Saving Ben Read Online Free PDF Page B

waves as we speak.”
    I looked back and forth between Ben and Spotty as I considered their invitation. “I don’t know about this. I have a lot of work to do this weekend.”
    “And what better place to do it than sitting around the pool or out on the dock,” Ben said. “According to Dad, the weather’s nice down there, a lot cooler than here.”
    “Just where is this river, and how long is the driver?” Emma asked.
    “The Northern Neck of Virginia, which is on the western side of the Chesapeake Bay. It’ll take two and a quarter, probably two and a half with Kitty driving,” Ben answered. “And if we leave now, we can make it in time to get pizza from the River Market before it closes.”
    “Okay, that’s it.” I stomped my foot. “No fair tempting me with my favorite pizza.”
    “Think about it, Kitty,” Spotty said. “We can spend the whole day tomorrow out in the boat.”
    Emma clasped her hands together. “Please . . . it sounds like so much fun.” 
    “Alright, already. What choice do I have anyway with the three of y’all ganging up on me like this?”
    “Yes!” Ben pumped the air with his fist. “Hurry up and get your stuff. We’ll meet you at my car in the lot behind the house in twenty minutes.”
    By the time I reached the interstate, thirty minutes later, everyone in the car had already surrendered to their afternoon buzzes. Ben slept in the back with his head resting on Spotty’s shoulder, and Emma sat in the passenger seat next to me, a thin stream of drool dangling from her mouth onto my silk halter top she was wearing.
    I cranked the tunes and set the cruise control and allowed my thoughts to drift to the river. My fondest memories traced back to our cottage, not the modernized version my parents created after my grandparents died but the 1920s Arts and Crafts style house in its original form. I appreciated the amenities the renovations offered—new bathrooms and kitchen, central air conditioning—but I missed the creaking boards in the random-width oak floors and the smell of sea grass wafting through the open windows. What I really missed were my grandparents, Herbert and Mabel Langley, a small-town doctor and his country wife. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, Ben and I spent every summer of our youth with Dock and MayMay while our parents were off somewhere, finding themselves on one of their many pre-midlife crisis adventures. Every day we made explorations of our own. If we weren’t traveling by boat or picnicking on one of the many area islands, we were working in MayMay’s garden, staking tomatoes and picking butterbeans. We set our pots for peeler crabs and dug in the mud for clams. We cast our nets for minnows to use as bait for fishing in the rivers and at the mouth of the bay. Every day we worked like watermen and farmers, and every night we feasted from the land.
    All three of my passengers stirred, as if on cue, when I turned on my blinker and made a left-hand turn onto Highway 3. As we headed toward the Rappahannock River Bridge, Ben and Spotty moaned about their hangovers and begged me to stop for more beer, but once we were on top of the bridge, they grew quiet while we watched the orange ball of sun begin to set.
    “Emma, if you look to your right,” Ben said, “you can see past Stingray Point where the Rappahannock River meets the Chesapeake Bay.”
    Taking it all in, Emma pointed out my window. “What’s down that way?”
    “The mouth of our creek, Carter’s Creek, is at ten o’clock,” Ben explained. “And further past that, on the same side, is the Corrotoman River. On the opposite side, at about seven o’clock, is the little town of Urbanna where the famous Oyster Festival is held every year.”
    “Yuck,” Emma exclaimed, curling her lip. “I’ve never been a big fan of oysters.”
    Spotty stared at the back of her head. “That kind of talk is not allowed in this car We were all raised on oysters. Our mothers use to grind them up in a blender