The Summer House

Three AM and I was perfectly awake, having a stare down with my typewriter. I contemplated writing an overdone story on purpose with a generic plotline and cliché protagonist in an attempt to buy me some time, but I concluded that a move like that would get me into worse trouble with everyone I was working with. They knew me to have a bout of writers block, not to have a bout of stupidity. Insisting on spending the summer out in the middle of nowhere and then returning with a bomb-out of a novel would be beyond unacceptable. They would probably find a way to sue me for it.

My fingers dug into my hair as I leaned my elbows onto my desk, groaning at the windowpanes that held nothing but an empty night. Even the brilliantly clear glow of the moon failed to inspire me, though I was sure it would have surely impressed better writers.

I groaned again at the acknowledgement of the grave I was stuck in.

I shot a bitter glare out the window but instantly discarded it when I noticed some of the lights in Brendon’s lake house suddenly flicker on, casting yellow light to stretch on into the distance between us. The first floor was doused in darkness so it was easy to spot Brendon tiredly dragging himself around the second floor, clad in light blue pajama pants and a red t-shirt.

A white bundle sat in his hands as well as a jar of baby food and spoon. I squinted when he disappeared from my view for a few seconds as he ascended the stairs, the paneling of the house finally cutting off the scene.

My eyes swept the third row of windows frantically. It didn’t realize that I was holding my breath until he reappeared, and I exhaled in awe.

Brendon was kneeling on the floor, only the upper half his body visible, beside a bed. I couldn’t see who he was kneeling to, but I assumed it was his Grandma. There was a tired smile on his face that somehow hurt to look at.

But I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I watched him patiently dip the spoon in the tiny jar and gently nudge it forward, the painfully exhausted smile still on his plump lips. I must have watched him take care of her for hours, sighing in sympathy when he made several trips down stairs to grab more jars for her to eat.

I turned away when he headed for the foot of the bed and unfolded the diaper he had brought with him.

All the while, I didn’t notice the moon sink back behind its bed under the horizon and the sun slowly crawl its way back to the sky. The clouds were reappearing in wisps of pink, decorating the heavens that were already stained orange and lavender. My eye lids were more than halfway down when I realized just how much of a creepy neighbor I had been all night and ditched my seat at the window, crawling over to the couch to collapse into an uneasy sleep.

-x-

“Hey, Madeline? Do you wanna ride with me instead? I hear carpooling is a lot better for the environment.”

I looked up from my silver Honda Civic to Brendon, who sat in a rusty red Chevy truck on the dirt road about a meter away. He was leaning over the passenger seat, an uncertain twist of a smile on his lips.

I had been staring at my car, one hand on the driver’s side door handle, wondering if the 45 minute drive to town to stock the kitchen would be worth it.

“It’s not as great as your Civic but, y’know, save the world, save some gas,” he added, chuckling weakly at the end for good measure.

My lips curved upwards, amused by his failing sense of humor. “You don’t mind?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be offering,” he pointed out, abruptly beaming. “Plus, it’s the least I can do after you helped me out through the storm the other day.”

I glanced back at my Civic for a moment, patting the warm handle before sliding over to Brendon’s truck. “Alright, then. Thanks.”

He popped the door open for me and I climbed in, pulling the seatbelt on as he proceeded to drive down the road, leaving our lake houses to exist as just a speck in the rearview mirror.

“How’s your Grandma?” I inquired, instantly remembering the night I watched him take care of her.

“She’s good. Today she seems to be in good shape so I’m not worried so much about leaving her with Georgia.”

“That’s nice that Georgia takes care of her too, huh?” Brendon smiled lightly at me with a slight quirk of his eyebrow before turning back to the road. I left the subject alone, not particularly feeling like going into deep conversation about who I assumed to be his girlfriend.

“So how’s the writing going?” He asked, turning to me briefly. The dirt roads were beyond deserted. I was pretty sure that if he let go of the steering wheel and kept his foot on the pedal for the next 40 minutes, we would still get there in one piece.

“It goes,” I hedged, shooting him a sheepish grimace. “I’ve discovered this new thing, actually.”

“Oh yeah? That’s great!” The genuine intrigue was not lost in his voice as he grinned at me. “What is it?”

I leaned towards him, angling my body in his direction. I fixed him with the most intense stare I could muster under the sticky heat in the truck. “Don’t tell my publishers, alright?” I was met with an eager nod. “It’s called writing with invisible ink. It’s great – I’ve filled dozens of pages already.”

The look was wiped away from Brendon’s face as the words left my lips. “Hardy-har-har,” he replied dryly. He laughed and shook his head, throwing me a playfully disapproving glare. “You had me going there for a second, Madeline.”

I shrugged and propped my head up with my hand, my elbow resting on the open window. “One of my few useless talents.”

“So how is the writing going really?” he pressed.

“Not well,” I admitted. “I haven’t written anything down. I think I’m in a pickle.”

“No kidding. I’m sure it will come to you soon though,” Brendon nodded confidently.

I hummed and stretched my fingers out the window, feeling the wind pass through and caress each digit. I caught Brendon eying the gesture but he stayed silent about it.

The drive to town was refreshing. Not only did I get out of the ruined house but Brendon and I exchanged playful banter and witty remarks, laughing hard enough at some of the responses we elicited from each other that I had to unbuckle my seatbelt so that I could breathe. Talking to him lifted a fog that I didn’t realize was settled over my head.

Brendon ended up following me around town instead of parting ways like I assumed we would - or was I following him? It was hard to keep focus despite the air around us being so casual and comfortable.

“What else do you need?”

“A plotline would be great. Or a gun. Either or. Do they sell guns here in Seattle like I hear they do in Vegas?”

Brendon barked out his melodic laughter and practically cleared the shelf of baby food.

“What else do you need from the supermarket, Madeline?” He tried again.

I picked up a jar of pasta sauce and placed it in my cart. “That’s it.”

“Great. Hand me those marshmallows, will you? Then we can go to the checkout.”

I tossed him the bag and he easily caught it in one hand, lazily dropping it in his cart. I followed him to the checkout line, thanking him when he nudged me to go before him. When everything was paid for and loaded into the truck, I climbed back into the passenger seat and waited for Brendon to come back from returning our carts, pulling my cellphone out of my pocket as it rang.

“Hello?”

“Madeline!” It was my goddamn agent. I knew I should have drowned my cellphone in the lake after my mother called the first day. Every ring from this goddamn machine was like a call from hell.

“Hi, Elizabeth,” I greeted, doing my best to sound diplomatic, though I think I just came off constipated.

“I haven’t heard from you since you told me you were going to Seattle, darlin’! How’s the book coming along?”

“It’s – umm…”I cringed at her sugary sweet chirping and ran my fingers through the dark tangles of my hair. “I’m busy writing it right now, actually. I’m mid-paragraph. Call you later?”

“Fantastic, sugar!” Another cringe. “I can’t wait to read what you’ve done. Just call me back when you can.”

“Yeah, sure. Bye,” I said quickly, ending the call and letting the cellphone drop.

My forehead rested on the passenger’s side window, and it was all I could do not to try and put my head through it.

When we got back from our excursion into town, I thanked Brendon as he helped me unload my share of groceries from his truck. I offered to help him with his, but he insisted that he would be fine and that Georgia would lend him a hand this time around. At the mention of his girlfriend, I let the subject slide and retired to my lake house.

I perched myself back at my desk, glaring hatefully at my typewriter. There was a hint of a spark in the back of my head, fragments of an idea that wouldn’t quite form. I started by just getting those pieces out, despite the fact that they barely made sense when I read it back to myself later on, well into the night.

Just as I was about to start up again, my breath left my body. My hands hovered over the keys of my typewriter as I painfully took note of the tired smile that seemed to be sewn onto his face at 2 AM.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away as I watched Brendon take care of his Grandmother again from the window. I didn’t expect to catch him up again at such ungodly hours of the night, but from what he told me before, I should have assumed that his Grandma needed a lot of attention.

I turned away again when he moved to the foot of the bed with a diaper in hand, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my palms. I called it a night when I read the clock and slumped over into the couch, basking in my escape from my 6 AM insomnia.

It mustn’t have been more than an hour later when I awoke to three knocks on my door. I cursed sleepily, hugging the pillow closer to my head. One of the reasons I came out to the middle of nowhere was so that I would be able to remain undisturbed by anyone. Every day I found that my reasons for moving to the lake house were becoming moot.

“Go away,” I grumbled towards the front door, wishing my voice was loud enough to carry through. “Not in the m—go away.”

“Oh, sorry! I’ll come back later.”

I narrowed my eyes at the large, wooden door and contemplated sleeping on the couch for another couple of hours or seeing what Brendon wanted. “What do you want?” I tried.

When there was no response, I whined incoherently as I pushed off the couch and stumbled to the door. I wasn’t surprised to see Brendon’s back retreating down my small gravel driveway. I called his name, resisting the curse words that wanted to tumble out after.

He turned, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh, hey, you didn’t have to come out.”

“Well, I’m out,” I grumbled. “What’s up?”

“It was nothing important,” he insisted, scratching the back of his neck. “Go back to sleep. I’ll bother you later.”

My wits were coming back to me as it finally registered that Brendon was in front of me, clearly needing something, and I was half a second away from bitching about sleep. I remembered what I had witnessed earlier in the morning and straightened up, anxiety slowly creeping into my system. “No, really, what’s up? Something wrong? Is your Grandma okay?”

He shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong and my Grandma’s fine.”

“Oh,” I relaxed a bit but didn’t shake off the concern on my face. “What is it then?”

He shook his head again and looked back at his lake house before turning back to me meekly. “It’s nothing. I was just going to ask if you wanted to come with me while I run some errands today. I don’t know,” he added chucking nervously before waving me off. “I guess it’s kinda stupid to ask someone if they want to run errands. Go back to bed. Maybe some other time or something.”

It took me a minute to process what he had just said, but when I did I involuntarily called out to him. “Sure, I’ll come along.”