The Beach In Winter

by Pike, Leslie

  My mother takes my hand and squeezes it before I head for the door.

  This is it. Please let this go smoothly. Let his family like me. I open the door and the three of them stand bundled against the cold air. But they’re smiling. Especially Parish, who locks eyes with me. I see another level of happiness in his expression. He’s reclaimed the relationships, and he’s just as shocked as I am that we’ve reached this point in ours.

  “Welcome, and happy New Year’s Eve!” I say with open arms.

  The sister comes right in for a hug, and I meet it with equal enthusiasm. She squeezes me tightly.

  “I’m Gayle. So nice to meet you, Scarlett.”

  “You too. Come in before you freeze your noses off.”

  As they enter the house Parish finishes the introductions.

  “And this is John, my brother.”

  John doesn’t hug me but removes his gloves and extends his hand.

  “Hi. We’ve heard such nice things about you.”

  “Have you been saying nice things about me?” I say to Parish.

  “I may have mentioned a few things,” he says holding back a smile.

  The brother and sister are watching us like hawks.

  “Let me take your coats. I want to introduce you to my family. They’re hiding in the kitchen. Parish isn’t the only one who’s been talking.”

  I get big smiles and a nod from the sister as they remove their layers.

  “Sam!” I call, knowing everyone is trying to hear what’s going on in here.

  “I want you to meet my nephew.”

  “He’s a great kid,” Parish says.

  I take the coats to the closet at the entry to the kitchen and begin hanging. Enter Sam, looking a little shy.

  “And this is the notorious Sam,” Parish says. “Sam, this is my sister Gayle and my brother John.”

  “Hi,” he says softly.

  They don’t go for hugs or handshakes. They tread lightly into the new connection.

  John speaks first. “Hi, Sam. Parish says you’re his running buddy.”

  That gets a smile but no words. So the sister gives it a shot.

  “We went to the lighthouse today. My brother says you guys have climbed those stairs a few times all the way to where it’s closed. They’re too scary for me.”

  “They’re fun. One time we had a race up. I won,” Sam says.

  That was smart of her. Engage him with a topic a boy would connect with.

  “I’m still not sure you won. It was actually more of a tie,” Parish lies.

  Now Sam becomes his real self, relaxing into the conversation.

  “It was no tie. And you know it.”

  John and Gayle love the exchange. They’re grinning and John pats Sam on the back.

  “That’s it, Sam. Don’t let him change the facts. He used to try that with me when we were kids.”

  A voice from the kitchen interrupts.

  “Are we going to have to stay in here all night? Come on!” hollers Van.

  Muffled voices can be heard telling Van to shut the fuck up. But it breaks any last feeling of being uncomfortable.

  “Let me introduce you to my crazy family. Come on.”

  I lead the way through the living room into the kitchen where the group stands pretending to act busy. It’s not easy, because they’ve done the table setting in the dining room and the dishes are all prepared. But I catch my father rearranging the pickle plate and Aargon wiping an already clean goblet. The only ones not pretending are my mother and Van. They’re taking it all in.

  Welcoming smiles greet Parish and his siblings.

  “Happy New Year!” my father calls as he walks to John and Gayle.

  Each get bear hugs and kisses on their cheeks, which they accept graciously.

  “Everyone, this is Gayle and John.”

  I make each introduction, going around the room. Parish is good at this. Better than I expected him to be. He’s relaxed. So far so good.

  “We’re glad you’re all going to be joining us for game night,” my mother says. “And for the feast too. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I’ve never eaten so much! But it was delicious,” Gayle says to her table mates.

  “Honey, that’s because you haven’t eaten French food like this. It’s the most delicious food hands down,” my father declares.

  “The Mexicans and Italians might disagree,” Van says.

  “Not to mention the Greek and Japanese,” my mother adds.

  They both get a wave of my father’s hand, dismissing their opinions.

  “Let’s play!” Sam pleads.

  “Okay, so we’re decided then. It’s “Who Did That?” I say.

  I hear three yays and get applause along with it. I focus on our guests who’ll be playing for the first time.

  “Okay, this is how it works. Pass out the cards, Sam,” I say.

  He slides two index cards across the table to each person except my dad. Noble passes out the pens.

  “Dad has kindly volunteered to be the scorekeeper and host. So this is the premise of the game. Each of us will write down something we did in the past that would surprise the others. But you don’t sign your name. Something like “I climbed Mt. Everest”. Dad will read each card, hiding the handwriting, and we each guess and write down on the second card who we think it’s about. Don’t show anybody your guesses.” I say.

  “Or your confession,” my mother says.

  “And at the end we tell who said each one and who guessed right the most times,” says Sam with an excited grin. “They win.”

  “Also who fooled the most people,” my dad says. “There’s two categories of wins.”

  “You’ve got to really dig for the worst or craziest thing you can remember doing,” Van adds.

  Parish and his siblings are already thinking. Gayle’s eyes are lifted to the right and John’s lips are pursed in contemplation. Parish is smirking with some memory. This will be interesting.

  “Okay, I think we’ve got it,” Parish says nodding to John and Gayle.

  My mother holds up a finger to take the floor. “Now, we don’t know if Parish and his sister and brother will be at a disadvantage or an advantage. They don’t know our personalities or habits, but that might work in their favor.”

  “How?” my father asks.

  “Because we’re all trying to trick each other,” Aargon says.

  “Well, we don’t know theirs either,” Van says.

  “That’s right. Shall we begin then?”

  Pens ready, we wait for the signal. My father picks up his cloth napkin and dramatically drops it.

  “Begin writing. You have one minute.”

  Nine pens start writing furiously. Everyone is trying to hide their card from their neighbor’s prying eyes. The laughter starts almost at once.

  “Quit looking, asshole!” Van yells at Nobel.

  “I don’t give a shit what you’re writing. We’ve heard it all anyway.”

  “Yeah, you hooked up with your piano teacher, we know,” Aargon laughs.

  “Oh! Don’t remind me!” our mother says.

  Sam is the first to put down his pen. I’m still writing and so is Parish. His brother and sister finish almost simultaneously. Then Van, my mother and Nobel. Aargon is next. Now it’s just Parish and me.

  Pens down.

  My father rises and gives the final instruction. “Fold your cards in half. I’m coming around to collect them.”

  He takes the big silver bowl on the buffet and makes his way around the table. Each of us deposit our confession inside. He stirs as he gathers, mixing the cards thoroughly. Then he takes a seat at the head of the table and grabs his psychedelic-patterned reading glasses from the tray.

  “Everybody ready?”

  “Read on, my love,” my mother calls across the length of the table. It gets her a loving smile.

  Reaching in, he picks a card. He hides it inside the bowl as he reads.

  “Number one. I once stol
e a bikini from Target,” he says loudly.

  Every Lyon hollers in unison, “Who did that?”

  I look at Parish and then his siblings. “We say that after every confession.”

  They nod their understanding. And the looks on their faces tell me they’re having as much fun with this as we do.

  We all write our guess. I think that one was definitely Mom.

  “Number two. I recorded my father pissing. Then I played it for my friends.”

  That brings howls of laughter.

  “Who did that?” we all call louder than the last time.

  “Some freak,” says Sam.

  There’s a few people who could have done that one. But it sounds exactly like Van. Everyone makes their choices.

  “Number three. I put both my hands on a nun’s breasts in a convent.”

  “Who did that?” We’re going crazy, laughing, yelling our shock. Sam’s having hysterics.

  We write.

  “Number four. I almost got arrested for public indecency.”

  “Who did that?” We’re getting louder and rowdier each time.

  “I think we know who that’s gonna be,” my mother says looking right at Van. He just raises his eyebrows.

  “Number five. As an adult, I purposely didn’t shower for two weeks.”

  That one brings a lot of confused faces and one yuck.

  “Who did that?” we say cringing.

  “That sounds great,” says Sam. “Wish I didn’t have to every day.”

  His grandmother pipes in. “When you start liking girls you’ll want to keep clean. Girls like that.”

  We write, and neither Parish nor I tell the others Sam’s already at that stage.

  “Number six. I accidentally saw my parents having sex, and it made me piss myself.”

  Side-splitting laughter follows and general confusion over who would have that reaction.

  “Who did that?” we yell to the heavens.

  “Number seven. I gave a Lyon sculpture away to a twelve-year-old girl.”

  Ohhhhh. “Who did that?” we say, all eyes darting to the artist.

  “I’m coming for whichever one of you did that!” my father says faking anger.

  “Number eight. I bit someone and blamed it on my best friend.”

  “Who did that?” we call.

  “What a dick move. Must be Van,” Aargon says.

  “All of them can’t be me!” he says.

  We write.

  “And number nine, the last confession. I’m in love.”

  That one stops us all in our tracks. Oh shit. He didn’t, did he?

  “Who did that?” we say a lot quieter. It’s followed by nervous laughter and too many eyes on me.

  I can’t look at Parish. I’m too afraid.

  “And now for the scoring. Ready?” my father says.

  “Oh, this is going to be good.” Van chuckles.

  “Number one. Who’s the thief that stole the bikini? Please stand up.”

  All around the table eyes are on either my mother or myself. But it’s Van who stands.

  “What?!”

  “How many got it right?” my father asks.

  Only my mother raises a hand. “I know my children,” she says.

  “Dammit, Mom. Now I won’t get a perfect score! I was planning on fooling everyone.”

  “Why did you steal a bikini?” Sam asks.

  “For a girl, Sam. It’s always about a girl.”

  A mischievous grin shows up on his face. “I know. I’m number nine.”

  Chapter 17

  Parish

  Sam and I sit waiting for Scarlett to get dressed. Every afternoon it’s the same routine, us twiddling our thumbs and her finding the perfect walking-on-the-beach outfit. She looks good to me in anything she puts on. I’ve told her a million times. But I don’t deny I like how she always looks beautiful. I can’t imagine ever getting used to that.

  As of five minutes ago us guys have watched some Animal Planet, eaten too many pieces of fudge, and exhausted our usual topics of conversation. Just trying to fill the time.

  “Your family must be back home by now?” I say.

  “Yep. They left early this morning.”

  “My sister and brother did too. It was a good visit, huh?”

  “Yeah, it was fun.”

  That’s his three-word review of the holiday, his family’s efforts and the laughs we all had together.

  My mind goes to New Year’s Eve and the game we played.

  “So, now we know your Uncle Aargon recorded your grandfather taking a piss, your grandmother had a biting problem as a kid, and your Uncle Nobel skipped bathing because he thought it gave him a sexy grunge look. You’ve got a strange family,” I tease.

  “Me? Your brother touched a nun’s boob.”

  I start laughing. “It was an accident. He tripped and ran into her. It’s not like he copped a feel.”

  “Sure. That’s his version of the story. What about your sister? She almost went to jail for running naked across the football field.”

  “You’ve got me there. Yeah, I guess you’re right. They are weird. Except for me. My confession was mild compared to all the other freaks,” I say with a straight face.

  Sam pulls his head back in disbelief. “You threw up when you saw your mom and dad in bed.”

  “It was a little more than that, man. Plus, I was only five. All I saw was naked bodies doing weird things. It scared me.”

  Scarlett appears looking sweet as always. Love the leggings with the red stripe. She does a twirl for my benefit. I respond with a whistle.

  “There’s the girl who gave away her father’s valuable sculpture.”

  “Said the man who couldn’t stomach his parents kissing.”

  “Kissing? Well, there may have been some kissing involved. My mother’s mouth was…”

  “Parish! Be careful,” she says, her eyes darting to Sam.

  “I think that horse is out of the barn, woman. He’s a teenager.”

  “I know all about it. My dad told me two years ago.”

  “See,” I say chuckling at Scarlett rolling her eyes.

  “I think what we learned is that we’re all messed up. Except for Sam here. He’s just in love with his Amy.”

  The expression on Scarlett’s face goes soft, tender. She tilts her head and looks at Sam like he’s about the sweetest boy in the world.

  “I’m sorry I said anything. You guys haven’t stopped talking about it,” he says. “I just wanted to win the fooling everyone part.”

  Scarlett gets that look on her face. The one that says she’s about to try to get a Sam hug. He sees it too and gets up.

  “I’m gonna cut you off pretty soon, Auntie. Stop it. And never do it around my friends.”

  Holding up her hands in surrender she says, “Okay, Okay. I’m stopping.”

  “Let’s go. You finally ready?” I say.

  As soon as the words leave my mouth her cell rings.

  “I’ve got to take this. It’s my friend calling from Montana. You guys go without me.”

  Sam and I both know this will be an hour conversation, easy. Scarlett’s girlfriends have been supportive of her new life and call regularly.

  “Let’s go,” I say getting up.

  Sam follows me to the door.

  “Grab some candies,” I whisper so Scarlett doesn’t hear. I still have her lipstick.

  He takes a handful and stuffs them in his sweatshirt pocket. I pull my hoodie from the hook by the slider and we head outside.

  It’s a perfect day. Bright sunlight, easy breezes and the churning sea. The waves are bigger than usual. But the best thing is the ocean’s color. White foamy crests highlight the sapphire sea.

  “Wow. It’s awesome looking, right?” I say to the quickly departing Sam.

  He’s sprinting toward the shore.

  “I bet there’s some sea glass today!” he yells back.

  Watching till he reaches the wet sand, I pick up my spee
d to catch up. Feels good to be running regularly now. My body’s starting to feel like it used to. Giving up the booze is a big part of my return. It’s happened so gradually I hardly knew I was quitting. One day I just realized I hadn’t had a drink. I’m not saying anything about it to Scarlett. She’s not much of a drinker and I doubt if she even noticed. Better to keep it quiet, in case I decide to have one some night.

  Sam must have found some glass because he picks up something small and holds it up for me to see. Too small from here. By the time I get there he’s stuffed another in his pants pocket.

  “What’d you find, glass?”

  “Yeah. A blue and a green,” he says pulling them out to show me.

  “Nice.”

  “I’m looking for your reds,” he says, head trained on the sand.

  “Let’s walk. We can look as we go.”

  “Then we can run back, right?”

  “It’s a plan.”

  We walk for a few minutes in silence. It’s sort of our thing. We don’t have to talk every minute. Makes things comfortable for both of us. Sam collects three more pieces, but all green. Then suddenly tosses them back to a wave.

  “I’ve got enough of those,” he says.

  “So, your birthday’s next week. What are you hoping you’ll get?”

  He keeps his eyes trained ahead and buries his fists in his pockets. Finding a candy he tosses one to me.

  “Thanks. I forgot you had those.”

  “I don’t really want anything. I’d rather forget the whole day.”

  I take his words in and think about how I’m going to respond.

  “I hear ya. I want to skip the day after that,” I say unwrapping the candy.

  His head turns toward me.

  “Why?”

  “That’s my son’s birthday.”

  Sam stops walking and takes a hard seat on the sand.

  “Are we resting?” I say.

  He nods and pats the spot next to him. “Yeah.”

  I use my foot to level the sand and then stretch out, leaning back on my elbows. He’s sitting with arms clasped around bent knees.

  “How old would your son be?”

  That’s all it takes to bring on the tears. My eyes are blurry already.

  “He’d be fourteen this year.”