They tried again. Approaching slowly in case something hadn’t gone off, in case it was a live one.
Danny pulled the spent cracker from the coffee can, and Tom slid a new one from the package. Up the ramp, they watched the thing whistle by in a stream of light and plume in the sky. Then the booming crack that was delayed and the umbrella of sparks, yellow, faded to green as it slid down the sky like so much electric rain.
Great whoops and whistles from the porch. More. Again.
“Make our ears bleed.” Gwen.
They went through four more; one with the whirling dervishes of “The Five Spangled Banner”; one with concentric rings, “Let Freedom Ring-a-Ding”; and two more different shades of Queen Anne’s lace, “Lady Liberty.”
There was a pause as they assembled the finale. Tom had these and more lined up along the float, perpendicular to the slats to be sure that none slipped through. Danny liked that. Together they weeded and traded, paired and grouped. Pantomiming reminders of different shapes, explaining that the star-covered ones were always blue, the ones with gold foil on the tips were yellow with an orange finish, with silver, yellow with a green finish. Back and forth.
“Tom,” Danny said—swapping out the Whistling Dixie for the booming Cannons of America—“we need to keep the house.”
Tom sat back on his heels, holding the paper-wrapped explosives across his knees. “‘Need’ is a strong word.”
They had turned off the dock light, for a better view, and with the light of town behind him, Danny couldn’t tell if Tom was looking at him or the house.
“Sometimes if you want something enough it becomes a need,” said Danny.
“That’s called obsession.”
“I love this house, Tom.” Danny didn’t want to say it, but he couldn’t help it. “When you were little, you guys had each other all the time. But for me, with you guys away at school, I only really saw you here. This is our house, you know? I understood when Mom sold Archer Avenue. Dad gone, us away. But here? We’re here.”
He could feel the tears coming, blocking out the right words. He never liked to cry in front of Tom. Brothers were supposed to be all slaps on the back and what’s the score and look at those tits. Or at least this was what Danny imagined brothers to be. He wasn’t sure, since he hated organized sports of all types and had never once heard Tom use the word “tits.”
In fact, Tom seemed to exist outside of sexuality. Unlike Gwen, who had no problem airing her lobsterman obsession in front of the entire family, often barking like a wild dog in the middle of the night. She’d feign modesty in the morning, saying that Kyle or Patch or whomever, just needed some encouragement. Gross, hilarious and gross. Even Libby with her maternal smell and quiet hands, had the hottest girlfriend Danny had ever seen. He knew that had to mean something. Libby was cute and smart, but he knew it took more than that to hook a girl like Patricia.
Poor Melissa, poor cute, nerdy Melissa, who was probably a heartbreaker in college. Before Tom. She still was, really. She kept everyone going with her questions and her earnest nods in response. She’d taught Danny how to make crystals from sugar when he was young. Tied his bow tie at Gwen’s wedding. She whispered in his ear at their mother’s funeral, words that stayed with him, words that settled his heart more than Gwen’s “This sucks” or Libby’s “You were her favorite, and you’re our favorite.”
“What an adventure she is on,” Melissa had said. “She and your dad.” He liked that. That the two of them were loaded down with gear, buckled and strapped and cramponned and goggled. No, that wasn’t it. They were on the deck of a sloop in sun hats and boat shoes, loose billowing cotton shirts that the sun shone through. His mother at the tiller leaning out to starboard, watching the telltales. His father at a winch cranking in the spinnaker, with a good strong wind from the south.
He could be sailing too.
This was his moment to tell Tom: “Didn’t make it to the end of the semester, old man. Could’ve used a term off. Get ’em next year.”
“I’d like to stay here the rest of the summer,” said Danny. “Maybe even into the fall. I need some time up here. I’m sure Libby will be here until at least mid-August.”
“Well, when does your semester start?” said Tom. Enrollment is often required to start a semester, Danny thought, and he had not yet registered. He’d have to take quantum physics and golf. The reject classes.
“I’m not feeling so great about school these days.”
“Not happy with how you finished the semester?”
“Yeah, not really. I kind of took some time off.” Danny cringed there in the dark. There were some grumblings from the porch, a call to pause for bathroom breaks. Girls, always peeing.
“What do you mean, you took a break? When? Did you withdraw from your classes? Did you get your tuition back?”
Danny was on his knees facing the house. He felt as if he were in a church, the float and pier were the nave, and the porch its altar. For a moment he was praying.
“The add/drop period is only the first two weeks of the semester. And withdrawal is only another two weeks after that,” said Danny. Amen. Let it end there.
“And when did you leave?” Tom sounded like a doctor taking vitals.
Danny could practically hear Tom counting days in his head, adding up costs of meals not eaten and books not read.
“In May, right before finals.”
“Can’t you just make up the exams, then? I’m sure there are contingencies.” The relief in Tom’s voice was the worst part. “I could call your professors.” Tom put one knee on the ground and rested an elbow on the other, as if about to sketch an attack plan in the dirt.
“Well. I left in May, but my attendance record wasn’t exactly stellar before that.” Danny rolled a bottle rocket back and forth between his palms, feeling his callouses catch on the paper label.
“I don’t understand? When did you stop attending class?” How many clicks behind the enemy are we?
“Sometime in March maybe.”
“Have you talked to the bursar’s office? Did you take a leave of absence? Did you tell anyone anything before you left?” How’s your ammo stock, C rations, radiation shots?
Danny dug the tip of the bottle rocket into a callous on his hand. He just wanted to sail away.
“I just figured it was too late. Once they’ve got your money, they don’t exactly like giving it back.”
“Yes, Dan, that’s called nonrefundable tuition. It is supposed to be an incentive to go to class.” If the water had been warmer Danny would’ve happily slipped silently off the edge of the float and paddled out into the darkness.