June, 1955
The dust here didn't settle. When Ethan thrust his bag onto Aunt Cara's driveway, a lazy cloud of dirt meandered into the air and stayed there, lapping gently about his ankles. Like everything else in this town, it seemed half immersed in slumber.
This was not at all like home.
Ethan stood still with his thumb on his brow, squinting at the afternoon sun and the white paneled house below it. His muscles, tight and tired from a long drive spent sandwiched between his two younger siblings in the backseat of his dad's Mercury, seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. His stomach, on the other hand, was filled with burning coals. He fought the urge to run.
"Give me a hand with this, would you?" Ethan turned to see his dad, knees braced against the bumper, raindrops of sweat inching down his forehead as he struggled to haul a box of records from the truck.
"Were these really necessary?" he asked, dropping the box onto the sleepy earth.
Ethan winced at his dad's carelessness, but stepped over his suitcase and lifted the records with ease. "You're shipping me off to Nowheresville for practically three whole months," he reminded, an edge in his voice. "I need my vinyl or I'll go crazy."
His dad exhaled loudly, but made no comment. Through the open car window, Ethan saw a look of disapproval slip across his mother's face. He ducked his head.
"Anyway," he muttered, hefting his collection in his arms. "I'll go ahead and bring this inside, make sure they're home." No sooner had the words left his lips than the front door was flung open and a plump woman with pale hair and paler eyes stepped out onto the porch with a wave and a grin like an open wound. Her stomach protruded far over the band of her skirt, revealing the final months of a pregnancy. Of course, Ethan remembered. Her baby was due at the end of the summer.
From behind him came a sudden chorus of "AUNT CARA!" and then Anthony and Sadie were leaping from the car, their tornado legs kicking up a storm of dust. The last time the twins had seen their aunt was nearly seven years before, when they were still in diapers, but they clung to her legs as if they had missed her all this time. Ethan, who had been nine at the time, had all but forgotten her face.
"Hey, hey." Aunt Cara laughed. Her voice rolled out in that smooth Southern accent that her brother had lost after two decades in Washington. She pressed Sadie's mousy hair back from her forehead and detached herself from their grips. "Hey, Andy."
"Cara." Ethan's father had made his way onto the porch and leaned over to pull his sister into an embrace. "Great to see you again."
"Hi, Aunt Cara," Ethan murmured, but stayed where he was.
His aunt's smile seemed to slip for a moment, and she cleared her throat, pausing too long with her fingers on her stomach before saying, "Come in, come in, and bring all that, Ethan."
The kids immediately dove toward the house, but their father's warning tone reined them back. "Anthony, Sadie, back in the car," he said firmly, pointing to the blue sedan. "I told you we wouldn't be long." They peered up at him with rosy cheeks so like his own, their bottom lips already beginning to tremble. He silenced a chorus of protests with a pointed look, and the twins moped their way back to the driveway.
"Trust me," Ethan muttered as they passed him, "I'd trade places with you in a second." Then he shook his head, repositioned the box, and forced himself to tackle the front porch.
"Are you sure Lydia and the twins don't want to come down, stay for dinner?" Aunt Cara was saying as Ethan approached. "I made enough casserole for everyone."
"Thanks, but we really shouldn't stay," his dad replied. "You know how it is around here. Everywhere we go, when people see Lyd—well, she just doesn't like it. And neither do I. We want to get back home as soon as possible."
Ethan frowned, noting his father's suddenly shifty eyes. Aunt Cara offered a sad smile.
"Well, would she like to come in, at least, have a glass of water?"
"That's all right, Cara. She said she'd wait in the car."
Ethan might have been mistaken, but at that moment, he skimmed his aunt's gray eyes and thought he saw relief.
"If she insists." She shrugged, then stepped back onto the threshold and held open the screen door. "Go ahead and bring that inside, Ethan." Sticking her head into the house, she called, "Rob, the Harpers are here! Show Ethan to his room, would you please?" A grunt sounded from somewhere inside. Aunt Cara's pained smile wavered once again. "Go on in," she said.
Ethan silently obliged, kicking his Chucks against the doormat before stepping inside. He found himself standing in a small, neat living room with a TV near the window running I Love Lucy on mute. The powder blue loveseat was empty. He glanced back over his shoulder, only to find that his aunt had already vacated the porch and was waddling over to help his dad unload his record player and luggage.
"Um," he said to the silent room.
"You must be Ethan," a deep, accented voice intoned. A tall man emerged from a doorway to Ethan's left, the Sunday paper in one hand and a glass of beer in the other. He slouched in a casual button-up, the barest beginnings of a pot belly stretching forward over the edge of his pants. There was no expression on his unshaven face and no shine in his blue eyes as he looked his nephew up and down.
"Uncle Robert?" Ethan asked hesitantly.
"That would be me," the man replied. "Come on."
Ethan had never met his uncle. When Aunt Cara had announced her engagement two years prior, only his father had made the trip from Washington to Alabama for the wedding. He was expecting someone warm, or at least mildly cheerful—not this grunting grouch. Nonetheless, Ethan followed his uncle through a bright kitchen and into a hallway, where a door stood open just in front of him.
"Your room," Uncle Robert said curtly, gesturing inside. He disappeared back into the kitchen once Ethan was through the doorway.
Lowering the box carefully onto the carpet, Ethan surveyed the room that would be his home until September. It was simple: twin-sized bed, window seat, desk, dresser. Not quite as much space as his room back home, but he figured he could lock himself up in here with some vinyl for hours on end and survive.
From back in the living room came the sounds of conversation as his dad greeted Uncle Rob; moments later, the two of them, along with Aunt Cara, appeared in the doorway. His dad held the record player in both arms, and Uncle Rob wheeled the suitcase behind him.
"Hope this is all right," Aunt Cara said, poking her head through the doorway. "Not too big or anything, but I'll tell you, it's comfy as can be."
"It'll be fine," Ethan and his father assured in unison.
Ethan took the record player from his dad's quivering arms and set it gently onto the desk as Uncle Rob rolled his case next to the bed. Aunt Cara surveyed the space in satisfaction. "Now, I know y'all can't stay long," she said, turning to her brother, "but do you want something to drink before you hit the road again? We've got some Cokes in the fridge if you want 'em."
"Well, I might just have to take you up on that." He followed his sister out of the room, leaving Ethan and his uncle alone. For a long moment, they just stood still, neither willing to meet the other's eyes.
Finally, Uncle Robert cleared his throat. "So," he said. "Your dad said you got in a little trouble back home, that's why you're here for the summer."
"I don't want to talk about it," Ethan muttered, examining the floor.
"Right. Well, I just want you to know, this town's got a history of trouble with...with your folk, and we don't want to see any of it happen again."
Your folk. Ethan frowned, eyeing his uncle in wary confusion. "I don't know what you mean."
"All I'm saying is, we expect you to be on your best behavior while you're staying here. No running around, wreaking havoc at all hours—none of that. The townspeople should barely even notice you're here."
Ethan remembered the sign they'd passed on the way in: Ellison, Alabama. Population, 734. He almost scoffed and said, "What townspeople?" but forced himself to nod. "Yes, sir."
Uncle Robert jerked his head in approval. "And another thing." He cleared his throat. "I don't think your father told you this, but you'll be working for me this summer. I own a malt shop downtown, and I've needed someone to take over the morning shift since the usual girl left town. That's going to be your job while you're here, Monday through Friday, nine A.M. to one. You can consider your rent. Earning your keep, and all."
Ethan groaned inwardly, the hot coals in his stomach suddenly ablaze as he cursed his bad luck, his overreacting parents, and stupid, reckless Samuel Hill. Ellison, Alabama could rot in hell for all he cared; all he wanted was to be in Arcadia, catching a movie with that cute girl Eleanor from down the block, maybe tossing around a ball with Bryan. Back home, the sun didn't try quite so hard, and when the dust was disturbed, it always found its way back to the ground. He didn't want to spend his summer in Ellison going stir crazy and busing tables at some job that wouldn't even land him a paycheck. He wanted to run and run and run until the worn soles of his sneakers found their way back home.
But for his uncle, he managed a weary smile as he repeated, "Yes, sir."
"Good," Uncle Robert said. There was still something hard about the look in his eyes.
Aunt Cara stuck her head back in just then, a frosty bottle of Coca Cola in her hand and that split-seam smile back on her lips. "Are you boys bonding?" she asked loudly. "That's great. Well, sorry to interrupt, but Ethan, your dad's just about to head out, you should say bye to everyone. Here, want a Coke?"
Ethan answered wordlessly by accepting the bottle of fizzing brown liquid and following her out the door. His father was waiting on the porch, clutching his own drink tightly in one fist. He regarded Ethan for a long moment, then held out his free hand.
"Be good, son," he said gruffly, as they shook. Ethan's eyes begged his father to let him go home. Andrew Harper seemed determined not to meet his son's gaze.
Ethan settled for a sigh and a quiet, "Bye, Dad."
As his dad said goodbye to Aunt Cara and Uncle Robert, Ethan made his way back to the car, where his mother and the twins sat waiting. He said goodbye to Anthony and Sadie first, leaning through the window to wave. They responded distractedly, too absorbed in a fierce game of Go Fish in the back seat.
Then, his mother. For most of the drive here, for most of the past month, really, she had been nearly silent. In all his sixteen years of life Ethan had never known his mother to be a woman of few words, but her disappointment had been enough to sew her lips shut. He was certain she would be glad to be rid of him.
"See you later, Mom," he mumbled, his eyes trained on the dusty driveway. He didn't expect a response through the rolled-down window, and the click of the car door opening jerked him upright. His mother stood, the top of her head barely reaching his nose, and pulled him tightly to her chest. Her warm sienna skin, which clashed so starkly with his father's fair complexion, was only a few shades deeper than his own. Their cheeks were pressed together, light brown against dark, and she whispered into his ear, suddenly and fiercely, "Don't let them change you."
She pulled away before Ethan could be sure he had heard it, and returned to the front seat without another word. He stared dizzily into the sun as his father approached, trying to remember if his mother had uttered those perplexing words at all.
It was too late now to ask, because his father had eased into the driver's seat and was already putting the car in gear. The twins clambered over each other, their cards scattering, to stick their barely tanned faces out the window and shriek their goodbyes to Aunt Cara. They ignored their brother, who was inching back toward the house.
"See you in September!" Aunt Cara called, and Ethan waved. His father waved back while his mother sat still, and they rolled out of the driveway and back onto the road. With a honk and a rev of the engine, they were gone, and Ethan was struck suddenly by all the days he had to clamber through until they returned.
The dust, disturbed by the tires, rose into his mouth and clawed at his eyes. It stayed there, suspended. So did he.