A Hollow Dream of Summer's End (3 page)

"Well, it was nice to see you, Julie. Give Michael my regards," his mom said. "Kiss."

He kissed her on the cheeks, took his backpack, stepped out and closed the car door.

"Love you, kiddo," she said.

"Love you too, Mom."

Soon he was watching her sedan rumble across the gravel and back out through the automatic gate, her wrist rising to give him a final wave. For the second time since his parents separated six months ago, he was spending more than the afternoon away from his mother.

"I'll take your bag," Julie said, but he held on to it.

Last time he slept at his dad's house he had told himself it would feel more like home when he returned.

But it didn't feel like home, not at all.

It felt like another world. And he felt like a visitor to it.

5.

HIS ROOM WAS AT the top of the stairs.

He spent half an hour checking out the bedroom. It was just as he remembered it from two months back: twice the size of his room in Alder Glen and much bigger than the bedroom his parents had shared for a decade. It felt strange, uncomfortable to have a room bigger than his mother's to do with as he pleased. He felt like a traitor.

The last time he'd stayed there Julie had asked him what he'd liked, what his favorite movies were, and what sports he played. He'd given little thought to the answers. But now Iron Man, Maroon 5 and A-Rod posters lined his wall. She'd even found and framed an advertisement for Apple's
Think Different
campaign, probably because he'd said he liked Steve Jobs.

She'd obviously put a lot of effort into decorating the room. Yet the harder she tried the more pathetic it felt. It was the opposite of organic. From the posters in their frames to the bunk beds to the dark green curtains, every detail had been culled from the questions she'd asked months back.

Perhaps she had hoped his jaw would drop and they'd suddenly be friends. Neither happened when he stepped into his bedroom. Instead he just looked around, said: "Cool," and went to the bathroom. She was gone when he emerged.

He played games on his smartphone, launched a few angry birds at pigs, and read some comics on his bed. Brian sent him a text saying they still needed to pick up Freddie. That gave him at least a half-hour to kill time. He flung more birds, then grew bored and looked out the window. Spanish tiles and a view of the preserve beyond. Without his friends there was little to do but wait and let his mind wander. To soak in the silence of the big house and how foreign it felt.

It was the movement and not the sound that caught his attention. The shape lingered, studying him. Somehow, he had fallen asleep.

"Hey, buddy," his dad said, opening the door. "Hope I wasn't disturbing you."

"Nope," Aiden answered. "What's up?"

"I like the hair."

"What?" Aiden asked. "Oh, right."

"The blonde streaks. Looks good."

It'd been over two months since he'd put those streaks in his hair. He'd forgotten about them entirely. But to his dad, they were new.

"So, do you like the room?"

"It's cool."

"Just 'cool' huh?"

"It's nice. Did Julie work on it?"

"Of course. You know that."

Aiden took it in again, nodded just for show.

"She ordered the posters and had 'em framed. Took her awhile to find that Apple one."

"She didn't have to do that."

"Course she didn't, Aiden." His dad took a seat on the futon. "But she's a nice girl. She wants you to feel at home."

Girl, his dad had said. Not a nice woman, but a nice girl.

Julie was fifteen years younger at least, but she wasn't a girl. Still, Aiden didn't think of her as a woman either. His mom was a woman: headstrong and stubborn and fierce with her opinions. Maybe his dad had enough with women. Maybe he wanted a girl. But a girl could never be his mom. Julie never would, no matter how many posters she framed and curtains she hung.

"When are your friends coming?"

"Soon, I think. Brian's mom is driving them."

“Does she still count to five at every stop sign?”

“Yeah.”

"Probably be a while. Got any big plans for the night?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Freddie wants to camp in the treehouse."

"Perfect night for it. We've got some sleeping bags and extra pillows."

"Okay."

"What do you feel like for dinner?"

"What can we have?"

His dad laughed, shook his head. "Aiden, you're not a guest here, okay? You want to order a pizza, order a pizza. Or maybe Julie can cook something—"

"Pizza's good."

"Round Table?"

"Sure."

"Pepperoni? Or King Arthur’s Supreme?”

Aiden shrugged.

“Want to get both?”

“Okay.”

His dad's eyes studied him. A gaze that seemed to make his skin shrink. He felt awkward, uncomfortable. A kid, not the fifth grader who had just turned twelve.

“Listen, buddy,” his dad sighed. "I know this is tough on you, what your mother and I are going through. I know you think Julie had something to do with it. She didn't, but I know that's what you think. I know that’s why you've avoided coming over this summer."

"I was busy—"

"It's okay, really. I understand. My point is, don't blame Julie for something she didn't do. I love your mom, you know that. And I love you too. The truth is, well, some people grow up, and some people grow apart. Your mom and I, well, we'd gone different directions long before I met Julie. But you and me, buddy, we don't have to grow apart. This'll always be your home, as long as you want it be, okay?"

"Okay."

“What I’m trying to say is this: we can drive ourselves crazy trying wish things weren’t the way they were. But part of growing up is learning to let go of what we wish we had, and accepting what we’ve got. And we’ve still got each other, buddy. If that’s good enough for you.”

“Yeah,” Aiden whispered. “Of course.”

"Good," his dad said, rubbing his head. It'd been two months since they'd touched each other, Aiden realized. Two months since they'd hugged. "Now, let's go order a few pizzas. Sound good?"

"Sounds great."

The futon creaked as he stood up and signaled the end of the uncomfortable conversation.

"Besides, Julie's a good cook, but nothing beats a pie from the Table."

6.

THEY ARRIVED AROUND FOUR.

Brian's mom fumbled with the intercom, mashing the wrong buttons, hanging up every time Julie tried to open the gate. Finally, Aiden just walked out to the driveway, down the path, and opened the gate with the button inside.

"Holy shit," Freddie said once they were out of earshot of Brian's mom. "This place is awesome."

"I think I can see my house from here," Brian said, looking back at Alder Glen and the surrounding cities spread out below.

"I don't see the homeless shelter," Freddie quipped. "Oh wait, there it is."

"You're a ra-ra...you’re a real stand up comedian," Brian replied. "When you stand up, people la-la-laugh at you."

They made their way to the front door and it opened, just as Aiden feared it would.

"Hi, guys," Julie said, greeting them. "Come on in. Which one of you is Freddie?"

"I am. I'm me." He gulped. "I mean, that's me."

"It's great to meet you. Your mom called and asked me to remind you to take your allergy medicine."

"Okay." Freddie nodded, stiff as a board.

Julie turned to the big kid. "And that would make you Brian."

"Yes, ma-ma'am," he answered, cheeks reddening.

"My mom was ma'am. Please, call me Julie."

"Yes, Julie," he said, still red.

"Okay, well I'll let you kids get settled in. Aiden can show you to the bedroom."

They ambled up the stairs, Aiden leading the way.

"Bye, Julie," Freddie called out from the top, giving her a smile and a wave.

A moment later the boys were tossing their backpacks and bags on the futon in Aiden's room.

Freddie's hands rose to his chest, cupping a pair of invisible tits. "J-U-G-G-S," he said. "She's like my sister's age."

"Your sister's a sophomore in high school," Brian said. "That's su-sick."

"Okay, maybe she's a year older."

"She's a ba-ba...she's a fox," Brian said.

"Guys, really? That's my dad's..." He didn't want to say the word. "...that's his girlfriend you're talking about."

"She can be my girlfriend," Freddie laughed.

"Dude, you've even got a TV in here?" Brian studied the flat screen mounted on the wall. "3D, OLED, HDMI, optical... nice!"

"That the treehouse?" Freddie asked, glancing out the window at that towering redwood on the edge of the property.

"Yeah. Wanna check it out?"

"Sure!"

"Buddy," Freddie said, putting an arm around Aiden. "This place is awesome."

7.

THE HATCH SWUNG UPWARD with a groan.

"Sweet," Freddie said, peering into the treehouse from below. Aiden let them go first. It was only fair, after all. They hadn't seen it.

"What's it like?" Brian called out from below.

"Big. Lots of windows."

"Well go in so I can climb up."

"Try not to break the ladder, fatty."

"You kidding? It's workhorse rope," Brian said and tugged the rope ladder.

"That what they make your mattress out of?"

"It's what they use to climb mountains, dumbass."

Freddie disappeared inside the treehouse as Brian ascended the rungs. The rope ladder twisted, swung to the left and right, and Brian came close enough to the trunk to push against it with his leg. He stopped there for a moment, catching his breath and looking down.

"This is kind of high," he said, apprehension in his voice.

He was right: it was one hell of a fall. From grass to hatch it was about thirty feet, but it felt more like sixty. From where Brian was he could look down on the distant Spanish tiles that lined the roof of the first floor, and the checkered top of the patio umbrella. Staring straight down made it feel like looking down on the whole world. Back in Alder Glen the homeowners associations and its regulations would have seen that the treehouse was torn down by day’s end. But out here the rules were looser, the houses were bigger, and perhaps the consequences were as well. A fall from full height would snap a pair of legs at best.