“Be nice,” Mom admonishes him, but her tone is gentle.
For the rest of the meal, Dad’s happily chatty, rambling on about the Reds’ new pitcher and a records system they’re testing at work.
Mom’s talking about her summer sessions, but I see the exact moment when she registers all the food left on Charlie’s plate, the way she bites her lip, choosing not to say anything.
As I poke at my meat loaf, I try not to obsess over Charlie’s dig about last summer. But I’m feeling that weird mix of guilt and defensiveness and self-righteousness that always comes up when Charlie brings up last summer, so instead, I turn my attention back to my parents. Mom’s done talking about her students, but Dad seems to be at the start of a long work story.
“So I told Stan, no, you’re not going to win it if you approach it that way. And you know what he does?”
“Approaches it that way?” Mom asks.
“Exactly. And royally pisses off the client. Jeff’s talking about giving him a promotion? I mean, come on! Guy can’t find his own head in his ass.”
Mom raises her eyebrow at him, but I can tell Dad’s enjoying the rant.
“Well, it’s true. He’s going to lose this account, and we’re supposed to toast him while he’s doing it.”
Charlie clears his throat and pushes his food around his plate. “Maybe he just wants to try it his own way for once. Maybe he’s tired of everyone telling him what to do.”
“Well, that’s good and fine, except when his own way is the wrong way,” Dad says. “Just last week, he presented a new campaign to Goldstar, against my advice, mind you, and it was so off base, we nearly lost the account completely.”
“But sometimes the only way you can learn is by making your own mistakes, right? Didn’t you tell me that?” Charlie makes eye contact with Dad.
Dad looks both confused and irritable, which usually means he’s about ten seconds from exploding, so I jump in. “I’m thinking I might take an extra class at Harvard this fall,” I say.
Mom turns to me. “That seems like a lot while you’re getting settled, though, isn’t it?”
“If anyone can handle it, I’m sure Dr. McCullough can,” Dad adds.
But Charlie’s not done with Dad.
“I’m surprised Stan hasn’t quit with everyone up in his business,” he says. “Life’s too short for all that crap. And I’d know, wouldn’t I?” He lets out a dry laugh.
Dad flinches, like he’s been slapped.
I stare at Charlie. He literally got the best news he’s had in at least a year today, and he’s acting like a grade-A a-hole. “Is this about you and Erin?” I ask.
Charlie shoots me a sharp look. “That’s none of your business.”
“What’s going on with Erin?” Dad asks.
“They broke up,” I say.
“Jesus, Parker,” Charlie says, slamming his fork down. “Is there anything in my life you don’t report back to Mom and Dad?”
My face goes red and I look away.
“Charlie,” Mom says, quick to intervene, her face concerned. “I’m so sorry to hear about Erin. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than fine,” he says, his voice loud. He pushes his chair out, standing suddenly, and scratches furiously at the short hair on his head. “This effing itches, though. It’s like I have bugs crawling over me every single second.”
And on that note, he leaves. A few seconds later, his door slams upstairs.
I shoot a glance at my dad, and he looks so stricken, I have to turn away.
“Poor Charlie,” Mom says, glancing at the hall, waiting for him to come back.
“But he just got good news. Incredible news!” Dad says in disbelief.
“It’s a lot to deal with, Phil,” Mom says to Dad. “Plus, if he and Erin . . .” Her voice trails off.
We sit quietly then.
I wish I could make it better for all of us.
I sigh, shaking my head, standing up. “I better get going.”
“Tell Em and Matty bon voyage from us,” Mom says, and I nod, not letting myself look back at them sitting alone at the table because I’m pretty sure I’d cancel my plans if I did.
Twelve
“SO YOU SAW MAY last night? I thought you had dinner with your mom?” I ask Em, following her on the barely there trail in the woods. The weeds we’re brushing up against are practically up to my knees, and I scratch the two new bug bites on my arm.
Em shrugs. “I met May after. We had coffee, then wandered around Joseph-Beth for a little bit. And we might have made out,” she adds.
I stop in my tracks. “Em!”
She sighs. “I knew you’d be upset. It’s okay. I’m totally over her, I promise. Besides, you worry too much. I’m a grown-up. I know what I’m doing. This was the good-bye we should have had last November, you know?” she says. “Plus, I’m leaving tomorrow. I don’t have time for her—I’m ready to fall head over heels in love with a French girl. No worrying, Park.”
“Okay?” I say, her tone reminding me of the time she promised to quit smoking cigarettes and how I’m pretty sure she still sneaks one before school most mornings. But I can tell by the set of her shoulders the conversation is over and any attempt to the contrary will be futile.
“By the way, we’re almost there. I promise.” She turns around, walking backward, one hand crossing her heart, then faces forward, hopping stones over the rushing creek with ease.
“Are you sure you know where there is?”
“We’re not lost!”
I approach the creek, tentatively placing one Converse on a stone and then stepping cautiously to the next. When I near the other side, I speed up, only to hit one super-wobbly rock. I try to catch my balance, but my foot slides into the creek, water filling my shoe.
“Argh!” I yell out in frustration, scrambling to the other side.
The bottom fourth of my leg is now wet. I remember that news story of the girl who got the flesh-eating virus from falling in a creek while zip-lining, and smack another mosquito—this one on my neck.
I’m just about ready to give up and go home when Em and I enter a clearing, the Little Miami River glowing under the setting sun. I see other people from our class gathered around a big bonfire, orange fire sparking, others lifting a keg from the back of a pickup truck. There’s even a group wading in the river shallows. I hear a shriek as someone gets dunked, watch as she emerges, laughing.
“We’re here!” Em calls out, grinning as Matty sees her. He breaks away from the crowd by the keg and runs over, then lifts her off the ground in a big bear hug.
“EUROPE!” he bellows.
Em hugs him back, her curls smashing against his face before she bounces down. “You finally packed?”
He shrugs, and Em smacks him on the arm. “Matty, we’re leaving in less than twenty-four hours. You’re not going to be ready!”
“Um, Emerson, I’m a high school graduate now—”
“Just barely,” she retorts.
“I got the diploma.” He runs his hands through his hair, then rests them on his hips, looking nobly off in the distance. “Besides, can’t you tell I’m an adult—full of knowledge and wisdom now? Of course I’ll be ready.”
She lightly punches his gut. “Full of beer is more like it.”
“Harsh, cuz,” he says, then lets out a huge belch and finally notices me. His grin gets bigger. “Parker! Our fearless valedictorian!”
“Thanks,” I say, blushing. “Is Charlie here?”
“I saw him a few minutes ago,” he says, looking over his shoulder and scanning the crowd.
“So, what happened with Erin?” I ask, but Matty’s face has gone taut, his eyes on the river. “Crap, I told him that was a bad idea.”
“What?” Em asks, but I’m following Matty’s gaze.
There’s a group of people gathering at the river’s edge, and they’re all looking at the opposite bank, the side with the steep cliff, trees at the top.
I glance at Matty for clarification, but right then, like Tarzan swinging through the jungle, a person soars out across the river, fifteen feet or more above the water, hands clenching a vine, a shape shadow-lit against the last of the sunset.