Summerstorm

Summerstorm

By Juanita Jones Neff

Copyright 2017 Juanita Jones Neff

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Summerstorm

Aha! Gotcha! Daydreaming again?

Janine jumped and whirled around, scowling at the lanky boy standing across the counter from her. Sean Connelly! Don’t come sneaking up on me like that!

Sneaking? I’ve been here for the last ten minutes. Already taken care of the pop machine, making all the usual noise. You’ve been standing there acting brain dead. Something’s the matter and I’d like to know what it is.

Nothing, Janine answered. At least nothing that is any of your concern. She bit her lower lip and turned back to open the large ice cream cooler. Staring down, she told him, "I’ll need another five gallons of Maple Nut, unless something else starts trending this week. Maybe you better bring in another Strawberry, too, this one is almost empty. Why don’t you just stack that extra pop in the back room while I figure out what we’re gonna need for the weekend? The kids are leaving Witchicoma Camp Friday afternoon. They have been eating healthy all week according to the Sentinal and will no doubt need to catch up on some junk food. Double the chips, too. Same variety as usual though."

Sean stood staring at her with a puzzled expression for a few moments before turning away and trundling his pop trolley behind the curtained partition to the rear. He began to noisily unload more supplies, lifting the empty crates onto his cart and pushing it past Janine, along the carpeted aisle and then out through the back door. He let the door slam behind him, loudly, on its tight spring.

Fine, Janine thought. He’s going to pout about me giving him orders instead of chatting with him for ten minutes first.

She craned her neck to peer through the screen across the room, catching a glimpse of his huge truck dominating the alley. She heard him whistling some unrecognizable tune while rearranging his cargo. Whistling. Well, he couldn’t be too out of sorts, she thought, which was good because she did like him. He made the slow times of a midweek morning fly past with his humorous stories about his route and news about their mutual friends also slaving away at summer jobs.

Thus reminding herself that she also had tasks to do, she forced herself to concentrate on listing the innumerable items she needed to replenish the candy bins in the glass counter. She knew the list, long as it always was, pretty much by heart, so she was finished and leaning with her elbows on the counter when Sean reappeared.

He stood for a moment watching her stare into the shadows across the big room, before asking, You got that list ready for me or not? Or I guess I can stand here watching you watch your ice cream melt.

Janine gasped. Oh, no! she yelped, leaning down into the big glass cooler and peering into the strawberry container. She touched the edges of the adjacent containers. The vanilla is softening, too. Mr. Bishop is going to have a fit.

Let me see. Sean slouched over to Janine and peered into the cooler. There’s hardly anything in either one. Just pop ‘em out and I’ll put in new ones.

Mr. Bishop knows to the spoonful how much ice cream should sell out of each container. Besides, I don’t like to try to fool him, even though he’s not going to fire me or anything like that over a few inches of ice cream.

You bet he’s not going to fire you! You bring in half their business just being here, and I remember Mrs. Bishop was your Ma’s best friend.

Janine flushed and tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. I think I do everything I’m supposed to do here and more. I don’t expect special treatment from the Bishops.

Sure, sure, I know you work hard. I didn’t mean anything. I didn’t want to upset you, make you cry.

Janine blinked the tears away and sniffed. Sorry. You didn’t, not really, it’s just that today’s my birthday and I am missing Mom even more than usual. Besides, I do feel guilty for taking a lot of time off for swim practice. But you know Mr. Bishop prides himself on supporting all the school teams. As long as I am on the swim team and we are doing well, he doesn’t mind my taking off for meets and practices. On the other hand, I don’t suppose he likes having to get a sub for my shift, even if Evelyn Bishop fills in for me when she feels like it. I have to do right by them.

Speaking of time off, I’m surprised you’re working today, it being your birthday and all. Didn’t you say last week that you were going up to the cabin with your dad, maybe have some of the neighbors up there in for barbecue. Actually, I was hoping to get an invitation myself. Those steaks your dad fries up are lip smacking good.

No one was invited, for steaks or anything else. Dad said that since I was going away to school in the fall, we should do something special. He bought a lot of tickets to shows in Vegas, reservations at restaurants he likes and stuff like that. It’s the National Rodeo Week there, you know, and Dad has some livestock in the Rodeo Stock Association. It’s not usually scheduled on the same day as my birthday, though, but this year it is.

Oh. Too bad for me, but why aren’t you in Vegas, then? Are you mad because the trip isn’t actually on your special day? I know you have always maintained that presents can’t be opened or celebrations celebrated unless it is the actual day. I remember once when you were a kid saying everyone would start celebrating holidays whenever they felt like it and nobody would know when the actual day should be celebrated. My Mom laughed when I told her that. She said all holidays should be on a Monday so there would always be long weekends involved.

Boy, I said a lot of things when I was a kid, I guess, Janine said with a grimace. People keep reminding me and chuckling. They never want to let a person put things behind them when they grow up. I don’t need to have a cake every year any more. I don’t like rodeos anymore and I don’t live to see all the new electronics at the technical show going on there at the same time. I never thought it was the top of Dad’s list either, before now.

I bet it isn’t. I bet he’s taking you to Vegas to shop for clothes. All parents think a freshman has to have all new clothes of a certain preppy type in order to fit in. I know that my mom made lists of stuff for Lisa when she went off to school. When she found them in a drawer, unworn, while packing Lisa up for the summer the following spring, she was really ticked off. But she couldn’t help herself last fall when I left for school. I had to have a white shirt, tie and a V-neck sweater in order to have at least one proper outfit. I only wore it once, on Parent Orientation Day. Then the laundry machines in the basement of the dorm took care of the problem. Someone warned me that the dryer would dry a rug in ten seconds on delicate. Seems like it could.

That’s awful, Sean. You could have given them to Goodwill. That’s a lot of money to throw away. But, no. Dad never goes shopping for clothes with me. We visit my Aunt Ginny in Seattle for me to go on shopping sprees. I’ve mentioned that she owns a boutique store there with some really cool stuff, but it’s mostly for kids younger than I am now. I wear tees and jeans almost all the time, so the last couple of times we were there, I admired a top and she wrapped it up and gave it to me as a present. Dad told her we can’t shop there if she’s going to give her stuff away. They both laughed, except me because I felt too old to shop there already. Anyway, I suppose she will think Dad was serious and she will have hurt feelings. Families are so complicated.

Tell me about it! We don’t do much bickering, though, because it always meant extra chores if the parental units got tired of our acting out when we were younger. We got used to working things out between ourselves, in a quieter way.

Janine smiled, a dimple slightly denting one cheek, at the thought of the lively Connelly household. His parents were hardworking farm people on a stone-dappled hillside just outside of town.

Clinton City was not actually a city, in fact, but a resort village, providing services to the surrounding ranches and the occasional tourist during the summer months. In winter, however, the trickle of tourists turned into a flood of skiers seeking to test their skills against the wonderful, fearful peaks of the Rocky Mountains. World-renowned ski slopes and plentiful powder gave vibrant life to Clinton City during the ski season.

Ski gear shops, locked and shuttered during summer, blossomed like flowers along Main Street, alternating with restaurants with varying reputations, their menus tacked to easels outside their doors. Several fast food establishments also vied for customers with brilliant signs and loud sidewalk music. There was also music to be heard flowing from the dance pavilion every night instead of just on alternating Friday and Saturday nights during the summer.

Come winter, Bishop’s Recreation and Ice Cream Parlor would take a back seat to other establishments more desirable to the transient population. However, being among the few year-round businesses in Clinton City, Bishop’s became the place to hang out for the native sons and daughters in the off season.

How is the summer going for everybody? she asked. I haven’t seen many Connellys in town for a while.

Don’t change the subject. We’re discussing how you are. What’s causing such a bad mood on your very own birthday?

If you have to know, Dad didn’t cancel our plans for a trip to Vegas, I did. Her lips tightened. I told him that with the team having another meet next week, I couldn’t take any time off from practice. He talked to Coach and found out that we were having a short vacation from practice for a juvenile swimming camp. Then he accused me of not going to Vegas because we would be meeting Melanie there. He accused me of being jealous because he was including her in the dinners and shows he had reservations for. He told me to be as grown up as I thought I was and be more hospitable to Melanie. Hospitable! And I am not jealous! I just can’t stand her.

Never heard of her. Who is she?

Some woman who is trying to get her hooks into Dad, Janine answered.

Yo! That sounds hospitable! Sean laughed. So maybe your dad wants to get back into circulation after being alone for, well, for quite a long time now, isn’t it?

Janine tightened her lips grimly, then sighed. You just don’t know anything about it. Dad hasn’t been exactly alone. He went to Vegas lots of time to see her all last winter. She is the Events Director for some center on the outskirts of the city, where they have the indoor bull riding and things like that. She doesn’t represent the rodeo people, per se, but still she got in touch with Dad anyway, during last year’s rodeo.

How’d she get in touch with him? Did he know her before your, ah, I mean how did he meet her?

She’s the daughter of those folks who bought the Roadside Refresher. You know, the café-gas station in that little bunch of buildings alongside the road up into the pass on the way to our cabin. It was a retirement thing for them, but Dad says they didn’t realize it would be year round hard work, so the old folks didn’t get the traveling and relaxing they had planned on getting. Melanie, Dad calls her Mellie, has been coming up there regularly to help her folks out. We had been stopping in that little store for as long as I can remember when we needed a few supplies. Of course, when it got sold, Dad met Melanie. Now he has to stop there every time we drive past. Lately, if I don’t want to go or can’t go to the cabin for some other reason, he checks on the Senior Anders and, they, of course, have to report to him on Melanie. There is no land line up in the cabin and cells have no service, so I’ve always thought it’s okay for the people at the pass to know when there were other people going up the mountain in case of fire, bad storms or stuff like that. But now I have begun to think that he wants to tell her when I’m not going to be around.

It does begin to sound like you may be having a visit from the green-eyed monster. You’re used to being the only person to be considered and now you’re afraid you’re not.

Janine blushed and her ears burned red.

Sean held up his hand. I see that you’re both embarrassed and mad. Your ears are red, along with your face, like they always get when you’re ticked off. You could use a burka to cover your face, you’re so easy to read. I bet your dad knows exactly how you feel and he’s trying to get you and this Melanie acquainted. You could see some shows, eat some good food, go to some of those events she might have booked, attend the bull riding…well, maybe not that for you, but I sure would like to spend a weekend with all that going on. Thank goodness my folks are still hale and hearty, but if one of them was gone, I’d like to see the other find a friend, or whatever, and go on with life.

Ha! You don’t know what you would feel if things were that way, and even if you did, you would want it to be someone you could stand. I don’t like her and Dad knows it. I’ve told him right out. You should see her shining up to him, hanging on every word. She has even come to swimming meets once in a while. With Dad, of course. But not to watch the swimming. She talks to him, whispers in his ears and giggles. He listens and giggles, too. Can you imagine my dad giggling? They drive to all kinds of places around here, little towns that have fairs and centennials or whatever. Even dances. I don’t know what all. Sometimes they invite me along. I never go. Now Dad’s gone to Vegas without me. He’s got an extra ticket he’s wasting for everything, all because he didn’t ask me if I wanted to go.

Seems like somebody’s wasting them anyway.

Are you listening to me or not? I’ve always counted on you to listen to whatever I need to tell someone about my life, and I’ve trusted you to keep what I say to yourself. I don’t have a bunch of siblings to talk to like you have. I have to always be cheerful for the Bishops, for the team and the customers. I don’t want people gossiping about my business, or to think they know all about me because Mrs. Bishop ‘visits’ with the ladies in her women’s clubs.

Okay, okay, I get it. You don’t like her. Your dad does, and you don’t like that, and are mad as hell. That about it?

You can make a joke of it because it isn’t happening to you. She gushes, for one thing. I don’t like gushing people. What are you supposed to say to them, when they go on and on about something dumb in the first place? When she gushes, she takes hold of my arm and leans over toward me and says things in a real confidential way, like we are sharing a secret or something. Then she laughs. I hate it when she laughs after every sentence.

I can see how that would really tear you up, Sean commented in a dry tone of voice. I’m guessing she laughed once too often.

I’ve only got one parent, Sean, and no other family, even cousins living close, so Dad means a lot to me, his happiness, I mean. I have tried to get him to ask a ton of women out and he was never interested. Now he’s acting silly over a woman I told him I didn’t like the first time I ever saw her up at the store.

I’m not laughing at you. Just trying to cheer you up. I bet your dad is worried about being all alone out there at the ranch and is getting his head around the fact that you are leaving.

He’s never alone at the ranch. There’s the ranch hands and the wranglers, neighbors and Mrs. Dunwoody who’s been there since I can remember.

Com’on, Janine! This is weird. Employees are not the same thing. You’re right about this not being any of my business, but I don’t see why your dad dating a lady he likes is altogether yours either. You should give him a break.

But it’s my birthday! Janine burst out. And he just handed me this package and said, ‘You can use this at school or here whenever that tower gets done. If you’re sure you won’t come, I’ll get on the road.’ He patted me on my head and left.

Let’s dish up a sundae each, use up that soft ice cream, and open that package. I’ll sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and you can tell old man Bishop you had a birthday party here and used up a few ounces of ice cream. Ask him what he wants you to pay him for it. He’s one hundred percent going to say forget about it. All problems solved.

Janine laughed in spite of herself. Sean, you’re a natural born devious person. I have already opened the package. She reached under the counter to a shelf and held up a cell phone loosely nestled in bright box with colorfully printed paper. See. He probably had Melanie buy it and bring it up here from one of the electronics shows she schedules.

And that’s why you hate it.

I don’t really hate it, Sean, but I sure can’t use it until fall when I’m in Bozeman or at least until that tower on the mountain side of town gets finished. It’s been just hulking half done out there for a week now. Maybe it will never be finished.

They’re waiting on the next crew, Sean said. There are crews that do the high work on top of skyscrapers and towers. They are called steeplejacks. It’s very specialized, high paying work. But dangerous. With the mountain going straight up from our little valley here, they will be really high up when the tower is finished. That’s so the signal will be useful for the rangers in the mountains to the north.

Sean whistled, hefting Janine’s new phone on the palm of his hand. This looks first rate. It’s really sleek. It looks like a girly phone, though. I bet your dad’s lady friend did pick it out.

She called me, you know. Or at least she pretended to. Well, I guess you wouldn’t know, but she called the ranch and pretended she called to talk to me, but she seemed surprised to have me actually answer the phone. It was an odd time for me to be there. I only stopped to pick up some more of my things to bring to town. She didn’t really have much to say, either. Just asked me a bunch of ridiculous questions, which I didn’t answer, so then she asked to speak to Dad. He was out loading horses, but I ever so politely offered to give him a message. She said it was nothing important and she would call back. Then she added that she was really looking forward to the weekend. The weekend. She was coming! And then she laughed!

I bet you loved that! interjected Sean.

Janine ignored him and went on. "When Dad came into the house, I told him that I didn’t think I should miss any more practices. That I would rather go to the cabin if there was any time left over from working and swimming. He scowled at me and said he would talk to the Coach and Mr. Bishop. I told him not to do that, I didn’t want to be the spoiled member of the team who wouldn’t cooperate. He got all red and said, ‘spoiled, indeed. Pack a suitcase and be ready to go when I get to Bishop’s house Thursday morning. It’s going to be a long weekend, you better take a suitcase instead of your backpack. Put in a skirt. I have some reservations for some nice places.’

"I said, ‘But Dad, I am not going. I’ve been taking too much time off.’ He said, ‘Better get back to town then if you need to put in some extra hours.’

So, when he stopped at Bishop’s and Mrs. Bishop said I was here working, he came in here in a bad mood. He said, ‘Where’s your suitcase? Evelyn said she would find someone to fill in.’ I said, ‘I told you I was not going.’ Now I have to call Mrs. Bishop and make her all curious about our disagreement. I’ll tell her it was just a mix up in communication. She’ll ask a lot of questions. He said ‘tell her anything you want. I’m going to get on the road. Here’s your birthday present. I hope you have a good day.’ He gave me a quick hug and that pat on the head, then walked out, leaving this phone package on the counter.

After uttering the last words in a breaking voice, Janine pounded a fist on the counter.

Hey, said Sean. That’s glass. Break that and Mr. Bishop will certainly object. Even so, he slung his lanky arm around her shoulders and hugged her against him.

She leaned into his embrace for a second before pulling away, looking up at him with an embarrassed smile, brushing a few tears away with her hand. I get carried away sometimes… Her sentence trailed off and her eyes widened as she looked across the room.

Two men were standing just inside the door on the far side of the room across from the ice cream counter and on the other side of the pool table. One of the men still held the door half open and Janine saw the end of the bar and a leather stool through its opening. Each of them held a can, beaded with moisture, as they stood staring at Janine and Sean.

Janine blinked and swallowed. I’m sorry, she called across the room to them. Mr. Bishop doesn’t allow anybody to come in here from the bar. That door is supposed to be locked.

Well, it isn’t, said the younger of the two men.

Mr. Bishop doesn’t allow beer in here either, she said more firmly.

The young man turned his can around and pointed to the soft drink label. Not beer, he said, turning to Ace. Sorry, Ace, he said to his older companion, plucking the can of beer from his hand, you can’t have your beer. We came in here, he added, turning back, because the bartender wouldn’t believe my ID and kicked me out for being under age, even after I bought a pop. ‘Can’t be in the bar,’ he said. Mr. Bishop apparently has rules in there, too."

The younger man walked toward them with the graceful glide of a big cat. He seemed to be about the same height as Sean, but with wider shoulders and more rippling muscles visible beneath the white tee shirt he wore with faded jeans. His boots sported steel toes and were laced with leather thongs. A similar strip of soft leather tied back his shining blond hair into a pony tail which hung down between his shoulder blades. His eyes were blue, a pale shade, now shining with amusement. He surveyed Sean and Janine standing close together with one of Sean’s arms draped across Janine’s shoulder.

When he reached the counter, he swung one leg across a stool and seated himself with the same graceful manner as he walked. He set the sweating aluminum cans onto the speckled Formica countertop and leaned on his elbows, fingers laced beneath his chin.

His smooth appearance of controlled power and agility sent a thrill of apprehension mixed with admiration coursing along Janine’s nerves.

Mr. Bishop, she said firmly, owns this place and the saloon next door. He never allows anyone to come in here from the bar. He doesn’t allow anyone to bring alcohol in here either. She pointed at the can of beer which was making a small pool of moisture on the counter top.

He shrugged, hooked his heels on the chrome crossbar of the stool, raised his body far enough to see the waste container on the other side, and dropped the can into it. It landed with a thud, popping a little spurt of beer through the hole in the top. A few drops splashed against the counter and onto the floor. The pungent smell of beer rose into the air.

I just walked over here to get rid of it, he said, settling back onto the stool. He turned his head and looked into the ice cream cooler alongside the counter. Pink droplets of ice cream were trickling down and collecting onto the white enamel bottom.

Tell you what, he said, Ace ‘n me, we’ll have some ice cream. He looked over his shoulder. How about it, Ace?

The older man shook his head. Okay, just me then. I’ll have two scoops of strawberry. No cone. Put it in a fancy tall dish.

Janine walked away from Sean and moved behind the cooler. I...ah...we...the Strawberry is all gone, but we’ve got ten other kinds, she added brightly. There’s Maple Nut, Blueberry, Cookies and Cream, and...and, she was so flustered she was having trouble remembering all of the flavors.

Strawberry. Strawberry is the only kind I like. Isn’t that your boyfriend’s truck blocking the alley? He gestured toward the open back door. Hasn’t your Mr. Bishop got any rules about canoodling with your boyfriend while the ice cream melts?

Janine’s ears blazed and her flush shone through her tan. He’s not my boyfriend, she said quickly, and maybe too loudly. When she noticed Sean’s distressed look at such a firm denial, she added, He is my very best friend and I was telling him about, about some things that wouldn’t interest you anyway. Here, she said to Sean, are the lists I made of what we need. Better bring in the vanilla and strawberry first, and get the candy later.

Sean hesitated, glancing uneasily at the man seated at the counter and his companion still standing near the door. Finally he stepped forward, snatched the list from Janine’s fingers and grabbed the handles of his loading trolley, trundling it toward the back door.

Janine leaned into the cooler, reaching past the empty space, and tugged at the container of softening vanilla. It didn’t budge, so she pulled harder. It came suddenly free, causing her to stagger back, slopping melted ice cream onto her shirt where it clung to her ribs and breasts, outlining her body when she grabbed a segment of paper towel, scrubbing at the fabric until she glanced at the stranger. He was grinning at her. Catching her eye, he raised and lowered his eyebrows. She yanked the shirt away from her body and leaned forward into the cooler to wipe down the traces of melted ice cream. She could feel his eyes on her. Suddenly angry, she whirled to face him.

You can quit staring at me and making smart aleck remarks, she hissed at him. "You’re making me nervous and while Mr. Bishop