Learning Not to Drown Read online

  Sitting on my bed, I glare at the stack of college brochures on my desk. It’s ridiculous that Mom won’t let me go on the trip. She probably thinks that by keeping me home, I’ll end up doing exactly what she wants: living here and commuting to Crappy CC or Shithole State. It’s not going to happen. . . . But neither is the trip. No way will Mom change her mind. If Luke hadn’t called, maybe I could have persuaded her. Or if he had called and said exactly what Mom wanted to hear: “I’m out early, I have a good job lined up and will be renting a house across the street from you, so you’ll always know what I’m doing, and I’ve met a nice Catholic girl to marry and start a family with.” HA! Like that would ever happen.

  My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from Drea: “Still on?”

  “As planned,” I text back, and toss my phone onto my bed. If Mom had said yes to the trip, I wouldn’t have risked losing that opportunity by sneaking out tonight. Now . . . forget it. I’m going.

  Only five hours. Five hours until I’m out of here. I hate this house and I hate my mom and I hate Luke for calling at the wrong time. Wrong place at the wrong time. Luke is always in the wrong place at the wrong time. My fingers tap on my knees, little spikes of angry energy. Even watching my fish tranquilly swimming circles in my aquarium isn’t doing anything to calm me down. To quiet my hands I grab a half-knitted beanie from my bedside table and squeeze the skein of mohair yarn. Snow white to contrast with Skye’s black hair. I loop the yarn over the needle and start a new row of stitches. I’ll be done with hers by tonight, which leaves just Drea’s and Omar’s to go. It’s weird, knitting hats when it’s so hot, with Beanie Day so many months off. But I need to get them done now, so I can knit blankets with the leftover yarn for the kids at Loving Hearts Homeless Shelter before the temperature drops.

  The needles make a quiet click as each stitch slips off, reminding me of Granny sitting in her rocking chair when Papa was in one of his moods. Clicking and rocking—a little island of calm making something beautiful. Click. Click. Click. I cast off the final stitches, then go to my bookcase and grab the Knit Slouchy Beanies magazine I picked up at a yard sale for the pattern I’m sure Drea will love. And there was one in there that Luke might like too.

  Luke. Luke will not be coming home immediately. Disappointment instantly swirls, overtaking any anger I had left. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. Close to four years. Couldn’t he at least come home for a visit? Just a quick one? Then start his new job?

  I know I’m being selfish. If Luke came home, he could lose his opportunity. He’s twenty-nine years old. He’ll need to make money. Need the structure of a schedule, as my father always says.

  Any job is important, but with the right job maybe he’ll stay out of prison, Skeleton will go away, the whispers will stop, and my favorite memories of Luke will snap together perfectly with the present, making a picture I can see and understand. It sounds impossible, but I have to hope.

  With the right job this time it could be different.

  Chapter 4

  Wins and Losses

  THEN: Age Six

  Luke didn’t have to work anymore, so we stayed at the lake late, wading into the water after the lifeguard had gone home. He carefully led me by the hand toward the forbidden side, the swamp.

  “Mommy doesn’t want me to go over here,” I said, clutching Luke’s hand tighter, feeling my toes sinking deep into the mud. “And neither do the lifeguards. They blow their whistles whenever anyone gets too close.”

  “Do you know why they don’t want us over here?”

  Luke bent down, his nose touching mine.

  “Because we’ll drown,” I told him, looking down at

  the water, embarrassed. “I still can’t swim.” Most of my

  friends could at least dog-paddle.

  “You can’t?” Luke asked. His mouth dropped open,

  like he was shocked by this information. “Well, wanna

  learn right now?”

  “In the swamp?” I crinkled my nose. “Yuck.” “Okay. Later. But quit worrying. I won’t let you

  drown.” Luke gave my hand an extra squeeze. “The truth is,”—Luke led me farther into the swamp—

  “the best frogs are on this side of the lake. If you wanna win the Frog-Jumping Contest, this is the place to

  get ’em.”

  “Oohhh!” I did want to win. I wanted to get the firstplace trophy, and the free tickets for the games booths,

  but mostly I wanted to be in the parade, riding in back

  of Lucille Jordan’s fancy convertible. Mandy Jordan

  took all her friends for a ride on her birthday. Not me.

  I wasn’t invited to her party. Mandy’s friends said it felt

  like flying and that they were like movie stars. I wanted

  to try it too. And I could . . . if I won the Frog-Jumping

  Contest.

  Looking around, Luke pointed out different frogs,

  sleeping in the muck.

  “Which one is the winner?” he asked me.

  I scanned the mud. Pointed at the biggest frog I saw. “Shhh.” Luke signaled with one finger against his

  lip. Cautiously he lifted it out of the mud and into my

  hand. Its body was soft and slimy, and it didn’t even try

  to get away. I watched the space under its chin get big

  and small, big and small. It was cute.

  Once we’d waded back to shore, I carefully set the

  frog down on the grass. He took an instant gigantic

  leap, racing toward the lake. “Let’s name him Speedy!”

  I said as Luke swooped in to pick him up just before the

  water’s edge.

  He was fast! We could win! But as I put Speedy in my

  beach pail, adding some reeds from the lakeside, a rock,

  and some muddy water, I remembered Mom. “Won’t Mommy be mad? You know she doesn’t like

  animals.”

  “Don’t worry, Squeakers.” Luke winked at me. “I’ll

  talk to her. She won’t be mad for long.”

  When we brought Speedy home, Mom’s upper lip

  disappeared. “Frogs are vile. Besides, you’ll kill it. What

  are you going to feed it? Luke, you will be returning the

  frog to the lake immediately. No ifs, ands, or buts.” “But, Ma,” Luke protested. “Ma. Let her keep it

  until Saturday. You know, the Frog-Jumping Contest

  at Patriot Days. We have a winner here.”

  Peter looked into the pail. “Doesn’t look like a

  winner to me,” he grumbled.

  “I said no, Luke,” she said, ignoring Peter. “Come on, Ma,” Luke cooed, wrapping an arm

  around her. “It’s only a few days.” Mom’s angry forehead vein was slowly disappearing. Luke was doing it!

  He was convincing her it was okay.

  Peter put his finger in the pail and touched the frog,

  then picked him up.

  “Back in the pail,” Mom instructed. Peter dropped

  him back in.

  “Hey—watch it. We need to protect those legs!” Luke

  warned. His brown eyes flicked from Mom over to Dad,

  who was relaxing in front of the TV.

  “Hey, Pop,” Luke said, “come look at what Clare and

  I found.”

  “What’s that?” Dad pushed himself out of his easy

  chair with a grunt.

  “Aha! A frog. I was on a walk this evening when I spotted one smashed on the road. A big one. Flatter than a

  potato chip. Guts everywhere. That’s how it goes. Frogs and cars just don’t mix. I had a baggie in my pocket so I scooped it up.” He grinned wickedly at me. “It’s in the

  back of my truck, if you want to see it. . . .”

  “Stop it!” I made a face and covered my ears, waiting

  for Dad to stop talking.

  “I really wish you’d leave your work stories
at work,”

  Mom said, shaking her head. “So, what do you think of

  this?” She motioned to the frog with her hand. After inspecting it, Dad nodded.

  “Looks like a fine jumper. Make sure you feed it a

  few crickets. Oh, and cover the pail with chicken wire

  so he doesn’t escape. And so the raccoons don’t get

  him.” Dad had made the final decision. We were keeping Speedy until after the race.

  “Maybe,” I whispered softly to Speedy, “maybe if you

  win, Mommy will love you and let me keep you forever.” After dinner, when Peter groaned to Luke that it

  wasn’t fair that he’d taken me to get a frog and not him,

  Luke told him he needed to toughen up. Then, putting

  Peter in a headlock, Luke wrestled him to the floor. I

  jumped up on the couch and covered my face, peeking

  through my shaking fingers as I waited for it to be over,

  quietly wishing for Mom and Dad to come back in and

  break up the fight. Peter was laughing at first, saying

  “stop” between giggles, his arms pushing and legs kicking. But Luke sat on Peter’s belly, pinned his hands to

  the ground over his head with one hand, and started

  tapping on his chest with his other fist.

  Peter wasn’t laughing anymore.

  “I can’t breathe!” Peter yelled.

  “Then how are you talking?” Luke laughed. “Stop,” Peter yelled. The tears came. Luke stopped. Later that night I overheard Mom talking to Dad. “He’s too rough with him. He left a bruise on his chest! Peter’s only ten. And Luke is eighteen—he’s old enough to know better,” Mom said. “It’s gotten worse. He’s

  learned violence there, more than anything else.” “I’ll talk to him,” Dad said.

  Saturday was hot. Lucille Jordan, the president of the chamber of commerce, hosed off the black asphalt several times before the race began, taking great care not to get one drop of water on her red checkered shirt and white shorts. I liked her outfit. I didn’t like mine. I was wearing boy clothes. I hadn’t even been born yet when Luke had worn them, but I know he did, because there was a picture of him in the same red shorts and blue shirt on Mom’s desk. And the pocket in the shirt was stretched out and saggy from when Peter used to shove sticks and rocks into it. Why couldn’t I have had sisters instead?

  Ready, set, and go. Speedy started hopping as soon as I set him down. Other frogs were jumping to the left and right. Some went backward. Not Speedy. He jumped straight down the asphalt. Past the finish line. Through the parking lot and into the stream just beyond.

  Luke and I ran after him, but Speedy had disappeared into the reeds and water. When I started to cry, Luke hugged me tight and said, “Awww, Squeaks. Speedy’s gonna be real happy in that river. I bet he even finds a lady frog to be his girlfriend.” He wiped my tears with the bottom of his T-shirt. “I’ve got an idea. After we get your trophy, I’ll win you a goldfish. You can name it Speedy.”

  No more tears. Just like always, Luke made me feel better.

  After Mom took a million pictures of me holding my shimmering frog trophy, it was time to check in for the parade. Finally I was going to get my turn in the convertible! Lucille Jordan was smiling so big, I could see her molars. “Well, hello, Clare. Ready for your special ride?”

  I nodded.

  “Mandy and I will be up front—you know my daughter, Mandy—I think you’re in the same class this year.” Lucille’s smile seemed to be getting bigger. “Mayor Bowman—our grand marshall—and you get to ride in the back.”

  Luke lifted me onto the back of the convertible.

  “Hello there, little Miss Clare. Congratulations.” Mayor Bowman was already in place. He tapped the seat next to him, inviting me to sit. “Luke Tovin. Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

  Skeleton arrived, leaping into the back of the car and taking the spot next to me. I looked at my shoes, wishing he’d disappear.

  “Yes, sir, I am,” Luke replied as he opened the car door to climb in.

  “Where are you going?” Lucille asked him.

  Skeleton wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pressed his bony teeth to my cheek. I wiggled away as I said, “Luke helped me catch Speedy. Can he come too?” “Oh, Clare, sweetie. I don’t think so.” Lucille’s mouth was smiling, but her blue eyes were worried. Skeleton mimicked her, his eye sockets getting wider and wider. “No room.”

  I moved as close to the mayor as I could. There was plenty of space if Skeleton moved out of the way.

  “Look! I made room,” I said.

  Lucille coughed, her face turned red. Skeleton motioned for her to lean in closer, to say more.

  Wringing her long fingers together, she stared at Luke. Then she moved right next to his ear and growled in a low voice only we could hear, “Luke, do you really think that people want to see you in our parade?”

  What Lucille said didn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t people want to see Luke in the parade? Uncomfortable, I slid away from the mayor and reached out for my brother, suddenly wishing I hadn’t won the FrogJumping Contest. When he leaned over toward me, I whispered, “Maybe we should let someone else ride in the parade.”

  “Naw, Squeaks,” Luke said. “You look good sitting there.” He slowly stepped back, out of the car, and closed the door. With his hands up like a frame, he closed one eye and peered through the hole at me. “That’s gonna make one pretty picture.” He dropped his arms and scratched his head. “There’s one problem. If I get into that car with you, I’m not gonna be able to see you in the parade.” He shrugged. “Think you can ride by yourself so I can watch with Ma and Pop?”

  Mayor Bowman patted my back and offered, “I’ll help you hold the trophy up.”

  I looked at Mandy and Lucille. They didn’t want Luke to be there. I was pretty sure they didn’t want me to be there either. But the mayor was nice. And I really, really wanted to go for the ride.

  “Okay,” I told Luke.

  “Well, then, let’s get started,” Lucille said as she sat in the driver’s seat.

  “Next year you should let the Patriot Days Queen ride in our car instead of the Frog-Jumping Contest winner,” Mandy said from the front. Then she added under her breath, “I bet she has warts too.”

  Luke stuck his tongue out at Mandy’s hair, perfect red curls and all. Skeleton pulled a curl down, watched it bounce up. Pulled another. Watched it bounce. I wanted to laugh. But I also wanted him to stop. He already brought enough attention.

  “You wave like the princess that you are,” Luke said as he started to walk away. “Look for me in the crowd, okay?”

  Luke had said I was a princess. I sat up straight, cupped my fingers, and waved back and forth slowly. Just like all the famous people in The Rose Parade.

  I don’t know if it really felt like flying, but I definitely felt like a movie star.

  By the time we headed home with my trophy and the four goldfish Luke had won for me, I forgot how uncomfortable I’d been when Lucille had been mean to Luke. And I forgot even more when Mom was excited to see the fish. “We had aquariums back when your father and I were first married. I bet I still have everything we need.”

  Mom and Luke climbed the ladder to the forbidden attic and brought down a fish tank, complete with a heater, filter, fake plants, and rocks. Mom even agreed my room would be the best place for the fish.

  Luke, Peter, and I named them Speedy, Junior, Rex, and Clyde. I fell asleep watching them swim back and forth, back and forth. The best night-light ever.

  But the next morning Luke said he was getting restless. By the time the sun had set, he’d left the house with one duffel bag of his stuff. When I cried, Mom told me, “Adults aren’t supposed to live with their parents. They’re supposed to keep a job and take care of themselves.” Then, smoothing my hair, she added, “I’m sure he’ll visit soon.”

  Skeleton shook his head. He was sorry to see Luke
go too.

  Chapter 5

  Sneaking Out

  NOW

  At dinner I keep waiting for Mom to mention the call to Dad and Peter, but she steers the conversation to concentrate on what each of us did that day. Her voice is, in fact, unnaturally cheerful. Everything is set up joyful, joyful, joyful, but all I can feel is her underlying anxiety and unrealistic expectations for everything to be perfect. I’d do anything to not have to sit through dinner with her.

  As our meal draws to a close, Peter stretches his long arms out in front of him, cracking his knuckles while he announces, “I’m going to be out late tonight. Don’t wait up for me.” I shift uncomfortably. He must be planning to go to the same party that I have to sneak out to attend. The difference is Mom’s set of rules. He’s allowed to be out all night. I’m not even allowed to go.

  “And where are you going?” Mom asks.

  “A bonfire with my friends.” He looks over to me, his thin lips curving into a smirk. He’s preparing to ruin my night.

  “Are you done with your dish?” I change the subject and try to save myself by standing up and offering to take Dad’s plate.