Clover

There's no better way to confirm you're waking up on Newton Drive than the sound of Ms. McCleary and Mr. Gilford brazenly laying into each other on an early Sunday morning. All you need is a slightly opened window facing the main street, and unfortunately, my room was perfectly aligned to hear every exchange of the constantly bickering pair.

My ears perk up and I yawn into my hand, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. Joey and I stayed at the docks late into the night, and the fatigue of it has only slightly subsided from my hours of sleep. I still needed to get up early, so though I'm annoyed by the loud interruption, their fighting does have its benefits.

I move from my bed to perch on the edge of my window seat, gripping the sturdy handle and using all my strength to lift it up a notch.

Mr. Gilford and Ms. McCleary are both on their respective lawns across from each other. Mr. Gilford holds a water hose with a scowl on his face while Ms. McCleary's side profile holds a smirk as she grips her beloved chihuahua, peaches.

"I told you to keep your damn rabid chipmunk away from my house, Addison. Tell me why it's always crapping on my lawn and not yours? I know you've trained him to do it," Mr. Gilford says.

"I've done no such thing, Frank," Ms. McCleary replies. "Peaches has been trained to simply crap next to other crap. It's not my fault your lawn constantly looks like a mountain of feces."

Peaches leers his head towards Mr. Gilford, barking aggressively at him until Ms. McCleary gets him to settle down.

"Mountain of feces? That deformed rabbit is a mountain of feces. Here, let me wash him off for you." Mr. Gilford takes a few steps towards the street and lifts his water hose, spraying peaches, and as a result, Ms. McCleary from top to bottom. He keeps the hose lingering on Ms.McCleary's face, causing her to drop peaches and hold her arms up for cover. The strained scream she lets out is one of frustration more than pain.

Mr. Gilford eventually lets up and drops his hose, laughing his deep grogley laugh. On his face is a smile of content

Ms. McCleary wipes the water out of her eyes and spits some residue out of her mouth. "Fraaannnk! When I get my hands on you, lord help me." She runs to the side of her house and reaches for her water hose while Mr. Gilford makes a run for the steps up his house with as much speed as his 70-year-old body can muster.

Before he can reach the top, Ms. McCleary has already turned her hose on and unravels it enough to run across the street and hit Mr. Gilford straight on his back. He turns around and she keeps the hose on his face the same way he did to her, and soon, her laugh is just as boisterous, filled with the same contentment.

I shake my head, rising from my window seat to head for the shower. Ms. McCleary and Mr. Gilford have lived across from each other on this street for over thirty years and though they've always had tension, it's definitely escalated the last ten years after both becoming widowed. Nothing intentionally malicious, never straight up evil, just a continuous barrage of jokes, name calling, and pranks.

No matter how much they claim to hate each other, I think they live for these scuffles. A way to cope with children that have long grown up and moved away, a way to forget about the grief of their partners passing, a way to momentarily evade the loneliness I know they both try to hide.

After a quick shower, I get ready to start heading to Grandview. I'm scheduled to start work tomorrow, but all the employees have been called for a team meeting this morning.

Uncle Rick has already whipped up some breakfast when I make it downstairs. A pile of pancakes sits on top of a round dish on the counter accompanied with some scrambled eggs and a pitcher of orange juice.

His bedroom door was wide open and empty when I passed it, so he must be somewhere in the house. He never goes anywhere without telling me where he's headed and when he'll be back. I've tried hard to hide it over the years, but he can almost always sniff the anxiety off of me and so, he always writes a note.

"Good morning."I peer my head in and find him in his office, a spare bedroom across from the kitchen. He stares intently at the screen of his laptop where an empty word file is open.

"Morning, bug." He stays focused on his screen.

"Trying to whip up your next best seller?" I step closer into the room.

When we made coming here a yearly tradition, he started spending the summer writing children's books for a second stream of income. An old college roommate who works at a publishing house took interest in one of the dozen drafts he sent and after moderate success, Uncle Rick has been adding sequels to his series each year.

"It'll sell, but it won't be anywhere near the best sellers list." Uncle Rick says.

"Katie Lee's Adventures in Cameroon." I read the screen. "She's made it all the way to Africa. That girl has lived."

His series, Katie Lee's Adventures in, involves an inquisitive ten-year-old who finds a magic rock that gives her the ability to transport to any country during any time period of her choosing. Often after a history lesson from her parents or teachers, she goes back to her room, grabs her magic rock, and transports herself to an important period to witness a great event in a country's history. The series does well enough to get us through each summer, but not much else.

"She lives so we can eat," he sighs, rubbing his eyes and lets out a long winded yawn.

"You've spent all night staring at this screen, haven't you?" I study his five o'clock shadow.

"No, I went to sleep for two hours then woke up and made you some breakfast," he says.

"Well, let's have some of it together before I go to work."

I grab his arm and have to use a considerable amount of my weight to get him to move out of his seat. He gives in after he's up, and follows me to the kitchen.

"I thought you didn't start work until tomorrow," he says, passing me a plate.

"We have a mandatory staff meeting today." I place two pancakes on it and begin digging into it. It's soft and fluffy, still warm even.

"I wanted you to have a little break to enjoy the start of the summer before you started working, I guess one day is better than none."

"I'll enjoy my summer even when I'm working, I promise."

With each deposit of the two checks I'm getting each week, I'll be a step closer to my goal and that's more enjoyment than I can hope for.

The doorbell rings and after a look off between Uncle Rick and I, I reluctantly agree to answer it. "So lazy." I mumble under my breath.

"I heard that!" He yells.

"Good." I yell back.

A woman stands before me when I open the door, one I'm surprisingly unfamiliar with. She holds a weary smile with a measuring cup in her hand.

"Hi, sorry, I've run out of sugar and Ms. McCleary told me you wouldn't mind me borrowing half a cup," she says. "I'm Tina, by the way. I live a few doors down."

Her voice is soft and light on the ears, and she's beautiful without a doubt. 

"Uncle Rick, do we have any sugar to spare?" I ask towards the kitchen.

"Let me guess, Ms. McCleary?" He makes his way towards the door. "Sorry, we're out–" His words get stuck in his throat as he catches a look at Tina.

"Oh, it's okay. I'm sorry to bother," Tina says, bowing her head and getting ready to leave.

"No, no. We have sugar. Plenty of sugar. All the sugar in the world, what do you need? Granulated? Brown? Confectioners? Stevia? Splenda? I just like to play with Ms. McCleary, you know, give her a hard time." His words come out a mile a minute in a nervous delivery I'm not sure I've heard before.

"Granulated is fine. I was just making some pancakes for my son, and didn't realize I was out of sugar." She has the sort of smile that lights up her whole face.

"Come in, I'll get you your sugar and you can make your son those pancakes." Uncle Rick ushers her in, and I step aside to seal the deal. "I haven't seen you around before." He continues.

"Oh, I just moved here last fall. Still getting settled in, but I've heard a lot about you two. Rick and Clover James, right?" She says.

"Right." Uncle Rick and I say simultaneously, while he measures her sugar.

"So, is there a Mr. Tina?" I ask, earning a sneer from Uncle Rick for some reason.

She notices and chuckles. "No, not since we finalized our divorce two years ago."

"I was just curious, that's all." I feel the need to clarify. I'm curious, alright. Curious on Uncle Rick's behalf even though he doesn't seem to be appreciating it at this moment.

"It's just me and my son. His name is Kevin, he's six and he is an absolute ball of energy."

Her eyes twinkle and she speaks with pride as she delves into her son's personality.

"It was nice to meet you Tina, I should be heading off to work." I wave, having lost interest in finishing the little that's left of my breakfast.

"So, Tina, what do you do for a living?" Uncle Rick leans against the counter, not paying my exit any mind.

"I'm a nurse at Stanford Health," she says.

I have a feeling it'll be some time before Kevin gets those pancakes.

"Be safe, sweetheart!" I hear Uncle Rick say absently, as I'm already halfway through the door.

***

Joey and I walk side by side to Grandview.

"So what's the deal with your financial aid situation? I thought Penn State was a done deal." He asks.

"It is, technically. When I got accepted I received an academic scholarship but it wasn't much and the other dozen scholarships I've applied for have been a bust. I thought it would be fine cause there are grants and loans I could get but I quickly found out that I don't qualify for any grants cause Uncle Rick technically makes too much money. I tried to explain that the extra money he makes from his books goes straight to covering the expenses of a summer house, and keep us afloat with his low-paying teaching job but at the end of the day, they only care about the dollar amount listed on his tax return. With any chance of grants out of the picture, my only option was accepting the loans Penn offered, which aren't enough to cover all my fees."

"That sucks, honestly. You sure your uncle wouldn't be able to help in any extra way? Maybe it's better to tell him the situation."

"No, he's already done so much. If I tell him, he'll get himself down, work even more to the bone to try to fix it. That's what he's spent my whole life doing. For once, I want to fix something for myself, not burden him with my troubles. I want this to be his summer as much as he wants it to be mine, so he can't know."

"I'm just worried for you. If you don't meet your goal by the end of the summer..." Joey teeters towards an unspoken result.

"I know, I won't be able to register for classes, which means I'll lose my spot. I've calculated it extensively. I'll be helping with dance classes during the day and waiting tables at the restaurant at night. It should be just enough to get me to my goal. I'll send the money to the bursar in August and start my classes a week later. Maybe after the anxiety of all that settles down, I'll finally tell him."

Joey looks weary, but gives me a reassuring smile as we walk through the doors of Grandview and head to the ballroom.

The room is packed with employees, many of them in their uniforms, but we find two empty seats at a table towards the back.

Jim, our senior manager, is a stout middle-aged man. Always in khakis and a Polo shirt and always trudging up and down the halls of Grandview with his clipboard and a perpetual look of disdain.

"I'm gonna make this quick. You and I both know we don't waste time around here." He speaks into the microphone on stage. "Today marks the official start of the summer season here at Grandview Country Club. You should all know this is when we make a majority of our money."

I've been focused on the stage listening intently to Jim until Joey taps my shoulder. He points towards the left side of the room and it takes me so long to try to understand what he's pointing out that he leans in and whispers. "Look, it's Lucas Holt."

Sure enough, among a group of employees wearing chef jackets is Lucas, arms crossed and leaning back in his chair as he watches Jim on stage.

"What is he doing? Does he work here?" I ask.

"Lucas has never had a job in his life to my knowledge. I don't know, I guess since he's here he must be a new employee. I can't fully believe it myself but we'll see."

"Probably blew through his trust fund and now mommy and daddy are making him work for his allowance," I say, already not liking my tone as the words come out.

"You never know with these people. Something secretive is always going on behind closed doors."

I nod and focus back on Jim. As the minutes pass and he continues to talk about the importance of properly serving the tourists, I shift my eyes and find Lucas looking straight in my direction. I can't fully tell if he's watching me, but it sure feels like it. I don't think too much about it and keep my focus on the stage. Lucas has never paid me any mind the last sixteen summers I've been here, I'm sure he wouldn't start now.

"With these guidelines I hope you are all able to better serve our cherished members," Jim says. "Last year was a disappointment to say the least. We ended the season with a fifteen percent drop in revenue. If we keep going down that path there will no longer be a Grandview. Now, as a result of that financial drop, we've made some changes this year to both bring forth exciting activities the entire town can participate in, and cut back on programs that are not profitable. More news will roll out in the next coming weeks, but I want to let you all know, we've shut down our dance, gymnastics, and aerobic classes, converted our badminton court into a pickle ball court, and expanded the golf course to include a mini golf section."

His words hit me and my entire mind and body becomes still. Dance classes closed? The  dance classes I've been assistant teaching since last year, the same classes that were going to make me half of the money I needed for my tuition.

Joey shakes my shoulder, "Did he say dance classes? Crap, okay. Clover, listen, don't freak out, we'll figure something out."

I no longer listen to the rest of Jim's speech. I have to drag myself up and out of the ballroom after the meeting ends.

Joey and I sit on the sidewalk outside, feeling the heat of the asphalt beneath us and not caring one bit. Calvin, one of the dining room chefs, approaches us with a cigarette dangling from his mouth

"Whad'up," he says, fist-bumping Joey's hand. He grazes my shoulder, then takes a step back, careful not to expose us too much to the toxic fumes he inhales.

"You tell me," Joey says. "Why did I see Lucas sitting at your table, at a staff meeting?"

"Turns out daddy's been forging the company financials. They've been losing money for years, he's been burning through everything to upkeep the family's lifestyle. They'll probably lose their house soon, and I'm sure Lucas's trust fund is nonexistent now so he has to work like the rest of us schlumps. He's been pretty chill in spite of everything, though. A pretty decent chef if I must say so."

"What? Where was I when all of this went down?" Joey asks.

"That's the thing, it hasn't really gone down yet. It's still down-low info. I only know cause I'm cool with Jim's daughter. Turns out the old man has all the tea on the scandals in this town. I'm sure it'll all come out once everyone realizes how Lucas is spending his summer this year."

Joey turns to me and must notice the look of despair I'm trying to hide.

"Right, well, that'll be interesting to watch. I'll see you tomorrow." He waves Calvin off and stands up. He holds his hand out to me and I use it to hoist myself up too.

He was always a firm grip, the one friend I had and could count on in Clover Bay. I wouldn't trade him for the world.

"I'm so screwed." I shake my head.

"First of all, we're in this together, and Joey is never screwed, Joey always finds a way out. We just need to activate the backup plan," he says.

"I know you mean business when you refer to yourself in third person." I began to smile in spite of myself.

"I do, and you're going to Penn in three months, I know you will."