“Mmm.”
“And?”
“It could be worse.”
Kim opened her mouth to say something, but when nothing came out, Steve knew he was right. Whatever stage she was going through, whatever Kim’s fears, Ronnie was still Ronnie.
“I guess,” she conceded, before shaking her head. “No, I know you’re right. It’s just been so difficult with her lately. There are times she’s still as sweet as ever. Like with Jonah. Even though they fight like cats and dogs, she still brings him to the park every weekend. And when he was having trouble in math, she tutored him every night. Which is strange, because she’s barely passing any of her classes. And I haven’t told you this, but I made her take the SATs in February. She missed every single question. Do you know how smart you have to be to miss every single question?”
When Steve laughed, Kim frowned. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s kind of funny.”
“You haven’t had to deal with her these last three years.”
He paused, chastened. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He reached for his glass again. “What did the judge say about her shoplifting?”
“Just what I told you on the phone,” she said with a resigned expression. “If she doesn’t get into any more trouble, it’ll be expunged from her record. If she does it again, though…” She trailed off.
“You’re worried about this,” he started.
Kim turned away. “It’s not the first time, which is the problem,” she confessed. “She admitted to stealing the bracelet last year, but this time, she said she was buying a bunch of stuff at the drugstore and couldn’t hold it all, so she tucked the lipstick in her pocket. She paid for everything else, and when you see the video, it seems to be an honest mistake, but…”
“But you’re not sure.”
When Kim didn’t answer, Steve shook his head. “She’s not on her way to being profiled on America’s Most Wanted. She made a mistake. And she’s always had a good heart.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s telling the truth now.”
“And it doesn’t mean she lied, either.”
“So you believe her?” Her expression was a mixture of hope and skepticism.
He sifted through his feelings about the incident, as he had a dozen times since Kim had first told him. “Yeah,” he said. “I believe her.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s a good kid.”
“How do you know?” she demanded. For the first time, she sounded angry. “The last time you spent any time with her, she was finishing middle school.” She turned away from him then, crossing her arms as she gazed out the window. Her voice was bitter when she went on. “You could have come back, you know. You could have taught in New York again. You didn’t have to travel around the country, you didn’t have to move here… you could have stayed part of their lives.”
Her words stung him, and he knew she was right. But it hadn’t been that simple, for reasons they both understood, though neither would acknowledge them.
The charged silence passed when Steve eventually cleared his throat. “I was just trying to say that Ronnie knows right from wrong. As much as she asserts her independence, I still believe she’s the same person she always was. In the ways that really matter, she hasn’t changed.”
Before Kim could figure out how or if she should respond to his comment, Jonah burst through the front door, his cheeks flushed.
“Dad! I found a really cool workshop! C’mon! I want to show you!”
Kim raised an eyebrow.
“It’s out back,” Steve said. “Do you want to see it?”
“It’s awesome, Mom!”
Kim turned from Steve to Jonah and back again. “No, that’s okay,” she said. “That sounds like more of a father and son thing. And besides, I should really be going.”
“Already?” Jonah asked.
Steve knew how hard this was going to be for Kim, and he answered for her. “Your mom has a long drive back. And besides, I wanted to take you to the carnival tonight. Could we do that instead?”
Steve watched Jonah’s shoulders sink a fraction.
“I guess that’s okay,” he said.
After Jonah said good-bye to his mom—with Ronnie still nowhere in sight and, according to Kim, unlikely to return soon—Steve and Jonah strolled over to the workshop, a leaning, tin-roofed outbuilding that had come with the property.
For the last three months, Steve had spent most afternoons here, surrounded by assorted junk and small sheets of stained glass that Jonah was now exploring. In the center of the workshop was a large worktable with the beginnings of a stained-glass window, but Jonah seemed far more interested in the weird taxidermy pieces perched on the shelves, the previous owner’s specialty. It was hard not to be mesmerized by the half-squirrel/half-bass creature or the opossum’s head grafted onto the body of a chicken.
“What is this stuff?” Jonah asked.
“It’s supposed to be art.”
“I thought art was like paintings and stuff.”
“It is. But sometimes art is other things, too.”
Jonah wrinkled his nose, staring at the half-rabbit/half-snake. “It doesn’t look like art.”
When Steve smiled, Jonah motioned to the stained-glass window on the worktable. “Was this his, too?” he asked.
“Actually, that’s mine. I’m making it for the church down the street. It burned last year, and the original window was destroyed in the fire.”
“I didn’t know you could make windows.”
“Believe it or not, the artist who used to live here taught me how.”
“The guy who did the animals?”
“The same one.”
“And you knew him?”
Steve joined his son at the table. “When I was a kid, I’d sneak over here when I was supposed to be in Bible study. He made the stained-glass windows for most of the churches around here. See the picture on the wall?” Steve pointed to a small photograph of the Risen Christ tacked to one of the shelves, easy to miss in the chaos. “Hopefully, it’ll look just like that when it’s finished.”
“Awesome,” Jonah said, and Steve smiled. It was obviously Jonah’s new favorite word, and he wondered how many times he’d hear it this summer.
“Do you want to help?”
“Can I?”
“I was counting on it.” Steve gave him a gentle nudge. “I need a good assistant.”
“Is it hard?”
“I was your age when I started, so I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it.”
Jonah gingerly picked up a piece of the glass and examined it, holding it up to the light, his expression serious. “I’m pretty sure I can handle it, too.”
Steve smiled. “Are you still going to church?” he asked.
“Yeah. But it’s not the same one we went to. It’s the one where Brian likes to go. And Ronnie doesn’t always come with us. She locks herself in her room and refuses to come out, but as soon as we leave, she goes over to Starbucks to hang out with her friends. It makes Mom furious.”
“That happens when kids become teenagers. They test their parents.”
Jonah put the glass back on the table. “I won’t,” he said. “I’m always going to be good. But I don’t like the new church very much. It’s boring. So I might not go to that one.”
“Fair enough.” He paused. “I hear you’re not playing soccer this fall.”
“I’m not very good at it.”
“So what? It’s fun, right?”
“Not when other kids make fun of you.”
“They make fun of you?”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t bother me.”
“Ah,” Steve said.
Jonah shuffled his feet, something obviously on his mind. “Ronnie didn’t read any of the letters you sent her, Dad. And she won’t play the piano anymore, either.”
“I know,” Steve answered.
“Mom says it’s because she has PMS.”
Steve almost choked but composed himself quickly. “Do you even know what that means?”
Jonah pushed his glasses up. “I’m not a little kid anymore. It means pissed-at-men syndrome.”
Steve laughed, ruffling Jonah’s hair. “How about we go find your sister? I think I saw her heading toward the festival.”
“Can we ride the Ferris wheel?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Awesome.”
3
Ronnie
The fair was crowded. Or rather, Ronnie corrected herself, the Wrightsville Beach Seafood Festival was crowded. As she paid for a soda from one of the concession stands, she could see cars parked bumper to bumper along both roads leading to the pier and even noted a few enterprising teenagers renting out their driveways near the action.
So far, though, the action was boring. She supposed she’d been hoping that the Ferris wheel was a permanent fixture and that the pier offered shops and stores like the boardwalk in Atlantic City. In other words, she hoped it would be the kind of place she could see herself hanging out in the summer. No such luck. The festival was temporarily located in the parking lot at the head of the pier, and it mostly resembled a small county fair. The rickety rides were part of a traveling carnival, and the parking lot was lined with overpriced game booths and greasy food concessions. The whole place was kind of… gross.
Not that anyone else seemed to share her opinion. The place was packed. Old and young, families, groups of middle-schoolers ogling one another. No matter which way she went, she always seemed to be fighting against the tide of bodies. Sweaty bodies. Big, sweaty bodies, two of whom were squashing her between them as the crowd came to an inexplicable stop. No doubt they’d had both the fried hot dog and fried Snickers bar she’d seen at the concession stand. She wrinkled her nose. So gross.
Spying an opening, she slipped away from the rides and carnival game booths and headed toward the pier. Fortunately, the crowd continued to thin as she moved down the pier, past booths offering homemade crafts for sale. Nothing she could ever imagine herself buying—who on earth would want a gnome constructed entirely from seashells? But obviously someone was buying the stuff or the booths wouldn’t exist.
Distracted, she bumped into a table manned by an elderly woman seated on a folding chair. Wearing a shirt emblazoned with the logo SPCA, she had white hair and an open, cheerful face—the type of grandmother who probably spent all day baking cookies before Christmas Eve, Ronnie guessed. On the table in front of her were pamphlets and a donation jar, along with a large cardboard box. Inside the box were four gray puppies, one of which hopped up on its hind legs to peer over the side at her.
“Hi, little guy,” she said.
The elderly woman smiled. “Do you want to hold him? He’s the fun one. I call him Seinfeld.”
The puppy gave a high-pitched whine.
“No, that’s okay.” He was cute, though. Really cute, even if she didn’t think the name suited him. And she did sort of want to hold him, but she knew she wouldn’t want to put him down if she did. She was a sucker for animals in general, especially abandoned ones. Like these little guys. “They’re going to be okay, right? You’re not going to have them put to sleep, are you?”
“They’ll be fine,” the woman answered. “That’s why we set up the table. So people would adopt them. Last year, we found homes for over thirty animals, and these four have already been claimed. I’m just waiting for the new owners to pick them up on their way out. But there are more at the shelter if you’re interested.”
“I’m only visiting,” Ronnie answered, just as a roar erupted from the beach. She craned her neck, trying to see. “What’s going on? A concert?”
The woman shook her head. “Beach volleyball. They’ve been playing for hours—some kind of tournament. You should go watch. I’ve heard the cheering all day, so the games must be pretty exciting.”
Ronnie thought about it, figuring, Why not? It couldn’t be any worse than what was happening up here. She threw a couple of dollars into the donation jar before heading toward the steps.
The sun was descending, giving the ocean a sheen like liquid gold. On the beach, a few remaining families were congregated on towels near the water, along with a couple of sand castles about to be swept away in the rising tide. Terns darted in and out, hunting for crabs.
It didn’t take long to reach the source of the action. As she inched her way to the edge of the court, she noticed that the other girls in the audience seemed fixated on the two players on the right. No surprise there. The two guys—her age? older?—were the kind that her friend Kayla routinely described as “eye candy.” Though neither of them was exactly Ronnie’s type, it was impossible not to admire their lanky, muscular physiques and the fluid way they moved through the sand.
Especially the taller one, with dark brown hair and the macramé bracelet on his wrist. Kayla would have definitely zeroed in on him—she always went for the tall ones—in the same way the bikini-clad blonde across the court was obviously zeroing in on him. Ronnie had noticed the blonde and her friend right away. They were both thin and pretty, with blindingly white teeth, and obviously used to being the center of attention and having boys drool all over them. They held themselves apart from the crowd and cheered daintily, probably so they wouldn’t mess up their hair. They might as well have been billboards proclaiming it was okay to admire them from a distance, but don’t get too close. Ronnie didn’t know them, but she already didn’t like them.
She turned her attention back to the game just as the cute guys scored another point. And then another. And still another. She didn’t know what the score was, but they were obviously the better team. And yet, as she watched, she silently began to root for the other guys. It had less to do with the fact that she always rooted for the underdog—which she did—and more to do with the fact that the winning pair reminded her of the spoiled private school types she sometimes ran into at clubs, the Upper East Side boys from Dalton and Buckley who thought they were better than everyone else simply because their dads were investment bankers. She’d seen enough of the so-called privileged crowd to recognize a member when she saw one, and she’d bet her life that those two were definitely part of the popular crowd around here. Her suspicions were confirmed after the next point when the brown-haired guy’s partner winked at the blonde’s tanned, Barbie-doll friend as he got ready to serve. In this town, the pretty people clearly all knew one another.