Endless Summer

e kids were making castles in the sandbox. Really just mounds of sand, but I’m optimistic. Frances sat cross-legged in the grass nearby, wearing her summer hippie uniform: tie-dyed T-shirt, hemp shorts, bare feet. (Stuck in the grungewear of her college days, she also had a winter hippie uniform that involved wool and Birkenstocks.) She and the kids stared up at me.

I dropped down on their side of the fence, walked over, and sat on the edge of the sandbox. “Whatsamatter?” I asked the kidlets. “You’ve never seen such a vision of loveliness?”

“There’s a gate, you know,” Frances said.

“I didn’t notice.”

“It’s on the other side of the house, off the driveway, where people usually put gates.”

“I got in, didn’t I? God, you always want me to do things your way.” is was sort of unfair. Frances had been pretty hands-off as governesses went. Like I had anyone to compare her to. “Well, this time I’ve definitely done something that isn’t covered in the child care manual. Go ahead, ask me what happened at the party. Ask me what happened the night after the party. Ask me where I’m going now, dressed to kill.”

e kids gaped at me when they heard the K word. Which probably didn’t reassure them about their futures as well-adjusted teens under the instruction of Fa

“Well?” I shouted. Her eyes flew open. I prompted her, “Doesn’t this sound like a supreme girl-adventure? Do you watch MTV reality shows? at’s a silly question, isn’t it? Never mind. Maybe they have drama like this on The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer.”

“Something else is going on with those boys,” she said.

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. It’s been years since I gave Adam or Sean or Cameron or Bill the evil eye. You’re the only one who comes to visit. Except… Mirabella, we do not eat the sand.” She scooped up the girl and took her inside. The girl didn’t protest. These children had been drugged or lobotomized.

I turned to the boy. “Don’t you ever protest?”

He shook his head.

“Hold strikes? Write letters of complaint? She always told us we had permission to do anything if we could write a convincing argument for it. We tried.” He intoned in a cute little zombie voice, “We do not eat the sand.”

Frances came back out and deposited the girl in the sandbox again. e girl examined some nearby dried leaves hungrily. “I guarantee you something else is going on there,” Frances repeated. “Yours isn’t the only plot.”

“Right. Sean stole Rachel from Adam to get revenge. Sean is always the instigator of the plot. For the record, Sean is the one who started calling you Butt I Don’t Need a Governess. I probably wouldn’t have been half the hellion I was, if it hadn’t been for Sean egging everybody on.”

“I don’t know,” Frances said thoughtfully. “It was Adam who set off the firecrackers in my homemade cheese.”

“OH MY GOD I HAD COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN ABOUT THE HOMEMADE CHEESE.” I laughed until I choked. e children studied me with serious eyes. They were adapting to the Montessori method a lot better than McGillicuddy and I had.

“I always loved Adam,” Frances said.

I sniffled. “You did?” Frances wasn’t too free with the professions of love.

“But Adam had room to grow. Sounds like he still does.”

Feeling strangely defensive of Adam all of a sudden, I said, “Everybody has room to grow.”

“And I don’t want you to be his field.” She gave me a stern look.

“What am I, a crop of rutabagas?”

She glanced at the kids and said through her teeth to me, “Do you understand?”

“Not really. Are you forbidding me to see Adam?” This was actually kind of romantic, though ridiculous. I forbid you to see the boy next door!

“Mirabella and Alvin,” Frances said, “please turn on the garden hose and water your mother’s beautiful flowers.” Miraculously, the brainwashed kiddies stood and obeyed, taking half the sand with them. Frances watched them go, then turned to me.

“Ever since your mom died,” she whispered, “your dad has been terrified for you kids. But he’s gone out of his way not to be overprotective so that you don’t live life afraid. And those were the instructions he gave me as your caregiver.” She reached over and patted my knee. “No one’s going to forbid you to do anything, Lori. Just…

watch out around those boys.”

Adam sat on the end of my dock with his shoes beside him and his bare feet swinging in the bryozoa-infested waters. Just kidding—my dock had been Sanitized for My Protection by a mi

I skimmed the canoe against the dock and stopped myself with an oar. He stood up dripping, caught the rope I threw him, and wound it around the dock cleat. “Date or what?” he asked.

Grabbing my shoes from the bottom of the canoe, I confirmed, “Date. Ew. It’s so weird to think about. Help me out, lovah.” He put out a hand to help me onto the dock. He did it in such a gentlemanly fashion, with no tickling or pinching or even a secret handshake, that I couldn’t help but yank his arm to startle him. en he put his weight on me to keep from falling, and we both came within a few millimeters of flipping the canoe over and landing in the lake.

We both managed to save at the last second. He helped me out of the canoe as if nothing had happened, except his face was bright red, and he wore that don’t make me laugh look. “Your dad said you went to see Frances.”

“Yeah. I told her about the plan, and she thinks you’re only going along with it because you want to get lucky with me.” We shared an uncomfy titter at this ridiculous idea as he slid his feet into his shoes, but something made me press him about this. “Did you get lucky with Rachel?” He stared down at me, disapproving. He turned the disapproving stare in the general direction of the Harbargers’ dock across the lake.

“You did,” I said with a sigh. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath.

“N—,” he started. “W—Mmph.” He put both his hands into his hair. is showed me how strong and well-formed the biceps were on this ta

“Your dad’s thinking the same thing,” Adam said.

“About your biceps?” I chuckled.

Slowly and oh so painfully I realized no one had made a joke out loud about Adam’s biceps.

Slowly and less painfully he put his arms down. “I would like some gum,” he said. “Would you like some gum?”

“I would love some gum,” I croaked.

He reached deep into the pocket of his shorts and drew out each of the following items in turn, placing them in his other pocket: his wallet, a lighter, a Sacagawea dollar, a plastic box of fishhooks, a four-inch-long pocketknife. Finally he produced a pack of gum so old, the company had switched to a new logo since it was made. Fine.

Anything I could stuff into my mouth.

“I meant,” he said, jaw working hard on a petrified square, “your dad thinks I want to get lucky with you too. At least, that was his second reaction when I rang the doorbell and told him I was there to pick you up for our date. His first reaction was to threaten to have me arrested.”

“Oh, pshaw.” I swallowed a mouthful of artificial flavoring. Mmmmm, igneous. “He threatens to have me arrested. It’s a term of endearment.” I walked down the dock so Adam would follow me. When I glanced back, he was still standing at the end of the dock. I threw over my shoulder, “I’ll visit you in prison.” He jogged to catch up with me, and held my arm to balance me as I slipped my heels on. I knew better than to wear heels on the dock. I’d seen too many girls wear them at the boys’ parties. Heels got caught between the planks and arrested forward motion, yo.