Sandcastles

by Suzie Carr

  Then, the doctor on call walked in wearing a smile and joked saying, “The best way to get out of a day of work is to piss off a wasp.”

  By then, even Dean cracked a smile.

  The doctor walked over to the hand sanitizer dispenser and rubbed his hands together, then pulled off Dean’s mask. “Take a nice deep breath.”

  Dean did as instructed, not taking his eye off the handsome blonde doctor. “Oh, that’s much better,” Dean said, with a flirt to his voice.

  My God, Dean flirted with a doctor in a hospital. The hairs on my arms stood up tall.

  The doctor picked up Dean’s wrist and took his pulse.

  I waited for drool to start leaking down his chin.

  Yeah. He was going to be just fine. I relaxed in a nearby chair.

  “Nice,” he said. “Pulse is perfect.” He checked Dean’s IV, then listened to his lungs. “You’re going to live.”

  Dean inhaled. “So does this mean I get to carry around one of those nifty epi pens?”

  “I’ll see what I can do about hooking you up with one.” He examined his face. “You’ve got a few hives still enjoying a bit of a party on your cheeks here. They’ll go away with the IV meds. We’ll have you stay here for a little while longer with it.” He looked at the side of Dean’s neck. “You have a small bump right below your ear. How long has this been there?”

  Dean shrugged. “I didn’t know it took up refuge on me.” He smiled, clearly proud of his playback on humor.

  The doctor’s brows furrowed as he examined it. “It could just be a swollen gland. Have you been sick with a cold lately?”

  “Nope.” His face grew concerned. “Should I be worried?”

  “It’s probably nothing more than your body fighting against a virus or upcoming cold. Just to be sure, I would recommend that you follow up with your primary care doctor.”

  “Okay,” he said, swallowing heavily.

  I could see the questions racing around his brain already. His night would consist of reading the entire site of WebMD. I would get numerous calls after midnight with prognoses that delved into the warped category. He would most likely believe by sunrise that he was dying and needed to write a will before having to undergo surgeries and treatments for some weird disease he contracted somewhere between India, America, and our ride down to Newport that afternoon.

  “Okay, my job here is done,” he said. “Once the IV is done dripping, the nurse will remove it, issue you an epi pen, and you’ll be on your way.” He shook Dean’s hand. “Be sure to get that bump on your neck checked out. Better to be safe than sorry, right?”

  “Right.” He eyed the doctor carefully.

  Poor Dean was in for a rough night.

  When he walked out, I expected a full launch into panic mode, consisting of sweats, chest pain, and dramatic pleas to God to save him during that trying period.

  Instead, he sat calm, folding his hands in his lap. He picked up the remote and clicked on the television, settling on The Ellen DeGeneres Show. A smile spread across his face as he watched her dance through the aisles of her studio, shaking her hips and shimmying against happy fans who eagerly shimmied back. “I love this woman,” he said, shaking his head, not taking his eyes off the screen.

  I opened my mouth to say something in follow-up to the doctor’s concern, but closed it when I saw his eyes sparkling as he watched a few hundred people having a good time. I pulled my chair up next to him, embracing the peace in that moment; the moment when the world stood still and allowed my good friend Dean to laugh without a knowing care in the world.

  # #

  In the two weeks that followed, Dean slacked off at work. Typically he arrived well before I did, oftentimes working through lunch to stay ahead of the crazy schedule he kept for us both. Not that week. He kept taking ‘walk’ breaks where he’d plug in his earphones and walk up and down four flights of stairs for fifteen minutes at a time. Several times, I walked in on him lying on a yoga mat in his office, earphones plugged in, head and knees propped up with sweaters that were usually hanging off his chair, and eyes closed. “I’m balancing my chakras,” he would say.

  I’d just walk out, close the door, and pretend not to be concerned that my former hard-working assistant had turned into an office slacker.

  A few times in those weeks, he’d let my phone go to voicemail. I’d peek into his office to see why, and I’d find him watching funny videos on YouTube, cracking himself up.

  Then, one morning, almost three weeks into his slacker journey, he didn’t show up for an important day of work. I had to face a set of high-end clients without any of the usual prep he painstakingly went through. He hadn’t created folders, cheat sheets, or conducted preliminary research. I sat at the head of the office conference table, staring into the eyes of clients who had been recommended to me, waiting on my words of wisdom. Without Dean’s help, I stumbled and stuttered like a fool.

  I was lost without him.

  So, when he came back in the office sucking on a Dunkin Donuts iced-coffee, I called him in. “What the eff is going on here? Do you realize the clients now see me as a fool? I had nothing. You can’t just leave like you did without any warning. I’ve got a business to run.”

  He stopped sucking on his straw and looked at me point-blankly. “And, I’ve got a life to live.”

  “What?” I tore into him. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Quite the contrary, Lia.” He smiled at me with a smugness that he reserved for I-told-you-so moments, inhaling like we sat in a garden of roses. “My mind has never been clearer.”

  I stood up, walked over to the edge of my desk in front of him, and crossed my arms. “What’s going on?”

  He met my stern gaze. “If you must know,” he said, pointing his finger. “Though, I am under no legal obligation to tell you, seeing as you are my boss and can pull the rug out from under me very easily shall you not like what you hear.”

  “Just tell me.”

  He drew another sip. “I met with an oncologist this morning.”

  The blood drained from my face. I fumbled to keep my balance on the edge of the desk. “An oncologist? Why an oncologist?”

  His face sobered. “My primary care advised me to after he saw “suspicious artifacts” in my CAT scan. So, he referred me to the oncologist who had me get an MRI. I meet back with him in two days to go over the results. So, I’m going to need that day off. He’s all the way up in Boston.”

  CAT scan? MRI? Oncologist? Boston? I squeezed the desk until my fingers tingled. “What is he looking for exactly?”

  He tilted his head up at me. “Cancer I would presume.”

  I swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner than this?”

  He nodded, and smiled. “Some things in life are better dealt with alone.”

  Hurt blazed through me. I dragged him to a wellness center because of an irrational fear over a cute psychic’s vision. The man faced possible cancer and he didn’t need me?

  I just wanted to hug him.

  When I did, he patted my back as if to relieve me of my stress. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears, but it was no use. They leaked like I’d turned on a faucet, rolling down my cheeks and onto his shirt. He just continued patting my back, nurturing me.

  “We should get ready for your next client,” he said.

  I pulled away, wiping my face. “What do you say we get out of here for a few hours instead? Drive back to the beach and just hang out?”

  He bounced his leg up and down, contemplating my proposition. “Your day is chocked full. You can’t afford to.”

  I couldn’t afford not to. “First one to grab their keys and get to the elevator drives?”

  “I should have strange bumps pop up on my neck more often.” His eyes twinkled. “Alright, then. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  I bolted to my desk to get my keys, and he bolted to his office to get his. When I ran out of my office door and saw the grand smile on his face as he dipped his han
d into his desk drawer for his set, I pretended to still be searching for mine in my light sweater hanging off the back of my door.

  A minute later, he held the elevator for us. As I passed him by, he grabbed my arm. “You drive.”

  “Why? You won.”

  “Noble gesture.” He nudged me onto the elevator. “But, I refuse to turn into your charity case just yet.”

  I playfully nudged him back, adding a forced giggle.

  He just pushed the button, and off we went.

  # #

  Dean and I sat on the rocks overlooking Galilee. The air smelled like fried fish and salt. A steady breeze came in off the water and blew our hair, swelling it so we now looked like frizzy, cotton heads.

  “I have to confess something to you,” Dean said.

  I couldn’t take any more bad news. “Fess up.” I tore off a piece of clam cake and tossed it to a seagull.

  He stared out over the water, his eyes closed at half-mast. “I’ve never once in my life built a sandcastle.”

  “That’s your confession?”

  “What were you expecting, exactly?”

  I bit into the clam cake. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe something like, I’m a virgin or I’ve never tried pot. But, I’ve never built a sandcastle?”

  “I have too tried pot.”

  I nudged him, accepting his confession and ignoring the one he failed to address. “So, you want to build a sandcastle?” I asked.

  He looked at me like a child begging for candy. “Can we?”

  “We can.” I stood up and reached out for his hand. “We’re going to use our chowder containers to do so, too.”

  He leaped to his feet. “Let’s do it.”

  Within a few minutes, cups and containers gathered, we headed to the shore and began construction on our first ever sandcastle.

  We spent two hours filling our cups with water and sand, building our dream castle.

  Dean handed me a cup of water to fill the lake I created under the bridge. “I really did have something to confess earlier. It had nothing to do with sand and castles.”

  “It didn’t?”

  He shook his head. “I fibbed about that because I wasn’t sure how to confess this.”

  My heart sank. “Is it bad?”

  He tossed sand at me. “Only if you’re not a fan of the idea of me indulging in some kickass yoga instruction from a beautiful yoga instructor.”

  I tossed sand back at him. “You went to see Willow without telling me?”

  A cocky grin blossomed on his face. “Not yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “I scheduled an appointment for acupuncture with Yvonne, and then a yoga class with Willow following it.”

  I carved a window into the tower, using a pen I found in my tote bag. “Go for it.”

  “You won’t mind?”

  “Who am I to stop you?” I carved too hard, and the window crumbled. “It’s your money.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  I stopped saving my broken window. “You know that would be awkward.”

  “I know. Forget I asked.” He poured more water into our lake under the bridge.

  “You’re willing to go to an oncologist solo, but you want me to be there to do yoga poses?”

  He shrugged. “A visit to an oncologist is not life affirming. Yoga is.”

  “You’re saying my life needs affirming?” I stabbed the front lawn of the castle with my pen.

  He arched his eyebrow at me. “I won’t satisfy that question with an answer.”

  We continued to play in the sand. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading up on Yvonne’s center,” he said. “Everything they do there is in line with proactive health. I want to take all the right measures, just in case.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  He formed a doorway using his chowder spoon. “Shall I just not talk about it, then?”

  I cradled his wrist. “Let’s just admire our castle and worry about everything else another time.”

  He sat back, taking in the full view of our four-tiered sandcastle, complete with a bridge, road, and grand entrance. “It is a beautiful structure.”

  I crawled up to his side and leaned against him. “It sure is.”

  We sat there for the next half hour, taking in the sea air, the seagulls, the kids running past us, and the water lapping up against the shoreline. Then, high tide rolled in reclaiming its rightful use over the land.

  We stood up, and watched the sea swallow our bridge, our lake, and our beautiful sandcastle.

  I looked up at Dean. A pensive look surfaced on the fine lines around his eyes, as if he willed tears to come. As usual, they remained stubborn and caused him to suffer in stoic silence.

  I looked away, reaching for some strength from the sea to be the kind of friend he deserved. I put my arm around him and hugged him.

  “There will be other sandcastles,” I said, wiping away my downpour of tears.

  “None ever as poignant as this one, though.” He fought against his shaky voice. “I realize that sandcastles are temporary. Trying to build them into permanent structures is an impossible dream. They fall down quickly, with little warning. They crumble and fall back into the sea and become the foundation for something else in the waiting.”

  I slipped my arm around his waist and we stared out at the sea. “So profound.”

  “I certainly can be.”

  “Yes,” I said, comforted by his lack of modesty. “You certainly can be, my friend.”

  We stood wading in the sea, clinging to the only certainty we had in that moment, which was each other.

  # #

  That night, long after Dean and I had built a sandcastle and watched the tide sweep it away, I sat alone in my dark condo and analyzed Dean’s confession. He wouldn’t have gone to his appointment at the wellness center, an appointment he decidedly needed to go to, if I had asked him not to.

  He cared more about me than himself.

  I wanted to be by Dean’s side through the ordeal. I had to find a way to touch base with Willow so I could walk into the center without causing more stress. For Dean’s sake.

  So, I called her.

  She sounded sleepy when she answered. “Lia?”

  “Can we talk?”

  “Of course,” she whispered.

  I hesitated, not sure where to begin other than in the obvious place. “I’m sorry I called your aunt a fake.”

  “Okay. That was a long time ago. But I accept.” She laughed. “Why are you calling me now and saying this?”

  “It came true.”

  “What came true, Lia?”

  “Your aunt forecasted Dean’s allergy correctly. He landed in the hospital a few weeks ago after suffering a severe allergic reaction to a wasp.”

  She sighed. “She thought he would suffer a food allergy.”

  “She did?”

  “She and I are not always right-on with things.”

  “The ER doc found a lump near a gland in his neck. He’s seeing an oncologist to go over MRI results in a few days.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said in a soothing tone. “Are you alright? Is he alright?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  She paused. “I wish I could. My visions aren’t accurate. I see bits and pieces of scenes.”

  “Well, you visualized me in a hospital room pretty darn accurately. And Dean flirted with his doctor too.”

  “I wish I wasn’t accurate.”

  I would hate to have her skill. “He’s going in to see you for yoga soon.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “I saw his name in the appointment book.”

  “I know you’ll take care of him.”

  “He’s going to be okay,” she said with quiet confidence.

  I balanced on that statement. “I believe you.”

  We paused.

  “Lia? Can I be honest?”

  My heart stopped. I needed hope, not more dread. “What is it?”

  “
I’m happy you called me.”

  My body warmed to the sound of that, sliding into its comfort head first. “I’m happy knowing that.”

  “I hope you’ll consider coming with Dean.”

  Surrendering to her friendly welcome, I lowered all defenses. “I definitely will, now.”

  “I hope so. I won’t even kick you out of yoga if you laugh.”

  “It’s a date then,” I said without hesitation.

  “Great,” she said softly. “It’s a date.”

  We hung up and I just sat staring at my phone, embracing the warm sensations trickling through me. Hearing her voice comforted me, folding me into a temporary warm pocket that erased any trace of loneliness in that moment. I rested back against my bed, closed my eyes, and continued to enjoy the warmth she placed within me.

  I dreamed of her again. This time, I imagined myself walking in a dark forest and down a cold and dreary path. I came across a well sitting in the middle of a clearing. I innocently opened up the lid to that well, climbed inside and began descending down a set of spiral steps. The deeper I got, the darker and colder the cave became. My curiosity fueled my desire to continue down to the bottom. So, further and further I descended into the cold, dark, recesses of Mother Earth, landing on a dirt floor. I looked to my right and noticed a doorway lit up. Unable to resist the temptation, I opened the door and discovered a raging river under a beautiful, pristine, blue summer sky. I escaped the dark cave in awe of the beauty, and found complete bliss in the refreshing splashes of tepid water from the raging river.

  I scanned the landscape, and across the river I saw Willow. She wore a white, silky dress, and her hair hung down past her shoulders in adorable waves. She hoisted an umbrella and giggled as she looked up into its bright vortex. She danced around the edge of the river without a care of falling into it. With one graceful leap after another, she twirled and laughed her way to a swinging bench. Her smile radiated as she leaped onto it with her bare feet, cradling the long chains that secured it in place with one hand and the pink umbrella with the other. She leaned her head back, away from her umbrella and opened her mouth. Sticking out her tongue, she lapped up the fresh rain that began to drizzle down onto her red, rosy soft lips.