Dog Beach Unleashed (20 page)

“I only know this because I've done the same thing,” he says under his breath. He rubs his eyes, and I'm not sure if he's about to cry.

“What do you mean?”

“I tried to cling to my parents being together. I'd remind them of the fun things we did, how great everything was,” he says. “I'd list things we had to look forward to as a family.
I'd bring up memories and try to get them to reminisce.”

“You did all that?” I ask. Marilyn Monroe jumps up onto my lap. She suddenly seems interested in this conversation, too. I guess she could hear Calvin's voice from the other room.

“Yes. I was always saying things like
We had so much fun that day
, like I needed to remind them of the good times. Because I didn't want to face that our family was broken.”

I put down the piece of muffin. That may be the saddest thing I've ever heard.

“So believe me, I know about clinging to things,” he says. “You think Claire's the only one who's upset and taking this hard? I am, too. In my own way.”

“I know that,” I say softly.

“But clinging to things doesn't make them stay. Because you're not in control. Sometimes things slip away from us, and we can't do anything about it. Just like the hurricane blew away parts of Seagate Island.”

“I know that, too,” I mumble.

I'm about to say something about Seagate and the storm when I realize we're not talking about that anymore. We're talking about Calvin and his family. He's opening up and telling me how he feels. I want him to keep sharing.

“There's nothing wrong with remembering the good stuff sometimes. It helps us get through the bad.”

He nods. There's a glimmer in his eye, a glimmer of appreciation that he knows I understand him. He seems happy to get these thoughts off his chest.

We talk for thirty-seven minutes. That may be a record for FaceTime—a record for me, at least.

“I gotta go,” Calvin tells me. “My mom needs help bringing in the groceries.”

“I hope she didn't buy too much. Hopefully you'll be back on Seagate before you have time to eat all of it.”

“If I have to eat all of it in a day, then, I will.” He laughs. “Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” I repeat.

When I come into the kitchen for breakfast the
next morning, banana-walnut pancakes are waiting for me at the table. Also, a tall glass of fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice and a bowl of strawberries.

This can't be good. I mean, it will be delicious, but I don't think good news is coming. I think this is my parents' way of buttering me up, only to let me down easy.

“What's this?” I ask them. They're sitting across from each other, reading sections of the
New York Times
and drinking coffee.

My mom looks up from the paper. “Just breakfast.” She smiles. “Sleep well?”

I nod. I don't believe her. It's definitely not
just breakfast. Just breakfast
is an English muffin with jelly. Or a bowl of Cheerios.

I'm only halfway done syruping my pancakes when my dad puts down the newspaper and starts talking. “Remy, we've been thinking it over. And we're not sure going back to Seagate right now is the best plan.”

I knew it.

He continues. “There's a lot of damage around the house, and there was some flooding on the first floor. We're trying to schedule workers to come out.” He pauses, as if it's painful for him to say all this. “Right now it's not the Seagate you know and love.”

I put down my fork, and it clinks against the plate.

“Are you listening to yourself?” I ask. “This is Seagate Island. Our other home. Our community. We can't just abandon it because it's had a rough time, can we?”

My mom and dad look at each other.

“It's a tough call,” my mom admits. “But the Seagate Community Council isn't encouraging people to come back right away.”

“But Seagate needs our help! Not going back would be like ignoring Aunt Evelyn just because she can't walk like she used to,” I explain. “Or giving up on a hard subject in school instead of trying to get better at it.”

They consider that for a second but then continue explaining how there's going to be a lot of cleanup to do if we go back. It's not going to be carefree, the way it was before.

“I don't care,” I say. “I'll help clean up as much as I can. I'll do whatever it takes.”

“She has a point,” my mom tells my dad.

He sighs. “I'll think about it.”

My dad takes his plate and his coffee mug and puts them in the dishwasher. “I need to go to the office for a little while. Let's put this conversation on hold for now, okay?”

“Okay,” I reluctantly reply.

I soak my pancake in the syrup that's pooling on the side of the plate and take the biggest bite I can. At least he didn't say no.

Either I'm really good at convincing people, or
my parents can be worn down very easily. Hard to say for sure. But let's just put it this way: we're going back to Seagate!

We're on the ferry, and I keep thinking about how I felt the last time we were on our way to the island. I was filled with anticipation, and with a sense of not knowing what the summer would hold.

But it's different now. While we might not know exactly what's in store for us there, we know that Seagate will be different, and we'll have a lot of hard work to do to fix things up. But we aren't running away from that scary stuff; we're running right toward it.

The ferry is quiet, the mood of the passengers somber yet hopeful. People are chatting, discussing the storm, sharing
stories, dispelling rumors. Someone thought the roof of Sundae Best had caved in. Not true, thank goodness!

We get off the boat, and I see Micayla right away.

I expect her to be her usual cheerful self, but something's different about her. She hardly smiles as she sees me and hugs me. “I'm so glad you're here,” she says. “It's been so lonely.”

And just like that, a gobstopper-sized lump forms in my throat.

My parents scoop up Marilyn Monroe and tell me to take my time with Micayla, that they'll meet me back at the house later. Maybe they want to assess the damage without me there. I'm not sure. But I'm grateful for some time alone with Micayla.

“It's like a ghost island now,” she says. “I keep seeing you places, but you're not there. Not even Calvin and Claire are here. No Mason. No one.”

“I'm here now,” I remind her.

“I know. Thank God.” She chews her pinkie nail for a second and then says, “I can't believe we got into a stupid fight over a boy. Over
Bennett
.”

“Yeah, let's never do that again,” I say.

We walk down Main Street, and we see the damage everywhere. Trees that used to stand tall and proud have fallen over, lying on their sides, as if they've given up.

Part of the stadium roof caved in and is now covered with blue tarp. The grills and picnic tables have been removed. The beach has eroded.

Only a few of the restaurants have opened back up. Mornings. Frederick's Fish. Pastrami on Rye. That's it.

Mr. Aprone hasn't come back yet, so Novel Ideas is still boarded up. Same with Sundae Best.

Micayla's right. It is a ghost island. Maybe I should have listened to my parents. Maybe we should have stayed home. Maybe dealing with the reality of this new Seagate will be too hard.

“So what's gonna happen now?” I ask her.

“Well, cleanup crews are here.” She half shrugs. “That's what my dad said. But we can all pitch in with certain stuff, like cleaning up the beach.”

My heart perks up. “That sounds good. Let's do that.”

I'm happy that we have a plan.

“The school had some damage, too,” Micayla tells me. “So I think it'll be a priority to fix that up so we'll be able to start classes on time in the fall.”

I nod. We walk down to the beach and sit on the Adirondack chairs on the boardwalk. At least the Adirondack chairs are back. Seagate Island without Adirondack chairs is like a sundae without whipped cream, or a campfire without s'mores.

We look out at the ocean together, and for that instant, it feels as if my problems are so tiny that they don't even exist. I feel so lucky for everything I have. The sea is so vast that it makes me feel very small. Like I'm just a tiny little speck on the planet.

All I can do is try my best to make the world better.

Which reminds me of Bennett. I still need to make things right.

“I'm sorry about the Bennett thing,” I say, continuing our conversation from before. I realize how selfish I've been. I do want Micayla and Bennett to be happy. “I don't know why I said that you couldn't like him. That was ridiculous.”

“It's okay. I should have known it would be complicated for you, too.”

“I just want you and Bennett to be my friends,” I say. “That's it.”

She leans back in the chair. “Well, you don't have to worry about that. We always will be.”

“Good,” I say.

“He's back, by the way,” she says. “He asked about you, and I lied and said I didn't know when you were returning.”

“Why?”

She answers matter-of-factly. “I wanted you to myself for a little while.”

Something about that feels nice. But I feel my stomach knot up, knowing that Bennett is back. There seems to be so much space between us now. Too much.

“I don't like Bennett that way anymore anyway,” she tells me. “After a few days with him in Boston, I realized that he's just a friend. There was too much nose-picking and slurping of cereal milk for me to be more interested than that!”

“But you've been watching him slurp his cereal milk for years.”

“It's different on Seagate,” she says.

She's right. On Seagate, even the most boring, run-of-the-mill things seem special. Even brushing your teeth on Seagate doesn't feel like a chore. Taking the garbage out offers a chance to see the ocean. Even watching a boy slurp cereal milk doesn't seem disgusting, because you're happy. And when you're happy, anything is possible.

“That's why we have to get the island back to the way it was before the storm.” I sit up straight. “We need to do whatever we can.”

“Remy,” she groans. “I know that twinkle in your eye. You're plotting something.”

“I am. But it's something we can totally do,” I tell her. “Really.”

On your first night back on Seagate Island
after a hurricane, when everything feels empty, when your pool isn't safe for swimming, when you feel alone in your favorite place on earth, there's only one thing to do. Only one person to talk to: Bennett Newhouse.

I don't bother texting or calling, because I don't want to have to wait for a response. I don't want to give him a chance to ignore me.

Bennett's mom answers the door. She looks worn out, but she musters a smile. “Hi, Remy-roo!”