A little while later, when it seemed safe, Jeremiah and I went back downstairs. My mother and Mr. Fisher were drinking coffee the way grown-ups do. His eyes were red-rimmed but hers were the clear eyes of a victor. When he saw us, he said, “Where’s Conrad?”

How many times had I heard Mr. Fisher say, “Where’s Conrad?” Hundreds. Millions.

“He’s upstairs,” Jeremiah said.

“Go get him, will you, Jere?”

Jeremiah hesitated and then he looked at my mother, who nodded. He bounded up the stairs and a few minutes later, Conrad was with him. Conrad’s face was guarded, cautious.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Mr. Fisher said. This was the old Mr. Fisher, power broker, negotiator. He loved to make deals. He used to offer trades to us kids. Like, he’d drive us to the go-kart track if we swept the sand out of the garage. Or he’d take the boys fishing if they cleaned out all the tackle boxes.

Warily, Conrad said, “What do you want? My trust fund?”

Mr. Fisher’s jaw tightened. “No. I want you back at school tomorrow. I want you to finish your exams. If you do that, the house is yours. Yours and Jeremiah’s.”

Jeremiah whooped loudly. “Yes!” he shouted. He reached over and enveloped Mr. Fisher in a guy hug, and Mr. Fisher clapped him on the back.

“What’s the catch?” Conrad asked.

“No catch. But you have to make at least C s. No D s or F s.” Mr. Fisher had always prided himself on driving the hard bargain. “Do we have a deal?”

Conrad hesitated. I knew right away what was wrong. Conrad didn’t want to owe his dad anything. Even though this was what he wanted, even though it was why he had come here. He didn’t want to take anything from his dad.

“I haven’t studied,” he said. “I might not pass.”

He was testing him. Conrad had never “not passed.” He’d never gotten anything below a B, and even Bs were rare.

“Then no deal,” Mr. Fisher said. “Those are the terms.”

Urgently, Jeremiah said, “Con, just say yes, man. We’ll help you study. Won’t we, Belly?”

Conrad looked at me, and I looked at my mother. “Can I, Mom?”

My mother nodded. “You can stay, but you have to be home tomorrow.”

“Take the deal,” I told Conrad.

“All right,” he said at last.

“Shake on it like a man, then,” Mr. Fisher said, holding out his hand.

Reluctantly, Conrad extended his arm and they shook. My mother caught my eye and she mouthed, Shake on it like a man , and I knew she was thinking how sexist Mr. Fisher was. But it didn’t matter. We had won.

“Thanks, Dad,” Jeremiah said. “Really, thanks.”

He hugged his dad again and Mr. Fisher hugged him back, saying, “I need to get back to the city.” Then he nodded at me. “Thanks for helping Conrad, Belly.”

I said, “You’re welcome.” But I didn’t know what I was saying “you’re welcome” for, because I hadn’t really done anything. My mother had helped Conrad more in half an hour than I had in all my time of knowing him.

After Mr. Fisher left, my mother got up and started rinsing dishes. I joined her and loaded them into the dishwasher. I rested my head on her shoulder for a second. I said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You were a real badass, Mom.”

“Don’t cuss,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up.

“You’re one to talk.”

Then we washed the dishes in silence, and my mother had that sad look on her face and I knew she was thinking of Susannah. And I wished there was something I could say to take that look away, but sometimes there just weren’t words.

The three of us walked her to the car. “You boys will get her home tomorrow?” she asked, throwing her bag onto the passenger seat.

“Definitely,” Jeremiah said.

Then Conrad said, “Laurel.” He hesitated. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

My mother turned to him, surprised. She was touched. “You want an old lady like me around?” she asked. “Sure, I’ll be back whenever you’ll have me.”

“When?” he asked. He looked so young, so vulnerable my heart ached a little.

I guessed my mother was feeling the same way, because she reached out and touched his cheek. My mother was not a cheek-touching kind of person. It just wasn’t her way. But it was Susannah’s. “Before the summer’s over, and I’ll come back to close the house up too.”

My mother got into the car then. She waved at us as she backed down the driveway, her sunglasses on, the window down. “See you soon,” she called out.

Jeremiah waved and Conrad said, “See you soon.”

My mother told me once that when Conrad was very young, he called her “his Laura.” “Where is my Laura?” he’d say, wandering around looking for her. She said he followed her everywhere; he’d even follow her into the bathroom. He called her his girlfriend and he would bring her sand crabs and seashells from the ocean and he would lay them at her feet. When she told me about it, I thought, What I wouldn’t give to have Conrad Fisher call me his girlfriend and bring me shells.

“I’m sure he doesn’t remember,” she’d said, smiling faintly.

“Why don’t you ask him if he does?” I’d said. I loved hearing stories about when Conrad was little. I loved to tease him, because the opportunity to tease Conrad came up so rarely.

She’d said, “No, that would embarrass him,” and I’d said, “So what? Isn’t that the point?”

And she’d said, “Conrad is sensitive. He has a lot of pride. Let him have that.”

The way she said that, I could tell that she really got him. Understood him in a way that I didn’t. I was jealous of that, of both of them.

“What was I like?” I’d asked.

“You? You were my baby.”

“But what was I like ?” I persisted.

“You used to chase after the boys. It was so cute the way you’d follow them around, trying to impress them.” My mother laughed. “They used to get you to dance around and do tricks.”

“Like a puppy?” I frowned at the thought.

She’d waved me off. “Oh, you were fine. You just liked to be included.”

Chapter thirty-seven

jeremiah

The day Laurel came, the house was a wreck and I was in my boxers ironing my white button-down. I was already late for senior banquet and I was in a foul mood. My mom had barely said two words all day and even Nona couldn’t get her to talk.

I was supposed to pick up Mara, and she hated it when I was late. She’d get all pissy and she’d sit and sulk for about as long as I’d made her wait.

I had put down the iron for a second so I could turn the shirt over and I ended up burning the back of my arm. “Shit!” I yelled. It really freaking hurt.

That was when Laurel showed up. She walked through the front door and saw me standing in the living room in my boxers, holding the back of my arm.

“Run some cold water over it,” she told me. I ran to the kitchen and held my arm under the faucet for a few minutes, and when I came back, she had finished the shirt and gotten started on my khakis.

“Do you wear yours with a crease down the front?” she asked me.

“Uh, sure,” I said. “What are you doing here, Laurel? It’s a Tuesday.” Laurel usually came on weekends and stayed in the guest room.

“I just came to check on things,” she said, running the iron down the front of the pants. “I had a free afternoon.”

“My mom’s asleep already,” I told her. “With the new medicine she’s taking, she sleeps all the time.”

“That’s good,” Laurel said. “And what about you? Why are you getting all dressed up?”

I sat down on the couch and put my socks on. “I’ve got senior banquet tonight,” I told her.

Laurel handed me my shirt and pants. “What time does it start?”

I glanced at the grandfather clock in the foyer. “Ten minutes ago,” I said, stepping into my pants.

“You’d better get going.”

“Thanks for ironing my clothes,” I said.

I was grabbing my keys when I heard my mom call my name from her bedroom. I turned toward her doorway, and Laurel said, “Just go to your banquet, Jere. I’ve got it covered.”

I hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“A thousand percent. Beat it.”

I sped all the way to Mara’s house. She came out as soon as I pulled into her driveway. She was wearing that red dress I liked and she looked nice, and I was about to tell her so, but then she said, “You’re late.”

I shut my mouth. Mara didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night, not even when we won Cutest Couple. She didn’t feel like going to Patan’s party afterward and neither did I. The whole time we were out, I was thinking about my mom and feeling guilty for being gone so long.

When we got to Mara’s house, she didn’t get out right away, which was her signal that she wanted to talk. I shut off the engine.

“So, what’s up? Are you still mad at me for being late, Mar?”

She looked pained. “I just want to know if we’re going to stay together. Can you just tell me what you want to do, and then we’ll do it?”

“Honestly, I can’t really think about this kind of stuff right now.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“But if I was going to have to say whether or not I think we’ll be together when we’re at school in the fall, long distance—” I hesitated, and then I just said it. “I would probably say no.”

Mara started crying, and I felt like a real piece of shit. I should’ve just lied.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. Then she kissed me on the cheek and ran out of the car and into her house.

So that’s how we broke up. If I’m going to be completely honest, I’ll admit that it was a relief not to have to think about Mara anymore. The only person I had room in my head for was my mom.

When I got home, my mom and Laurel were still up playing cards and listening to music. For the first time in days, I heard my mom laugh.

Laurel didn’t leave the next day. She stayed all week. At the time, I didn’t wonder about her job, or all the other stuff she had going on at home. I was just grateful to have an adult around.

Chapter thirty-eight

The three of us walked back to the house. The sun was hot on my back and I thought about how nice it would be to lay out on the beach for a while, to sleep the afternoon away and wake up tan. But there wasn’t any time for that, not when we needed to get Conrad ready for his midterms by tomorrow.

When we got inside, Conrad fell onto the couch and Jeremiah sprawled out on the floor. “So tired,” he moaned.

What my mother did for us, for me, was a gift. Now it was my turn to give one back. “Get up,” I said.

Neither of them moved. Conrad’s eyes were closed. So I threw a pillow at Conrad and jabbed Jeremiah in the stomach with my foot. “We have to start studying, you lazy bums. Now get up!”

Conrad opened his eyes. “I’m too tired to study. I need to take a power nap first.”

“Me too,” Jeremiah said.

Crossing my arms, I glared at them and said, “I’m tired too, you know. But look at the clock; it’s already one. We’re gonna have to work all night and leave really early tomorrow morning.”

Shrugging, Conrad said, “I work best under pressure.”

“But—”

“Seriously, Belly. I can’t work like this. Just let me sleep for an hour.”

Jeremiah was already falling asleep. I sighed. I couldn’t fight the both of them. “Fine. One hour. But that’s it.”

I stalked into the kitchen and poured myself a Coke. I was tempted to take a nap too, but that would be setting the wrong example.

While they slept, I kicked the plan into gear. I got Conrad’s books out of the car, brought his laptop downstairs, and set up the kitchen like a study room. I plugged in lamps, stacked books and binders according to subject, put out pens and paper. Last, I brewed a big pot of coffee, and even though I didn’t drink coffee, I knew mine was good, because I brewed a pot for my mother every morning. Then I took Jeremiah’s car and drove to McDonald’s to pick up cheeseburgers. They loved McDonald’s cheeseburgers. They used to have cheeseburger-eating contests and they’d stack them up like pancakes. Sometimes they let me play too. One time, I won. I ate nine cheeseburgers.

I let them sleep an extra half hour—but only because it took me that long to get things set up. Then I filled up Susannah’s spray bottle, the one she’d used to water her more delicate plants. I sprayed Conrad first, right in the eyes.

“Hey,” he said, waking up right away. He wiped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt, and I gave him another spray just because.

“Rise and shine,” I sang.

Then I walked over to Jeremiah and sprayed him, too. He didn’t wake up though. He had always been impossible to wake up. He could sleep through a tidal wave. I sprayed and sprayed and when he just rolled over, I unscrewed the top of the bottle and poured the water right down the back of his T-shirt.

He finally woke up and stretched his arms out, still lying down on the floor. He gave me a slow grin, like he was used to being woken up this way. “Morning,” he said. Jeremiah might have been hard to wake up, but he was never a grouch when he finally did.