The Other Boy (3 page)

“What do you think?” Mom picked up a big canvas bag and glanced at her daughter. Her father was busily pulling boxes and bags out of the trunk and piling them on the ground.

Maddy chose her words carefully. “It’s … nice.

Little.”

Mom gave her an absentminded smile, but before Maddy could respond, she heard a crunching sound behind her. She turned to see a gray-haired man about her parents’ age appear around the side of the house.

“Fred!” Her father waved the man over. “Maddy, this is Fred Tighe, our business partner.”

“I’m glad to finally meet you, Maddy.” Fred smiled at her through his beard, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. His voice was quiet and gentle as he wiped his hand on his canvas work pants and held it out. Maddy shook the outstretched paw.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she said.

Fred turned to her father. “Bob, I want to take a look at the southwest irrigation ditch, if you have a moment.

I know you all just arrived, but darned if that hose hasn’t backed up and filled it in again.”

“Damn. Not that thing again. You know, I think if we try that black tubing …” The two men disappeared around the side of the house, Bob gesturing and talking animatedly, Fred nodding.

Mom was loading herself up with bags and a big box of groceries. “The front door key is buried in my bag somewhere, but the kitchen door’s open.”

“Why can’t we just pull the car around back?” Maddy asked. “That would be a lot easier than hauling all this stuff around.”

“Grab that suitcase, will you? We can’t pull the car around. The trees are too close—it won’t fit.”

“Mom, I have to pee so bad!”

“Well, go inside—take the suitcase with you. The bathroom’s upstairs. There’s only one.”

“What?”
Maddy couldn’t hide her unintentional indignation.

Mom straightened up and pressed her lips together.

She looked like she was about to say something but decided against it.

“Whatever!” Maddy said hastily. “What I meant was, great! I adore sharing a bathroom with my parents and assorted wildlife. Maybe Jasper the pig would like to move in also.”

“Perhaps he would. Why don’t you go back down the driveway and ask him?” Mom said calmly.

They heaved the bags and boxes around to the back, which was covered by another shady porch. A swing and an array of wooden rocking chairs dotted the yard.

Trellises stood against the sides of the house, covered in climbing roses. A large lawn spread out in a semicircle, surrounded on all sides by twisty grapevines. Clusters of lush purple grapes hung down. They looked delicious.

Ignoring her bladder, Maddy wandered over to the grapes and picked a few of the ripest. They were firm and smooth and covered with a hint of silvery frost.

Her mouth was already watering. She popped them into her mouth and bit down. Hot, sweet juice spurted onto her tongue. Mmm. Wow. They were more

intensely grape-y than anything she’d ever tasted. She glanced back at the house and carefully spat the thick skins and seeds onto the ground.

Maddy lugged her suitcase up the back steps and pushed open the screen door. She stepped into a little back hallway. She heard Mom already banging cabinet doors in a yellow-painted kitchen to her right. A steep wooden staircase extended up in front of her. She climbed the steps, listening to them creak under her feet.

The upstairs hallway was narrow, with a few rooms visible through their half-open doors. Maddy briefly took in the cream-painted walls, wide-planked hardwood floors, and sunlight pouring in through open windows.

She spotted the bathroom at the end of the hall and darted in. It was tiny, with just enough room for a pedestal sink, a toilet, and a huge old tub that looked like it was made of copper. The floor was covered with old-fashioned black and white hexagonal tiles. A dis-tressed old armoire painted shabby-chic white stood in a corner. Maddy thought longingly of the heated towel racks, three showerheads, and vast marble countertop of her private bathroom at home.

She turned on the water at the freestanding sink and stuck her hands underneath.
“Yowch!”
she yelped, and yanked her hands back, shaking off droplets of scalding water. Maddy glared at the sink. Two faucets. Of course this house would have a sink from like 1776 with sepa-rate faucets for hot and cold. She scowled and dried her hands on her sweatpants.

There were three other doors in the hallway besides the one leading to the bathroom. The first room had an antique rolltop desk pushed against a wall, an old sofa, and a bookcase overflowing with books and papers. A laptop sat on the desk.
That must be the room they’re using
as the vineyard office,
Maddy thought. She peeked into what must have been her parents’ room next. A big bed with an old brass headboard stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by a sea of boxes. Every room had funny slanted walls and low wooden ceilings. Maddy felt like she was on a ship.

There was only one door left, at the end of the hallway. “Is this end room mine?” Maddy called down the stairs to her mom, who was still clattering around in the kitchen.

“Yes, it is!” she called back.

A cool breeze blew against Maddy’s face as she walked in the door. Across the room, big glass doors leading to a balcony were flung open. The walls were a soft sage green. One wall slanted down almost to the floor. A little corner alcove held a built-in cushioned bench covered with pretty pillows. The polished wooden floors were bare except for a few woven rugs. A four-poster bed was covered with a green and white fern-patterned bedspread. There was a big, old-fashioned wardrobe in one corner and a white vanity table, the kind with a mirror on top, and a cushioned stool.

Maddie sat on the corner of the vanity table. What was she going to
do
here? Everything was so little and creaky and old. She felt caged in already. She stood and went over to the open doors. The green rows of grapevines stretched out for miles before her, with rolling grassy hills in the background, streaked here and there with bands of dark pine trees. Far away, on a hill, the tiny red dot of a tractor moved slowly across the landscape. Maddy couldn’t help thinking of the view from her room back in the city, with the bay spread out like a wrinkled blue sheet, the Golden Gate Bridge shrouded in fog, and the city crowded to the edge of the water.

She reluctantly dragged the big blue suitcase into her new room from the hall. She felt exhausted, like she’d been traveling for a week. Just that morning, she had woken up in her own huge bed on silky Egyptian cotton sheets, snuggled up under her plush brown duvet in her room, with its remote-control lighting and sleek stereo system. But now she was sharing a room with eight million mosquitoes and Lord knew what other wildlife. And there was no escape.

Maddy gathered up an armful of dresses and skirts, most of them still on the hangers, and started stuffing them into the wardrobe in the corner. It took about thirty seconds for her to fill up the hanging section.

She struggled to shove in a few more pieces, then stared first at the wardrobe and then at her suitcase in dismay.

She hadn’t unpacked even a quarter of the things she’d brought. Panting a little, she managed to shut the wardrobe door by hurling her shoulder against it. She stood back. The sleeve of a cashmere sweater was stuck between the door panels.

Maddy flopped onto the fluffy bedspread like a wet rag. “Ooohhh!” she moaned to the ceiling. “I am officially living my worst nightmare.”

When Maddy’s cell rang at dusk, she snatched it like it might magically transport her back to civilization and save her from morosely staring out at the gathering blue and purple shadows on the lawn.

“How’s the prison inmate?” Morgan crackled from the other end.

“Oh my God! I am
so
glad you called!” Maddy cried, sitting up in her chair and lowering her feet from the porch railing.

“Hey, don’t hold back or anything.” Morgan

laughed. “So, is it awful or what?”

Maddy stood and began pacing between the room and the porch, holding the phone in a death grip.

“There was a
pig
in the driveway when we drove up!”

She yanked the phone away from her ear to dull the shrieks of her friend’s raucous laughter. “Hey, you
could
be feeling sorry for me, you know,” she said.

Morgan chokingly pulled herself together. “I know,”

she said weakly. “It’s just that—come on. Madeline Sinclaire and a pig? Is he your new best buddy?”

“Very funny. And there’s only one bathroom, all the rooms are tiny, and my hideous parents have already sentenced me to manual labor.” Maddy flopped down on the bed and hung her head over the side. She stared at the rich brown floorboards and traced a little pattern with her index finger.

“Unbelievable. What’s the deal with this place? I mean, why are they so obsessed with it?”

Maddy heaved a gusty sigh. “It’s their
dream
,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They’ve talked about buying a vineyard for practically as long as I can remember. The owners of this place went bankrupt because of some sort of insider trading scandal last winter. So they sold it really cheap and now my parents are convinced making wine is their destiny or something. And apparently
I
have to be part of it.”

“Well, don’t worry. They can’t keep you up there for the whole summer, can they?”

Maddy laughed. “Why not? They can do anything they want.” She knew Morgan was just trying to make her feel better, but she couldn’t help her nasty mood.

“The party was hella fun, though,” Morgan reminded her. “Everyone’s saying it was the best one of the summer so far.”

Maddy smiled. “Thanks,
chica
.”

“And—”

Maddy sat up. “Wait, what’s that noise?” A steady
cheep, cheep, cheep
was coming from one corner of the porch. She got up from the bed.

“What? Maddy, is it a bear?” Morgan cried. She sounded genuinely scared. Maddy went out onto the porch and peered into the dark corner. The cheeping stopped as if on a timer.

“No, Miss Hysteria, it’s a cricket, not a bear. I’m not in the Yukon Territory.” She backed away a step.
Cheep, cheep,
cheep
. She moved forward. It stopped. Back.
Cheep.

Forward. Stop. “It’s majorly annoying, though,” she said as she retreated into her bedroom. The cheeping resumed, right on cue.

“Poor Mad—hey, I’ve got to go,” Morgan said.

“Kirsten’s on the other line. We’re all going to dinner in a few minutes.”

“Who’s going?” Maddy asked mournfully.

“Why are you torturing yourself ? The usual: Brian, Chad, Taylor, Sunny, me, and Kirsten. Don’t worry, we’ll get an extra chair for you.”

Maddy pushed her face into her pillow. “Thanks,”

she mumbled. “Bye.”

“Bye. I’ll call you.”

Maddy tossed her phone onto the bedside table and lay staring at the darkness.
Cheep, cheep, cheep
. She sat up and turned the light on. The cheeping stopped. She turned the light off and lay back down.
CHEEP,
CHEEP, CHEEP
. Maddy sat up again. “Shut up!” she yelled in the direction of the porch. The noise stopped for a moment, as if the cricket were considering its options, and then began again, deciding Maddy wasn’t worth listening to.
Of course,
Maddy thought.
Because
what I want doesn’t matter anymore
.

Maddy! Rise and shine, little bean!”

Maddy pulled the sheet over her head and

rolled onto her stomach. “Mmmff,” she moaned.

She could hear someone coming up the stairs.

“‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy …’” Mom’s voice grew louder as she entered the room.

Maddy lifted her head and clawed the sheet from her face. “Mom,
why
are you singing? What time is it?” She fell back into the comfortable embrace of her mattress and let her fingers graze the mosquito bites on her forehead. She had forgotten, of course, to close the doors to the porch last night.

“‘You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you, oh please don’t take my sunshine away!’ It’s six thirty, Sunshine.” Mom was wearing one of Dad’s button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of baggy khaki shorts. She strode over to the porch and leaned on the railing. “Ah! Just smell that Napa air! Isn’t this porch darling? You could sleep out here if you wanted.”

“Shhh,” Maddy whispered, turning over on her side and fluffing her pillow. “Right now I’m sleeping in here.

I’ll be down in a few hours. Can you shut the door when you leave?”

“Get up, get up! Dad and I have already had breakfast. We have a whole plan for you, so be downstairs in fifteen minutes, my lovely.” She left the door open behind her as she skipped out.

Maddy flopped onto her back and lay with her arm over her face.
Six thirty?
The woman was inhuman. And

“a whole plan” sounded suspiciously like it might include large amounts of lifting and sweat. Grumbling, Maddy heaved herself out of bed and wrestled a short white cotton dress out of the bulging wardrobe. She briefly considered a shower, but realized that no one would see her except for her parents and Fred. She pictured Brian pulling up the driveway in his gleaming SUV, grinning at her from behind his Oakleys.

“Hey, babe!” he’d call out. “I came up to rescue you!”

Maddy shook her head to dispel the image. The chance of Brian coming up to save her was about as high as the chance that her parents would actually let her spend another night alone in the next twenty years.

She pulled her hair up in a messy knot on top of her head and slipped her feet into a pair of Havaianas. Then she grabbed her huge sun hat from its nail on the wall and looked in the mirror. Ugh. Eyes puffy, face pale, so many mosquito bites that her forehead looked like the surface of Mars and … lo and behold, the start of a lovely zit smack in the middle of her chin. She ripped the hat off, tossed it on the bed, and stuck her sunglasses on her head instead. The last time she’d felt this gross was—actually, she’d never felt this gross.