Chapter 38
I find out real quickly the next morning that the relationship between granddaughter and Pops is quite different from the relationship between Pops and daughter. He sits me down and lectures me about Ben and Diana’s not-so-successful wedding crash attempt. I respectfully listen as he gets the message across that he’s disappointed and I’m now grounded from Little Narnia. We end the conversation and I’m just grateful I haven’t been grounded from dating or leaving the house because I have plans.
Ben invited me to the drive-in as we crossed the freezing creek water last night. I happily agreed after extinguishing any concerns they had about Officer Berrett chasing me in the dark, assuring both of them he’d be giving me a lot more space moving forward.
Thursday night, Ben and I pull into the drive-in’s gravel parking lot in my grandparents’ station wagon. He’s driving. We thought it would be a bit uncomfortable to show up on the dirt bike, and Diana and Tyler are using her car. We find them parked next to Corky and Bennette as we drive past the second row of parking and land ourselves in the open third row spot behind them.
Bennette pokes her head around at me. She and Corky sit on the top of the truck wrapped in thick bunched-up blankets, and she’s looking at me as if I’ve stolen her candy. To be fair that’s exactly what I had done. Ben doesn’t notice. He’s too busy handing me a heap of blankets and adding cream soda to the space in between us—which was quite a lot of space considering 1970s station wagons were built with three rows of leather hotdog seats, void of cup holders, that could easily fit three people in just the driver’s row.
Ben reaches down by his feet, then pops back up brandishing a two-and-a-half-foot-long tube that’s covered in Tootsie Roll logo wrapping. It’s basically the jumbo size version of the Tootsie Roll can in my bottom dresser drawer.
“Tootsie Roll?” he asks. I nod. He pops the piggy-bank-style lid open and at least fifty filled wrappers disperse across our blankets as the screen projector begins playing grainy commercials on the giant screen. My insides warm as the words TOP GUN appear, so large they could be read by the cars driving by on the highway.
“Such a classic,” I say impetuously.
“Yeah, it’s good. I don’t know about classic yet. It’s only been out for a year.” Ben tugs on the blanket I’d been keeping to myself.
“Trust me. It will be,” I say, handing him one of the three quilts he’d given me.
“You’ve seen this already, but have you seen Risky Business ?” Ben asks.
“The dancing socks scene only.” I leave out the fact that it was a three minute video on YouTube.
“ The Outsiders ?” he asks.
“I’ve seen that.” And many other Tom Cruise movies: The Mummy, Mission Impossible, Rock of Ages. All movies this Ben hasn’t seen.
“Who’s your favorite actor?” he asks as Maverick guides Cougar to the landing strip.
“Chris Farley.” It’s an easy answer, requiring absolutely no thought. It slips out automatically, like car oil from a worn-out gasket. Non-80s-Land Ben knew this better than anyone. He knew my fascination with the SNL Chippendales skit actor stemmed from the memories I had watching it with my father as a child. He’d understood what Chris Farley truly meant to me other than quick laughs and automatic smiles, even when he and Diana forcibly set limits on how many times I could mention the “fat guy in a little coat” and threatened to destroy a few of my VHS tapes. It was all a tease, a suggestion to help me to branch out, but they’d never actually destroy the things that held most of my sentiments.
“How come I’ve never heard of him?” Ben says. “What’s he in?”
His response gives me pause. The largest difference between Non-80s-Land Ben and this Ben becomes more clear-cut. Ben and Diana knew Chris Farley was one of the only memories I have with my dad. Chris Farley was my way of keeping him in my life.
“ Tommy Boy ,” I say as if I’ve mixed something up and I am suddenly unsure.
“Hmm…I haven’t seen that either. We should watch it together.”
“We should. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it.” When it comes out eight years from now that is.
“You don’t think I’ll like it?”
“I’m not sure what you’ll feel about it,” I say, knowing my partner agent Ben was so considerate of these memories that his seventeen-year-old self dressed up as Chris Farley motivational speaker just to sway my mood and bring the comforting memory out for my sixteenth birthday—a situation of bonding over a scenario found in only one time—one universe. The Ben sitting beside me couldn’t know this.
I let some deeper thoughts sink in and then resolve to completely shut them out for the night.
“If you love it, I will love it too.”
I nod and smile back at him in response.
“You know the moment I think I realized I loved you was when Kelly kicked you in the face.” He laughs.
“Oh, it started out so romantic,” I say sarcastically. I replay his words again in my head. “Wait, did you just admit you love me?”
“I did." A smirk sits on his face. "I think back to that moment a lot actually, how concerned I was about you after you joined cheer just to mess with Corky. I made it worse and I felt so bad. I couldn’t stop thinking about how your injury was because of my prank on Tyler, but then you acted so cool about it.”
“I think I’ve always loved you,” I say automatically. At this he seems to realize his ongoing chatter isn’t necessary.
“If I kissed you right now would you be sad you missed out on the movie?” he says, leaning in so his face is just inches away from mine and a spark of excitement builds pressure and radiates from his eyes.
“Not even a little bit.” At that, he scoots closer to my side and lowers slowly until he reaches my lips. We tangle up in sweet kisses for the rest of the movie. I’ve already seen the last half of Top Gun, and I’ve missed out on these kisses for ten-plus years. I’ll be enjoying every last second of them.
“Were you able to talk with Tyler’s dad yesterday?” I ask, as we sit, stuck in the gravel line, waiting for the cars to move from out of their parked rows.
“Yes,” he says, focused on following the next car in line as they speed up and shoot out onto the street.
“Do you think he’ll pursue it?”
“I think so.”
“What was his response?” My words come out with the same resolute weight as when I’m questioning others on a case.
“He said he’ll bring it up with his department.” He smiles at me and slowly inches the car forward.
“If you’re able to bring it up again, make sure to mention the name Marigold. When I spoke with him the other day I learned Officer Berrett is associated with a group called Marigold,” I say, hoping just the mention of the mine explosion itself will be enough for Tyler’s dad to connect his Marigold findings—aka newspaper clippings—with the mountain explosion.
The newspaper articles held information about an EPA director's death, a new installment and the subsequent MaG compound approval—a series of events that likely coincide with the fact that they can now sell Clean Wave products containing that chemical. I figured Mr. Jacobson knew enough to assume what was being held up in the mine. Prior to our discovery, what he lacked was evidence and a location.
“I might not get to mention it for a while,” he says.
“Why is that?” I say, noticing Ben seems to be far away. Somewhere deep in his thoughts as he stares at Tyler and Diana's car in front of us.
“He’s going to be at St. Joseph’s for a while.” He pauses. “Tyler starts chemo tomorrow.”