Pulled Under

“Thanks,” I answer as I pour the milk over my cereal. “But I wasn’t.”

Despite my current—and I would argue quite defensible—lack of excitement, Fourth of July is a huge deal in Pearl Beach. It’s the busiest day of the year for tourists, and we really give them their money’s worth. The celebration starts off in the morning with the Patriots Parade, continues all afternoon with live music at the bandshell, and concludes with a huge fireworks display over the pier.

I don’t want to be a buzz kill for my dad, so I try to engage in some conversation. “Is your band marching in the parade this year?”

“Yes,” he says with glee, unwilling to let my mood dampen his enthusiasm. “And we’re playing the two o’clock set at the bandshell.”

I swallow a spoonful of cereal and chuckle. “You love saying that you’re playing a ‘set,’ don’t you?”

“I almost said that we had a ‘gig,’ but I thought you might give me a hard time about it.”

“I definitely would have.”

Every year on the Fourth of July my dad and a bunch of other guys he knows form a band they call the Founding Fathers. It’s perfect not only because he gets to dress up as Uncle Sam, but also because it blends three of his greatest loves: music, American history, and bad puns.

“Are you going to sing my song?” I ask, giving him my best doe eyes.

My song is “Isabel,” an old country song by John Denver that my father used to sing to me when he’d put me to bed.

“I don’t know,” he says, playing hardball. “Our set’s only for thirty minutes and we’ve got a lot of songs.”

“Seriously? That’s your answer?”

He nods and we have a little stare off before I finally relent.

“Massachusetts, Co

“And why are you suddenly listing states?”

“Because those are the colonies that John Adams, Roger Sherman, Robert Livingston, Ben Franklin, and Thomas Jefferson represented in the Continental Congress.”

“You knew all along.”

“Of course I did. You’ve only made me watch 1776 about a thousand times.”

“Then why’d you act like you didn’t know?”

I give him a look. “Because I don’t want to encourage you to give me pop quizzes every morning.”

He smiles broadly. “That’s my girl.”

“Now what about my song?” I ask.

“I guess you’ll have to come and find out,” he answers. But as he walks out of the kitchen I can hear him start to sing, “Isabel is watching like a princess from the mountains . . .”

Today would be the perfect day to hang out with Ben, except we’re both busy for huge chunks of it. He’s marching with the campers in the parade and working at the bandshell during the concert. Meanwhile, I’m going in early to help set up at Surf Sisters and working the late shift tonight. If I’m lucky, I’ll get out in time to catch some of the fireworks. I’m pretty sure our paths will cross a few times during the festivities, but there are no guarantees as to when.

I ride my bike to the shop, and when I get there, I’m surprised to see Nicole standing in the parking lot wearing her band uniform.

“You know I’m all about seeing you in the fu

“I’ve got about twenty minutes,” she says.

I lock my bike to the rack and reply, “I’m sure we’ve got the inventory all covered. You should go hang out with the drum line. And by drum line I mean you should go hang out with Cody.”

“I will,” she says. “But Mickey called me first thing and asked me to come in. She said that she wanted to talk to the whole staff.”

Mickey and Mo must be concerned about something, because the Fourth is our biggest sales day of the year. I assume they want to make sure that everyone’s ready. But when I walk into the shop and see them talking in hushed tones, I begin to worry that something’s wrong. Typically they’re upbeat, but there are no smiles today.

Mickey steps forward first and does a quick head count to make sure we’re all here. Including the two of them, there are ten of us in total, and while I’m closest to Sophie and Nicole, I think of everyone as my extended family.

“We really hate to do this today,” Mickey says. “The Fourth is such a big day for the beach, and we know how much of a zoo it can be. But there are some developments that are about to become public, and we want to make sure that you hear them from us first.”

Now I am really worried. Mickey is getting teary and has trouble continuing, so Mo puts an arm around her and picks up where she left off.

“After thirty-three years of doing what we love . . . we are sorry to a

She continues speaking, but I literally do not hear another word while my mind tries to process what she has just said. I know this sounds melodramatic, but I can’t overemphasize how important the shop has been to me. I look around and realize that everyone else is equally stu

“What are you talking about?” Sophie blurts out.

“Like I said,” Mo continues, “we didn’t want to tell you like this, but you’re family to us, and word has leaked out and we’re sure you’ll hear about it.”

“How is this even possible?” one of the girls asks. “I know we don’t get the crowds that Surf City does, but business seems like it’s been good.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Mickey says, clearing her throat. “A developer is going to build a new resort, and the bank sees this as a chance to make a lot of money. We’ve tried everything we can think of, but there’s really nothing we can do about it. We will, however, do everything we can to help you all find new jobs.”

We sit there in stu

“What about Luigi’s Car Wash?” I say. “Luigi’s was able to stay open because it had been here so long. Doesn’t the same law protect us?”

They share a look and turn back to us.

“We thought the same thing,” Mo says. “We even got our lawyer to file paperwork with the city. But it turns out we opened four months too late to qualify.”

I can’t believe this would happen at the very moment I was happier than ever before. It’s like if one part of my life goes well, then another has to go off the rails. I look around the shop and suddenly years’ worth of memories start to flood through my mind. I can’t even begin to imagine what this is like for the two of them. They grew up here. They’ve spent their lives building a business here. And it’s going to become some ridiculous hotel.

“What can we do?” I ask.

“I’m glad you asked that,” Mickey says. “We know there’s a lot of sadness about this, but we don’t want our last memories of Surf Sisters to be sad. We want to have an incredible last summer. And you’re the key to that. We have accepted that this is going to happen, and we’re going to have fun. We want you to have fun too. If you can’t have fun at the beach during the summer, then you’re really doing something wrong.”

“And that fun starts tonight,” Mo says. “We’re closing a couple hours earlier than pla

Suddenly I think about Ben, and I must make an expression, because Mo notices it.

“What is it, Izzy?”

It seems inappropriate to ask, but I don’t know what else to say. “I was just wondering if I could bring a date.”

For the first time all morning, there are smiles around the room.

“We would love it if you brought a date.”

In the world of parades, ours is on the homemade end of the spectrum. We don’t have giant balloons like the Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York, and our floats aren’t lush and intricate like those in the Rose Parade on New Year’s Day. Instead we’ve got some marching bands, people from different civic groups, old guys in antique cars, and about a dozen pickup trucks pulling flatbed trailers decorated with plastic fringe, chicken wire, and tissue paper. The grand finale is the high school drama teacher dressed as George Washington waving from the back of a fire truck with all its lights flashing. It is beyond corny, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.