Congratulations. You’re becoming a woman.
The film had said we would grow breasts. It hadn’t mentioned anything about stony lumps that would, for me, take years to soften and expand.
“Feel this,” I had said, taking Ben’s hand and placing it on my flat, twelve-year-old chest as we lay on the porch of the abandoned house. His fingers rested uncertainly on my shirt, and I pressed them into my flesh. “You think not having hair on your face is bad.” His ears had turned pink, and he had smiled sheepishly, his hand lingering and then falling away.
—
When Ben finished working on my tooth, I ran my tongue over the smooth edge, the damage seemingly undone. “Thank you,” I said. “Now, what was the favor you wanted to ask me?”
I was hoping, irrationally, that he would ask for things to go back to the way they were, that we could somehow undo the distance between us, as simply as pulling slack from a rope.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You remember my mother.”
“She’s unforgettable.”
Ben smirked. “Something like that. Anyway, she’s heading up the visitors bureau now, and she’s been up in arms over some report that named Keokuk the worst town in the state. She’s working with the historical society to set up one of those holiday home tours as part of an initiative to boost tourism and revitalize the town, and she would love to include Arrowood.”
“That sounds great,” I said. “But I don’t know about opening Arrowood up to tourists. I mean, I just got back myself.”
“I know,” he said. “I don’t want to pressure you. She wanted me to ask you, and I was going to wait until you got settled, but then you showed up today. I was thinking about how you were always so into local history, and all the old houses. Seems like a good fit, something you might enjoy.”
He was right about the old houses, though I doubted I would enjoy anything that involved his mother. “I’ll think about it,” I said.
He smiled. “Thanks. I’d better get back to work, but I’d love to get together and catch up soon. Want to do dinner this weekend? Maybe Saturday at the yacht club?”
My family had belonged to the yacht club
before,
in our former life, and we’d eaten dinner there dozens of times with the Ferrises. It wasn’t fancy like the name implied, just a clubhouse with a restaurant and some docks. My dad had kept a ski boat there. The boat had a glitter-flecked, ruby-red hull that reminded me of Dorothy’s shoes in
The Wizard of Oz,
so Dad had dubbed it the
Ruby Slipper
.
We spent a lot of time on the boat before my mother got pregnant with the twins. Dad would be in the driver’s seat, his back and shoulders deeply sunburned, a can of Coors in his hand. I would sit backward, the wind whipping my hair in my face, and watch my mother slice through the wake on her skis, her pale hair flickering behind her, the river calm but for us splitting the surface, our waves diminishing as they raced toward shore.
“Sure,” I said to Ben. “The club’s fine.”
“Great. I’ll see you Saturday, then. My cell number’s on there.” He handed me a business card with BENJAMIN FERRIS, DDS in glossy letters, his fingers curling around mine and then sliding away. “I can pick you up around seven.” My hand warmed where he’d touched me, like a match had been struck across my skin.
—
Back at the house, I stood at the kitchen sink and ate a Pop-Tart without toasting it. I was debating eating another one when I spotted Mrs. Ferris out in the yard near their carriage house, staring at Arrowood. I backed away from the window, watching her from the side. She tilted her head, as though looking up at the second or third story, and then she turned and disappeared into the carriage house.
I wondered how hard she would try to convince me to participate in her home tour. Maybe I should suggest that she’d have better luck organizing a tour of all the abandoned houses, for people who were into
The film had said we would grow breasts. It hadn’t mentioned anything about stony lumps that would, for me, take years to soften and expand.
“Feel this,” I had said, taking Ben’s hand and placing it on my flat, twelve-year-old chest as we lay on the porch of the abandoned house. His fingers rested uncertainly on my shirt, and I pressed them into my flesh. “You think not having hair on your face is bad.” His ears had turned pink, and he had smiled sheepishly, his hand lingering and then falling away.
—
When Ben finished working on my tooth, I ran my tongue over the smooth edge, the damage seemingly undone. “Thank you,” I said. “Now, what was the favor you wanted to ask me?”
I was hoping, irrationally, that he would ask for things to go back to the way they were, that we could somehow undo the distance between us, as simply as pulling slack from a rope.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You remember my mother.”
“She’s unforgettable.”
Ben smirked. “Something like that. Anyway, she’s heading up the visitors bureau now, and she’s been up in arms over some report that named Keokuk the worst town in the state. She’s working with the historical society to set up one of those holiday home tours as part of an initiative to boost tourism and revitalize the town, and she would love to include Arrowood.”
“That sounds great,” I said. “But I don’t know about opening Arrowood up to tourists. I mean, I just got back myself.”
“I know,” he said. “I don’t want to pressure you. She wanted me to ask you, and I was going to wait until you got settled, but then you showed up today. I was thinking about how you were always so into local history, and all the old houses. Seems like a good fit, something you might enjoy.”
He was right about the old houses, though I doubted I would enjoy anything that involved his mother. “I’ll think about it,” I said.
He smiled. “Thanks. I’d better get back to work, but I’d love to get together and catch up soon. Want to do dinner this weekend? Maybe Saturday at the yacht club?”
My family had belonged to the yacht club
before,
in our former life, and we’d eaten dinner there dozens of times with the Ferrises. It wasn’t fancy like the name implied, just a clubhouse with a restaurant and some docks. My dad had kept a ski boat there. The boat had a glitter-flecked, ruby-red hull that reminded me of Dorothy’s shoes in
The Wizard of Oz,
so Dad had dubbed it the
Ruby Slipper
.
We spent a lot of time on the boat before my mother got pregnant with the twins. Dad would be in the driver’s seat, his back and shoulders deeply sunburned, a can of Coors in his hand. I would sit backward, the wind whipping my hair in my face, and watch my mother slice through the wake on her skis, her pale hair flickering behind her, the river calm but for us splitting the surface, our waves diminishing as they raced toward shore.
“Sure,” I said to Ben. “The club’s fine.”
“Great. I’ll see you Saturday, then. My cell number’s on there.” He handed me a business card with BENJAMIN FERRIS, DDS in glossy letters, his fingers curling around mine and then sliding away. “I can pick you up around seven.” My hand warmed where he’d touched me, like a match had been struck across my skin.
—
Back at the house, I stood at the kitchen sink and ate a Pop-Tart without toasting it. I was debating eating another one when I spotted Mrs. Ferris out in the yard near their carriage house, staring at Arrowood. I backed away from the window, watching her from the side. She tilted her head, as though looking up at the second or third story, and then she turned and disappeared into the carriage house.
I wondered how hard she would try to convince me to participate in her home tour. Maybe I should suggest that she’d have better luck organizing a tour of all the abandoned houses, for people who were into
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