Along for the Ride(52)

‘Please,’ Heidi said. ‘I could not wear a single thing in this store right now. Not even the ponchos.’

‘Stop it,’ Esther told her. ‘You’re gorgeous.’

‘And so is Thisbe,’ Leah added. ‘We love her name, by the way.’

‘See?’ I heard my dad say. ‘I told you. It’s a powerful name! It has presence.’

‘Although,’ Maggie said, ‘the story of Thisbe is kind of tragic, really. Dying for her lover, and her soul blooming in the mulberry tree.’

Even with the door shut between us, and no visual on this interaction, I could literally feel how impressed my dad was as he said, ‘You know the story of Thisbe?’

‘We read it in my classics class, when we were studying myth and women,’ Maggie replied.

‘I thought it was from Shakespeare,’ Heidi said.

‘It was reprised in Shakespeare, in a farcical way,’ my dad told her. ‘But this young lady is right. The true story is actually quite sad.’

‘That’s our Maggie,’ Leah said. ‘Expert on all things tragic.’

‘Is Auden in back?’ I heard Heidi say. A moment later, she tapped on the door, sticking her head in. When she saw Thisbe, dozing in the stroller, she smiled. ‘Look at that. And here I was worried she was screaming her head off the entire time.’

‘Not the entire time,’ I said. ‘How was dinner?’

‘Lovely,’ she said. Then she yawned, putting her hand over her mouth. ‘It was good that we went and celebrated. This is a great accomplishment for your father. He’s worked so hard these last few weeks.’

I looked down at Thisbe. ‘So have you,’ I said.

‘Oh, well.’ She waved this off, then stepped forward, easing the stroller out the door. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Auden, really. I can’t remember the last time we got out alone, together.’

‘It was no problem,’ I said.

‘Still. I appreciate it.’ She glanced out at the sales floor. ‘I’d better get your father out of here while he’s still cheerful. He claims this place gives him a headache. Too much pink. Can you even imagine?’

I could. But I didn’t say anything, instead just nodding as she wheeled Thisbe down the hallway, waving to me over her shoulder.

For the next two hours, I focused on my work, taking only passing notice of the customers that came and went (there was a run on flip-flops), the nine o’clock dance (Elvis this time, from his rockabilly days), and the ongoing debate about attending the hot-dog party (Maggie was in, Leah out, Esther on the fence). At ten on the dot, I locked the safe, shut the door, and went out to join them as they headed out onto the boardwalk, still in discussion. All of this was part of my routine now, as was what came next: making my excuses, and going to find Eli.

‘We could just go for a little while,’ Maggie was saying. ‘To make an appearance.’

Leah turned to me. ‘What about you, Auden? Are you in or out?’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Actually, I think I’m going to just…’

I was going to use one of my standards, like ‘go home’, or ‘go run some errands’, but just then, I looked over Maggie’s shoulder to the bike shop, and there was Eli, sitting on the bench, the shop locked up and dark behind him. No searching for once, so simple. Or it would have been, except that he wasn’t alone.

Belissa Norwood was standing in front of him, her hair blowing around her face, hands in her pockets. She wasn’t dressed up like she’d been at the party, now wearing just jeans and a simple blue sleeveless shirt, a sweater tied around her waist, and I was struck, immediately, by how much prettier she looked. Less is more, indeed.

She was saying something to Eli, who wasn’t looking at her, instead just leaning forward on the bench, his head propped in his hands. Then she said something else, and he looked up at her and nodded. I just stood there, staring, as she slid down to sit beside him, her knee resting against his. After a moment, she leaned her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.

‘Auden?’ Leah said. Seeing my face, she turned, looking behind her, just as a group of big-shouldered guys in tracksuits came out of the adjacent Jumbo Smoothie shop, blocking everything behind them. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m in.’

Wallace’s apartment was the lower level of a green house two streets back from the beach. The yard was mostly dirt with a few clumps of grass; there was a washing machine on the side porch, and a sign hanging over the garage read, inexplicably, SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY.

‘Interesting name choice,’ I said as I followed Maggie and Esther up the driveway, the bag of condiments we’d bought at the Gas/Gro – ketchup, mustard, mayo, and chocolate sauce – in my hand. Leah was lagging behind, her phone to her ear, still networking in hopes of finding a better destination.

‘It wasn’t up to the guys,’ Maggie explained over her shoulder. ‘The landlords picked it. It’s a beach thing, you know, naming houses. The last place Wallace lived was called GULL’S CRY.’

‘Which was a terrible name,’ Esther said. ‘Hey, Mags, remember when Eli and Abe were living over in that dump on Fourth Street? What was that –’

‘SUMMER LOVIN’,’ Maggie finished for her as we climbed the front steps. ‘And there was nothing to love about it, let me tell you. Such a dump.’