Page 31 of Something Like Summer
“Everything all right?” heinquired.
“Yes!” came the impatientresponse. “C’mon.”
Ben felt uneasy as heunlocked the black sports car and took a seat. He glanced over atTim, who still hadn’t smiled or shown any sign that he was glad tosee Ben. Only after they were a few blocks from the house did thetension evaporate, allowing Tim to act like his old selfagain.
“Everything all right athome?” Ben asked.
“Yeah,” Tim said. “I’mjust sick of being there, that’s all.”
Ben knew there was more toit than that, but he didn’t want to return Tim to his foul mood byplaying twenty questions.
“So where do you want togo?”
“I don’t know.” Tim leanedover and checked the dashboard. “Gas station, first. The tank isempty.”
“Sorry about that. Ididn’t have any cash to fill it up last week.”
“It’s all right.” Timpulled out his wallet and slid a plastic card from it. “Gas card.My parents pay for all of it.”
“Wow! That’s generous ofthem.”
Tim shrugged.
“Well, if you have all thegas in the world, I know exactly where we should go. When do youhave to be home?”
“Anytime is fine. Theywon’t even notice that I’m gone.”
After refueling, Ben droveto Interstate 45 and cranked up the music as they headed south.Occasionally Tim would turn the volume down and ask where they weregoing, but Ben would only grin and turn the music back up. After anhour of exceeding the speed limit, they were traveling thoughlandscape that began to give way to water and palmtrees.
“Galveston?” Tim read fromone of the signs.
“Yeah,” Ben confessed.“Ever been there?”
“No. What’s itlike?”
“This is pretty muchit.”
They were crossing thetwo-mile-long causeway now, a tremendous expanse of road thatspanned the huge body of water below. They continued across toGalveston Island, which did its best to appear as a hot touristattraction and failed, coming across more like the trashy cousin ofMiami.
“Looks pretty cool,” Timcommented as they passed garishly lit restaurants that were juststarting to see an influx of patronage.
They turned left onto thelast stretch of the seawall boulevard. Ben kept Tim distracted andlooking away from the small area where the Gulf of Mexico could beseen and continued driving until they reached the Bolivar Ferry.The stars were shining favorably on Ben that day. The ferry wasdocked and cars were pulling onto it. Tim sat up, looking moreenthusiastic. Once the car was parked, they left it and walked tothe front of the boat for a better view. To the east, waterstretched out and disappeared into the horizon.
“Is that the ocean?” Timasked excitedly. “That is, isn’t it?”
“Yup,” Ben said. “Well,the Gulf of Mexico anyway. My dad always calls it the poor man’sAtlantic.”
“It’s all the same water,right? This is so cool!”
They stayed on deck duringthe twenty-minute ride, Ben singing sea shanties to make Tim laughas wind blew through their hair and mist from the waves chilledtheir skin. When Bolivar Peninsula came into view, they hurriedback to the car and impatiently waited for the other cars todisembark ahead of them.
They didn’t drive farbefore finding a decent beach. Tourist season was starting to diedown, and while it was impossible to find complete solitude, theydid find an area unpolluted by sunbathers. Tim’s crutches keptsinking into the sand, so they backtracked to solid ground andparked themselves there, enjoying the view. The sky changed itsflavor to tropical orange as the sun steadily made its descent,seagulls calling out to each other above the crashingwaves.
“This is the first timeI’ve ever seen the ocean,” Tim said. “Or gulf orwhatever.”
“I guess there’s nothinglike this in Kansas,” Ben replied. “I figured that you traveled alot with your parents, though.”
“Not really. They like totake trips on their own, but I have been to Mexico City half adozen times. My mom’s family all live there.”
