Welcome Home, Caroline Kline by Courtney Preiss

Author:Courtney Preiss [Preiss, Courtney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2024-04-16T00:00:00+00:00

14

Jersey in June held a predictable brand of magic. There was a last-day-of-school energy about it, despite school being long over for everyone I knew. Fireflies drifted upward through the heavy air. Honeysuckle breached the fence of the outfield, sweetening the chase of every old man’s hit. Dusk stretched out deep into the night as the line for soft-serve ice cream wrapped around the familiar brick angles of the Jersey Freeze, serpentine and buzzing with longing.

The Dolls and Guys production was underway. My mother’s enthusiastic approval of Crispin as musical director signaled a merging of my worlds. When it came time for cast auditions, I showed up and sat in the back of the cafetorium to watch the process. My mother, her assistant director, and Crispin looked on as an Instagram-famous drag queen from Asbury Park revived “Adelaide’s Lament” complete with a steamer trunk of campy props. A trio of girls in starchy Catholic school uniforms reinvented the rollicking majesty of “Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat.” A slight and pale buttoned-up man I recognized as my mother’s accountant announced that he had come out for the part of Sister Sarah before launching into the “I’ll Know” duet, pitch-perfect on both sides. When I’d drop in on my mother’s Monday-evening rehearsals, she would stop everything to rush over and hug me like I was out of prison on furlough. Crispin would spy this out of the corners of his eyes, and I’d recognize the same peripheral smile he’d give me whenever I was a passenger in his car.

Tuesdays were for JAMS. Our meetings were held at an old American Legion hall in Neptune. The local chapter had a dwindling member base and were therefore generous with how often they let us use the space, although we, too, had a retention problem. This was somehow only the third- or fourth-saddest thing about JAMS as an enterprise. JAMS was trying hard to be the fun optional little sister to the mandatory MAPS program I’d already completed. Its mission was to provide community and social recreation, balancing out the harshness of a court-ordered reprimand in hopes of helping DUI cases maintain long-term sobriety, or at least consider it. I admired what they were trying to do, but the execution was never quite right: dismal board game nights and half-hearted ice cream socials in a musty wood-paneled room surrounded by faded photos of forgotten soldiers. It was accurate to say my interest in JAMS—and my perfect attendance record—had nothing to do with the programming and everything to do with its proximity to a boy I’d once loved. It was a sobriety strategy tailored to me alone: I’d stopped drinking and attended meetings, grateful for how good it felt to approach my days with a clear head and free from hangovers, but also because it afforded me quality time with Crispin Davis.

“I’ve been thinking about what’s next for you,” Crispin said when he drove me home after a meeting one solstice-adjacent night.

My stomach clenched like a fist.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.