Swinging On A Star

by Janice Thompson

  “Want some?” Brock waggled his eyebrows, as if to taunt me.

  “H-how?” I wasn’t sure how he thought we could pull that off.

  Before I could say anything else, I heard a grunt from the backseat. “I know, I know.” Rob sighed and opened the back door. “What do you want?”

  Brock laughed. He gestured to Rob, saying, “He’s done this before.”

  “Clearly.” I nodded. “But it doesn’t look like he minds.”

  “I don’t,” Rob said. “But sometime today, okay? What do you guys want?”

  “Rocky road, man. And some of that taffy.”

  “What flavor?” Rob leaned in my window and gave me an inquisitive look.

  “Mmm. Cherry for me,” I said.

  Brock flashed a boyish smile and passed a fifty-dollar bill through my window.

  While we waited for Rob to return, Brock quizzed me about all sorts of things—things that took me by surprise. Turning in his seat to face me, he asked, “How long have you worked at the wedding facility?”

  “Oh, I’ve worked there for years helping my parents, but just took over managing the place early this summer.”

  “I saw one of your brochures. You do theme weddings.”

  “Right.”

  “That’s a pretty creative occupation, Bella.” He gave me an admiring look. “And being in the wedding business …” He let out an admiring whistle. “I think that’s pretty cool.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure. You make people’s dreams come true.”

  I felt my cheeks flush and tilted my head down to scratch Precious behind the ears, hoping Brock wouldn’t see my embarrassment. There was something about talking weddings with this guy that got me all flustered. Especially the part where he made me feel so good about what I did for others. It was fun making other people’s dreams come true.

  “I just like to think outside the box,” I said. “And apparently so do a lot of brides and grooms. You can’t believe how many calls I’ve had from people since we announced the theme weddings.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. We had a Boot-Scootin’ hoedown a few months ago. Now, of course, we’re having the medieval wedding. I’ve had several calls from brides interested in themed weddings, so it looks like we’re off to a great start.”

  “I think—if I ever found the perfect woman, I mean—that I’d like to have a pirate-themed wedding. Could you pull off one of those?” Brock gave me an inquisitive look.

  “Hmm.” I leaned back against my seat, thinking about the possibilities. “Would it require building a ship?”

  “Well, of course.”

  “Ah. I see.” After a pause, I added, “And would all of the guests have to fit on the ship too, or would that spot serve as a stage for the wedding party?”

  “Hmm. Just a stage. The bride and groom should have a special spot above the crowd, don’t you think?” He gave me a penetrating look, and I shifted my attention to the dog once again, my heart now thumping wildly. Brock could speak a million words with those eyes of his.

  “Right, right.”

  “I think it’s doable.” Brock began to fill my head with possibilities, laughter lacing his words. He explained everything— right down to the costumes everyone would wear and the lines the preacher would speak. “Arrr! By the power vested in me, I now pronounce ye mate and matey!”

  He went on in pirate-speak for a couple of minutes, and I finally joined in. Couldn’t help myself, really. There was something pretty mesmerizing about Brock Benson once he got rolling.

  By the time we finished, I’d pretty much decided he was right. I could pull off a pirate-themed wedding. With his help, anyway.

  I paused from our conversation for a moment, glancing out the window. In all of our chattering, I’d forgotten that I was supposed to be protecting Brock’s identity. With a sweep of my eyes, I did my best to assess our surroundings. What we didn’t need was anyone hiding behind a parking meter with a camera in hand.

  “Are you nervous?’ Brock asked with a smile.

  “A little.”

  “I think we’re okay. You’ve got tinted windows. But there are quite a few people out. More than I expected.”

  “Well, it’s only late September,” I said. “The kids have been back in school a few weeks, but we still get quite a few tourists, as long as it’s still warm.”

  “You like it here?” he asked.

  “Of course! What’s not to like? Look around you. This area is like something from a painting. And the houses on Broadway are amazing. They’re some of the oldest gingerbread Victorians in the state.”

  Brock laughed. “I guess you do like it here.” He pointed to a couple of women passing by. “It doesn’t bother you, having so many tourists around? I’d think that would get annoying.”

  “On the contrary. They’re the bread and butter of the island. We want them to come. We need them to come.” I sighed.

  “What? Are you frustrated with all my questions?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just that getting people to the island is so important. That’s one reason I changed the layout of the wedding facility, to draw people from the mainland. Not just for our family’s sake but for the island’s sake too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The more weddings we facilitate, the more the hotels and restaurants benefit. So I figure I’m really helping lots of people when I sign a wedding. Mama feels the same way about the opera house. She’s a sponsor and a volunteer. She loves it, but it’s not just about that. She wants to do anything she can to draw a crowd so that the island will keep going strong.”

  “You Rossis are do-gooders, that’s for sure.” He leaned back against his seat and crossed his arms at his chest, giving me a look I’d never seen from him before, one I couldn’t really interpret. “Why do you care so much about other people, anyway? Just build your business for yourself. Your family. Let your mom enjoy the opera for herself.”

  Shaking my head, I responded, “It’s not in us to be like that. And we’re not hurting for money. It’s not about that. We could shut down the wedding facility today and be fine. I keep the wedding facility going for the same reason Uncle Laz keeps Parma John’s open.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “We love people. We love the island. And—especially after the hurricane—we’ve got to do what we can to help rebuild. That’s why I’m working double time to prove myself with the wedding facility, because it means so much to our family to make a contribution to the island. Like I said, it’s not about us.”

  Brock laughed. “I’m trying to envision someone where I come from using those words.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope. Can’t imagine anyone saying that.”

  A rap on Brock’s window jarred us back to attention. I looked up, expecting to see Rob, but was stunned to find a police officer standing there with a scowl on his face.

  Yikes. “Now what?” I whispered.

  Brock shrugged. “Now I roll down the window.” He did just that, flashing a winning smile at the elderly officer. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Mm-hmm.” The officer gave a curt nod, then looked over at me. Instantly, Precious began to growl. She tried to lunge out of my arms, but I held on tight, praying all the while. The creases between the fellow’s eyes deepened as his gaze shifted back to Brock.

  “Have we done something wrong, Officer?” Brock asked.

  “You’re parked at a meter but haven’t put any money in it.”

  Brock glanced at the meter to our right. “Oh, you’re so right. We were waiting here on a friend and got carried away. We’ll take care of it right now.” He pulled out his wallet, coming up with another fifty-dollar bill.

  “The machines take quarters, son.” The officer scrutinized Brock, a hint of recognition in his eyes. “You’re not from the island, are you?”

  “No, sir. You’re right about that. This is my first time to visit your beautiful island, and I’m overw
helmed at everything my tour guide is showing me. I’m particularly drawn in by the buildings on this street. Remarkable history, from what I understand.”

  “Mm-hmm. You got any quarters, son?”

  “I …” Brock shook his head. “I don’t, Officer.”

  “Oh, I might.” I scrambled around in my purse, coming up with a couple of pennies and a ten-dollar bill.

  “What are we looking for?” Rob’s voice rang out. I looked through Brock’s open window to see him standing next to the officer.

  “Oh, we didn’t put a quarter in the meter,” I said.

  “No problem. I’ve got plenty of change.” He turned to the policeman with a smile. “Just spent a fortune at the Confectionery. Great place.”

  “Mm-hmm.” The officer glanced at Rob for a second, then turned back to Brock. “Where are you from, anyway?”

  “Oh … well, my family’s originally from Jersey.”

  “No way!” I couldn’t help but interject. “Why didn’t you mention that when I told you we were from Atlantic City?”

  Brock shrugged. “Didn’t think about it.”

  We dove into a discussion about his long history of visiting the boardwalk when the officer cleared his throat. “Is anyone going to put a quarter in that meter?”

  “Done.” Rob pointed to the machine, which he’d apparently loaded with change while we were gabbing.

  “Thank you for visiting sunny Galveston Isle.” The officer tipped his hat and took a few steps away. He turned back to look at Brock one last time, shaking his head. “New to the island, huh? Could’ve sworn I’d seen you before.”

  Rob climbed into the backseat, and we all erupted in laughter as soon as the officer turned to leave.

  “I get that all the time,” Brock said, looking my way. He downed a small container of rocky road ice cream, then gazed at me with a smile. “Now where?”

  “I guess we could drive past Uncle Laz’s pizzeria. At least you’d have a visual for what we’re always talking about.”

  “I’d like that.”

  I pointed him in the direction of Parma John’s with an idea whirling around in my brain.

  10

  Blue Skies

  As we pulled up to Parma John’s, I tucked Precious into my oversized handbag and worked up the courage to ask Brock for a huge favor. Turning to him, I said, “Brock, I, um … I need to ask you something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My best friend, Jenna. She would flip if she knew you were here. I’ve been dying to tell her. It’s killing me not to. If you knew anything about girls, you’d know what I mean. I’ve been trying to hold this secret inside, and I know she’d keep it to herself … if you don’t mind.”

  He shrugged. “I guess I don’t mind. But remember what we talked about earlier at your house. The fewer people who know, the better. You’re sure she won’t say anything to anyone?”

  “I’m sure. We can trust her.” I hoped.

  “Well then, why don’t I just go in there with you?” Brock unbuckled his seat belt and reached for the door.

  “Not a good idea, Brock,” Rob said. “I’ve been in there before, and it’s always a mob scene.”

  “I wouldn’t suggest it either,” I said, “unless you want to be seen by fifty or sixty teens and twentysomethings. Parma John’s is the island’s biggest hangout. And it’s lunchtime, so …”

  “Say no more.” He leaned back in his seat and waited. I sprinted to the door, found Jenna inside, and pulled her by the hand out to the curb. She took one look through the open window at Brock and buckled at the knees, letting out a squeal that could’ve raised the dead.

  Maybe I should’ve given her some warning.

  “You … you … you …” She shook her head, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, I look awful!” She pulled off her apron and ran her fingers through her mop of red hair. “Isn’t that just the way life is? You get your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to meet someone famous, and it’s on the one day you didn’t wash your hair.”

  “I’m Brock Benson.” He extended his hand and she grabbed it, babbling incoherently.

  I looked his way and shrugged, then mouthed the word, “Sorry.”

  “Nah. I get this a lot. But, um … I could use my hand back.”

  “Of course!” Jenna released it, then turned my way and punched me in the arm.

  “Ouch!” I rubbed my aching arm and glared at her.

  “Bella, you should’ve told me.”

  “We’re sworn to secrecy. It’s kind of complicated.”

  “But, he’s Brock Benson. He’s a famous movie star.” Interesting how she continued to talk about him in the third person, as if he weren’t seated right in front of her. Brock seemed to find some humor in this. Leaning back against the seat, he watched her performance. All the boy needed was popcorn and a soda, and the afternoon would be complete.

  Jenna reached to grab my arm and asked, “What’s he doing here, anyway?”

  Okay, so we were still talking in the third person. I’d have to break her of that.

  Rob piped up from the backseat. “Brock is the best man at my wedding next week.”

  Jenna leaned in the car and said, “Oh, hey, Rob.” Then her eyes darted back to Brock, who couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

  To be honest, I was thrilled at her response, because I’d secretly wondered if Sophia or Bubba might’ve already told her. Looked like no one had let the cat out of the bag, and that was a very good thing.

  “What are y’all doing?” Jenna asked. “Just driving around?”

  “Brock wanted to see the island. He’s never been here before, so I offered to give him the grand tour—east to west.”

  Jenna’s eyes widened. “Let me ask Laz if I can have an hour off. I want to go too.”

  She sprinted back inside, then came back seconds later and climbed into the backseat. I flashed an apology to Brock with my eyes, but he just smiled. Obviously my best friend’s zeal didn’t faze him.

  “I hope I don’t get carsick back here,” Jenna said with an overdramatic sigh as she closed the back door.

  “Huh?” I looked at her, puzzled.

  She gave me a knowing look. “You know how I am, Bella.

  Whenever I ride in the backseat, I get a little queasy.”

  Sure you do. I could see what she was up to. No doubt about it, she wanted to switch places. No problem. I’d let the girl have her moment. Then she could say for the rest of her life that she’d ridden in the front seat of a car with Brock Benson.

  “C’mon, Jenna. Get in front.” I opened the door and stepped outside. Sitting in the back would likely calm Precious down, anyway. She was still acting a little too keyed up. And it was high time I pulled my thoughts away from Brock Benson. That way the butterflies in my stomach could finally take a siesta.

  Since we were on the east end of the island, I decided our first stop should be at Stuart Beach. I had Brock pull the car into the parking lot and paused a moment. Though the height of the season had passed, there were still quite a few colorful umbrellas dotting the sand. For a moment I was tempted to get out of the car and dip my toes in the water. Strange how I could live this close to the Gulf of Mexico and never go in it. Life moved too fast these days.

  “It’s not quite the Pacific,” Brock observed with a hint of laughter in his voice.

  “Yeah, I know.” I’d seen the Pacific. In fact, Pop had taken us to Laguna Beach a couple of years ago for a family vacation, renting a house for several weeks. The brown waters of the gulf couldn’t compare. Neither could the sand, for that matter. In Galveston, we didn’t have that brilliant contrast of blue against white, and we certainly didn’t have any rocky cliffs. Everything here had more of a brown-against-tan hue.

  Still, I found it beautiful. There was nothing nicer than the sound of the waves lapping the shore to remind you that someone rather magnificent had created all of this. And watching the steady flow of the water—back and forth, back and forth—creat
ed the most beautiful picture in my mind of God’s consistency with me. I’d mess up … he’d pull me back. I’d mess up again … he’d pull me back again.

  Brock dove into a story about a trip he’d taken to the Mediterranean last summer, which led to a story from me about my parents’ desire to return to Italy to visit their siblings.

  “Mama and Rosa have twin sisters between them,” I said. “Bianca and Bertina. They live in Napoli. And Pop and Laz have a brother, Emilio, who lives there too.”

  “I’ve been to Naples,” Brock said with a nod. “Filmed a few scenes there. Beautiful place. I hope to go back someday.”

  “Oh, me too.” I sighed, thinking about it. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like to vacation in Italy. It’s been so long since I’ve been there.” Looking at the brown waters of the gulf, I shrugged. “Not exactly the same, I guess. But there’s still something about Galveston that does my heart good. I love it here.”

  “Oh, me too.” Jenna dove into a lengthy story about the summers we’d spent on this beach as teenagers and all of the shenanigans we’d pulled, but my thoughts had shifted back to something Brock had said earlier about living for yourself instead of others. That comment still bothered me, in part because it showed just how different we really were. Several things set Brock Benson apart from the Rossis, of course, but perhaps this was the greatest one of all. In many ways, it was a gulf wider than the one I was staring at now.

  On and on Jenna went, talking about our teen years. Catching her between sentences, I turned to Brock and asked, “Ready to move on?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He pulled the car back out onto the seawall, and we continued west. We spent the next hour driving the island from end to end. I could see the emotion on Brock’s face as we paused at the places hit hardest by the storm.

  “Stop right here.” I pointed to a spot on the side of the seawall. As the car came to a stop, I sighed. “The Balinese used to be right there.”