Julia Pierpont - Among the Ten Thousand Things

Laughter again from somewhere inside the shop and again he turned. Two voices, both girls’. He stood and moved a little ways down on the dock, nearer the water.

Howard was thinking how all the nature around him would be destroyed and put to use — the trees and rocks, for building — but not in the way Simon usually heard people talk about it, like it was something wrong or sad, like the animals would go extinct and the ozone would tear open and we would fry.

Just then a set of feet came slapping down the hill. He lowered his head and stared into his book.

It was only Kay, hurtling toward and then past him, to the pebbled edge where dock ceded to water.

“Jesus Christ, what’s the matter with you?”

“We found a cat,” she said, pointing. “Up the road. Mom’s watching it, come see.” She doubled over to breathe, like the low air would come easier.

“I don’t want to come see. I don’t care. The cats are everywhere here.” That morning he’d already seen one skulking around the yard across the way.

The voices in the sandwich place were louder now, the door suddenly open.

“You’re late” was the first thing she said to him, this girl the sun made hard to see, so that she was only a shape at first, hovering over him like a wave. “Lunch service ends at three.” She stepped back into shadow, and Simon pressed his palms against the dock, turning himself around.

“Oh, we weren’t—” he started. “I mean, I was just out here reading.”

“Anything good?” Her lips were chapped and pale, and her hair blew a blond banner behind her, thick like it carried a lot of salt in it. She looked like someone who spent a lot of time outside, this girl, in shorts and a big T-shirt, sleeves rolled to freckled shoulders. She would know how to tie knots for sailing.

Simon held the book up, felt dumb about it.

“She can’t read,” called the other voice — the other girl, darker and smaller, now coming out from the shop.

“Shut the ef up, Laura. I read.”

“Not books,” the other one — Laura — shouted, and began locking up.

Simon looked back at the first girl to find her staring at him seriously. “What?” she said. “You don’t think I read either?”

“Yeah, no…I mean, I just don’t know you.” He slipped a finger out from where he’d been holding his early place. “I don’t know what you like.”

“Well, now you do,” she said, holding out her arm. “I’m Teagan.” She must have been eighteen or nineteen. She had that friendliness, an ease that came with things like college, and time.

Simon stood and shook her hand. He was just barely her height.

“Here’s where you tell me your name, if you want.”

“Simon,” Simon said, feeling his heartbeat visible.

“Teegs.” Laura, by the door, windmilled her arms. “Can we go, please?”

“You asshole!” Teagan’s smile buoyed everything she said. Simon wanted her to call him asshole. “Is this your sister?” To Kay she said, “I like your sandals. Where are they from?”

Kay looked down at her feet, and for a moment they all did, contemplating the hot-pink jellies that passed for shoes. “They’re from Harry’s.”

Simon explained that Harry’s was in the city, then added, New York City, to be clear and just maybe to impress her. Kids he used to meet at summer camp, kids from places like Michigan, they’d always seemed impressed, assumed untrue things. “We’re here on vacation.”

“Yeah, no duh,” Laura said, arms now crossed like for leaving. “That’s what everyone here is on.”

Teagan took a step away. “Well, New York. Don’t be late next time.” Where the shirt pulled tight, he could see the curved cup of her bra — like the sun, he could see it without looking. “The wraps here are pret-ty good.”

Simon didn’t say he’d come back, hoping to preserve any air of mystery the city might have lent him, but he was anxious already, knowing he would. He watched them go, and repeated her name to himself, Teagan Teagan Teagan, so as not to forget.

“She’s cool.”

Simon started, remembering his sister. “Isn’t Mom, like, waiting for you somewhere?”

Kay grinned, reaching to pull her foot up behind her. “She’s cool, and you’re not.”

Simon looked at her, teetering on one leg. He could see the day’s sun already on her face, pinking her nose and cheeks, and he was about to say she looked like a hot dog, but she rocketed off quick as she’d come, up the hill, jelly shoes almost flinging themselves off behind her. She had never heard of cats that didn’t belong to anyone. She thought they might as well be hers.

But the cat had gotten away. Deb watched it go while Kay was off looking for Simon. She’d asked it to stay, pretty-pleased it to, she’d even tried standing in its way. Kay pouted when she came back and blamed her mother, as Deb knew she would, and the nice time they’d been having came to a close.

“You keep doing it,” Kay said on the walk back. “There, like that.”

“I swear, I’m not looking at you any way. I don’t mean to.” It was their first chance to really talk since Kay’s trouble at school, and Deb was often quiet, finding words to form the sentences. “Susan Haber called me.”

Kay said nothing, seemed to quicken her pace.

“Chloe and Brett’s mom.”

“I know who,” and she was definitely moving faster.

“So do you want to tell me, about what happened?”

“That’s okay.” Kay was nearly running now. They were almost to the house.

“Well, would you talk about it anyway, please?” Deb hurried after. “I’d like it, to talk about it.”

“No! Mom—” At the drive she stopped, looking wildly around. “The only reason you know about it is because they were being spies on me. That’s the only reason!”

Deb was about to say that it didn’t matter how she knew, just that she did, and that she wasn’t mad, not at all, but Kay’s attention seemed to have darted away.

From the house, two weedy legs, blondly fuzzed, were barreling down the small hump of lawn, alongside but without heed to the flat stone steps, made no use of by this man who’d built them — who’d paid for them, anyhow. And he was still handsome, still startlingly well made, with his light eyes and strong jaw. Gary, Deb thought, looks so much the same.

“Sight for sore eyes,” he said, spreading his arms wide. He swooped his tall and narrow frame down to Kay. “And you! Where you been, huh? All my life.” With both hands he cupped the whole of her head, so it became a clay pot he was making. “Amazing.”

“Yeah, we like her okay.” Deb laughed. “We plan on keeping her.”

—

The three spent an awkward moment around the kitchen table.

“I remember your age,” Gary told Kay, as though this could mean much to her. “I hated school — hated having to get up that early.”

“Oh, please!” Deb said. “Mornings are the worst. But I don’t know”—trying to draw a smile from Kay—“you don’t give me nearly as bad a time as your brother. For him I need a bugle.”

“And what is it for you now? Junior high?”

“Middle school,” Kay answered.

“They’re hard years,” Deb said. “Much harder this time around than they were for Simon. Girls can be so, I don’t know, unkind at this age. Gossip and what have you. It’s tough. But we’re hanging in there, right, babe?” She reached across the table to stroke her daughter’s arm.

Kay drew both hands into her lap. That the two adults exchanged glances she knew without looking.

“Well,” Deb said after a pause, “how’s Nancy?”