My father, a retired physician, and my mother, who had stayed at home with the kids, stepped out of the vehicle, my mom holding her arms open for Declan to jump into. As she stood up, wrapping her arms around her grandson, I could tell that she was trying to hold back tears. It was early June, normally a time when people in New England rejoice, the brief respite between the unrelenting cold of winter and the brutal heat of summer, but for the Beckers, forever tainted since my little sister Marissa died four years ago, on June 17th. She’d just come back home, and it was supposed to be a happy time. Everyone had been looking forward to it.
We were not a family who was used to having bad things happen.
Sure, life wasn’t perfect growing up, but it was pretty damn close. A large house on a hill, with a spectacular view of the Atlantic, a neighborhood full of friends, vacations to Vail, Paris, Milan, Tokyo. Marissa had liked Tokyo best. I liked them all—the novelty of going somewhere new. I was vaguely aware how much better off we were than most of my peers, but my parents never acted like it made us better than anyone else, so my sister and I didn’t, either. We went to public school. We didn’t have a housekeeper or personal chef or anything. My mother didn’t carry designer handbags or wear $900 shoes. My father was a popular family physician, who sometimes still made house calls. His one vice was luxury cars, which he’d always had, though he never made a big deal about it.
I visited with my parents for a little while, and then Declan said he was hungry, so they were going to take him out for lunch and then to a playground, giving me a couple hours to myself to do what I pleased.
I put my kit on, found my sunglasses and helmet, and then said bye to my parents and Declan. There would be no 80-mile ride today, but I’d go out for a couple hours, push myself as hard as I could, and come back feeling exhausted and happy.
Later that afternoon, Declan and I both seemed equally exhausted but happy from our earlier activities. He went up for a nap, and I relaxed on the deck with a tall glass of lemonade.
“So how are you doing?” my mother asked. “Declan really seems like he’s thriving.”
“Things are going all right,” I said.
“How is work?”
“It’s good.”
She smiled, though I could tell it was partially forced, and that there was an overarching sadness to her every move. “I met a nice young lady when I was at the bookstore the other day,” she said. “Her name was Melanie. Would you like her phone number?”
“I think I’m all set,” I said.
My parents were eager for me to find someone to be with, that perfect match made in heaven which I knew did not actually exist. They were still hoping for some sort of storybook relationship, but after everything that had happened, I had zero interest in that at all. I would be perfectly happy with casually seeing someone, or a couple someones, when and if I ever had the time to do that sort of thing again.
“I really don’t need you guys to try and set me up on any dates or anything like that,” I said.
“I think it’s just a matter of you meeting the right person,” my mother said. “I know she must be out there somewhere.”
“But I’m not looking for her. And I don’t happen to believe that.”
The problem with my parents was that they met in high school, fell in love, and got married right after they graduated. And all these years later, they were still together. It gave them a warped view of things, at least where love was concerned. It had been so easy for them they assumed it should be just as easy for anyone else, or, if not just as easy, then only a little bit harder. I just didn’t think like that, though. Marissa did, and a lot of good that had done her.
That night, Declan was ready to go to bed before the sun had even set completely, so his room was awash in a deep orange glow as I tucked him in.
“You have a good day?” I asked.
He nodded sleepily. “I like getting to see Gram and Grampi.”
“I know, bud. They really like getting to hang out with you, too.”
“I told them about Miss Allie.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. How she lives next to us and she’s my teacher. No one else in school has a teacher who lives next to them, you know.”
“That is pretty special.”
His eyelids drooped closed, so I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Sleep tight,” I said. “I’ll check on you a little later.”
I quietly walked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind me. I went down to the kitchen to clean up from dinner; chances were good that Ben would be stopping by, probably with several cans of high test beer.
I was out in the backyard when I heard him come in through the side door. I hurried back inside to tell him to be quiet so he wouldn’t wake up Declan.
“Shit, sorry,” he said. I could tell he’d already had a few beers, probably after he’d finished up at the shop.
We sat out on the deck, and he cracked one of the beers open for me.