Chapter 1: Pancakes, 1990

by Elizabeth McWillams

Morning was breaking through the window when I heard my father softly shut the front door, quickly followed by the car engine starting. He must be on his way to the office. I threw back the covers and headed down the hall into the bathroom. Leaning over the pedestal sink, I checked my reflection in the mirror and cleared the sleep from my eyes. Last night, I thought with a steadily growing conviction, was much too close a call. Anyone could have heard when the screen door accidentally slammed behind us.

I made my way to the kitchen, careful not to wake anyone else in the house, and stopped outside the basement door, listening silently for a moment. Not a sound or a rustle. In fact, the air seeping in around the door jam was echoing and hollow, as though the basement were a catacomb – cold, dank and lonely.

I pushed the door open and quietly treaded down the carpeted stairs. Nathan would still be sleeping on the makeshift bed I had put together for him in the middle of the floor. A stowaway. My stowaway. Nathan and I had been dating for two years now and, from my father’s perspective, he was the worst possible choice in boyfriends. He had dropped out of high school, worked at an ice cream parlor and drove a beat up VW Rabbit. He had failed to show for a job stacking wood for which my father had paid in advance and, when all was said and done, didn’t have the best of manners. But I adored him. He, in turn, adored and coddled me and took me adventuring all around the state of Vermont.

And there he was, asleep on my basement floor – a mess of brown, curly hair tangled up with the mismatched sheets and old, tattered mattress. I stood over him and watched him breathe deeply, completely at peace. How can he forget himself so easily? How does he sleep a dreamless sleep as though tucked in a warm corner of his mother’s house? As though he had amnesty and was safe in a place where no one would judge or condemn him.

I felt a pang of tenderness and knelt down beside him. Still he slept. Reaching forward, I tucked a stray curl behind his ear and sucked in my breath in surprise at how beautiful he was. He opened his eyes and then reached for me, pulling me down beside him.

“Morning, hon,” he murmured.

“You have to leave,” I whispered. “I’m not sure how long my father will be out and, besides, it’s almost 7:00. You have to be at the shop in half an hour and I have to be back in my bedroom.” Nathan grunted and leaned over to kiss me. His breath was bitter and smoky, the residue of last night’s marijuana still lingering on his lips and tongue.

“Thanks for waking me up,” he said. “You going to meet me after work? We can go for a ride, maybe head for the falls or get dinner?”

“Yeah, I’ll figure a way. I’ll tell my dad I’m out with Tessa again.”

“Kay,” he muttered, sitting up and sniffing loudly. “Where are my pants?”

I reached over the side of the bed, picking through a pile of clothes and throwing a pillow aside. “Here they are,” I said, tossing the jeans at his feet. Nathan half-heartedly struggled into them and then pulled his t-shirt over his head.

“Glad I didn’t have to make the ride up to Burlington last night,” he remarked. “I think this arrangement could work out well for us.” He smiled at me, complicity winking at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, it could work out well,” I agreed, “assuming we don’t get caught.” But I felt reluctant, a growing sense of urgency pulling at me, leaving me anxious and distracted.

I dropped eye contact and let my gaze wander across the room, finally settling on my black cotton china shoes left haphazardly by the door. I just left them there? How stupid and careless, I thought.

“Well, anyway,” Nathan yawned, “I’ll call you later.” He pulled me up so that we were both standing and held me there, his hands sneaking up the front of my shirt and gently cupping a breast. His mouth found mine and I could feel myself falling into him again, wanting to just stay there folded up with him until the sun had completed its journey across the sky and set once more behind the Adirondacks, behind Lake Champlain, returning us to shadows, and inky dark. A safe harbor from the garish rays of sunlight and visibility.

Nathan suddenly twisted my nipple and I yelped in a flash of surprise. He had a wide smile on his face and was just about to say something when the floorboards above our head let out a resigned and tired creak. Someone was directly above us in the living room. And, sure enough, there was the familiar scrape of the piano stool being dragged across the bare floor. Oh shit, my father was back and about to begin his morning piano practice. I pushed Nathan from me and started for the cellar stairs just as the opening notes of Eric Satie’s Gymnopedies No. 1 reverberated through the very foundation of the house. As I turned the corner, I saw Nathan standing there in the middle of the room watching me retreat, his hands hanging limply at his sides.

That morning my father made pancakes and link sausages for breakfast. I stood at the counter and watched the oil pooling around the links, water hissing at the edges of the pan. Funny that he poaches a sausage, I thought. My meanderings then cut to my near mishap that morning and I wondered if Nathan had made it out of the cellar door without leaving some piece of telltale evidence behind. And how was he feeling? Probably not terrified, or guilty, like myself.  Certainly nonchalant, maybe even a little proud or smug. I could imagine him confidently humming a reggae tune, amused, while he wiped down the tables at work.

My father passed me a plate and then leaned backwards, arching his low back. He winced just slightly. “Back sore again?” I asked. He nodded in tired agreement and then motioned to the table. We both sat down and he sipped from his coffee cup.

“You already eat?” I prompted.

“Yes, I had some cereal when I first woke up. I’ll eat some more in a little bit.” My father adjusted the lumbar support tucked behind him on the chair and then inquired after the pancakes.

“They’re delicious,” I offered. “Thanks for heating up the maple syrup.”  He smiled at me and then fell silent.

“Big plans for today?’ he finally ventured.

“I’ll be at the pool until 3:00, then Tessa and I were thinking of heading up to Burlington to see some of her friends from Rice Academy.” This would be my fourth summer life- guarding at the town pool. I fiddled with my fork and then smoothed out the edges of the cloth placemat, looking anywhere but at my father.

“Well, we have the Lupins coming for dinner tonight. Remember them, from the French Department? They’ll have Jean-Paul and Marcel with them. You haven’t seen those boys in months. I’d like you to at least join us for dinner.” A swell of impatience and panic rose in my chest.

“Dad, Jean-Paul and Marcel are so pretentious. We have nothing in common. All they talk about is which Ivy League colleges they’re applying to and how smart and cultured they are. Besides, Tessa’s counting on me for a ride and you’re only telling me now.” I willed myself to keep a steady voice but felt a flush of red prickle and sting at my cheeks.

“Katherine,” my father said, his voice steely and cold. “You have an excuse every night. I’m not running a hotel here.” He set his cup down on the table a bit too forcefully and the coffee sloshed, a small trickle sliding down the side of the mug and spotting the table.

A hot lump gathered in my throat and tears pricked at my eyes. I felt as though I couldn’t swallow, as though my chest were constricting. A bird chirped outside, hidden somewhere in the maple tree whose leaves were now robust and brilliant green. No mate answered its call but it carried on singing nonetheless.  A song whose tone seemed full of conviction and purpose.

I glanced at the clock mounted on the wall above the woodstove. 9:15. “I have to go, Dad,” I finally muttered. “I’m supposed to be at the pool at 9:30. I stood up and glanced furtively at him. He was watching me take my leave just as Nathan had only an hour or two earlier, only his glance was cool, frustrated and disappointed. “Thanks for breakfast,” I ventured, and, after grabbing my pool bag, walked out the front door.