Between Us and the Moon Read online

  By dinner, the rain is lightening up to a patter on the patio outside Nancy’s panoramic windows. I spear a piece of garlic broccoli.

  “Must we go to the same restaurant every year?” Nancy says.

  “I made the reservation at Lobster Pot this afternoon,” Mom says, referring to my birthday celebrations. Friday is my actual birthday but we have to make accommodations for the princess; Scarlett has dinner plans on my actual birthday that she “absolutely can’t miss.” Nancy always comes to my birthday celebrations except that she never bothers with our annual mini-golf tournament. It’s “too tiring” after a big meal, or so she says.

  Maybe she’ll give me some non-guilt-ridden cash instead of a “teen journal” with a pink pen attached by a glittered chain like she did last year, or a makeup kit like the year before that. In truth, I could use the makeup kit now for the Scarlett Experiment. Too bad I gave it to Ettie.

  “Okay, Lobster Pot again if that’s what Beanie wants,” she says.

  I do love the Lobster Pot and our mini-golf tournament, but it might be nice to go to a more upscale restaurant than the Lobster Pot. I don’t have to do the same things every year. I am tempted to bring this up, but Nancy switches gears.

  “So, as for the theme of Scarlett’s going-away party,” Nancy says, sipping a glass of water. She’s dressed in a blue suit and her hair curls on top of her head like a child’s doll. Her neck is so large that some of her skin folds over her collar. I can’t see the girl from that photo with Gran anywhere. “I was thinking something with a Great Gatsby elegance. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Maeve, I think that would be lovely,” Nancy says.

  “Lovely,” Mom says, stealing a glance at Dad while taking a bite, and now we’re all talking like we’re dripping in caramel. “Scarlett, why don’t you call your friends and see what kind of theme they would like before we commit.”

  “Maeve, you don’t want to take a teenager’s advice, do you?” Nancy asks. “It’s hard enough to get Scarlett to bring her friends over,” Nancy adds. She, too, takes a tiny bite. “Oh, very well, I guess you should ask your friends. If they exist,” Nancy says with a wink to Scarlett.

  Scarlett never brings her friends to the house. She always meets them out. One time I heard her say to Trish that she didn’t want her Cape Cod friends to meet her “nerdy sister” and her “weird parents.” I never told Mom and Dad that.

  Either way, Scarlett has to have the party and let Nancy go all out, she knows that.

  “We told you, you don’t have to throw Scarlett a party,” Dad says after swallowing some chicken. He has some sauce on the corner of his mouth.

  “Someone in this family needs to show Scarlett off. Juilliard! I just can’t stop telling everyone I meet!”

  “We can’t afford—” Dad starts to say and wipes his mouth.

  “I know you can’t afford it and if you would stop these research jobs, Gerard, and take my advice, you’ll bring in some consistent money. If you do your research on the side, or run a few labs, you might be able to pay some bills.”

  There’s a pause and I hope this is a break from the money talk. We each fill our mouths with food so no one has to continue the conversation. “And now with Maeve losing . . .” Nancy stops herself and with a large exaggerated smile says, “Of course, you know I don’t have a problem paying for any of it.”

  Scarlett returns the smile, but it’s fake. I hate her white teeth.

  I wonder what she is really thinking. We all know, the universe knows, that Nancy loves reminding us how much she pays to keep our family afloat.

  I need that scholarship.

  “So, the party,” Nancy continues. “For a Great Gatsby theme we can have twenties music, champagne, silk everywhere. It’ll be lovely,” Nancy gushes.

  “What’s Great Gatsby again?” Scarlett asks. “It sounds familiar.”

  She just graduated from Summerhill Academy. Didn’t she read Great Gatsby sophomore year? Or at least see the movie?

  “A novel,” I say.

  Nancy’s eyes move down the table at me. Her pudgy face resembles a Persian cat. “Very good, Bean.”

  Did she just dare to compliment me?

  “But why would we have a good-bye party with that theme?” I am brave enough to ask. “Almost everyone dies at the end of that book.”

  “Well, not everyone is quite so literary, dear,” Nancy replies.

  Damn, I have nothing left to shove in my mouth so I can avoid this conversation. All that is left on my plate are a couple of peas. As usual I ate too fast and am finished before everyone else. “What is your focus this summer?” Nancy asks me. “No slimy algae, I see.”

  “Tracking a comet—” But I don’t get to finish explaining because she turns to Mom and Dad.

  “She should spend more time with kids her age.”

  “Most of the kids leave after a couple weeks, or they don’t come every summer like we do,” I say. This seems perfectly reasonable to me.

  “She hasn’t a single friend here,” Nancy continues like I haven’t said anything. “She’s spending far too much time with telescopes and computers. I hate to say it, Gerard, but maybe she’s spending too much time with her dad in science laboratories.”

  “I have a job, Nancy,” I say as nicely as possible. “And a best friend. And a boyfriend.” I know it’s not technically true anymore, but Nancy makes me so mad and it just slips out.

  “She needs to find some interests outside of science. It’s limiting for a young girl.” Nancy sighs and continues, “It’s exactly why I planned this excursion for her tonight.”

  “Excursion?” What the hell does that mean?

  “Bean needs to be at dances with friends and participate in school clubs. Colleges care about socialization.” She glances around my head. “What time is it?” she asks. “It’s six forty-five. Beanie, you need to get dressed for the teen dance.”

  “I’m sorry—the what?” I say, leaning forward. My voice squeaks.

  “Nancy thought it might be good for you to go to a teen thing,” Dad says gently. “At the pier.”

  “You told her no, right? I can’t. Not—” I’m already nervous and out of breath. I can barely look at my sister. She must be loving this.

  Nancy motions to the kitchen help for our plates to be cleared away. “It’s cloudy tonight,” she says. “How are you going to track a comet in these conditions? What else are you going to do?”

  “Dad, how could you make that decision for me?” My voice shakes.

  “We thought it might be nice,” he says. I hate that he actually believes that. Does he know me at all?

  “I hate large groups.” I will not cry in front of Nancy and make her case even stronger.

  “You need new experiences,” Nancy insists.

  “Give the dance a try, Beanie,” Mom says, taking a bite of carrots. I finally succumb to my sister for help. She isn’t smirking like I thought she would be.

  She presses her lips together and looks back and forth between Nancy, Mom, and Dad.

  “Tell them how lame school dances are,” I beg. I haven’t ever been to a dance on the Cape, but if it is anything like the dances at Summerhill, I can only imagine. I went to last year’s Snowflake Formal with Tucker and we spent the whole time making fun of everyone. “Please?” I say with my teeth clenched.

  “They are kinda lame,” Scarlett concedes, and I could hug her and her white, bunny teeth.

  “See? Even Scarlett thinks they suck!”

  “And everyone who goes is really young,” she adds.

  “See?!” I accidentally gesture wildly and my palm smacks the table. The silver and glassware shake. “Oops,” I mumble.

  Nancy’s lips pucker tight.

  My knee jumps up and down. I stop it by pressing down on my kneecap.

  “We thought it would be fun,” Mom says, and Nancy breathes heavily through her nose. “You don’t need to get so upset. Don’t go if you don’t want to.”

  Thank the heavens.
r />   “What about wearing white to my party, Nancy? All white?” Scarlett suggests, and I know she’s changing the subject for me.

  Nancy takes a second to reply but can’t help herself. “We can’t have red wine if everyone wears white.”

  I cannot believe they were going to force me to go to that dance. They think I’m still a little kid. That they can just make decisions for me and I won’t even argue.

  You should call me sometime, Star Girl.

  Andrew didn’t think I was a kid.

  After dessert, I leave Mom and Nancy in the living room to talk about dress codes and canapés. Dad is working at the kitchen table, and Scarlett was gone before dessert was cleared. I didn’t get to say thank you. I reach in my pocket and slide out my cell phone. Andrew’s phone number shines in the darkened stairwell.

  I think you should call me.

  My cell phone sits in the palm of my hand. With Andrew, it was easy to be like Scarlett. Too easy, actually. I was independent; I was cool.

  I make it up to my bedroom, shut the door, and lock it behind me. I sit in the window seat and peer down onto Shore Road.

  The only lights on the street outside Seaside Stomachache are from Nancy’s porch and a couple of street lamps.

  Downstairs it’s Discovery Channel reruns, party talk, and questions about the Waterman Scholarship. Scarlett is out in town somewhere, having a great time. I wish I were with her, or Ettie, or even the girls trying on sunglasses from the Seahorse the other night.

  I wonder what Tucker is doing and grip the cell phone tightly.

  I am not going to spend my summer in my bedroom alone while Tucker makes out with Becky Winthrop all over Rhode Island.

  Scarlett is living the life she wants. I want to live the life I want. In the spirit of the Scarlett Experiment, I am calling Andrew. It’s what Scarlett would do—it’s what she would do to have a life outside the walls of this house.

  I dial Andrew’s number.

  Eek! It rings. Once . . . twice. Oh God. Maybe I should hang up?

  “Hello?” a voice says through the receiver. There is music and chatter in the background.

  “H-hi.” I stand up from the window seat. Somehow, I need to be standing for this conversation. A chaos of voices and music echoes through the cell phone. “This is Sarah.” I have to raise my voice for him to hear me but try to keep the sound from traveling by turning my back to my bedroom door. “From today? At the beach?”

  “Star Girl,” he says. His voice is happy, like he’s smiling. “What took you so long?”

  “So long? We met this afternoon,” I say. I note the panic in my voice and clear my throat to cover it up.

  He laughs. “I know. I hate all the rules. You should just call someone when you want to call someone.”

  Rules? What rules? There are rules for calling people? Why didn’t I research this? Damn teen dances. My impulsivity clouded my judgment.

  “It’s loud where you are,” I say and expect to hear Nancy’s screech throughout the house any second.

  “I’m at a bonfire out on Nauset Light. If you’d called earlier I would have invited you. You need four-wheel drive to get out here. Do you have access to an SUV or anything?”

  “No, it’s um, actually hard to get a car right now. I’m at the mercy of the family this summer,” I think up quickly. Be Scarlett. “Guess you’ll have to pick me up for our date.” Wow, that was forward. I hold my breath.

  Party chatter echoes in the background for a second.

  “Definitely,” he says, and I like that there’s a lightness in his voice.

  I must have been walking in circles because the inertia of my body pulls at me when I stop. I’m smiling big now, and when I glance through the skylight, I’m right underneath the Big Dipper. I stand here, with facial muscle exhaustion from talking to a boy who is not Tucker. My cheeks hurt.

  “When are you free?” he asks.

  I nudge my toe into the carpet. “Oh you know, whenever.”

  “How about Friday night—” There is a crash of something glass in the background and Andrew’s laughter echoes out of the phone again. “Wow,” he says, “my friends are idiots. Remind me not to introduce you.” He laughs again and says, “You can show me these famous stars of yours.”

  “Great!” I say, rocking on the balls of my feet a little. “We can actually go to Nauset Light. It’s the equinox and Jupiter is really bright and—”

  He laughs again and it reminds me of a teddy bear, a big teddy bear laughing at me through the line.

  “Wow,” he says. “You are smart. Hey, I have to go, Star Girl. Where should I pick you up?”

  Damn. Friday is my birthday. I know we’re not officially celebrating until Saturday, but I’m sure we’re doing something. There’s no way I’m going to reschedule with Andrew. I’ll make it work.

  The thought of Andrew coming to the door makes my stomach clench. Mom would insist on saying hello and Dad, too, with his Einstein hair. Oh God, and Nancy would want to talk to him just so she can see me interact with someone of the opposite sex. Then, to add insult to injury, someone would call me “Beanie.” He would know I’m not eighteen in two seconds.

  Even worse? Scarlett would answer the door and Andrew would know we were sisters. He would probably like her better than me.

  “I’ll be in town so why don’t you pick me up in front of the Bird’s Nest?” I finally say and add as a joke, “You know, for old time’s sake? How about seven thirty?”

  “See you there,” he says. “Oh yeah, and be hungry.”

  When I hang up the phone there is a tingling in my chest. Like the moment before the results of an experiment, when all of the elements coalesce. Coalesceeee. Scarlett would say that word sounds epic. . . . She always knows what to say.

  The secret of my date makes me giddy. I nearly jump down the stairs.

  In the living room, Mom and Dad watch the end of a Red Sox game. Dad’s hair sticks up from over the lounger in zigzag strands. He snores, which is par for the course at the eighth inning. I slip my phone in my pocket and plop down on the couch next to Mom.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you about the dance sooner,” she says, putting her hand on my back. “Nancy was insisting that you would have a great time.”

  “It’s no big deal,” I say. “Thanks for letting me stay home.” I tuck my feet under the blanket with Mom. I lean my head on her shoulder and fall asleep just like that.

  Warm. Comfortable. Happy.

  NINE

  THE NEXT DAY, DAD DRIVES US TO FALMOUTH. The Alvin is finally at WHOI, so I jumped at the opportunity to go to work with Dad. As we drive, we pass by the ferry that takes tourists to Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket. We pass my favorite restaurant, Allen’s, and of course the best coffee shop in Falmouth, Coffee Craze. The brownies there are the best.

  Once we get past the tourist area, a string of familiar stone buildings flank both sides of the street. Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution looks the same every single year no matter how much time passes. Just the thought of all that marine life, the tanks of fish, and enormous deep-sea vessels sends a rush of familiar excitement washing over me.

  We park in front of Building 40, our usual WHOI home. I grab some of the remaining boxes that Dad still needs to bring upstairs to his office. Once we get inside, I set them down in the foyer.

  At the end of the long hallway are the double doors to the tech shop.

  “Can I?” I say.

  Dad rolls his eyes with a smile. His hair sticks out from underneath his WHOI hat and he nods as he puts down his boxes too.

  I could map out this place with my eyes closed. We walk together down the long hall and into the tech shop, which is actually so big it’s more like an airplane hanger. Inside are hundreds of tools hanging on the walls and the satisfying smell of oil and gasoline. Welders’ masks hang on pegs in a long row. Below them are crates of gloves, hammers, and batteries of all different sizes.

  “Sarah!”

&nbs
p; Rodger, my favorite marine biologist, walks from the center of the room to Dad and me. He’s the youngest marine biologist at Woods Hole. Behind him, standing in the glow of a spotlight is the Alvin. Rodger steps into my view.

  “Is that a beard?” I ask and reach up to touch the scruff.

  “It’s to cover my double chin!” he says and hugs me tightly. He’s got a bigger gut than last year, but it looks good on him.

  “You’re tall!” he says and slips a WHOI baseball hat out of the pocket of his oversized white lab coat. He plops it on my head.

  “Thanks!” I like the hat; it fits well and has WHOI stitched in blue letters on the front.

  “So? How’s it going with the comet? You didn’t email me and Nina nearly enough updates.”

  “Registration is tomorrow. My birthday,” I say. “Then it’s actually official.”

  “Tomorrow!? Happy Birthday, spud!” he says with a squeeze to my shoulder. He’s been calling me that since I was nine.

  “Congratulations to you!” Dad says with a pat to Rodger’s back. “Let’s see some pictures.”

  Rodger digs in his pocket for his phone to show us some pictures of his newborn baby.

  I am respectful and look at the tiny newborn with the same nose as Rodger, but I can’t help being pulled away by the Alvin.

  Last year’s upgrade makes it look different, more high-tech. It has five viewports now, when it used to have three. It’s about as wide as a Suburban SUV but much shorter. No matter how many improvements they make to the sub, it always surprises me how enormous it looks, but how small it is inside.

  Rodger hands me his clipboard with all of the newest dimensions on the upgraded sub. It’s classified to most people, but I get access.

  I run down some of the list and review the new specs:

  Titanium Alloy: 6A1-4V Eli.

  It’s 4.6 inches wider on the inside than the last version of the Alvin.

  Still cramped as hell in there.

  I want to see the new specs and changes myself. I want to climb up the ladder and look inside. I place the clipboard on the floor next to the base of the ladder and turn to Rodger and Dad.