that—it exhausts her. By the time I’m halfway out of the room, she’s leaning back and her eyes are closed. Her chest rises and falls so purposefully it’s like she’s telling herself to breathe because she can’t remember how to do it without thinking about it.
I shuffle into the kitchen, where Beth’s washing dishes. There’s a tall glass of orange juice at my seat, plus two vitamins. I’m vitamin-worthy now. Incredible. I sit down and stare at them and then I pick up one of the vitamins. Hold it up and study it. It’s round and orange. Wouldn’t it be amazing if it could fix everything? You put it on your tongue and let it dissolve. All your emotional trauma will end and that broken, cold dead soul will be alive again! And all your physical problems will be cured too. Cancer, illness. Vitamins made out of Nanobots or something, I don’t know.
“You need a boost,” Beth says of the vitamins. She turns the water off and faces me. “I want you out of the house today.”
“What?”
“Get dressed, get out of the house,” she says. “I let you laze about for three days, but don’t think you’ll be spending the summer like that because you won’t be.”
“What?”
“You’re not spending the rest of summer vacation sleeping in late, hanging around inside, breathing recycled air and—” Her eyes travel over me and I can’t believe she’s mistaken my fucking grief for laziness. “Not brushing your hair. I don’t know if you spend every summer like this, but it doesn’t matter. I need you out of the way while I help your mom. Besides, this isn’t the kind of time you should be wasting. Go! Live!”
I imagine so many horrible things happening to her.
There’s a dirty, rusty old station wagon parked in the muck at Tarver’s.
I press my face against the driver’s side window and look in. There’s a Coke in the drink holder and crumpled fast food wrappers scattered on the passenger seat. On the floor, a nickel catches the sunlight and glints at me. In the backseat, there’s a discarded jacket and an iPod and a couple of paperbacks with the front covers ripped off.
“Hi, Eddie.”
I step back. Culler is rounding the building, lowering his camera. I know instantly he’s taken my photo and he knows I know it. He points behind him. “I couldn’t tell it was you from way back there. I took the shot just in case you were stealing my car.”
“Not stealing it.” I shove my hands in my pocket. “I thought it was your car.” I pause. “I mean, I knew it was your car.”
He stops a few feet from me.
“Thank you for the card,” he says.
“It was nothing.”
“No, it was really nice. And I appreciate it.” He looks away. “I do miss him.”
“I just thought…” I shrug. “I mean, sometimes I forget I’m not the only one.”
“Well, in a way you are. You’re his only daughter.”
“I guess. Thank you for your card…”
“Of course.”
“So, did you figure it out?” I ask.
“Nope. You?”
“No…”
He squints at me. “He leave a note?”
“Would you believe that’s the second time I’ve been asked that in less than a week?”
“I’d believe that.”
I swallow. “He did.”
“I won’t ask you what it said,” he says, which is good, because I don’t want to tell him it didn’t say anything. It didn’t say why. He leans against the car and taps his fingers against his Nikon and stares up at the sky. “What do you come out here for, besides that?”
“What do you mean?”
He pats the side of the car. I lean beside him.
“I take photos,” he says. “Just knowing it inspired him; that he came here to be inspired … I’m hoping to feed off that. You don’t take photographs, do you?”
I shake my head. “Does that surprise you?”
“No,” Culler says, smiling. “Did you ever really get how famous he was at a certain point in his life? Within certain circles? I’ve always wondered what it must be like to have a kind of celebrity
I shuffle into the kitchen, where Beth’s washing dishes. There’s a tall glass of orange juice at my seat, plus two vitamins. I’m vitamin-worthy now. Incredible. I sit down and stare at them and then I pick up one of the vitamins. Hold it up and study it. It’s round and orange. Wouldn’t it be amazing if it could fix everything? You put it on your tongue and let it dissolve. All your emotional trauma will end and that broken, cold dead soul will be alive again! And all your physical problems will be cured too. Cancer, illness. Vitamins made out of Nanobots or something, I don’t know.
“You need a boost,” Beth says of the vitamins. She turns the water off and faces me. “I want you out of the house today.”
“What?”
“Get dressed, get out of the house,” she says. “I let you laze about for three days, but don’t think you’ll be spending the summer like that because you won’t be.”
“What?”
“You’re not spending the rest of summer vacation sleeping in late, hanging around inside, breathing recycled air and—” Her eyes travel over me and I can’t believe she’s mistaken my fucking grief for laziness. “Not brushing your hair. I don’t know if you spend every summer like this, but it doesn’t matter. I need you out of the way while I help your mom. Besides, this isn’t the kind of time you should be wasting. Go! Live!”
I imagine so many horrible things happening to her.
There’s a dirty, rusty old station wagon parked in the muck at Tarver’s.
I press my face against the driver’s side window and look in. There’s a Coke in the drink holder and crumpled fast food wrappers scattered on the passenger seat. On the floor, a nickel catches the sunlight and glints at me. In the backseat, there’s a discarded jacket and an iPod and a couple of paperbacks with the front covers ripped off.
“Hi, Eddie.”
I step back. Culler is rounding the building, lowering his camera. I know instantly he’s taken my photo and he knows I know it. He points behind him. “I couldn’t tell it was you from way back there. I took the shot just in case you were stealing my car.”
“Not stealing it.” I shove my hands in my pocket. “I thought it was your car.” I pause. “I mean, I knew it was your car.”
He stops a few feet from me.
“Thank you for the card,” he says.
“It was nothing.”
“No, it was really nice. And I appreciate it.” He looks away. “I do miss him.”
“I just thought…” I shrug. “I mean, sometimes I forget I’m not the only one.”
“Well, in a way you are. You’re his only daughter.”
“I guess. Thank you for your card…”
“Of course.”
“So, did you figure it out?” I ask.
“Nope. You?”
“No…”
He squints at me. “He leave a note?”
“Would you believe that’s the second time I’ve been asked that in less than a week?”
“I’d believe that.”
I swallow. “He did.”
“I won’t ask you what it said,” he says, which is good, because I don’t want to tell him it didn’t say anything. It didn’t say why. He leans against the car and taps his fingers against his Nikon and stares up at the sky. “What do you come out here for, besides that?”
“What do you mean?”
He pats the side of the car. I lean beside him.
“I take photos,” he says. “Just knowing it inspired him; that he came here to be inspired … I’m hoping to feed off that. You don’t take photographs, do you?”
I shake my head. “Does that surprise you?”
“No,” Culler says, smiling. “Did you ever really get how famous he was at a certain point in his life? Within certain circles? I’ve always wondered what it must be like to have a kind of celebrity
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