I hated this weather.

“You’re such a whiner.”

Sometimes I was convinced I hated my sister, too.

“Summer’s supposed to mean playing outside. It’s been raining forever.”

“It’s been raining for three days; that’s hardly forever.”

I ignored Audrey as I dug my knees into the cushion of the chair and looked out the window, though there was nothing to see, anyway. Dark grey clouds shadowed the sky and dropped buckets of rain to the earth, probably drowning Mr. Snavely’s prized flowers in the process. Pressing my cheek against the glass, I strained to see further down the street.

“Will you stop? Ava’s mom said she’s not getting back ‘til later.” A pause. “Anna, seriously. It’s your turn, come on.”

I sighed and dropped onto the armchair across from Audrey, picking up the dice and tossing them onto the board. I watched as she counted the spaces, her lips turning upward in a smirk as she reached over and stole more money from my small pile.

“That’s not fair.” I sighed and slouched further down in the chair, leaning my head back against the cushion, my eyes trailing the tiny strip of discoloration along the ceiling. “I’m bored.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re losing.”

“Am not.” I glanced at her, saw her lips move and heard the soft tap of the game piece against the board as she counted out spaces. “I quit.”

She looked up sharply. “Don’t you dare.”

“I quit!” I sang louder.

“So help me, Annie…You’re the one who wanted to play in the first place.”

“That’s because I was bored. And this game is never-ending. And why can’t I be the dog for once? You always make me be the stupid shoe.” I leaned forward and picked up Audrey’s game piece between my fingers. “Marmalade, wanna play with the puppy?”

“Annie!”

“Alright, sorry.” I rolled my eyes and tossed it back onto the Monopoly board; Marmalade wagged his tail as he wandered over to sniff at the pieces on the coffee table.

“Marmalade, get outta here.” Audrey pushed his nose away, then turned to me. “You owe me $200.”

I peeked at the pink and yellow bills in front of me. “I don’t have that much.”

“So mortgage something.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You have six properties there. Mortgage something.” She said it like it was a threat, but I shook my head.

“Annie!”

“What? I don’t even know what that means!”

I was being difficult, and I knew it. But I was cranky and restless and the last thing I wanted was to be stuck inside watching Audrey build up red hotel after red hotel. The rain had started three days ago and hadn’t let up, meaning I’d already re-read most of my Nancy Drew and Audrey’s Hardy Boys books, watched enough soap operas to make my Aunt Mary proud, and was in danger of wearing out the Blondie record I got for Christmas. I was bored. I was bored and playing Monopoly with Audrey, and I hated playing Monopoly with Audrey.

“Are you just going to sit there or are you gonna pay up?”

I really hated playing Monopoly with Audrey.

I glared at her, then scooped up the remaining pile of money and property cards and dumped them onto the game board.

“Hey!”

“I quit. I’m going next door.”

I grabbed my raincoat off the hook in the front hallway and opened the door. The raindrops were pounding against the pavement, large puddles already forming on the sidewalk; the grass was slick and heavy beneath the weight of the water. Dad had been right — the air was cool now, and I lifted my hood and wrapped my yellow slicker closer around me as I dashed across the yard.

He came to the door almost as soon as I knocked, held up a finger for me to wait, and then wandered further back into the house. I could hear someone’s voice, but the words were drowned out by the rain behind me, and I peered in through the screen door, but saw only a lit table lamp in the living room. I couldn’t remember him ever having visitors before, could barely even remember his parents there, though I remembered seeing my Dad waving to someone as he mowed the yard when I was younger.

A woman’s laugh echoed past the doorway, and I strained to hear over the rain that flooded the gutters above. Footsteps edged closer, and soon he came back into view, a woman following behind him. My eyes grew wide as they stepped out on the porch, and I studied her closely. She wore a long grey skirt and a navy blue blouse and heels like the ones Mom wore when she went out to dinner with Dad on Valentine’s day. I glanced down at my own mud-stained sneakers, now dripping wet from my run through the grass, suddenly wishing I had worn the galoshes Mom always insisted I wear, despite my insisting that no one my age wore galoshes. Suddenly, I wished I was more like Audrey and that I was wearing nice, clean school shoes instead.

I pulled the hood of my raincoat back from my head and smoothed my hair. Her hair was long and blonde — not blonde like Ava’s hair, but like movie star hair, and I wondered who she was and if she had ever been in the movies.

She held out her hand, and I watched as he grasped it and shook it. Her gaze then flicked to me, and she smiled before opening her umbrella and heading to the car I hadn’t even realized was sitting in the driveway.

“Who was that?” I turned to my neighbor, saw his hand was still raised in a wave as she backed her car onto the street.

“My realtor.“ He finally turned to me and nodded at the chairs. “Have a seat. You want anything?”

I shook my head, waiting for him to go back inside and get his glass and the newspaper I never saw him without, but instead he sat down across from me.

“You mean for selling a house?”

He leaned back in the chair, his fingers tapping the card table in an upbeat rhythm as a smile lingered on his face.

“Yep.”

“So, you’re leaving?”

He nodded.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He sighed, but I noticed that his blue eyes were lighter than I’d ever seen them before, and I thought how that must somehow be a good thing.

“But what about your house?”

“That’s why I’m selling it.”

“But it’s your house. You live here.”

“It’s not really mine,” he shrugged. “This was my parents’ house. I don’t belong here, not anymore. That was a different person.”

I wanted to ask how he could be two different people, yet still the same, but then I remembered seeing my grandma and how I barely recognized her, though she was still my grandma, and suddenly I knew.

I stared down at a small cut in the vinyl table as the rain fell around us. I waited for him to say something else, wanted him to say that we were friends and that he would come back to visit or call or send postcards like Ava did when she was away at camp. But even as he stared out at the rain, I knew he wouldn’t, knew that, by next summer, he wouldn’t remember me any more than I would remember him.

Water splashed steadily along the pavement and echoed down the road as a car drew closer. We watched as it pulled into my driveway, the headlights illuminating the garage door.

“Ava’s here.” I said, and I stood slowly. I didn’t know what to say, so I stuck out my hand like I had seen the almost-movie star do. I could see the chuckle rising inside of him, though he suppressed it with a smile. He nodded slowly and leaned forward to shake it.

A grin began to spread across my face as I turned and dashed down the porch steps, my sneakers flying through the puddles as I ran to greet my best friend.

I once overheard someone on TV say that if you slept with your socks on at night, you could outlive people who didn’t wear socks by five years.

It was hot out. The weatherman said it would be record-breaking, and I wondered briefly if you could croak of heatstroke in your own home. It felt like it. It felt like my bedroom was too small and the air was too stuffy, and I could feel the sweat plastering my pajamas against my legs while rain from the storm splattered against the window.

The rain had started while we were eating dinner, a steady downpour that we watched out the windows from our places at the kitchen table. I had groaned, knowing that now I couldn’t go play Capture the Flag with Connor and the other neighborhood kids, but Dad had only nodded to himself and said that the ground needed a good watering. I thought of Mr. Snavely’s prized flowers and how they had been withering in the heat and wondered if you could revive something with just a little bit of water.

“Don’t flowers need the sun?”

“Sun and water,” Dad had nodded.

“But what if it keeps raining? What if it rains for forty days and forty nights?”

“That’s stupid.”

“Shut up, Audrey!”

“Don’t tell your sister to shut up.”

“But Mom-”

“And Audrey, don’t call your sister stupid or you’re not going to Sarah’s pool party, understand?”

“You need both.” Dad had turned back to me. “Too much rain and the flowers will drown. But not enough…”

I had looked down at the bed of pasta on my plate and picked at the spaghetti strands with my fork, twirling them around and around, not saying a word, thinking instead of wrinkles and frailty and wondering what could revive that.

Dad had said that the rain would cool the air, but it didn’t feel like anything was cooling now. Now my feet were starting to itch, and I rubbed them against the mattress but refused to take my socks off. I wanted those extra years to count.

My door was open to let in the air; across the hall, I could see a dim light shining beneath Audrey’s door. She was probably reading in bed, I thought, and I wondered if she had a new book I could borrow.

Reading was supposed to be good for the mind. I heard that on TV, too, once. And puzzles were supposed to help with memory.

I hoped that I would remember to put puzzles on my birthday list.

I flipped my pillow over and pressed my cheek against the pillowcase, but soon the cool spot turned warm and I turned it over again. I wanted to open the window and breath deep the summer air and listen to the crickets as they lulled me to sleep, but the rain was still falling and I was wide awake. I groaned and kicked my legs in frustration before I climbed out of bed, my feet shuffling against the carpet as I wandered downstairs.

“What are you doing up?”

“It’s too hot in my room and I can’t sleep.”

I plopped on the couch beside my mom and leaned my head back. From the kitchen I could hear the thump of Marmalade’s tail and the steady hum of the fridge, and for a second I wondered if I could just stand there in front of it with the door wide open. I bet the blast of cold air would make everything better; I bet I could fall asleep then.

“Anna?”

“What?”

“Want to tell me why you’re wearing two pairs of socks?”

I stretched out my legs and glanced down at my feet. “I thought I’d double it.”

She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t say a word, and I waited for her to shake her head and sigh, but that didn’t come, either. I looked around, finally realizing that there was no TV on, no radio, no book in her hands. All I heard was the rain dripping from the gutters outside.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking.”

“About what, about Grandma?” My mom nodded and I tucked my knees to my chest and pulled my nightgown over them like a tent. “Can we bring Grandma a puzzle the next time we see her? No, really,” I insisted. “I heard somewhere it’s supposed to help you remember stuff.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Somewhere.”

“We’ll see.”

“Why not?”

“I said we’ll see.” Mom stood and headed for the kitchen. “Want a glass of milk?”

I nodded and peeled the socks from my feet, dropping them to the carpet beside me. I wriggled my toes and tucked them into the folds of the couch cushion. The air suddenly didn’t seem so hot now, like what Dad had said was turning true and everything was cooling. Like the rain was just rain and the thunder was just thunder and those five years maybe wouldn’t matter so much if you were suffocating anyway.

Marmalade’s nails tapped against the linoleum as he followed my mom back in from the kitchen. I pressed my lips against the cold glass and took a sip as Mom settled back and closed her eyes.

“Stop. Marmalade, stop,” I scolded in a whisper as he sniffed at my socks, then nudged my arm with his wet nose. I scratched under his chin, and he lifted his head, his eyes raised towards the ceiling. I wondered if he was seeing anything there, wondered if he was really listening for Audrey’s mumbling in her sleep or Dad’s nasally snores. I wondered if he missed us when we were all sleeping and he was downstairs alone.

“I’m sorry I got mad at you when you wouldn’t let me see Grandma.”

“Anna…” My mom sighed and shook her head. “It’s not that I didn’t want you to see her, Annie. I want you to have happy memories of her.”

“But I do have happy memories.” I played with the hem of my nightgown as I thought about what she had just said. “I remember whenever we stayed with her, we’d walk to the ice cream shop in town. And Audrey would get vanilla and I would get pistachio and Grandma would get a scoop of each.”

I looked up and saw my mom smile, a trace of amusement crossing her face. “Her favorite flavor is strawberry.”

“It is?” Mom nodded, and I paused. “Does Audrey know?”

“I don’t think so.”

My grin grew wider and I somehow felt satisfied. I didn’t want Audrey to know; I wanted it to stay between us, locked in this moment, this middle of the night. It was like having some secret knowledge that linked us — me and my mom and my grandma — and I wanted to keep it that way.

My mom scratched Marmalade’s head, her fingers passing over the same spot methodically. Her lips were drawn in a smile that didn’t seem happy and didn’t seem sad. It was just there. My smile faded, and I remembered how I barely recognized her this afternoon, remembered how she looked so different, though she was still my mom, and I wondered if that was how it was for her. To remember her mother as she was then and see her as she was now. I wondered if that was how it would be for me and Audrey, and suddenly I wanted Audrey to know, too. I wanted to run upstairs and wake her up and tell her that Grandma liked strawberry ice cream.

I felt my cheeks grow warm as the room became stuffy again, and I bit my lip and looked at Marmalade, now just a watery blur of white and tan, but I knew he was there as I smoothed his fur over and over and over again.

All of a sudden, I wanted to reach down and grab the socks that Marmalade was sitting on.

“Oh, Annie…”

All of a sudden, I wanted Mom and Dad and Audrey to put on their socks, too.

It smelled. It smelled like my dad’s dirty socks mixed in with a fresh, new smell — like Ava’s little brother’s room with all those plastic toys and fresh laundry and rash creams.

I thought I was going to puke.

And I smiled smugly when I looked over at Audrey and saw her nose twisted, hand held to her mouth.

I’d bet on her puking before I did.

Grandma’s room was in the back of a long hallway on the first floor. Mom said that the nursing home had been converted from an old farmhouse, and I liked thinking that a family had once lived here, wondered, briefly, where they had gone. Behind us we could hear pots banging in the kitchen, but even the smell of a turkey dinner couldn’t mask the stench.

“Mom?’

“Anna, don’t you dare, so help me.”

I shut my mouth.

She sighed next to me and I glanced over. For a second, I barely recognized her. Her eyes seemed darker, her lips set in a grim line, and for the first time, I noticed that wrinkles creased her forehead. I suddenly wanted to take her hand or give her a hug or tell her I was glad I came, but Audrey elbowed me to point out a woman wearing no pants and when I looked back, Mom was there again, glaring at us, forcing us to stifle our giggles.

The door at the end of the hall was open, and I slowed my steps, letting Mom and Audrey pass me as I watched from the doorway. Her room was painted white with thick orange and yellow patterned curtains pulled back to let in the sunlight. I recognized the housecoat draped across the edge of the bed, and pictures of me and Audrey were propped up on the dresser and nightstand in gold frames. A bag full of yarn and an unfinished blanket lay spilled beside the velvet swivel chair I used to play on, and I realized Dad must have brought it over from her house.

The room reminded me of her, but the woman in the chair, white hair and thin face, I barely recognized.

I poked Audrey as Mom greeted her with a hug. “She looks different,” I whispered.

“You haven’t seen her in awhile.”

“That’s ‘cause no one would let me.”

“And look who came to see you,” Mom motioned us over with a short nod and I watched as Audrey bent down to hug her, greeting her with a smile. I thought how much I suddenly didn’t feel like smiling anymore.

“Mary!”

“No, Mom, Mary’s not here now. That’s Audrey.”

My grandmother frowned, then waved me over, and I reached down to wrap my arms around her as I had so many times before, since I was small.

“And that’s Anna. Do you remember Anna?”

I pulled back and saw the smile on her face falter, her brow deepening, a question reflecting in her eyes. I turned to Mom, my chest tightening, but she shook her head and reached for my grandmother’s thin hand.

“How are you doing, Mom? I see you’re making a new blanket.”

Grandma reached beside her to pick up the material, holding it up proudly.

“Do you like it, Carol? I’m making it for you.”

“I’m Carol, Mom. That’s Anna, your granddaughter. Remember Annie?’ Mom adjusted the strap of her purse against her shoulder and sighed, “Alright. I need to go speak to the nurse.” She squeezed my Grandmother’s hand with a promise to be right back and left the room, Audrey following close behind.

I watched them go, wanting to call them back, to be with me, to be with her. I didn’t say a word.

I was in a room where my grandmother slept, though it wasn’t really her room, watching wrinkled, blue-veined fingers slowly wrap yarn around a metal needle, though those hands didn’t belong to her. They weren’t the hands I remembered — not the ones that rested on my back as I wobbled on my bike for the first time; not the ones that used to tuck the bedcovers around me and smooth the hair back from my forehead when we stayed for overnight visits. Not the ones that bandaged skinned knees and helped me tie my shoes so that I wouldn’t trip on the laces again.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my — Audrey’s — old sneakers. I wondered if that’s what it was like, being here. I wondered if everything felt like a hand-me-down — so familiar, but so out of place, not really belonging to her anymore — not the clothes in the drawers or the pictures in their frames. Like these things belonged to another person, someone different, someone she couldn’t remember and that I no longer knew.

Suddenly I wanted my old shoes back, didn’t want these replacements. I wanted my shoes — the ones that had walked with me through school hallways and down neighborhood streets and beside muddy creeks. I wanted every scruff and stain because at least I would remember how each one got there, at least I could recognize them, at least I would know they were really mine.

“I really miss you, Grandma.”

She lifted her head and relaxed her hands in her lap, setting down her knitting slowly, gently, both movements I always associated with her.

“I miss you, too.”

I swallowed back the lump rising in the back of my throat. “Really?”

She nodded, smiled, and suddenly she was the grandma I knew again, and I thought, if only Mom were here right now, maybe then she could come home.

“Have you seen my mother?”

I froze, my hand falling to rest on the bed frame, my eyes fixed on her face as she looked towards the door. I felt that lump rise again as I shook my head.

“No, Grandma,” I answered quietly. “Your mother’s not here.”

I stood and crossed the space between us, her puzzled expression an image pressed into my mind as I wrapped my arms around her frail body, my nose pressed against her shoulder. She smelled of nothing but her and I thought that’s how it should be. No peppermint, no lilac. Just her. Just as I remembered.

“I love you, Grandma.”

And I settled my face against the white knit cardigan she always wore, my cheek caressing the soft material. For a moment, I wondered if I would hear those words echoed back, or if they would be just another hollow memory, meant for a person I never knew.

“I’m not a kid anymore.”

His blue eyes were doubtful as they glanced down at me.

“Well, I’m not!”

He shook his head and leaned his back against the stair railing, cradling the glass in his hands. We were sitting on his porch steps, watching our neighbor across the street scold her two young boys for playing baseball near the car. I drew my knees up and picked at the pebbles of loose concrete at my feet.

“You’ll always be a kid to them, no matter how old you get. It’s the laws of parenthood.”

“There are no laws of parenthood, and if there were, every parent on the planet would be breaking them.”

He raised his glass in a mock toast.

I eyed him curiously, squinting against the sunlight as I looked up at him. “Do you ever see your parents?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?’

He raised his eyebrows as he turned towards me, but I shrugged my shoulders. “What, I’m still 12…I’m allowed to ask.”

“Haven’t talked to them in three years.” He glanced into his glass, raised it to his lips, then changed his mind and set it next to him on the stair. “They gave me the house when they retired; moved far up outta here.” He looked up at the porch overhang, his eyes drinking in the structure. “Said that I was changed when I got back, that I wasn’t their son anymore. I was in a fucking war…Jesus.”

I remained silent, stared at my shoelaces, noticed that the plastic tip had broken off and now one lace was beginning to fray at the edges. I wondered if Audrey would have noticed, would have let them fray like that if they were still her shoes.

He sighed, his words coming out in a type of resigned song, “I hate this house.”

“So why stay?”

“Got no where else to go.” He picked up the glass again, shook the ice cubes; they clanked against the glass in a cold melody. Then he turned towards me. “Listen, every family’s different. You’ve got a lucky one over there.”

I glanced across the yard that separated our houses, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, watching the hot breeze ripple the bushes under the windows. The station wagon was still in the driveway, but I knew that soon Mom would be coming out of the house to take Audrey to her piano lesson, and that she would drop her off and say that she was going to the grocery store or the dry cleaners to pick up Dad’s shirts, but really she would return with only a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk or a brand new work shirt and pretend that’s how she spent her hour. Audrey knew better. So did I.

“My parents don’t want me to see my Grandmother. She’s sick; she doesn’t remember anyone.”

“Not remembering might be a good thing.”

I caught his gaze sweep to the newspaper on the floor of the porch nearby. I wondered if that was instinct for him, wondered what would happen if he threw it away or lit a match to it, wondered if that would change him back to who he used to be.

I wondered if seeing me would change my Grandmother back.

“There’s your Mom.”

I turned to see Audrey heading down the walkway to the car, piano books in hand. Mom was shooing Marmalade back inside, trying to shut the door as she pushed the dog out of the way.

“Thank her for that pie, would ya?”

I looked at him, and he nodded at me. I hopped down the stairs and crossed the yard between our houses. Mom looked up as she opened the car door, her hand resting on the frame, the mother’s ring we had given her for Christmas last year catching the reflection of the sun.

“There you are. How’s he doing? He’s a good man, just don’t listen to what he says. Nevermind that, we’ll talk about your party when I get home, ok?”

“I want to come with you.”

Mom paused; inside the car, Audrey leaned over to look at me, and I shot her a glare, daring her to say something.

“I mean it, I’m coming with you. You shouldn’t have to see her alone, Mom, and I’m fine. I wanna come.”

Her shoulders relaxed as she studied my face, a grim smile tracing her lips. She reached her hand up to brush my hair away from my forehead, and I didn’t dodge away.

Wordlessly, she reached into the back and flipped the lock on the passenger door, then got in and started the car.

I slid into the backseat and turned to my neighbor as we backed down the driveway, but his eyes were trained on the newspaper that rested on his knees.

My birthday falls at the tail end of August, which usually means that I can celebrate the entire week before school starts and still get happy birthdays from my teachers and friends the first few days back. Last year, some old guy said that we should start school earlier, which means a week before Labor Day, not after.

Which means that my 13th birthday is now the day before school starts. Mom wanted to still have a party for me, but I knew that everyone would be going to K-Mart to get their school supplies and new sneakers and their parents would be telling them to get a good night’s sleep for the first day.

“So are you saying that you don’t want a party?”

“No.”

“No you don’t want a party or no you do?”

“No, I do.” I muttered, only because my chin was stuffed in my hands, elbows propped on the counter as I watched my Mom make grilled cheese.

“Then we’ll just push it back one weekend.”

“But that’s Labor Day,” I protested. “Everyone will be going away.”

“Trust me, Kiddo,” Dad intervened as he reached around Mom to sneak a slice of cheese. “No one is going away with this heat.”

“So let’s have it then, ok? All settled. We’ll have your party the following Saturday.” Mom sighed and stopped buttering the bread. “Now what’s wrong?”

“It just won’t feel like my birthday if I have the party late.”

“Oh, stop being such a whiner.”

“I’m not whining, I’m turning 13. Mom, tell Audrey I’m not whining.”

“Anna,” Mom leaned her hands on the counter, her voice gentle. “It will be fine, I promise. Now, who do you want to invite?”

“Ava and Connor -”

Con-ner,” Audrey sang. I looked at dad, who offered a brief nod, then I smacked my sister on the arm.

“Ouch! Dad!”

“James!”

Dad shrugged and tried to hide his grin as he folded another slice into fourths and popped it into his mouth.

“Ok, ok…We’ll work on the list later. And on your birthday we’ll have a nice family dinner, open some presents, eat some cake, and it will feel like your birthday, Sweetheart, I promise you. You’re turning 13, that’s a big number.”

“Will Grandma be there?”

I watched as they all exchanged glances, then rolled my eyes as I slid off the stool and began to walk away. “I take it that’s a ‘no’.”

“We can bring her some cake at the nursing home…”

“No, forget it,” I said as I pushed open the screen door, and headed down the porch steps. “I don’t even want a birthday anymore.”

My neighbor to our right plants flowers. My neighbor to our left…I still don’t know what he does.

I often see him on his front porch, leaning against the pillar with a glass of something in his hand. He doesn’t look much older than Julie McCarson’s brother, beneath the mop of hair and bearded stubble, and Julie’s brother is already in college, but he doesn’t have a job as far as I can tell, either, and Mom has never mentioned it.

The day after the carnival, with a couple of pies left over, Mom insisted that I bring him one. That same afternoon I climbed the concrete steps, balancing the pie pan in my hand, and rang the doorbell. He came to the door holding a newspaper and a glass, wearing the same brown pants and sneakers that I usually see him in.
 
He looked at me through the screen, then down at my hands.
 
“Hang on a sec,” he said, then disappeared back into the house. I heard a clanging, a drawer sliding shut, then footsteps as he reappeared holding two forks.
 
He sat down at the vinyl card table set up on the porch. He motioned to the other folding chair, and I put the pie in the center of the table and took the other fork from him. The newspaper he had set down was folded, but part of the headline was visible. Something about Vietnam. We had talked about it in school, but that had been last year, and it didn’t make sense why he wouldn’t just throw it away. I shifted in my seat to get a better look at the date, but the year was folded along a crease.
 
“How are your parents? I don’t see them around too much anymore.” He stuck his fork into the flakey top layer and scooped up some of the filling. I looked at my fork hesitantly and wondered if I should run back to my house and get plates, but he scraped up another piece of apple, the jellylike filling sliding off the sides of his fork, and I followed his lead from the opposite end.
 
“Busy,” I answered as I took a bite. “What are you drinking?”

“Rye Whiskey.” He set the glass down carefully, thoughtfully. “Whiskey and Rye and apple pie…our American anthem.” His tone had a song in it, and as he grinned and winked, I smiled back, liking the sound of that.

He chewed in silence as I picked at the crust with the tip of the fork, chipping off flakes before piercing through a soft apple slice beneath.

“How’s school?”

“It’s summer.”

He looked around, down the street at the kids playing in their driveways and to the adults washing their cars, nodding to himself as he chewed slowly. “Huh. So it is.”

I folded my arms on the table and followed his gaze, glancing his way every so often. I tried to remember my Mom talking about him, a story about his parents leaving him the house and plans to marry a girl, but it felt like it was so long ago and suddenly it seemed like that was another person, and I couldn’t be sure.

He turned to me, his eyes narrowed quizzically before shifting down to scoop up another forkful of the apple pie. He had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, but they were darker than I expected — like deep sea dark, like in that marine movie we were forced to watch last year. I wondered if they were always that dark or if they changed when he was happy. I tried to remember if I had ever seen him laugh, but I only remembered him sitting here on the porch, newspaper and glass on the table, just watching the road.

“Why do you keep that newspaper?”

He turned his head, but didn’t look down.

“As a reminder.”

I paused and glanced at the newspaper, then at the glass.

I knew a drunk once. Dad had picked me up from school because I had missed the bus, and on the way home we saw Mr. Harrison from a few blocks away, leaning against a tree in his bathrobe and slippers, cradling a bottle under his arm. He had that same funny smell that lingered on Dad after he had a glass of wine at dinner, but Mr. Harrison stunk up the car as we drove him back to his house. After we dropped him off, windows rolled down, Dad told me that he was sick. But I knew better.

Just like I knew that my neighbor wasn’t like Mr. Harrison.

“Is that why you have that?”

He didn’t answer me, but instead wrapped his hand around the glass and stared at it. His blue eyes flicked over to meet mine, and maybe it was the sun, but they seemed lighter, warmer. A smirk crossed his lips and I sat up, ready to fire back at whatever smart-aleck comment he was about to make, but he only held it out to me.

“Want some?”

I shook my head, but leaned forward curiously and peered into the glass. I wrinkled my nose and looked up at him sharply.

“It’s apple juice!”

And for the first time, I saw him laugh, his chuckle deep, sincere, not what I had expected.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair, glass in hand. “Just apple juice.”

It was cooler outside now that evening had come, but as I opened the back door, I could feel the thick film of humidity that still clung to the air. The sun would still be up until way past eight, but already in the distance the sky was beginning to change color, grow a golden shade of darker. Marmalade scooted behind me to run in the yard, grabbing a ball in his mouth and tossing it up in the air excitedly in a self-made game of catch. His thick blonde tail wagged back and forth before he stretched out his front paws and collapsed to the grass to chew on the tennis ball. There would be green pieces of that ball all over the yard tomorrow, I guaranteed it. And I silently hoped that Audrey would be the one to have to clean it.

I hopped down the back steps and found my sneakers, still damp from having to rinse them off this afternoon. All of the loose dirt had pooled into the grass, leaving only stains on the once white shoes. I dropped them to the ground and ran back inside. Audrey had promised me her old sneakers, after all.

“You helping out your old man?”

“Dad, you’re not old.” I rolled my eyes as I crossed the yard, watching him scoop the dark soil with a small shovel, a black plastic flat of ready-to-plant flowers lying next to him.

Through the open window, I could hear Mom moving around to clear the table and the ceramic clanking as she piled the dirty dishes in the sink. The familiar echo of a basketball caught my attention, and as I turned my gaze down the block towards the Bartlett driveway, Connor looked up and caught me watching. I felt my cheeks grow warm and I raised my hand in a wave, but he whirled around, his back towards me, and shouted something to his brothers before catching the pass and attempting a shot, ignoring me and continuing his game. I quickly turned my attention back to the flower bed, the smile fading quickly from my lips, focusing on the flowers ready to be planted. I caught Dad following my glance across the street before focusing back on me.

“Let’s get these guys into the ground, what do you say?”

The flowers beside him were already wilting, the creases in the petals more like wrinkles. I wondered if the weatherman included flowers in his warnings of heatstroke. Then I wondered if they could be revived at all.

“Mr. Snavely’s been watering his everyday, but they won’t grow,” I said, kneeling beside him, the grass feeling cool beneath my bare knees. I glanced through the post fence that divided our yard from our neighbors. His prized flowers looked just as pathetic as ours, and I somehow felt satisfied.

“Even Mr. Snavely can’t control the weather.” Dad said, handing me a shovel and pointing to a spot in front of me. “And he doesn’t have an assistant.”

I watched my dad, who was scooping the dirt back into place around a purple flower with his hands, patting the earth to compact the soil. I turned back to my own hole and methodically shoved more dirt onto a small pile.

“Why doesn’t Mom want me to go see Grandma?”

“I think she’s just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“Grandma’s…Well, she’s sick.”

“So?” I asked, picking out a rock in the hole I had created. “She’s been sick for years.”

Dad paused, shaking the dirt from his hands. “She might not be the Grandma you remember, Annie.”

“Of course she is, she’s my Grandma.”

I knew I was being defiant, but I didn’t understand what they were trying to protect me from. My argument was full-proof — she had lived three blocks away since I was a baby. Was I supposed to forget her just because she’d been in a nursing home for the past six months? And why did Audrey get to see her, but I suddenly couldn’t?

Dad finally turned to me, and for a split second, I could see him struggle with his answer as his lips parted and closed, could see the seriousness in his expression as similar colored eyes met my own. For a second, I saw myself in him.

“Anna, she might not remember you.”

I looked down at my hands, turned them over. Dirt had gotten underneath my fingernails and stained my palms. I wiped them on the back of my shorts and sat back. Dad turned back to the garden, pulled a flower out of the plastic container and handed it to me, a block of dirt and exposed roots waiting to be put back into the earth.

“Do you want to come play?”

I looked up, squinting against the brightness of the cloudless sky and setting sun. Connor’s form cast strange shadows over the flowers, and I wondered if that’s all the flowers needed to last — a bit of shade from the heat of the sun.

“We’re playing Capture the Flag — the whole neighborhood.”

I tried to bite back a hopeful grin as I turned to my dad, but he chuckled and nodded and went back to his task.

“She’s in!” Connor’s shoes slapped against the pavement and his words echoed back as he ran down the street towards his house, where a small group of neighborhood kids had already begun to gather.

“Can I really?” I asked, wondering if there was a catch, if I should stay to make up for playing in the creek and muddying my shoes.

“You can, really,” he replied, taking the shovel from my hands. I threw my arms around him before hopping to my feet, brushing my hands against the sides of my shorts to get rid of the thin layer of dirt.

“Be a kid, Annie.”

I paused. “What?”

Dad nodded as he picked up the small shovel, and for a second I wondered if his words were meant more for him or for me.

“Tonight, just be a kid.”

And he turned back to the withering flowers, placing them back into the earth, scooping the soil into place around them with his hands. The sky had turned a color that I didn’t recognize, casting a glow over the yard that filled every inch with color, reaching the shadowed corners and bringing them to life for the moment, the lingering remains of the setting sun. I started towards the group that had gathered near the Bartlett’s house, but Dad’s voice stopped me.

“Don’t forget to invite your sister.”

I groaned.

“Hold it! Hold it right there. What are those?”

The screen door slammed shut behind me, echoing as it bounced off the wood frame before settling back into the grooves. Mom was standing directly in front of me, staring in horror at my feet.

“What are what?”

“Those.” She repeated, but this time she pointed, and I cringed, wishing I could run out the backdoor and have a redo.

“Um…”

My mother placed an open hand over her face, inhaling sharply as she shook her head. “Anna, I told you not to play in the creek…”

“I wasn’t!” I protested as she placed her hands on her hip, eyebrow raised. I bit at my lower lip and glanced down at the muddy footprints that trailed behind me. “I was…playing in the creek. But Mom-” I stepped towards her, but Mom held her hand out and stopped me.

“Don’t take another step!” She moved towards me and opened the screen door, shooing me out. “Take them off outside, I don’t want you tracking mud in here.”

I heaved a sigh and stepped back down the concrete stairs, kicking at the heels with the opposite foot until they slid off my feet.

“And hose them down!” she called out through the open window.

As I gathered the hose from the side of the house and dragged it to the back patio, I could hear the clang of pots as Mom started to prepare dinner and the gentle hum of her voice as Audrey walked into the kitchen.

I twisted the faucet and listened for the water snaking its way through the bright green hose until it poured out in a steady stream onto the concrete. Small clumps of mud peeled away from the shoes and began to trickle into the grass. I scrubbed at the canvas with my forefinger and thumb, easing the dirt out. The best part of white shoes was that they would always display the visible scars of summertime play, and no amount of hosing them down could erase that. I smiled smugly as I dropped the hose and lifted them up, excess water trickling down my arm.

“Mom!” I called out. “Mom…Mom!”

“What, Anna?” She came to the window, her features slightly distorted by the screen that separated us.

I grinned as I held up the dripping shoes for her inspection.

“Great,” she replied, unenthused. “Now grab a towel off the line and clean up the mess you made inside. And don’t forget to shut off the hose.”

The screen door creaked as Audrey came out of the house. She glanced at the shoes lying in a puddle on the patio and then at me as I unpinned a towel from the laundry line.

“You can have my old ones, if you want.”

I glanced at her shoes — perfectly white and unstained. “Those are your old ones.”

“Yeah, but you can have them now.”

I shrugged as I walked past her into the house and threw the towel on the floor to cover the mess. “Ok.”

“So,” Mom looked up from the stove as we wandered into the kitchen. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Not really.”

“Annie…”

“We were panning for gold and I tripped in the creek.” I hopped up onto a stool at the counter and watched as she opened a bag of frozen vegetables and poured them into the wok. “Stir fry again?”

“You know that creek belongs to Mr. Martin,” she ignored me and poked at the vegetables with the wooden spoon.

“That’s ok, he doesn’t care.”

“Oh, so you’ve spoken with him.”

“No…But I promise if we find gold in the creek, we’ll split the profits with him. 90/10, that’s how Dad does it, isn’t it?”

“That’s how Dad does what?” He walked into the kitchen, loosening his tie. “Why do I hear my name?”

“Don’t listen to her, James, she’s trying to strike a deal for the gold in Mr. Martin’s creek.” My mom smiled as Dad leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

“If there’s gold in that creek, Annie, you keep every cent.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and planted a kiss on top of my head. “You left the hose on,” he whispered.

I jumped down from the stool and ran out the back door. Through the window I could hear him asking Mom and Audrey about their day and Mom telling Dad to go on up and change, dinner was just about done.

Audrey was setting the table when I walked back inside, and I grabbed some paper napkins and started folding them to help her as Mom scraped the last of the vegetables from the pan onto a bed of pasta.

“I figured I would get some gardening done after dinner.“ Dad said as he walked back into the kitchen. He was wearing a t-shirt Mom had been trying to throw out for years. “Those flowers are going to be lost in this heat if we don’t get them into the ground. You want to help me, Kiddo?” He asked as he seated himself at the table.

I nodded as I picked the lima beans out of the mix with my forefinger and pushed them into a corner of my plate.

“What happened to your shoes; they’re looking a little worse for the wear.”

“Connor and I went down to the creek — oh, shut up, Audrey.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Don’t tell your sister to shut up.”

I stared down at my dinner plate, but I could just imagine the amusement in Audrey’s eyes and I swear my parents were exchanging glances.

“I thought you had a crush on Connor.”

“Mo-om!” I whined. “It’s not a crush.”

“She daydreams about him.” I reached out to kick my sister under the table, but either my legs were too short or she saw it coming because my legs kicked at air. I narrowed my eyes and glared at her; I’d get her back. Shoes or no shoes.

“I went to see my mother today.”

“I thought you took Audrey shopping.”

“We did,” Audrey confirmed, “but then we went to see Grandma.”

I looked at Audrey, then to my mom, then back at my sister. “But I thought you said you didn’t want me to go.”

“I didn’t.”

“But you let Audrey go.”

“That’s because she’s older.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Anna, watch your mouth!” My dad turned to my mom, fork halfway raised. “Where does she learn this stuff?”

“School,” Audrey replied, giving me a glance and offering a shrug. She was trying to defend me, but I didn’t want her to. I was pissed, and I wanted everyone to know it.

“I want to see Grandma.” I announced, hand frozen around my glass of milk as I waited for their reaction.

“We’ll have to talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about, she’s my Grandma.”

“Annie,” My mother tried gently, “there are some things we need to talk about first.”

“Like what.”

Mom sighed, her eyes flicked over me to my Dad. “Not now. We’ll discuss it later. Finish your dinner and I’ll cut some apple pie and ice cream for dessert.”

I stared at the dish in front of me — a colorful display of too much and never enough.

“I hate lima beans,” I muttered.

“Look here, this one’s cool!”

I turned my attention to the object Connor was examining, trails of water trickling from my fingers and scattering down my legs where I had just splashed them. The weatherman had said that it was the hottest day of the summer and that all the kids and pets and elderly should stay indoors so that they didn’t croak from heatstroke. Dad left for work early, saying that at least his office was air conditioned, while Mom fenced our dog Marmalade in the front hall with a bowl of water, cranked the fan on high, and took Audrey shopping.

“Audrey needs new shoes for school,” she had said as she rooted through her purse. I watched her from my position on the couch, legs draped over the back, hair hanging down to the floor as I followed her movements upside down. She hated when I did that, but I was too hot to move and she was too tired to argue.

“Does that mean I can have her old ones?”

“As long as you don’t go playing in the creek with them.”

“Why not?” I asked, my eyes closed, lips barely moving as I spread my arms and relished the breeze from the rotating fan.

“Because.”

She grabbed the fan and plunked it down closer to the hallway; immediately, I noticed the lack of cold air as my hair began to frizz and my cheeks blotched at the humidity. I groaned and struggled to sit upright, elbows digging into the cushions to hold myself up.

“Why does Audrey get new shoes for school?”

“Anna…” She said my name like she was exhaling, her eyes raised towards the ceiling and her shoulders slightly hunched. I knew that gesture; I wondered if it was the heat getting to her.

“I’m just asking.”

She raised an eyebrow at me and then reached down to plug the fan into a closer outlet. Marmalade sniffed at the air as the blades began to whir again, his ears perking up at the steady creaking as the fan oscillated.

“You’ll get yours closer to school.” she said, gathering her things from the kitchen counter. “I don’t want you ruining them before the first day.”

“I wouldn’t ruin them,” I grumbled, but Mom was already making her way to the front of the house, shouting up the stairs for Audrey. I could hear my older sister’s footsteps padding on the carpet and the light pounce as she skipped the last step and landed on the hardwood floor.

“We’ll be back shortly,” Mom said as she opened the door, ushering in the hot air and shooing Audrey out. I sat up straighter and gaped at them over the back of the couch.

“What am I supposed to do here by myself?”

“Read. Or better yet, you can do the dishes for me.”

I stared at the door as it clicked shut; through the open windows, I could hear their voices gradually fade as they slammed the doors of the station wagon and backed into the street. The outside sounds were beginning to invade the house, creeping through the crevices like the heat. Our neighbor’s lawn mower growled as it moved closer to our yard, then pulled back, then crawled forward again. Further down the street I could hear the hard thud of a basketball hitting the pavement at intervals, an annoying rhythmic thump, thump, thump.

“Do the dishes…” I repeated under my breath. “Fat chance of that.”

I flipped my feet over and flopped back into the cushions, covering my eyes with my arm. In the hallway, Marmalade grunted and sniffed at the floor, his nails tapping on the hardwood as he circled the small space.

“I’m not cleaning it if you pee,” I called out to him and then, because I feared that he really would, I strained my neck and peered over the side of the couch to watch him. He stared at me, his ears perked; I raised my eyebrow, daring him. With a huff, he heaved himself onto the floor and nestled his nose into his hind quarters, the hum of the fan and the soothing rustle of his fur lulling him immediately to sleep.

I gritted my teeth and groaned. Nothing was on TV in the summer and the kids in my neighborhood were either at the beach with their families or at the community pool. Ava was away at camp, I had already poured through all of Audrey’s Judy Blume books, and there was no way I was touching dishes by choice on my summer vacation. If I didn’t die of heatstroke, then I would surely die of boredom.

“Stay here,” I instructed Marmalade, but he barely lifted his head as I opened the front door and stepped outside. The heat radiated on my skin as I walked down the driveway; already, the hair on my neck was wet with perspiration, and I wiped my palms on my shorts every few seconds to keep them dry.

Our next door neighbor had just set out his garden sprinkler so that now it waved back and forth, spilling out into the street before it sprayed the flowers and then turned over and repeated the pattern. His yard was mixed with patches of brown and green and the daisies surrounding his mailbox had withered in the heat, but still he set the sprinkler every morning, trying to revive them with expensive fertilizer and wasted water.

I waited for the sprinkler to rotate again, timing my run through the water. I let the droplets rest on my arms and legs, resisting the urge to shake them off. As I walked along the sidewalk, sidestepping the cracks, I could hear the echo of the basketball hitting the backboard, then thumping back to the pavement. The yard was littered with bicycles and wiffle balls, although Connor was the only one of the Bartlett boys outside. I sped up, my shoes kicking at the tiny stones that scattered the road, the worn soles of my shoes occasionally scuffing the asphalt.

“Where are you going?”

He stood at the end of his driveway rotating the basketball in both of his hands. His red shorts stood out against the contrast of his white house, and he stretched the front of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

“Where are you going?” He called across the street again, and I stopped, the hot, dead air choking me so that I could barely speak.

“The creek,” I pointed up the street where a row of trees lined the dead-end drive.

“Oh.” His gaze followed my gesture. I looked at him, looked back towards my own house, looked towards the end of the block. The heat rose in my face, and I wiped my palms on the backs of my shorts again. Maybe I was getting heatstroke; maybe I was going to croak like the weatherman predicted.

“Can I come?”

I shrugged and began walking again, picking up the pace as he tossed the basketball into the grass and jogged over.

We climbed up the small embankment to the trees and followed the path through the wheat field, our footsteps kicking up dry dust that seemed to evaporate as suddenly as it was formed. We reached the dense outline of oaks that followed the creek, and I stepped around the familiar rocks and upturned roots and hopped across the water. Reaching my hand beneath a fallen tree, I pulled out two colored objects.

“Here,” I said, tossing one to Connor.

“What is it?”

“It’s a sieve.”

“It looks like a kid’s toy.” He flipped the plastic pan over in his hands, trying to wiggle his fingers through the holes.

“It is. They’re from Ava’s brother’s sandbox.”

“You stole from a kid?”

“Borrowed…”

I grabbed the sand bucket and shovel and crouched down by the water, scooting my shoes to the very edge of the bank so that the leather tips barely skimmed the water.

“What are you doing now?” Connor eyed me carefully as I scraped at the soft earth below the water with the pan and brought it back up, mucky water trickling through as I patted the mud down with the back of the shovel.

“Panning for gold.”

Connor scoffed and shifted his weight onto his other foot, flipping the pan like he did his basketball. “There’s no gold in there.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, scooping the dirt away with the edge of the shovel. “What do you call this?”

“A rock.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“No it’s not.”

I rolled my eyes and tossed the rock into the bucket. It made a hollow echo that lingered between us for a few seconds as I glared at him, my eyes narrowed as I squinted against the sunlight.

“You asked to come.”

“I was bored.”

I turned back to my pan, running the edge of the shovel back and forth against the dirt. Around us, the birds had settled back to the ground as they pecked at the sparse plots of grass, and a nosy squirrel darted in and out of the trees, running up the nearest one as Connor crouched down on the other side of the creek.

“So…” He looked at me doubtfully, then in one fluid motion plunged the plastic into the water, a grin lighting up his face as he began to poke at the mud with his fingers.

“Yup,” I said. “I told you so.”