“I don’t know, but that’s not why. Your mom and I aren’t having marital problems just because you’ve suddenly decided that I feel emasculated.”
“You’ve been gone a lot, that’s all,” I muttered.
“I have a job.”
“It’s the same job you’ve always had, but you didn’t travel like this before.”
“I’m doing research for the new book and, at the moment, three different articles. I can accept more projects now that Barrett is gone and you’re old enough to take care of yourself.”
“Oh, it’s all about Barrett,” I sneered. “That makes sense.”
“Don’t go bitter on me. Barrett is a lot more fragile than you are. I worried about him. Still do. I’ve never worried about you. I thought you didn’t need me around.” He reeled his line all the way in, set the butt of his pole down on the deck, and turned to me. “Obviously I was wrong.” Rummaging in his tackle box for a different lure, he commented, “Thanks to the book deal, I’m going to make more money than your mom this year.”
“You are? That is a huge amount of money.”
He nodded. “It doesn’t make up for the last nineteen years, when she made more than me.”
“You’re not in a competition,” I pointed out.
He straightened. “You’re right. It feels that way, though. And I don’t really care. I only care because society cares, and I’m supposed to.” Satisfied with the new lure he’d found, he deftly slung the line out over the water again.
It was soothing to watch him skip the hook over the surface, reel it back in, throw it back out, thinking of nothing, rarely catching anything. Just enjoying the sun and the water and the day. A flock of pelicans, the more common brown ones rather than white, skimmed past us, close over the water. Their wingspans were impossibly wide. I watched until I lost them in the far-off color and movement of the harbor.
I mused, “I think I’m a lot more like you than I am like Mom.”
“I think it’s taken you a long time to figure that out.”
He was silent for a while. The ocean was full of sound, though. Waves lapped against the boat. Seagulls cried. The fishing line buzzed over the water.
“But listen, my Kaye,” he finally said. “You and your mom are at each other’s throats right now, and I’m just trying to hang on. You’re going through some growing pains. You are not easy to get along with at the present time. Your mom has never been easy to get along with, and never will be. She’s got issues.” He looked pointedly at me. “And I love her with all my heart. Don’t forget that.”
* * *
A few hours later, I hiked back to my room. I had an appointment with Stephen Crane, I supposed, but first I checked my phone for signs of Sawyer.
Sawyer: How much trouble? :(
Me: Much. I got taken to downtown Tampa to gawk at the drug deals.
Sawyer: That shit is dangerous. Way more dangerous than me. Don’t let her do that again.
Me: Ha, “let.”
Sawyer: Biz is slow & the CL gave me the p.m. off. Can you go out?
Me: They don’t want me to go out w u anymore.
Immediately I started typing an explanation, but not fast enough. I hated that I’d sent that text by itself, accidentally making him wait for more. I wished I could take it back. Finally I sent this:
Me: I will work on them. We just need to wait a while if u will wait for me.
Sawyer: Duh
Almost instant gratification after I sent my vulnerable text. Sawyer was a lot better at this than I was.
Sawyer: What if we went out in the daylight when I am less likely to get u arrested?
Me: I don’t know.
Sawyer: What if we did something innocent?
Me: You?
Sawyer: Girl, it takes two. I didn’t do any of that stuff by myself.
I tried to type “Touché” but autocorrect kept changing it to “Touched,” which sounded even dirtier than I’d intended in this context. I finally backspaced over it.
Me: What did u have in mind?
Sawyer: Tennis
Me: U know how to play tennis?
Sawyer: What do u mean, why can’t I play tennis
Me: I just can’t picture u playing tennis.
Sawyer: The YMCA in Georgia thought tennis would save the poor children. I have played a lot of tennis.
Me: How do u know I play tennis?
Sawyer: Princess Country Club knows how to play tennis.
He was right about that. When we were twelve, Ellen and I had won the Pinellas County junior girls’ doubles championship.
Me: Let me ask.
First I peered into my parents’ bedroom. Dad was a lot more likely to give me permission for anything, ever, than my mother. However, his playtime was over. The door onto his porch had a sign taped to it that said NO, which meant he was working. He never put out the sign during the week, only on the weekend when my mother was home. He’d definitely been my primary caregiver on weekdays when I was growing up, but on the weekends “NO” meant “I am finally getting my time to write; go find Mother.”
I skipped down the staircase and through the kitchen, my steps slowing as I approached my mother’s office. I knocked politely on the open door.
She was already wearing a frown as she turned from her desk.
I swallowed. “Sawyer—”
“No.”
“—wanted to know—”
“No.”
“—if we could go out during the wholesome daylight hours—”