On the Saturday of the first week of May, a few weeks before school was out, Jess finished up her shift at the orchard in the afternoon. Before leaving, she rode her bike through the trees, her sweatshirt tied around her waist, her puffy coat already stuffed into the closet. Grass grew tall and dense in the rows between the trees, and the bike wheels left a narrow wet cleft. The once bare branches now teemed with green leaves and long, hairy strands—pollination time, Iris said. The nut clusters would be forming soon, and then they’d begin mowing and irrigating. Iris said Jess could have more hours once school was out, that she’d show her the ropes outside. Jess let her feet dangle off the pedals. The grass tickled her bare shins, and the spring sun warmed her face. Quiet, except for wind in the shells of her ears. The air smelled to her like grated citrus rinds and iron. Earth, she thought. Crust, mantle, core. How far down was the core again? She pictured the diagrammed images from her science textbook, the world peeled and cored, splayed open to the molten orange layers and hot white center. Unearthed. And what did that smell like?
Instead of taking the right turn to Roadrunner Lane, she turned left on Quail Run and kept riding toward town, taking College Drive toward the neighborhood across from the college. She was going to Dani’s house, to work on their final Humanities paper and to study for a trig test. They’d met twice at the school library with Paul, but Paul was away at a track meet that weekend, so it would be just the two of them—and the first time she’d been invited to someone’s house since Angie’s. She hit a slope and picked up speed. The wind plucked at her hair, and she stood up on the pedals, lifting her face skyward.
She rode past the iron gates of the college and turned into the neighborhood—built for the miners and their families in the early twentieth century, but taken over by faculty and staff in recent decades. During their drives, Angie had called the area Yuppieville. Dani’s narrow street, Pi?on Drive, was shaded by large pines, ash, and sycamores, though they weren’t as dense as the clusters along the river. Unlike in her own neighborhood in Roadrunner Heights, the yards had no rusty patio furniture, no bicycles ditched and upended on the dry grass. Instead there were neat squares of grass behind low pickets, shrubs edged with military precision. Pulling into Dani’s driveway, Jess dragged her feet on the cement to stop the bike. The house was old and red brick, with an arched entryway to a shaded porch. Jess propped her bike against the porch railing and climbed the steps, taking a deep breath before knocking. Through an etched sidelight window, she could see movement.
A man swung the door open with a smile. He wore a white T-shirt smudged with what looked like black grease and jeans, but no shoes.
“Hi there. You must be Jess. I’m Dani’s father. Adam.” He started to hold out his hand, but then wiped his palms on his jeans. “Sorry, just washed up. I was in the garage. Lost track of time, and now I’m running behind.”
“Hello.” She reached out and shook his hand. It was warm and still damp, but she could feel calluses on his palms. She would have known he and Dani were related from looking at him. Same round face, same gray-blue eyes blinking behind glasses, though his frames were smaller, square, and black. His nose was big, with large nostrils and a knuckle-like knot at the center. He looked more like an older brother than a dad. Nothing like her father, whose thinning gray hair tended to stick up in flyaway wisps, whose belly had grown round and soft, a warm pillow on TV nights.
“Come in, come in. Dani!” he called out behind him. “Your friend is here.”
Jess stepped inside, hefted her backpack higher. She was almost as tall as him, and she slouched down a little.
He said, “She’s in her room. Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”
“No, sir, I’m fine, thank you.”
“No need for sir. You can call me Adam. We’re not very formal around here.”
She nodded but doubted she would. She tried to imagine one of her Phoenix friends calling her father Stuart. Not a chance. She watched his back as he walked away, his bare feet noiseless on the wood floor.
Jess stood still in the entryway. The foyer—was it foy-er or fo-yay?—with its mahogany walls and grandfather clock, its polished wood floors, its welcoming breath of cinnamon potpourri. No chipped ceramic bowl crammed with keys and pencils and receipts, no hooks cluttered with jackets and purses and tote bags. None of her mother’s guilty-pleasure celebrity gossip magazines—her Trashy Mags, she called them—piled on the end table, or dust bunnies that Jess had been supposed to vacuum and forgot. She fought the urge to check the bottom of her shoes.
“Jess?” Adam stood smiling at the end of the hall, his head tilted in question. “You can come in.”
“Thanks,” she said. She took her pack off and hugged it to her chest. “Your house is really nice.”
“Thanks. We like it. Of course, it’s old, so it’s been a work in progress. Always a project. And we’ve had a bit of family upheaval of late.” He pointed to a stack of boxes at the end of the hall. “Dani’s room is this way.” He led her through the living room and dining room. Jess glimpsed large bookcases full of books and knickknacks, a brown tweed sofa and rocking chair, a long dining table with a vase of wildflowers in the center.
They went through the kitchen, which was stark white, from cupboards to sink to tile. Jess was admiring the cherry-red towels when a woman rushed in, wearing a loose robe, her hair wrapped in a towel, a toothbrush sticking out of the side of her mouth. She saw Jess and started, her eyebrows jumping. Her dark eyebrows were arched like wings.
“Oh!” she said around the toothbrush. She went to the kitchen sink and spit. “I’m so sorry. I’m a mess and running behind as usual. You must be Jess. I’m Rachel, Dani’s mom.”
Dani walked into the kitchen, her brow furrowed. “What, Dad? Oh, Jess. Hey! It’s already three?” She saw her mother, and the corner of her mouth hooked into a grin. “Nice outfit.”
“I’m so late,” her mother said.
“Shocking,” Dani said.
“I’m going to get us out of rehearsals by dinner, though.” Dani’s mother returned to brushing her teeth, spit again, and then cupped her hand under the faucet to rinse. She wiped her mouth with the robe’s sleeve. “Scout’s honor.”
Dani’s father said to Jess, “My wife teaches at the college, in theater. She’s in rehearsals for Hamlet. Lots of late nights and weekends.”
Dani sighed. “First stop, Sycamore, next stop, Broadway.”
Her dad said, “All right, smart-ass.” He ruffled her hair, and she wrinkled her nose at him. “Pizza for dinner?”
“Sounds good,” her mother said. “I’ll be home by seven. At the latest.”
Dani and her father groaned in unison and rolled their eyes, smiling identical hooked grins.
“Seven! Bet me, clowns,” she said. “Jess, you’re welcome to stay.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Definitely stay,” Dani said.
“I’ll have to call my mom to let her know.”
“Good news. We have a phone.” Dani quirked her left eyebrow, her grin still hooked.
“How modern.” Jess smiled, too.
Dani’s mother glanced at the clock. “Crap.” She yanked the towel off her head, and her long dark hair spilled down her back. She rushed toward the hall, trying to drop a kiss on her daughter’s cheek, but Dani ducked out of range. “Later, gators.”
Dani’s father frowned and checked his watch. “Me, too. I’m supposed to show a house in fifteen minutes. Oops.” He pressed at his grease-streaked shirt, and his big nostrils flared. “See you in a few hours, clever girls.”