Page 45 of Seven Summer Weekends

Chapter Twenty-one

The next morning, Friday already, Addison woke up early to take out the recyclables only to realize that in her drunkenness she hadn’t locked the gate the night before. She looked for her bike in a panic and soon discovered that it was gone. Her heart raced and her hands shook as she ran around the property, double- and triple-checking. She acknowledged that she was irrationally upset, but she loved that bike. She loved how it was so unique to her aunt and how everyone recognized it and smiled at her as she rode by. She thought of waking Kizzy, but decided she needed someone who knew the deal. She ran to Ben’s and banged on his front door until Sally greeted her.

“Go get Ben,” she instructed her furry friend, who clearly understood both her command and her duress. Ben arrived quickly, and in T-shirt and boxers. His eyes still sleepy, his hair sticking straight up, again. Addison fought the urge to lick her fingers and run her hands over it, smoothing it out.

“Gicky’s bike was stolen,” she lamented, near tears.

“Annette Kellerman! Give me a sec.”

He returned a minute later in sweats and a baseball cap and led her to his shed, where he pulled out two bikes. He instructed her to follow along as he spouted all the right things.

“We’ll find it. Don’t worry. It’s usually some drunk groupers. I know all the best places to look.” And finally: “It couldn’t have gone too far.”

Ben and Addison spent the next hour weaving in and out of the streets to the north and south of their own. Every once in a while, Ben would hop off his bike and look around back at random houses. Addison couldn’t tell if he chose them from previous bike-hunting expeditions or just on a hunch. Whichever the motivation, he always returned empty-handed.

“A few more places to check,” he said, adding, “Don’t lose hope.”

“Forget hope, I lost Annette Kellerman.”

They disembarked in front of the Schooner Inn and searched the bike racks both there and at the ferry dock. Nothing.

“One more spot,” Ben promised.

Addison followed him to the last block in Oceanview, where a towering, rather ramshackle share house sat on fifteen-foot stilts. They could see her from the sidewalk—Annette Kellerman tossed in the sand underneath the house among a pile of ordinary beach bikes and chairs.

“Oh, the humanity!” Ben cried out, laughing.

They pulled out the bike, which looked no worse for the wear—except that something was missing. The garland of shells that Gicky had strung together like popcorn at Christmas and draped over the front basket, was nowhere to be found.

“I’m going in!” Addison declared.

“Into the house?” Ben responded. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t care. I’m going in.”

“You know I’m going to follow you and end up in fisticuffs.”

“I can’t believe you just saidfisticuffs. Maybe you shouldn’t follow me, Grandpa.”

But of course, he did.

The two quietly climbed the wooden steps to the side door of the house, trying not to creak as they did. Addison ever so gently opened the door, and Ben popped in front of her to save the day. If she weren’t trying to be invisible, she would have given him a piece of her feminist mind plus a good shove out of her way, but the goal was to get in and out unnoticed. Like two kids late for curfew, they stepped gingerly into the living room, where a gaggle of twentysomethings lay passed out in every corner. And there, on the mantel over the fireplace, in all its glory, hung Annette Kellerman’s shell-covered garland. Addison gasped, which caused a few of the culprits to stir and one rather large specimen to open his eyes. She didn’t care. She grabbed the laurel in one hand and shook her finger at the big one with the other.

“This is mine,” she said, draping the string of shells around her neck like a scarf. “And don’t steal!” she added, making Ben chuckle.

They ran out the door, laughing and stomping down the stairs, not caring that they too had been breaking and entering. It was a big thrill, and they spun around outside like two kids on a sugar high, till they collapsed with dizziness and happiness on the sidewalk.

“That was awesome,” Ben shouted, reaching for her hand to pull her up.

“It really was,” Addison agreed as she jumped to her feet. They held hands after that for a little longer than necessary, andfor a quick second Addison thought Ben may kiss her. He had leaned forward and looked into her eyes in a way that made it obvious that he wanted to. As she leaned in to encourage him, one of the share house guys, the big one, came barreling down its stairs.

“Let’s go,” Ben warned.

Addison held up Gicky’s bike so that Ben could steer it aside his, and then jumped on the other one. They smiled all the way home, partially from the charge of success, partially from the thrill of adventure, and partially from imagining the kiss that hadn’t happened yet but felt inevitable.

Chapter Twenty-two

Terrence Williams opened his eyes and looked around the room he woke up in at the Folly Beach Motel with no memory of where he was. It was a common occurrence given the lifestyle that had led to his nickname, the Vagabond Surfer. It was his sixth location that month.

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