Remember My Name (8 page)

I have a summer job now,
too? “Okay,” I say. “And the other stuff?”

“We’re also remodeling the
guest bedroom. Until we finish up in there, you’ll need to share Jackson’s room
with him.” He gives me a sympathetic smile, the kind that parents give to their
kids when they’re getting hosed.

My eyes shift from Jeff to
Jackson, who’s taking a sip from his coke. I still haven’t opened mine. Pulling
back on the tab, I let the crack of carbonation break the silence so I don’t
have to. “Are you serious?”

“Afraid so. We’re going to push
in our free time to get it finished, so hopefully you won’t have to spend more
than a few weeks in Jackson’s room.”

I take a deep breath,
mentally running through the list of what has happened today. Exiled to rural
Minnesota for the summer? Check. Drafted into a job? Check. Have to share room
with estranged brother? Check. “All right, whatever.”

Jeff’s expression makes it
seem like he’s trying to be understanding, but he doesn’t respond to me.
“Jackson, how about you show Ben the house? I’ll bring his bag up to your room
in a little bit.”

“Come on, Ben,” Jackson
says, jumping up from his seat and snagging his coke off the table. I don’t
bother taking mine.

Leading me up the stairs, he
points out the bathroom, Jeff’s bedroom, and the room I’ll have once it’s
finished. “It kind of looks like hell right now,” he says, nudging open the
door and gesturing with the can in his hand. “The old plaster and lath got
pretty damaged in a roof leak,” he explains, making a face that doesn’t seem to
be directed at me. “So Dad decided we had to take it right down to the studs.”

I have no idea what he’s
just said, but the room is a disaster. I can see the structural boards that
form the skeleton of the walls, and the floor is covered in piles of wood
chunks and what look like little pieces of concrete. “Huh,” I say. “I guess
Jeff wasn’t kidding about it not being ready to live in.”

Jackson stiffens beside me.
“Why do you call him that?”

I shrug. “That’s his name.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He turns
away and continues down the hall, leaving me in the doorway to the destroyed
room. As he walks, the tips of his shoulder blades make alternating impressions
in the back of his shirt. Is that what I look like from behind?

I catch up to him as he
opens the door to his room. It’s about as messy as the guest room with the
walls torn out. Clothes cover most of the floor and they’re piled on top of the
dresser too. Along the wall above the bed, unmade of course, is a huge poster
for the latest Star Trek movie. I bite my lip. I actually really like Star
Trek, but I’m not about to tell Jackson that.

“A little messy, but it’s
home,” he says. “The bed is just a double, so it’s going to be a bit of a
squeeze.”

My eyes grow wide. “I am
not
sharing a bed with you.”

“Why not? It’s better than
the floor.” He says it so coolly, like it’s no big deal. Like I’m an idiot for
having a problem with the idea. He tosses a pillow out of the way and plops
down on the edge of the bed.

I let out a long breath and
close my eyes for a moment. If this summer is karma, I have no idea what I did
to deserve it. “Why do you care where I sleep?”

“I don’t care. Why do you?”

I force myself to breathe
evenly and not let him piss me off. “I’d just rather sleep on the floor.”

He shrugs. “Whatever makes
you happy.”

Glancing away, I say, “I
didn’t ask to come out here, you know.”

When I look back, Jackson’s
gaze is fixed on me. After a moment he says, “Nope, and we didn’t invite you
either, but here you are.”

I’m about to tell him
exactly how much I don’t want to be here when Jeff knocks on the open door.
“Hey guys,” he says, setting my duffel bag just inside the room. Scanning the
scene before him, he frowns. “Jackson, you were supposed to clean up.”

“I did. Kind of.”

Both of us give him a look.

“Fine, I’ll do some more
picking up. Oh and Ben doesn’t want to sleep in the bed with me.”

Blushing, I look to Jeff. “I
just… uh…” I stammer, trying to make it not sound like I just don’t want to
sleep next to Jackson. Which of course is exactly the reason.

“No problem,” Jeff says,
saving me from having to lie. “We’ll just bring up the air mattress from the
camping stuff.” Turning to leave, he stops himself with a hand on the
doorframe. “Ben, make sure Jackson actually cleans up this time, could you?”

I can’t tell if he’s joking
or not. “Sure.” I glance at Jackson. He looks irritated.

Once he leaves, Jackson
grabs a laundry basket and starts throwing everything in. I take his spot on
the bed from earlier and watch him work in silence. After a few minutes, the
place is actually starting to look okay. I consider offering to help, but I
don’t know what I’d do. I also seriously doubt that he actually has a
designated place for any of his stuff.

Jackson is kicking a pair of
dirty socks into the tiny space underneath his dresser when he asks, “How is Mom?”

I pause, thinking about how
much I miss her already. She saw me off at the airport this morning, but that
feels like so long ago. “She’s good. Moving up the corporate ladder at her
job.”

“Does she like it?”

“I think so. She’s good at
it.”

He shoves the overflowing hamper
into the closet. “Is that why she had to leave for the summer?”

“A business trip, yeah.
They’re usually only a week or two, though. Never three months.”

“And she didn’t trust you to
stay home by yourself?”

I bristle at his suggestion.
“I would have been just fine. I don’t get why she wouldn’t let me stay.” I hope
he doesn’t ask anything more about it, because his questions would be the same
as my own. She’s never left for this long before, and never on such short
notice. She told me literally less than a week ago. But I’m an adult. Why the
hell did I have to come here?

I shoot a glare at Jackson,
but he’s not even looking at me, instead busying himself with heaving a pile of
papers into the trashcan in the corner. “How about Jeff?” I pause, but decide
against correcting myself just for Jackson’s sake. “How’s he been?”

He gives me an annoyed
sidelong look. “Things are good here too. Dad’s business does all right.”

“What does he do?”

“He runs a greenhouse in
town. I thought you knew that.”

It sounds vaguely familiar.
“Yeah, maybe.”

He pushes the comforter out
of the way to make room beside me on the bed. “It’s not so bad out here, you
know.”

“It’s not where I belong.”

Jackson glances at the
floor. “I’m going to brush my teeth. Dad will be up with the air mattress in a
minute.”

“It’s only nine.”

“We go to bed early, get up
early,” he says with a shrug as he leaves the room.

I’m not really a morning
person, and definitely not when school is out. I’ll just add that to the
sprawling list of things going wrong this summer. Digging through my duffel, I
pull out my bag of toiletries and wander down the hall.

Jackson left the bathroom
door open, so I join him at the sink where he’s brushing his teeth in front of
the mirror. It’s funny watching him, because he brushes just like I do –
with the toothbrush pinched between his thumb and index finger like a pen and
his tongue lolling out to the side. My friends back home always make fun of me
for it, which makes sense now, because Jackson looks kind of like a dog with
his tongue out like that.

He spits into the sink.
“What?”

“You hold your brush like I
do.” I squirt a line of toothpaste onto the bristles and start to brush.

On his way out, he calls
over his shoulder, “You’ve got it backwards. You brush like me.” I want to
argue, but my mouth is full of toothpaste.

When I get back to the room,
I hook up the pump on the air mattress that Jeff dropped off. The buzzing whirr
fills the room as the bed fills. When it finishes, I toss a sheet over it, also
compliments of Jeff.

“Here,” Jackson says, “You
can take one of my pillows.” He throws one with a white and brown patterned
pillowcase onto the airbed.

“Uh, thanks.”

Then right in front of me,
he strips off his shirt and cargo shorts. Wanting to avert my eyes but also
painfully curious about my brother, I watch him as I undress down to my
underwear as well. In contrast to my boxers, he’s wearing a ridiculous pair of
bright blue striped briefs. For a moment we just stare at one another. It’s
almost creepy how similar we still look. My muscles are leaner and a bit more
defined, but his are a little bigger. If I had to guess, I’d say he has five
pounds on me, even though I might be an inch taller. The biggest difference is
around his neck. A mini ball-bearing chain is looped around it, and from it
hangs a small silver ring in the center of his chest. I wonder where he got
that.

The physical differences
between us have always been minor. Maybe they’ve become slightly more
pronounced in the passing years, but not nearly so much as the emotional divide
that’s grown so wide that I’m afraid to look down into it. To see how deep the
chasm extends, and to discover what darkness is lurking there.

We’re being civil to each
other more or less, but what we used to have was so different. It makes our
politesse feel forced – an unnatural byproduct of a broken relationship
that probably can’t be fixed.

Flicking off the light,
Jackson crosses the room to his bed as I slide with a shiver into the cool
sheets covering the air mattress. The pillow he gave me is a good one, and it
smells like him. I know it’s stupid to think that, because really we smell the
same. I can’t explain why it’s different, but it is, because I know the scent
is his and not my own.

Supposedly some dogs can
tell the difference between identical twins. A university somewhere did a study
on it, I think. One of those stupid universities that always sent Mom requests
to have us put in twin studies. I always used to get so angry when we got one
of those letters. I hadn’t seen my brother in years, so who the hell were they
to assume they could get us together for a study. Eventually I stopped caring.
Jackson clearly didn’t give a shit that we never saw each other, so why should
I?

“Goodnight, Ben,” he says,
his voice crossing the quietness that hangs still in the air.

I hold my breath, eventually
deciding just not to answer him.

*     *     *    
*

A crack of thunder shakes
the house, and rain beats against the roof in waves. My heart is thumping fast.
My arms tighten around my Jurassic Park pillow, the one Mom bought me for
Christmas. My forehead is cold with sweat. I’m so scared. What if I wet the
bed? I haven’t done that in over two years, but still.

I want to crawl into bed
with Mom and Dad, but they’re all the way down the hall. Bright light fills our
room for a second as the flash of lightning snakes down from the sky. I curl
into a ball around my pillow, squeezing my eyes shut. When the thunder comes a
moment later, a yelp jumps out of my throat. My eyes are still shut, but tears
sneak out of them.

Over the hammering rain, a
voice calls out softly from the matching twin bed opposite mine. “Benny, is
that you?”

I sniff, clearing my nose.
“I’m scared, Jacks.”

The hardwood floor creaks,
but it’s too dark to see anything. At least not until the next flash, and I
don’t want to be watching when that happens.

Jacks tugs at the covers,
and I let him in. Slipping in next to me, he wraps his arms around me. “It’s
okay, Benny. It’s just a storm.”

My heart jumps again as the
room lights up with the storm’s latest attack, but with Jacks here, it’s not as
bad. My breathing slows as the lightning strikes grow dimmer and the thunder
becomes quieter and more delayed.

Eventually Jacks’ breathing
relaxes too, steady and even, and I know he’s fallen asleep. Still tucked in
next to him, I fall into a peaceful sleep.

Ben

An alarm buzzer cuts through
my dream world. My first waking thought is that the air mattress must have a
slow leak, because my tailbone is pressed into the floor. It’s still dark in
the room. How early must it be? I haven’t woken up before the sun in a
long
time.

The silhouette of an arm
sneaks out from underneath the covers on Jackson’s bed, and the alarm is
abruptly silenced. A second later, the lamp on his nightstand flares to life,
and I toss the sheet over my head with a groan.

“Rise and shine, brother,”
Jackson says.

“What time is it?” My voice
is scratchy.

“Six. Full day ahead of us.”

Peeking out from underneath
the blanket, I ask, “What are you talking about?”

Pulling on a pair of
basketball shorts, he leans over to look in the mirror on his dresser and run a
hand through his hair. “We’re helping Dad at the greenhouse, remember?”

Oh, right.

“You want to shower first or
second?”

“Go ahead,” I grumble,
taking advantage of another few minutes’ rest.

Eventually I hear the
bathroom door open just before Jackson yells down the hall, “Done in the
shower!”

Forcing myself out of bed
and toward the bathroom, I cautiously open the door to a cloud of fog. Jackson
is putting some product in his hair, wearing only a towel around his waist.

I stare at his reflection in
the mirror until he finally meets my eyes. “Um,” I say, “I’m not going to
shower with you in here.”

He stops, hand midway
through his hair. “We don’t have enough time for both of us to get ready if we
don’t share the bathroom. The shower has frosted glass, and don’t worry, I
won’t look or anything while you get in.”

I glare at him. This is
bullshit. “Fine, whatever.” Kicking off my boxers, I step into the shower.

Almost as an afterthought,
Jackson says, “It’s not like it’s anything I don’t see whenever I look in the
mirror.”

Does he think he’s being
funny? I ignore him. Spinning the shower knob to hot, I let the water pour
down, temporarily washing away the knowledge that my summer has been ruined.
The steaming water pummeling into my back, I hear the door open and then close.
Finally I’m alone. Is that so much to ask while showering?

I’ve just washed my hair
with Jackson’s shampoo and I’m about to sample his body wash when I get
interrupted by rapid knocking on the door. Through the foggy glass, I see him
poke his head into the room. “Why are you still in the shower? We’re going to
be late. Seriously.”

Late for what? Helping Jeff
out? I don’t give a shit if I’m late for that. “I’m coming. Just get out,
okay?”

Jackson sighs. “Sure, but
hurry up.”

I can hear a conversation
happening in the hall while I dry off, but I forgot to bring clean clothes with
me, so I wrap the towel around my waist and step out of the bathroom. Jackson
and Jeff are at the top of the stairs. Jackson is in shorts while Jeff is wearing
jeans with holes forming at the knees, but both of them are sporting silly blue
t-shirts that say
Roanoke Gardens
across the front. It’s kind of funny
to see my last name plastered on a shirt.

“Morning, Ben,” Jeff gives
me a tight smile. Glancing back to Jackson, he says, “I have to go now if we’re
going to open on time.”

Shrugging in response,
Jackson says, “The bike hasn’t been running well.”

“Shit, I forgot about that.”
Jeff runs a hand along his jaw. “Take the bike anyway. If it breaks down, just
give me a call and we’ll sort it out. Otherwise we’ll work on it tonight.”

Jackson grins. “I can really
take the bike? With both of us?”

“No other choice. I’ll see
you both soon.” He gives me a nod and heads down the stairs, his feet pounding
over the steps.

“Go on, Ben,” Jackson waves
me down the hall toward his room. “I set out work clothes on the bed for you.”

Just like he said, a pair of
ratty cutoff shorts and a blue t-shirt just like theirs are lying on the bed.
Dropping the towel, I pull on clean socks and boxers from my bag before
changing into what Jackson set out for me.

Jackson is waiting for me
downstairs in the kitchen, just popping the last bite of toast into his mouth.
“You need breakfast?”

“No.”

“Great, that saves us a
little time.” He flicks his eyes to my feet and then to the entryway. “Do you
have shoes that can get dirty?”

“I only brought my Nike’s.”

“You can borrow a pair of
mine then. Size ten?”

I nod but don’t say
anything. Are we actually going to end up working? Like, honest to God dirt on
my hands working? I don’t like getting messy.

Tipping back the rest of a
glass of milk, Jackson hops up from his seat at the table. I follow him into
the entryway where he tosses me a pair of shoes. They’re dirty and I’m sure
they smell, so I hold my face away while I put them on. Locking the front door
on the way out, he leads us to the garage.

“So what’s that Jeff said
about a bike?”

“Usually Dad and I drive in
together, but, well,” he gestures offhandedly to me. “We got a little delayed
this morning, so we’re taking my dirt bike.”

“I got ready as fast as I
could.” Not really.

Shrugging, he says, “It’s
fine, we might just need to start getting up a little earlier.”

I stifle a yawn. “No way.”

“We can’t be late every
day.” Jackson yanks up on the garage door and it clatters open along the
tracks. The garage is full of crap, and everything is covered in dust, but in
the middle is a space cleared out for the dirt bike. It isn’t anything like the
motorcycles back home. The tires look like fat bicycle tires, and there are
massive shock absorbers suspending the front end above the wheel.

“Is it legal to take that
thing on the road?”

He pulls on a dorky looking
helmet that only covers the top and sides of his head. It doesn’t even have a
face guard. “Yeah, sort of.”

When he picks up a pair of
clear plastic safety glasses from the workbench and slides them onto his face,
I burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“You laugh now, but I don’t
have another helmet or even anything for your eyes,” he admits. “So be careful
not to look straight into the wind.”

“What if we get pulled
over?”

Getting on the bike, he
kicks his foot down on the starter, and the engine snarls to life like a
vicious lawnmower. “We won’t. Don and Jimmy don’t come out this side of town
before noon, guaranteed.”

I shake my head at him. “You
know your cops by name?”

He cocks his head to the
side. “Doesn’t everyone?”

I stare back at him.

He sighs. “That was a joke,
Ben. Now get on the damn bike, or we’re going to get there even later.”

I jump on behind him. I’m
not sure this thing was meant for two people, but what the hell. Tilting his
wrist back, we accelerate down the driveway before taking a right onto the dirt
road that leads into town. With nothing but road in front of us, he guns it and
the bike surges forward.

Just inside the Northfield
city limits, Jackson hangs another right into the parking lot of a small shop.
Just like the shirts we’re wearing, a sign across the front of the building has
the words
Roanoke Gardens
. Having my name on a building tops the
t-shirts by far. Especially because it’s one with a huge metal-framed
greenhouse stretching off the back.

Jackson pulls around and
parks next to Jeff’s truck. Hopping off, I follow him through the back door
into the shop. Every manner of lawn ornaments is stacked along one wall, while
another is piled with fertilizer bags and grass seed. The third wall has bins
and buckets for dozens of garden implements ranging from hand trowels to leaf
rakes.

Popping behind the counter,
he picks up a key ring from a hook on the back wall. “Dad probably wants to
talk to you about today,” he says, passing me on his way to the front door.
“He’s back in the office.”

When my eyes flit around the
shop looking for the office, Jackson jerks a thumb in the direction of a closed
door next to the cash register. It feels strange to let myself behind the
counter as I walk to the door and knock.

Jeff opens the door from the
spindly chair he’s sitting in, revealing a tiny office. “Hey, Ben. Excited for
today?”

I shrug. “Yeah, sure.”

“The shirt looks good on
you.”

No it doesn’t, but I can’t
bring myself to tell him that, because he means well. When he realizes I’m not
going to respond, he continues, “A lot of watering needs to be done every
morning, so you can help Jackson with that. This afternoon there should be time
for some more exciting stuff though, like transplanting.” He grins.

I nod. “Is that all?”

He nods, his smile withering
just a bit. “Let me know if you have any questions. Otherwise, time to work.”
He claps me on the shoulder and turns back to his desk covered in papers and
spreadsheets.

I shut the door to the
office and wait for Jackson to finish counting the cash in the register. “How
much you keep in there?”

His mouth is moving silently
as he flips through a stack of twenties. Setting it back in the tray and
shutting the drawer, he says, “Just five hundred.”

“Huh. Interesting.” I glance
at the door. “Are we like open already?”

“Yeah, but no one usually
shows up for another half hour or so. Which gives us time to water. Come on,”
he says. “Time to get your hands dirty, city boy.” I roll my eyes, but he’s
already walking away.

The greenhouse is huge on
the inside, and it smells like fresh earth. Waist-high boards supported by
pipes form rows of tables, dominating the center aisle and wrapping around the
sides of the plastic-covered structure. Plants cover almost every square inch
of the tables, and trays of seedlings are resting on the ground underneath them
too. And then there are the hanging plants. There’s just so much
green.

Jackson sets me up with a
hose that has a long angled wand on the end to help reach the middle of the
tables and the hanging planters. He spins the handle on the spigot and after a
few spitting coughs from the hose, water begins to come out in a smooth shower.

I work my way along the
first row while Jackson cranks up the plastic on the sides a few feet. As
outside air drifts through, the overwhelming smell of earth starts to clear.

“I’m going to head up to the
front and make sure Dad doesn’t need anything else. You good here?”

I give him a look. “Pretty
sure I can handle a garden hose.”

“You got it,” he says, his
tone landing somewhere between encouragement and sarcasm.

It takes over an hour to
water everything in the greenhouse, and I’m just finishing when an older woman
wearing white pants and a pink blouse enters the far end, poking her way
through the plants. I ignore her and keep watering the row of large potted
plants along the back wall.

“Excuse me, young man.” The
woman’s voice is right behind me.

My hand jerks and a stream
of water flies up to hit the thick plastic. “Jesus,” I curse under my breath.

“What was that?” Her tone is
friendly, but she’s clearly hard of hearing.

I turn to her, flipping the
switch on the handle of the wand. The water slows to a trickle. “Nothing,
sorry.”

“Oh, Jackson,” she says, her
face splitting into a smile. “How did you get back here so fast? I just saw you
up front.” Even though her voice definitely belongs to an old woman, it has a
youthful quality to it.

I close my eyes and sigh.
“I’m not Jackson. I’m his brother, Ben.”

Her smile grows even wider.
“I didn’t know he had a twin brother. It’s lovely to meet you, Ben. I’m Cherie
Dodd.” She holds out a wrinkled hand.

Setting down the hose, I
shake her outstretched hand. Her skin is cool, and it’s starting to hang off
her fingers. “He does. Is there something I can help you with?”

“You know,” she says,
scooting closer and resting a hand on the middle of my back. “I can’t quite
remember, but now that I have you… can you point me in the direction of the
mulch?”

I bet there are a lot of
things she can’t remember. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about this sh–”
I stop myself and rephrase. “About this stuff. I’m just here for a few weeks.”
Months
.

“No matter.” She waves the
topic away with her free hand. With the other she slowly guides me back toward
the storefront. “That’s so interesting that you and Jackson are twins.”

“I guess so.”

“I bet you two must be
close.”

A rope of frustration
tightens around my stomach. “No, not really.”

“Is that so? That’s really
too bad. My sister Alma and I were best friends from the time we got out of
diapers until she passed away two years ago, incidentally back in diapers
before she finally went, bless her soul. Anyway, we were a year apart, so it
wasn’t like the twinsy connection you and Jackson have.”