going to the lake,” Mem slurped. “We’re going swimming because I know how. But first we had to—”
“Hey Mem, you know what?” I cut him off. “I’ll take a piece of that Juicy Fruit, after all.”
He handed me a stick of stale gum and, thankfully, that was enough to make him switch gears. “Good day for the beach today, folks,” he channeled Martin the Meteorologist in all his squeaky enthusiasm. “Clear and sunny this afternoon, partly cloudy and cooler tonight. This is Martin the Meteorologist wishing you blue skies and starry nights.”
“Sounds good,” Aunt Collette said, picking a People magazine off the rack and perching on her stool with it. “Now, what did you say brought you downtown?”
Just then, the door sleigh bells jangled, and Niko walked in, although he looked more like a gangster than the perky pizza guy I’d always known. He was wearing the same grimace he had on when he caught me barefoot yesterday. His apron was stained blood-red with tomato sauce, and his sunglasses, roosting on his forehead, were like an extra set of beady eyes. “Two packs Gold Strikes,” he rasped when he got to the counter.
Aunt Collette raised her eyebrows into triangles of surprise. “And hello to you too, Niko.”
He made a weak laugh and smoothed his mustache. “I am sorry. It’s just that I—I need my smokes.”
“I thought you quit.”
“Today I am not quit. Maybe tomorrow.” He laid down his money.
She frowned but got him his cigarettes anyway. “You okay, Niko?”
“I am…tired.”
“Now that I can appreciate.” She winked at Mem. “I wouldn’t mind a good night’s sleep myself one of these days.”
“Sleep is good. Better than these.” He rattled the Gold Strikes boxes. “Well, I…” He kept his mouth open, but no words came out, and he finally turned to go. “See you.”
Aunt Collette watched him leave and then wondered aloud as she closed the cash register, “Now, what do you suppose has gotten into him?”
“That’s what I want to know,” I said. But before we could toss any guesses around, Mem was at the door begging to go to the beach. “C’mon, Johnny. You promised. Let’s go swimming at the lake! I know how! You promised!”
“All right, all right,” I said, draining my slushie cup. “Let’s go.”
“We’ll have supper when I get home,” Aunt Collette called after us. “Around seven.”
• • •
Only a few other kids were swimming when we got to the lake—no one I particularly knew—and a man and a small boy were sitting on a wooden raft about fifty feet out, fishing. The bass and pike really bite this time of year, and I could see the boy yanking something on the end of his pole. His father—or whoever the man was—leaned over and helped him with the reel, but the fish got away.
I wondered what my own father was doing right now. Not thinking about me, that’s for sure. Even when he lived with Mom and me, he spent all his free time hiding in his basement workshop. It never would have crossed his mind to spend a morning at the lake with me. I wondered if that kid on the raft knew how lucky he was, even if the stinking fish did get away.
Mem and I picked a spot on the sandy-stony beach and spread out our towels. Okay, I supposed as I took off my shirt and lay down, this should be tolerable. Dull and friendless, but tolerable. Mem kicked off his—I mean my—flip flops and ran straight into the water, which was still freezing cold at the end of June. He lasted about three minutes, then bolted back to his towel and gobbled a couple of Twinkies guts before going shell-hunting. I dug my Sports Illustrated out of my backpack and escaped into an article about yacht racing. I had to admit, this was kind of all right. Mem was entertaining himself, and I could chill. Yes, this was working out okay.
Okay, that is, until Mem disappeared a half-hour later. One minute I could hear him crunching around on the sand, and the next minute he was gone. I sat up to inspect the thin strip of beach—nothing. I stood up to scan the lake—nothing. I ran knee-deep into the water and called his name over and over, louder and louder—nothing. The other kids were gawking at me, and I think the man on the raft was too.
I didn’t know what to do. What if he were drowning right this very minute? What if he already had drowned? It would be all my fault. Visions of police cars and lake-rakers raided my mind, and my heart started pummeling my chest. I turned back toward the beach.
And there he was, wrapping himself in his towel and digging around for more Twinkies. “Jeez, Mem,” I hollered. “Where were you?”
He finished decapitating his Twinkie before he answered. “Picking shells. I told you I was.”
“Didn’t you hear me calling?”
“Nope. You mad?”
“Yes—I mean, no—I mean…” I didn’t know what I meant. “Where’re your shells anyway?”
He pointed somewhere behind him. “In my special place.”
“Well, your special place almost gave me a heart attack.” I put my shirt back on and packed up my towel. “Let’s go.” My throat was so tense, the words came out in spurts.
“You are mad,” he moaned and started drawing a picture in the sand with his toes. “You are too, aren’t you?”
“Look, from now on, try to stay where I can see you, all right?”
“Where I can see you. All right. Where I can see you. See you.”
Mem must have been tired or bored because he didn’t put up a fuss about leaving. We didn’t talk during the walk back, and then I marched straight into the shower. I must’ve taken a pound of the beach home with me, plus I was hot, so the water felt good. When my blood pressure finally returned to normal, I got out and went to my room for some peace. But instead of finding privacy, I found Mem on my bed playing with the ferrets.
I coughed loudly to make him notice me. He glanced up. Whatever he saw on my face made him jump to his feet, rush Linguini back into the cage, and slip off to his own room with Jambalaya, all without a word. I think he was scared of me. He probably thought I was still angry, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t angry, I was just…I don’t know…glad I wasn’t him.
• • •
It seemed like forever until Aunt Collette got home and another eternity until she and Mem went to bed. Sometime after midnight they finally turned in, freeing me to take care of my business with Dirk.
The decals had gotten a little wet from the towels in my backpack, but not too bad. I snuck a flashlight out of the kitchen and peeked out the living room window to make sure the Dempster’s house was dark. Everything was a go, so I opened the front door, closed it gently behind me, and sneaked down the front steps in my bare feet.
Slinking along the grass, I realized I was smiling. It’s not that I loved the idea of messing with someone else’s stuff, but still, I felt like Tom Sawyer or something, doing mischief for a good cause. If only I had Mo or Reed along as my
