Chapter 13
As you might expect, Punkin becomes a chatterbox on the way home.
Also as you might expect, the incident on the beach wasn’t a one hundred percent random attack.
“The other kids were playing manhunt,” she says. “Did you used to play manhunt, Mama?”
“They didn’t really invite me over when I was a kid.”
“I used to play manhunt,” says Ben. “Best played after dark, for sure.”
Punkin assumes a tone of moral superiority. “Well, I was collecting seashells. The little gold ones.”
“Mermaid toenails,” I say.
“Mermaids don’t have toenails, Mama.”
“Pirate toenails,” says Ben.
“Gross,” says Punkin. “And that boy came by and said he tagged me so I was dead, and I said I wasn’t playing, and he said I should get off the beach then because I wasn’t in the family, so I told him he had une petite bite—”
“A what?” asks Ben.
“Une bite is French for penis,” I tell him. “And petite is—well, petite.”
“Got it. But Tanner doesn’t hit me as a French speaker.”
“One of the girl cousins told him what it meant,” says Punkin.
Ben whistles. “Nothing like throwing some shade on the old manhood.”
The Club Car turns down Plum Lane and bounces along the gravel. Punkin sits on my lap in the front seat, facing forward. Chief panting happily on her lap. Lola’s blanket drapes over my shoulders to envelop us in a snug cocoon.
“That’s wonderful news about Sedge and Audrey,” I say.
Ben glances at me. “The best. She’s good for him.”
“A lot better than that girl he brought home from college. What was her name?”
“Nerissa,” says Ben.
Punkin pipes up. “How did Mr. Ressler know that?”
“Because he was there too.”
“Hold on just a second, there,” says Punkin. “You were teenagers together?”
Ben stares straight ahead at the jiggling beam of the headlights. “For a minute.”
Punkin sits back against my chest and takes this in. The Club Car bounces along. Her weight grows heavier and heavier until I realize, as we turn up the driveway, that she’s fallen asleep. The porch light appears between the trees.
I say softly, “When you said you used to be rich. Was that because of the thing?”
“Yeah,” he says. “The thing.”
The electric engine whirs up the slope. The tires crunch the gravel.
Ben says, “It felt sick to me, to keep it all. What I’d earned on the field. Like blood money. I put some of it into a trust for his kids. Donated the rest to some charities.”
“You didn’t keep any of it?”
“Just enough to live on. I mean, not to be a burden on anyone.” He stops the Club Car and looks at Punkin. “Want me to carry her in?”
“I’ve got her.”
“Let me get the door for you.”
He jumps up the steps ahead of us. The door’s unlocked. He pulls it open and jumps back as a wide ribbon of water gushes out over the porch.
“Think you got a leak here, Luce,” he says.
—
Punkin insists she didn’t leave the faucet on.
“I don’t even use that bathroom,” she says. “It’s creepy.”
It’s past nine o’clock and every towel in the house is laid out on the floors and stairs to absorb the water that poured out from the tap in the master bathroom.
As soon as he found the source and turned it off, Ben rushed to Summerly and brought back the wet vac, or else we’d still be sloshing through the puddle downstairs.
“Well, I certainly didn’t use it,” I say.
“Maybe we have a ghost,” she says hopefully.
I exchange a look with Ben, who is a mess. Chinos soaked, shirt rolled up to his elbows. His brown tweed jacket lies over the porch railing.
“Tell you what, kiddo,” I say. “Let’s get you to bed and we can figure out what happened in the morning while we’re hanging up all the rugs to dry.”
By the time Punkin’s brushed her teeth and pulled on her pajamas, we’re both ready to call it a night. I hold up the covers while she climbs in.
“Do you think the ghost will come in while we’re sleeping?” Punkin asks.
“Oh, Lord. I hope not.”
“I do. I’ve been longing for a ghost. The house is old enough, right?”
I lay Lola’s blanket over her for good luck and kiss her good night. She snuggles deep and opens her eyes wide.
“What is it, honey?” I ask.
“I want Ben to tuck me in.”
“Honey, Ben needs to go home. He’s worked harder than any of us.”
“He can sleep here. We have plenty of beds.”
“I think Ben wants to sleep at his own house.” I stroke the hair from her forehead. “He has his own bed.”
“What if he’s lonely?”
“He’s not lonely. He has the Peabodys right there.”
She sighs and closes her eyes. “Okay. But give him a hug good night for me, okay?”
Downstairs, Ben is tucking the hose of the wet vac into its housing.
“I think my daughter might be in love with you,” I tell him.
He looks up and grins. “Don’t worry. It’ll pass.”
“I don’t know. You save a girl’s life, she’s kind of hooked.”
The words come out of nowhere to hang in the air between us. Ben straightens. The grin fades from his mouth.
“That came out weird,” I say. “What I should have said is I’m sorry. For a lot of things, but mostly for the way I reacted that day. Back in September. When Sedge told me why you were here.”
“It’s okay, Luce. I deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t. In my head, I was confusing what had happened to Arnaud with what you had done in that football game, and they were two different things.”
“Not that different. I get it, Luce. I don’t blame you. For the rest of my life, I—”
“Just. Please. I was wrong. God knows you’ve beaten yourself up enough. The world’s beaten you up enough. You didn’t need me to pile on.”
He moves his mouth like he’s trying to speak. Folds his arms across his chest and looks away, toward the front door. “Anyway. Looks like we’re done here. I’ll come by in the morning to give you a hand with the rugs.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I kind of do. Wet rugs are heavy as shit.”
“I mean you’ve already done so much. I don’t even know how to thank you.
First you save my kid, then you save my house.
” Without warning, the tears start leaking down my face.
“It’s just one disaster after another. And now I have to figure out how to pay a plumber to come out the day after Thanksgiving, and—and figure out what happened and—I just—I wish I could primal scream the fuck out of all this but I can’t wake up my daughter—”
“Whoa. Hey. It’s all right.”
I shake my head and wipe beneath my eyes with my thumbs.
“Luce, you got a right to be upset. It’s been a fucked-up day.”
“The worst.”
“Tell you what, honey.” Ben points to the joining of his ribs. “If you scream right there as loud as you can, I bet no one even hears you.”
I can’t help smiling. I can’t help stepping forward.
Ben tucks me against his chest and says, Now scream. I let him have it. Scream my lungs out through the fabric of his plaid button-down shirt and on into his muscle and bone. I feel my own voice vibrate deep inside him. I smell his sweat, his soap. His warm skin.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Luce,” he says. “Except those badass boots of yours. I think those are a write-off.”
I turn my face to the side. “She did say to give you a hug.”
“What’s that?”
“Punkin. To give you a hug from her.”
“Well, there you go.”
We laugh against each other. I realize he’s stroking my hair. I should feel the touch of Ben’s hand like an electric shock, but instead the warmth and rhythm of his palm settle each nerve to peace.
“So I didn’t want to say anything in front of the kid,” says Ben, “but are you sure one of you didn’t accidentally leave that tap running?”
“One hundred percent sure?”
“Because I’m no plumber, but I just don’t see how a tap like that could turn itself on. While you just happened to be out of the house.”
I pull back to look at his furrowed brow. “What are you saying?”
“Do you usually leave the door unlocked?”
“Ben, it’s Winthrop Island. The crime rate is like, zero.”
“The crime rate is low,” he says, “but never zero.”
I laugh. “You sound like Bixie.”
“Bixie?”
“Bixie Huxley. The Realtor who came to look the place over in September. Because I left the windows open to catch the breeze.”
“Bixie was right, Luce. Especially this time of year, when the families aren’t around. Can you do me a favor? Lock the fucking doors, okay? And you have my number, right? If you need anything?”
I search his face. “What are you saying?”
“I’m just saying.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Seriously. Why would somebody walk into my house on Thanksgiving Day, go upstairs to my father’s bathroom, turn on the hot water tap, and then walk back out again? Shutting the door behind him? Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
He lets me go and steps back. “Do you have another explanation? Other than ghosts?”
I shrug. “It was probably Punkin. Came in there looking for God knows what. Needed to pee. Washed her hands. Got distracted at the last second. Forgot all about it. She’s a kid. They do stuff like that.”
Ben frowns at me. Over his shoulder, a lamp glows in my father’s study. Thank God the water didn’t reach that far. All those maps and documents in their boxes.
“You’re right,” he says finally. “I’m just being paranoid.”
“Paranoid? About what?”
“Nothing.” He looks to the side. “You. Elise.”
“You don’t need to worry about us,” I say softly. “We’re fine. It’s Winthrop. What could happen?”
He rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “You do have my number, though. Right?”
“Actually, Ben. I don’t have your number. Funnily enough.”
He holds out his hand. I dig my phone out of my back pocket, unlock it with my face, and give it to him. For some reason, while his big thumbs fly away, my heart crashes into my sternum.
He offers it back. “Now you do.”
As I take the phone from his hand, his thumb brushes my thumb.
Neither of us moves. The ends of our fingers steeple together. His eyes are soft and steady; a thin warm line parts his lips. I take in the snick of pulse at his neck, the tension in his jaw, even though I cannot unfasten my gaze from his.
I give the phone the lightest of tugs. Instead of letting go, he steps forward. I put the other hand on his shoulder and he lets go of the phone to put his hand on my cheek.
“Luce,” he says.
The phone vibrates. I think of my mother and look down.
“It’s just Lola,” I tell him.
He sighs and steps back. “You should probably get that.”
I lift the phone to my ear.
“Hey. Lola. What’s up?”
“Lucy! What’s going on? Ben came back and then he went out again and we don’t know what’s going on.”
Ben bends down to finish securing the wet vac.
“Everyone’s safe and sound,” I say. “Except for the flood.”
“Did you say flood? Like Noah?”
“One of us left a tap running, somehow. It’s fine. Ben helped me clean it up.”
“Oh. Well, thank goodness for Ben.”
Ben lifts the vac with one hand and walks toward the door.
“Yeah, he’s a star. He’s—he’s on his way back now,” I say.
“Oh, good,” she says. “Anyway, I also wanted to apologize. For what happened out there. Is she okay?”
“Punkin? Oh, she’s fine. A little shaken up. But once we washed the sand off, she was back to her old self.”
“Well, I’m sorry about Tanner. And for Harry. We staged an intervention. He’s going to bring the kid over tomorrow to apologize.”
“Oh, please. That’s not necessary. It’s just the age. Puberty sucks. Can you hold on a second?”
I tap mute and run out the door to the porch. Ben’s loading the wet vac onto the back seat of the Club Car. “Wait!” I call out.
He turns.
I hold up one finger and put Lola on again. “Lola, I appreciate the call. It’s been a rough night, though? I was kind of hoping to turn in a little early.”
“Oh, of course. Catch you tomorrow?”
“For sure. And I’ll bring your blanket.”
I toss the phone onto the limp, blue-striped cushion of the wicker porch chair.
Ben stands next to the Club Car, one hand on the wet vac.
One foot on the side bumper. He is not quite so formidable as he once was, I think.
Not so ferociously muscular as when he rose at dawn to sprint up hills carrying weights.
Just solid. A trim solid wedge of a man, a bulwark against you and disaster.
I lift his tweed jacket from the porch railing and walk down the steps. The jacket is softer than I expected. Silk lining. “Don’t forget this.”
This time our hands miss each other. Mine falls back to my side.
He slings the jacket across his wide shoulders and thrusts his arms in the armholes.
The wind whistles along the bare branches, hidden by the night.
The cold air makes me shiver. In the old yellow light from the porch, it’s hard to make out his expression.
“All right, then,” he says. “Call me if you need me.”
I think—I need you.
He turns away and walks around the front of the Club Car to the driver’s seat.
“Wait!” I call again.
He turns.
“How much do you know about basketball?”
“Some.”
“Because they need a girls’ basketball coach at the high school. Mike Kennedy used to do it, but he’s gone. And the gym teacher already coaches the boys’ team. And I just thought.”
“You thought me?”
“Yes. I thought you.” At his expression of disbelief, I add, “It’s only a few months. Over the winter. The kids would be thrilled.”
“What about their parents?” he says. “Teachers?”
“Once they meet you. Get to know you.”
He turns his head to look at the moon, hanging above the sea. “Luce, I don’t know if you’ve thought this through. There are games. Away games. People know my face. Word would get around.”
“So? Who cares? Who cares what people think? I know who you are. I know what you are. And I think you’d be an amazing coach. You’re a natural with kids. You have so much to give, Ben. You do.”
Ben swings into his seat and sits with his hands on the wheel, staring ahead at the porch lights. “I’ll think about it,” he says.
He turns the switch and drives off.