How to Build a House Page 14

  “Teddy,” I whisper. He stops and looks at me. “Too much information.”

  Later, when I’m in the bathroom, Teddy puts on the coffee and slides bread into the toaster. When I come out, smoke is filling the kitchen. He pops the toast and opens the small window over the sink and takes the butter out of the refrigerator, all as if this were the most natural thing in the world, making me breakfast after we’ve had sex on the couch.

  Is this love? I wonder. Is this what it’s like? Does Teddy love me? Does pulling on his shorts and lacing up his boots before serving me burnt toast, half a grapefruit and a cup of decent coffee mean he loves me? And if so, why hasn’t he told me?

  I don’t know what to expect, seeing as I’ve never had a boy tell me he loves me. Does he just say it? Does he pass me the boysenberry jam and say, Would you like some jam for your toast, and by the way, I love you?

  No. He picks up the boysenberry jam, studies it and asks, “Have you ever had a fresh boysenberry? Or ever even seen a fresh boysenberry? Have you ever heard of anybody, ever, having eaten a fresh boysenberry?”

  “Uh … no. I guess not.”

  “Don’t you think that’s weird? I mean, you can’t find one jam aisle in any supermarket in this entire country without boysenberry jam in it, yet the existence of the actual boysenberry is questionable at best.”

  “Astute observation.”

  “Thanks. I think so too.”

  We go out to meet the bus and I bring a piece of burnt toast for Frances, because I’ve noticed Frances has gotten into the habit of sleeping through breakfast.

  She takes a bite. “You need to work on your homemaking skills if you plan on keeping Teddy.” Then she links her arm through his and they head up the path to the site.

  Teddy and Frances are partners this week, and today they get the enviable job of building kitchen cabinets while I’m stuck with Seth on the dreaded roof, where it promises to be several degrees hotter than hell.

  We have to seal the roof before we can shingle it, which means unfurling these huge, heavy black rolls of builders’ felt from one edge of the roof to the other. The felt smells like tar.

  Unfortunately, I’m wearing a white lace bra (one of the by-products of having a boyfriend is thinking before choosing your bra), so I can’t take off my shirt like Marika and Marisol. They’re up here in their sports bras in what feels like some kind of cruel cosmic joke being played on Seth, who looks like he’s about to pass out. It’s probably just the heat. Seth isn’t even looking at Marika and Marisol. There’s an order to life. When you’re hungry you don’t worry about insignificant things, you think only of your hunger, and when you’re this hot, you don’t care that the two girls you’ve been stalking all summer are standing in front of you half naked.

  Despite the heat, I keep running back over this morning’s conversation with Teddy and wondering if he’s ever going to tell me he loves me.

  Marisol and I have taken over the eastern slope of the roof and left Seth and Marika to cover the western slope. She’s unrolling the builders’ felt; I’m tacking it to the roof.

  “When did Pierre first tell you he loved you?” I ask.

  She stops and takes the bandana off her head. She wipes her face as she thinks. I know she has the answer, but Marisol has a flair for the dramatic pause.

  “The first afternoon we met. On the teen bike tour of Napa. He walked up to me and introduced himself and said that he was pretty sure he loved me, and if he hadn’t been so cute I would have thought he was a psycho. But that doesn’t really count, because, of course, he didn’t mean it.”

  “So when did he tell you he loved you and mean it?” I nudge her to get back to rolling the felt, and I return to stapling it down.

  “Probably the first time he tried talking me into having sex.”

  “How romantic.”

  She laughs. “Look, it didn’t really matter that much because I already knew. You just know these things. Don’t stress if Teddy hasn’t said it yet. Just look at how he treats you. He obviously loves you.”

  “Really?”

  “Totally.”

  “But why?” We’ve reached the edge of the roof and we stop. From up here I can see that the countryside stretches on forever. Greens and browns and yellows and little patches of life, but mostly Earth: beautiful, undestroyed, pristine Earth.

  “Are you seriously asking me why you’re worth loving? Are you that insecure?”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Okay. Where to start?” She sits down on the roll of felt and drinks from her water bottle. “To borrow a phrase from your native land, the inferior California to the south, you are, like, totally awesome. Not to mention the fact that you gave up your summer vacation to come down to this sweatbox and help his family rebuild their house. And finally, because I learned in my college-essay-writing workshop that all good arguments have three prongs, I offer this: You’re willing to put out.”

  I smile at her and cock my head.

  “Your school had one of those lame workshops too?”

  “No. My overbearing parents sent me to a private workshop.”

  “So that’s how they do it in the north,” I say. This time I give her more of a kick than a nudge. “C’mon, let’s get back to work.”

  “Tell me more about Tess,” Teddy says.

  The cicadas are buzzing. Tonight the sky is dark and deep, and we’re lying on a blanket in the grass on the hill where Teddy was planning on taking me to watch the fireworks on the night we first kissed in his truck.

  I was just losing myself to the space between awake and gone, but now it’s like somebody turned on stadium lights out here.

  I’m alert. Sleep is a distant continent.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I don’t know. Anything. You know my family, but I hardly know a thing about yours.”

  I stop and I let myself think about Tess, really think about her, and I find I’m unable to unearth the right words.

  “She hates eggs,” I say.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. The whole eating an embryo thing just rubs her the wrong way. Strangely, she has no problem with the full-grown chicken.”

  “Well, that’s important to know. Thanks for that information.”

  He seems kind of hurt. Like I’m dodging the question. But I’m just trying to be here. I’m trying to stay here, on this hillside in the dark with Teddy, and not let myself go back home.

  “Teddy. I told you about what she did with Gabriel. That says everything, doesn’t it?”

  “Does it? Is that who she is? Someone who just does things to hurt you?”

  I don’t have to think about this last question for very long.

  “No. She was always pretty good to me. I mean … she shared everything with me. Her mother, her sister, even her father. I never felt like the outsider with Tess.”

  I close my eyes, and I listen to the cicadas and an image comes to me: Tess in a blue-and-gold-striped soccer jersey, with mud on her knees and flushed cheeks.

  “When we were nine we played in a soccer league and she was a much better player, much more coordinated and confident on the field, but when it came time for tryouts she purposely tripped over the ball and missed an easy shot on goal, and we both got put on the same midlevel team.”

  I watch the nine-year-old Tess run away, farther and farther down the field.

  “Maybe that was just because she didn’t want to get stuck playing with people she didn’t know.”

  I open my eyes again and look at him. “That was part of it, I’m sure. But also I think she didn’t want me to feel I was a crappier player than she was. Back then I was passionate about soccer, even though I wasn’t very good at it.”

  “Sounds like she’s a good sister.”

  “Was.”

  “All over some guy who you were better off without anyway?”

  “She knew how hurt I’d be. She had to.”

  He stretches his long arms back
over his head. “Look, Harper, I’m obviously not a girl, so I’m a little out of my arena of expertise here, but isn’t it like a cardinal rule that girlfriends, especially sisters, don’t let guys get between them?”

  “Yes. It is. And she broke it.”

  “But so did you by letting that night be the end of everything.”

  I’m quiet. A tickle lodges itself in the back of my throat.

  “I don’t think you really get it. And why should you? You have your mother and your father and your sisters. You can’t be divorced out of any of those relationships.”

  He sits up and starts to put on his sneakers. “If you think everything is easy for me, then I don’t think you know me at all,” he says.

  “It’s not that, it’s just—”

  “I’ve been through some pretty heavy shit myself. You know?”

  I sit up and grab the laces out of his hands.

  “I know. I’m sorry. You’re right. I know you’ve been through a lot. I don’t mean to make it sound like your life’s been easy. See? This is why I don’t like talking about my family. It turns me into this wallower, wading around in my own mess, blind to everything else around me.”

  He’s stopped, frozen with his hands stuck out in front of him where he’d been holding his laces, and he’s looking at me in a way he’s never looked at me before, and for the first time since we kissed that night in his truck, I sense that he’s untouchable.

  Silence settles in, but not one of our comfortable silences. I hold his gaze; I don’t want him to look away.

  He breathes in finally, and his eyes regain their warmth and it feels like if I wanted to I could put my arms around him, but I don’t.

  Instead I finish tying his shoelaces for him.

  “I’m sorry, Teddy. I’m really sorry.”

  He reaches out and strokes my hair. He takes my chin in his hand and turns my face back up to look at him.

  “There’s things you can fix and things you can’t,” he says. “And I just think it’s a shame to walk away from the things you can fix.”

  I could write to her.

  It might be easier than talking. With writing nothing gets in the way.

  It feels wrong that she doesn’t know anything about Teddy, or about my life down here, or about what I’ve learned to do and what I know now that I didn’t know before.

  I start to compose imaginary letters. I think about the Mistress and the Maid. I think about what they might write on that blank piece of paper between them.

  If I could write to her, I might write:

  Dear Tess,

  Wear goggles and gloves when you use a saw. Saws are dangerous and you can never take too much care with dangerous things.

  Or:

  Dear Tess,

  When you build a house, you build the walls flat on the ground, and when they’re all done everyone gets together, because it take lots of hands, and you raise them, outside walls first, and in the space of an afternoon, what was once just a pile of lumber becomes a real home.

  Or:

  Dear Tess,

  You can tell when a boy loves you. There’s no mystery to it. And it doesn’t have to do with words. I wasted too much time inventing a new version of love in which everything that didn’t seem to fit could be excused or explained, but all those excuses and explanations just meant it wasn’t love in the first place, it was something else.

  Or:

  Dear Tess,

  My mother died when I was two. I’ve spent my life feeling guilty that I didn’t miss her more. The only reason I didn’t is because of Jane and Rose and you, and now that you’re not who you once were, I’m finally starting to miss her more.

  PS: I’d take the guilt over the missing any day.

  “We’re fomenting,” says Captain.

  “A coup?” I ask.

  “No, a plan. I looked it up, and I’m pretty sure you can foment a plan, as long as the plan stirs up some form of trouble.”

  We’re sitting around in my room. I’ve just said goodnight to Teddy, who went back to the trailer, and Linus did his lights-out round of knocks, and it strikes me as a total waste that I’m breaking the rules by letting Captain sneak into my room.

  Although some rules are still being honored: Captain sits in the armchair and Marisol stands in the doorway to the bathroom brushing her teeth. A grand total of four feet on the floor.

  “The way I see it,” says Captain, “our time here is coming to an end and we’ve barely gotten out of this godforsaken yet charming town. We need a road trip.”

  “The town is charming,” says Marisol. “And full of moxie!”

  “What do you have in mind?” I ask.

  “Memphis. A night out. I’m thinking a cool little club, hear some live music, drink too much, maybe puke on the sidewalk. I want to show Frances that fun can be had outside the limits of her precious city, the one with the capital C.”

  “I know a great place, but I think the drinking is probably out. I went there with Teddy. The music was amazing. The food was even better.”

  “Fine, so forget the drinking. We’ll eat so much we puke on the sidewalk.”

  “Sounds irresistible,” says Marisol, coming out of the bathroom in her pajamas with the eggs and bacon on them.

  “So let’s see if we can get permission to go Saturday night,” I say.

  “Where’s the fun in that? Our curfew is ten o’clock. That’s just when things start getting going. We’d have to leave Memphis by eight-thirty to get back here in time. And also, and I know this is a foreign concept to you, but everything is much more fun when you do it without permission.” Captain takes in Marisol’s pajamas. “Adorable. But you might want to consider a wardrobe change.”

  “Now?” I say. “You want to go tonight?”

  He jumps up from the chair. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t I make that clear?” He starts pacing the room. “The first thing we need is some mode of transport.”

  “Wait a minute. Where’s Frances?” Marisol asks.

  “She’s putting on something hot. I told her you need to look hot when you’re fomenting.”

  As if on cue, a quick and quiet knock arrives at the door. Captain opens it, and as he stands aside to let Frances in, he points to her with both hands.

  She does a little curtsy.

  “So back to the wheels … I was thinking we might prevail upon Teddy to borrow his dad’s car.”

  “I don’t think Coach Wes is going to go for this plan.”

  “Permission,” snaps Captain. “This will be done without permission. Stay on the tour.”

  “So you mean you want Teddy to steal his dad’s car?”

  “If you want to get technical.”

  Marisol starts searching through her clothes.

  “What are you doing?” I ask her.

  “I’m changing.”

  Captain reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dime. He tosses it to me and I catch it.

  “Go call Teddy,” he says.

  “When is the last time you made a call at a pay phone? 1985?” I throw it back at him. “It costs fifty cents.”

  “Jeez.” He digs his hand into his pocket and comes up with two quarters. “No wonder everyone has a cell phone.”

  I sneak out into the hall and call Teddy, who goes for the idea right away. I was counting on him refusing, which would have meant I could have gone back into the room and shrugged and said something like Oh well, I tried, and then I would have happily climbed into bed.

  Now we’re all piled into Coach Wes’s car and we’re flying down the dark, half-empty interstate, toward Memphis.

  “Dude, thanks for doing this,” says Captain from the backseat. He puts a hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “You are seriously brave.”

  “What do you mean?” asks Teddy.

  “My old man would tear me a new one if I stole his car.”

  “You’d probably be stupid enough to get caught. Anyway, as long as we’re back before five in the morning we’re good.
That’s when Dad gets up for his workout. Until then he sleeps like a bear in winter.”

  Teddy looks over at me, sniffs out my low-grade panic and smiles.

  “Everything is going to be fine, Harper. Try and have a little fun.”

  “I’m having fun,” I offer lamely, and then turn up the radio.

  But as soon as we step into Alicia’s, I relax. It feels good to come back here. Even though it’s late on a Wednesday night, it’s crowded and we have to wait a few minutes for a table. Captain strides over to the bar to order a drink, but returns carrying a Sprite.

  “Told you,” I say.

  “Nobody likes a know-it-all,” he shoots back. He reaches into his Sprite, pulls out the maraschino cherry and glares at it.

  “Like it isn’t enough for the bartender to turn me down. He had to give me a cherry. It’s like an extra kick in the nuts.”

  Teddy grabs it, pops it in his mouth and smiles. “Who knew a kick in the nuts could taste so good?”

  We squeeze five chairs around a table for four right in the middle of the room just as the band is coming back to the stage from their break. Tonight there’s a different trio playing drums, a guitar and keyboards, and the guys in the band look to be about a third the age of the jazz musicians Teddy and I heard last time. All three, including the white guy on keyboards, are wearing hip-hop baggy jeans, dark glasses and lots of gold, but their sound is a combination of soul, rock and jazz with just a hint of hip-hop thrown in for good measure.

  They’re really, really great. Did I waste my summer on Jesus radio?

  Alicia comes over and smiles at Teddy and says, “So you brought some friends back, did you? Some hungry friends?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good thing,” she says, and she heads for the kitchen.

  “We just ate dinner a few hours ago,” says Frances. “I am so not hungry.”

  “All the better for puking on the sidewalk,” says Captain. He pulls her onto his lap and he kisses her neck and whispers something in her ear.