Tex looks at me. “Touched each other how?”
“Like they do. The constant contact. The arm touching, the shoulder leaning, the hair fixing. What if I reached over and fixed your hair right now?”
“I would remove your hand from my face and place it back in your lap,” Tex says.
“What if I leaned over and put my head on your shoulder?”
“I would stand up and you would fall out of your chair,” Tex says.
“What if I started rubbing sunscreen on your back?”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“What if I touched your beard?”
“If you touch my beard, I will punch you in the mouth. I don’t care that you’re in a wheelchair. I don’t care that you’re injured. I don’t care that we’ve been best friends for twentyyears. The beard is off limits. Stormy is the only human being on this earth who is allowed to touch my beard and that permission was granted under very specific circumstances that I’m not going to describe.”
“What circumstances?”
“I said I’m not describing them.”
“Was it during sex?”
“Mickey.”
“I’m just asking.”
“Stop it, Mickey. The beard circumstances are classified. They are between me and Stormy and the bedroom ceiling fan that was a witness and that’s the end of it. I’m ending this conversation. We’re done. I’m going to sit here and eat my pork rinds and watch your boyfriend that you treated like the caterer punish you from the beach.”
Benji stands up from the towel and walks back to the water. He walks in slowly this time, letting the water climb up to his chest. Then he dives again and surfaces and floats on his back with his arms spread and his face to the sky. The coral trunks are a bright spot on the blue water.
“I need another beer,” Tex says, “but if I leave, I might miss something.”
“You’re watching this like it’s a show.”
“It is. Benji’s a performer. You know this. He performs for a living. He stages events and creates experiences. Right now, he’s performing for an audience of one and the performance is titled ‘look at what you’re missing’ and theproduction values are excellent. The swimming trunks alone deserve a ‘Best Costume’ award.”
Benji and Dante are back on their towels and Dante is reading his phone. Benji is lying on his stomach with his face in his arms and from up here I can’t tell if he’s sleeping or crying and the not knowing is worse than either.
At three o’clock, Tex checks his phone and a look crosses his face.
“We need to wrap this up,” he says. “I’m sending Stormy down there to check on things.”
“Check on what exactly?”
“To see what they’re doing and if Benji’s alright.”
“He’s perfectly fine, Tex. He’s drinking wine out of a solo cup and flirting with lifeguards. He’s doing better than I am.”
“I’m sending Stormy anyway.”
“Tex, don’t send Stormy into the middle of this. It’s not his problem.”
“Stormy asked to go. He texted me ten minutes ago and said ‘can I go check on Benji?’ He didn’t say ‘should I’ or ‘do you think I should.’ He said ‘can I?’ That’s Stormy asking for permission to do something he’s already decided to do. I’ve learned to recognize the difference. When Stormy asks ‘should I,’ he wants my input. When Stormy asks ‘can I?’ the decision is already made.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I say. “I wish you wouldn’t do this.”
Five minutes later I see Stormy walking down the beach toward the towels with careful steps like the sand is a surfacethat can’t be trusted. He reaches them. Benji glances up and I can see the surprise on his face. Then he jumps up and hugs Stormy, a full hug, arms around him.
