Page 47 of Seven Summer Weekends

“It’s not funny, son. You’re a little loose with the goods. I worry you’re gonna get the clap.”

“For your information, I am not sleeping with Addison. In fact, I’m pretty sure that until yesterday, she may have hated me. And not that it’s any of your business, but I haven’t slept with anyone all summer.”

“Listen up, Hot Lips. She will definitely hate you if shebecomes another notch on your ‘Make a Widower Happy’ card. She will sell that house to the highest bidder before you can saychlamydia.”

“Oh my God, Shep, I don’t have chlamydia. And look who’s talking. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you slipping out the back of Ruth Ingram’s house early mornings.”

“You know I hate sleeping alone.”

Addison and Terrence were bobbing up and over the waves, her hands visibly wrapped around his neck, her legs, no doubt, wrapped around his waist. Ben’s face reddened at that realization, and he stood to flee the scene.

“This is ridiculous. He’s supposed to be surfing, not babysitting Addison. Tell him to come by when he’s done doing whatever this is.”

Shep looked at him knowingly. Ben mumbled “Shut up” under his breath as he hightailed it back over the hot sand.

•••

Addison soon emerged from the water, her wet skin catching the rays of the sun. Clearly proud of herself, she squinted, watching Ben walk back up the stairs, dousing the gleam in her eyes. She wrapped herself in a towel and plopped down next to Shep.

“Good job,” he offered, patting her on the back.

With the fear removed, the sea water felt invigorating. Even now, with its remnants glistening on her skin, she relished in the aftereffects. She planned on going in again for sure and wanted to tell Ben how much she loved it—but alas…

“Where did he run off to?” she asked Shep.

Shep shrugged, sighed, and changed the subject.

“Have you found my painting from Gicky yet?”

“Not yet. But I’m planning on doing a major purge next week. I’m sure I’ll find it then.”

That afternoon, Terrence and Ben took off to the east, where the waves were said to be gnarly (OK, not really gnarly—but at least bigger). They ended up having dinner on the east end of the island with a couple of surfers that Terrence had met in Baja a few years back.

Disappointed by the late return of the Big Kahuna, Addison and Kizzy went to bed early, each reading another one of Ben Morse’s books. Sunburnt and seaworn, they both dozed off after a chapter or two and remained asleep till about 2:00 a.m., when Kizzy awoke to a noise in the kitchen.

“Do you hear that? There’s someone in the kitchen,” she whispered, nudging her friend awake.

“I’m sure it’s just Terrence. Go back to sleep.”

“You should go out there, Addison. Be the girl in this port!”

Addison seemed to contemplate it.

“C’mon, you must want more of his hands wrapped around you like in the ocean this morning!” Kizzy insisted.

But she didn’t. In fact, her mind ran to Ben at the suggestion of it.

“You go,” Addison responded.

“I couldn’t,” Kizzy countered.

“I think you can. I think Terrence is your one-hit wonder! Rip off the Band-Aid.”

As if on cue, there was a light knock on the door. They both jumped two feet in the air and landed, laughing. Kizzy prudishly pulled up the blanket while Addison barely squeaked out, “Come in.”

“I heard chatting in here so thought it was OK to knock—I can’t figure out your toaster oven.”

“Kizzy will help you,” Addison declared, physically pushing her out the bedroom door.

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