Dog Beach Unleashed (19 page)

We get back to Manhattan, and it's raining there,
too. The whole East Coast is being slammed, but some areas are safer than others.

Our apartment is hot and stuffy, as if someone pumped as much sticky air into it as they possibly could and then locked all the doors and sealed all the windows. Being back in the city in August just feels wrong.

Three days later, it feels like forever. I don't know how long we have to stay here; that in and of itself is unsettling.

But there's one tiny silver lining.

I charged my phone as soon as I got home. And when I did, a bunch of texts popped up.

From Bennett:
Be safe, Rem. See you soon. And in case you're wondering, of course we're still friends. Always.

From Claire:
Even though you like my brother, I still
love you. Agh. Why aren't you answering your phone? Call me pleaaaaasssseeeee.

From Micayla:
Where are you?!? Stop ignoring me. I've called you seventeen times. I love you. I hope you're safe!

From Calvin:
I wanted to say good-bye. Hope we're back on SGI very soon. Maybe we can do the wedding booth next year.

People do come together when disaster strikes. People let go of their grudges when there are more important things to worry about. I left Seagate fearing that everyone was mad at me, but what I learned is that they all really cared. So we've all been texting back and forth and updating one another every day.

Claire and Calvin are in Westchester, but if we get word that it's safe to go back to Seagate, they're going to beg to come back with their grandfather.

Claire's back to being the social planner for her friends at home. She says it keeps her mind off the sad stuff. And Calvin's trying to sell some of his old video games on eBay. He wants to raise money in case Seagate needs help getting back up and running.

Micayla and Bennett are doing okay in Boston, though she says it's awkward to see so much of him. She says he forgets she's around and eats breakfast in his underwear. So she pretty much keeps to herself there, reading on the porch.

It's funny how a person can be so different depending on where they are or who they're with.

But that's probably what makes life interesting. That we're not all the same all the time.

How boring would that be?

I'm lying on the couch, daydreaming about what it would be like if Calvin and Claire were in Manhattan right now, when my mom comes back from the grocery store.

“I have news,” she says.

I sit up. Good news? Bad news? I can't tell.

“People have started going back to Seagate to assess the damage,” she tells me.

“And?”

She puts the grocery bags on the table and sits down next to me. “It's bad, but not as bad as we feared.”

“What do you mean?”

“The stadium needs a new roof. And the community pool has extensive damage,” she says. “Some houses had first-floor flooding, but only the ones on the ferry side of the island.”

“What are those people going to do?”

“They can stay upstairs while the first floors are being repaired,” she says. “I haven't heard of any houses that are unlivable.”

“This is great news!” I stand up. “Right?”

Sighing, she says, “Yes, it's good news. It could have been much, much worse.”

“Nobody lost their homes. That's huge!”

She nods.

“And we can go back to Seagate?”

She hesitates. “Dad and I are still discussing that. There's lots of damage to be cleaned up. Fallen trees, buildings that might be in danger of collapsing. We're still not sure if it's the best thing to do.”

“Mom,” I plead, “we need to help clean it up. Isn't that obvious?”

She smiles. “We're going to think about it.”

That's the best answer I'm going to get.

Micayla and her family go back to Seagate
first. The year-rounders and business owners need time to get things up and running and secure their homes.

Micayla's house sustained minimal damage, mostly to the front porch. It's sad, because I love Micayla's porch—it wraps almost all the way around the house. But it could have been so much worse. Again and again, I hear my mom saying to people:
We were so lucky.

She's right. But it all still feels sad to me. I discovered that you can be grateful and sad at the same time. I guess I never knew that was possible.

Even though Claire and Calvin and I have been texting, I've been avoiding calling them. Not because I don't want to talk, but because I'm nervous, I guess. I'm nervous because Claire and I ended our last encounter on an angry note. And
I'm nervous that Calvin might have forgotten that he even liked me in the first place. But after the fourth day at home, I'm so bored and lonely that I can't resist calling their landline, though I'm afraid Calvin could answer.

Thankfully, he doesn't.

“Hey, hey,” Claire answers after the first ring.

“Hi, it's Remy, but I guess you know that. You have caller ID, I'm sure.” Nervous laugh. “What's up?”

“Well,” she begins, “Calvin's throwing a basketball off the roof of the house, and it's unbelievably annoying. My grandfather's snoring in the living room. My mom is on a business call. And I'm talking to you.” She pauses. “That's what's up.”

“Wow,” I say. I tell her about Micayla's family going back to Seagate. “You guys are coming back, too, right?”

“I don't know,” she says. “My grandfather and my mom want us to, but my dad is trying to get Calvin and me to come to Manhattan.”

“Oh, right.” I put my feet up on the coffee table. “How's that situation going?”

She's silent for so long, I think that the call has dropped. But no, she's still on the other end of the phone. She's crying.

“Claire, I'm sorry,” I say. “I didn't mean to upset you. You sounded so—”

“It's weird without him here,” she says. “It's weird being in the den and seeing the armchair he'd sit in; it's always empty now. And his seat at the kitchen table. The mugs he'd use for his coffee. It feels so lonely.”

I don't know what to say to that.

I imagine how I'd feel if this happened to me. I'd feel terrible. I think about the newspaper; it would come every morning, but Dad wouldn't be there to rush to read it.

Claire changes the subject. “I should totally feel grossed out by you, because you have a crush on my brother.” She hesitates. “And I do feel uneasy about it. But—and don't get all mushy about this—you're the best listener I know. I can't stay mad at you.”

“Thanks,” I say. I know how hard it is for Claire to be sweet sometimes.

“I need you, Remy,” she says. “When we had to leave Seagate in such a hurry and you weren't responding to texts or answering your phone, I felt awful. I realized what a good friend you are. You listen to me babble and cry. And I know that I was no fun to be around this summer.”

I stop her. “Claire, come on.”

“I guess it's okay that you like my brother, even though it's weird, as long as you promise to still be my friend, too. Okay?”

“It's a deal,” I say. “But you have to promise me that you'll come back to Seagate. I'm pretty sure we're going, even though my parents haven't officially told me yet. They'll need to check on the house anyway.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Claire says.

When my phone rings five minutes later, and I
see that it's Claire's number, I get excited. She must have already found out they can go back to Seagate. That was easy.

“Hey, so what ferry are you taking?” I ask.

“What?”

“Claire?”

It's not Claire. It's Calvin.

“Oh, hi.”

My heart races. Like it's running a marathon.

I ask, “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” he says hesitantly. “How are you?”

The only boy I've ever talked to on the phone is Bennett. And half the time we were playing Twenty Questions or Would You Rather or Truth or Dare. But now I'm on the
phone and Calvin's on the other end. I don't know what to do.

“I'm good. Bored,” I admit. “I really want to go back to Seagate. I miss it so much. I miss the dogs.” I pause and realize I'm pretty much just saying anything that pops into my head. “I miss you, um, I miss you guys, too.”

He says, “I want to go back. My grandpa will need help cleaning up his house and the yard and stuff. And there's nothing for us to do in Westchester.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. “I'm here now. For the city that never sleeps, it feels pretty sleepy.”

“Let's FaceTime,” he says with a little more pep in his voice. “I want to see your room.”

“Really?” I ask. “It's nothing special. And it's kind of messy.”

What I don't want to tell him is how disheveled my hair looks and that I'm still in my pajama shorts and T-shirt.

“Yeah. I don't care if it's messy. You can give me a tour of your apartment.” He pauses. “It can be kind of like our first date. I mean, like, ya know, a phone date.”

I didn't expect him to say something like that. But I think it's a good sign. Maybe he hasn't forgotten about liking me.

Soon he appears on my phone. He's there. Right there. Sitting on a leather couch, wearing a backward baseball cap.

I take him on a tour. It doesn't last very long. Kitchen. Main room. My room. My parents' room. Bathroom. Hallway. Done.

“That's it,” I say. “I'm going to have a muffin. Care to join me?”

He laughs. “Sure. I'll pretend I'm sharing the muffin with you at Mornings. Not banana, right?”

“Nope. Blueberry.”

“I hate banana muffins,” he tells me.

“I'll never make you eat a banana muffin over the phone,” I declare. “So no worries on that front.”

I slice the muffin. “Here. Two pieces.” I show him. When I look back at the phone, I realize he's switched places. He's in his room now. Maybe he needed more privacy.

I see a plaid comforter. An old desktop computer. Trophies on a shelf. A framed kindergarten diploma.

Looks like a pretty average room to me.

Calvin sits on his bed. His face is gloomy all of a sudden. Something has changed.

“Are you okay?” I ask, and then I regret it.

“You already asked me that.”

We were having so much fun, and then something happened. I don't know what it is.

“Right. Sorry.” I take teeny-tiny bites of my muffin.

Calvin takes me on a tour of his room.

And then more silence. I think we've run out of things to say already, and that makes me nervous.

I can't handle the silence anymore, so I start talking about the storm, what's left of Seagate, what the dogs might be doing. “Without seeing it for myself, I'm worried, you know?”

He nods but stays quiet.

“Do you know what I mean?” I ask. I could be talking to a door right now and it would be more satisfying.

“I do,” he says quietly after what feels like a decade. There's another long silence. But then he starts talking. And he keeps going. “I know how you feel. You're trying to cling to something as tightly as you possibly can. But sometimes you can cling so tightly to something that it all just crumbles apart.” He looks at me, tight-lipped. “Like that muffin. If you pick it up gently, it will stay together. If you pick it up and squeeze it, it's just a handful of crumbs.”

I jump in. “Crumbs can still be delicious.”

“Sure. If that's all you have,” he answers. “But a whole muffin is way better. Isn't it?”

I nod.

“What I'm saying is that you're clinging to a Seagate summer too tightly,” he tells me. “Your Seagate summer is a bunch of messy crumbs now.”

“I see.” I look down at my half-eaten muffin and realize I don't feel hungry anymore.