“Don’t you guys have some unpacking to do?” my dad asks.
“Our boxes don’t come in for another three to five business days,” Johnny says, grinning widely. “How about we do a trade? We help you tomorrow, and in exchange, you help us later this week.”
“Deal,” my dad says, crushing the empty cup in his fist and holding out his free hand. They do a firm manshake, like this is some kind of solemn oath and not just casual plans.
“Does three work? Or three thirty?” Johnny asks, nodding to Blake as we head slowly to the farthest corner of the parking lot, where they managed to find a space. “This one’s still a little jet-lagged.”
I see it now, in the faint dark circles under her eyes, the rasp encircling some of her words.
“Three is perfect,” my dad says, nodding. “Em works Saturday mornings at Nina’s Bakery in town.”
“Nina?” Johnny asks. “As in Nina Levin?”
“Nina Biset is what she goes by now,” my dad corrects, grinning. “But, yes, that Nina. Her daughter, Kiera, is best friends with Emily.”
“Was that by choice or predetermined?” Johnny asks me with a wink.
“A little bit of both,” I say, laughing. Kiera and I always joke that we were born best friends, like our moms.
I finish off the rest of my ice cream, the sweet taste lingering in my mouth as we walk slowly through the parking lot. We reach the last row, cars squeezed together just past the fifth-grade wing and right before the soccer field, the forest beyond the goalpost looking dark and ominous in the moonlight.
Back in middle school, after the bingo fundraiser was over, a group of us used to dare each other to run past the soccer goal and touch one of the big trees just inside the brush. It would take twenty minutes of talking smack and wide-eyed creeping through the grass for someone to be brave enough to actually do it.
Nine times out of ten, I was the one whipping through the darkness to tap the uneven bark, still flying high from my bingo-winning luck.
It’s crazy how much has changed since then. How much I’ve changed since then.
“Well, this is us,” Johnny says.
I’m looking at an old, rusty, forest-green Jeep, but I’m surprised when the lights on the blacked-out Porsche next to it blink twice as he unlocks the doors.
I exchange a quick look with my dad, trying to hide my shock. I can tell he’s just as shook as I am.
Johnny doesn’t notice our wide-eyed reaction though and gives me a one-armed hug, the cellophane around the prize basket crinkling noisily as he leans in. “See ya tomorrow, kid!” he says, then gives my dad a handshake before opening the door to the Porsche and hopping in.
This must be a family of huggers, because Blake gives me a hug next, her arm wrapping quickly around me, bringing with it a wave of fresh linen and warm sand and salty ocean water all wrapped together.
She smells like a day at the beach.
“See you,” she says, tugging herself away. Apparently, I’m so busy smelling the ocean that I hold on for a second too long. What is wrong with me?
She waves to my dad. “Bye, Mr. C!”
We watch them pull out, the engine revving gently as they slide smoothly through the aisles and out of the parking lot.
“What is it Johnny does again?” I ask as the headlights slowly fade into the distance.
“Tech stuff,” my dad says with a shrug.
“Tech stuff?” I say as we head to the car, doubling back across the parking lot. “What? Like… Google? Matt’s dad doesn’t even drive anything like that.”
He looks over at me, the both of us surprised I brought up Matt. He doesn’t know the specifics, and won’t ask unless I tell him, but he has to know something big enough is amiss that Matt hasn’t come by and I haven’t left the house to see anyone but Kiera in weeks.
“Yeah,” my dad says, grabbing the basket from me and lightly nudging me. “And to think, neither of them has a bingo prize basket!”
I smile at him, nudging him right back.
“Thanks, by the way,” he says as we get to his red, slightly rusty Chevy. He holds the basket up and smiles at me over the truck bed.
“Nope!” I say, yanking open the truck door, the hinges screeching noisily. “Your card, your money, your basket.”
“I don’t know about that. That card doesn’t win like that for anyone but you and your—” He stops short before saying it, hitting me square in the chest with more than just the prize basket.
The both of us fall silent, but I can feel the missing word ringing in my ears.
He was able to go to bingo, to be in that room and pretend it didn’t mean anything, but he can’t even say her name.
“Buckle up,” I say, eyeing his seat belt as he puts the car in drive. I don’t know how many times I have to tell him practically half of all motor vehicle fatalities could be prevented if the person had a seat belt on.
He nods, quickly braking the car and clicking it into place. He shoots me a sincerely guilty look. “Sorry, Em.”
I nod, pretending it’s no big deal, but I’m already down one parent, and I’d rather not make it two.
We drive off, the elementary school fading into the distance, just like it had hundreds of times in my mom’s lemon of a silver Toyota Camry. I watch the people outside Sam’s Scoops, kids running around, their parents trying to wrangle them and slowly accepting defeat, a group of middle school girls gossiping in the corner. I try to picture myself in the middle of it all, if everything were different.
Would Mom and I be driving off already? Or would we be stuck in the thick of it, talking about Jim Donovan’s antics or
