That Summer(17)

“How’s your mom?” He glanced around at the other tables, keeping an eye out.

I was so flabbergasted at seeing him, just popping up out of nowhere with cheese for my pasta. I said, “How long have you been in town?”

“Just a few weeks.” He stepped out of the way as a short girl carrying a huge tray on her shoulder staggered by, barely clearing a fern that was balanced on a ledge beside us. “I’m still in school up in Connecticut, but I’m thinking about taking some time off. I’m not sure.”

“Really,” I said, as he started to back away, off to cheese another table. “You should—”

He waved, doing some weird hand signal that I couldn’t interpret, pantomime in retreat. I realized I was about to tell him he should call Ashley, and thought maybe it was best that he’d been walking away and hadn’t heard. She could barely handle answering the phone now, much less any major blasts from her past.

I sat and watched Sumner work his way around the restaurant, wielding his cheese and pepper mills like a professional, laughing and joking at table after table, while my father stayed lost in sports talk with the giant next to me. I kept wishing I’d said something more important, something striking, in the short conversation I’d had with the only boyfriend of Aslsley’s I’d ever really liked.

Later, when I’d finished my food, I went to find the bathroom and saw Sumner sitting in a back booth eating and counting a pile of money. He waved me over, scooting aside to make room for me to sit down, so I did.

“So tell me what’s going on with you,” Sumner said, arranging his stack of bills in a neat pile. “Besides the fact that you are tall and gorgeous.”

“Too tall,” I said.

“You are not.” He twirled some pasta around his fork and pointed it at me. “You should be grateful you’re tall, Haven. Tall people are revered and respected in this world. If you’re short and stubby, no one will give you the time of day.”

“I don’t want to be revered,” I said. “I just want to be normal.”

“There’s no such thing. Trust me. Even the people you think are super-squeaky-clean normal have something about them that’s not right.” As he said this, a tall waitress with long, shimmering blond hair passed by, winking at Sumner. He waited until she was out of earshot, then said, “Take her, for instance. She looks normal.”

I watched her disappear through double doors by the pay phone. “And you’re saying she isn’t?”

“Not specifically. I’m saying no one is. She looks like your typical blond beauty, right? But in actuality”—now he leaned closer to me, sharing secrets—“she has an extra toe.”

“She does not,” I said firmly.

“I swear to God, she does.” He went back to his pasta, nibbling. “Sandals. Just yesterday. Saw it myself.”

“Yeah, right,” I said.

He shook his head. “Well, I guess those childhood full-of-trust days are over for you, huh? You don’t believe me the way you used to.”

I watched my father talking to Tony Trezzora, his face pinkish from a few beers and a good session of male bonding. “I don’t believe a lot of things.”

The extra-toed waitress passed by again, smiling a big warm smile at Sumner, who smiled back and nodded towards her feet. I was embarrassed and concentrated on the fern that was hanging over us.

“So,” he said after a few minutes, “how’s Ashley?”

“She’s good,” I said. “She’s getting married.”

He grinned. “No kidding. Man, I never would have pegged her for the early-married type. Who is it?”

“This guy named Lewis Warsher. He works at the mall.” I wasn’t sure what else to say about Lewis. It was hard to describe him to strangers. I said, “He drives a Chevette. ”

Sumner nodded, as if this helped. “Ashley Warsher. Sounds like you have a mouthful of marbles when you say it.”

“He’s okay,” I said. “But now Ashley’s miserable ’cause the wedding’s so close and everything’s going wrong.”

“Ashley’s getting married,” he said slowly, as if it was a different language and he wasn’t sure where the syllables fell. “Man. That makes me feel old.”

“You’re not old,” I said.

“How old are you now?”

“Fifteen,” I said, then added, “I’ll be sixteen in November.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m old. I’m ancient. If you’re fifteen, I’m a senior citizen. Little Haven. Fifteen.”

My father was looking for me now, having noticed I was missing for longer than it takes to go to the bathroom. Tony Trezzora, undaunted, was still talking.

I took Sumner back to the table with me, and as we came up my father smiled and said, “There you are. I was beginning to think I’d been ditched.”

“Dad, you remember Sumner,” I said, and Sumner stuck out his hand as my father stood up to shake it. “He used to date Ashley.”

“Sumner, how’s it going?” my father said energetically, pumping Sumner’s hand within his own large one. “What have you been doing lately?”

“I’ve been in school up North,” Sumner said when my father finally let go of his hand. My father believed in the power of a strong, masculine handshake. “I’m taking the semester off, though. To work and take a break from school.”