Phantom Limbs (17 page)

IN THE MORNING I TEXTED DARA TO LET HER know I was ready to swim whenever she was. Coach Brian was out of town, so there was no club practice that day. It would just be Dara and me — oh, the joy. I waited to hear back, wondering if she was hungover or maybe even still partying. Maybe I’d be able to go back to sleep for once. But no, she texted back within a couple of minutes and said she’d pick me up in ten.

I waited for her under the magnolia. A thick mass of pale gray clouds obscured the sun; if they didn’t clear, it was going to be a chilly practice.

She pulled into the driveway without the usual drama. She wasn’t in a chatty mood, which wouldn’t make it easy for me to get information about the remainder of Meg’s evening. I tore the wrapper off what I assumed was meant to be my breakfast, since I’d found it on my seat — an all-raw spirulina and chia seed bar.

“So what time did the party wrap up?” I asked her, biting into the bar. It tasted like seaweed blended with crunchy dirt.

“I went to bed a couple hours ago,” Dara said. “They were still going. Some of them are still there now.”

I wanted desperately to know if Meg was still there when Dara went to bed, or if she’d left with someone, or what she’d been doing . . . But Dara didn’t say and I didn’t ask.

The pool was practically deserted — it was just Dara and me and a few others who hadn’t been at the party. Dara cut me a lot of slack. She gave me an easy set, swam a few laps herself, then got out and lay on a lounge chair with a towel for a blanket.

When I finished my set, Dara was asleep. I thought about sneaking over to the office to apply for a lifeguarding job. I liked the idea of making some money, but I liked even better the idea of having an obligation that would force me to spend some time away from Dara.

I took one more look at her, and, maybe because her sleeping appearance was deceptively serene, I decided to go for it.

In the office the director of the swim program — a frizzy-haired, middle-aged woman — told me she needed swim teachers more than she needed guards, and since I was a swimmer, was I interested? I had already envisioned an easy summer of sitting up on the guard chair, wearing the whistle of authority and getting tan, but then she mentioned that teaching paid better and I came around. As long as my references were good, I’d have a five-hour training session on Wednesday and then I could start.

Dara was awake when I came back. “Wanna get some breakfast?”

I rapidly calculated that not only was I very hungry, but that maybe if I told her about the job in a public place, she wouldn’t yell or kick the shit out of me.

At the pancake house, I tried again to get Dara to tell me about the goings-on after I left the party. I waited as she squeezed lemon into a glass of tomato juice, then dropped the lemon in. She picked up the Tabasco sauce and shook some into the drink. When she reached for the pepper, my patience ran out.

“So what happened?” I asked. The waitress set a tall glass of chocolate milk in front of me — one of my few Dara-sanctioned pleasures owing to its magical formula of carbs, protein, and electrolytes. “Did Meg stay long?”

She shook her head. “The guys crawled all over her like maggots on trash. At some point she scraped them off, and next thing I know, she’s fucking crying on Abby’s shoulder.”

Crying? On Abby’s shoulder? “Do you know why she was crying?”

Dara sprinkled salt into her tomato juice and stirred it. “Girls like that are always crying for no reason. Makes me sick.”

I leaned across the booth. “What do you mean, ‘girls like that’?” I was still bristling about the “maggots on trash” comparison.

“Drama queens,” Dara said, sipping her juice and meeting my eyes. “Girls who feel sorry for themselves even though they have everything.”

She was baiting me and I was taking the bait, even though I knew that in Dara’s mind, if you had two arms, you pretty much had everything.

“And of course Abby totally fell for it and was all, like, hugging her.” Dara banged the spoon on the side of her drink so hard I couldn’t believe she didn’t crack the glass.

Our food came. I was pissed off at Dara but starving. I drowned the waffle in syrup and slid my over-easy eggs on top, stabbing the yolks to mix with the syrup and sprinkling the whole thing with salt and pepper. “You don’t even know Meg,” I said, not looking up.

“You don’t know her, either,” Dara said pointedly, pulling the top off a whipped butter packet with her teeth.

I wanted to argue, but I didn’t have much supporting evidence. “Who’d she go home with?” I asked.

“Abby.”

I glanced up at the irritation in her voice. “Abby was drinking,” I said, torn between feeling guilty that Meg got a ride with someone who’d been drinking and feeling mad at Meg for doing it.

“Oh, please. She walked around with the same beer all night. Abby’s not a drinker.”

We ate without talking for a few minutes while I tried to figure out how to tell her about the job. Finally I just said it. “So I’m going to be teaching swim lessons.”

Dara looked up, a single blueberry speared on her fork. “What?”

“I was just gonna see about a part-time job guarding, because I could use the money. D’Amico said I should apply. But teaching lessons is what I was offered. Just very part-time,” I added, finishing more with a whimper than a bang.

She set down her fork. “When did this happen?”

“At the pool. While you were sleeping.” I took a bite of bacon and wiped my fingers on my napkin.

She sat back and stared me down. “What hours?”

“I don’t know yet. Whatever they give me. Don’t worry, I’ll train around it.” Dara’s unblinking gaze was starting to unman me.

She tilted her head at me, which in no way resembled Meg’s head tilt. Meg’s always seemed to say,
Tell me, Otis, I’m listening, I can’t wait to hear what you think.
Dara’s version was more like,
Jesus, Mueller, how can you be such a bonehead?
“Do you realize how annoying that’s going to be? Trying to teach unfocused little brats how to swim?”

I shrugged. “It’ll be okay.”

She didn’t say anything more. I examined my paper place mat, a study in consumer-targeted advertising. It was covered in ads for a cremation service, a power scooter, an assisted living facility, and a hearing aid. When I looked up, a little bird of an old lady with a metal walker was standing at our table, hunching over toward Dara.

“Dear. I hope you don’t mind my asking —”

“Lawn mower,” Dara said loudly, not looking up from her pancakes. “Terrible accident.” She turned to the woman, waved her stump at her, and said, “Have a nice day.”

The woman patted Dara on the shoulder and said something about what a brave girl she was. Someone of sounder body might have gotten an ass-kicking, but even Dara wasn’t going to attack a lady so old she was practically dead.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dara grumbled, pulling some bills out of her purse.

I started shoveling down the rest of my breakfast as fast as I could because Dara was already getting up. I grabbed the last few slices of bacon as Dara threw a few crumpled twenties down.

“I’ll get your check,” the waitress called, hurrying toward us.

“It’s all set,” Dara said without turning around.

She pushed the revolving door with her foot and exited. I followed behind, emerging into a light rain.

“You okay?” I asked through my packed mouth as she yanked open the car door.

“Peachy.” She slammed the door and started the car, jamming the gearshift into reverse. She was backing out before I’d even gotten the damn door closed.

We rode in silence, apart from the squeak of the wiper blades. When she dropped me off at my house, she said, “Don’t bother me, okay? I’m going to bed.”

My mom was in the kitchen when I came in, taking muffins out of the oven. The house smelled like bananas and spices. “Hey,” she said, glancing up. “How was last night?”

“Fine.” I paused, realizing I was weirdly empty-handed. I had left my swim bag in Dara’s car. Crap.

“Are you and Meg . . . doing okay?” She set the pan of muffins on a cooling rack and pushed her hair out of her eyes.

“I dunno.” I reached for a muffin.

She held out a hand to stop me. “Too hot.”

I turned to go.

“Wait.”

I gave her an annoyed look and hovered in the doorway.

She leaned against the counter, oven mitt still on. “Well, tell me about last night. What was the party like?”

“I told you it was fine.”

“I see,” she said in a clipped voice. She hated it when I did that — gave answers containing no information. “What time did you get home?”

“Not that late. Why?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Apparently Meg ignored her curfew — along with the texts Jay kept sending her.” She paused, apparently waiting for me to say something, but I’m good at not saying something, so I just waited her out. “Do you really think you should have left her there?” she asked.

Oh, that was rich. “It wasn’t my idea that she should stay.” I glanced down and scraped some egg yolk off my shirt. “I’m not the boss of her.”

“Listen.” She sat at the table and nodded to the chair across from her.

I sighed and sat down, knowing I was about to hear about the Brandts coming to Michigan. I’m a terrible liar; I couldn’t fake ignorance even if I wanted to. “I already know about Michigan,” I said.

“You do? You know that Meg and her dad are coming?”

“Yup.”

“Meg told you?”

I shook my head. “I heard you and Dad arguing when I got home last night.”

I watched her process that.

“Oh,” she finally said. “Well, I was upset. Your father didn’t even ask me first.”

“I know. I heard.” I stood to go.

“Well, wait.” She leaned toward me, and I noticed the dark smudges under her eyes. “How do you feel about that?”

“Fine.” She flinched, and then I felt like a dick for being so short with her. “Oh,” I said. “I applied for a job today. At the pool.”

Her face brightened. “A job? For the summer?”

I told her about it, which seemed to ease some of the tension between us, and then escaped to my room. I tried to read, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking about Michigan, and how Meg might feel about it, if she even knew yet. I thought about how much my mom didn’t want Meg and her dad there with us. What would it be like, having us all back there together — minus Mason and Karen? Would the place remind Meg and me of the good times we used to have, maybe rekindle the way we felt about each other? Or would it only highlight how much had changed, how different we were now?

I never heard from Dara — and I didn’t text her because she’d said not to bother her — so I went and swam by myself in the afternoon, half because I was hoping to spy on some swim lessons to get a clue. I had to wear an old jammer and crappy goggles because my stuff was in Dara’s car. And there were no lessons while I was there.

I made it almost to bedtime before the temptation to text Meg started to overwhelm me. On the one hand, I was nervous that she
wasn’t
excited about this Michigan news; if she was, wouldn’t she have texted me about it by now? Maybe she didn’t want to spend a week trapped in the middle of nowhere in a dilapidated old lake house with me. If that was the case, I could live without knowing.

But, on the other hand, she had a sunburn, she had cat problems, she was convinced my mom hated her, her parents had separated, her mom had a drinking problem, and from the sounds of it, Meg had had a shitty time at the party last night. Probably in part because she’d had a fight with
me.
If I wanted to be friends, shouldn’t I be acting like I cared?

So I texted her. After about seven hundred aborted attempts, I settled on
Hey, just checking your pulse. Bad cat, sunburn, trouble with parents, possible hangover? Hope things are looking up.

She didn’t respond.

In the morning, I had six messages. One from Dara, saying she’d bring my swim bag when she picked me up for practice. And five from Meg, which she’d sent right after I went to bed, naturally.

No mention of Michigan. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Maybe Jay hadn’t told her yet. Maybe he was reconsidering going. I hoped not.

But I had no time to think about it anymore and certainly no time to write much. So I fired off:
Sorry I missed your messages — I was asleep. Anyway, I’m around.