“Follow me,” Ian shouts, climbing into his silver pick-up. We trail Ian’s pick-up truck down A1A, turning into the parking lot of The Scoop. Above the shop, the sign boasts a big ice cream sundae.
Courtney turns to me. “This is where Ian took me on our first date.”
“Aw, how sweet.”
“I know,” she says, biting down on her lip. “He really is.”
“And he’s good to you, so don’t mess it up, Courtney.” I give her a glare, which she chooses to ignore, and we hop out of the car and into the shop.
Mark, the quiet guy who drove us to Tommy’s house the other night, stands behind the counter and greets us with a grin. Then Ian pushes open the half-door and joins Mark behind the counter. “So—what can I get you, girls?” Ian asks.
“I’m fine,” Courtney begins, “I don’t need ice cream.”
“Nobody needs ice cream,” Ian returns, resting his elbows on the counter. “But what do you want?”
She leans in with a kiss. “Just you, baby.”
“Bleh,” I begin, “I just lost my appetite.”
But I find it again, and a few minutes later, I plunge my spoon into a gooey hot fudge sundae, and my thoughts drift to childhood memories. Those good years. The days of amusement parks, camping trips, and ice cream shops.
Several years ago, there used to be an ice cream shop right off the Riverside exit of the highway, and if my parents were in a good mood—and not fighting, my dad would start chanting:
I scream
You scream
We all scream
For ice cream
Then Landon, Grant, and I would chime in, chanting louder and louder, until Dad pulled into the parking lot of Jimmy’s Ice Cream Shoppe. When the shop closed, right around my twelfth birthday, it wasn’t the half-price sundaes that I remembered. No, it was Jimmy’s parting words to my Dad. The gentle, elderly man leaned over the counter, imparting his sad wisdom: “Families don’t go out for ice cream anymore. Families don’t do much together anymore. It’s a sign of the times.”
So I glance around The Scoop, seeing teenagers, an older couple, and a mom with a toddler, but no families of five rushing to the counter. I sigh inwardly: Jimmy was right.
“How’s your sundae?” Mark asks, taking a seat a next to me.
My mouth is too full of ice cream to express my gratitude, so I respond with “Mmm.”
“Yeah, I feel the same way about ice cream.” Mark smiles. “So Callie, I heard you got some schools looking at you?”
“Yeah, a few,” I answer.
“Like?”
“Tennessee…Duke…Vandy…UNC. I want to stay in the South.”
“So…” Mark begins, “we’ll be watching you on TV someday.”
“Yeah,” Ian says, “and I can say I know that girl.”
We went on to discuss their post-high school plans, but neither of them had any hopes for playing ball in college. Since middle school, I have had scouts looking at me. It was partly due to my skill, but mostly due to my dad. He was instrumental in getting local coverage at my games.
“When are you heading back to Riverside?” Mark asks.
“Today.”
Mark offers his hand. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Callie. I’ll see you around.”
“Thanks. Nice to meet you, Mark.” Then I swipe the napkin across my lips, soaking up any trace of syrup. I drop the napkin into my empty bowl and turn to Courtney. “We better get going.”
“But you can’t leave,” Ian protests.
“Why not?”
“Because, ma’am,” Ian intonates a police officer, “you’re over the legal limit of ice cream. It’s not safe to be on the roads”
I eye him. “That was really lame.”
“Would you prefer I beg you to stay?”
“No, I would not.”
He grabs my hand. “Oh, Callie, please don’t leave.” He slides off the chair and gets down on bended knee. “Please don’t leave me, Callie. Please don’t go. I’m begging you to stay.”
He’s so ridiculous that I start to laugh. Actually, the only person in the whole ice cream shop not laughing is Courtney. She lets out a loud “ahem.”
Ian glances over at her. “What?”
“Quit flirting with my best friend.”
He stands up and spreads his hands to the side. “I’m not flirting.” He steps toward Courtney. “What you were doing with the waiter—now that was flirting.”
Courtney grabs Ian’s hands and brings them up to her lips, kissing his fingertips. “Then I’m sorry, and I won’t ever do it again.” Courtney lies so easily.
*****
The Secrets We Keep Page 34
