Authors: Debra Doxer
So young? I must have appeared
surprised at this, causing Ryan to explain. “He’s my half-brother. My father
remarried after my mother died. She’s a lot younger than my father.” He
grimaces on the last sentence as though it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
“Oh.” I nod, taking this in. “Is he
your only sibling?”
“Just him and me.”
“Well, it must be nice to have a
brother.”
He shrugs absently.
“You preferred being an only child?”
“It had its benefits.”
I shake my head in mock
disapproval, fairly sure he’s joking.
Ryan laughs at me. “He’s okay, I
guess. Kind of a screw-up, but it’s not really his fault.”
“How is he a screw-up?”
“Long story,” Ryan replies. “Nice
place,” he comments, glancing around, changing the subject.
“Thanks. Would you and your brother
like to come in for a minute?”
“Maybe another time.” He glances at
his watch. It’s the same bulky dial-filled one I noticed when we had lunch. “We
should really hit the road.”
After locking up behind me, I
follow Ryan down the steps to his car. He offers to put my beach bag in the
trunk as he opens the passenger door for me. “This is Wes,” he tells me,
motioning to his brother in the back. “Wes, this is Andrea.”
Wes is a skinny boy with pale skin
and a shock of wavy black hair that sticks straight up. There appears to be a
lot of hair gel involved. Even sitting in the back seat of the car, silently
nodding hello to me, I can tell he is all long limbs and self-consciousness.
“Nice to meet you Wes,” I say
cheerily as I lower myself into the passenger seat. His hair color and hazel
eyes match Ryan’s, but his thin face is full of hard angles and his mouth is a
straight lipless slash, nothing like Ryan’s full and ready smile. Wes appears
sullen in the back seat, looking every bit the unwilling participant. Since
neither Ryan nor Wes appear to want each other’s company, I wonder why they
have been forced together today. It seems I have the whole awkward afternoon to
find out.
Sitting in Ryan’s car, I notice how
clean the interior is. There is no clutter, and I spot none of the food
wrappers or loose change I find in most of my friend’s vehicles. A ‘dumpster on
wheels’ is how I often refer to my sister’s car. I wonder if Ryan always keeps
his car this clean or if he took extra care knowing I would be in it. Either
way, I am impressed.
“How are things going with your
second customer?” I ask once we’re on our way.
He glances at me and grins. “Good,
I think. We sent them some code yesterday, and it seems to be testing out
okay.”
“You had to work on Saturday then?”
“Yeah. We were all there. But we met
our first deadline. So, that felt good.” He glances at his brother in the
rearview mirror. “Wes did some testing for us. He really helped out.”
“Oh, are you working with your
brother?” I ask, turning to look back at him.
“Slave labor is more like it,” he
responds reluctantly.
“He’s working as a summer intern,”
Ryan explains.
“Do you want to be a software
developer, too?” I ask Wes.
“Hardly,” he states glumly.
I glance at Ryan who offers me a
tight smile.
I decide not to risk anymore
conversation with Wes and face forward again, watching the scenery speed by.
Teenage boys are a mystery to me. Teenage girls I can sort of relate to. You
never completely lose those insecurities that barrage you as a teenager,
especially those tortuous fourteen-year-old insecurities when you’re most
definitely not a little kid anymore, and you feel like aliens have invaded your
body. With that thought, I feel more generous toward Wes, although not enough
to attempt another conversation.
“Did you do anything interesting
yesterday?” Ryan asks, breaking the silence.
When I think of yesterday, I
picture Katie’s stricken expression across from me in the cave-like bar and
grill. Then I realize that my cell phone is in my beach bag in the trunk, and I
wonder if she’s trying to call me.
“Andrea?” Ryan prompts.
I can feel his eyes on me, and I
realize that I haven’t answered his question. “Oh, sorry. Actually, yesterday
wasn’t a very good day. In fact, I didn’t have a very good week.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Anything I
can do?”
“You’re already doing it. A day at
the beach is the perfect prescription for me today.”
Again, I can feel him looking at
me. I turn to smile at him, and I’m greeted by my own reflection in his
sunglasses. If his brother wasn’t sitting in the back seat, I might have told
him about Katie and asked his opinion. So far, I’ve assessed him to be
hard-working, courteous, kind, and good-looking. But it’s early. There’s still
plenty of time to change my opinion.
We make good time until we get to
Route 3, which is to be expected. Three lanes narrow to two, and we spend the
next half hour inching our way toward the Duxbury exit. During the ride Wes
never speaks again, while Ryan and I chat over radio station preferences--he
likes the same alternative rock station I like; politics--we’re both liberals
with a dash of conservatism; and mountain biking--he does it and I don’t, nor
do I want to after he entertains me with his stories of terrifying near-misses.
We arrive at the beach just before
noontime. The parking lot--several expansive dirt and stone fields--are filling
fast, and we get a spot in one of the last open rows. The day is warm and
humid, as predicted, but I can already feel the cool salty breeze coming off
the ocean as we pile out of the car. Standing next to me now, Wes is about my
height with lots of growing to do if his tremendous feet, encased in ripped
basketball sneakers, are any indication.
Once the trunk is open, I realize
how thorough Ryan has been in his beach preparations. He hands me my beach bag
and then proceeds to withdraw three beach chairs, several towels, and a large
cooler with a handle and wheels.
“You come prepared,” I comment,
looking around at our supplies for the day.
“We’ve done this before,” Ryan
deadpans. Then he smiles. “We actually grew up near the ocean. We went every
weekend in the summer.”
“Whereabouts?” I ask.
“Stamford, Connecticut.”
Ryan gathers the beach towels and
tows the cooler behind him, while Wes handles two chairs. When I reach down to
pick up the last chair, it is quickly swept away from me. I glance up to find
Ryan angling it beneath his arm where he is already balancing the beach towels.
“I can carry it,” I tell him.
He shakes his head at me. “I’ve got
it.”
“You can take one of mine,” Wes
offers.
Ryan narrows his eyes at Wes before
turning back to me. “Ready?”
Wes sighs and turns toward the
beach. I realize that I am not going to be allowed to carry anything. As
ridiculous as that is since I’m perfectly capable of handling a beach chair, I
find myself smiling at the way Ryan’s refusal makes me feel.
We follow the crowd along a path
through the parking lot and over a grassy hill which opens up to an expanse of
white sand and blue-green ocean. The beach is teaming with people, and Ryan and
I exchange a look, wondering where we should plant ourselves for the day.
Spotting something promising, Ryan leads the way with his cooler cutting a path
through the warm sand behind him. I hitch my beach bag higher on my shoulder
and follow while I scan my surroundings. There are lots of families with
children digging holes and playing games with balls and Frisbees. There are
also groups of teenagers, nearly all sporting at least one tattoo, with the
girls in skimpy bikinis and the boys in swim trunks that are so big they seem
in danger of falling down. We have been trudging through the sand for several
minutes when Ryan claims a free spot on the far left side of beach. Because
it’s so far from the parking lot, the crowd is much thinner here. Wes
unceremoniously dumps the chairs in a heap and declares that he’s going for a
walk.
“Not yet,” Ryan says in a firm
tone, not even glancing at Wes.
Wes seems to want to argue, but
instead he huffs in exasperation and begins to set up the chairs. With the
cooler in the middle, we arrange the chairs around it so that we’re facing the
ocean. Sail boats dot the horizon, and huge shingle and glass homes line an
inlet along the right side of the beach. It’s an incredible day. The breeze
keeps the air from becoming uncomfortably hot, and I can feel the tension
easing away as the warm rays of sun pour down over my skin.
Wes kicks off his sneakers and
sinks heavily into a chair, all attitude and discontentment. As he scowls, I
try not to smile. It occurs me that this is an act, and he’s working a little
too hard at it.
“Don’t you like the beach, Wes?” I
ask, as I sit down in my chair which is placed between the two of theirs.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s me he doesn’t like right
now,” Ryan states, lowering himself into the chair beside me.
“Well, that’s a shame,” I suggest
casually. “It’s too nice a day to be so grumpy.”
“Absolutely,” Ryan agrees,
stretching his legs out in front of him.
“Can I go for a walk now?” Wes
asks, not giving an inch.
Ryan eyes his brother for moment
and then nods. When Wes shoots up from his chair, Ryan adds, “But be back in an
hour for lunch.”
Wes starts to walk away without
responding.
“Wes!” Ryan calls.
He halts reluctantly.
“One hour,” Ryan repeats.
“Fine,” he mumbles and trudges
away.
Once Wes is out of earshot, I turn
to Ryan. “Holy teenage angst.”
He pulls his sunglasses down his
nose and out of the way so he can rub his eyes. “You have no idea.”
“What’s his story?”
“He was supposed to go hiking with
some friends this afternoon. But I changed his plans for him. He’s not too
happy with me at the moment.”
“Why did you do that?”
Ryan replaces his sunglasses and
looks out at the ocean. “I found a pile of CDs in his room this morning. CDs he
didn’t pay for.”
My eyes widen at him. “He stole
them?”
“Shoplifting is turning into a
hobby for him.”
“Oh,” I comment, not really knowing
what else to say. “Does your dad know?”
“No, not yet. That’s actually the
reason why he’s up here with me this summer. He was pulling this stuff at home,
and he got caught. My dad made some kind of deal so that there wouldn’t be any
charges, and he shipped Wes up to me for the summer. I guess I’m not really
helping though.” Ryan smiles morosely because there’s obviously nothing funny
about it.
“Your dad made him your
responsibility? That’s a lot to take on.” I’m not inclined to like his father
very much when I hear this.
Ryan responds with only a slight
lift of one shoulder.
“What are you going to do?” I
ask.
He’s still staring out at the water
when he answers. “Tell my dad, I guess. Maybe they’ll send him to someone, a
psychologist or something. Someone he can talk to.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” I
comment inanely. I have no idea what one does with a fourteen-year-old
shoplifter. “Is he trying to rebel or get attention maybe?”
“It’s definitely about getting
attention. He’s left on his own a lot at home. My dad is retired. He wants to
travel and play golf. In the past year, he and Carol, that’s Wes’s mother, have
taken two cruises, gone on a golf vacation to Florida, travelled around Europe,
and went to stay with Carol’s sister in New Mexico for nearly a month. They
leave Wes with a nanny and take off to wherever they want. He’s basically
raising himself.”
I look at Ryan, not sure what to
say, feeling very differently about Wes, now.
“My dad had no business having
another kid,” he continues after moment. “He did it for Carol. But she doesn’t
really seem to be into the parenting thing.”
“How old were you when your mom
died?” I ask.
“I was in my sophomore year of high
school. She had breast cancer.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been
really hard.”
He nods. “My dad met Carol a year
later and they were married less than a year after that.” His resentment is
apparent.
“Has Carol made an effort with you,
or is this thing mutual?”
Ryan surprises me by laughing.
“It’s that obvious, huh?”
I nod at him, feeling my mouth turn
up at his reaction.
He thinks for a moment before
responding. “She’s okay, I guess. She’s been nice enough to me. But my dad is
seventeen years older than her. She went after him the minute she met him and
found out he was a widower.”
“Would you rather he was still
alone, missing your mom?”
“No, of course not. I just wish
he’d met someone more appropriate. And I wish they would stay home more and
take care of Wes.”
“That’s understandable. I feel
badly for him.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“But at least he has a great older
brother.”
Ryan turns to me, and I see his
straight white teeth revealed in his smile. “How about your family?” he asks.
“Are you close?”
“Yes,” I reply, “both figuratively
and literally.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Did I
just pick you up at your parents’ house?”
“No,” I laugh. “But we all live
within ten minutes of each other. My sister and her fiancé live in the next
town over from me, and my folks live one town over from them.”
“Your parents are still together
then?”
“They’ve been married for over
thirty years. My sister and I are toying with the idea of throwing them a big
thirty-fifth anniversary party in a few years. That is, if my sister and mother
are still speaking to each other.”
He offers me a questioning glance.
“The two of them planning my
sister’s wedding together is not going smoothly,” I explain.
“Why is that?” he asks.