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In addition to CDs, there were actual vinyl record albums-thousands of them, some of them most likely collector’s items, including an unopened copy of Abbey Road and a slew of old 45s simply hanging on the wall with signatures of people like Elvis Presley, Bob Marley, and Ritchie Valens. Ro
In no way was she prepared for a day at the beach.
Ro
As soon as she started down the aisle full of CDs, Ro
“I thought we were friends,” she started.
“We are,” Ro
Blaze’s expression was icy. “You mean about asking Marcus to go for a walk with you?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Ro
“His game? His game?” Blaze threw down the headphones. “I saw the way you were staring at him! I heard what you said!”
“But I didn’t say it! I didn’t ask him to walk anywhere-”
“You tried to kiss him!”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t try to kiss him…”
Blaze took a step forward. “He told me!”
“Then he’s lying!” Ro
“No… no… don’t even go there…”
“He lied to you. I wouldn’t kiss him. I don’t even like him. The only reason I was there was because you insisted that we go.”
For a long moment, Blaze didn’t say anything. Ro
“Whatever,” Blaze said, her tone making her meaning perfectly clear.
She pushed past Ro
So much for trying to make things better.
Ro
At the exit, her thoughts were brought to a halt by the sudden blaring of an alarm, and she glanced over her shoulder, first in curiosity and then in confusion as she realized what was happening. There was only one way in and out of the store.
The next thing she knew, the ponytailed man was rushing toward her.
She didn’t try to run because she knew she’d done nothing wrong; when the ponytailed man asked for her bag, she saw no reason not to give it to him. Obviously, a mistake had been made, and it wasn’t until the man removed two CDs and half a dozen of the signed 45s from her tote bag that she realized she’d been right about Blaze expecting Ro
Suddenly dizzy, she barely heard the manager tell her that the police were already on their way.
11 Steve
After buying the materials he needed, primarily two-by-fours and sheets of plywood, Steve and Jonah spent the morning closing off the alcove. It wasn’t pretty-his father would have been mortified-but Steve thought it would do. He knew the cottage would eventually be demolished; if anything, the land was worth more without it. The bungalow was flanked by three-story minimansions, and Steve was certain those neighbors considered the place an eyesore that depressed their own property values.
Steve hammered in a nail, hung the photograph of Ro
“What do you think?” he asked Jonah.
Jonah wrinkled his nose. “It looks like we built an ugly plywood wall and hung a picture on it. And you can’t play the piano anymore, either.”
“I know.”
Jonah tilted his head from side to side. “I think it’s crooked, too. It kind of bends in and out.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“You need glasses, Dad. And I still don’t see why you wanted to put it up in the first place.”
“Ro
“So?”
“There’s no place to hide the piano, so I put a wall up instead. Now she doesn’t have to see it.”
“Oh,” Jonah said, thinking. “You know, I really don’t like having to do homework. In fact, I don’t even like to see it piled on my desk.”
“It’s summer. You don’t have any homework.”
“I’m just saying that maybe I should build a wall around the desk in my room.”
Steve suppressed a laugh. “You might have to talk to your mom about that.”
“Or you could.”
Steve gave in to a chuckle. “You hungry yet?”
“You said we were going to go kite flying.”
“We will. I just want to know if you want lunch.”
“I think I’d rather have some ice cream.”
“I don’t think so.”
“A cookie?” Jonah sounded hopeful.
“How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”
“Okay. But then we’re going to fly the kite, right?”
“Yes.”
“All afternoon?”
“As long as you want.”
“Okay. I’ll have a sandwich. But you have to have one, too.”
Steve smiled, putting his arm on Jonah’s shoulder. “Deal.” They headed toward the kitchen.
“You know, the living room is a whole lot smaller now,” Jonah observed.
“I know.”
“And the wall is crooked.”
“I know.”
“And it doesn’t match the other walls.”
“What’s your point?”
Jonah’s face was serious. “I just want to make sure you’re not going crazy.”
It was perfect kite-flying weather. Steve sat on a dune two houses down from his own, watching the kite zigzag across the sky. Jonah, full of energy as usual, ran up and down the beach. Steve watched him with pride, amazed to recall that when he’d done the same thing as a child, neither of his parents had ever joined him.
They weren’t bad people. He knew that. They never abused him, he never went hungry, they never argued in his presence. He visited the dentist and doctor once or twice a year, there was always plenty to eat, and he always had a jacket on cold winter mornings and a nickel in his pocket so he could buy milk at school. But if his father was stoic, his mother wasn’t all that different, and he supposed that was the reason they’d stayed married as long as they had. She was originally from Romania; his father had met her while stationed in Germany. She spoke little English when they were married and never questioned the culture in which she’d been raised. She cooked and cleaned and washed the clothes; in the afternoons, she worked part-time as a seamstress. By the end of her life, she’d learned passable English, enough to navigate the bank and grocery store, but even then her accent was heavy enough that it was sometimes difficult for others to understand her.