The Moon and More (43 page)

“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 looked 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 by 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
.”

“Emaline,” he said quietly.

I shook my head. “Go.
Please
.”

I was crying now, why, I had no idea. The tears just came, carrying with them all the strain of these last few crazy days, this year, this summer. As my father looked at me, I knew, this time with certainty, that it was too late for us. But with Benji,
he had so much time to do better. And it started right here, right now.

I didn’t say any of this, of course. But as he finally turned and began to walk across the lot, it occurred to me that all I’d wanted from him was the unconditional love you get from family, that strong, innate connection so unlike anything else. For whatever reason—time, circumstance, distance—he wasn’t able to give it to me himself. But he did give me Benji, and I would be forever grateful. With love like that, you can’t get picky about how it finds you or the details. All that matters is that it’s there. Better late than never.

I HAD TO admit, it
was
different.

“I’ll swipe the card!” Benji yelled, running out ahead of me as we entered the station. He did, and I pushed through the turnstile, feeling a blast of hot, smelly city air as I did so. A moment later he joined me, and I peered down the dark tunnel, trying to get my bearings.

“Which one are we getting on, again?” I still hated not knowing where I was, or was going. Part of growing up in a berg, I supposed.

“The R. It’s this way. Come on, I think that’s one right there.”

He grabbed my hand and we ran together along the platform, getting to the train just as the doors were closing. Inside, we found a single free seat, which he gallantly gave to me. He hung onto a pole instead.

“You’re sure you have the invitation?” he asked me, for about the millionth time.

“I have the invitation,” I told him. “But even if we didn’t, I
bet
we could get in. We do know the artist’s assistant.”

“True,” he said, taking a spin around the pole. It was mid-November, only three months or so since I’d last seen him, but
I’d swear he’d shot up a good foot. Add in his new haircut—a sort of a faux-hawk—and I’d almost not even recognized him when he and my father picked me up at the airport a few days earlier. Almost.

We’d planned this trip all the way back in August, when he and my father had left Colby. In the end, they’d stayed three more days, which allowed us to do all the big Colby things one last time: shrimp burgers, arcade, check-ins. On the last night, I’d kept my promise, emptying out our Summer Ending Tax jar, which held just enough for two tickets to the Surfside Ferris wheel. In the end, though, we didn’t have to pay. High School Special.

As for my father, things had remained distant, especially as there was more distance between us. While I called and texted with Benji regularly—he loved that phone of his—I did not hear a thing from my father for two full months. Then, in the beginning of November, I opened up my e-mail to find a message. It had no subject, and no greeting, and just said this:

What are you reading for school that you love?

What do you hate?

For a full week, I left it in my inbox, where again and again I’d open it, scan these words, and then close it. I owed him nothing and hoped he knew to expect as much. But the one thing that had always worked for us was e-mail. So eventually, I wrote him a response, telling him that I liked Chaucer but found Milton impossible to understand. Within three hours, he’d written back. Since then, we’d kept up a steady
discourse, solely about literature. It wasn’t parenting, but I had that in spades with my mom’s regular calls and texts. And he did know an awful lot about
Paradise Lost.