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“What’s going on, Dad?”
“Nothing. I’m going out,” he announced.
“Now? Why? You don’t work tonight and I thought I could make lasagna. I brought home all kinds of good stuff from the NGS.” I heard the appeal in my voice, like I was begging him to stay. Well, I was. Saturday nights after Woodsmen games were prime drinking opportunities and the cops were everywhere. If he got caught drunk again on the road, he’d lose his license and the Woodsmen would fire him, too.
“No, I can’t stay. I’m heading out,” he said and walked quickly toward the exit. It was too late to take his keyring and claim that he must have misplaced it.
“We could go out to dinner instead,” I said. “My treat! I heard about a place with great milkshakes and you love those, right, Dad? Let’s go, you and I.”
He paused, jingling the car keys that I should have hidden. “I won’t be home that late. Don’t get so worried, Sissy.” And he left.
I sat down and looked at the front door. Don’t get so worried, Sissy. Right? Don’t get worried that your father might get arrested, might lose his livelihood. Just trust the man who had…how many DUIs was it, now? How many jobs had he lost? I felt like throwing something at that door, like maybe the lasagna noodles or the jar of homemade sauce that was defrosting in the refrigerator.
That would probably have made a hole in the old wood, though, since I had a feeling that Bowie was right about everything being rotten. So instead, I clenched my hands into fists and then I went and put on my bikini. It was cool this afternoon but anger made me hot as I fought through the bushes and branches down to the lake, and the water didn’t wash the feeling away.
Why did my dad have to go out, anyway? Where was he going? What was he doing, and who was he doing it with? Why hadn’t Aubin texted me, even if it was only a complaint about our flexed feet? Why hadn’t Ward been there with flowers at the door like the new guy from the college that Sidney N. was seeing? When was the last time he’d given me flowers? Ever? Why were we still not in our locker room, the place that wasn’t even half as nice as what the football players used even when the paint wasn’t peeling off the ceiling due to water damage from broken pipes?
I slapped the surface of the lake with flat hands, making a loud crack, and then I dove and swam out as far as I could until it was much too deep for me to stand. I came up gasping for breath, my muscles tired and my foot hurting more, and treaded water.
This was a dumb way to act. I knew better than most people that you shouldn’t play around in the middle of a lake. I started to paddle back to shore, and as I did, a large figure emerged from the thicket of greenery, pushing his way through and breaking a few of the branches as he did. He raised a hand and waved when he saw me. He pulled off his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and tossed aside his phone and keys. Then he waded right on in although it didn’t look like he was wearing a bathing suit.
“There you are,” Bowie said when we met in the water. He was standing flat-footed and I could reach the sandy bottom on my tiptoes. “I saw your car and knocked but you didn’t come and I got worried.”
“You did?”
“I did and I knocked a little too hard. I kind of…well, you’ll see when we go inside.” He smiled as he looked at me. “It’s nice to see you, Lissa.”
I felt warm all over and it wasn’t from anger, not this time. “You, too,” I answered. “Congratulations on the win. You were really, really good today.”
“Thank you. You were watching? You were busy yourself.”
“I watched as much as I could,” I explained, “and I listened to Herb and Buzz, the Woodsmen announcers, on the way home in the car. They said you played the hot diggity dog out of the game.”
He laughed. “Did they? I love those guys. I always say yes when they want an interview. I watched you, too.”
“Really?”
“I had to be careful because when you were dancing or flying around, I only paid attention to you instead of the game I was supposed to be playing.”
“That can’t be true,” I told him, but I felt even warmer.
“It is. You were also very, very good, but you’re a menace to us football players. Much too distracting.” His smile faded. “I think you’re going to be upset about your front door. Can I show you?”
He did the grapevine again to get through the jungle and I tried not to feel self-conscious that I was wearing my bikini as I walked in front of him. I’d worn an outfit that was equally revealing for the entire football game today and had been broadcast around the nation, and I’d had on the same bikini before in Bowie’s presence, too. I wasn’t sure why it felt different right now. I flicked a glance over my shoulder to see if he was watching me but didn’t catch anything before he said, “Look out!” He put a hand on my shoulder to steer me away from face-planting into a tree trunk.
“Good Lord!” The words burst from my mouth as we approached the cottage and I saw the scene in my living room through the glass patio door.
“I know. I’m very sorry, and I’ll replace it. I promise.”
I ran into the house, forgetting any worry about my bikini. Bowie took the three steps to join me at the place where the front door had previously been screwed on hinges and stood upright. Now it lay on the floor as if it had decided to become a rug instead.
“I started to put it back into place,” he explained, “but I was worried so I looked for you, first.” He lifted the wood slab now and leaned it across the opening to the driveway and street. “I thought you might have been in the shower so I yelled your name a few times, but it was so quiet. Your car was here and it just didn’t occur to me that you might have gone to the lake. I knocked harder…I knocked too hard.”
“You knocked the door silly,” I stated.
He looked at his right hand, clenched it into a fist, and sighed. “I did that. I’m sorry.” He stood, dripping, and showed me how the frame of the door was rotten, how the screws weren’t going to fit back into their loose holes, and how the door itself was full of powdery wood dust. “I’ll come out tomorrow to replace the whole thing,” he concluded. “For now, I’ll nail it closed when I leave so you’re safe in here. I have tools in the truck.”
“No, don’t do that. My dad won’t be able to get back in if it’s nailed,” I said.
