“Why don’t your parents ever come?” I’d never even thought to ask that question before.
“They’re busy,” she said.
“Oh.”
The little bell over the door tinkled as we walked into the tackle shop. The smell of the place was always startling. It smelled like potting soil and fish and air fresheners all at once, with a little lemon furniture polish in the background.
“Well, looky who’s here,” Shy said. He leaned on the counter so he could talk to us. “What are you two doing out and about?”
“Going home today,” Abigail said.
“Well, just because of that, you get two pieces.” He grabbed four Bazookas and dropped two into Abigail’s outstretched palm and two into mine. “Can I help you guys find anything?”
I shook my head. “We’re going to look around, if that’s okay.”
He gave a quick jerk of his head. “Sounds good.” He winked at Abigail, which made her grin.
We walked toward the back of the store, and Abigail stopped to slide her fingertips down the length of some necklaces that hung on a rack by the wall. They were made of plastic, but they were still outside my price range. She kept walking, and I followed her.
On a low shelf, I saw a bucket filled with small rubber bracelets. They were all in primary colors, and they were only fifty cents. I crouched down to inspect them. “Look at these,” I said. “We could get matching ones.”
She knelt down next to me and rested her head on my shoulder. She almost knocked me off balance, so I spread my feet and looked at her. “I don’t want you to go yet,” she whispered.
I kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back next year,” I said. “Just like always.” I picked up a handful of the bracelets. “What color do you want?”
“Blue,” she said. She dug into the box until she found two that were blue. She held one out to me and she finally smiled at me. “I feel kind of bad having you spend your birthday money on me.”
I shrugged. I couldn’t think of anything—or anyone—I’d rather spend it on.
We walked to the register, and Abigail reached over and took Shy’s pen from on top of the cash register and she wrote her name on the inside of my bracelet while I paid. Then I did the same in hers, writing my name in big block letters, trying to be as neat as I could. I slipped it over her wrist, and she slipped mine on the same way.
Shy suddenly called out loudly, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. ’Til death do you part.” He gave a quick nod, like it was a done deal.
I was grateful because it made Abigail smile.
I never told Abigail this, but when Shy gave me my change, he’d given me the whole two dollars back.
When we left the store, we took turns seeing who could blow the biggest bubble. Abigail was always worried she’d blow it so big it would get stuck in her hair, so she stayed conservative. I blew the biggest bubble ever, and she leaned over and poked it so it popped right in my face.
We walked back to the campsite and found my parents sitting at the picnic table talking to Mrs. Marshall. They all looked up when we got close.
“We need to get a move on,” my dad announced, standing up.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I let Abigail’s hand drop from mine, but suddenly she flung herself at me, her arms wrapping in a tight hug. I hugged her back, because my dad always said that when a woman flings herself at you wanting a hug, you’re obligated to hug her back. It’s just common courtesy.
“I’ll see you next year,” Abigail said.
“I’ll see you next year,” I replied.
Then I’d gotten in the back seat of our station wagon. We had the kind with the rear seat that faced the back, so I climbed all the way in the back on top of the tents so I could see her. She waved as we pulled away. Just before we drove out of sight, I saw her grandmother take her by the hand to lead her back to the cabin.
We never did go back to the lake. That winter my father died, and my mother didn’t want to camp without him.
32
Abigail
I run the rubber bracelet between my fingers and try to find the evidence his name was once on it, but I can’t even see it. If I hold it up to the light at just the right angle, I can see the imprint from the pen, but the letters faded long ago.