Page 79 of Second Chance Summer

It was starting to get light out by the time we woke up and rowed back to the dock. I’d woken up to find that I had a series of mosquito bites on my neck—pretty much the only piece of me that had been out of the sleeping bag—while Henry had gotten about five on his hand. At first, I’d been incredibly embarrassed that I’d fallen asleep, wiping my mouth quickly, just hoping that I hadn’t drooled on him by accident, hoping that my breath wasn’t terrible. I’d never slept next to anyone (unless Lucy on my trundle bed counted, and I had a feeling that it didn’t) and was worried that I’d accidentally kicked him, or muttered in my sleep, or something.

But if I had, Henry didn’t mention it and didn’t seem bothered. I pulled the sleeping bag around my shoulders as I sat next to him on the back beam while he rowed us home. Henry had a faint crease mark along the side of his face, from where he’d slept on the sleeping bag’s seam, and his hair was sticking up in little tufts all over. And for some reason, this made him look even cuter than he normally did.

We tied up the boat and took the equipment out of it, moving quickly. Mr. Crosby normally left for the bakery a little before six, and Henry wanted to get inside so that he could pretend he’d been sleeping there the whole time.

“Thank you for my surprise,” I said, trying with all my might to resist the urge to scratch at the mosquito bites on my neck.

“Of course,” he said, leaning down and kissing me quickly. “I’ll call you later?”

I felt myself smile, and as I stretched up to kiss him again, I found I no longer cared if my breath was terrible.

I walked up the yard and around the side of the house, humming the tune that Warren had gotten stuck in my head. I was about to head inside when I stopped short—my dad was sitting at the table on the screened-in porch, a mug of coffee in front of him.

I swallowed hard and climbed the porch steps, feeling my face get hot. “Hi,” I murmured, trying to smooth my hair down, knowing exactly what this looked like.

My father was wearing his familiar blue pinstripe pajamas, with a plaid robe over them. He shook his head at me as he took a sip of his coffee, but there was something in his expression that let me know just how much he was enjoying this. “Late night?” he asked.

“Kind of,” I said, feeling myself blushing harder than ever. “Um, Henry took me out in a rowboat to see some fireworks, and then we kind of fell asleep.” Just hearing it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded.

My dad shook his head. “If I had a dime for every time I’d heard that excuse,” he said gravely, making me laugh. He arched an eyebrow at me, and I recognized the pun expression, even on my father’s much thinner face. “I’m afraid that excuse isn’t going to float,” he said, as I groaned, and took the seat next to him. “It’s kind of an either-oar situation. And if it doesn’t hold water…”

“Enough,” I said, laughing. I looked at him as he lifted the mug with both hands and took another sip. “Why are you up so early?”

He faced the back of the screened porch, the side that looked out to the water. “Wanted to watch the sunrise,” he said. I looked in that direction as well, and we sat in silence for a moment. “I should probably be lecturing you,” he said, glancing over at me. “But…” He trailed off and smiled at me, shrugging. He pointed outside, where the whole sky was turning the palest shade of pink, the color of Gelsey’s pointe shoes. “Isn’t that beautiful?” he asked, his voice not more than a whisper.

I had to clear my throat before I could speak again. “It is,” I murmured.

“I don’t know how many of these I’ve missed, or just taken for granted,” he said, his eyes on the lake. “And I told myself I was going to get up for one every morning. But I have to tell you, kid,” he said, looking over at me, “I’m just so tired.”

And as he said it, I realized that he did look exhausted, and in a way that I’d never seen before. There were deep lines in his face I didn’t recognize, and bags underneath his eyes. It looked like the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep wouldn’t come close to making up for, the kind of tired that went down to your bones.

There was nothing I could do to fix this, or make it better. So I just nodded and pulled my chair a little closer to my dad’s. And together, we watched the sky lighten and transform, as another day began.

Chapter thirty-two

I FINALLY GOT WHAT DICKENS WAS TALKING ABOUT. IT WAS THE best of times and the worst of times, all mixed into one. Because things were great with Henry, with Lucy, at work, even with my siblings. But every day, my father got worse. The FedEx truck bearing my dad’s work documents stopped coming, and I’d thought it was just an anomaly until three days went by. Mom told me when my dad was napping one afternoon that his firm had pulled him off the case. This sent my father into a funk like I’d never before seen from him. He didn’t get dressed, barely combed his hair, and snapped at us when we tried to talk to him—making me realize how much I had relied on him being who he was, the cheerful and punning father I’d taken for granted.

But it did give me an idea. Leland and Fred both agreed, and it was arranged while my dad took his late-afternoon nap. When he woke up, Warren helped him outside, where the Movies Under the Stars—Edwards Family edition—had been set up. Leland had agreed to run the projector, and we’d spread out blankets on the back lawn, down by the water, to watch what my father had always promised was the perfect bad-day antidote.

It was a much smaller crowd than normally assembled at the beach—just us, Wendy, Leland, the Gardners, and the Crosbys. I turned the introduction duties over to my dad, and we all got very quiet while he did his best to raise his voice so he could tell us, in no uncertain terms, how much we were all about to enjoy The Thin Man. And as we watched, I was able to pick out my father’s laugh above everyone else’s.

The movie helped shake him out of his funk, but just seeing him like that had been enough to scare me. The next couple of weeks fell into a pattern almost like a pendulum, with the good and the bad in constant flux, and I could never fully enjoy the upswing because I knew that there would be a downswing coming shortly thereafter.

We all started staying in at night, and spending the time after dinner sitting around the table, not rushing off to meet our dates (me and Warren) or catch fireflies with Nora (Gelsey). After much protesting from my mother, we excavated the old battered Risk board and set it up in the living room, where it became a shrine to strategy. And later on, when it got too dark or cold to stay on the porch, we all came inside to play the game, until my dad started yawning, his head drooping, and my mother would declare détente for the night and she and Warren would help my dad upstairs.

s starting to get light out by the time we woke up and rowed back to the dock. I’d woken up to find that I had a series of mosquito bites on my neck—pretty much the only piece of me that had been out of the sleeping bag—while Henry had gotten about five on his hand. At first, I’d been incredibly embarrassed that I’d fallen asleep, wiping my mouth quickly, just hoping that I hadn’t drooled on him by accident, hoping that my breath wasn’t terrible. I’d never slept next to anyone (unless Lucy on my trundle bed counted, and I had a feeling that it didn’t) and was worried that I’d accidentally kicked him, or muttered in my sleep, or something.

But if I had, Henry didn’t mention it and didn’t seem bothered. I pulled the sleeping bag around my shoulders as I sat next to him on the back beam while he rowed us home. Henry had a faint crease mark along the side of his face, from where he’d slept on the sleeping bag’s seam, and his hair was sticking up in little tufts all over. And for some reason, this made him look even cuter than he normally did.

We tied up the boat and took the equipment out of it, moving quickly. Mr. Crosby normally left for the bakery a little before six, and Henry wanted to get inside so that he could pretend he’d been sleeping there the whole time.

“Thank you for my surprise,” I said, trying with all my might to resist the urge to scratch at the mosquito bites on my neck.

“Of course,” he said, leaning down and kissing me quickly. “I’ll call you later?”

I felt myself smile, and as I stretched up to kiss him again, I found I no longer cared if my breath was terrible.

I walked up the yard and around the side of the house, humming the tune that Warren had gotten stuck in my head. I was about to head inside when I stopped short—my dad was sitting at the table on the screened-in porch, a mug of coffee in front of him.

I swallowed hard and climbed the porch steps, feeling my face get hot. “Hi,” I murmured, trying to smooth my hair down, knowing exactly what this looked like.

My father was wearing his familiar blue pinstripe pajamas, with a plaid robe over them. He shook his head at me as he took a sip of his coffee, but there was something in his expression that let me know just how much he was enjoying this. “Late night?” he asked.

“Kind of,” I said, feeling myself blushing harder than ever. “Um, Henry took me out in a rowboat to see some fireworks, and then we kind of fell asleep.” Just hearing it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded.

My dad shook his head. “If I had a dime for every time I’d heard that excuse,” he said gravely, making me laugh. He arched an eyebrow at me, and I recognized the pun expression, even on my father’s much thinner face. “I’m afraid that excuse isn’t going to float,” he said, as I groaned, and took the seat next to him. “It’s kind of an either-oar situation. And if it doesn’t hold water…”

“Enough,” I said, laughing. I looked at him as he lifted the mug with both hands and took another sip. “Why are you up so early?”

He faced the back of the screened porch, the side that looked out to the water. “Wanted to watch the sunrise,” he said. I looked in that direction as well, and we sat in silence for a moment. “I should probably be lecturing you,” he said, glancing over at me. “But…” He trailed off and smiled at me, shrugging. He pointed outside, where the whole sky was turning the palest shade of pink, the color of Gelsey’s pointe shoes. “Isn’t that beautiful?” he asked, his voice not more than a whisper.

I had to clear my throat before I could speak again. “It is,” I murmured.

“I don’t know how many of these I’ve missed, or just taken for granted,” he said, his eyes on the lake. “And I told myself I was going to get up for one every morning. But I have to tell you, kid,” he said, looking over at me, “I’m just so tired.”

And as he said it, I realized that he did look exhausted, and in a way that I’d never seen before. There were deep lines in his face I didn’t recognize, and bags underneath his eyes. It looked like the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep wouldn’t come close to making up for, the kind of tired that went down to your bones.

There was nothing I could do to fix this, or make it better. So I just nodded and pulled my chair a little closer to my dad’s. And together, we watched the sky lighten and transform, as another day began.

Chapter thirty-two

I FINALLY GOT WHAT DICKENS WAS TALKING ABOUT. IT WAS THE best of times and the worst of times, all mixed into one. Because things were great with Henry, with Lucy, at work, even with my siblings. But every day, my father got worse. The FedEx truck bearing my dad’s work documents stopped coming, and I’d thought it was just an anomaly until three days went by. Mom told me when my dad was napping one afternoon that his firm had pulled him off the case. This sent my father into a funk like I’d never before seen from him. He didn’t get dressed, barely combed his hair, and snapped at us when we tried to talk to him—making me realize how much I had relied on him being who he was, the cheerful and punning father I’d taken for granted.

But it did give me an idea. Leland and Fred both agreed, and it was arranged while my dad took his late-afternoon nap. When he woke up, Warren helped him outside, where the Movies Under the Stars—Edwards Family edition—had been set up. Leland had agreed to run the projector, and we’d spread out blankets on the back lawn, down by the water, to watch what my father had always promised was the perfect bad-day antidote.

It was a much smaller crowd than normally assembled at the beach—just us, Wendy, Leland, the Gardners, and the Crosbys. I turned the introduction duties over to my dad, and we all got very quiet while he did his best to raise his voice so he could tell us, in no uncertain terms, how much we were all about to enjoy The Thin Man. And as we watched, I was able to pick out my father’s laugh above everyone else’s.

The movie helped shake him out of his funk, but just seeing him like that had been enough to scare me. The next couple of weeks fell into a pattern almost like a pendulum, with the good and the bad in constant flux, and I could never fully enjoy the upswing because I knew that there would be a downswing coming shortly thereafter.

We all started staying in at night, and spending the time after dinner sitting around the table, not rushing off to meet our dates (me and Warren) or catch fireflies with Nora (Gelsey). After much protesting from my mother, we excavated the old battered Risk board and set it up in the living room, where it became a shrine to strategy. And later on, when it got too dark or cold to stay on the porch, we all came inside to play the game, until my dad started yawning, his head drooping, and my mother would declare détente for the night and she and Warren would help my dad upstairs.

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