The Summer of Letting Go by Gae Polisner

Author:Gae Polisner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2014-01-06T05:00:00+00:00

twenty-three

“I seed you from the window, Beans.”

Frankie stands in the back of Mrs. Schyler’s open hatchback, watching me as I walk up the driveway. He’s dressed in swim trunks and a T-shirt, a life vest already buckled around him. As I approach, he holds a foot in the air to show me. “I gotted new water shoes, Beans.”

“You can walk on water, then, huh?”

“No.” He frowns. “That is not how they work.”

“I know. I was joking, dude.”

“Yep. I knowed that,” he says.

He jumps out of the car, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the house. “We’re going to the beach today. Mommy, too. Even Tato is coming!”

“Ah.” I stare up at the house. Butterflies flit in my stomach, though whether at the thought of the beach again or the thought of spending an entire day with Mrs. Schyler, I’m not sure.

“Is to celebrate my swimming! But I still have to keep my vest on.”

“Good idea,” I say absentmindedly.

We pass through the empty living room and into the kitchen, but I don’t see Mrs. Schyler. The counter is littered with stuff—coffee cups, cereal boxes, the canvas beach bag, some of Frankie’s clothes, and an open cooler, the same one they had at the beach last week. Frankie stops in the center of the room and starts fussing with the buckles on his life vest. “Need it off, Beans.”

“Here, let me help you, Frankie. Where’s your mom, anyway?”

“She was here, but then she gotted tired and said to wake her when Beans got here.”

“Oh, okay.” I undo the last buckle and he slips out and tosses it on the chair.

“Don’t eat it, Tato.” He shakes a finger in the dog’s direction. “Beans, I need to go potty now.”

I leave him in the bathroom and continue down the hall toward his room. At Mrs. Schyler’s bedroom, I stop. Her door is open, and she’s sprawled across the bed, facedown, in jean shorts and a halter top, a pair of flip-flops near the bed. Not exactly in beach mode.

I take a few cautious steps in, around laundry baskets and other things strewn about the floor. “Mrs. Schyler, do you want to get up?” I whisper, but her breath is heavy; it’s clear there’s no way she’s waking up right now.

I turn to her nightstand and read the labels on a few of the prescription bottles lined up there. Diazepam. Imitrex. Prozac. I pick up the last one, Prozac. It’s an antidepressant my mother takes, too.

“Mrs. Schyler?” I try again, but she doesn’t move.

I tiptoe over to the bookshelves in the corner and let my eyes scroll across them. There are all sorts of novels, steamy-looking romances with titles like Hearts Afire, Lana’s Secret, Lana’s Revenge, and The Dream Held in Your Eyes. There’s a whole shelf of self-help books. There must be twenty by Deepak Chopra. I take a step closer, my eyes skimming the titles: The Happiness Prescription; Reinventing the Body, Resurrecting the Soul. I pull that one down and flip it open.

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