Micayla has a theory that avoiding Dog Beach is making me sadder about Danish.
"Let's just go there. It's your favorite place, and turning away every time we walk by isn't helping," she says one morning.
Dog Beach is pretty crowded for only eleven in the morning. It's at the farthest end of Seagate, but since Seagate is a pretty small island, nothing is really that far from anything else. With unobstructed views of the ocean and the signature Seagate white fencing, Dog Beach is one of the prettiest places on the island. Even non-dog-owners think so.
I look around at all the dogs, and I'm not sure Micayla's theory is right. I'm sad all over again. Danish's friend Cookie the beagle is here, and Palm the Pomeranian. Palm's owners live on Seagate half the year, and West Palm Beach, Florida, the other half, so that's why they named him Palm. Most of Danish's friends were little dogs, but his best friend was a Dalmatian named Hampton. They were an odd pair, one so big and one so little, but they'd play together and look out for each other. And now Hampton's here on his own, off to the side playing with a yellow Lab. Must be a newcomer. I get a scraped-knee stinging feeling that maybe Danish has been replaced.
In a way, Hampton and Danish kind of reminded me of Bennett and me. Hampton was outgoing and boisterous while Danish was quiet, taking everything in. But they got along so well.
The dogs on Seagate are like the people-you can tell which ones are here for a week for the first time and which ones will be here until August, like they are every summer.
"Aren't you glad to be here?" Micayla asks, tying her braids into a low ponytail. "Let's go sit on one of the benches and people-and dog-watch. I'm too hot to stand up."
I nod. "Are you sure you're okay? You're not going to have some crazy allergic attack?"
Micayla is seriously allergic to dogs that shed, but she loves them anyway. She can't resist petting them, and then she gets all sneezy and her eyes turn red and watery and she complains a lot. But she still loves them.
"Of course, I'm fine." She smiles.
Bennett goes to play with the dogs. He picks up one of the extra Frisbees and starts playing fetch with a golden retriever. Bennett's a dog person even though his family has never had one.
The golden retriever's owner (who must be a newcomer, since I don't recognize her) comes over to play too. She looks like she's around forty, but I can see Bennett saying something that's making her laugh.
Bennett can talk to anyone. It doesn't matter how old they are, if they're a girl or a boy, even if they're human, really. I just saw him talking to that golden retriever. He called out, "Mickey, here boy!" just like he'd been friends with that dog for years.
While we're watching the dogs and Bennett play, I tell Micayla about Marilyn Monroe and how we had a pretty awesome time together.
"Is she here now?" Micayla asks.
"No, I don't see her." I admit-I'm a little disappointed. I was sort of hoping she'd be here.
"Well, she can be, like, your almost-dog this summer," Micayla says. "Do you think your parents will want to get another dog one day?"
"I doubt it. A dog isn't like a new pair of flip-flops that you can just replace," I tell her. "It takes time."
"I know," she says. "I mean, I don't know, because I've never had a dog, but I know you can't just trade one for another."
Micayla links arms with me even though we're still sitting on the bench. "Come on, let's walk and look at the dogs."
We spend the next hour playing with a pair of Malteses named Snowball and Marshmallow. They're puppies, and the Howells just got them. The Howells are an older couple who live on the other side of the island. We always see them at the deli, Pastrami on Rye. My mom always jokes that they don't even need a kitchen since it seems that they eat every meal there.
"How are you, Remy?" Mrs. Howell asks.
"Good," I reply. "Happy to be back on Seagate." I usually answer this way. I wish I had more to say, but nothing seems to come to mind. I used to be so good at talking to adults, but now I get nervous. I'm not sure why.
"Us too," Mrs. Howell says. "And these guys are so happy to be here. They were running in circles in our Brooklyn apartment. That hasn't been fun for any of us."
Snowball keeps jumping up on my legs and licking my knees, and it makes me laugh.
"She likes you, Rem," Micayla tells me.
The two white fluff balls keep jumping on us, and I love watching them. But they're not my dogs, and eventually we have to leave them behind. Micayla and I wave good-bye to Bennett, who says he'll catch up with us at my house, and we start walking home.
"It's settled," Micayla says. "You're amazing with dogs, and you're going to be a vet when you grow up."
"I don't know, Mic," I say. "But I'm glad I have you as my cheerleader."
"Speaking of cheerleaders," she says, kicking a rock along the path, "did you hear that Seagate is getting a basketball team this year? Avery Sanders told me, of course. Her boyfriend can't wait to try out."
"I didn't hear that." To be honest, I never think about the school here. I don't like to think about kids being here when I'm not. Maybe that's really selfish of me. But Seagate feels like a summer-only place sometimes.
"Yeah, for seventh and eighth graders."
"But who would they play? They'd have to take the bridge or the ferry for any matches." There's only one school on Seagate. It goes from kindergarten to eighth grade, and after that the kids have to go off the island for high school. It's only about a twenty-minute ferry ride or a quick drive over the bridge. It's not a big deal, but it's very different from what I'm used to. Back home in New York, I can walk to my school, and when I'm in high school, I'll probably take the subway. You're always connected when you've got a subway.
"Yeah, they play the other schools in Ferry Port and Seaside, I guess."
Micayla doesn't say much after that, and when we get to my house, my parents are sitting on the back porch reading the newspaper and drinking pink lemonade. They're both here for all of July, and then when August comes they take turns going back and forth to the city. When Grandma was here, they would go to the city more often, but even though I'm allowed to be alone a lot of the time, I can't stay alone overnight.
"Hi, girls," my mom says in her cheerful Seagate voice. I call it her Seagate voice because I rarely hear it in New York City. Back in New York, she's stressed and frazzled. She complains about people who honk too much, people who push on the subway, her boss, and how much everything costs. But on Seagate, that fades away. It's all painting and reading the newspaper and walks on the beach.
"Hi," I say. "Micayla's mom invited me to go for fish sandwiches with them tonight. Can I go?"
"No interest in my famous salmon casserole?" my dad asks. "Micayla?"
He always asks this, even though he knows the answer. I think that's why he asks, because he likes to see how we'll respond. Micayla always tries to be super polite and give a reasonable answer for why she can't eat it. He's been asking this same question for years, but she's still polite. That says something about her, I think.
"Well, I would, but my parents have been talking about fish sandwiches for days, and now I'm really craving one," she says. "But thanks anyway."
Super polite. Always. That's my best friend Micayla.
"Okay, okay. I'll try not to cry," my dad says. "Good thing Abby likes it."
My mom rolls her eyes. "Oh, I love it."
My dad's salmon casserole is one of the only things he can make, and it's his favorite. He tries really hard and adds new touches to it all the time, like green peppers and bread crumbs. But it's really just a mishmash of canned salmon, mayonnaise, spiral pasta, and random stuff he finds around the house. It kind of gives me a stomachache when I think about it. But my dad really wants us to like it, so we try to pretend that we do.
"So, Mr. and Mrs. Boltuck, how's the summer going?" Micayla starts, sitting next to my mom on the wicker love seat.
"Micayla, please." My mom smiles. "Call us Abby and Reed."
"Okay. Do-over." Micayla laughs. "Abby and Reed, how's the summer going?"
We sit around chatting, waiting for Bennett to show up, and then we'll walk over to Frederick's Fish together.
Micayla's telling us this story about how her dad's computer crashed and he lost the whole draft of the biography he's working on when I hear the creak of the screen door. I turn around and see Bennett running through the house. He bursts out onto the back deck. "Am I late? I'm so sorry. Little Jakey Steinman lured me in for a game of Ping-Pong. You know those six-year-olds. You can't say no. And he plays a mean game."
"Hi, Bennett," my dad says. "Have a seat."
Bennett sits way back in the chair, and it almost falls over. He makes this weird face, and Micayla and I crack up.
"You guys seem like you're up to no good," my dad says.
"Huh?" I ask.
"We were just at Dog Beach," Bennett says. "It's kind of like Remy's therapy. We think it will help her feel better about Danish."
My dad nods, then grins like he's going to say something funny-but I know from experience it won't be funny. At all. "Got it. For a second, I thought you and Remy were eloping!"
"Dad!" I yell. And even though he's made this joke a million times, it feels different this summer. I want to sink into the indentation in the middle of my lounge chair and bury myself in the sand. I can't look at my dad and I can't look at Bennett. All I can see is the wicker ottoman in the corner, the one that Danish liked to use for sunbathing. And then my sadness wipes away my embarrassment.
I'm not sure which feeling is worse.
People have been making jokes about Bennett and me getting married since we were tiny babies. His birthday is the day after mine. Apparently we were both terrible newborns, and we both spent our first summers on Seagate. His mom met my mom at a Seagate new mothers group, and they became best friends immediately.
They say we were the worst babies on the whole island, and they were so glad they found each other so that they could commiserate.
There are pictures of us as babies in sun tents on the beach, sleeping in our strollers side by side as our dads played Ping-Pong. Summer after summer, as we got older, the pictures evolved. They morphed into us trying to eat soft-serve in cones, the ice cream melting all over our faces, and of us burying each other in the sand or wearing different homemade costumes at the annual Seagate Halloween Parade.
We never really paid much attention to these jokes when Avery Sanders said them, or my dad or Bennett's dad or anyone else. But it feels different now. I just wish people would stop saying it.
My dad puts his feet up on the ottoman and looks at his watch. "Well, if you three are going for fish sandwiches, you'd better skedaddle."
He's right. It's a little after five and Frederick's Fish always gets lines for dinner. Micayla's brother and sister are here this week, so we'll be a big group.
Micayla, Bennett, and I walk over to Frederick's Fish, dragging our feet a little, not talking much.
"You seem better today," Micayla says, as we walk past SGI Sweets, Seagate's famous candy store. "I mean, not your usual Seagate happy, but better than you've been."
"I guess." When I hear myself say it, I can tell I'm acting like a downer. I should be more appreciative to Micayla for being so supportive. "Let's go into SGI," I tell her. "I want to buy you some of those gummy apples."
She doesn't argue with me. I knew she wouldn't. They're her absolute favorite candy, and they're impossible to find anywhere but Seagate. We buy a big bag and share them as we walk.
At the fish place, Micayla's family is already waiting in line. Her mom is sitting on one of the benches, and her dad, brother, and sister are standing a few feet away. They're smiling, but as we get closer, it seems that they're talking about something important-they're leaning in and speaking quietly. Micayla's mom is not a part of the conversation, and she seems to be daydreaming a little bit. We have to tap her a few times before she realizes that we're there.
"Are Zane and Ivy staying the whole week?" Micayla asks her mom.
When her mom replies, "I'm not sure yet," I start to get the feeling that something weird is going on. Micayla's mom is a super planner and she always knows what's going on-today, three weeks away, even a year from now.
I start to wonder why Bennett and I were invited to this family dinner. Even though we always do everything together, we usually have some separate family time. It's expected that there will be some nights when we're each with our own family; no one gets mad about it.
But as the meal goes on, no one says anything to explain the weird feeling in the air. I wonder if Bennett notices it too. Ivy and Zane make jokes about the new Seagate basketball team, and Micayla's dad talks about the biography he's working on about Franklin D. Roosevelt. Micayla's mom asks us questions about the other kids on Seagate and if the new salted caramel flavor at Sundae Best is as good as everyone says it is.
I keep sensing that something unusual is going on, but I have no idea what it is.
Good thing the fish sandwiches at Frederick's are as delicious as always, because when the food comes, eating it up is all I can think about.
