Page 63 of Every Good Thing
She tips her head toward the booth again.
“I’m on patrol.”
With an amused chuckle, she nods toward four officers loitering twenty feet from us. “I think this parking lot is covered. It’ll only take a minute.”
She steps away, leaving me little choice but to follow.
The booth resembles a large living room with a bar, couches, plush chairs, tables, and a windowed wall overlooking the concert. The music filters gently into the room via speakers built into the walls and ceiling, but it’s barely heard over their conversations. I linger in the doorway with Lauren, reluctantly taking in the small group.
The people in this room once mattered to me. They filled the stands at my football games and cheered at my high school graduation. Seeing them again feels jarring, but so does their absence over the years, as if it just hits me.
“I got tacos!” Lauren announces, breaking their chatter. “And Ben!”
The room shifts toward me with wide-eyed familiarity. My timid wave doesn’t satiate them. Rising from their seats, the Rileys pull me into their circle, wrapping arms around me and shaking hands. It’s like I never left.
Their warm reception makes me wonder how Lauren handled her family after us. What she said to explain my sudden absence. I can only guess she told them the truth.
My headache worsens.
Jillian looks the same: elegant, poised, and beautiful. She tilts her margarita toward me before linking arms and steering me around the room. Lauren’s grandmother kisses my cheek. Aunt Miranda, the former Coast Guard pilot, salutes me before introducing her husband and their kids. Uncle Rob also has a new wife, much younger than him, and several small children, who race around the room in a strange game of tag.
He slaps my back. “Heard your wife was in a fender bender. How’s her arm?”
“Broken. Distal radius and distal ulna,” I say.
“Cast yet?”
“No.”
“Wrist fractures are tricky. If they aren’t set right, it could mean a much longer recovery.” He hands me his card. “Bring her by the office Monday morning. Around ten.”
I consider refusing. I’m trying to distance myself from them, not become more integrated. But Dr. Robert Riley handles orthopedics for the Carolina Panthers and two local Olympic-level surfers. I can’t say no if it means Lena receives better care. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He slaps my back again and leans in. “I’ve got a court behind the office. Shoot hoops after?”
“Yes. Definitely.” Basketball with Rob in the Riley’s driveway was a distinct highlight to many family events.
Jillian tugs me toward her husband.
“Ben, working the event today? Must be fate.” John shakes my hand and embraces me, not minding my gear and vest. “We were just telling them about you joining our team.”
“Possibly,” I correct, as the family cheers and claps. “I’m considering it.”
I catch Lauren’s small smile at my sudden reversal, but it’s not the right time to do it. I decide to call John on Monday.
But talking and answering questions about my parents and Becca, I realize it won’t be an easy call to make. I don’t mind Jillian’s doting attention. Regular pick-up games with Rob would be a welcome diversion. Working for John would be an honor. Until everything fell apart, I loved being a part of the Riley family. It felt like the one place I truly belonged.
His heavy arm wraps my shoulders as we talk, reminding me of a particularly shitty football game. An easy pass would’ve won the game if I hadn’t fucked up the throw. Mr. Riley met me outside the locker room. He put his arm around me and said, “Everyone wants the wins, but the losses… those make us who we are.”
His words stayed with me through each loss, especially in Afghanistan. There, the losses changed everything but, strangely, made me a better man—a lucky man, though it took me years to see it.
Lauren wedges between me and her mother with a knowing look. “Dad, don’t monopolize him. He’s on duty. And Mom, he’s not your personal escort.”
“Oh, Lauren, relax. Ben doesn’t mind,” Jillian argues. “Tell us about—”
My phone rings, and with the volume up, the conversation comes to a skidding stop. It’s Lena, so I answer immediately.
“Hey, Ben. Is it a good time?”
