It's Not Summer Without You

“No, I don’t think I will.”

My mother’s eyes were almost glowing. “I said, sit down , Adam.” He gaped at her—we all did. Then she said, “Kids, get out.”

Conrad opened his mouth to argue but he thought better of it, especially when he saw the look on my mother’s face and his dad sit back down. As for me, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. We all hustled out of the kitchen and sat at the top of the stairs, straining to hear.

We didn’t have to wait long. Mr. Fisher said, “What the hell, Laurel? Did you really think you could railroad me into changing my mind?”

“Excuse me, but fuck you.”

I clapped my hand over my mouth and Conrad’s eyes were shining and he was shaking his head in admiration. Jeremiah, though, he looked like he might cry. I reached out and grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. When he tried to pull away, I held on tighter.

“This house meant everything to Beck. Can’t you get past your own grief and see what it means to the boys? They need this. They need this. I don’t want to believe that you’re this cruel, Adam.”

He didn’t answer her.

“This house is hers. It’s not yours. Don’t make me stop you, Adam. Because I will. I’ll do everything in my power to keep this house for Beck’s boys.”

Mr. Fisher said, “What will you do, Laure?” and he sounded so tired.

“I’ll do what I have to do.”

His voice was muffled when he said, “She’s everywhere here. She’s everywhere.”

He might have been crying. I almost felt sorry for him. I guess my mother did too, because her voice was nearly gentle when she said, “I know. But Adam? You were a sorry excuse for a husband. But she loved you. She really did. She took you back. I tried to talk her out of it, God knows I tried. But she wouldn’t listen, because when she sets her mind on someone, that’s it. And she set her mind on you, Adam. Earn that. Prove me wrong.”

He said something I couldn’t quite hear. And then my mother said, “You do this one last thing for her. Okay?”

I looked over at Conrad, and he said in a low voice, to no one in particular, “Laurel is amazing.”

I’d never heard anyone describe my mom that way, especially not Conrad. I’d never thought of her as “amazing.” But in that moment, she was. She truly was. I said, “Yeah, she is. So was Susa

He looked at me for a minute and then he got up and went to his room without waiting to hear what else Mr. Fisher said. He didn’t need to. My mother had won. She had done it.

A little while later, when it seemed safe, Jeremiah and I went back downstairs. My mother and Mr. Fisher were drinking coffee the way grown-ups do. His eyes were red-rimmed but hers were the clear eyes of a victor. When he saw us, he said, “Where’s Conrad?”

How many times had I heard Mr. Fisher say, “Where’s Conrad?” Hundreds. Millions.

“He’s upstairs,” Jeremiah said.

“Go get him, will you, Jere?”

Jeremiah hesitated and then he looked at my mother, who nodded. He bounded up the stairs and a few minutes later, Conrad was with him. Conrad’s face was guarded, cautious.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Mr. Fisher said. This was the old Mr. Fisher, power broker, negotiator. He loved to make deals. He used to offer trades to us kids. Like, he’d drive us to the go-kart track if we swept the sand out of the garage. Or he’d take the boys fishing if they cleaned out all the tackle boxes.

Warily, Conrad said, “What do you want? My trust fund?”

Mr. Fisher’s jaw tightened. “No. I want you back at school tomorrow. I want you to finish your exams. If you do that, the house is yours. Yours and Jeremiah’s.”

Jeremiah whooped loudly. “Yes!” he shouted. He reached over and enveloped Mr. Fisher in a guy hug, and Mr. Fisher clapped him on the back.

“What’s the catch?” Conrad asked.

“No catch. But you have to make at least C s. No D s or F s.” Mr. Fisher had always prided himself on driving the hard bargain. “Do we have a deal?”

Conrad hesitated. I knew right away what was wrong. Conrad didn’t want to owe his dad anything. Even though this was what he wanted, even though it was why he had come here. He didn’t want to take anything from his dad.

“I haven’t studied,” he said. “I might not pass.”

He was testing him. Conrad had never “not passed.” He’d never gotten anything below a B, and even Bs were rare.

“Then no deal,” Mr. Fisher said. “Those are the terms.”

Urgently, Jeremiah said, “Con, just say yes, man. We’ll help you study. Won’t we, Belly?”

Conrad looked at me, and I looked at my mother. “Can I, Mom?”

My mother nodded. “You can stay, but you have to be home tomorrow.”

“Take the deal,” I told Conrad.

“All right,” he said at last.

“Shake on it like a man, then,” Mr. Fisher said, holding out his hand.

Reluctantly, Conrad extended his arm and they shook. My mother caught my eye and she mouthed, Shake on it like a man , and I knew she was thinking how sexist Mr. Fisher was. But it didn’t matter. We had won.

“Thanks, Dad,” Jeremiah said. “Really, thanks.”

He hugged his dad again and Mr. Fisher hugged him back, saying, “I need to get back to the city.” Then he nodded at me. “Thanks for helping Conrad, Belly.”

I said, “You’re welcome.” But I didn’t know what I was saying “you’re welcome” for, because I hadn’t really done anything. My mother had helped Conrad more in half an hour than I had in all my time of knowing him.

After Mr. Fisher left, my mother got up and started rinsing dishes. I joined her and loaded them into the dishwasher. I rested my head on her shoulder for a second. I said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You were a real badass, Mom.”

“Don’t cuss,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up.

“You’re one to talk.”

Then we washed the dishes in silence, and my mother had that sad look on her face and I knew she was thinking of Susa

The three of us walked her to the car. “You boys will get her home tomorrow?” she asked, throwing her bag onto the passenger seat.

“Definitely,” Jeremiah said.

Then Conrad said, “Laurel.” He hesitated. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

My mother turned to him, surprised. She was touched. “You want an old lady like me around?” she asked. “Sure, I’ll be back whenever you’ll have me.”

“When?” he asked. He looked so young, so vulnerable my heart ached a little.

I guessed my mother was feeling the same way, because she reached out and touched his cheek. My mother was not a cheek-touching kind of person. It just wasn’t her way. But it was Susa

My mother got into the car then. She waved at us as she backed down the driveway, her sunglasses on, the window down. “See you soon,” she called out.

Jeremiah waved and Conrad said, “See you soon.”

My mother told me once that when Conrad was very young, he called her “his Laura.” “Where is my Laura?” he’d say, wandering around looking for her. She said he followed her everywhere; he’d even follow her into the bathroom. He called her his girlfriend and he would bring her sand crabs and seashells from the ocean and he would lay them at her feet. When she told me about it, I thought, What I wouldn’t give to have Conrad Fisher call me his girlfriend and bring me shells.

“I’m sure he doesn’t remember,” she’d said, smiling faintly.

“Why don’t you ask him if he does?” I’d said. I loved hearing stories about when Conrad was little. I loved to tease him, because the opportunity to tease Conrad came up so rarely.

She’d said, “No, that would embarrass him,” and I’d said, “So what? Isn’t that the point?”

And she’d said, “Conrad is sensitive. He has a lot of pride. Let him have that.”