Saving Ben (7 page)

“I can’t take it anymore,” I yelled to Abby above the sound of the outboard motor. “Make ’em suffer.”

Doubt crossed Abby’s face for a split second, but then she broke into a big smile, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She cut the boat hard, into the wind. The tube bounced off the wake and soared through the air, sending all three passengers flying in different directions across the water. This time it was
my
turn to laugh, so hard I had to jump in the water and pee as soon as Abby slowed the boat.

Once everyone was back in the boat, towel-dried and settled, we passed out sandwiches and chicken legs and Diet Cokes for lunch.

“So, Katherine, your parents are not at all like you described them,” Emma said, cozying up next to George on the bow seat. “I was expecting pompous and disagreeable, but they’re good-natured and fun to be around.”

George snorted. “Yeah. How many years of marriage counseling did it take?”

I stared at George, appalled that he would say such a thing.

“True, isn’t it?” George asked me. “That your father had to train your mother to stay out of the rose bushes.”

In one fluid motion, Ben hurled his sandwich overboard, stepped onto the driver’s seat where he’d been sitting, and leapt across the windshield toward George. He grabbed him in a chokehold and wrestled him to the floor of the boat. George’s sculpted body was no match for Ben’s incredible strength. I clawed at Ben’s back while Spotty tried to get a grip on his sweaty body. “Calm down, man,” Spotty yelled, wrapping his arms around Ben from behind and hauling him off of George.

“What’s the matter, Langley?” George’s fists were clenched beside him. “You can’t take a joke?”

“Some joke, you prick.” Ben managed to get free of Spotty and dove on top of George again. This time it was the piercing sob escaping from Abigail’s throat that caught their attention. In unison, George and Ben looked up to see her face covered in tears.

“All right, that’s it. Get up.” I helped them to their feet. I was tempted to ram my knee into George’s crotch, but I knew that would do little to diffuse the situation. “What the hell is wrong with the two of you?”

They stood facing each other, looking around at the floor and the sky and the water, everywhere but at one another or at me.

“Damnit. Look at each other,” I demanded. “In the eye. If y’all are gonna act like second-graders, I’m gonna treat you like second-graders.”

Slowly, their eyes met.

“Good boys. Now, first of all, George, you were way out of line. You owe both Ben and me an apology.”

He hesitated several seconds before mumbling, “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted, but if you ever dis my mother again like that, I’m going to supply the gun that Ben shoots you with.” I turned to my brother. “And Ben, solving our problems with our fists is not always the right answer.”

“But—”

“No buts. I want you to think back ten years to the night we snuck out of our houses, on a full moon and a dare, and entered the woods in search of werewolves. Remember that Abby?” I glanced over at her, relieved to find a thin smile spreading across her lips. “We were scared shitless, but we trusted each other in the way you can only trust your childhood friends. You don’t ever get a chance at that kind of friendship again, and the two of you want to waste it on some girl? No offense, Emma,” I said without looking her way.

“I’m sorry, Abby.” Ben leaned down and kissed her cheek, but when George tried to give him his half-eaten chicken leg as a peace offering, my brother waved him away.

We finished our lunch in silence, soaking up the warm sun as the boat drifted along. The weather couldn’t have been any better—blue sky and low humidity—and to be able to enjoy the wide-open expanse of the Rappahannock River, with few boats and no waves, was a bonus.

When Abby and I grew restless, we tossed the tube in the water and climbed on top, declaring we were queens of the mountain. Everyone put forth a heroic effort, but no one could dethrone us. That is, until the three guys ganged up on us and tipped the massive tube over. Everyone had the opportunity to tube after that, and those of us with experience, took a turn on the wakeboard. It was late in the day, close to five o’clock, when we headed back to Carter’s Creek to give Emma the promised tour.

We were cruising into our dock when George asked, “What’re y’all doing tonight?”

Ben was quick to answer, “Laying low, man. Gonna throw some meat on the grill and then call it an early night.” He made a point of not inviting him to dinner, which is why we were all surprised when George showed up at our house two hours later.

We were all showered and dressed and watching Ben fry oysters in the summer kitchen. Before the renovations, the summer kitchen was little more than a one-room storage building with a fireplace, an old stove, and an icebox, as MayMay used to call it. With french doors offering access to the brick terrace, the outbuilding now houses a full-service kitchen with commercial-grade appliances and a small sitting area around the fireplace.

“Here,” George said, handing me a packaged rib eye when I opened the door for him. “Emma called and said to bring a steak.”

“Oh really? Did she also tell you to bring Abby?” I cut my eyes at Emma, who avoided my gaze.

“Abs is laid out on the sofa, sunburned,” George explained.

I rolled my eyes. “Because your sister, the summer goddess, gets sunburned so often.”

Ignoring me, George peered over Ben’s shoulder. “Are those oysters, man?”

Ben set a row of Ritz crackers on the counter and added a dab of tartar sauce to each. When his oysters were done, he removed the basket from the fryer and then carefully forked one on top of every cracker. “Here, Emma, try this.” He turned to her and popped an oyster appetizer into her mouth like a groom feeding his bride a piece of cake on their wedding day.

Spotty opened the refrigerator and tossed me a beer. “Why don’t you and I go start the grill?” When we were alone on the terrace, he opened his beer and guzzled down half of it. “I had to get out of there. I can’t watch another round of the love triangle.”

“For the most part, I really like Emma. Everything was fine between us until—”

“Your brother got in the picture.” Spotty pulled the cover off the grill and wheeled it to the edge of the terrace. “I’m warning you, Kitty, I have a horrible feeling about this. I can sense it from a mile away. The two of them are negative chemistry together.” Spotty reached beneath the grill to turn on the gas. “Negative chemistry with an explosive reaction.” He pushed the starter and the fire caught with a whoosh. “Like that.” He turned the knobs to lower the flames and began scraping the grates with a wire brush.

“You know, Spotty, you’ve always been good at helping Ben deal with his issues. But in this case, I think maybe you’re overacting.”

“That’s because you didn’t witness their X-rated performance last night. Haven’t you seen the way the two of them look at each other?” We watched through the french doors as Ben fed Emma another oyster. “See what I mean?”

Spotty and I continued to watch the scene unfold inside. Emma picked up an oyster from the tray on the counter and fed it to George. I turned my back on them and walked away. “I have to admit I don’t like the way she’s playing them off of one another. She’s holding a stick of dynamite, waiting to see who will light it first.”

“That’s not the way I see it at all. Emma is not making a play for both of them. She’s using George to make Ben jealous.” Spotty closed the grill lid and hung the wire brush on the side. “Speaking of George. I’ve been down here with y’all a lot over the years, so I feel like I know him well enough to say this. What he said about your parents today took a lot of balls.”

“No shit.” I took a sip of beer and licked my lips. “I’ve talked to Abby some about my mother’s problems, just as I’m sure Ben has with George, but to bring it up in front of everyone like that was just sick.”

Spotty nodded. “I think you and Ben need to watch your backs. I’m not sure George has your best interests at heart.”

Ben threw open the French doors and the three lovebirds joined us on the terrace, bringing with them another round of beers and the tray of oysters.

Ben lifted the lid to check on the progress of the grill. He scraped a little more gunk off the grates with the wire brush, closed the lid again, and lowered the flame. “I’m not ready to cook the steaks yet.” He downed the rest of his beer and crumpled the can. “The night is still young.”

“So much for calling it an early night,” I mumbled to Spotty.

“Hey, man, are your parents home?” George asked.

“Nope,” Ben answered. “They went to some party over in Weems.”

“In that case . . .” George pulled a bag of weed and a pipe out of his back pocket. He loaded the bowl and lit it with a Bic lighter, sucking hard from the pipe before handing it to Emma. After she took several tokes from the pipe, she offered it first to Spotty, who waved it away, and then to Ben.

Ben shook his head. “No thanks.”

“Don’t be a buzzkill,” Emma said, stomping her foot.

Ben ignored her. “Since when did you start smoking weed?” he asked George.

“Since my sister’s not here. Come on, dude. Everybody smokes.”

“Not everybody.” Ben grabbed Spotty’s shoulder and squeezed. “There are plenty of athletes who don’t want to pollute their bodies with that trash.”

“I hate to tell you this, but we’re not in high school anymore. Your chances of playing college ball are over,” George said, more to Spotty than to Ben, his insult like pouring rubbing alcohol over the open wound of his ruined lacrosse career.

“At least we were once good enough to be considered,” Spotty said, with clenched fists. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“Calm down, boys.” Emma shoved the pipe toward me. “I know Katherine wants some. She’s a party girl, like me.”

“No thanks, Emma. I may be a party girl, but I have certain standards. Anyway, I’ve tried it before. I just don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

“Look,” Ben said, “I don’t mind if you smoke it, but just go over there by the fence, away from us.”

Emma grabbed George by the hand and led him over to the edge of the property where they could finish their smoke away from our disapproving stares.

A few minutes later, I was exchanging texts with Yabba—not at all surprised to learn that she wasn’t sunburned and that George hadn’t told her he was coming over here for dinner—when they came stumbling back toward the house. George was dragging Emma along, both of them looking at me and laughing. At first I thought they were just high, but then George came over and kissed the top of my head. “We’re friends, right?”

Friends?
I looked at him, confused. Was he asking if we were still friends after the things he’d said about my mother, or was he making sure that we were nothing more than friends?

“Of course we’re friends,” I said to George. “Why do you ask?”

“Well . . . ah . . . Emma may have mentioned that you have a—”

“Crush on you?” I asked and he nodded. “Don’t flatter yourself, George. I think maybe the weed is making you delusional.”

“Sure.” I shrugged but made no effort to move.

“Alone.” She turned her back on us, leaving me no choice but to follow her across the hall to our room.

“I sense you’re upset with me about something.” She patted the bed beside her, inviting me to sit. “You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

I lowered myself onto the bed. “I’ve been in the library all week, Emma, trying to get caught up.”

“Well . . . whatever it is you’re mad at me about, I’m bringing you a peace offering.”

“What kind of peace offering?” I asked, skeptical.

“A date. For the game tomorrow.”

As if I couldn’t get my own date.
“What’s his name?”

“Will Chase.” She sat up taller and crossed her legs. “I’m going to the game with Will’s best friend, Hank McCarthy. The two of them grew up together in Tennessee. They’re good ole boys, fun and cute in a rednecky kind of way. So you’ll go?”

“I don’t know, Emma. I’d planned to study.”

She rolled her eyes. “Because everyone studies on Saturday. Please,” she begged, sticking her lower lip out in a pout. “His dorm is having a killer party afterwards, one we definitely don’t want to miss.”

“Oh, all right. I guess one afternoon away from the library won’t kill me.”

“Goody.” She bounced up and down on her bed a couple of times before turning serious again. “By the way, I spoke to my mother this week. Apparently my computer can’t be fixed. The ones in the library are so slow . . .”

“I’m sorry. I totally forgot.” I grabbed a piece of paper from the printer. “Let’s work out a schedule for us to share mine.” It made me feel good about myself to be able to share the things Emma didn’t have. As long as it wasn’t my brother.

When Ben texted me on Sunday afternoon to see if I wanted to play tennis, I suspected him of using me as an excuse to see Emma, until he suggested we meet at the courts instead of offering to come by my room.

“I saw you on the lawn yesterday,” he said, popping the top on a new can of balls. “Who’s the guy you were with?”

“Emma’s date’s best friend.” I watched Ben’s face closely, waiting for his brow to furrow or his eye to twitch. Instead, he surprised me by saying, “Good. I hope you had fun.”

I followed Ben out onto the court. “How ’bout you? Did you have a date?”