Page 23 of Some Like 'Em Burly
What are Clem and Meg up to tonight? Are they both happy? Comfortable and safe?
This is the problem with these easy-listening gigs. They leave time and space for my mind to wander.
For instance: I’m thinking about a few weeks ago, right around the beginning of summer break, when we all came home from dinner in town to find a gator floating in the pool like a big, ugly tree trunk. He was a chunky fella, that’s for sure, all leathery hide and sharp teeth. Definitely wouldn’t have seemed out of place back in dinosaur days. And when the security light flickedon, it bounced off his eyes, just like those others out there by the riverbank.
My mouth twitches and I play on, fingers tumbling over the piano keys. It’s a warm, muggy night, but it’s cooler out here on the water.
That night was kinda funny. I could’ve told you in advance how we’d all react, and sure enough, we fell into our roles without a second thought. Meg yelled a stream of profanity that no doubt made our elderly neighbors weep, and when she lurched forward to pick a fight she couldn’t win, I grabbed the back of her t-shirt.
And Clem?
Sweet Clementine…
Well, as soon as she glimpsed that gator in the pool, she tucked herself against my side. Like it was instinct—as easy as breathing.
Made me wish I could send invites to all the local beasts:Come to our pool!Would be worth the hassle of chasing ‘em off for those split seconds of Clem pressed against my body.
Thunk.
I hit a bum note, wincing and shaking my head. Need to focus. No one around seems to have noticed, butIsure heard it. There’s no excuse for sloppy playing, even on an easy gig like this.
Stars pulse overhead, and the diners laugh and clink their glasses. A waiter strides past with a tray of dessert, some hot, gooey thing smothered in toffee, and my stomach growls. Now that’s two cravings I need to beat down.
And it’s bad enough that I have those thoughts about Clem at all. Kind, innocent little Clem; my daughter’s best friend. Nearly half my age, and sweeter than sugar. I couldn’t pick a more inappropriate person to fixate on if I tried.
I shake my head, blending into the next piece without pause, fingers flying over the keys.
If I’m gonna give into my cravings tonight…
Better focus on that toffee.
* * *
They’re in the backyard when I get home around midnight, sitting at the picnic table Meg built us in her lumberjane phase. It’s rickety, but I love that thing. Truth be told, when they’re not here, I hardly ever sit at it.
It’s precious and I’m too heavy. Simple as that. But Meg gets all hurt and huffy when she sees me avoiding it, so over the summer breaks, I sit at the table pretty often.
“Ladies.” The side gate squeaks as I close it behind myself. Need to oil that. Both heads turn to face me, and Meg grins then goes back to the candle she’s lighting, but Clem keeps looking. Her red hair shines in the candlelight.
I pull in my stomach as I walk over. Well—as much as I can.
These two have wound string lights through the wall trellis, and the air smells like lavender and mint. The foliage spills thick from the garden beds, and branches criss-cross overhead, blocking out strips of stars. It’s like walking into Eden, especially since we evicted the big lizard from the pool. “Still awake, huh?”
Meg snorts, prodding her finger into the melting candle wax. She does that every time—my daughter can’t sit still to save her life. “Duh. We’re college students, Dad. We’re nocturnal. It’s the law of nature.”
Tell me about it. Some mornings when I’m up in this house around dawn, I feel like the only man left alive after the apocalypse.
“We wanted to hear about the gig,” Clem says, much quieter. “How did it go?”
“Pretty well.” The wood creaks as I settle on the bench opposite, and since Meg is only half-listening, too absorbed in making a mold of her thumbprint with melted wax, I direct my words to Clem. “It was a dinner cruise on a riverboat. Cocktail dresses and champagne toasts, you know? The swanky kind.”
Meg whistles, prodding at her wax thumb, and Clem’s eyes go round. “So clichéd,” my daughter declares, but I don’t think her friend agrees.
Something tells me Clem would love to have dinner on a riverboat. She’s fidgeting, so eager for details, like she could absorb all the excitement and romance of life secondhand.
You know… I could take her on a riverboat. I’dliketo.
Would that be out of line?
