The Beach In Winter

by Pike, Leslie

  “Get back to the house now,” she says with zero room for disagreeing.

  She’s trying to lock eyes with Sam, but he keeps looking down. “Let’s go,” says the oldest boy here.

  Obviously he’s the alpha because the other three follow instructions.

  Scarlett lets them skulk away, leaving their friend Sam to face consequences alone.

  “We’ll talk about this at home. I’m not gonna yell over this noise. Now get your ass back now.”

  Sam’s grateful for the short retrieve. It shows all over his face. Now there’s time to come up with his story. Who the boys are, why he did it, why the defiant attitude.

  As we turn to start our trek back I see the tears in her eyes. I want so much to put my arms around her and comfort the raging-mother mindset. But that wouldn’t work. Sam would bust us. So she and I talk instead, while Sam moves toward the house.

  “It’s okay. You handled that well. Separate him from the pack and make your wishes clear. Good job.”

  “I’m shaking,” she says, showing me outstretched hands.

  “Maybe you should regroup alone then tackle him face to face. Giving yourself time to formulate your response wouldn’t hurt. Let me take him to my place. We’ll say you’re going to meet us there after you cool down. That’s plausible. And not a bad plan.”

  “I guess. Okay.”

  “Let Sam worry about what’s going to go down,” I say. “Meanwhile, I can make sure he knows I back you.”

  The first smile I’ve seen today lights her face. I give her a private wink.

  We walk the rest of the way in silence, I’m sure thinking of the problem from our own points of view. Sam’s figuring a way out. I’m figuring a way to help. Scarlett’s figuring how to communicate her authority, and mostly how a good parent disciplines. She’s got the hardest job.

  As we get closer to the houses, I catch up with Sam.

  “Come to my place. Let her cool off.”

  He rolls the request around in his mind for a few seconds. That’s all it takes for him to know it’s his best option. I get a halfhearted nod.

  She veers off in the direction of her place and Sam and I take my steps to the door. I lead, he follows.

  “Want a Coke?” I say walking in.

  “I guess.”

  He plops himself in a chair and stares at me.

  “That wasn’t your smartest move,” I say talking to him like the friend I am.

  “Whatever.”

  “No. Not whatever. That’s what men with no opinion say.”

  Think I threw him with that comment. I bring him the Coke and take my place on the couch.

  “Are those new friends?”

  “What do you care?

  “I care because I understand what you don’t. It’s really easy to go off course in life.”

  He just sits with that for a moment. Then he hits me with the zinger.

  “You did.”

  I pause for only a beat to let it settle. It wouldn’t be right for him to see the wounded me.

  “Exactly. I’m still paying for it. And I didn’t have so-called friends encouraging me. It was easy enough to screw up my life on my own. I think you’re a great guy, Sam. Don’t want to see your sadness take you in the wrong direction.”

  “It was just a little weed.”

  “No, it wasn’t. It was the open door.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I know how fucking easy it is to do whatever it takes to make your mind stop replaying dark thoughts. You can’t bullshit me, man. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “I don’t see you stopping drinking,” he says not breaking eye contact.

  His words hit me like a brick. It’s true. My crutch is still being used whenever things get too rough.

  “Well, I’ve got to work on that. But you’ve still got a chance to stop things before they start.”

  He hangs his head and I know I’ve said enough.

  “That’s all I have to contribute. Oh yeah, and your aunt is doing her best. Think about things from her angle. She lost a sister. She’s hurting too. Don’t be a dick.”

  When he looks up I’m smiling, hoping my humor will land in the right spot. Thankfully it does. He’s grinning too.

  I didn’t anticipate spending my night as a one-man referee, witness of teen angst. I’d much rather Scarlett and I use the time more creatively. But my greater self knows the importance of what’s happening here.

  My part in the scene is small compared to the nervous woman and pissed off boy sitting at my table. It’s all Scarlett and Sam’s meeting of the minds. I’m just the buffer.

  “When your aunt and I were teenagers things were a lot different,” I say. “We didn’t have social media or cellphones. It’s a lot easier to make big mistakes now. And they stay with you. How long would it take for other kids to see the kind of friends you’ve picked? You can get pigeonholed and you haven’t even figured out who you are yet.”

  “And in addition to that Sam, I’m inexperienced. I know grownups are supposed to have all the answers but that’s not true. You’re not the only one who feels like you’re navigating a new world,” Scarlett says.

  “I know,” he says his voice softening.

  “I hope so, because I need your patience.”

  Sam nods his agreement.

  “And I promise to give you mine. It’s such an honor being the person your mother and father trusted with their child. I need you to know how seriously I take it. Believe this, if I think you’re in danger, hurting yourself, or engaging in harmful activities, I’m going to investigate.”

  “I know.”

  “If I notice big changes in your behavior, your grades, or see you isolating yourself from your good friends, I’m going to check it out. Because I love you, Sam, and that’s why I’m so intent on protecting you.”

  Sam sits quietly. I’m certain Scarlett didn’t expect an I love you in return.

  “So, going forward I don’t want you to spend time with those boys, or smoke weed. Those are nonnegotiable. Understand?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve spoken with Mrs. Clark and the principal. They told me about the incident in the hallway. I should have addressed it with you then. I’m sorry I didn’t because maybe you would have known I have high standards. That won’t be happening again, right?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, good.”

  “And you should know your good friend Pete is sad you’ve dropped him. Think about it.”

  “Okay.”

  “We don’t have to talk about this anymore. But I do want to ask you what you wish I could do or change, or any way I could help you get through this tough year.”

  He sits staring with a blank expression on his face. “I don’t know.”

  I get an idea.

  “Hey, I might have something that would help.”

  Scarlett’s just happy she’s not the only one talking.

  “Great. What is it?”

  My chair scrapes back from the table and I make my way to the closest shelf of books.

  “It’s something I’ve done since I was about ten. I did it this morning.”

  I take the blank journal off the short stack of them I always have available.

  “It’s more helpful than it sounds,” I say walking back to the table and taking my seat next to Scarlett. I slide the book across to Sam’s hands.

  “What’s this?” He says it with eyebrows knit together.

  “It’s a blank journal. You told me you used to like to write stories, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, write yours.”

  Sam’s eyes find mine.

  “I know you’ve got a lot to say.”

  “I guess.”

  “You’ll be surprised what you know about yourself. I still surprise myself every day.”

  “And that will be for your eyes only, Sam. I’ll respect your privacy. I promise,” says Scarlett.

  He wra
ps his hand around the dark blue leather. Think that’s a yes.

  Scarlett’s hand reaches under the table and repeatedly pokes my leg in excitement. But when I look at her face there’s little beads of sweat on her upper lip.

  Chapter 12

  Scarlett

  The diner looks like something out of a movie. It’s beat up. That’s my best description. Old grey wood siding and a sign that has a missing letter. I wonder how long it’s been that way. As we walk in, I feel Parish’s hand on my back.

  “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” he chuckles.

  All eyes turn our way, like seeing a new customer is unusual. Or maybe it’s seeing someone with Parish. I’m going with that.

  “Let’s sit over there,” he says pointing to the corner booth against the window.

  As we pass the red-headed waitress she gives him a meaningful stare, smile, nod. But no words pass between them.

  “I guess you’ve been here before,” I say sliding into the booth.

  “Yeah. The food’s good. Plus, it’s close. When we have more time I’d like to take you to the city for dinner. Just the two of us.”

  “I love looking at your mouth when you talk,” I say impulsively.

  He gives me this dirty-boy look and a smile that makes my mind go in a new direction.

  “I like looking at your mouth when you’re sucking my dick,” he whispers.

  I throw a packet of Splenda at his head.

  “You’re the horniest man in America.”

  “Thank you for the title. I’ll try to live up to the honor.”

  We amuse each other to no end. But the waitress is approaching, so we quiet.

  “Welcome back, stranger. Now I see what you’ve been up to,” she says placing the menus before us.

  When Parish pauses with an answer, she starts laughing.

  “I’m just messin’ with you, honey. Coffee?” she says looking from his face to mine.

  “For me, yes,” I say.

  “Me too. And this is Scarlett. Scarlett, meet Terri.”

  This seems to please her so much, she takes a seat next to Parish and pushes him over to make room. Oh, he’s not going to like this. But when I look at his face it’s not the reaction I expected. He’s amused.

  “This one’s a regular. Two over easy eggs, beans, sliced tomatoes and wheat toast. Easy on the butter,” she recites.

  “Come on, not every time. Quit exaggerating.”

  She rolls her eyes at his comments. I’m just enjoying the show.

  “We both know who’s telling the truth, don’t we, honey?” she says.

  “Well, now I’m required to order something different just to prove my point.”

  “Order whatever you like. I don’t give a shit.”

  We all three chuckle at the declaration.

  “That breakfast sounds good. I’ll have what he’s having,” I say.

  She gets up and adjusts her apron which is bunched in the fold of her stomach. Then her eyes lock on Parish’s.

  “I’m just happy to see you with a smile on your face.”

  Turning, she gives me a half smile and a wink. “Good for you.”

  With that she walks off to attend to the next table. Parish just watches for my reaction. I don’t say a word. I’m not about to deny I’ve affected his mood. I know he has mine. His slight series of nods confirms my opinion.

  “I’ve been thinking. Well, wondering really,” I say.

  “What about?”

  “There’s pieces of your story I haven’t heard. Important ones.”

  “I’m an open book for you. What do you want to know?”

  This makes me so happy. He’s not afraid of letting me in.

  “Okay. First of all, who was Justin’s mother and why did you have custody?”

  I toss the question out like I’m asking about something much more inconsequential. But he doesn’t flinch.

  “Her name was Marsha. She was a regular in a club I used to go to. One drunken St. Patrick’s Day we had sex. She got pregnant and when she told me I convinced her to have the baby.”

  “Whoa! You convinced her? That’s unusual.”

  “I know. I was in my thirties and my mores had been well established by then. She was only twenty-two. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of abortion as odd as that sounds. Probably my catholic upbringing. I also didn’t want the child to be adopted. I wanted the baby once I knew it could potentially not exist or not be part of my life.”

  “But what about her? Didn’t she want shared custody?”

  “This is where the story gets darker. My total lack of good sense when choosing a sexual partner came back to bite me in the ass. She wasn’t mother material at all. I didn’t know she took drugs regularly or smoked.”

  “Did she want to marry you?”

  “God, no. She was a free spirit. I wanted to participate in the pregnancy as much as I could, but half the time she’d be gone for weeks, or just not keep me in the loop. When Justin was born with no physical issues it was the first time I exhaled.”

  “She just gave you custody?”

  “Not at first. She tried to take on her new role, but it didn’t suit her. It made me crazy. Legally she was happy to split the baby’s time between us. That gave her time to party. But soon it was obvious she wasn’t doing the basic things required to care for a child. And my time with him grew as she lost interest.”

  “How awful.”

  “It ended up with me getting full custody. Then Justin and I began the happy years. He was three.”

  I soak in the story and feel a new respect for Parish, born of his ability to standby his choices.

  “What ever happened to her?”

  He grinds his jaw and in hushed tones says, “We think she killed herself after the shooting.”

  Oh no. I’m taken aback and it’s going to be a minute before I can respond. I feel my eyes filling with tears. For Parish.

  “She overdosed. Not sure it was intentional but if it was I understand why.”

  My hand reaches across the table and takes his. He’s fighting back tears too. At the most inopportune time our food arrives.

  “Here you go,” Terri says. But when she notices our mood she leaves without another word.

  “So, now you know the whole story,” he says.

  “It’s heartbreaking.”

  “That it is.”

  I let out a sigh and realize I’ve been mostly holding my breath. But I’ll forge ahead. I need to see the entire picture.

  “Tell me about your own family. Were they supportive?”

  The corners of his mouth turn up. “They were spectacular. My mom and dad, my brother and sister, all of them helped and taught me what I needed to know. I didn’t have a clue how to care for a baby or raise a child. In that respect you and I have something in common.”

  We start to pick at our food. But it’s all show. I want to concentrate on his story and he wants it told. It seems cathartic in a way.

  “I haven’t seen any of them visiting you or even heard you refer to them. What’s that about?”

  He studies my face for a moment before he responds.

  “Well, that’s the other thing. Possibly my biggest mistake.”

  “Tell me.”

  “When Justin was killed I shut down. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. I went into such a deep depression there was no room for any other person. Not to help me or watch over me or anything. I didn’t want to be around anyone. I felt like being alone in my sadness was the right thing to do to everyone else.”

  “Right?”

  “Yeah. How can you be around people and see the sympathy on their faces? That’s what would have happened, because I wasn’t going to get out of my state. It seemed easier and more compassionate to sever the ties all together.”

  My mouth drops. “You cut off your entire family?”

  “I did. My mother was already passed by then and my father was in the late stages of dementia. He hadn’t known me for
two years. I was able to support him financially from afar. He never knew I was gone.”

  “What about your siblings?”

  “That’s the thing. I walked away from them both. I couldn’t find another way to cope except to hide. I know now it was wrong.”

  “This is the saddest story I’ve ever heard. And I know something about sad.”

  “But they never stopped trying to find me I guess. They called just a few weeks ago.”

  My lips curve into a smile. “Really? That’s great. Did you speak to them?”

  “I did. It was nice. Now the next time I’ll call them.”

  “What’re you waiting for? Hasn’t it been long enough?”

  He nibbles on his bottom lip. “Yeah, it has. I’m probably going to do it this week.”

  I squeeze his hand and my eyes burn with tears. “Do it today. You don’t know how long you’ll have the opportunity.”

  “Your grandparents are coming for a visit in January,” I say to the curled figure in front of the TV.

  Sam’s head twists back. “Which ones?”

  “Pop Pop and Nana.”

  His nose crinkles and he forces a smile. “Do they have to?”

  I lay my knife down on the cutting board and move to the sink to wash my hands.

  “Why don’t you like them?”

  “I like them.”

  “Then why the face?”

  He gets up and comes into the kitchen. In a flash, two of my slices of cookie dough are missing.

  “They’re boring.”

  “Are they good to you?”

  “Yes. They always want to talk to me.”

  “Is it their job to entertain you every minute?”

  I’m throwing him with this.

  “No.”

  “Then appreciate the fact they’ve loved you since the day you were born. Cut them some slack. They’re almost eighty years old for God’s sake.”

  I get zero response verbally. But his body language is speaking volumes. First his eyes study me, surveying the woman who just offered something to think about. Then the corners of his mouth lift just a little. So do mine.

  He reaches for his journal, posed on the edge of the counter, gives me a nod and walks off toward his room. I wait the appropriate amount of time, making sure he can’t hear my conversation, then reach for my cell. He answers on the first ring.