Sandcastles

by Suzie Carr

  She twirled linguini around her fork, then matched my lean in. “You’ve got to try this before you surrender.”

  I giggled, grateful for the return of her playfulness. I welcomed her fork of linguini, even exaggerating the gesture with a moan to which she visibly enjoyed.

  “Let’s get the check and get out of here,” she said. “I’m dying to take a walk along the water with you.”

  Lia and I enjoyed a string of romantic nights just like that one. Of course, they started much too late because of her long days at the office.

  Even though she looked exhausted, every date night she’d venture out to do something different. Sometimes we brought the kids along, and other times we left them with Yvonne and my aunt. My kids adored Lia, and began to whine when we told them we needed adult time. My heart melted when Lia would kneel down to their level and calm the whines with a good joke, a tickle, or an endearing promise that would instantly swipe off the frowns and rev the excitement. She was so patient with them, and genuinely concerned for their happiness.

  One night she vented to me about Dean and his pressuring her to take time off of work to spend some time with him doing fun things outside the office. “I’ve got all of these clients who need my attention, and I can’t afford to just stop working for a month so I can go hike a trail with him or fly in a hot air balloon.”

  She looked frazzled. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe you need to slow down a little.”

  “No way. I can’t.”

  “You can. It’s just work. It’s always going to be there. Work is one of those permanent structures in life. It’s unavoidable.”

  “Unless you get fired.”

  “But, you’d still have to work, so you’d go out and get another job. Or like you, make up your own.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I can certainly count on work to always be there.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  That talk helped because not more than three days later, she accepted Dean’s offer to go to the beach with him, Pat, and his wife and daughter. They even invited me and the kids.

  We piled into Dean’s car and headed to Scarborough State Beach. Pat and his family followed behind. We arrived at the same time the rest of the state of Rhode Island decided to arrive. The kids danced around the hot sand, tripping over blankets and sneakers. Lia followed them, carrying the heavy cooler filled with sodas and ham sandwiches doused in mayonnaise that my aunt prepped for us. Dean and I walked behind, sharing a grateful smile.

  Anthony claimed a spot near the general store and bathing house. I quickened my pace and skipped over to him. “This is perfect, Anthony.”

  “No,” Pat said, dropping the cooler. “This is so not perfect.” Just as he said that, a chubby kid wearing the wrong sized bathing suit sped by us en route for ice cream, no doubt, and kicked up dirt on our cooler. He pointed to the cooler. “See, not perfect.”

  I knelt down and wiped the cooler with the beach blanket. “See, it’s no big deal. It’s a little sand. We’re at the beach. We’re going to get sand kicked onto us. Today is all about relaxing. No stresses.” I shook the blanket and the sand flew in Lia’s face.

  She spit it out. “You need to pay for that.”

  I laughed, and released my hair from my sunhat, shaking it out before settling my gaze back on her.

  “That’s not going to work,” she warned me.

  I strolled up to her, placing my finger under her chin and lifting her eyes to meet mine. She playfully refused, pointing her eyes down to a shell in the sand.

  I kissed her lips ever so softly and whispered. “Think they’ll miss us if we go hide behind one of those sand dunes?”

  Lia looked over at Anthony, standing with his hands at his hips and gazing out to the sea like a man on a mission to have a fun day at the beach with his family. He looked proud, mighty, and confident, traits that would raise any mom’s spirit, especially mine. “With that kid? Are you kidding me?”

  Just then, another obnoxious kid sprinted past us and doused us in a fresh layer of grit.

  Dean laughed.

  Pat scooped up the cooler and hiked toward the shore. His wife and daughter marched alongside of him. “We came to build a sandcastle, and no way is some kid going to run by ours and crush it because he wanted a lemonade or an ice cream cone,” he said. “Come on gang, to the seashore we go.”

  “To the seashore we go.” Charlotte skipped up to his side.

  They pushed forward and didn’t stop walking until they came upon an open area near the rock dividers. Anthony strode up to them, opened his arms up wide, and said, “This is it. This is our spot.”

  Pat let him claim it, and we all watched as the pride resurfaced on his young face.

  He dropped my cooler. “Fine choice, Anthony.”

  I scanned the area. “I suppose this is a little better.”

  “A little?” Anthony asked, his voice dripping in a sarcasm far too mature for his youth.

  I took command of the scene, taking the cooler and reassigning it to the far right of our spot. “Yes,” I said, glaring at Anthony. “You better not be making fun of me.”

  Lia dug her toe into the sand and scooped up a pile, then flung it at Anthony, no doubt, to break his rapid ascent into a fight with me. He scowled at her. “What did you do that for?”

  She did it again.

  “Stop,” he screamed, pouting his chubby bottom lip at her.

  So, she did it again. This time the sand twirled with the wind like a mini tornado, and that fascinated him. He began to laugh. Riding the wave, she ran up to him, scooped him up in her arms and began running in circles with him, kicking up sand and laughing like a wild woman who had gone completely mad. He began laughing like a child should, and then, me, Charlotte, and Dean grabbed each other’s hands and spun in circles, hooting louder than them.

  Pat and his family stared at us like we had lost our marbles. “You all are freaking crazy,” he said before grabbing my and Charlotte’s hand and joining in our craziness.

  Before long, we sat on the blanket, secured by our sneakers and cooler and dug into a bag of potato chips. We crunched and slurped back sodas, getting tanned under that strong late summer sun.

  Dean stared at the water with a seriousness. “Everything okay?” Lia nudged him.

  He nodded. “It’s fantastic,” he said, tilting his head. “Absolutely fantastic.”

  She nudged him again. “You sound exactly like Yvonne.”

  He stared back out to the sea. “I take that as the highest compliment.”

  “As you should, man,” Pat yelled out. “Yvonne freaking rocks.”

  Pat cracked me up. He was like a ten-year-old trapped in a forty-year-old body. He didn’t care how people viewed him. He blurted out whatever struck his mind. I wish I could’ve stolen just a smidgeon of that confidence.

  Lia traced her finger around his lump. “You know, maybe all the meditation is working. It’s actually shrinking.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not even worried about it anymore. Willow says it’s going to be fine. I believe her.”

  I smiled.

  Charlotte screamed. “Anthony keeps throwing dirt on me.”

  A smile surfaced on Dean’s face. “I love that little girl’s scream.”

  Lia laughed. “Me too.”

  My heart warmed.

  Anthony came around their side of the blanket. “Can we go in the water now?”

  Dean stood up, and reached out for Lia’s hand. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.” She climbed to her feet and reached for Charlotte. “Come on little one. Let’s go have some fun.”

  She squealed. “Come on, Mommy.” She pulled at my arm.

  I readjusted my hat. “I’ll watch you. I don’t want to get my hair wet.”

  “Come on,” Lia said, pulling Charlotte. “Maybe she’ll come in later.” She winked at me, and I offered her a silly gaze.

  They spent time swimming, jumping and diving into waves, and
getting seaweed wrapped around their ankles. Pat and his family walked off toward the boats.

  I wondered if it would be their last walk on a beach together.

  Would they get another chance?

  I closed my eyes and listened to the water roll gently to the shore and to the seagulls squawking above.

  Then, I heard some giggles. Before I had a chance to adjust my eyes, Lia had scooped me up and fled to the seashore with me screaming and flailing my arms. I kicked and punched her. “Put me down. Put me down right this minute.”

  She broke out into an out all jog, weaving around blankets and kicking up sand at other people’s coolers, as if finally surrendering to the notion that the world wasn’t perfect and that sand was messy, indeed, and belonged flying through the air at the beach and landing all over people’s arms and legs and getting stuck in their hair. Just as we entered the water, we turned to find Anthony right by our side. Lia tore off my hat, handed it to Anthony and asked him to give us a moment.

  He obliged like any good gentleman would, and stood next to Charlotte and Dean, safeguarding his momma’s hat while she enjoyed being carried into the water by her girlfriend and being drenched from head to toe in salty sea water.

  A few minutes later, we all began construction on our very first sandcastle together. We dug holes for trenches, laid the groundwork for the foundation, and built towers three feet tall. Lia showed Anthony how to carve windows, and Dean taught me and Charlotte how to build grand walls.

  Within two hours, we sat admiring our work, while sipping on sodas and eating grapes.

  “I can check off ‘build a sandcastle with kids’ from my list,” Dean said, smiling.

  “You and your list. You’re acting like you’re dying, and you’re not,” Lia said, flipping sand at him with her toe again.

  “My friend, what you fail to understand is that I’m not doing this bucket list because I’m dying. I’m doing it because I’m alive, and because I can.”

  Lia squinted as if allowing his words to sink in, then looked to the sea in deep contemplation.

  Then, Charlotte ended the moment when she stood up and screamed. “Watch this.” She ran right into the left wall of the sandcastle, smashing it with her foot. “Ha. Ha. Ha. That was fun.”

  Lia stood up and grabbed her before she could land on top of the towers we worked so hard to build. She squirmed below her, kicking her feet and flinging sand every which way.

  Dean jumped to his feet, and ran toward them. He laughed like a mad man, and right before he got to them, he leaped in the air and did a cannon ball right on top of our sandcastle, smashing it to smithereens. Charlotte roared out a laugh. Lia put her down, obviously dumbfounded and on the verge of a major rant, when Anthony and I ran toward it and kicked in its towers, walls, and trenches with our bare feet. The four of us stomped and laughed and tossed dirt at each other, while Lia stood on the edge of that circus show and watched us enjoy destroying a perfectly erected sandcastle. The more we tore it down, the harder we laughed. We clung to each other, spinning and screaming, enjoying the moment for all of its temporary glory.

  And finally, Lia caved and joined our celebratory demolition, proclaiming, “We’re crazy.”

  “Well, better crazy than dull,” Dean yelled out before tossing more dirt in the air and spinning to catch it with his scrawny body.

  The fun didn’t end there.

  Days later, Dean further talked Lia down from working so hard and invited us both out to tour Carolyn’s Sakonnet Vineyard in Little Compton. We learned all about how they created their specialty wine, The Eye of The Storm, during Hurricane Bob as it churned up the vineyard's white and red grapes. We also learned about how the Sakonnet people once lived there. The land, according to their native tongue, was known as “the place where water pours forth.” Dean and Lia stood mesmerized listening to the tour guide’s spiel of fascinating history about how the queen of the Sakonnets, Awashonks, led her people with fearlessness. She forged strategic relations with Benjamin Church, an English settler, which blossomed into a lasting friendship and ultimately helped her lead her people to safety during the war.

  Later, after our tour, we sat outside on a blanket in the grass and snacked on seared spiced tuna with sun-dried tomatoes, potatoes, olives and lemon as we enjoyed two bottles of The Eye of The Storm. Just as we were clearing up our belongings, Lia got a call from the office and freaked out. “What do you mean you lost the file? How do you just lose a file?” Her eyes blazed, as she rose and paced the grass beside us.

  “Just fix it. I’ll come in tonight after I’m done here.” She put her cell away and sat back down, faking a smile.

  “You’re going in to the office tonight?” Dean asked.

  Lia pointed her finger at him. “No talk of work. I’ve got a handle on it.”

  Dean zipped up his lips. “Fair enough.”

  Two days later, we went to see Brandi Carlile perform. We arrived early and stood right up front. When Brandi entered the stage, Dean and Lia squirmed as if about to pee themselves. I had never seen two people overtaken by fandom as those two were in that moment. They clung to each other and practically wept when she started jamming on her guitar. Brandi created a steam bath, arching her back and angling her muscles toward that instrument as if in ecstasy. The best part about that concert was the meet and greet after, when Brandi, wearing an adorable Fedora hat, kissed Dean’s cheek. Dean squealed and nearly fainted.

  Later on, we crossed off another one of his items when we completed our night out on the town by stopping by a club to dance. The club had round pedestal dance floor levels that several daring women stood upon and shook their behinds off, bumping and grinding against one another like sexy burlesque entertainers. At one point, Lia hugged me from behind, and we stared up at them as we created intimate bumps and grinds of our own on the dance floor below them. The air sat heavy with a sex vibe, smelling dangerous and animalistic. We tuned into only each other’s moves, riding the exotic waves of sensual extremes as one force. I didn’t know how much time had passed, but before I knew it, Lia pointed up to the pedestal above us and laughed at Dean, who worked his dance beat like he was Michael Jackson himself. Lia pulled out her phone and started filming, “He’s going to hate himself in the morning,” she said with an evil laugh only a friend with an embarrassing video could create.

  As we drove home, she asked Dean to drop her by the office.

  “You’re going to work at one a.m.?”

  “I’m addicted to it. What can I say?”

  “I’m worried about you,” he said. “You’re acting crazier than ever.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  A few days later, Dean dragged Lia out of the office and invited me along with them to a teahouse.

  When we first arrived, an adorable lady sporting a bow-tied ponytail and an apron greeted us. She escorted us past shelves stocked with fine teas, teapots, and fancy utensils, up a spiral flight of wooden steps, and into a quaint room complete with lace curtains and eyelet tablecloths. The room smelled like an early spring day. She sat us at a round table next to an antique hutch decorated with exquisite china. I exhaled as softly as possible, fearing any rapid bellow of air would destroy the delicate ambiance.

  She placed a cloth napkin on each of our laps and then explained the menu in one of those soothing voices that mothers use when tucking a child into bed. Then, she retreated, leaving us alone to admire the old-fashioned wood carvings of the door and window trim, and antique photos of Victorian women with curvy hips and bountiful bosoms carrying flowers.

  A few minutes later, she reentered ‘our room’ with a tray of individual teapots and cups. She placed the dainty, floral painted cups in front of us and explained the fine art of steeping a pot of tea, which was to allow three minutes for steeping before indulging.

  As we diligently waited, she served us three tiers of scones and butter spreads, cute little sandwiches, and mouthwatering desserts dripping with fruits, creams and chocolates.
I was in heaven. I felt like a little girl again sitting at the grown up table, allowed to use the best china. I even raised up my pinky finger when sipping.

  I thoroughly enjoyed watching the two of them lift their petite teacups like dainty Victorians, complete with a propped up pinky as they sipped.

  We giggled through half the afternoon. I never imagined myself sipping cup after cup of tea and snacking on crumpets like a little girl swaddled up in this charming dollhouse while the rest of the modern day world went about their busy day. As the sweet decadence of fruit danced on my taste buds, I looked over at Lia, who listened with patience to Dean ramble on about his new fascination with scuba diving. Apparently, Pat had equipment he no longer needed, and wanted Dean to have it.

  “I have no desire,” Lia said.

  Dean responded, but his voice faded out. A dizzying vapor stole reality, and the room started to disappear.

  I stood in Lia’s office. She buried her head on the desk, pulling at her hair. She looked up, and tears were rolling down her cheeks. Defeated, she dropped her head back down to the desk and cried.

  Something tapped against my leg and then I landed back at the teahouse. “What do you say, Willow?” Lia asked.

  I collected myself. “About what?”

  “Grilling steaks some night soon?”

  “Of course. Sure.”

  “Eating a cow it is,” Dean said, raising his tea cup to mark the decision.

  I tapped mine to his, trying to erase the unease crawling up my spine.

  # #

  The next day, I picked up Lia at her office to eat brunch. She looked dazed and confused. “You slept here again, didn’t you?”

  She waved me off, and rested her head back against the seat. “It’s temporary. Just a few more weeks.”

  “Until Dean comes back?”

  “That, or until I drive myself insane.” She managed a weak smile.

  We picked Dean up, and then headed for brunch. We got through the scrambled eggs, scones, waffles, and spilled syrup, despite the kids being extra wild that morning. After that, we dropped Dean off at the center. “I’ve got to run in and get some files. Are you coming?” I asked.