He went out to the deck and looked at the lake and thought about how strange it was that he was a few miles from his father but had no plan or desire to go see him. He thought about how strange it was that Dad probably knew he was here—there was no way Allie telling Mary hadn’t made its way back to him—but had made no overtures. In fact, he hadn’t heard from his father since March 15, when he’d called under the guise of saying hello but really to check that Jack had turned in his book.
He got out his phone. He started typing a text but decided that texting, Blair excepted, was not his forte. He dialed Allie.
“You have a minute?” he asked when she answered.
“I’m watching a soccer game, and did you know that watching tweens play soccer is only slightly more exciting than watching paint dry? So yes, I have a minute. I have many minutes. What’s up?”
“The other day, when you said I didn’t remember stuff because I was traumatized. Can you elaborate on that?”
“Wow, OK. Hang on, I’m going to dismount the bleachers and go for a stroll.”
“Did something happen to me that I don’t remember?” Was he about to hear something horrible? Was he about to find out he could have starred in an after-school special?
“I don’t think there’s any one thing. It’s more that your dad was a grade-A asshole in general. My dad and I talked about it a lot.”
“But they were friends.”
“Theywerefriends, historically. But by the time we were teenagers, my dad was only hanging in there so you’d have a place to escape when you needed to.”
That was… a lot to take in. “You’re making it sound like he beat me or something.”
“Well, not to be too melodramatic, but he probably beat your spirit. You remember the time we wanted to join that summer softball league in town and he thought it was stupid and forbade it?”
“Vaguely.” It sounded like his dad, who thought team sports were for the simpleminded and prized instead the triumph of man over nature: fishing, hiking, running, skiing.
“We were thirteen. What kind of parent doesn’t let their thirteen-year-old play softball? He had this idea of you, I think, of how he wanted you to be.”
“He wanted me to be like him.”
“Correct. There was one summer he wasn’t going to let you hang out with me because you’d gotten some B’s the previous school year. My dad talked him out of it, told him he would make us do study sessions. You remember Mary ordered those trigonometry books for us?”
“Which we ignored.” Unless he had forgotten trig study sessions, which was entirely possible.
“Yes, but not as far as your father knew.”
“And then hedidground me, and that’s when we started writing letters.”
“Well, we both got grounded for that canoe episode, and I have to say we deserved it. But yes. You wrote me mostly about how much you hated him.” She paused. “I still have those letters. You want me to send them to you?”
“No, no.” Nothing was more unappealing than the prospect of reading the innermost thoughts of his teenage self.
“Anyway, my point is just that you didn’t have it easy. Your dad was a giant jerk. Everyone knew it. That’s why we only ever hung out at my house. I worried about you. My dad did, too. I loved hanging out with you in the summers and was selfishly always sad when September rolled around, but I also knew it was good that you were going back to your mom.”
Allie and Mr. Jensen had been his family, back then. He just hadn’t realized it.
“Allie, I have to go. I appreciate this more than you know.” He would elaborate on that later. Thank her for looking out for him. For being his sister. He’d referenced her before, to Blair, as “almost a sister,” but there wasn’t any almost about it.
After the call, Jack launched the canoe and paddled across the bay to check on the green light. It was battery powered, and he didn’t want it to go out. He had no idea what the evening would bring, but if Blair wanted to look at the light, he wanted the light to be working.
In truth, he was reeling internally from everything Allie had said, as well as from the landslide of memories the cabin had triggered. His phone dinged.
Blair:I got some fish to cook for dinner.
Blair:I thought I’d try Mimi’s fried catfish treatment on walleye.
Blair:But there’s no hurry. Just thought I’d let you know I had dinner covered, in case you’re out and about and contemplating groceries or takeout.
There. That was what the evening would bring: another excellent Mimi recipe, perhaps followed by some staring at the green light, perhaps followed by some earth-shattering sex. He smiled despite himself.
