The alarm had pulled me out of a dream, a good one, although I couldn’t remember it, only that Alex had been in it. Then slowly, detail by detail, the past week trickled into my head. The argument we’d had at the Salt House. The look on his face when he’d shouted, I can’t kiss you. The empty parking space.
I got out of bed and dragged myself to the bathroom, getting dressed in a daze, wishing I could crawl back into bed to my dream.
In the kitchen, my mother was sitting at the table. Kat was lying on the floor on her stomach in front of the TV, a cartoon flashing on the screen in front of her.
My mother smiled at me over the glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, a pad of paper in front of her. She was holding a pencil in her hand, but the page was blank, just tiny doodles in the corner of the paper.
“Writing?” I asked.
“Eh. If that’s what you call staring into space.”
I opened the refrigerator and grabbed my lunch to take with me.
“What do you want for breakfast?” she asked, getting up from the table.
“I’m not hungry.”
“How about cereal, then?”
I shook my head, and she put her hand on her hip. “You need to eat, Jess.”
I gave her a look. She’d dropped at least two dress sizes in the past year, and she hadn’t needed to lose weight in the first place. Although, these days, she did seem more like her old self. She was almost back to her normal size, and most days, if not all, she was dressed when I came home. I should have commented on it, recognized it. But I was tired of thinking of her, tired of worrying about her.
“Do you feel okay? You look a little pale.” Her hand reached out to my forehead, and I moved my head to the side, dodging her touch. A flash of hurt crossed her face, making me feel worse than I already did. I felt my eyes well up.
“What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. I didn’t even know if I could explain it. “I’m just tired, I guess.”
“I was worried about this being too much for you—you were only going to work three days, four at the most. Why the jump to five?”
“I don’t know. I like the money,” I lied. What I liked was having lunch with Alex every day. I didn’t say this, though.
“If you need money for something, let’s talk about it. You’re only sixteen, Jess. You can ask us if you need something.”
“I’ll be seventeen in two weeks,” I reminded her. “In case you forgot.”
“I didn’t forget.” She crossed her arms. “You seem angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I said, even though I knew it wasn’t true. I grabbed my backpack off the table and stuffed my lunch inside, yanking the zipper closed.
She raised her eyebrows at me but stepped back, away from me, as if she sensed I needed the space. “Okay. Well, can I give you a ride, then?”
“I have my bike,” I said, already walking to the door.
“What’s the matter?” Kat peered up at me as I stepped over her.
“Mind your own business,” I mumbled, and she crossed her eyes at me, held them there. It usually made me smile, but not today.
“Grump,” she said, and put her chin back in her hand and looked at the screen.
I opened the door and slammed it behind me as hard as I could, satisfied at the loud noise it made. My grandmother was in the hallway of the foyer, her hand on the brass knob of the heavy front door, and she gasped at the noise and put her hand to her chest.
“Jessica Barbara Kelly, you almost took that door off the hinges.” She patted her heart, breathing out dramatically.
“Sorry, Grandma,” I said, feeling ridiculous. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She was wearing a flowery short-sleeve top over cotton elastic-waist pants, the dark panty hose beneath them sagging at her ankles, peeking out from under the straps of the sandals on her feet. In her arms was a polka-dot yoga mat.
“I thought you hated to sweat,” I said, looking at the mat.
“I don’t hate to sweat. What I hate is exercise. But this is just for old-lady yoga at the Y. We put the mats down, and stand on them, lift our arms to the ceiling a half dozen times, and then we eat coffee cake.” She grinned at me, her pink lipstick bright against her heavily powdered face. “And then I’m not a liar when I tell my doctor that I enjoy fitness.”
“You shouldn’t worry about exercising,” I said. “You’re too thin as it is.”
“Oh, you know doctors these days. Pay them enough, and they’ll find something wrong with you. Apparently, I have high cholesterol. You know what my nutritionist told me after she did some fancy body analysis on me?” she asked, looking down at her body, her clothes loose on her petite frame. “She said I was skinny fat. Can you believe that? She didn’t mean it as a compliment either. I left her office and called Roger right away and said, guess what, honey? We’re two skinny-fat people. And he laughed. Like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. It’s one of reasons I love that man. His idea of exercise is an after-dinner stroll for ice cream.”
She pointed her finger at me. “Speaking of cake and ice cream. Somebody has a birthday coming. Seventeen!” She shook her head and whistled. “When did I get so old?” she asked. “You know, I remember being your age like it was just yest—”
“I have to go, Grandma,” I said, interrupting her, pointing to the door she was blocking. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be late.”
“Well, look at me. Going on and on. Hop in. I’ll drive you,” she said, hurrying out the door and down the steps to her car.
“I have my bike,” I said, walking out the door behind her. I’d driven with my grandmother before, and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to repeat. I had a better chance of walking to work and getting there on time. “Have fun. I’ll exercise for both of us,” I called to her.
“And I’ll eat cake for both of us,” she said over her shoulder, waving both her hands in the air as a good-bye.
The day was cool, the air gray and thick. The wind was salty against my face as my bike picked up speed down the long, winding road into town.
At the shop, I brought my bike in and got to work. The fish case needed to be filled, the ice replenished, the planters out front watered. By midmorning, there was a line of customers, locals getting their fish before the parking lot filled from the Wharf Rat.
Still, the morning crept by.
In between customers, I scrubbed the counters, cleaned the bathroom. Boon was out of the office for the day, and I organized his desk.
At noon, the door jingled. I was at the register, arranging receipts, and suddenly, there was Alex, standing in front of me, fiddling with the brim of his baseball hat.
“Hey,” he said.
My mouth was dry, and I didn’t trust my voice. I held up my hand as a hello. I dropped the pile of receipts I’d been arranging in the drawer and closed the register.
He was quiet while I did this, and I saw through the glass case that he was wearing khaki pants and a white button-down shirt. When I looked up at him, he smiled nervously.
I wanted to say: Where have you been? Who is Amy?
Instead, I crossed my arms, cleared my throat, hoping the thickness that had settled there would disappear.
He fiddled with the brim of his hat again. He didn’t seem in any hurry to speak. I looked down at my watch, then back at him.