Karen shook her head vigorously. “If I go, you go. It’s the motherhood code. And besides, I’m the one who’s pregnant. I should be the one who gets to lounge.” Bryte didn’t need reminding of her friend’s current state. It was Karen and Kevin’s announcement that had started Everett on his quest to add to their family. Ironically or not, Karen and Kevin’s last name was Jones. And Everett was committed to keeping up with them.
They passed the time in the water, talking about the latest neighborhood happenings, revisiting the same subjects they always covered. Should they resume bunco game nights in the fall? Who was bringing what to the Fourth of July potluck? Would the women of the neighborhood respond to the idea of doing a painting class in the clubhouse once a month? And what books should they select for this year’s book club when it started again in September? Karen was the Energizer Bunny of the WOSG (Women of Sycamore Glen).
“You think your friend over there would want to come to book club?” Karen gestured at Jencey, who was, in fact, reading a book.
“Oh, she’s just visiting.”
“Got it,” Karen said, but she gave Bryte a look that told her she’d responded just a little too passionately. Karen could smell a good story from fifty paces, and if Bryte wasn’t careful, she’d sniff this one out, too. Bryte didn’t need to share their complicated relationship with anyone.
Bryte glanced at the clock on the clubhouse wall. “Ugh. I gotta go.”
“But I just got here!” Karen said. “You can’t leave me!” She made a dramatic, desperate face and playfully tugged on her arm.
“I’d stay—believe me—but I promised Myrtle Honeycutt I’d walk Rigby.”
“It’s too hot to walk that dog!” Karen argued, looking legitimately horrified.
“We’ll drink lots of water, and we won’t go far, Mom.” Bryte smirked at her. “Besides, if I don’t take him, she will try to.” She shrugged. “It’s become part of our routine.”
Karen poked her in the shoulder. “You, my dear, are too nice.”
Bryte waved goodbye and pulled Christopher from the pool. As she collected her things, she glanced at Jencey one more time, catching her eye and waving goodbye, wishing she could ask her so many questions, wishing the years hadn’t turned them into strangers.
CAILEY
We had a summer routine, Cutter and me. We got up, and I made Cutter some breakfast. Usually it was just cereal, because Mom didn’t like me using the stove when she was at work. But sometimes I made him toast because I was allowed to use the toaster. When Mom got paid, she bought us Pop-Tarts, even though they are very bad for you and you should not eat them. It was only once a month, so she said it was OK.
After breakfast, we did our chores. I cleaned the dishes, and Cutter swept the floor, though mostly he just hit the floor with the broom until I told him to stop. Then we vacuumed or cleaned the bathroom or did something to make the house look nice inside. When we first moved in, I went outside and looked around for something I could do to make the outside of the house look nice, but I didn’t have any money for paint or flowers or anything like that, so I decided to stick to the inside. I learned to just walk really fast inside the house so I didn’t have to see how ugly it was on the outside.
I knew what people said about our house. I listened to the conversations at the pool when they thought I wasn’t listening. They called it “the eyesore,” and they talked about how that house should not be in their neighborhood. Truth be told, I’d had the same thought the first time I saw it. Driving past all the pretty houses had filled me with hope that maybe this time things would be different and we’d have the better life that Mom was always dreaming about. But that wasn’t to be. Instead, we had to walk into that house, the one people looked at like a black tooth in the middle of a mouthful of pearly whites.
Our house probably used to be gray, but it looked kind of white now since most of the paint was gone. It was basically no color at all. The bushes (if you could call them that—they were more like trees by then) had grown up so high they covered half the windows in the front of the house. Other than the overgrown bushes, there were no trees in the front yard, just scrubby grass, where there was any grass at all. And to top it all off, there were some shutters missing, and the mailbox leaned like it was thinking about falling over any second.
The neighbors hated that house; they wanted to knock it down. And they weren’t too happy about us living in it, either, on account of how they could knock it down if folks would just stop renting it. The people at the pool said stuff about the kind of people who would rent a house like that. They said that we were white trash and how they’d heard me and Cutter’s daddy was in prison. (But they were wrong about that. Cutter’s daddy was in prison. I don’t have a daddy. At least, not one I’ve ever seen.) Our new neighbors didn’t like us even though they’d never met us, never came over and brought us a casserole and introduced themselves like people do on TV. The sign on the entrance to the pool said WE’RE ALL FAMILY HERE. But that was just not true.
I tried to tell Mom what people were saying, but Mom said it was a better life for us and that we’d just have to learn how to get along. She told me to stop eavesdropping if it was going to upset me so much. “My little snoop,” she said, ruffling my hair. “This is a good place.” But she also said to keep the door locked and reminded me about a hundred times not to talk to strangers. A girl disappeared from nearby right before we moved in, and my mom was all freaked out about it. So, since all our neighbors were strangers, and that didn’t seem like it would ever change, we didn’t talk to anyone at all.
After we finished our chores, we did our reading. I made a rule: we had to read for thirty minutes every day. Mom took us to the library when she could so we would have books to choose from. I would get as many as my arms could hold, and Mom would say it was too many, but I would promise to read them all. And I did. Cutter always got picture books, and I told him he should get harder books, but Cutter didn’t like to read. Sometimes when it was reading time, he would argue with me and say he wouldn’t do it. I told him that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t get TV time. And he knew I meant it. So he usually went in his room and looked at the pictures, which made me happy because I got to be alone in my room with no Cutter to pester me for thirty whole minutes.
A good thing about the new house: we each had our own room. At our old apartment, Cutter and I slept in the bedroom, and Mom slept on a pull-out sofa in the den. Sometimes her boyfriend, Joe, slept with her on the pull-out sofa, and if I needed something from the kitchen, I had to walk past his sleeping self. I didn’t like the way he smelled up our den with his oily man smell. I was glad when Joe went away. The best part about the house in Sycamore Glen—eyesore or not—was there was no Joe.