That Summer(24)

As we zoomed past the fountain I looked up at the huge banners that hung from the ceiling, each with its community motif: a house, a school, a flower, an animal that looked like a goat but I figured was a deer. I had this sudden, crazy urge to stand on the seat and rip every one of them down as we passed. I could almost feel my fingertips on the sheer fabric, smooth and giving as I yanked them from their bases. Speeding through the Lakeview Mall, dismantling it as I went. I glanced at Sumner, thinking of how much had changed, with the visions of those tumbling banners still in my head. I almost wanted to tell him, to ask him if he knew how it felt to be suddenly tempted to go wild. But we were flying along, the engine drowning all other sounds, and I let it go, for now.





Chapter Seven




After my chariot ride through the mall it seemed like I ran into Sumner everywhere. This was partly due to the fact that he had so many jobs. Besides pepper-and-cheese man and mall security, he was also mowing the lawn at the cemetery and driving a school bus for retarded children. Sumner did not believe in idle time.

I thought it must be fate that I kept bumping into him, some strange sign that he was meant to come back into my life and fix or change something, a voice from the past arriving in the present with the answers to everything. I knew this was silly, but it was hard to dismiss Sumner’s timing.

Lewis and Ashley continued to bicker and make up, almost daily. The moods she’d made a habit of inflicting exclusively on the family were now fair game to him as well, and as the wedding crept ever closer he approached our front door as if it was a bomb and the wrong word, compliment, or even expression could cause everything to blow. My mother and I commiserated silently, watching him climb the stairs to Ashley’s room like a soldier going off to battle. I found myself liking Lewis more now that he was suffering with us; I imagined it being the way crisis victims bonded, joined by the unthinkable.

It was now an even two weeks until the wedding. My mother’s lists had taken over the house, yellow stick-it notes flapping from anything that was stationary and big enough to hold them. They lined the bannister, grabbing my attention as I climbed the stairs. They hung from the fridge and the television, last-minute reminders, things not to forget. They were like caution signs, flagging me down and giving a warning to proceed carefully around the next turn. The wedding, so long churning over our house in a steady pattern, was beginning to whip itself into a storm.

“Where’s that other package of thank-you notes?” I heard Ashley say from the kitchen as I got out of the shower one morning. “I need more than just the six that are left in this pack.”

“Well, I put them in that same drawer,” my mother answered, her shoes making a scuffling noise across the floor as she went off in search of the notes. “They can’t have gone anywhere by themselves.”

“Obviously not,” Ashley growled under her breath, that same constantly grumbling, incoherent voice I seemed to hear behind me whenever I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I heard my mother come back and pull out a chair. “Here they are,” she said in her singsong placating voice. “And I brought this list in so we could go over what needs doing today.”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” my mother said, and there was a rustling of plastic that I assumed was Ashley ripping open the new cards. “First, there are the final fittings at Dillard’s today at ten. I know Haven has traded shifts so she can be there, and I called this morning to make sure the headpiece was ready.”

“She’s probably grown another four feet and we’ll have to get fitted again later,” Ashley grumbled, and I stared at myself in my bathroom mirror, through the steam. I had almost outgrown my mirror, the top of my head barely within the frame. I examined myself, the geometry of my ribs, elbows, and collarbone. I imagined lines intersecting, planes going on forever and ever. My arms were long, lanky, thin, and my knees were hinges holding the bony parts of my skinny legs together. I was sharp to anyone who might brush against me.

“Ashley, you know your sister is sensitive about her height.” This was the closest my mother came to scolding Ashley, who was old enough not to need it. “Imagine being fifteen and reaching six feet. It’s very hard for her, and comments like that don’t help.”

“God, it’s not like I’m saying it to her face,” Ashley said bitterly, and I wondered if all those thank-you cards and all that gratitude were having an adverse effect, leaving no niceties for anyone in person. “Besides, she’ll be glad later. She’ll never get fat.”

“That’s hardly a comfort now.” My mother cleared her throat. “After the fitting we can have our final meeting with the caterer. He called yesterday and said the appetizers are in order and you just have to make some final decisions about desserts.”

“God, I am so sick of making decisions.” A pause, during which I heard my mother stirring her coffee. “And writing these damn thank-you notes. Does anyone really think that I’m not grateful for their gift? Is it really necessary for me to state it in writing?”

“Yes, it is,” my mother snapped, and I turned to look at the vent as the words came up through it, surprised at the impatience in her voice. “And I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Ashley, about your attitude lately concerning this wedding and those who are doing their best to make it a success.”