“Whatever. I’ve had, like, seven.”
She popped another one in her mouth as my mom, hair still damp from her own rushed preparations, joined us. “Your dad is drinking a glass of white wine,” she reported. “I feel like we should get documentation, as it will never happen again.”
“Why isn’t he having a beer?” I asked.
She shrugged, taking a sip off her own glass. “This didn’t seem like a beer event. And they were walking past with them.”
I scanned the room again. Sure enough, over by a painting featuring broad, horizontal stripes of varying shades of gray was my dad, in a dress shirt—i.e., one that buttoned up, and was tucked in—holding, but not drinking, a glass of wine.
“I’ll be back,” I told my mom and Amber, then cut behind the bar, reaching into the cooler for a longneck. “Doing okay?” I asked Morris, who was serving drinks, as Robin’s bartender had never showed up.
“Yup,” he replied, perennially calm, even with a huge crowd of people pressed in around him. “Did Clyde find you?”
“When?”
“A couple of minutes ago. He said he needed to ask you about something.”
I looked across the room again, finding Clyde in front of the reedy painting Theo had been cataloging when we’d argued. He was gesturing at it, talking to Ivy, while Esther filmed. “I’ll go ask him. Thanks.”
“No prob,” he replied, turning to his next customer. “Red wine? Okay, coming up.”
I headed towards Clyde, uncapping the longneck in my hand on the way. En route, I stopped by my dad, who was now deep into a conversation with Roger from Finz about the slowness of the Colby building inspector. Without comment, I eased the white wine from his hand, replaced it with the beer, then patted his shoulder. He looked at it, then at me. “Oh, hey. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. Ditching the wine on a tray, I picked my way through the crowd, hearing snippets of conversation and laughter. The room was a bit warm, but not hot, and my sandals were already rubbing a blister. I was not complaining.
“—one of the first pieces I did when I returned here,” Clyde was saying as I got within earshot. “I wasn’t really thinking of this as a series since I was basically in the midst of a nervous breakdown. I was literally painting from my bed, because I couldn’t get out of it. But in retrospect, it was key to this wider collection.”
“So different from your previous work, to be sure,” Ivy said, studying the painting as Esther moved around her. “Natural versus industrial, at the very least.”
Clyde nodded. “I wasn’t thinking that much, to be honest. Just recapturing something pure when I felt anything but.”
“Which is why,” Theo interjected, “it’s so meaningful that he picked this particular kind of plant to do in detail. It’s not unintentional.”
Clyde looked at him, then the painting. “What isn’t?”
“That you chose Verbus intriculatus,” Theo told him, taking a sip of his own drink. Red wine, naturally. To Ivy, he explained, “It’s a plant native solely to this area. A sort of winter wheat, raised not for feed but for cover when the soil is overused and undernourished. It basically heals the ground.”
We all looked at the painting again. I was trying to make out Clyde’s expression, but honestly couldn’t. There were quite a few people gathered around now, although whether because of the camera or the art history lesson was hard to say.
“So on a basic level,” Theo continued, “it’s a plant that coaxes something almost dead back to life. Which echoes what Clyde was saying earlier about his mind-set, the sense of exhaustion and sadness. And that it’s captured in such close, painstaking detail … it conveys both a sense of defeat and perverse hope.”
“Interesting,” I heard someone murmur behind me.
“Defeat and hope,” someone else agreed. “I wouldn’t have ever gotten that.”
I looked at Clyde again. This time, there was no question what he was feeling, and it wasn’t defeat or hope. He looked pissed. I glanced at Ivy, who met my eyes for a second, then flicked her gaze to Esther, making sure she was filming.
“That’s a lot to get from a plant,” Clyde said to Theo. “Don’t you think?”
“Not necessarily,” Theo replied, confident as always. “You do like to weave symbolism into your work. It’s just a matter of cracking the code.”
Clyde’s eyes widened. Uh-oh, I thought. Then I felt the tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see Morris, his face flushed. Immediately, I glanced over at the bar, still crowded with people.
“Amber and your mom took over,” he told me, before I could even ask. Man, things had changed. “Have you seen Benji?”
“Benji?” I asked. “He left at four, with my father.”
“He was supposed to,” he told me. “He never showed up at the car.”
“He’s gone?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “He’s just not with your father, who can’t find him anywhere.”
“Oh my God,” I said, looking around. “He’s got to be here someplace. You know he wanted to stay.”
“Your mom and Amber looked already. Your dad’s searching now. Me and Daisy are heading outside right now to check the boardwalk.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to think. “Where’s my father?”
“Driving around, I think. But—”
We were interrupted, suddenly, by Clyde’s voice. “Hey! Morris!”
Everyone was looking at us. Whoops. “Sorry for the disturbance,” Morris said. “We just—”
“Can you answer a question for me?” Clyde asked him. “It’ll only take a second.”
Morris looked at me, and I shrugged. “Sure,” he said.
Clyde stepped closer to the painting, pointing to one of the plants. “What is this?”
I saw Ivy look at Theo, who just took another sip of his wine.
“Beach grass,” Morris replied.
“Where is it found, exactly?”
Morris looked at him like he was crazy. “Everywhere. You know that. You’re always complaining there’s so much of it outside your bedroom you can’t even see the water.”
I was pretty sure I heard Ivy snort.
Clyde smiled. “Exactly.”
“Can I go now?” Morris asked. “I have something I have to do.”
“Me too,” I said. “Excuse us.”
He turned, starting for the door, and I followed, taking in the crowd as I went. I was almost outside when I spotted Margo, eating a canapé by one of the gray paintings, and made a beeline for her.
“I need your help,” I told her. “Benji’s run off and my father can’t find him.”
“What?” She put her plate down on nearby table. “How long has he been missing?”
“An hour? Two? I have to go help look for him.”
“Of course. I’ve got my car right outside, I can—”
“No,” I told her. “I need you here.”
“Here?”
I glanced around the room again, then at my watch. “Things are running pretty smoothly right now, but we’re low on food and Clyde still has to make a speech. He wants to do that in about ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes,” she repeated.
“Take this,” I said, pushing my legal pad at her. “It’s got the entire schedule on it. Check in with Ivy and tell her you’re me until further notice. She will probably yell at you, but I know you can handle it.”
“I …” She paused, then smiled. “Okay. Thank you, Emaline.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “I have to go. Call me if you see Benji!”
She nodded, patting my arm as I went past her, towards the door. Right before I left, I turned to take one last gaze at what I’d done, so I would remember it. Then I went to look for my brother.
* * *
“I don’t understand this,” my father said, scanning the road again. “This town is tiny. Where could he possibly be?”
I didn’t answer, instead I just looke
d hard along the side of the road, even though we’d already been through this neighborhood, which was just adjacent to the boardwalk, more than once. Morris and Daisy had covered from the Pavilion to Surfside and were now doubling back, after asking everyone at Abe’s and Clementine’s to keep an eye out as well.
“You called the arcade,” I said, confirming. “And already looked at the mall?”
He nodded. “He’s on foot, anyway. He can’t have gotten far.”
“It’s been over two hours,” I pointed out. “Should we go back to the hotel, in case he somehow got a ride back there?”
“Just called them, they haven’t seen him. Anyway, that’s the last place he wants to be, especially with us leaving tomorrow.”
I turned to look at him. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”
He nodded. “I was going to tell him at dinner tonight, but he overheard me talking to Leah on the way to see you this morning. I should have known he’d pull something like this.”
I scanned the road again. “He probably just was upset, with the short notice and all.”
“Your brother might be young, but he is a master negotiator,” he informed me, turning onto another street. “He’ll try to crack and improve any system to his advantage. Over time, I’ve learned I have to limit his window to do that, or he’ll always find a way to better things in his favor.”
Any other time, I would have been tempted to point out that Benji wasn’t the only one who liked to be in control; he came by it honestly. But right then, all I could think was what an idiot I was.
“Dammit,” I said, gesturing for my father to take the next left. “I know where he is.”
“You do?”
I nodded. “Cut through here, it’s right on the next block.”
He pulled up in front of the office. I jumped out and ran up to the doors. They were locked, as we’d closed about a half hour earlier. I peered through the windows in the doors, looking for lights and movement, then pulled out my keys and let myself in.
“Benji!” I called out. “Hey! It’s Emaline, come on out.”
I searched the conference room, all the offices, the storage room, both bathrooms. Nothing. I couldn’t believe I’d been so wrong. Eventually, since time was precious, I went back outside to rethink.
“No?” my father called from the car.
I shook my head. “I’m going to keep looking around here, though. Maybe do another loop up by the boardwalk and then come back?”
He nodded, then backed away and turned down the side street towards the Pavilion. I walked up to the main road, really starting to worry now. Yes, Colby was small and not like a big city in terms of danger. But it was still in the real world, regardless of what Theo might believe. Bad things happened. Just ask Rachel Gertmann.
I was just standing there on the grass, trying to think, when I heard a beep. When I looked up, Luke was turning in, a concerned look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” he called out.
“Benji’s missing,” I told him. “We can’t find him anywhere.”
He parked, then climbed out of the truck. “Isn’t Clyde’s thing going on right now?”
“He was supposed to meet his dad at four, outside the Pavilion,” I told him, scanning the road again. “But he never showed up.”
“Emaline, it’s okay. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“It’s been over two hours,” I said. “He’s only ten.”
“I know.” He stepped closer and squeezed my arm. “Just take a breath. Let’s think for a minute.”
I exhaled, skipping the intake part. “We’ve looked all over. Surfside, the Pavilion, the sound, the boardwalk. I thought for sure he would have come here, because he loves this job so much, but I just turned the whole place upside down with no sight of him.”
Luke thought for a minute. “Okay, so say we’re Benji.”
“Luke.”
“Seriously. This works.” He looked at me, nodding. “We’re ten. We’re pissed off. We go somewhere that’s familiar and comforting, safe, but hard to find. Where would that be?”
“If I knew,” I pointed out, “I would have him already.”
“Just think for a second.”
“Luke, for God’s sake. I can’t just—”
And then, just by chance, over his shoulder, I saw it. The bane of my existence, but possibly one of Benji’s favorite places, ever.
“Hold on,” I said.
I walked around Luke, breaking into a jog as I crossed the lot. The sandbar—my sandbox—was already set up for check-ins the next day. A pack of shrink-wrapped welcome packets sat just outside, two washed coolers stacked beside them, ready for cold drinks and ice. I climbed the two steps, then leaned over and peered down over the wall. Benji, sitting against the far wall with his knees pulled to his chest, looked up at me.
“I don’t want everything to change,” he said.
I bit my lip and glanced at Luke, giving him a nod. Then I opened the door, going inside, and sat down beside him. As always, the floor was dusted with a faint layer of sand. I could feel it on my feet as I slid off my shoes. “You really had us worried,” I told him, my voice low. “Everyone is out looking.”
He pulled his knees closer, not saying anything. Up close now, I could see he’d been crying, and it made him look so young I felt a lump form in my throat. “He’s making me leave tomorrow. He didn’t even tell me. I heard him saying it to my mom.”
“I know,” I said.
“I don’t even start school for another three weeks,” he went on, rubbing at his face. “What am I supposed to do all that time? Sit around and watch them get divorced?”
“Benji.”
“I don’t have anything there,” he sputtered, tears filling his eyes. “Not like this.”
Oh, man, I thought. I forced myself to take a breath. “I know how you feel.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. “You get to stay here.”
“For about two more weeks,” I replied. “Then I have to move to a totally new place, with totally new people, and start a totally new life. I’m terrified.”
“Luke will be there,” he said, sulkily.
I stretched my legs out in front of me. “Yeah, but I’m not exactly his favorite person these days.”
“But he’s here, though. Isn’t he?”
I looked down at him. “What’s your point?”
He shrugged. “Just that he said he had plans, earlier. That he was missing the party, too.”
“He just saw me looking for you and could tell I was worried,” I said. “Look, I know you think you’re all grown up and all, but you can’t run off like that. Your dad is freaking.”
“He’s just mad because I’m not doing exactly what he wants,” he grumbled, picking at the floorboard beside him. “He hates that.”
I had to smile at this, although I quickly damped it down, as best I could. “I don’t think anyone likes that much, actually.”
“Are you still mad at him?”
“Who?”
“My dad.”
It was not what I was expecting, so it took me a moment to answer. “No. Not really.”
I was surprised, hearing myself say this, that it actually felt true. Was I sad about the way things stood, and did I wish, still, the spring and even this summer had gone differently? Yes. But the anger, somehow, had lifted, leaving behind a sense that I could deal with whatever came next for us, even if it was nothing at all. Which sounded bad, I knew. Having no expectations for some people in your life can be depressing, if not devastating. But with others, it’s what is necessary. The hard part is not just figuring out which one applies, but accepting it.
“He’s really bad at saying he’s sorry or wrong, even when he knows he is,” Benji said now. I raised my eyebrows, and he explained, “That’s what my mom always tells me when I get mad at him. Sometimes it makes it better.”‘
“Yeah,” I said. “I can see how it would.”
We sat there for a minute, side b
y side, the sky still blue above us. I thought of the party still going on at the Pavilion, and wondered if Clyde had already made his big announcement, anointing Theo as he expected. By tomorrow, the show would be over, Ivy would start packing up, and Benji would be gone. All this thinking—consciously not thinking—about how things would end, and now, just like that, they were about to. It was the very nature of summer. So many long, lazy days when blissfully, nothing changes, and then everything does, all at once.
I heard a car approaching and I leaned over to look out a crack in the wall behind me. My father’s Subaru was pulling in, parking beside the truck. Luke walked over, and my father rolled down the window. After a moment, they both looked over at the sandbox.
“Your dad’s here,” I told Benji. His shoulders sagged, his face reddening. “I know. But maybe just tell him what you told me.”
“He’ll still make me go,” he grumbled.
“Probably,” I agreed. “But at least he might understand why you don’t want to. And sometimes, that’s the best you can ask for. Okay?”
He nodded, and I pushed myself to my feet. My father was out of his car now, Luke standing nearby, both of them looking at me as I left the sandbar and walked over to them. As I got in earshot, my father said, “What? He wants to be forcibly removed now?”
“He’s upset,” I told him.
“I’m upset,” he shot back. “We’ve got half the town looking for him. He needs to stop this nonsense and get in the car. I don’t have time for this.”
“Then make time,” I said. Luke raised his eyebrows. I stepped closer to my father, lowering my voice. “He’s your kid, he’s scared, and he needs you to tell him everything is going to be all right.”
“He’s not a baby,” he said. “He can handle the truth that is the world.”
“He’s ten, and he needs his dad.” I could feel my throat get tight. “Please just make sure he gets that, if for no other reason than I’m standing here asking you. If you do, I swear to God, I will never trouble you for anything else.”
“Hey,” he said, sounding surprised. “I’m your dad, too.”
“No, you’re my father,” I said. “I have a dad, and right now, Benji needs his. Not a lecture. Not fixing, because he’s not broken. Just your attention and your patience and your time. Just you.”