24
claire
I position my chair at the end of the driveway so I can supervise the lemonade stand the kids have set up. An old, dusty card table brought up from the storage room in the basement bears a handwritten sign taped to the front informing customers that drinks are twenty-five cents. Josh and Travis insisted on making the lemonade themselves, and I’d almost bet they didn’t wash their hands first like I asked them to. Jordan desperately wants to help and the boys tell her she can be the server, thus proving that gender stereotypes among the elementary school set are alive and well in the suburbs. I whisper in her ear. “Tell them you’ll only do it if you can also be their accountant.”
The warm weather on this late afternoon in early September results in a steady stream of customers, and the boys do a brisk business; the quarters pile up in the empty pickle jar they’re using to collect the money. Daniel calls a half hour later. He informed me a few days after our dinner at Panera that his fellow police officers had voted unanimously on the logo design, choosing the one that had been my favorite. I e-mailed the master image and they’d moved forward on their own, ordering an assortment of promotional materials. It’s been two weeks since I last spoke to him or had any e-mail contact, and I smile when his name pops up on the screen.
“Hi, Claire,” he says when I answer. “I’ve got temporary tattoos with the new logo. I thought your kids might like them.”
“They’ll be thrilled,” I say. “Are you on duty? They’re selling lemonade at the end of the driveway right now if you want to stop by.”
“Sure. I’ll swing by in about fifteen minutes,” he says. “I’m not far from you.”
“Great. See you soon.” I tell the kids that Daniel is coming. “He’s got something for you.”
“What, Mom? What is it?” Josh asks.
“Tattoos.”
“Aw, cool,” he and Travis shout in unison. Temporary tattoos are the ultimate accessory in my household. “Does he have stickers, too?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “You’ll have to ask him when he gets here.”
When Daniel pulls up and parks his police car at the curb, Travis and Josh run over and lean in the open window, shouting in their excitement. “Officer Rush, do you have any stickers?”
Daniel leans over and reaches into the glove box and hands each of them a sticker in the shape of the new logo.
“My mom made these,” Josh brags.
Daniel can barely get out of the car, but the boys finally move back and he opens the door. He hands each of them a tattoo and they run past me, into the house to retrieve damp paper towels. When they return, they each press a tattoo to their cheek while I hold the paper towels in place. When they peel off the backing, the logo I designed shows up in full color.
“Wow. Those turned out great,” I say.
“Yeah, they did,” Daniel says.
“Officer Rush, do you want some lemonade?”
The boys look at him expectantly and Daniel replies, “Sure.”
The boys’ excited smiles tell me they’re too revved up about making money to possibly consider giving Daniel a glass on the house in exchange for the stickers and tattoos.
He approaches the table and the boys pour the lemonade into the glass. Daniel drops a quarter in the jar and takes a drink; the boys are watching his every move. He smiles and says, “Wow.” Another car approaches and the boys forget all about their current customer. Waving their arms, they try and entice the car to stop. It works and soon they are busy with another transaction, Daniel all but forgotten.
“How is it?” I ask.
“It’s very… potent.”
Oh no. I pick up the pitcher and pour some into a glass, then take a drink. I nearly gag. “That’s awful.” The drink mix is sugar-free, but the boys have used way too much. Upon closer inspection, I notice that the liquid in the glass is quite murky.
“Boys,” I say. “How many packets of drink mix did you use?”
“I don’t know,” Josh says. “Like, seven?”
“That’s way too many. Didn’t you read the directions?”
“Officer Rush said it was good. Police officers don’t lie,” Josh says accusingly, as if I’ve engineered some kind of smear campaign to force them out of business. “Right, Officer Rush? You’re going to finish it, aren’t you?”
Daniel looks at me and I shake my head, smiling, because I know what he’s going to do. He looks at the boys and drains the glass, coughing a bit and muffling it with the back of his hand.
“That was impressive,” I say, laughing as I remove the empty glass from his hand. “I’m going to make a fresh batch, boys.” I grab the pitcher and disappear into the house.
When I come back outside, Julia is standing in the driveway talking to Daniel. She’s giggling and tossing her hair, and taking sips from a large plastic tumbler full of ice and God knows what. She won’t be interested in the boys’ virgin lemonade, that’s for damn sure. I walk up to them and make the introductions. “Julia, this is Daniel Rush.” I look at Daniel. “Julia is my neighbor.”
“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking her outstretched hand. I turn to Julia. “Daniel is the one who told me about the design job for the police department’s new logo.”
“Oh, really,” she says, raising her eyebrows as if I’ve been withholding a juicy secret.
“Yes. I mentioned it twice, remember?”
She ignores me and proceeds to talk Daniel’s ear off. Unfortunately, she also sounds pretty tipsy, and I’m embarrassed for her. The period of sobriety Justin enforced must have come to an end.
“Mom,” Josh yells. “Can you get me some change, please?”
I go into the house and grab a handful of quarters out of my wallet. After I give them to the boys I sit back down in my chair.
Daniel finally breaks away from Julia and walks over to me. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks for stopping by.” Travis and Josh run up and Daniel thanks them for the lemonade. They give him a high five. “Don’t you have something to say to Officer Rush?” I prompt.
“Thank you for the stickers and tattoos,” they say.
“You’re welcome,” Daniel answers. He turns back to me and says, “Thanks for everything with the logo. You did a great job.”
“Thanks for giving me the opportunity,” I say. I realize at that moment that I probably won’t see him again. I’m done with the project and there’s really no need for any additional follow-up. The boys have their stickers and tattoos. My invoice has been paid.
He pauses, and I think he’s going to ask me a question, but then he says, “Well. Have a good evening.”
“I will. You, too,” I say. “Bye, Daniel.”
He nods and gives Julia a friendly wave, then gets into his car and drives away. I grab another chair out of the garage and Julia sits down. Her glass is nearly empty. “Can you watch the girls for a minute while I run to the store?” she asks.
“Why do you need to go to the store?”
She rattles the ice cubes in her glass as if it should be obvious. “I’m out of vodka. Justin said he had to work late,” she mutters. “Or something.”
There’s no way I want Julia on the road. And would she endanger her daughters’ lives by taking them with her if I said no? “Just stay here, Julia. I’ve got vodka.” There’s nothing like giving someone with a drinking problem a loaded gun, but the alternative is much more worrisome. I take her glass, go inside the house, add fresh ice, and pull a bottle of Absolut out of the cupboard. Chris drinks only beer or whiskey, but sometimes I mix vodka with a diet mixer if I feel like having a drink. The bottle is more than half full.
I bring it outside, hand her the glass, and start filling it with lemonade from the pitcher. “That’s good,” she says, when I’ve filled it halfway. She grabs the vodka bottle and pours until the contents of the glass reach the rim. A drink that strong would make my eyes water. Does she not feel any remorse for her behavior that day at her pool? Does she even remember?
Julia sips her drink and I keep a watchful eye on all the kids, reminding them not to get too close to the street. I don’t have to worry as much anymore though because the speed limit sign has made a world of difference. I should have said something to Daniel while he was here. Thanked him again. Thinking about the sign reminds me of how much I like talking to him.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him.
I have no reason to be thinking about him.
But I am.
I’m thinking about how happy it made me, how I felt a momentary thrill, when my phone rang and I saw his name. I’m glad he stopped by. I wish he’d stayed longer. I wish I knew if I’d ever get the chance to talk to him again.
I look over at Julia, her glass already half empty. Maybe that’s how it starts. You stumble upon something that helps you cope, fills a void. Makes you feel something different than what you currently feel. You know in the long run it probably won’t be good for you, but you do it anyway. Tell yourself you can handle it.
And before you know it you’re in so deep that you can’t find your way back out.