Page 39 of Summer Romance
“Well, it was if it was a day like this. But on several occasions the tide came in and we were left waiting for a case of Bud Light to wash up on the shore.” Ethan is smiling at Pelican Island, and I want to feel as light as he does. “Let’s take the dogs.”
Ethan hops off the seawall onto the beach and reaches up for Brenda and then Ferris. “Come on,” he says. “We’ll go sit out there for a bit and get a new perspective.” He holds up his backpack. “I even have refreshments.” We leave our phones inside our shoes on the wall and start walking across the water. The tide is so low that the water barely covers my feet. We’ve taken Ferris and Brenda off leash and they run wild, hunting scents and crisscrossing the shore. The sand squishes under my feet and I turn my complete attention to the feel of it. Wet sand gathers between my toes and rinses away with each step. It’s rhythmic, the sound of my feet splashing toward the island.
Ethan is ahead of me and stops when we are about ten feet from the island. He calls the dogs and scoops them both in his arms as the water gets a bit deeper. The wet dogs soak his shirt and he’s submerged to the top of his thighs by the time he gets there. He places the dogs and then his backpack on the rocky shore. “Want me to come back for you? You’re going to get soaked.”
I can see that I’m going to get wet past my waist if I keep going, but I don’t feel like getting rescued again today. The sun is welcoming me out into the water. “I’m good,” I say, and keep going.
Pelican Island is bigger than it looks from the shore. You could probably fit my house on it, but nothing more.Around the two trees there is sand and rock and washed-up shells.
“Turn around,” he says.
And I do. There’s Beechwood. Where most of my life took place. It looks different while standing still on another piece of dry land. The inn, the clearing of the dog park, the Litchfields’ house. Hidden beyond the canopy of trees is the high school where I was the valedictorian, the church where I was married, the house where I tried to be a wife. From a distance, it’s just green. I relax not having to look at all the details. The mess.
We sit down under the trees, and he opens his backpack and hands me a beer.
“You really are a great lawyer,” I say, and he laughs.
“I also brought pretzels, no extra charge.”
“It feels like we’re watching the opening scene of a movie about our town, where they pan in on the whole thing before we get to the action.”
He nods. “And then what happens?”
I am quiet for a bit, because I don’t know. The woman gets divorced. The kids grow up. The dog dies. “I’m having a hard time seeing the happy ending.”
“There’s no happy ending to an unhappy story.”
I give him a little shove and take a sip of my beer. “That’s so annoying. You can’t keep quoting my own speech back to me.” I stretch out my wet legs in front of me and close my eyes as the sun dries them.
“But it’s true,” he says. “You can’t just keep doing what you’re doing and wait for it to turn into something happy. You kind of have to look for the happy things along the way.”
“I guess.” Brenda comes over and sits on Ethan’s lap, like she agrees. I turn to him and watch his profile as he concentrates on running his hand along Brenda’s spine. He’s so in the moment.
“I’m soaked,” he says, and takes off his shirt. The sudden sight of so much golden skin makes my breath catch. I want to reach out and run my hands over his shoulders, but I am a little too vulnerable right now. I want to keep this thing with Ethan fun, and right now I feel like I could grab on to it too tight and ruin it.
“So is it your Zen pursuit of happiness that makes you unreliable?”
“Maybe. I kind of move toward what feels good.”
“Like what?” I’m looking straight at the Beechwood shoreline, and I can feel him looking at me. My question is loaded as I say it, because it would feel good to have him lying on top of me on this tiny island.
“Sticking it to Pete today felt pretty good,” he says.
I laugh. “It did.”
“Was there any particular reason you ever dated that guy?”
I laugh the smallest laugh. “Pete just made sense. He felt like he was going to be a partner. I loved how he was so into everything he was into. There was always a frenzy of activity and it felt exciting.” I turn to him and his eyes are on me. Like he’s recording my words to play them back to himself later. “But then we had kids and my days were full of messy things and joyful surprises, and Pete’s life was about all of his activities. I thought it might help to move to Beechwood so my mom could pitch in.”
“And did it?”
“Kind of. She sort of slid in to fill the gap between Pete and me, and it worked.”
“And then she died.”
“And then she died.”
“And Pete left,” he says.
