The sky had turned to a deep mauve by the time Julie, Kayla, and Aggie, laden down with beach blankets and other paraphernalia, reached Lucky’s parking lot. The parking lot was full. An area near the beach had been roped off and was crowded with food trucks surrounded by picnic tables. What looked like the entire kitchen of Lucky’s had been moved outside, and the canopied seating area had been extended across the sand.
People were lined up at the trucks and waiting for seats at Lucky’s. Beyond them the flames of the bonfire leaped over their heads. It wasn’t an old-fashioned bonfire, Les had explained to them during the boat ride. The fire was contained in a steel ring—easy to put out and cart away without leaving the sand charred and filled with debris. Only plastic was allowed at the event, no glass or metal, though they would have the beach swept the next morning in case any detritus slipped through.
There was a small group crowded around Surf’s Up. They’d be pulling beer and pitching surf lessons for most of the evening.
“What shall we eat?” Kayla asked.
“I don’t care. I’m starving,” Aggie said, looking around.
“What about ribs from that truck over there?” Julie suggested. “Or there are tacos over there. Kielbasa?”
They agreed to ribs and joined the line waiting to order. Ten minutes later they walked away with plates—each piled high with ribs, corn on the cob, a boiled potato, and a slab of cornbread—and four guys named Cliff, Brad, Petey, and Hanger.
They were surfers and ready to party. They found a table that was just being vacated and all squeezed in, Julie between Cliff and Hanger, Aggie and Kayla on the other side with Brad and Petey. They chatted and ate and drank.
Cliff and Petey went for another round of beers, and Julie began wondering if Lucky’s kept a good full-bodied cabernet under the bar.
They’d seen Les and Bjorn working the Surf’s Up stand when they arrived, but even though she looked, she didn’t see Scatter at the Lucky’s area. Maybe he was inside. Maybe that was the real reason she was longing for a cabernet—as an excuse?
If she was completely honest, a part of her was hoping that she’d see him tonight. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Kayla that he was growing on her.
Hell, it was vacation, after all; she was single, along with all the other single women up and down the coast looking for fun. Was that pathetic? Aggie didn’t seem pathetic, just lonely sometimes. Kayla was too stressed all the time—so what if she let herself have a little fun at the beach?
And Julie? What was it about her that she just couldn’t seem to “let her hair down,” as her mother would say, and just give in to impulses with no worries about tomorrow. Something her mother would never say.
She glanced from Cliff, who had moved closer to her when he’d returned with the beer, to Hanger. They were both perfectly nice. She laughed and tried to be part of the conversation, much of which was lost in laughter and guzzles of beer.
And Julie wondered what Bjorn and Les would think if they were to see Kayla and Aggie having fun without them. Maybe nothing. Maybe they were out flirting with potential surfing students at the same time.
They were on their third, maybe fourth, round of beers. Cliff had his arm around Julie’s waist and was beginning to nuzzle her neck, when Hanger said, “We’d better give up our table. We have blankets over there.”
Cliff gave her a squeeze before he stood and gathered up his plate. They all got up and threw away their trash. Julie swayed on her feet as she slid her plate, cup, and plastic utensils into the oil drum that said trash.
Fun, she reminded herself. You’re here to have fun, not save the planet.
But she wasn’t having fun.
So when Cliff said, “We better get one more round before we settle in for the night,” Julie pulled away.
“Excuse me, I’ll be back. You guys go ahead.”
Cliff didn’t want to let go, but she managed to slip out of his arm.
“Later.”
And she fled, killing all her fun intentions for the evening, because she knew she wouldn’t be going back to take up where they had left off.
She walked away from the crowd, not toward town, but toward the water, toward, she realized, the private beach where she’d seen the kids on the deck. If there were a bunch of lovers there she’d just quietly leave and go back to town. She had plenty of reading material to keep her busy.
She did turn back once to look at the bonfire and wonder just for a second if she was missing out on someone special.
Dimwit. Hadn’t she learned anything over the last decade of not-so-great attempts at love? That there are no soul mates? No one you could totally depend on. And if you found someone who came close, he died or left you to catch the next big wave.
There was a new sign at the rivulet of water that separated the public beach from what Julie assumed was the beach that belonged to the house in the dunes. She couldn’t see the actual warning, and she didn’t stop to try to read it from the light of the quarter moon. It had probably been put up because of the bonfire and said something like “Trespassers Will Be Shot.”
Well, it wasn’t like she was going to show herself or make noise of any kind. She’d just sit out of view of the house and think about her life.
The mere thought made her want to howl with frustration.
She slipped out of her shoes, waded across the stream, and trudged over to a rock she’d noticed the other day near the dunes. She sat down, wrapped her arms around her knees, and stared out at the dark ocean.
The Great Leveler. Someone had once called the ocean that. She couldn’t remember who. The name usually was given to death, but Julie could see how the ocean might be the Great Leveler. Even outside of hurricanes and tsunamis, it was just so vast, so strong; nothing and no one could withstand the ocean in the end.
She could see the aura of the bonfire over on the public beach, hear the music and laughter over the crash of the waves.
She was so screwed. She was tired of her past and kind of dreaded her future. And as for the present? She was sitting here on a romantic beach, alone.
“What are you doing?”
Julie let out a squawk at the same time her heart skipped a beat . . . or two. She recognized the voice; she just hadn’t heard him approach.
“I—I was just sitting here for a minute. Do you think they’ll mind?” She nodded toward the house.
He moved forward. His body created a great silhouette, tall and strong and . . .
“How much beer did you drink?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. You didn’t answer my question.”
“They won’t mind . . . as long as you don’t get close to the house,” he added.
“Oh good.”
“And you didn’t answer mine.”
“Your what?”
“My question.”
“I forgot it.”
“Oh brother.”
His face disappeared. She was looking at him, then he was gone. She looked down. He was sitting on the sand beside her. It put her above him physically. An advantage, but she had the strongest urge to slide off the rock and snuggle up beside him. She pushed that idea away.
“Actually, I was looking for you,” he said.
“You were?” Did she sound too hopeful?
“About Lucky.”
“Oh. It doesn’t matter, I’ve decided to leave.”
“Oh, well, in that case . . .”
“You don’t have to sound so happy.”
“I’m not. It’s just . . .” He hesitated. “Oh hell, about Lucky. He wants to see you, only he got in a fight and is lying low. He said to tell you he’d come over to Dewey Beach next week when the coast is clear.”
She peered intently down at him. And pitched forward.
He caught her as she slid and moved over to make room for her on the sand. “I think you should cut out beer completely. Stick to a nice pinot grigio.”
“Actually, I prefer a dry red.”
“Well, why the hell didn’t you say so in the first place?”
She shrugged, looked out to sea. “You didn’t ask me. Does it matter?”
“It should to you.”
“You’re right. It should. It does. But I never seem to . . . What’s wrong with me?”
“Give me a sec while I hang out my shingle. I mean—”
“Oh, shut up. I didn’t ask for your sarcasm.” Julie pushed to her feet, staggered a bit.
“Hey, wait.” He grabbed her elbow.
She shook him off. “I’m fine. It’s just the sand shifted.”
“Right.” He pulled her back down.
She landed with a thud on the sand.
“Okay, sorry, I’m a bartender, I get told a lot of stuff. So the guy was hitting on you and it turned you off.”
“What? What are you talking about? Life is not all about men.” Her head snapped toward him; he went out of focus before his scowl resettled on his face. “How did you know some guy was hitting on me?”
“I saw him.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“You were busy.”
“Not that busy.”
“Yeah, you didn’t look like you were that into it.”
“You were watching?”
He shrugged, shifting her weight, which made her realize she was leaning against him. She thought about moving away, but it was awfully comfy.
“I just happened to . . . well, yeah. Anyway, Cliff’s not your type.”
“Oh, so now you know what my type is.”
He looked out to sea.
“Well, what is it?”
“You know, I see a lot of hookups in the bar. That one wasn’t going anywhere. Louise would never go for it.”
“My mother? Jeez. We’re talking about one night on a beach, not happily ever after. And in case you’re wondering, I realize there’s no such thing.”
“You do?”
She rolled her eyes at him. It made her feel woozy. “I’m not stupid.”
“Just not interested.”
“I guess.”
“You got somebody waiting at home?”
She gave him another look. “That’s hardly an excuse in these modern times.”
“True. But do you?”
She sighed. “No. It just seems like a lot of trouble knowing it isn’t going anywhere. And that’s stupid. I should live for the moment.”
“You’re telling me.”
“What?” Not getting an answer or even a look, Julie plowed on. “I just wanted to be frivolous for a change.”
“You?”
“Why not?”
“You were never frivolous.” He finished the statement with a chuckle.
“You don’t know me.”
He stopped laughing. “No. I don’t.” After a second he said, “So why aren’t you out there being frivolous instead of sitting here alone?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I might.”
“It’s kind of hard to be frivolous when you’re having an existential crisis.”
“You’re having one of those?”
“If you must know. Yeah. My dad died when I was little. My mom spent her whole life working double shifts to keep us afloat and saving money so I could go to a good college. She always told me to be a nurse or a teacher or to work for the telephone company because they had good benefits. No way was I going to work in an office cubicle. And after seeing her work herself to the bone nursing, I chose teaching.”
“And?”
“And I hate it.” There, she’d said it. She hated teaching. “Oh my God. What kind of horrible person am I? Who could hate teaching kids? Inspiring them? Helping them to succeed?”
“Opening up a whole world to them?”
She stopped. Looked at him. Looked away. “But I didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t. I tried, but . . . Why am I telling you all this?”
“Because I’m a bartender?”
She laughed. “People do tell bartenders their innermost secrets, don’t they?”
“Yeah. So what didn’t you like about teaching?”
“It was the same, day after day. Study, test, labs, more tests. They were perfectly nice, well-behaved children, they never acted out in class, never were late with their homework, never even got caught staring out the window or reading a comic book folded inside a textbook.” She sighed. “Kind of hard, considering most of the day they were looking at their laptops or phones instead of me.”
“You felt superfluous.”
“Yeah.” She turned to him, her knees touching his thigh. “I felt like I was turning to stone. They have so many opportunities. They’re stuffed with opportunities. They’re nine years old and already working on their résumés. When we went on field trips, instead of looking out the window of the bus, they were all on their phones.
“Even recess, which is not called ‘recess’ but ‘gymnasium,’ after the Greeks—we’re a very progressive school. Every minute is overseen, organized with teams and matching uniforms, new equipment. And score keeping, and strategy, and good sportsmanship. Sometimes I just wanted to take them out in the rain, have them stomp in puddles, sling mud at each other, but of course when it’s raining we stay inside and play Nerf ball or watch a video. I just wanted to give them something special.”
He was grinning at her.
“Great. I’m glad to see I’m amusing you. But it isn’t funny to me.”
“I’m not laughing. I’m just glad to see a spark of the devil in you.”
“What? What devil? I’ve done everything I was supposed to do. And I feel terrible. I saw kids playing today in the water, and I thought, Why can’t teaching have some joy in it?”
“And it doesn’t?”
“Not for me.” Julie bit her lip. “I know. I’m lacking something. Maybe I just don’t like kids. I don’t know what it is, but my mother is going to be so disappointed.”
“And you never wanted to disappoint her.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just that a person doesn’t want to displease their parent. So why don’t you quit?”
“What? I couldn’t.” But she’d come so close, that last day of school.
“Why not?”
“I don’t think . . . I’m just . . .” She groped for what she was feeling.
“Scared?” he volunteered.
The breath stuck in her lungs. She gave him a long, hard look. “I guess I am.”
“There are a lot of scarier things than being out of a job.”
She shuddered. “Not to me. Maybe I should have been a nurse.”
He burst out laughing. “If you don’t like teaching why on earth would you want to be a nurse?”
“My mother. Nurse, teacher. Job security.” She sniffed.
“Job security, a pension. If those are the only reasons you chose teaching, maybe you should rethink your motivations.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, here I was thinking you were into helping others, and really you’re only worried about yourself.”
It was like a smack across her face.
“No, I . . .” Maybe she was. But she wasn’t ready to face that possibility. She lashed back. “What do you know about it?”
“You’d be surprised.”
She sighed, moved away from him. Staggered to her feet. “Sorry, it must be the beer making me talk so much. I guess between this and Uncle Lucky I just got a little overwhelmed. Sorry.”
She started to walk away. Still weaving, damn beer. She wouldn’t be drinking too much again. It just led to embarrassing yourself one way or the other.
A spark of the devil in you. Why had he said that? No one had ever said that about her before.
She reached the rivulet of water, realized she’d forgotten her shoes. She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t even turn around to see if he was still there. To hell with them, if they were still there tomorrow, she’d retrieve them. If they were gone . . .
A spark of the devil. She was standing in the hallway. Lucky and her mother in the kitchen. Lucky saying, Give her a chance to grow, Lou. She’s got a little spark of the devil in her, give it a chance.
Her mother had put paid to that in no uncertain terms.
And Julie, just like her fourth graders, had been the perfect daughter, the perfect student. Then, and as it turned out, even now.
She became aware of someone walking beside her. She didn’t need to look to know it was Alex Martin, aka Scatter. She ignored him. She’d made a fool of herself, spilled her guts to a shady bartender who might or might not be ripping off her uncle or abetting him in illegalities.
She skirted the edge of the beach and expected him to leave when they reached the entrance of the bar and grill, but he didn’t even slow down.
“You don’t have to make sure I get back to the hotel, if that’s what you’re doing,” she said at her most sarcastic. But her heart wasn’t in it.
“I know.”
He said nothing else and neither did she until they got to the hotel. “Thanks for seeing me home.”
He snorted. She stumbled over the threshold. He caught her elbow. “Where’s your room?”
She raised her eyebrows at him. Okay, maybe she could be frivolous after all. There was no one at the desk, but it wasn’t like she’d have to explain anything; they were probably used to things like this.
She opted for the elevator, since she wasn’t all that steady on her feet and she had to pee. He stayed by her side, waited for her to fish for her key. Took it from her and unlocked the door. She stepped inside. He was still standing in the hallway.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
He was smiling but he shook his head. “I never hit on a woman when she’s drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I never get drunk.”
“Well, you’re doing a damn good imitation of it. Here are your shoes. I’ll take a rain check.”
She took them and he reached past her to shut the door. She stood and listened to him walk away. The whole beach was full of drunk people carrying on, and here she was in a hotel room alone. What was wrong with her?
Five minutes and three aspirin later, she fell into bed. Had he said he’d take a rain check? She was pretty sure he had, but did he mean that, or was it just a polite way of saying no thanks? She turned over, pulled the sheet up to her chin. He’d also said she had a spark of the devil in her. She distinctly remembered that, and that was the thought she clung to as she fell asleep.