The Eiffel Tower is in Cincinnati

I

“There ain’t no such things as cane sugar,” Susie assured me. Her blond bangs fell into her eyes as she pushed a kitchen chair away from the table. She had the radio tuned to the Columbus, Ohio rock station. Mick Jagger sang about tumbling dice while the chair legs groaned across the floor.

Susie boosted herself from the red vinyl cushion of the chair onto the counter. Her dirty feet wriggled before me from her spindly eight-year-old legs.

“Mama has them all—white sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar...mol-las-is.”

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and sniffed.

“Why do we need all that?”

“We don’t.” She rummaged in the cabinets, placing three Tupperware containers on the counter. Each was labeled with black block letters on faded masking tape—sugar, brown sugar, flour. “We just need these.”

She slid from the counter to the chair and then dropped the rest of the way to the floor. She tossed a package of Toll House semi-sweet chips onto the table. It landed with a loud smack.

“Mama says, there ain’t nothing a chocolate chip cookie can’t fix.”

My big brother Charlie was getting the chemo. When Mom cried, the whole house felt thick. If she wasn't crying, she was cleaning. It was safer to stay out of sight. I spent most days at Susie's house.

My tears had dried, but I could still feel the salt on my cheeks.

“Charlie can't have chocolate,” I told her, but she ignored me.

Susie turned the oven on. It hissed I caught the faint smell of gas. Click, click, click... then the burner ignited with a sudden whoosh. I jumped back.

Susie rolled her eyes. She fetched butter, eggs, and a few other items.

I stared into the bowl. Susie plopped each ingredient in. They layered on top of each other until it was full.

“You sure you know what you’re doin'?”

Susie handed me a wooden spoon. “You can use the blender. Makes them all runny.”

I sighed, wrapped my arm around the rim of the bowl and started churning. The mixture became thick and tacky, then dough-like. Susie sprinkled in more flour with her fingers.

"My arm's gettin' tired." I slid the bowl toward Susie and she took over.

Her mouth twisted as she wrestled the batter with the wooden spoon till she declared, “That will do.”

She handed me the spoon, and I licked off the batter. It was grainy and sweet.

“Get your hands wet,” she told me. “Warsh’ them first.”

Susie joined me at the sink, nudging me over. Our hands battled beneath the cold water—splashing and laughing until our shirts were soaked.

We broke off sticky chunks of dough and rolled them into golf balls, lining them into neat rows on the cookie sheet, the way the medicine bottles sat on the counter at home.

“Can we go catch frogs in the ditch while they’re cookin’?” I asked, “I ain’t caught frogs since...”

Since Charlie got the cancer.

Susie pressed the last ball of dough onto the cookie sheet. “These are ready.”

She opened the oven and placed them inside. The oven door clanged shut. Turning, she surveyed the mess. Cracked eggshells and spilt flour were strewn across the kitchen table.

"Mama ain't gonna be mad if we save her some,” she said, wiping her hands on the back of her shorts.

I drew a tic-tac-toe pattern in the spilled flour. Susie took the middle with an "X.” I frowned but completed the game to stalemate.

Later, we sat on the back porch eating warm cookies. The chocolate chips burned my tongue.

I watched the clouds drift by and thought of his hospital bed. I felt Susie eyeing me.

I finished my last cookie. "These ain't the best..."

She scrunched her freckled nose. "But they sure are good," she said.

Somewhere beyond us, a car engine growled. Gravel crackled beneath the tires as the car rolled into the driveway.

Susie tilted her head. Her eyes went wide.

“Mama.”

Susie stuffed the last bite of cookie into her mouth, grabbed my frog net from where it leaned against the porch railing, and leaped from the steps.

"We best be gettin' to that drainage ditch,” she said.

Later, I returned home for dinner but was reluctant to go inside. Through the screen door, I heard Mom’s footsteps in the kitchen.

I was sitting cross-legged on the cement porch, staring down at the plastic bucket in my lap. A green frog sat motionless beneath the cut grass I'd tossed inside. I was going to keep him. I was going to ask Dad if I could put him in Charlie’s old hamster cage.

“Davieee...Davie!” My mother called from inside our pink pillbox ranch.

I placed my bucket by the cement steps and went inside. “Yes, Mom?”

Mom was wiping down counters. The kitchen was spotless. She had a green dress on—one of her fancy dresses. Her purse dangled from her wrist. She took one look at the mud on my legs and frowned.

I didn’t move from the door. “Davie, you’re filthy. Why do you always do this? You knew we were going to visit Charlie.”

Mom came over and crouched down before me, grabbing my arm. Her purse scraped across the tile floor as she began wiping at my legs with the dishtowel.

“Mom!” I protested.

“Hold still.”

I could smell the Aqua Net in her hair. Mom wiped at the mud on my shoes till I could feel the dampness seeping into my socks. Brown streaks of mud covered the rag. “Oh, Davie.”

“I can change, Mommy...I promise.”

Mom looked into my eyes for the first time. She left the dishtowel by my shoes and held my shoulders. Her face softened. “Do you want to go?” She brushed my brown bangs from my eyes. “You don’t have to go.”

“I can change,” I said, but she was already looking past me.

“Your father will be home soon. You can see Charlie tomorrow.”

“Mom...” I started, but she was already on her feet and heading for where the keys hung on hooks by the phone—her heels clacking across the tile. She paused, turned back, and grabbed one of the pill bottles sitting on the counter, shoving it into her purse on the way out.

“Stay close to home, Davie,” she reminded me before the screen slammed shut.

I knelt on the couch and watched through the picture window as her pale blue 1970 Impala pulled out of the driveway.

I sat outside on the porch once she was gone. My blue sandcastle bucket had tipped over. I searched through Mom's boxwoods, but the frog was nowhere in sight.

Charlie’s going to be mad I didn’t come, I thought to myself. I promised to draw him a picture last time.

I headed down the sidewalk toward Susie’s tri-level, but as I was approaching her front walk, I heard her mama yelling through the screen door. Something about cookies. My shoulders slumped and I kept on going.

At the end of our cul-de-sac, Mr. Miller had a black and red stock car strapped to a trailer. He drove the figure eights at Derby Speedway. A dented number 14 was painted on the door. I sat in the trailer's shade, my back against a tire, scratching the cement road with a stone.

I was scratching out my third figure when I heard the flapping of flip-flops approaching. Susie kicked my toe.

“Your mama sounded mad,” I said without looking up.

“Guess I ain’t supposed to use the oven when no one is home.”

Susie’s bare leg brushed against me as she placed a foot on the trailer tire and hoisted herself onto it.

I turned to watch her. Susie held onto the car and sidestepped over to the driver’s side door. “This is a really fast racer,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Just look at it.”

Susie boosted herself up into the open window. Her feet dangled and one of her flip-flops came loose. It bounced against the trailer before hitting the ground. “Bet we could get anywhere in this.”

“Who’s gonna drive us?” I asked.

“I can drive,” she assured me.

“You can’t drive.” At least I didn’t think she could drive.

She was turning the steering wheel back and forth with one hand while her body balanced on the window frame. Her red shorts and bare legs stuck straight out behind her while she made car noises.

I checked to see if Mr. Miller was about. He wouldn't like Susie messing with his car.

Her muffled voice came from within. “We could drive all the way to Cinci’. The Eiffel Tower is in Cinci’.”

“No, it ain’t.”

“Yes, it is. I seen a picture. It’s at Kings Island.”

“I ain’t never been there.” That amusement park was far away. Once, Mom and Dad took Charlie and me to the Ohio State Fair. I saw two cows made out of butter.

Up by their house, behind their chain link fence, the Millers’ bulldog began barking.

Susie plopped down from the window and hopped onto the ground. I sat against the trailer tire and continued scratching stick figures into the road. “Mom went to see Charlie. I forgot to draw him a picture.”

Susie wiggled her foot into her sandal before sitting next to me. “Your parents are probably just waiting till Charlie can go.”

“Yeah...probably.” But what if he didn’t get better. “My frog got away.”

Susie nudged me with her shoulder. “It’s okay, we can catch another.”

II

Mom’s heels made sharp clicks on the tile floor of the hospital. I was following behind her, holding the folded picture I drew, and staying clear of her purse which swung from her wrist. The university hospital smelled like the bathroom after one of Mom’s cleaning sprees.

Charlie was eating lunch when we entered his room. He was sitting up in his bed, wearing a sickly green hospital gown and his red baseball cap. There was a plastic bowl of green Jello on his tray next to his half-eaten lunch.

My eyes lit up. “Wow, Jello!”

“Do you want it, Sport?” Charlie asked, pushing it toward me.

The lime scent reached me, but I knew better than to touch the jiggling treat.

“Honey, you eat it,” Mom said.

She peeled the ballcap from his head and kissed him on his forehead. Charlie’s hair was cropped short. I could see bald patches in places. He had dark smudges beneath his eyes.

“I drew you a picture, Charlie.” I handed him the folded sheet and he opened it.

“Is that the Miller’s stock car?” he asked. I used my red and black crayons to draw the car. A blond-headed stick figure was behind the wheel.

“Yeah, that’s Susie driving,” I told him.

Charlie grinned. “She would.”

Mom was messing with the pile of pillows behind Charlie. “How are you feeling, hon?”

“The doctor says I might go home soon.”

“Of course, you will. I’ll go talk to the nurse.” Mom stopped fluffing Charlie’s pillows and went out to the nurse’s station.

“Can we go catch frogs when you get out, Charlie? Susie ain’t as good as you are. Mine got away.”

Charlie was still staring at my picture. “Yeah, we can catch frogs.”  I told him about the frog and how I was going to use his old hamster cage. I told him Mom was always sleeping. When she wasn't sleeping, she was cleaning.

Mom returned and sat beside Charlie. She patted his hand and looked past us at the yellow curtain that divided the room.

Charlie turned toward Mom and smiled, but it wasn’t his happy smile.

She spoke softly, “Yes, honey, you’re coming home soon.”

The way she said it made me grow silent, like her words took up all the space in the room.

We were walking along the railroad tracks—out past the drainage ditch, down near the interstate. The ties smelled like hot tar baking in the sun.

“That’s a good thing, right? Charlie comin’ home?” Susie said.

Her arms were stretched wide as she teetered along the smooth rail in front of me.

“Yeah...I guess.” Maybe Mom would stop crying. Maybe things would be normal again.

I was looking down, watching my steps. “He ain’t got no hair, though.”

“My aunt Cathy lost all her hair. Had to wear a wig. Mama told Daddy not to make fun of her.”

“You think Charlie will have to wear a wig?”

“They don’t make no wigs for boys.” Susie hopped down and squatted by the rail. “Got a penny?”

I shook my head. “What for?”

“The train will come along and squash it.”

Susie dug through the debris along the sides of the tracks until she found what she was looking for. She placed a round metal slug on the center of the rail. “That’ll work.”

“When is he coming home?” she asked while heading into the brush. She pulled a stick from the weeds and pushed it into the ground near where the slug rested on the track.

“Mom said soon. She’s been fixing his room. She took his curtains down. Said she was gonna’ make new ones.” I scratched my leg where a fly had landed. “Do you think I’ll get new curtains too?”

 I’d had the same wagon wheel print for as long as I could remember.

“Probably.” Susie stood up and wiped her hands on her shorts. “Let’s go to the Five & Dime and look at the comic books.”

We crossed the track and made our way into Derby, passing the eight-lane bowling alley, and the hardware store.

The Derby Five & Dime had a little bit of everything and nothing you really need.

Susie pushed through the door of the store, but we only got a few steps inside before she stopped so suddenly that I bounced off her.

“Watch it, dork,” I said. Susie didn’t budge. I stood on my toes and peeked past her to see what caught her attention.

Bobby Fowler and two other older boys were hanging out by the ice cream counter. They were all wearing open flannel shirts, like the heat never touched them. Bobby looked in our direction and said something to one of the other boys. They started laughing.

Susie gripped my arm and made an about-face, pulling me along. “Let’s go.”

Her fingers dug into my arm. “Ouch,” I yelped, trying to pry my arm from her grip. “What about the comics?”

Susie didn’t stop tugging at me until we were on the sidewalk. When she finally let go, I had four half-moon indents on the inside of my arm.

“I don’t feel like reading comics. Let’s go to your house.”

The intermittent thud, thud, thud of Mom’s Singer sewing machine greeted us from off in the dining room when we entered my house.

“Hello, Mrs. Walker.” Susie yelled.

“Susie?  Is Davie with you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Walker.”

We followed the sound. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Mom sat at the dining room table feeding blue fabric through her Singer. She had a floral bandana tied over her jet-black hair. Spools of thread, straight pins, and a pair of heavy scissors were scattered around her. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“You making curtains, Mrs. Walker?”

“These are for Charlie’s room. He’s coming home soon.”

I pointed toward the kitchen. “Can we have some Kool-Aid?”

“There's some in the refrigerator,” Mom said without looking up.

We took our glasses to my room. I sat on the floor. Across from me, Susie lay on my bed, with her feet sticking up in the air behind her.

“Why did you go pullin’ me out of the store? I was gonna’ buy Charlie a comic.”

Her lips and tongue were already stained red from the Kool-Aid. “I just did...okay.” Her blue eyes went cold. “Besides, you don’t have any money.”

That was true. I’d already taken all the nickels and dimes from my bank.

“You want to play with my army men?”

“I don’t feel it.” Susie rolled over and looked at the plastic glow in the dark stars glued to my ceiling. “Do you think Mr. Miller would take us for a ride in his race car?”

“I’m not going to ask him! He’s got that mean white dog,” I said.

“Yeah, he’s got that mean dog.” Her voice sounded dreamy. “I should ask Mama for a dog.”

III

Susie and I were sitting cross-legged on the front porch playing War, waiting for Mom and Dad to bring Charlie home. A lawnmower hummed nearby. The smell of fresh-cut grass carried on the breeze.

Susie slapped down a jack, “Beat that.” I turned over a four and she scooped the two cards into her pile.

“You’re terrible at this,” she said with a smile. I shrugged and kept glancing down the street. The game went back and forth until the Impala pulled into the driveway. We quickly swept up the cards and stepped down onto the grass.

Dad got out of the car. He had his horn-rimmed sunglasses on, and his black hair was slicked back. Mom rushed around and opened the rear door for Charlie.

Charlie got out of the car. His clothes were baggy on him. He looked like me when Mom forced me to try on his hand-me-downs. He wore his red ball cap.

Mom had one hand under his elbow and the other gripping his upper arm.

“I can walk, Mom,” Charlie insisted.

“I know you can, Charlie,” she said, but she didn’t let go.

“Hi, Charlie,” Susie said with a short wave as they came closer.

“Hey, Susie. Staying out of trouble?”

Susie’s cheeks reddened, and she stared down at her shuffling feet.

I ran up the steps, stepped over the cards, and opened the screen door. “Mom's got your room all set up for you, Charlie. She’s even got a TV table next to your bed!”

Charlie patted my shoulder before heading inside.

Mom looked down at the cards. “Davie, pick those up.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Susie helped pick up the cards while the others vanished into the house.

That night, Mom went to bed early. Dad went and got pizza. Pepperoni and melted cheese filled the room. The three of us sat in front of the TV watching M*A*S*H. Charlie fell asleep on the couch before it was over. Dad covered him with a blanket before telling me it was time for bed.

Mom still took Charlie to lots of doctor's appointments.

Most days Charlie slept late. In the afternoons he'd play Trouble or Sorry on his bed with his friends if they stopped by. Mom would make them sandwiches. Sometimes, Susie and I got half sandwiches too, if we were about.

We were cutting down the gravel alley between the diner and the Derby Five & Dime.

"All I'm sayin' is, they shouldn’t be goin' and puttin' up wet paint signs. It's like they're tellin' me to touch it,” Susie declared, still admiring her blue fingertips.

“Mr. Andrews was pissed. He looked like he wanted to tan you one good.”

“Do you think so?” Susie glanced over her shoulder like Mr. Andrews was still huffing and puffing behind us.

In front of us, Bobby Fowler’s red flannel stepped out from behind the Five & Dime. He grabbed Susie by the wrist. "You been ditchin' me, Susie?"

Susie froze.

Bobby swiftly dragged her behind the store and trapped her between the cellar railing and the back wall of the building. “Where you been hiding, Susie?”

“Let go of her, Bobby!”

Susie tried to squirm free, but Bobby had her pinned.

“Go home, Walker.”

I tried pulling him off her. Bobby shoved me hard. I fell back. I tried to catch myself, but landed on my butt in the gravel, knocking the wind out of me. The stones bit into my palms.

Susie yelped and Bobby covered her mouth. “Quiet.”

I looked down the alley in panic, but there was no one in sight. “If you don’t let her go, I’m gonna’ tell Charlie, Bobby!”

“Yeah, you go do that, Walker. I hear he can’t even get out of bed.” Bobby had stopped looking at me. His face was inches from Susie's.

I picked up a loose chunk of asphalt. Susie's eyes darted from Bobby to me and back again. Then she shut them as I threw the rock as hard as I could.

It hit Bobby square on the back. Bobby cried out in pain. He arched up, loosening his grip on Susie. Susie kicked him in the shin and broke free. Bobby tried to grab her but tripped and fell against the railing.

Susie grabbed my hand and yanked me up. We tore up the alley, kicking up rocks.

“You’re dead, Walker!” Bobby shouted from behind us. We didn’t stop running until we reached Susie’s house.

Susie sat me down on a red vinyl chair in her kitchen. I was trembling.

“What were you thinkin?  You could have killed me with that rock.”

She grabbed a wet cloth from the sink. She knelt and wiped at my hands where the gravel broke the skin when I fell. Her hand was unsteady too.

“I had to do somethin’.”

Susie peered up at me—sighed.

“Yeah...I suppose you did.”

IV

 

I was in front of the TV, watching Gilligan’s Island, when Mom came into the living room. Mom was having one of her quiet days. Each time she came into the living room, I shrank.

“Davie, take this to Charlie.” She handed me a bowl of soup with a spoon inside. “I’m going to go lie down.”

“Okay, Mom.” I took the bowl in both hands and made my way down the hall. I heard her click off the TV. There wouldn’t be any watching I Love Lucy today.  I backed through Charlie’s door. The blue curtains Mom made were still shut.

“Mom made you soup, Charlie,” I said in a low voice.

Charlie wrestled with his covers. He wiped his hand down his face. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Gilligan’s Island is on, though.” I placed the soup on his TV tray.

Charlie pulled a Kleenex from the box on the TV tray, coughed into it for several seconds, then wadded it and tossed it into the growing pile on the tray.

“Do you want to play checkers, Charlie?” I dug though the games on his shelf.

“Why aren’t you out playing with Susie?”

“She got grounded.  We could play Sorry.”

“What did she do this time?”

“She got caught startin’ her dad’s Ford.”

“Is that what Mom was yelling about yesterday?”

“I did do nothin’. I was just sittin’ in the car. Susie was the one who went and took the keys off his dresser.”

I slid the red and black checkerboard out from between Monopoly and Clue and put it on his bed. Charlie sat up straight.

“Why don’t we play chess?” Charlie suggested.

“I don’t know how.”

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you. Grab that cigar box from the top shelf.” I handed him the box. He arranged the black and white pieces on the board. He named each as he placed them on the squares.

I scratched my head. “How I’m a supposed to remember all them names?”

“There are only six. Just remember, the bigger they are, the more important.” He held up the biggest. “This here is your king. He is the one you want to protect.”

Charlie turned his pieces so they all faced forward. I did the same. Then he went through how each one moved. “You got it?”

“I think so.”

“You’ll get it.”

He asked why Susie was starting the car. “I don’t know. She’s always doin’ somethin’.” I didn’t mention Bobby, or what he said.

We played several games. While I set up the pieces for another, Charlie picked up the soup bowl from the tray. It had gone cold, but he ate it all anyway. Whenever I moved a piece, I’d keep my finger on it and look up. He’d shake his head if I made a bad move.

I had my fingers on my horse, trying to figure out how it moved, when Dad’s voice startled me.

“Where's your mom?”

He was leaning against the door frame loosening his tie. In the pocket of his shirt was a plastic pocket protector full of pens. Fisher Body was printed across it.

Charlie looked up. “She's sleeping.”

Dad's eyes drifted toward the hallway. He made a face I didn't recognize.

“You boys want burgers tonight?”

I jumped from the bed. The chess pieces toppled. “Can I ride in the front?” I was halfway past Dad when I stopped and turned. "You're comin' too, Charlie, right?"

Charlie eased his legs off the side of the bed. “I’m coming.”

V

I just put my cereal bowl in the sink when I heard Susie pounding on the screen door.

I rushed to the door, ready to yell at her for making so much noise. Mom was still sleeping.

Susie had her back to the screen. A metal leash stretched from her hand. She had one foot braced against the porch railing and was tugging on it.

I stepped away from the door. On the other end of the leash was the Millers’ white bulldog.

“Buster, stop,” she barked.

“What the heck, Susie? You gone crazy?”

Susie turned and smiled like she was having the best morning ever. “Hurry up. Get out here.”

Buster had his head in our bushes, pawing at Mom’s boxwoods—pulling Susie off the porch.

“There ain’t no way I’m going near that thing. He’ll bite me.”

“He ain’t gonna bite you, scare’dy.  Get out here, I can’t go holdin’ him all day. Mrs. Miller gave me twenty-five cents to walk him.”

“No way. Why would she do that?”

“’Cause I asked her,” she said, like that would make sense. Susie fished in her pocket, presented the quarter to me on her palm as proof, then stuffed it back. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, I stepped outside on wobbly legs. Buster lost interest in our bushes and started slobbering all over my Keds. He smelled. A snaggly lower tooth poked from beneath his wrinkled lip.

Susie marched down the walk, pulling Buster along after her. I stayed a few safe spaces behind Buster.

“He don’t look much like a walker,” I said as I watched the dog waddle. Buster’s massive belly barely cleared the sidewalk.

“He ain’t your cousin, Smartass. Buster walks just fine.”

“Did you ask Mr. Miller if he’d take us for a ride in his racer?” I called after her.

“He wasn’t home.”

For two weeks, Susie walked Buster every day, with or without me. It became common to see Buster tugging her through Derby. We spent the money on candy and Cokes. I got used to having him with us. Then one day Susie showed up at my door empty-handed.

“Where’s Buster?”

“Buster took a bite outta’ Bobby Fowler’s leg.”

Her lip twitched like she wanted to smirk. I didn’t ask questions.

 “Mrs. Miller said I can’t walk him no more.”

VI

When school started, Charlie was lucky. He didn’t have to go. He got to stay home watching reruns, while his classmates brought his assignments to him.

Susie and I usually walked to and from school together. Today, I cut across the lawns alone, kicking up leaves. Susie had to stay after school...again.

When I got home, the smell of green peppers simmering in spaghetti sauce filled the kitchen. I hated green peppers.

Mom was chopping onions by the sink. She had the radio playing and was humming along.

 “You’re making plain sauce too, right Mom?”

“Yes, Davie.”

Mom was the only one in the house who liked green peppers.

I dropped my bookbag at the door.

“Is Dad coming home tonight?" Dad had been flying from Columbus to Trenton for work. Every time he came home, he’d bring Charlie and me a metal airplane from the gift shop. I already had three.

“Dad will be home tomorrow, hon.” One more day and I’d get a fourth airplane.

I raced off to ask Charlie if I could borrow his planes. He was coughing when I entered. Charlie had his schoolbooks spread across the foot of his bed. He sat cross-legged in the center, a worn paperback book in his lap.

“Charlie, can I borrow your planes?”

He pointed to his dresser where the three planes were lined up and continued to cough.

“You okay, Charlie? You don’t look so good.” He looked pale and clammier than usual.

“Mom’s peppers,” he said.

Charlie coughed again. He grabbed a Kleenex and spat a green wad of phlegm into it. He crumpled up the tissue and tossed it toward the TV table. It fell short and ended up on the floor.

I picked up his Spitfire.  The die-cast plane was painted green and had bullseyes on the wings. “I won’t mess them up. I promise.”

Mom called us both from the kitchen. Dinner was ready. I slouched and set the plane down.

“Tell her I’m not hungry,” Charlie said in a raspy voice. He leaned over and picked up the bottle of aspirin on the TV tray—hooking his finger into the glass of water next to it and bringing them both to him.

“Sure, Charlie. Do you want me to bring you some plain noodle with salt?”

“I’ll eat later.” He took two aspirins, drank some water and went back to studying his books.

I left him and took my seat at the table. Hot dinner rolls were stacked on a plate. I took one and broke off a chunk. Mom carried the pot of spaghetti to the table.

“Where’s Charlie?”

“He said he wasn’t hungry,” I said with a mouth stuffed with roll.

Mom placed the spaghetti pot on the table. Her face changed. She went to check on him. I dug around in the pot with my fork for a meatball.

When she returned, I asked, “Is Charlie okay?”

“He’s just got a cold, honey.”  She went to the closet and pulled out the vaporizer.

A few days later, Mom said he just had the flu.

A few days after that, she took him to the hospital.

Mom spent most of her time at the hospital. After school, I spent mine with Susie.

We were down in her rec room by the fireplace. Susie was lying on her stomach. She had a glass of Kool-Aid in front of her, the straw between her teeth.

I sat cross-legged, studying the chessboard between us—my jacket and bookbag beside me.

Susie let her straw fall into her cup. She moved her pawn one space. “Mr. Miller sold his race car.”

I moved my knight. “So?”

The embers in the fire snapped and popped.

“How are we sposed’ to get to Kings Island when it opens?” she continued.

She moved her pawn two spaces, threatening my knight.

“You can’t do that. Charlie says you can only move a pawn two spaces in the beginning.”

“Well, I only moved it one space in the beginning. That means I can move it two now.”

I grumbled but let her have her way and moved my knight to safety.

“Maybe your parents can take us when Charlie gets better.” Susie took my bishop with another illegal move. She dropped it into the box beside the board.

“You...can’t...do that!” My face felt hot.

“Are you sure? I think I can.” She didn’t seem to care.  “Maybe the Millers will get...”

My ears burned. I no longer heard her. I stood up and kicked the board, spilling her drink. The board hit the stone mantel, sending the pieces flying in all directions.

Susie’s jaw dropped. My hands were balled into fists by my side.

“He ain’t getting’ better, Susie. We ain’t goin’ to Kings Island. There ain’t no damn Eiffel Tower there!”

Susie scrambled to her knees, picking up pieces frantically. “You don’t know nothin’, Dave,” she squeaked.

I grabbed my stuff and ran up the steps without looking back.

Her voice echoed behind me, louder this time. “You don’t know nothin’.”

When the hospital called a few days later, Mom started wailing. Wailing and crying like I'd never heard before.

I ran to the kitchen but stopped, back up against the wall. Mom was curled on the kitchen floor sobbing—no, no, no.

The phone slipped from her hand and skidded across the floor.

Dad came running. My legs wouldn’t move. I just watched.

Dad sat beside her. Tried to hold her. Mom beat on his chest till there was no fight left in her. Dad didn’t flinch. He held her close and she cried. I started crying too.

I don't remember what happened after. All I remember is Charlie never came home.

Susie didn't come to the funeral. Her Mama said she was too sick.

It seemed like everyone in the world came to Charlie’s funeral, except Susie. I wanted to tell her that wasn't Charlie, but I never got to.

 Mom made me wear my first communion suit with the clip-on tie. She wouldn’t let go of my hand that day.

We stood in front of the open casket. He looked tan.

“Say goodbye, Davie,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

That isn’t Charlie. That isn’t Charlie.

Mom kissed Charlie's forehead. It made me feel sick. Then she led me to our seats.

There was a line of cars. We drove through traffic lights, stood out in the cold—and then we went home. Family, neighbors, and friends filled the house, filled the fridge. But then, the world seemed to go home too.

Christmas didn’t feel like Christmas that year. Mom slept. Dad disappeared to the garage. I lay on my bed, raced Charlie’s Spitfire in circles above my head, and stared up at the plastic stars.

The blue curtains remained drawn. His room dark. The house thick with silence.

VII

When I returned to school after winter break, Susie was not in class. We still were not talking, but my eyes kept returning to her empty desk. After class, my curiosity got the better of me. While the other kids were filing out for their walk home or to catch the bus, I went up to the teacher’s desk.

“Ms. Pierce, why isn’t Susie in school?”

“Susan’s parents enrolled her at St. Andrews. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No ma’am...she didn’t.”

After school, I’d cut right at the center of town. Along the side of the diner a metal staircase led to the Treehouse Bookstore. It occupied all the space above the diner. I’d run my fingers along the neatly aligned paperbacks and daydream. There was something familiar about the musty space with its creaking wooden floor.

The owner, Mr. Bowers, came up behind me one afternoon. “Dave, you come in here almost every day, but you never buy anything.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bowers. I’m saving up my money.”

Mr. Bowers took his glasses off his bulbous nose and placed them in his pocket. “Do you like books, Dave?”

“I guess. My brother Charlie...” I swallowed hard. “Charlie had lots of books.”

“What happened to them?”

“Dad packed all Charlie’s stuff in boxes after...” I couldn’t finish my words. I didn’t have to finish my words. All of Derby knew what happened to Charlie.

Mr. Bowers didn’t ask the usual question. He smiled at me and then went over to one of the shelves. He pulled out a paperback and handed it to me. “Here, you should try this book.”

I read the cover—The Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis. I held the book with both hands. “I can’t pay for it, Mr. Bowers.”

“That’s okay, Dave. I was thinking since you like coming here so much, maybe you could start helping me. Dusting off the books. Stocking shelves.”

My words came out in a rush. “I could do that!”

I stuffed the book in my backpack and raced home to tell Mom.

I started spending weekends and a few hours after school at the bookstore. Mr. Bowers paid me in books, pocket money, and burgers. He didn't ask much in return. I learned to organize books by author and genre, and between shelving them, I escaped to new worlds.

I was sitting on the orange cushions in the bookstore's bay window, an open Hardy Boys novel in my lap. I stared out the window. I could see across to the pharmacy. It was summer, and a group of boys from school were bouncing a rubber ball off the wall.

“Dave, you’ve been staring out that window all day. Why don’t you go outside and play,” Mr. Bowers said.

I shook my head and picked up my book. “I’m okay.”

“Whatever happened to the blond-headed girl I used to see you running around town with?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

I was turning the pages of my book, but I wasn’t seeing the words. When I looked up Mr. Bowers was still there.

“Do you have any books on cities?”

“What city are you interested in, Dave? Rome? London?”

“Cincinnati.” I blurted out without thinking.

He scratched his chin. “There’s an Ohio travel guide over on the display table up front. You might find something in it.”

I left my book on the cushion and went up to the display table. Mr. Bowers returned to the counter to ring up a customer.

The Ohio travel guide was a large paperback book with a glossy image of the waterfalls at Hocking Hills on the cover. I flipped through the pages. Akron. Bowling Green. Cleveland. Cincinnati.

I began reading.

Between the words on the page were photos of a ballpark and a museum. I turned the page. In the center of the next page was a picture of a roller coaster. Beyond the coaster stood an Eiffel Tower. The caption read: Kings Island Amusement Park.

I traced my finger along the roller coaster, then up the tower. I closed the book and wiped the back of my hand across my runny nose. “I’m going home, Mr. Bowers.”

I kept working at the bookstore. I stocked shelves, dusted books, and cleaned out the clutter in the stockroom that summer.

Mr. Bowers would have me go buy burgers on Fridays from the diner downstairs. We’d sit at the counter, and he’d tell me stories from all the books he’d read.

I came home one evening. The house was dark except for the kitchen, where Mom was talking on the phone.

 She had the receiver cradled between her shoulder and chin while she opened one of her pill bottles. The kitchen had that familiar tightness.

Mom stopped talking when she saw me. She popped a pill in her mouth. The phone cord stretched as she made her way to the bathroom and closed the door. It bounced like a tightrope from the wall to the door. I could hear her talking but thought better and headed for my room.

The door to Charlie’s room was open. The light from the hall cast shadows over the stack of boxes in the corner that Dad never got around to taking to the attic. Mom had stripped his bed long ago. The white mattress appeared to glow in the darkness.

I continued into my room. I tossed the paperback I was carrying onto my bed. There was a stack of them on the floor. I was pulling my tee shirt over my head when Mom called me from the kitchen.

I slid my shirt into place and went to the kitchen. “What is it, Mom?’

“Davie, sit down. I need to tell you something.” Her eyes were red and puffy.

I sat on a stool across from her. “What’s wrong, Mom?” Thoughts raced through my head—the phone, her red eyes. My stomach knotted.

“Are you hungry? I could fix you something.”

I shook my head. The knot spread through me.

“Mr. Bowers had me get burgers from the diner. Mom, what’s wrong?”

She focused on wiping at an invisible spot on the counter.

“Davie, your father and I...your father and I are getting a divorce.”

“A divorce. I don’t understand.” Only then did I realize Dad hadn’t come home much lately. “Did I do something wrong?”

Mom rushed from behind the counter to hug me. “No, no, no, Davie, it isn’t you.” She pressed my face against her chest. Kissed my head. “It isn’t you, baby.”

She was crying. I felt like I shouldn’t. We held each other there in the kitchen for a while before Mom let me go.

“What about me?”

She smoothed down the front of her blouse. “You’re not going anywhere, honey. It’s going to be okay, baby, don’t you worry.” But it wasn’t okay. Mom and Dad were getting a divorce. I really didn’t know what that meant, I just knew it was bad.

“We can talk more tomorrow. You should get some sleep,” Mom said. She brushed my hair from my eyes.

She held my face gently with her hands—wiped a tear from my face with her thumb. Something inside her seemed to deflate. “We love you, Davie. Remember that.”

I nodded.

She left me there in the kitchen.

A moment later I heard the latch of her bedroom door click shut.

After school the next day, I cut right like usual but walked past the metal stairs leading up to the bookstore. I planned to drown my problems in a strawberry shake from the diner.

I stepped inside, smelled the burgers sizzling on the grill.

There were no open stools at the counter. The booths were full too. Two girls in matching plaid skirts and white blouses were sitting in a booth by the window. One was Susie. There were two empty shake glasses on the table before them.

It had been almost a year since the last time I saw her. Her hair had gotten longer.

Her friend got up from the table and excused herself past me. I was motionless, blocking the aisle. That’s when Susie’s blue eyes locked onto mine.

My feet moved me forward. I slumped into the green vinyl seat across from her without thinking.

 Neither of us spoke. I didn’t know what to say. I thought of where I should have been, the bookstore, avoiding her eyes.

“I seen a picture of Kings Island in a travel guide,” I said. “They got an Eiffel Tower there.”

Susie kept her eyes on the rim of her glass as she traced a finger around it. “The Millers sold their trailer.”

I placed my elbow on the table and rested my cheek in my hand. “My parents are getting a divorce.”

We looked at each other. Susie pursed her lips.

She pulled a menu from the holder and slid it my direction. “They got the best homemade apple pie here.”

VIII

Susie jumped out of the front seat of her dad’s Ford as soon as it stopped rolling. I climbed out of the back seat, slamming the door behind me.

“Be back here at ten,” her dad shouted after us through the open window. “I don’t want to go looking.”

Susie turned. “Eleven,” she countered.

“Ten, Susan.”

Susie continued walking backward. “After the fireworks,” she said before turning and skipping off.

I looked at her dad. He scowled. I hesitated for a moment but had nothing to say, then I turned and jogged after her.

When I caught up with her, she said, “One more year and we can drive ourselves.” She pulled at the hem of her shorts.

“Maybe you can. Mom is still sticking to her no-license-till-I’m-seventeen policy.”

“Seventeen! You’ll be a senior by then. What’s wrong with that woman?”

We got in line at the ticket booth outside Derby Speedway. Each year, the dirt track hosted a carnival and 4-H show. Sweet cinnamon and frying dough mingled with hay and manure drifting from the barns. We heard the screams from the Polar Express as it rumbled along its tracks. Rock music blared from the speakers.

“She said we don’t have the money for insurance.” But I knew that wasn’t quite it.

An older woman in a red polo shirt was in the booth. We each handed her our money and held out our wrists. A second woman in an identical red polo fastened the paper wristbands that gave us access to the rides.

Susie admired the yellow-and-white band like she was checking the time. The crowd pressed us through the front gate. Once inside, she spun around, taking in all the rides. “What should we do first?”

“Don’t you want to find the others?”

“We’ll find them.” She pointed. “Let’s ride the Pirate Ship.”

“What about the bumper cars?” I said, but she was already heading toward the line for the Pirate Ship.

The colorful ship swung like a pendulum before us. The riders screamed each time it reached the apex.

The line moved quickly. There were two seats left in the middle when we reached the front. Susie held me back and let two girls behind us take our place.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s no fun in the middle. We are going to sit in the back.”

The ship slowed, and the operator pulled back the chain across the entrance. Susie led me to the far end while the passengers disembarked.

We slid into the plastic seat at the back of the ship, strapping the safety belts around our waists. I pulled the safety bar into place. The grizzled operator came down the row, checking each one. Ours was pressed against our thighs.

The ship started moving. Each pass took us higher. I kept my hands locked around the safety bar. Susie raised her hands in the air and screamed as we reached the top. I glanced in her direction. Her butt was off the seat.

“You’re nuts.”

She laughed and nudged me with her shoulder. “Do it.”

Reluctantly, I raised my hands in the air. I felt my body pulled from the seat on the next pass. My stomach dropped. Finally, the ride slowed. Susie had the biggest grin on her face. I just shook my head.

We found our friends later by the bumper cars. Tommy was the only one wearing jeans. He leaned against a railing next to a sign reading KEEP OFF. Paul had an arm around Natalie. Margaret and Angie stood beside them, sharing an elephant ear. Susie pulled wads of cotton candy from the stick Natalie was holding and shoved them into her mouth, then licked the sticky sugar from her fingers.

My eyes lingered on Angie’s tan legs. I thought she was pretty, but I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to talk to her. Angie caught me looking, then turned and pulled another piece of elephant ear from the paper plate Paul was holding.

“You guys ride the Polar Express yet?” Paul asked.

“Twice,” I groaned.

“We were going to try some games,” Natalie said.

The seven of us headed toward the game stalls along the midway. Susie and I were at the back of the pack.

“When are you going to ask her out?” she whispered.

“Who?”

She gave me a look that said I wasn’t fooling anyone, then tilted her head toward Angie.

“I will. It just hasn’t been the right time.”

Paul stopped in front of one of the games. At the back of the stall were rows of balloons pinned to a board. The barker in the booth had a microphone in one hand and three darts in the other.

“Pop a balloon. Win your girl a prize,” he said. “Three chances, three chances for a dollar.”

“Go on, Paul. I want one of those bears,” Natalie encouraged. The others joined in, egging him on.

Paul pulled a dollar from his pocket.

Susie pulled me to the next stall. “Win me something.”

This game consisted of a bowling ball riding on two thin, wavy rails. The object was to push the ball just hard enough for it to stop in the middle without going past.

“I’m no good at these things.”

Angie was standing with the group around the dart game. Paul was on his third dollar. I could sense her eyes on me.

“I have faith in you,” Susie said. “Just try.”

“Fine.”

I handed the barker a dollar, then gauged the weight of the ball before giving it a gentle push. The ball slowed at the top of the first hump. I thought it was going to roll back, but it made it over. It rolled toward the other hump but didn’t make it and came to rest in the middle.

Susie squealed.

She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. Her lips were sticky and tasted like cotton candy. I put my hands against her hips to push her away, but my arms went slack.

When she pulled back, I stared at her.

“What are you doing, freak?”

“Trust me.”

“What do you want?” the barker asked her.

Susie turned and pointed to a pink bear. The barker pulled one down and handed it to her. She played with the ears for a moment, then tucked it under her arm and continued down the midway.

Angie watched her leave.

The afternoon stretched into evening. The electric lights along the midway came on. Everyone had split up to explore different areas of the carnival. Susie had gone off with Margret to ride the Ferris wheel. I was looking for Susie by the giant slide when I spotted Paul, Natalie, and Angie. I waved.

Angie broke away from the others. “So, you and Sue are together?”

“What? No! We’re just friends.” I stared at my sneakers, feeling my cheeks redden.

She looked me over. “We were just going to find a spot on the grass for the fireworks.”

“I’m looking for Susie.”

Angie held out her hand. “She’ll find us.”

Darkness fell. The four of us sat on the grass. The crowd continued to gather. Paul recounted getting his foot stuck on the Polar Express. His exaggerated tale had us all laughing.

The first firework shot off with a bang. It exploded in the sky. Red-and-white sparks trailed outward like the arms of a starfish.

Angie leaned back against me as two more fireworks lit the night. “It’s getting cold,” she said.

I hesitated, then wrapped my arm around her.

The sky flashed white. In the crowd, I saw Susie walking past with Tommy, the pink bear tucked beneath her arm. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at me.

I smiled back, remembering her kiss. It was my first.

Susie’s bookbag hit the floor with a thud near my foot. “Boys are stupid.”

The blouse of her Catholic school uniform was untucked from her plaid skirt—the collar was unbuttoned and her tie hung loosely around her neck.

I was shelving new releases around the store. “What boys?”

“All of ‘em,” she assured me.

She went over to the magazine rack and started flipping through Cosmopolitan like she was searching for an answer. She put it back and kept scanning the rack. “Mr. Bowers, how come you don’t carry the good magazines?” she asked without looking over at my boss who was busy at the counter.

“Because this is a bookstore,” Mr. Bowers replied.

Susie pointed to the copies of the New York Times on the bottom. “You got these.”

Mr. Bowers pointed to the bookcase along the wall next to the bay window. “Perhaps you should try the self-help section.”

Susie’s eyes narrowed. “Books are stupid too.”

I asked, “Who’s got you all pissed off now?”

“Tommy Heft!”

“What did he do?”

“Margaret asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance and he said yes.”

I was confused. “Why does that piss you off?”

“Because he has a car.”

I blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

She looked at me like I was the stupid one. “When are you going to get a car?”

“Why do I need a car? Mom’s still not letting me drive. When are you going to get a job?”

“I have a job.”

“Babysitting the Miller kids once a week on bowling night isn’t going to get you a car.”

“What’s so important about Tommy’s car anyway?”

Susie threw up her arms. “The Toledo Speedway Jam—REO Speedwagon, Bob Seger—I told you!”

“Mr. Bowers is right. You need self-help. There ain’t no way your parents are going to let you go to Toledo.”

Susie’s cheeks went red. She balled her fists like she wanted to sock me. She yanked her bookbag off the floor.

“Oh, I’m going to Toledo.”

She stomped out.

I looked at Mr. Bowers. He just shook his head.

IX

It was the second graduation party of the summer. Paul had built a large bonfire in the field behind his dad’s barn. The night was warm, and fireflies flickered above the grass. About twenty of us were hanging out. Some had pulled their cars into the field.

Prince played from a boombox near the barn. Angie and Natalie were dancing in front of the fire with a few others. Angie smiled in my direction. The firelight shone in her auburn hair. We had been dating since the carnival.

I sat on a log away from the fire and placed my empty beer can between my feet. Wood smoke drifted into the night.

I was still watching Angie when Susie came over and sat beside me. Across the fire, Angie gave her a hard look but kept dancing.

“She still thinks you tripped her at prom,” I said.

Susie held up both hands. “I had nothing to do with that.”

She tried to hide her smile, then rested her head against my shoulder.

“The gang wants to go up to Buckeye Lake next week.”

She knew what I was saying.

“You know I can’t. I’ve got to get going before Dad changes his mind about signing the car over to me.”

“It’s only one more week.”

She stared into the fire. “I’m done with this town, Davie.”

A log collapsed, sending sparks into the night.

“I know.”

My nose stung. I kept my eyes on the flames, holding back tears.

“Help me pack this weekend?”

I nodded.

She squeezed my arm.

“It’s only Berkeley,” she said.

To me, it was a world away.

X

“Mom, Mom, I said I'd fix it this weekend.”

The phone receiver was wedged between my shoulder and ear while I scratched my head with a mechanical pencil. A wide sheet of mylar was taped to my angled drafting board. Thin lines spread across it, forming the half-complete layout of a headlight assembly.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Two rows of identical drafting boards filled the room.

“Are you sure? I could call your Uncle John.”

“Don’t call Uncle John, Mom. He’ll just make it worse.”

My boss walked over and leaned against my board. He crossed his arms over his white shirt and narrow tie.

“Hold on, Mom.” I covered the mouthpiece with my hand and waited for the boss to speak.

“Are you going to have those drawings done by Friday?”

Six years on the job, four years of college, and he still thought I was a moron.

“Yeah, I got it.”

My answer didn’t reassure him. “These need to go out by Friday.”

“I got it.”

He didn’t leave. I held up my phone. Finally, he took the hint and went down the row to pester one of my coworkers.

“You still there, Mom?  I'll be over Saturday, I promise. I gotta go.”

I placed the phone back in its cradle. I patted the lines on the mylar with my resin bag before sliding my triangles back in place. I stood up, hunched over the board and continued my work.

I heard a drawing unroll, then the boss began lecturing Stan.

Saturday morning, I pulled into Mom’s driveway. The neighbor’s kids were playing tee-ball on the lawn next door. They dropped their gear and came over to eye my Grand Am.

“Nice car, Mr. Walker.”

I grabbed my tool bag from the truck. Mom had the ranch painted white years ago, though I still called it the pink house in conversation. It showed signs of needing a fresh coat of white.

I knocked before entering. “Mom, I’m here.”

Mom was out back, watering her flowers on the patio. I could see her through the sliding glass door. There was a pot of coffee on the warmer. The aroma lingered in the kitchen. A church flyer was tacked to the fridge announcing the month’s events. She had the rummage sales circled in red.

Mom twisted the nozzle until the water stopped spraying and put down the hose. She came in and gave me a hug, then stood back and checked me over for changes only she could perceive. I redirected her before she could start in on my hair or my clothes.

“How long has the air conditioner been broken?”

“I don’t know, Davie. I turned it on the other day, and it just made this clicking noise.”

I took my tools and headed toward her bedroom. Mom picked up her coffee mug and followed.

The familiar scent of Mom's room hit me—Chanel and sandalwood. It stirred that childhood feeling that I didn't belong there. I ignored it and set my tools down.

The window box unit was plugged into the far wall. A handmade quilt was draped over the foot of the bed. On the dresser was a picture of Angie Marks and me at prom. Beside it sat one of Charlie and me holding fishing poles. Tucked into the corner of the mirror was a faded prayer card from Charlie's funeral.

I turned on the air conditioner. Click, click, click. I unplugged the unit and pried off the faceplate with a screwdriver. Mom hovered over me.

“It sounds like the relay switch.”

I tried cleaning the contacts.

Click, click, click.

“I’m going to have to remove the switch and take it downtown. See if they have anything at the hardware store.” I searched through my bag. “Got any pliers, Mom?”

“I don’t know, Davie. Check the sewing room.” She meant Charlie’s old room. My room hadn’t changed.

Charlie’s room still had the blue curtains, but Mom’s Singer sat on a table where his bed once did. I checked through the baskets on the shelves, but they were filled with screwdrivers, pens, and sewing bobbins.

A yellow cigar box sat on the top shelf. I took it down. I stared at the decorative lid, half expecting to find Charlie's chess pieces inside. Instead, it held only buttons and ribbons.

“Davie!” Mom was standing in the doorway.

“Huh?”

“I said, did you find them.”

I placed the box back on the shelf. “Not yet, Mom.”

The pliers ended up being in a toolbox in the closet.

I got the switch off and headed into Derby. At the hardware store they found me a workaround to repair it. I threw the parts onto the passenger seat and took a walk down Main.

The Derby Five and Dime was gone. A sign in the window read: Sudz Laundromat. Through the glass, I could see workers wheeling in coin-operated washers.

The black metal staircase leading up to Treehouse Books had a fresh coat of paint. The wooden floorboards creaked underfoot as I stepped inside.

Ellen was arranging books near the front. “I see you finally found my replacement,” I called to Mr. Bowers. Ellen, his eighteen-year-old niece, smiled and waved as I passed. Mr. Bowers was perched on a stool behind the counter. The stool was a recent addition.

He pushed up his glasses. “She does a better job. Her friends don’t come in here and bend the pages on the magazines.”

That made me smile. Mr. Bowers always bickered with Susie whenever she came into the bookstore. But he never kicked her out. Somehow Susie got away with calling both boys and books stupid in the same sentence—or complaining that he didn't carry Glamour or Elle.

I leaned against the counter. “What do you have for me?”

He opened a drawer next to the counter and pulled out two paperbacks. One was “Forward the Foundation,” Isaac Asimov’s last book before his death. The other I didn’t recognize.

“The Black Company? Is it any good?”

He absently rubbed at finger joints. “I think you’ll find it very different.”

Shrugging, I had him ring up both. Mr. Bowers seldom steered me wrong.

“How’ve you been getting along?”

It was his turn to shrug. “Eh, I still manage.”

“I can’t hang around. Mom’s got me fixing her air conditioner. I’ll stop by for burgers next week.”

I tapped Ellen on the shoulder on the way out. “Make sure he buys you lunch.”

She giggled. “He always does.”

Mom had a plate with a sandwich and leftover potato salad on the counter when I returned.

“They started putting in that laundromat.”

“I don’t know why we need that thing. People have washing machines at home,” she said.

“It’s for all those apartments that keep cropping up.”

“I don’t know why we need those either.”

She stopped wiping the counter. “Have you heard from Katie?” she asked.

Katie and I broke up three months ago, but she never failed to work the question into our conversations.

“No, Mom.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Mom had her sights on grandchildren. She thought Katie was the one. Katie didn't. I'm not sure I did either.

After lunch, I rigged the new parts into the switch and the air conditioner clicked on. I tested it a few times before leaving it off. Mom wouldn’t turn it on until evening.

When I got back to my house in Grove City, I dropped my keys on the counter and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

The refrigerator door was covered with postcards. Aspen. Denver. Los Angeles. Tucson. Most of them had faded from years in the kitchen sunlight.

An old photograph of Susie standing barefoot on a California beach hung beneath them. The corners had curled up long ago.

Katie hated that picture. Looking at the postcards, I remembered our arguments.

"Why don't you take those things down?" she said.

"Take what down?"

Katie pointed at the refrigerator.

“Why? What’s wrong with them?”

"Did you date her?"

"Katie, I’ve told you, Susie and I are just friends."

"But you wanted to date her."

"No, Katie."

"Where is she now?"

I threw up my arms. "I don't know. California, I think."

Katie folded her arms.

"What if she comes back?"

I laughed and shook my head.

"Katie, Susie is never coming back to Ohio."

But Katie never seemed sure.

I remembered the day Susie left Derby. She packed her life into her Ford Escort, gave me a hug, ran back to her car, and headed for Berkeley.

She made it to Denver.

Since then, I’ve received postcards and the occasional phone call.

XI

I heard the phone ringing from outside my door. I hurried inside, set my briefcase down, and picked it up on the fourth ring, just before the answering machine could.

"Davieee."

There was a roar of voices behind her.

I pulled the receiver away from my ear. "Where are you, you nut? I can barely hear you."

"I'm on a payphone."

"A payphone where?"

"Venice Beach...Did you see my movie?”

"Your movie? I had to rewind it twice just to pick you out of the crowd.”

"Really, Mama watched it once and said I looked too skinny."

“Fifteen seconds in the back of a crowded restaurant is not going to get you a SAG card, Susie.”

“SAG smag, I don’t like acting anyway. Too boring. All you do is sit around.”

A recorded voice cut in. Please deposit an additional two dollars and ten cents for the next three minutes.

I heard the jingle of change.

“Soo, how is Katie?”

“Susie, Katie and I broke up months ago. You’d know if you called more often.”

“What did you do? Take her to Derby?”

“We went to see Mom a couple of times, sure.”

Susie snorted.

"Jesus Christ, no wonder she left you."

“That wasn’t it. She didn’t...”

“You should come out here. You have to see the ocean. Matt’s on tour. You could crash on the couch.”

She kept talking about Venice, the beach, and why now was the perfect time to come.

“I don’t know, I got a lot going on.”

Please deposit an additional two dollars and ten cents for the next three minutes.

“I’m runnin’ out of quarters. Think about it. Anyway, I just wanted to call you...Love you Davie.”

I heard a click and the line went dead.

Two weeks later, Susie picked me up from LAX in the same green Escort she left home in. I peered at her through the passenger window before opening the door. "When are you going to get a new car?"

"What's wrong with Sally? She gets me where I want to go."

Susie scooped up an empty drink cup off the passenger seat, tossed it in the back, and smiled.

I placed my bag in the back next to a worn leather jacket and got in. “Sally has more miles on her than a Hollywood hooker.” My feet fought for space with discarded McDonald’s bags.

I leaned over and wrapped an arm around her. "How are you doing, hon?"

“It’s about time you came to see me.”

“You never stay in one place long enough for me to see you.”

“Put your belt on, traffic here is nuts since the quake.” She pulled away from the curb and merged in with the other cars.

“I can’t believe you are still here after that.”

“Oh my god, it was nuts. The whole apartment kept shaking.”

It took us twenty minutes to cover the seven miles to her dingbat apartment in Mar Vista. Orange construction barrels narrowed the freeway to one lane. Cracked overpass supports disappeared behind plywood scaffolding.

Susie pulled into the carport below and led me up a flight of stairs to her apartment. I took in the layout. There was a futon against the wall by the front door and a round rattan chair with a faded beige cushion beneath the far window. A pair of stools sat beneath the counter separating the kitchen from the main room. I didn't see a dining table.

Susie kicked off her sandals. They skidded beneath a worn coffee table stacked with glamour magazines. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to change.”

She pushed a basket of laundry aside with her foot and passed through a beaded curtain that I assumed led down a hallway to the bathroom and bedroom.

“There’s some pop in the fridge,” she shouted.

An old guitar case leaned against the wall in the corner. I sat on the futon beneath a poster advertising Matt’s band playing at the Whisky.

Susie came out from the back. She had put on shorts and a baseball tee with The Cult printed across the front. Her skin had a sun-kissed glow. Her blond hair reached down to her shoulder blades. She looked like she belonged in California.

I felt suddenly pale.

“Where’s Matt?”

“I think they’re in Chicago this week.” She ran her fingers through her hair. "I can't wait to show you the beach."

She sat in the rattan chair, tucking one leg beneath her.

"There's this Mexican place in Venice that makes the best margaritas. And I can probably get us into the Viper Room. I know one of the bouncers."

"Whoa, slow down.” I held up my hands. “Yes, to the beach. No to the Viper Room. Maybe to the margaritas. What is the Viper Room anyway?”

Susie frowned. “Everyone in Hollywood hangs out at the Viper Room. Matt would kill to play there.”

“I’ll pass.”

Susie frowned.

“You have to try some things. Why else are you here? And when are you going to tell me about Katie?”

“I didn’t come all this way to talk about Katie. That was months ago.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“I came here to see you, dork.”

Susie stood up, came over and kicked my bag. “You got shorts in there? Let’s go to that restaurant.”

Over the next few days, Susie showed me half of Southern California—from the Hollywood Sign to Venice Beach and West Hollywood. It was my first trip out of Ohio that didn’t involve an auto plant. Bronco chases on the evening news, mudslides, earthquakes—Susie made it all seem normal.

By the end of the trip, I was ready to head home. I was sunburned and exhausted, but I smiled a lot.

Leaving California was easy, leaving Susie was a bit harder.

XII

 

“I don’t see why we just can’t go to Barnes & Noble at the mall. We could go shopping,” Alison said.

Alison was from the Detroit suburbs. She had transferred into the accounting department six months earlier. We met at a company softball game.

She was strumming her fingertips on my kitchen counter while I laced my shoes.

“I told you, I like this one. Besides, they are holding a book for me.”

The phone rang. Alison’s stare was a veiled threat.

I let the answering machine pick up.

Susie’s voice bellowed. “Where are you, dork. I got a new number. Write this down.”

She listed off the digits.

“I’m in Seattle. I got a new job. Anyway, call me, Davie.” The answering machine beeped.

Alison’s eyes narrowed. “Davie?”

“Old friend from high school.”

Alison opened the front door. “Alright—let’s go to this bookstore...Davie.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say...Davie.”

She gave me a wink and an extra wiggle to her step as she walked out the door.

We got in the car and headed to Derby.

I pulled into the parking lot behind the diner.

Alison got out of the car and looked around. “I can’t believe you grew up here.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. You just don’t seem very small townish.”

I led her up the metal stairs to Treehouse Books.

Ellen was behind the counter talking to a customer when we entered. She flashed me a smile.

Once the customer left, I introduced Alison to Ellen. “Ellie, this is Alison.”

The two shook hands.

“Ellie’s uncle owns this place. How’s he doing, by the way?”

“He has his good days. Some days he can even manage the stairs.”

“Is he still considering Jim’s offer?”  Jim owned the diner downstairs. He wanted to buy the building from Mr. Bowers and turn the bookstore into apartments.

Ellen laughed. “Are you kidding? He won’t even talk about it.”

“It sounded like a fair offer.”

Ellen grew serious. “It isn’t about the money, Dave. We barely break even. He says it is about the books.”

I glanced around the shelves. “Yeah, well some of these books have been here since I worked here.”

“You worked here?” Alison interjected.

“I did. When I was a kid.”

The look on her face said she was making a mental note.

Ellen continued. “Uncle Bob says every book finds a home eventually. Speaking of which...”

She went around and reached beneath the counter. “Here is the new Glen Cook novel you ordered.”

Alison went over to the bay window and looked out over the town while I scanned the science fiction section. She seemed more interested in the people below than the books.

When we left we both gave Ellen a quick hug.

I was silent on the drive home.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was just thinking. Ellie has a degree from OSU. I hate to see her stuck in Derby.”

Alison looked out the passenger window.

"I don't know. It didn't seem so bad."

The next day after work, I grabbed a beer from the fridge, sat on the couch, and punched in the number I had scribbled on the pad next to the phone. I sorted through the mail while it rang.

A male voice picked up on the other end of the line and said hello.

“Is Susan there?”

There was a muffled shout and then Susie came on the line. “Hello?”

“Who was that?”

“Davie! That was Paul. You’d like him.”

“What happened to Matt?”

“Matt left the band in St Louis,” Susie said like that was all the detail I needed.

“What are you doing in Seattle?”

“Paul works here.” She paused. “Well, his office is here. He travels a lot.”

“What are you doing in Seattle?”

“I’m working at this book warehouse.”

“Book warehouse?” I laughed at the irony. "Doing what?"

“I don’t know, whatever needs done.” She changed subjects. “Paul is taking me to Europe this summer. Spain, Paris. Can you imagine?”

“Wow, Europe. That’s great. You’ll have to send me postcards.” I took a swig of my beer.

“What about you? Are you seeing anyone yet?”

“I’ve been dating a girl from accounting. Her name is Alison.”

Susie snickered. “Alison from accounting. She sounds thrilling.”

“Don’t start. She’s nice. I like her.”

She launched into all the places she planned to see in Europe—Spain, Paris, Italy. Then I heard Paul’s muffled voice in the background.

“You have to tell me all about this Alison, but I got to go. Paul’s getting antsy. Call me. Love you Davie!” Click.

I shook my head and hung up the phone, wondering how long Seattle would hold her.

XIII

"What's wrong with getting a real tree?"

We were walking down the aisles at K-Mart. The shelves were lined with packages of colored glass bulbs and garland wrapped neatly around cardboard. An endless loop of Christmas music, interrupted every few minutes by reminders of the Blue Light Special, played overhead.

Alison wore a plaid skirt with knee-high black boots. She rolled her brown eyes at me like the answer was obvious.

"Why pay for a new one every year?" She dropped another box into the cart.

"Because that's what you do at Christmas."

I didn’t mention that my grandparents had a tree made of silver foil leaves. That would only weaken my argument. They’d set up a light with a rotating disk on the front that cast red, blue and yellow onto the branches. That never seemed natural to me.

"According to who?"

I had no reply.

Alison pointed down the aisle.

"Ohhh, look at this one. It's pretty."

We took our boxed tree back to my house. Alison kneeled on the floor and separated the branches into piles by the color on their tips while I fed them into the metal trunk according to the instructions.

“It says light blue comes next,” I told her. Alison handed me the branches without taking her eyes off the black-and-white Christmas movie playing on TV.

“We should hang garland along the fireplace,” she said.

 It was getting late by the time we finished. I convinced Alison that we could do the trimming in the morning and we went to sleep.

The phone started blaring around three in the morning. Alison groaned and buried her face against my chest. I reached for the receiver, knocking it onto the nightstand before getting it under control.

In a hoarse whisper I said hello.

"That turd left me."

I rubbed my eyes. "Do you know what time it is, Susie?" My question didn’t warrant a response. She kept rambling on between sobs.

“All his bullshit about going to Europe, seeing Paris. Saying I was the only one. He's probably been shacking up with some barmaid in Portland."

"Portland?"

“Portland. Or Prague. Or Phoenix. Somewhere with a P."

“Weren’t you a bartender in Phoenix?”

"That's not funny, Dave. What am I going to do? I can't even make rent."

Alison groaned again, rolled over and covered her head with a pillow.

"How much?"

"I don't want your money, Dave. I'll figure something out. I always do."

"How much?"

"It's not just the rent."  She hesitated. "Sally died and that modeling job didn't work out."

Her words slowed. "Turns out keeping my clothes on wasn't an option."

"Susie... why don't you come home?"

Silence.

"It's almost Christmas. I'm sure your parents would be happy to see you."

More silence.

"I'll wire you the money."

She was quiet so long I’d begun to think she hung up.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“I’ll call you in the morning.”

I hung up the phone. Alison rolled over and took up her position between my arm and chest. “Who was that?” she murmured.

“Susie.”

XIV

 

“Should I come?” Alison asked as I put on my heavy coat.

"Susie wants to meet you. I'm just not sure this is the right moment. I might have to drag her into the car."

"The girl who hitchhiked to Toledo is afraid to come home?"

I hugged her. "It's not fear."

Her eyes searched my face before she gave a slight nod. She rested her hand on my chest—then kissed me goodbye. "Drive safe."

“I’ll call you from Mom’s if I run late.”

A light snow covered the roadways. More snow was piled up along the sides. Alison's comment stayed with me as I drove to the airport.

Susie spent months talking about the Speedway Jam in Toledo. She and Natalie finally hitched a ride with some college guy.

Our phone rang a little after ten the night of the concert.

"Davie?"

"Where are you?"

"Still in Toledo!"

"No shit?”

“The guy ditched us. We’re at some Waffle House off I-75.”

I slipped out of the house with the keys to Mom’s Buick, still three months from getting my license, and picked them up.

It wasn't a Waffle House this time. Instead, I was pulling into the parking garage at the Columbus airport.

Twenty minutes later, I was waiting at the gate. Susie came off the plane wearing boots, jeans, and a puffy vest over a white knit sweater. She was lugging a large hard-shell suitcase.

“Your hair is darker.”

“It’s wintertime,” she said as if that explained it. She looked me over. “You’re getting grays.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. "Yeah." Then I gave her a hug. “You okay, hon?”

She didn’t answer. She had the same defeated look I'd seen that night in Toledo.

I took her suitcase and led the way back to the car.

On the drive, Susie stared out the window at the snow-covered landscape. I heard her mumble, “Sure baby. Paris baby. Whatever you want, baby. We’ll see it all...."

Then she turned to me and asked, "Can I stay with you?"

"Sure, piss off your mom and my girlfriend all in one shot. That’s fine with me.” I took my eyes off the road for a second. “You did call your parents and tell them you were coming, right?"

 "Yesss, I called."

We drove mostly in silence until we got close to Derby, then Susie asked, “Can we get something to eat?”

“Sure, hon.”

I pulled into the parking lot behind the diner in Derby a few minutes later. We got out and Susie looked up at the scaffolding that surrounded the second floor. A metal chute hung from one of the windows and emptied into a large dumpster below.

“What’s going on here?”

“Mr. Bowers sold the building to the guy who owns the diner. He’s turning the second floor into apartments.”

We cut up through the alley between the diner and Sudz. Her eyes lingered on the railing behind the laundromat before she slipped her arm in mine.

On Main Street, the lampposts were trimmed with wreaths and bright red bows.  We stepped inside the diner and stomped our feet, shaking off the slush and the cold. From behind the counter the waitress told us to sit anywhere we liked.

Susie traced her hand along the back of an empty booth. The green vinyl was worn and cracked in places.

It was the booth where I told her my parents were getting a divorce.

She moved on to the next one and sat down.

She looked around. “They should put in a coffee bar. They have them all over in Seattle.”

“They already have a Starbucks in town.”

A heavyset waitress came over and took our drink order. Susie ordered a black coffee. I asked for water.

Susie stared out the window at the town. The staff had frosted the edges with fake snow. “It looks smaller.”

The waitress came back with our drinks and asked if we were ready to order. Susie hadn’t looked at the menu. I asked if she knew what she wanted.

“I’m not really hungry. I’ll just have a slice of apple pie.”

I ordered a burger and fries.

Susie picked at her pie and stared out the window while I ate.

"Remember Buster?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Buster. The Millers' dog."

"Oh. Yeah, yeah."

She laughed.

"You should've been there when he took a bite out of Bobby Fowler's leg."

"Did you...?"

“I sicced his ass on him.”

We both started laughing. Susie wiped at the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.

“It was so funny,” she said, but her grin faded as she turned back toward the window.

The waitress dropped off the check.

Susie headed off to the bathroom while I paid.

At the register, the waitress asked if I was all set.

The covered display beside the register caught my eye. I pointed.

"I'll take a half-dozen of those too."

The waitress filled a small paper sack and slid it across the counter.

Susie and I headed back out into the cold. A light snow was falling. Christmas lights glowed in storefront windows. The red ribbons that hung beneath the bows on the lamppost fluttered in the wind.

Susie stuffed her hands into the pockets of her vest and tucked her head between her shoulders.

“I hate this town,” she grumbled, but there was no conviction in her voice.

We got back into the car, and I placed the sack from the restaurant on the console between us.

Susie sank further down into the passenger’s seat as we approached the old neighborhood.

We passed my mom’s house. Light leaked through the shades of the living room window. She had multi-colored Christmas lights in her boxwoods.

"I have to stop by Mom's after I drop you off."

"We could do it now."

I shot her a look.

"Nice try. You can see her tomorrow. I’ll bring Alison."

I pulled into her parents’ driveway and put the car in park. The evergreens in front partially obscured the house. They were covered in white.  I remembered when they were smaller than Christmas trees.

"You ready?"

Susie stared through the windshield at the house.

"Are you coming in?" she asked.

"Not this time."

Susie took a deep breath.

"I spent my whole life trying to get out of Ohio and here I am right back at this fucking place."

She had. And she would again, but tonight she was where she needed to be.

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

Then she noticed the paper bag on the console. "What's in the bag?"

"Chocolate chip cookies."

She looked at me.

"I figured you might need them."

Her face softened.

Then she punched me in the arm. "Asshole."

She snatched the bag from the console and pushed open the car door.

"Susie."

She paused and looked back.

"What?"

"You know," I said, "there is an Eiffel Tower in Cincinnati."