A Rock and Family Vacation

[10]

A good measure of Clare’s exuberance and energy returned as she pirouetted to one of the tables and flopped down sideways. That little moment also gave him a boost. He didn’t have a favorite child, he couldn’t possibly, but being around Clare was rejuvenating. Lacy reminded himself too much of his own childhood with permissive hippie parents. And Blair was the surprise and shock of their lives. They needed to get back soon, so Eliot cleared his throat and stretched out the menu between them.

Clare had as many concerns about white sauce pizza as the non-dairy ice cream around the corner. The girl at the counter offered to whip her up a sample. Clare graciously accepted, then gingerly brought the bit of breadstick with the sauce up to a careful sliver of her mouth. Her expression was comparable to a bomb diffusion expert at the most critical point of the process. She gave the tiniest sample crunch and permitted the food to enter her mouth.

After several tense seconds, Clare swallowed. Her faint eyebrows popped up in curious surprise as she responded, “It’s okay.” When the girl inquired if she wanted a little bit more, Clare confidently shook her head but smiled and thanked her for the sample. The girl gave an amused chuckle as she noted that it was an acquired taste. To reward Clare for her indulgence, she gave them each a bit of breadstick with their thick marinara sauce in a little plastic cup. This one, Clare dunked and enjoyed eagerly. Her legs gave an animated, underwater swimming wiggle. Eliot's reaction was much more reserved, but he enjoyed it no less.

So far as their ultimate order, it seemed fitting to include a variety pack of breadsticks with a large works pizza, Mediterranean vegetarian for Brooke, and then a plain cheese just in case and for leftovers. While they waited, Clare peered out at the ocean with her hands folded under her chin.

This was his son. And this was his daughter. Most importantly, this was his child. As he knew from Clare’s own lips, reiterated by Brooks and emphasized by himself, it really didn’t matter. It didn’t change an iota of his love. But, at the same time, everything for his youngest child would be different. She would grow up one day and live a life separate from him and Brooke. Blair was close enough that he could envision the kind of person his son might marry, someone to truly challenge and surmount his pyramid of cleverness. They were sure to drive Brooke nuts whenever they got together for board games or puzzle night. But Clare will grow up too.

Eliot’s right eye gave a rough twitch, as though it had intentions of just popping loose and heading off for its own adventures. He needed glasses eventually. This was about the age that his father started to wear them. Skinny John Lennon specs with barely any coverage. He intended to embrace the full, professorial Coke bottle look. But he was wandering away from his own thoughts. Clare would grow up into what he was sure would be an amazing young lady.

But the stresses of dating, no matter how it went, absolutely boggled his mind. Permissive and carefree like his parents or… no, there was no way he would be demanding and exacting like Brooke’s dad. His wife would roll her eyes and admonish him for dwelling on such far-flung notions with all this stress. Clare was six and she would remain six till November. He pressed himself, like she often did, to focus on right now.

“How are you doing?”

Clare glanced across the table. “We haven’t gone in the ocean yet. That’s the very first thing I wanted to do when we got here but it was kind of late when we arrived and we wanted to eat and I was looking at rocks and then it was really late and then everything happened. And I didn’t think of it with mom. And now I have this dress and I don’t want to get it wet and covered in sand. And every moment since we got here has just felt like the wrong one to have fun. Although I really liked helping mom finish her work. And I want to see more…good rocks.”

He noticed how she slipped around saying things without revealing details. Clare could be too frank, honest, and open in the wrong moments but that was her nature. Eliot stretched his hands across the table and Clare reached hers out to meet them. He assured her that they were going to have plenty of time to enjoy the ocean this week.

Clare fundamentally accepted this in the same way she accepted assurances when she woke that the nightmare she just escaped wasn’t real and hadn’t followed her. But… she could cite so many uncertainties. No matter what Blair said about the upstate New York trip that Clare could hardly remember, this felt like the most doomed one which was only going to spread sadness, worry, and disappointment.

He couldn’t deny any of that, because he didn’t know the future, but emphasized that each of them made choices that determined what happened. Eliot recalled that Lacy chose to eat those extremely hot peppers several weeks ago as part of a crazy sandwich to impress some guys at school. He came home sick and was in the restroom for several hours. They worried that they might need to reschedule this trip or take Lacy to the doctor. This moment right here may not have even happened if that or anything else went even a little bit differently. The concept confused Clare more than Eliot intended, but he distilled it to this essential thought, “If you decide that something terrible is going to happen, that changes the way you see everything around you and could make bad things happen.”

He used a variety of random examples, from instances of bad luck to how he could’ve interpreted dropping his phone earlier as an omen. Explaining an omen also took work, as Clare imagined it like a mystical curse. He said it was more a warning sign or caution but seen as a message from the world. The problem was knowing whether you actually saw a warning or just imagined it.

Clare sat with that notion and did her best to process it. A nervous portion of Eliot wondered if he was screwing things up and complicating matters with a tangle of ideas best reserved for one of his stories. Clare was just six and she already had an entirely new self-identity to figure out. He didn’t need to weigh her down with existential wondering and fate versus choice. At the same time, he didn’t want to just brush it all off or say she wouldn’t understand it.

The girl at the register came over with the receipt. Eliot paid for everything and included a generous tip. She had a damp cloth in one hand which she was using to clean off some of the tables.

“Very philosophical”, she remarked. “I see it this way. Bad things will happen. Good things will happen. You don’t know. But no bad day controls you. You decide how you wanna live it. Take it on, run away, or just laugh at it. It’s all attitude.” She left them with that and cleaned up a couple of empty tables towards the back.

Eliot encouraged that notion, even though he had misgivings. Clare scrunched up her eyes, as though working through two contradictory but equally challenging brain teasers before settling, “I choose… to make my brothers happy and have fun, even if it’s hard and even if they punch me.”

For the rest of their time in the pizzeria, Eliot had Clare focus on a wish list of things she wanted to do. The beach and the waves came first, then building an amazing sand castle. Followed by checking out the science center in town and the marine one in the next town over. Flying kites at one of the parks on the hill. Visiting the zoo. And seeing Old Town. All that was already on their itinerary before they arrived. But Clare added one final, quiet thought, “I’d like Lacy to smile. I just want to feel like we’re still family. Even before, I was scared about them running away. I don’t want to be alone.”

Eliot didn’t need to think about or structure his words in answer to that. “You go for it, in whatever way, and you will achieve it. Your brothers are your family. We’re family. We are here for one another. You’re never alone and there’s no reason to be scared.” It felt good to focus his words in the same way his wife confidently projected hers.

Brooke often thought he was just teasing her or being too kind when he genuinely said that she would make a better writer than him. He had the training and the grueling practice, but he often found himself lost in the sticks or trying to expand a notion and articulate it as clearly as possible.

In marketing practices, Brooke had to be succinct, precise, and exact in her intentions and expression. That often meant she tended to give up after constructing a clever poem or limerick and she usually got lost after extended chapter glosses where people did things, got where they needed to go, and finished the job. She didn’t have a narrative flare but had plenty of punch. Maybe combined, he pondered, they might be able to make a single writer who got to the point in time, but also made the journey interesting.

They picked up their order at the front and the girl at the counter smiled and wished Clare and her dad a lovely day. Clare was the one who handled the bag of breadsticks and made sure everything was there. Eliot clung to the sides of their pizza order and shouldered a small bag of crushed pepper and parmesan along with oregano and other spices.

Even though it was clear from a distance that the lanky, creepy guy with the table hadn’t returned, they took an alternate route closer to the water to lead them back to the house. Protecting her bag of food, Clare dashed across the sand and down in a giggling parabola to taunt the water. Her shoes squished down on the really slick parts but she swiftly broke free and joined a group of annoyed sandpipers and skittish crabs darting back and forth. Eliot could watch her play all day long. But it took just a short spell before they were back in sight of the house. Someone unexpected was waiting for them.

A teenage girl stood by the door with her arms folded around her stomach. She wore Brooke’s calico dots blouse. It didn’t fit the best, for several reasons. She also had on Brooke’s black polyester pants, which fit her a little bit better. Eliot knew that his wife was probably lamenting this girl’s pronounced lips and taking it personally as the junk of her DNA. The light twists of her soft blonde hair settled against her left shoulder but didn’t fall any further. She seemed so distressingly small. That didn’t stop her from boldly grabbing all the food and joking, “Thanks for the grub guys! Did you bring anything for mom and grumpy face?”

[I have a question at the end of the chapter again to help with suggestions for where the story should go. I'm a couple chapters ahead but I love seeding ideas from people as much as possible. Feel free to add an idea which doesn't show up in the options. Thank you for reading!]

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