Page 14 of Until Then

As if I’ve sentenced her to prison, Izzy skulks after me, shoulders rolled in and feet dragging, with Wonton toddling behind her. At the door, she crouches down to kiss his head.

“We’ll be right back. You can’t go to the gas station.”

I flick the front porch light switch on, though it’s not quite dark yet—the beauty of summer. Izzy follows me to the truck and hops into the passenger side with ease.

The nearest station is within walking distance, but if Izzy is really as unused to sugary drinks as she let on and does pass out from a sugar rush, I’d rather not have to carry her home.

The radio blares, a country song about a pickup truck and dirt roads.

In my periphery, Izzy shakes her head, and when I turn, her lips are quirked in amusement.

When I lower the volume, she says, “A country boy? Should’ve known.”

“What did you expect?” I ask, putting the truck in reverse.

Deadpan, she says, “Whale noises.”

A guffaw so violent flies out of my mouth that my back presses into the seat behind me. “Whale noises,” I mutter.

“They’re very soothing. Very Maine.”

I turn right at the stop sign. “Have you gone whale watching here?”

Beside me, she peers out her window, watching the scenery pass by. “Not yet. I want to, though.”

With a thorough look around me, I take a second to study her before focusing on the road again. Damn, the sad droop ofher mouth is like a punch to the gut. I’m sure it has more to do with what’s going on in her life and less to do with whales. Even so, I find myself volunteering, hoping to cheer her up. “I’ll take you sometime.”

Slowly, she turns my way, her lips tipping up. “Derrick Crawford, do you own aboat? If so, why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

I shift in my seat, rolling my shoulders to dislodge the discomfort soaking into me. “Yes, I have a boat. But I work a lot, so I don’t take it out often.”

“Well, now you’re obligated.” She holds out her pinky to me. “Swear on it.”

I loop my pinky through hers like I’ve done with Lili a thousand times and pull into the lot of the station.

Quickly, I hop out and round the hood so I can get her door, then I hustle past her to hold the one to the store, too.

“A gentleman,” she croons. “I like it.”

In the back of the store, I introduce her to the slushie machine. It doesn’t get past me that these were a staple when I was a kid. And when I was a kid, Izzy wasn’t even close to being a thought in her parents’ minds yet.

“You’ve got cherry, blue raspberry, Coke, and watermelon. They rotate the watermelon flavor in every so often. Sometimes it’s lemonade or strawberry instead.”

She eyes the cups stacked to the side. “What do you normally get?”

“Coke.”

“I should’ve known.” She laughs softly and chooses one of the smallest cups.

“Which one are you going for?” I ask, grabbing a cup for myself.

With a hum, she studies each one, watches the way the frozen mixtures swirl in the plastic windows. “Can I mix them?”

“Yeah,” I say, popping a plastic dome onto my cup. I get in position, then pull on the handle and fill it with frozen Coke. “That’s what my kids always did.”

Eyes suddenly round, she points at where I’ve just released my hold. “I’m not sure I’m capable of working the handle without making a mess.”

Biting back a chuckle, I hand her my cup and take her empty one. Then I pop a plastic dome lid on it. “Which ones do you want?”

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