Page 80 of Sounds Like Love

“Ha, Hank.Ha. So,” she added, taking a sip from her scotch glass, though now it was just Diet Coke, “I heard from a birdie you were in the private balcony tonight with afriend…”

I shifted awkwardly. “It’s not what you think.” And when my parents elbowed each other knowingly I added, “Okay, that’s enough.”

Dad put a hand over his heart. “My little girl, all grown up and taking strapping young men up into the make-out seats to, uh, make out. Wyn, don’t you remember when we used those seats? Worked wonders, lemme tell you. I got so lucky in those seats—”

“Please don’t,” I groaned.

“Where has the time gone?” Mom lamented. “It feels like just yesterday we were flexible enough to really appreciate the small space.”

Staying was a mistake. I massaged the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath. “If this is the start of my origin story, I still don’t want to know.”

“Oh, no, you were at a festival.Mitchwas in the balcony.”

“Mom!” I cried.

She laughed, almost spilling her drink. “Knowledge is power, heart!”

“And ten years in therapy,” Dad agreed. The wind began to pick up, and he put a hand on top of his hat to keep it from blowing away. “Did the weatherman confirm Darcy? You can smell it in the air.”

And you could. This earthy aroma that blew in from the ocean. “It smells heavy,” I commented. LA rain never smelled like this. It was always dry. Dusty.

“That’s the geosmin,” Dad informed, letting go of his hat once the wind calmed, and tapping the ash from his pipe. “It’s a metabolic by-product of bacteria and algae that lives on the surface of water. When hurricanes rotate, they churn the water, killing the algae on the water’s surface. That’s the smell.”

Mom kissed his cheek. “Look at you, putting your science degree to work.”

“Least I can do to spite my parents. God rest their souls,” he added, tipping his hat toward the sky. Dad hadn’t wanted to take over the Revelry when he was younger. He’d thought he’d go into marine conservation—when you grew up so close to ecological landmarks, it was kinda built into your bones—but then he met Mom and changed course.They both had, come to think of it. The dreams they started with weren’t the dreams they left with.

I began to wonder if that was the destiny of all dreams.

Mine included.

Mom said, “We should probably get some—gosh, what are they called? The things you put dirt in?”

Dad guessed, “Sandbags?”

“Those! We should get those for the Revelry. Just in case.” Then she shook her head. “Sandbags. I knew they were something.”

“Maybe we should do more memorization exercises tomorrow,” Dad said. “After the morning crossword?”

But Mom waved her hand. “It’s fine, Hank.”

I glanced at Dad, but he seemed to shrug it off. It was easier for Dad, probably because he’d lived with it since the beginning—the words she forgot, the names she suddenly couldn’t remember after years of saying them, misplaced things like the coffee tin—but it was still hard for me. I wondered if it’d get easier. I twisted my fingers anxiously. “You wanted to talk about something with me?”

“Right! Right.” Dad took another puff from his pipe. It smelled strong. Not tobacco. “We’ve been thinking about when to close the Rev. We want it to be while you’re still here. It feels right.”

The hope that had timidly sparked in my stomach turned cold and hard. “Oh. That.”

My parents took my clipped words as being angry, not disappointed. “I know you don’t want to see it go,” Mom said, trying to soothe me, “but we would rather it go out with a bang than with a whimper, you know? Solidify some good memories.”

“Right.”

“But we can’t exactly remember when you said you’d be leaving,” Mom said, a bit tongue in cheek, making fun of herself.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I replied.

“Hmm. Maybe at the end of the month, then.”

That didn’t sound right, even to me. “But what about the shows? Aren’t we booked up past the summer? We can’t just close up and forget about them.”

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