, shaking the water out of my hair and climbing back on the mattress. I was happy to see him, but surprised he'd come over on his own initiative. He had never done that before. "I just came by to say hi and I saw you weren't sulking on the couch. I figured you were probably back here instead," he said matter-of-factly. I knew he had just gotten back from work, because he was wearing his red t-shirt with the khaki shorts and his hat. He removed the hat and set it down beside him, pulling his arms up in the air in an exaggerated, lengthy stretch. "I haven't seen you since the day I dropped you off at the mall. How'd it go?" he asked, flashing me a gleaming smile. "Okay," I shrugged. "I saw her again on Friday. We held hands." I smiled into my mattress. "You pimp," he said, and I stifled a giggle. "The second she saw your hair and got a whiff of that cologne she was putty in your hands. I want all the credit," he added. I smiled but said nothing. "How come you haven't come by to visit me?" he asked suddenly. "Tyler went to summer camp last week, so it's just been me at the house during the day when I'm not working. I've been bored." "Oh," was all I said. It's not like I could lie and tell him I'd been busy. And it's not like I could tell the truth and let him know my mom didn't want me to see him. So I didn't say anything at all. "My dad called," I said, changing the subject. "About time," he responded, echoing my own thoughts. I loved how he never failed to get right to the point. I could trust him to say what he felt, and that was always refreshing. "Yeah," I said. "He's going to pick me up tonight. I don't know what we're going to do, though." He made the noise of a cash register. "You're getting bought," he explained. "He's going to treat you like royalty. All you have to do is pout and act hurt and he'll buy you everything you want trying to make it better. It's what parents do when they split up; it's in their blood." "My mom hasn't bought me anything," I said, but then I realized that she had. It was only a week ago she'd taken me shopping for clothes, but it hadn't struck me as a display to win me over. Mom bought me clothes all the time. It wasn't as though she had got me a new computer or anything. "Well, that's because she still gets to see you every day. Your dad hasn't seen you in weeks, and he'll be desperate to get an edge." It didn't sound like my Dad to desperate seek out an edge (why would my own father need an "edge" in dealing with me?), but I didn't say anything. "So what about your sister? Has she started being around more often?" "No," I said flatly. "She's never home. Ever." "Well, she probably wouldn't be home a lot even if your dad still lived with you," he shrugged. "I know I'm never home during the summers when I'm with my Mom." "I was up until three last night and she hadn't come back," I said. "She never used to be gone this much. It's like she's mad at everyone, including me or something." "She's a girl," he said. "They operate differently. She'll be fine," he added, and I actually was inclined to believe him. When Mom said that, I knew she was just being Mom, but Brad wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it. "Are you hungry?" he asked me suddenly. "I would have brought you a pizza but we didn't mess anything up today." I was never hungry anymore. "I just ate," I lied. "But thanks." I only mumbled the last part into the mattress, and I wasn't even sure he'd heard. The lawn chair creaked as he got up out of it, and I picked my head up so I could see what he was doing. Even though I knew I wasn't supposed to be around him, I didn't want him to leave. I was glad to see he was taking off his shirt instead, though, indicating he was probably going to hang around for a while. I rested my head back down and closed my eyes again, figuring he would lie out in the sun for a while and work on his tan. Instead the silence was interrupted by a large splash not too far from me, and I realized he had dove in. "Hey!" I said, surprised and startled when he pulled the mattress out from under me and knocked me into the water. I surfaced and he was standing over me, looking very amused. "Don't, Brad," I whined, not really feeling like playing around. "You're so freakin' tame," he observed, pulling the mattress away from me when I reached out to grab it back. "Don't you ever get hyper?" I considered his question. "Not lately," I admitted. "Eat more sugar, then," he suggested. "What?" "You're not supposed to be so dull when you're thirteen. You should be breaking windows and getting kicked out of fast food restaurants." "Why?" I asked, forced to stand still and look directly up into his eyes because he wouldn't let me have the mattress back. "Is that what you did when you were thirteen?" "Not really," he shrugged. "But it sounds fun, doesn't it?" I didn't think it did. I turned away and started to swim laps since he wouldn't let me float, but he caught me from behind and grabbed my feet. "Quit it!" I said angrily, thrashing violently to get away from him. It only encouraged him. "I like it when you get mad," he teased, letting go of me just so I could swim away before catching me again. "You should do that more often. Have you ever gotten in a fight with someone?" "No," I said. I wasn't big enough to beat anyone up. "I just yell when I get mad; I don't hit people." "Maybe you should start beating some ass," he said, grabbing my feet again as I tried another unsuccessful attempt at getting away from him. He had pursued me all the way to the side of the pool, and pretty much trapped me against it. We were in about four feet of water; the drop-off was a ways away. It went to ten at the very end. He pinned me against the side with his body, and I struggled mightily to push him off but couldn't budge him. "Get off," I protested, pressing my hand against his bare chest and trying to nudge him away. He was big, though, at least two-hundred pounds of muscle and flesh, and I didn't have nearly the strength to succeed. "You can do better than that," he taunted me, his smile looming above me. I started using both my hands to push him away, but he grabbed a hold of my wrists and held them firmly. I could no longer move my arms. I thrashed at him with my legs, then, drawing a laugh from him. "Better," he said, finally letting go of my arms. He followed that tiny bit of liberation up by crushing me harder against the side of the pool, and I reached out and slugged him at moderate intensity, hitting him squarely in the chest with a dull thump. He laughed again. "I really thought you were stronger than that." I unleashed a fury of jabs, then, hitting him several times in the chest and the stomach while he stood there and watched me. My fists might as well have been bouncing off metal; he didn't seem to feel anything. After I had tired myself out, he took a hold of my shoulders and forced me briefly under the water, bringing me back up instantly. He had a mischievous glint in his eye, and I feared this was only the beginning. "Don't," I gasped, blinking the water off my eyelids and again shaking my head to rid it of water. "You'll have to stop me, then," he grinned, and I pulled free and made for the deep end. He caught me right away, his arms wrapping around my chest and dunking me under the water again. It wasn't hard for him now; we were nearly at the six feet mark, and my feet were nowhere close to touching anymore, while he still had a few inches to spare. I kicked my legs in vain underneath the water and grunted, but he held me firmly. He walked us closer to the shallow end so my feet could touch again, and started wrestling as soon as I felt the surface underneath me. Now he was tickling me, and despite it all, I was starting to laugh. My frustration melted away and I began to play back, scratching and clawing at him whenever he'd grab me. I even bit his arm lightly when he had me too tightly, and he dunked me three times for it. "Throw me!" I begged, caught up in the fun and hooking my arms around his neck when he lifted me up. He obliged my request, sliding his hands underneath my armpits, spinning around a few times like I was a discus and he was preparing for his Olympic toss, and then let me go. There were a few exhilarating seconds as I flew through the air, my wet skin momentarily becoming cold as the air whooshed by me, and then I landed with a splash somewhere close to the deep end. I giggled insanely and swam back to him so he could do it again. Robbie was right; it was like a free ride, and I wanted another one. We played and splashed for another half hour, my occasional screams drifting doubtlessly well down the street so anyone in the neighborhood who happened to be outside could have heard. I hoisted myself up on his back and clung to him, my hands drawn together around his chest while he walked purposefully into the deep end. It was fun reaching the six feet mark and being able to keep my head above the water. But then we'd get deeper and each fall underneath the water, where we'd wrestle some more. I was seriously exhausted by the time he simply carried me out of the pool after I jumped on him and wouldn't get off. I could tell I had tired him out, too, because he had tried to shake me off for a few minutes before giving up and just walking out of the pool with me hanging on. "I knew you could get hyper," he panted as he set me down on one of the chairs. He collapsed in the one beside me. "It felt good, didn't it?" he asked, looking over at me with a smile. "Yes," I admitted. "I kicked your ass." He didn't act surprised when I cussed; instead he just laughed. "You do have sharp teeth and fingernails," he agreed. We sat there in the sun for a few minutes and dried off, and then he got to his feet and gathered up his things. "You don't play tennis, do you?" he asked me. I shook my head. "Well, you should learn. I've been looking for a tennis partner down here and so far I'm not having any luck." "I'll play with you," I volunteered quickly. "Only I don't know the rules, so you'll have to teach me." I didn't care that Mom wouldn't like it; I didn't plan on telling her. "I can do that," he said. "Come by later this week and we can go to a court and play," he added, scooping up his shirt. "I've got to go home. I'm meeting someone for dinner in a few hours. Chinese," he grinned, rubbing his stomach, which I now knew was made entirely out of iron. I resisted the urge to ask him who he was meeting. "I'll see you later this week," he said, stopping on his way out to pet Gunther again. Gunther rewarded him for his kindness by dropping a slobbery tennis ball for him to throw. Brad did so, and in the time it took for the ball to hit the ground, he had disappeared. Gunther bounded mindlessly after his prize, retrieved it, and looked around hopefully for a new playmate. I stayed in the sun only for a few minutes and then draped the towel I had brought out with me around my shoulders and went inside, throwing Gunther's ball once just so he would leave me alone. I was shivering as soon as the air conditioning hit me, the tiny little dots on my chest immediately swelling up. I stepped out of my swim shorts and dried off quickly, pondering whether or not to shower. I decided against it for the time being, instead dropping back onto my bed without having gotten dressed yet. I was so tired from all the playing outside that I wanted a nap. I thought about Brad and how much I liked him, and how much fun wrestling with him had been. I started to get a funny feeling when I remembered his arms around my chest, his body pressed up against mine. It was weird. Whenever I got this funny little feeling I was usually thinking about a girl, lately Nadia, to be specific. I automatically reached down to play with my dick, running my hand slowly down my stomach until I brushed my hand up against it absent-mindedly. It reacted immediately, springing up from halfway erect to fully erect in the matter of one second. I started tugging on it lightly, closing my eyes and focusing on the feelings of pleasure. Except, today, the feelings weren't all I was focusing on. I kept seeing Brad, and feeling his hands slide all over my slippery body outside. I began to pretend it was him touching me where my hand was currently. I began to wonder what I would have done if he had touched me there when we were wrestling outside. It was now that the tingle in my belly became a full blown fire; a fire in need of extinguishing. I jacked off with a fervor I had never experienced previously. Maybe I hadn't been jacking off the right way before, as I was still relatively new to the experience, but this was much different. The further along I got, the harder I breathed, the quicker my heart beat, the wilder my imagination got. By the time I was done, and my dick had erupted more violently and with more force than ever before, I had been picturing that he was in my bed with me, and it was him that was giving me this pleasurable sensation. Then it was over, and I groaned and grabbed a handful of the sheets with my free hand, tensed up my body, and let out the most impressive load of my life. My mind went blank afterwards, and when it started working again, I began to wonder about a lot of things. The biggest thing I wondered is why I had felt that way. I didn't really want Brad to touch my dick, or at least I hadn't thought I did before now. I decided, if for nothing else than for a temporary solution, to dismiss the notions that I was somehow attracted to Brad, and that I was merely a horny kid who'd been going through a lot of emotional stress lately. After releasing so many hormones in the pool with Brad in wrestling with him, it was only natural to release a few more (and to release something else altogether) once inside. The alternative was much more complicated. The alternative was that I had developed a crush on Brad. And while that might have explained why it had bothered me so much when he played with the other boys in the pool a few weeks ago, it also created an entire new world of things that it didn't explain. The worst part about the alternative was that it meant Mom was right to be suspicious. I didn't want to consider the alternative; not just now, anyway. To add to my confusion for the day was how to act around Dad. He probably would have been better off coming by to get me before Mom came home, but instead he didn't come until half past six. I was surprisingly hungry tonight, and of course Mom wouldn't let me eat anything because she said Dad would probably want to take me somewhere. So I waited with her in the living room, fidgeting as usual, my stomach growling incessantly. We were watching the Discovery Channel tonight; or rather she was watching it while I kept alternating glances between the clock and the bay windows. Finally, at long last I heard a car door slam shut outside and started to get nervous all over again. There was a deliberate knock on the door, and I looked over at Mom, wondering if she wanted me to get the door. But she was the one who got up first. I sat, nearly paralyzed on the couch, and watched as she made her way to the door and unlocked the deadbolt. I watched, frozen, as the door swung open in slow motion and my father appeared, marking the first time I'd seen him in nearly three weeks. His eyes weren't on me, not right away, but rather on Mom, however briefly. He gave her an empty stare that almost scared me, and then quickly looked away without saying anything, spotting me on the couch. Without a word, in a very businesslike manner, he motioned for me to get up and come. I rediscovered my ability to move at this point, snapping to life as I sprang out of my seat. I briefly looked for my shoes before realizing I'd already put them on. I got to the door, sliding past my mom, who hadn't moved, and stood between her and Dad in the doorway, looking back and forth between them. Dad put his arm on my shoulder, and I instinctively leaned on him slightly. "Tell Jesse I'd like to come by tomorrow evening and take her out," he said in what came off as a very determinedly official tone to Mom. She nodded. "I'll certainly tell her that if I do happen to see her tonight, but that isn't very likely. You might have to get hold of her and tell her yourself." Dad looked like he wanted to say something snippy to this, but seemed to think better of it, concentrating on being civil in my presence, instead just nodding and turning away, leading me outside. "Have a good time, Zach," she called out to me as I departed down the walkway with Dad. Then she closed the door softly behind us, and I was alone with Dad. What I wouldn't have thought twice about a month ago now felt like the most alien setting imaginable. I said nothing as I climbed into the passenger seat of the familiar Buick Rainier, the black leather seats crinkling underneath my weight. Dad looked tired, and considerably older. He hadn't shaved in a few days (I'd never seen him with stubble before), and he looked to have dropped at least twenty pounds. In short, he looked horrible and different, and it didn't help me to settle in any. "Your mom didn't feed you yet, I hope?" he asked, putting on a cheery, bouncy tone that would have been far suitable for a three-year-old or someone with a mental handicap. "No," I said glumly. "I'm starving." "Good," was all he said. "What do you say to pizza?" I couldn't quite suppress the tiny grin that appeared on my face, however temporarily. "I just had pizza a few days ago," I answered softly. I didn't want to eat pizza with Dad. I liked eating pizza with Brad, and if I ate it with this new and not improved Dad, it would probably forever ruin it like chicken had been ruined. "Okay, no pizza then," he laughed agreeably. The laughter was forced, but at least he was trying, I guess. "Actually, I don't really think I want pizza, either. Good veto. How about Subway? I don't think you've ever told me no to a meatball sub." "Sure," I said, relieved he didn't suggest McDonald's, Burger King, or Kentucky Fried Chicken. I'd had my fill of fast food places in the past few weeks, although previously I didn't think that was possible. Mom hadn't been cooking a ton. We didn't talk a lot on the way there. I wouldn't have even noticed typically, because Dad wasn't a big conversationalist anyway, and even when things were normal we never had any big talks in the car, but every singular second of silence stretched on forever now, every bit of awkwardness magnified to a painful extent. He asked me the kind of questions I usually got from relatives I didn't see often, things like whether I was happy school was out (I would be if my parents weren't splitting up) and what kind of grades I'd gotten (A's and B's, just like always), and what kind of activities I was up to (being miserable took up a lot of my time these days). If anything, his attempt at small talk was even more awkward than the alternative of silence. It wasn't right to be making small talk with your dad. I got a foot long meatball sub once we were inside. It marked a first for me; I'd never even been allowed to order one before because six inches always filled me up perfectly. Dad didn't have to make me promise I'd be able to eat the whole thing or give me any parental lecture about wasting food, because he could see I really was starving, and he seemed to sense I probably hadn't been eating a ton lately. I was pretty sure it wasn't possible for me to get any skinner, but maybe I was. Either way, he didn't say anything when I told him I wanted a foot long. We had just sat down at the table with our sandwiches when he looked across at me and decided to get serious. "You're probably upset with me for waiting so long to call," he said. I was, but I didn't want to tell him as much, so I acted distracted, as though I was intent upon burying my face in my sandwich. I took a sizeable bite, but the meatball was too hot and it burned my tongue. Some of the sauce squirted out and dotted my chin, which also burned considerably. When I finally looked back up at him, my eyes watering from the pain, he was staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to respond. I decided to go with a noncommittal shrug. "It's okay if you are," he said. "I would expect you to be." "Okay," I mumbled, my mouth empty now. I took a quick drink of sprite to cool it down. "Well, I am," I admitted, seeing as how he was persuading me to be honest. "Why did you wait so long?" The question popped out, with an extra emphasis on `did'. I spent the next few seconds concentrating on my sandwich again. "I had to get my head straight," he sighed. "I know it must have been really hard for you and Jesse, but I was a mess. You wouldn't have wanted to talk to me those first few weeks, trust me." He paused to take a bite of his sandwich, which was tuna loaded up with peppers and pickles. "I know this has been hard for you guys, and it's my fault for making it harder. I made a mistake," he said, and rather than feeling liberated by his admission, I was revolted. I liked to view my dad as someone steady and dependable, and hearing him admit he'd messed up made me trust him less, which was scary. "I didn't think you were ever going to call," I grumbled into the table. "Don't be silly!" he responded, clearly hurt. "I thought about you and Jesse every single day. I wanted to call, but every time I thought about it I was too sad to go through with it. You have no idea how much I've missed you both." I wanted to point out that he would have missed us a lot less if he hadn't waited three weeks to get in touch, but I wasn't brave enough, and the nicer part of me might have prevailed even if I was. Instead I said nothing. "Anyway," he went on after he'd finished chewing another bite of his sandwich. "I'm back now, and we're going to be seeing each other regularly. I won't ask you to stay at the motel with me; I wouldn't want you to suffer through that. But I'd like to see you a few times a week. We can get dinner and then take in a movie afterwards or something. Tonight I thought we'd go to Best Buy," he grinned, and instead of being happy my stomach turned. Brad was right. He was going to try to make up for not calling by buying me things. I wanted to cry; didn't Dad understand this ran deeper than cheering me up with a video game? "How long are you going to be at the motel?" I asked instead of expressing my joy over visiting Best Buy. He thought this over extensively, chewing on another bite of his sandwich with a philosophical look in his eyes. He made a convincing philosopher with his dark eyes, brooding expression, and semi-beard. I watched him run his fingers through the brown hair that had seemingly thinned considerably over the past three weeks. "Indefinitely," he finally answered. "It's not costing me too much money, so I'll probably be there until your mom and I decide what we want to do." "What do you mean?" I asked hesitantly. "What kind of things do you have to decide on?" "Well, a lot of things. Eventually, I'll have to get a house, but right now this is the most practical solution." "What if you don't end up getting a divorce?" I blurted the question out, and it sounded stupid and childish. He looked pained when I asked it, and I was immediately embarrassed and looked back down at my sandwich, which was already nearly gone. I decided to take a long pull of sprite from my straw instead, saving my one last big bite of meatball in case the conversation took a turn for the worse and I really needed it. "It's too early to talk about," Dad finally said after another pause for consideration. "If it was a done deal already I'd probably be looking for a house now, but that doesn't mean you should get your hopes up. It's important that you understand nothing is decided on yet either way, and right now that's neither good nor bad." If the process continued to drag on like this I'd be married with a family of my own by the time something had been "decided on". Again, I held my tongue. "You still have a lot of stuff at the house," I said softly, for reasons I couldn't fathom. "I know," he said, returning his fingers to his hair. "It's going to take time to round up everything. There's no tremendous hurry. We'll all just have to accept that things are going to be a little different for a while. And then, one way or the other, we'll get used to it. And we'll be fine," he added at the end, pulling his lips apart in an especially tight smile. "You and Jesse are both smart enough to know this doesn't have anything to do with the two of you," he said with a sip of water. "Your mom and I love you both very much." It wasn't that Dad had never told me he'd loved me. It just normally didn't come while we were doing something ordinary like eating in a restaurant. It normally came on occasions such as him being gone for a week on business when he hugged me before he left, or maybe in the casual back and forth of our bedtime rituals, but never in such a conversational tone. Just hearing it now made me uncomfortable, and all I could do was nod, figuring now would be an appropriate time to finish that last sizeable bite of my sandwich.