We are all moving into the beach house for the summer and we’ll decide what to do with it in the fall. Right now we are donating some of my mother’s things to charity to make room for all of us to live there. This way I can train Trent and when the fall comes and he heads to the University of Hawaii, he’ll be ready to enter any surfing competition he wants.
As for Jason, he was involved in the case. When Caleb finally called me back almost two weeks after Bass told me that Hart was one of Jason’s informants, he confirmed that it was Jason who gave him the name. At first he told me Jason hadn’t worked the beat in years and just threw the name at him when he asked for someone to help him out, someone looking for money who was willing to take the fall. But I knew he was lying, I felt in my gut he was the missing piece of the puzzle.
When I confronted Jason, he pulled me aside. He told me to trust him. That he was way more involved than Caleb or I knew and he’d be able to tell me soon. Whether or not he is on the up and up—I still haven’t been able to figure that out.
I circle back through the living room and stand where my mother’s desk once stood. I look down at the naked space and it doesn’t feel right. I rush out the door and fly down the stairs.
“Serena, toss me the keys,” I tell her.
She looks at me. “Did you forget to pack something?”
“No, I decided I want to keep the desk.”
“Come on, Ben, it’s so old and broken. You can buy a newer, more functional one.”
“Just toss me the keys. I want that one.”
She looks at Trent. “Here, go help him so we can get out of here.”
I unlock the door and hop up on the platform. I move a few boxes aside and drag the desk to the end. We ease it out of the truck, but it’s top heavy and tumbles over, crashing to the ground.
“Fuck!” I yell.
“Fuck,” Trent mutters.
“Trent!” Serena says with her hands on her hips.
Something shiny catches my eye as I survey the damage and I bend down to retrieve it. It’s a key.
“What’s this?” I turn around to show Serena, who is still scowling at Trent.
She takes it from me. “It looks like a safety deposit box key.”
“Did Mom have one?”
“Not that I know of,” Serena answers. “But I’ll call Hale on our way to the church and see if he knows.”
I nod at her and think about how long it has been since I’ve seen my mother’s attorney. I motion for Trent to get in the truck. He points to the pile on the ground.
“We’ll clean it up when we get back. Let’s go,” I holler back as I hoist myself into the cab.
I pull out of the large circular driveway and glance back at the heap of wood in my rearview mirror, hoping I can put the desk back together.
As Serena and Trent argue about what station to put the radio on I reflect back on the last two weeks and how my life has changed. After Dahlia and I left the beach, she drove me back to LA and dropped me off at the impound lot. She was shocked to see I had a motorcycle, but then just grinned and said, “You always did like to feel the wind against your face. So it makes sense.”
“Don’t say it,” I teased her as I got out of the car.
“Say what?” she called back.
“That I’m a dog,” I said.
“That you’re a dog,” she said in unison.
It was an inside joke we’d had since we were kids. She always made fun of me for loving speed—the speed I felt while pedaling fast on my bicycle, the speed I felt taking a steep hill on my skateboard, or the speed I felt catching a wave on my surfboard. I glanced at her one last time before I walked away from her that day. There was no discussion as to when we’d talk again, but I knew we would and I knew that somehow we would be all right—that we would find our way back to a friendship that worked for both of us.
After the arrest, I promptly gave my two weeks notice to the LA Times, opting to freelance for a bit. My last day was probably the most interesting one of my stint as a wedding columnist. I had the very distinct pleasure of meeting with the infamous Damon Wolf. Damon Wolf and Ivy Taylor were engaged sometime last year, but hadn’t set a wedding date. The wedding column doesn’t usually run stories on engagements, but Christine made an exception. I guess when you own a magazine you get special treatment.
My interview was with Damon only and he wanted to meet at Sound Music Magazine. When I arrived he was reaming out Dahlia’s friend Aerie for forgetting to arrange a lunch date for him for some interview. I tried not to get involved, I really did, but I’ve known Aerie for so long that I had to step in. Let’s just say when I did—my day and my job ended early. What an assshole!
“Did you hear me?” my sister asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I put the truck in park and turn toward her. “No, sorry.”
“Hale said he’s been trying to reach us for months. I’m pretty sure he was calling Mom’s house phone. Either way he wants us to meet him at the bank as soon as we finish. He wants to read Mom’s will.”
I blink my eyes and try to take what she said in. “Did you know she had a will?”
Serena shakes her head. “He seems to know what’s in the box though.”
“You should have let me take Uncle Ben’s motorcycle,” Trent tells his mother as he hops out of the truck.
“I told you, you are never allowed to ride that. And I’m not kidding!” she yells to him.
As for Jason, he was involved in the case. When Caleb finally called me back almost two weeks after Bass told me that Hart was one of Jason’s informants, he confirmed that it was Jason who gave him the name. At first he told me Jason hadn’t worked the beat in years and just threw the name at him when he asked for someone to help him out, someone looking for money who was willing to take the fall. But I knew he was lying, I felt in my gut he was the missing piece of the puzzle.
When I confronted Jason, he pulled me aside. He told me to trust him. That he was way more involved than Caleb or I knew and he’d be able to tell me soon. Whether or not he is on the up and up—I still haven’t been able to figure that out.
I circle back through the living room and stand where my mother’s desk once stood. I look down at the naked space and it doesn’t feel right. I rush out the door and fly down the stairs.
“Serena, toss me the keys,” I tell her.
She looks at me. “Did you forget to pack something?”
“No, I decided I want to keep the desk.”
“Come on, Ben, it’s so old and broken. You can buy a newer, more functional one.”
“Just toss me the keys. I want that one.”
She looks at Trent. “Here, go help him so we can get out of here.”
I unlock the door and hop up on the platform. I move a few boxes aside and drag the desk to the end. We ease it out of the truck, but it’s top heavy and tumbles over, crashing to the ground.
“Fuck!” I yell.
“Fuck,” Trent mutters.
“Trent!” Serena says with her hands on her hips.
Something shiny catches my eye as I survey the damage and I bend down to retrieve it. It’s a key.
“What’s this?” I turn around to show Serena, who is still scowling at Trent.
She takes it from me. “It looks like a safety deposit box key.”
“Did Mom have one?”
“Not that I know of,” Serena answers. “But I’ll call Hale on our way to the church and see if he knows.”
I nod at her and think about how long it has been since I’ve seen my mother’s attorney. I motion for Trent to get in the truck. He points to the pile on the ground.
“We’ll clean it up when we get back. Let’s go,” I holler back as I hoist myself into the cab.
I pull out of the large circular driveway and glance back at the heap of wood in my rearview mirror, hoping I can put the desk back together.
As Serena and Trent argue about what station to put the radio on I reflect back on the last two weeks and how my life has changed. After Dahlia and I left the beach, she drove me back to LA and dropped me off at the impound lot. She was shocked to see I had a motorcycle, but then just grinned and said, “You always did like to feel the wind against your face. So it makes sense.”
“Don’t say it,” I teased her as I got out of the car.
“Say what?” she called back.
“That I’m a dog,” I said.
“That you’re a dog,” she said in unison.
It was an inside joke we’d had since we were kids. She always made fun of me for loving speed—the speed I felt while pedaling fast on my bicycle, the speed I felt taking a steep hill on my skateboard, or the speed I felt catching a wave on my surfboard. I glanced at her one last time before I walked away from her that day. There was no discussion as to when we’d talk again, but I knew we would and I knew that somehow we would be all right—that we would find our way back to a friendship that worked for both of us.
After the arrest, I promptly gave my two weeks notice to the LA Times, opting to freelance for a bit. My last day was probably the most interesting one of my stint as a wedding columnist. I had the very distinct pleasure of meeting with the infamous Damon Wolf. Damon Wolf and Ivy Taylor were engaged sometime last year, but hadn’t set a wedding date. The wedding column doesn’t usually run stories on engagements, but Christine made an exception. I guess when you own a magazine you get special treatment.
My interview was with Damon only and he wanted to meet at Sound Music Magazine. When I arrived he was reaming out Dahlia’s friend Aerie for forgetting to arrange a lunch date for him for some interview. I tried not to get involved, I really did, but I’ve known Aerie for so long that I had to step in. Let’s just say when I did—my day and my job ended early. What an assshole!
“Did you hear me?” my sister asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I put the truck in park and turn toward her. “No, sorry.”
“Hale said he’s been trying to reach us for months. I’m pretty sure he was calling Mom’s house phone. Either way he wants us to meet him at the bank as soon as we finish. He wants to read Mom’s will.”
I blink my eyes and try to take what she said in. “Did you know she had a will?”
Serena shakes her head. “He seems to know what’s in the box though.”
“You should have let me take Uncle Ben’s motorcycle,” Trent tells his mother as he hops out of the truck.
“I told you, you are never allowed to ride that. And I’m not kidding!” she yells to him.
