Icing on the Lake Page 7

  Sean and Brett came in and Sean crouched down in front of both of us. “You guys gonna be okay?” He started to unlace my skates, then Brett’s. “I’m off in like ten minutes. Can you wait for me? Then I can drive you guys home.”

  “You can…come for lunch,” I said between chattering teeth.

  “Sounds good. Put your feet right there.” He pointed to a heating vent in the floor. “Don’t move them until I get back.”

  “So, how were the hockey lessons?” Gretchen asked when we walked into the house. She was sitting on the sofa with her laptop computer.

  “The what?” Sean replied.

  I coughed and then cleared my throat. It wasn’t such a big lie I’d told, but I definitely didn’t want Gretchen to start harping on me about how I had to be more honest with her. “Brett’s hockey class,” I said. “See, I thought there was a class. But I guess I read the sheet wrong.”

  “Yeah, we have a league, for kids of all ages, but no official classes,” Sean told her.

  “We learned some things anyway,” I said. “Didn’t we, Brett?” Like how nice it is to skate with Sean and how he’s the perfect height for me. “Until we got a little on the frozen side. Then it wasn’t so fun.”

  “Kirsten, you never wear enough clothes,” Gretchen said.

  “Oh, really?” Sean smiled at me, as if that weren’t necessarily a bad characteristic to have. “Actually, I did notice that when she ran outside in her pajamas the other morning.”

  “And then she wonders why she’s never warm enough,” Gretchen said. “What do you think? Maybe she’s cold-blooded. Does that mean she’s cold-hearted, too?”

  “Oh, yeah. In fact not only am I cold and unfeeling, I’m a reptile, basically. Thanks, Gretch.”

  “Well, you did fall through the ice when you were two,” she reminded me—not that I had any memory of the event, just of this story being told every year at about the time everyone was asking, “Is the lake frozen yet?” I was like the poster child for waiting for a deep freeze before venturing onto questionable ice.

  “Think about it,” Gretchen said. “Maybe that has something to do with the fact you can’t keep warm, Kirst.”

  Or, maybe it’s the fact that I am Cursed, I thought.

  “You did?” Sean asked. “Let me guess. Were you trying to learn how to skate?”

  I glared at him, but I couldn’t help smiling when I saw the look he was giving me. Half amused and half flirty. “It was the pond near our house. I think Gretchen was the one who thought it’d be a nice idea to teach me how to skate even though the ice wasn’t thick enough yet.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not blaming this on me,” Gretchen said with a laugh. “You ran out onto the ice. No one could stop you. Then we heard this awful cracking noise.”

  “Sounds like something Brett would do,” Sean commented.

  “Doesn’t it, though?” I agreed. “We must share the same genetic adventure…ous…ness.”

  We both looked at each other and grinned. He seemed interested. Was he, though, or was he just being friendly?

  There was no way I’d find out with Gretchen and Brett around. It was hard to really talk with Gretchen sitting right there. Couldn’t she tell we needed some alone time?

  But no. She refused to move off the living room couch from the hours of 9 A.M. to 9 P.M., making privacy a little difficult. She was starting to learn all the TV schedules. She knew soap opera plotlines. She’d seen all the TLC makeover shows at least twice.

  “I wonder if we could go somewhere maybe like…without Brett sometime,” I said. I looked meaningfully at Gretchen. She didn’t respond.

  “You know what would be fun? Before school starts again and I get totally busy, a bunch of us could go skiing at Buck Hill or something,” Sean said.

  “That sounds perfect—”

  “No way,” Gretchen interrupted me.

  “Yes way,” I said, looking at Sean. Did she seriously think I couldn’t have one afternoon off to go out with Sean?

  “I’m telling you, Kirst, don’t go skiing. You’ll break something.”

  “No, I won’t. What do you think, because you broke your leg skiing at Lutsen, I’m going to break mine?” I asked.

  “And if you break your leg, too, we’re going to be in such deep trouble—” she went on, not even listening to me.

  “I wouldn’t!” I cried.

  “Kirsten. You’re not the best skier. Be honest.”

  I couldn’t believe her. Why was she trying to shoot me down in front of Sean all the time? She thought it was funny, but it wasn’t. “What? There’s nothing wrong with my skiing.”

  “Remember the time you wiped out going down Lutsen Mountain and you nearly impaled yourself on a rock, and Mom and Dad had a heart attack?”

  I glared at her. Did she have to tell every embarrassing story in the world about me to Sean? “Gretch? I was seven. It was the bunny run.”

  “Still.” Gretchen started laughing. “Your legs wrapped around you three times. You looked like a pretzel. See, Kirsten was super tall and skinny for her age. Her legs practically went up to here.” She tapped her shoulders.

  Sean looked at me and smiled, and I sort of sank down on the sofa, trying to look shorter. I am not all out of proportion, I wanted to say. My body has all the necessary parts now. I went through some major growth spurts, okay?

  He was looking at me with a kind of knowing smile. “You still have long legs,” he said.

  “Come on, Sean. Let’s go to the kitchen and make lunch,” I said. “You’re probably hungry and I know I am. And so is Brett.”

  “I’ll have a salad!” Gretchen called to us before she turned the volume back up on the TV.

  “Which you can make yourself,” I muttered. “The great thing about my big sister is how incredibly supportive she can be,” I said as I got some bread, cheese, turkey and other fixings out of the fridge.

  “What do you mean?” Sean asked.

  I shook my head. “She just—like, she still has to get her shots in. Like we’re still kids or something.” But that didn’t make sense, since we’d never really been kids at the same time, had we? Not exactly, anyway. Was she making up for lost time, since she couldn’t exactly pick fights with me when she was eight and I was two?

  “Okay, so if she’s dead set against me skiing, that doesn’t mean we can’t do something else,” I said. “How about tomorrow? I mean, I was going to ask if you were, you know, free.”

  “In the afternoon I am,” he said.

  “Okay, so how about like, ah…”

  “How about something indoors?” Sean said. “Since we don’t want your frostbite to kick in again.”

  “That would be bad, wouldn’t it?” I smiled, thinking that I liked the sound of “indoors.” Was I supposed to suggest snuggling on the sofa at his house and watching a movie? There was a fine line between being a flirt and sounding desperate. I’d never had a chance to cross the line, myself, but I’d seen others sprint past it.

  “Well, not to do the typical out-of-town visitor thing, but have you been to the Mall of America yet?” Sean asked.

  I nodded. “Sure, a few times, but I can always go again. That sounds fun.” I’d have to make sure I didn’t mention it to Gretchen, or she’d insist on coming along. She couldn’t resist the pull of the mall.

  “We could walk around, maybe go to a movie. I have hockey practice all morning and a game at night. How about three o’clock or something like that?”

  “Perfect,” I said. “I’ll just clear it with Gretchen and then—”

  “Clear it?” he asked. “What, is she like in charge of you?”

  “No! No, of course not,” I said. “It’s just that I’m sort of in charge of taking care of Brett. Since she can’t move around as quickly as Brett does.”

  “No one can,” Sean joked. “He can be out the door and across the street before you even blink.”

  “Exactly!” I said. “He’s very fast. So I’ll just make sure she know
s she has to be here—set him up with a video or whatever.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, settling into a stool at the kitchen counter. “So what kind of sandwiches are you making?”

  I grinned. “Grilled. Hot. Something like that. You like cheese? Turkey and cheese?”

  “Make three for me, okay?” Sean turned on the TV in the kitchen and quickly found a college basketball game to watch. I handed him a bag of potato chips that I’d stashed in an out-of-the-way cabinet so that they didn’t tempt Gretchen.

  After I put four sandwiches together and put them onto the panini grill, I quickly threw a small salad together for Gretchen. I carried the bottle of low-everything dressing in for her, with a PB&J sandwich for Brett.

  “Did you ask him to look after me when I was here, or something?” I asked her in a low voice as I set the food on the coffee table in front of her.

  “No. What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. Never mind,” I said. I just wanted to make sure that whatever was happening…was happening because it could. Not because it should. “Enjoy your lunch!”

  When I went back into the kitchen, Sean was polishing off the bag of chips. I grabbed a couple of sodas from the fridge and handed him one. Somehow I had a feeling that my lunch would be a lot more fun than Gretchen’s.

  Chapter 7

  More snow, I thought as I was standing by the front door, looking out at Sean at the end of the driveway. Already this winter it had snowed more than last year, and it was still early January. Should I write a thank-you letter to Mother Nature? Or to the KARE-11 meteorologist who had forecast it the night before, giving me fair warning to get up early and be dressed this time?

  Gretchen came up behind me as I was standing there, and nearly scared me to death. “Why don’t you see if he wants a hot chocolate?” she asked.

  I nearly jumped. I had been so absorbed in thinking about Sean and what to do that I hadn’t even noticed her or heard her footsteps—or crutch steps. “What?”

  “Well, it’s cold out there. I had to farm out the shoveling. But now that you’re here, I guess I can cancel it—I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  “No!” I nearly cried. “Don’t fire him. I mean, uh, my arms—they’re not that strong. And what if we get one of those blizzards where it takes the entire morning to clear the drive—”

  “You’ve really turned into a worrywart since I left home,” Gretchen interrupted my raving.

  “What? Me? No,” I said.

  “Well, then, if I didn’t know better, I could swear you have a crush.”

  “No, I don’t,” I protested. “Still, out of the kindness of my heart, I will go make him a hot chocolate, I think.”

  I put the teakettle on the stove to boil, and then I went upstairs and brushed my hair again, and pulled my favorite hat over it, positioning it just so. I stopped in the bathroom to brush a little blush onto my cheeks. Then, back downstairs in the kitchen, I stirred the hot chocolate in a plastic, commuter mug, tossed in some mini marshmallows, and snapped on the lid.

  I took a deep breath, summoned my inner flirt, and went outside. I decided to sneak up on Sean. I’d decided the night before that it was time for me to make my move—if this was the New Year, New Kirsten thing, what was I waiting for? Besides, I needed to hook up with him soon if I was going to invite him to the cabin.

  I quietly walked up behind him, and as he paused to rest the shovel for a second, I reached around and put my hands over his eyes. It wasn’t easy to do while I held a mug, believe me, but I managed.

  “Guess who,” I whispered, leaning closer to him.

  “What the—” He wriggled to turn around, but I had him kind of stuck.

  “And guess what,” I said. “I made you hot chocolate!”

  Suddenly he ducked, scooting out from under my arms. When he whirled around, his face expressing complete and total shock, I nearly fell over backward. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “What are you here for?” I said. “You’re—not Sean.” It was the bakery guy. The Zublansky’s supermarket guy. The everywhere-I-go guy.

  “Nope. I’m Sean’s brother.” He cleared his throat. “We have this mowing and shoveling business together. Not that it’s much of a business, I mean, it’s really part-time and it’s not like I plan to do it much longer—”

  “You’re Sean’s brother,” I finally murmured.

  “Yup.” He chipped at some ice on one square of the sidewalk, where melting ice always collected and re-froze because it wasn’t quite flat. “So, is that how you usually greet Sean when he comes over to shovel the sidewalk? A little hug, a little—”

  “No!” I said emphatically. “No. Not at all. Never in fact.”

  He gave me a suspicious look. “So what made today different?”

  “I…well, see….” This was too impossible to explain and too stupid to lie about. I’m turning over a new, um, leaf? With your brother’s name on it? Ew.

  “So if you don’t greet Sean that way, you must have known it was me, then,” he said.

  “What? Shut up, I did not.” I shoved him, not realizing that he was on a slippery spot and he slid backward into one of the juniper bushes, nearly landing in it.

  “You’re kind of a dangerous person, aren’t you?” he said as I backed away, apologizing.

  As Conor was getting up, I started thinking how so many things made sense now that I knew they were brothers. Why I saw them both at the skating rink that day. Why I’d bumped into Sean outside the bakery—he was probably going to see Conor. So far I’d never really seen them both in the same place at the same time, except that first day at the lake.

  They were this whole Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing. One was sweet and nice, the other gruff and insulting. And now that I knew it, I could see that of course they were brothers. They both had the same hazel eyes.

  “You’re not like…twins or something. Are you?” I asked.

  “Twins? Do we look like twins?” he asked.

  “Well. You could be fraternal twins,” I said.

  “No. We’re hardly even related.”

  “Oh. You mean, you have different parents, or something?” I asked.

  “No, we’re just not related. In my mind, anyway.” He smiled a little.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “My brother’s okay. I wouldn’t put him at the top of the family tree or anything.”

  “Well, no, that would be awkward, that would mean he’s your great-grandfather.”

  His eyebrows looked slightly pinched as he thought about that.

  “Sean didn’t tell you about me? That I was staying here?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “And he definitely didn’t tell me you were on a hugging basis,” Conor said.

  “We’re…” We’re not, I was going to say, but that sounded stupid. Also, we were, some of time—at least we’d semi-hugged when we skated together. Why should I explain that to him, anyway?

  But why hadn’t Sean mentioned me? Maybe they weren’t close. I didn’t see how they couldn’t be, though, considering they had to be like a year apart in age.

  “You were saying?” Conor prompted as my voice trailed off, not finishing my sentence.

  “Nothing. I mean, I’ve gone skating with Sean. Seen him at the rink. You know, like that.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t usually come over here.” He didn’t sound happy about the fact he had to see me. “I have the other side of the neighborhood.”

  “Is that the good side or the bad side?” I asked.

  He just looked at me for a second, as if he were making up his mind about that.

  “Look. You want some hot chocolate or not?” I demanded. “‘Cause it’s getting cold.”

  “No thanks,” he said. “Nice offer and all.” He raised his eyebrows, and I realized that I’d been a little rude.

  “Sorry. I—I guess I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Yea
h, I know how that is. Anyway, I have to get to the bakery pretty soon.”

  “Ah. Yes. The bakery.” I nodded.

  “You coming by later?” Conor asked, still using an ice pick to chip away the solid slippery spots. He was doing a much more thorough job than Sean had. Then again, I’d interrupted Sean with my pajama-streaking moment.

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. Kind of busy today.”

  “Busy?” He looked up.

  “Yeah. Lots to do. Tons,” I sighed. Like get over the fact I just tackled Sean’s brother.

  “Yeah, writing those IMs can be draining,” he commented with a smile.

  I couldn’t stand his smug attitude. “Actually, Sean and I might be going to the Mall of America,” I said.

  “Ugh. What a horrible way to spend a day. A life. A couple hundred million dollars in construction.”

  Not that he had an attitude about malls or anything. I decided not to tell him that I kind of agreed, that I wasn’t a huge mall fan, either. “So. Where’s your house again?” I asked.

  “Over there. See, up two blocks that way?” Conor pointed to and described a beige stucco Tudor-style house with deep red trim that sat on the corner. There was a slight curve at the end of the street, so I could see the house from the end of the driveway.

  “That looks nice,” I said. I stared at it long enough to commit it to memory—just in case I wanted to drop by sometime. Not that I would. Not after I’d just tackled Conor.

  “Well, see you later. Have a good day.”

  “Yeah. You too,” he said. “Look out for the Mighty Axe.”

  I turned around to look at him. “The what?”

  “It’s a ride that got stuck a few times at Camp Snoopy,” he said, referring to the amusement park inside the Mall of America. “People had to hang upside down for a while. Unless you like that kind of thing.”

  I laughed. “Thanks for the tip.”

  I trudged back up to the house and let myself inside. I dumped the lukewarm hot chocolate in the sink and made myself a fresh, hot cup in the same mug. Then I collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, where Gretchen was reading the morning paper.