“Is everything okay?”
He shakes his head. “The divorce is getting uglier, and now they’re arguing about custody rights. My mom wants me to be with her all the time, but my dad wants to split custody so that I’d go back and forth between them.”
“Well, that’s good that your dad still wants to be part of your life, isn’t it?”
He thinks about it for a moment and seems sadder than I’ve ever seen him. “Maybe if that were the reason. But he doesn’t really want me around. I think he just wants to make sure she doesn’t win and to make it so that he won’t have to pay as much in child support.”
Once again I am so grateful that my parents are happily married.
“Anyway,” he says, “the judge wants to talk to me.”
Now it dawns on me.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“I have to fly up to Wisconsin,” he says. “I leave on Sunday.”
Now I really panic. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and ask, “How long will you be gone?”
“A week.”
Even though we never talk about it directly, I always know exactly how many days there are until Ben’s supposed to leave at the end of the summer. At the moment I have exactly thirty-one days. My plan is to use each one of them carefully, and now I am going to lose seven just like that.
“Seven days . . . ,” I say softly.
“I know,” he says.
“That’s not fair.”
I look at him and realize that I am being totally selfish. He’s losing seven days too, but during that time he has to meet with a judge and pick one parent over the other.
“But even worse, it’s not fair to you,” I say as I give him a hug. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”
He rests his head against my shoulder, and I think I hear the faint whispers of him crying.
I swap my Saturday shift with Nicole so I can go watch Dad and Ben at the Rocket Run, and then on Sunday I get Sophie to drive Ben and me to the airport. His uncle was going to do it, but I’m trying to get all the time with him I can. To say the least, my mood is a little down, and there are extended quiet periods on the ride.
“The surf contest is just a few weeks away,” says Sophie, trying to generate any sort of conversation. “We’re going to get a lot of practice in while you’re gone.”
I expect Ben to respond, but he doesn’t. He just bites his lower lip, lost in thought. He’s concentrating, but I have no idea about what.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
He turns to face me in the backseat. “Parks and Rec is sponsoring the surf contest,” he says.
“Right?”
“And I work for Parks and Rec.”
“Okay.”
“It wouldn’t be right if I used that position to give you an advantage. Ethically, I mean.”
“Of course not,” I say.
Sophie raises her hand partway. “Are we sure about that?”
“Yes,” I say, slapping her hand down. “Of course we are.”
“I was just checking.”
“We don’t want you to cheat for us, Ben,” I tell him.
“Right,” he says with a smile. “But it wouldn’t be cheating if I told you that it is a good idea to read the rules. I tell that to everyone when they pick up an entrance form.”
Sophie shoots me a look in the mirror, and both of us are wondering where this is going.
“And since you know that I am a lawyer’s son and was taught to read everything carefully—and, by everything, I mean . . . every . . . single . . . word—then unlike other people who just ignore it, you might take that advice to heart.”
He stops there and we share a look. I have no idea what he’s getting at, but I do know that he’s trying to give us a little help. I also know that, for the moment at least, that’s as far as he’s willing to go.
“Well, my boyfriend is going out of town,” I say. “So I have plenty of free time this week, and I was planning on reading through the contest rules very carefully.”
He smiles and nods. “And you’re going to do that before you turn in your entrance form?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
The car is quiet for a moment.
“Okay,” Sophie says. “That was . . . weird . . . but we’re here. So why don’t I drop the two of you off? Izzy, I’ll come back around and pick you up in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks,” I say as I reach forward and clasp her on the shoulder.
“I know, I know, I’m amazing,” she says, and although she’s joking, it’s completely true.
Ben and I get out and things are pretty quiet. He doesn’t have to check his bag, so once he picks up a boarding pass, we walk over to the security line. It’s killing me and he’s only going away for seven days. I can’t imagine how it will be in four weeks when we come back here and he’ll be going away permanently.
We stand there for a little while and just silently hold hands. Then, when it’s time for him to go, he gives me a kiss and a hug that linger longer than I expect.
“Good luck,” I tell him. “I’ll be thinking about you the whole time. Especially on the day you see the judge. It’s going to be all right.”
He nods and gives me another kiss.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” he says.
One more hug and then he walks away and gets in line.
“I meant what I said,” he says as he turns back. “Read every word.”
“I will,” I say, trying to put on a brave face.
I watch him walk away, and although I know he can’t hear me, I just have to say it aloud, so I whisper.
“I love you.”
August
I’m pathetic.
I know this. But knowing it and being able to do something about it are two totally different things. It’s been five days since Ben left, and no matter where I go, I’m constantly reminded of him. Right now we’re closing up the shop, and as I lock the front door, I notice the poster he brought in the first day we met. Just the sight of it makes me want to cry, so you can guess how much fun I’ve been to be around. Nevertheless, Sophie and Nicole have not wavered in their repeated attempts to lift my spirits. You have to love their tenacity.
“Ladies, the dance floor is ours,” Sophie announces as she turns up the volume on the sound system. “Let’s crank it.”
Sophie is obsessed with nineties dance music, and she loves to blast it while we clean up. As a result, she’s gotten Nicole and me hooked too. The first song on the playlist is another example of how she keeps trying to make me smile.
Right about now, the funk soul brother
Check it out now, the funk soul brother
Despite the fact that it is basically just the same two lines repeated over and over and that its name is completely baffling, I love “The Rockafeller Skank.” I know, it makes no sense, but the beat is irresistible. Which is no doubt why Sophie is leading off with it.
Sophie sings along behind the counter as she sorts the day’s receipts, and Nicole busts a shoulder shimmy and dances with the push broom while she sweeps the floor. I, however, maintain my groove-free status as I mope and restock the clothing racks.
“Who’s up for Mama Tacos tonight?” Sophie asks, raising her voice but still moving to the beat. “I could destroy some nachos.”
“Count me in,” says Nicole. “How ’bout you, Iz?”
I shake my head and mumble some excuse that gets drowned out by the electronic rhythm.
“What?” she says, this time raising her voice.
I try again, but they don’t hear me.
Finally I just blurt out, “No thanks!”
Sophie presses stop. The room goes quiet, and suddenly our fun little surf shop becomes one of those cop show interrogation rooms.