Page 132 of The Circle

“But—” their daughter starts to dispute the brazen lie her parents have just concocted.

“Yeah, ugh, bummer, but you got Liz’s socials, right?”

“I don’t have that,” Lizzy volunteers.

“Oh,” the dad says.

“We’re not big into social media,” Christine notes.

We do not tell them it’s because all of us attempt to stay off the grid—whatever grid that might be—as much as possible.

“Oh,” the mom echoes. “Oh, well, you can get her number and…” She drifts off.

I look at Christine. I look at Danny. I look at Andra and Lizzy. We all grin a knowing, shared grin that looks so very much like one another’s, before I step back, creating a door of sorts, allowing the three khakis passage from out of our circle.

I don’t say anything and neither do they. They just look around with the anxious energy of people who find themselves somewhere they don’t entirely belong, and scurry away down the beach back to whatever cottage they’re staying in.

Once they’re gone, I assume my place in our formation once more, effectively closing the door I opened and leaving us to one another again.

“Sorry, honey,” Christine says to Lizzy.

“Eh, it’s okay.” Lizzy shrugs. “They weren’t really our people. Y’know?”

She takes her mother’s hand and gives it a squeeze. Then she reaches out to hold her sister’s with her other hand. Andra, in turn, takes mine. I, seeing what’s evolving in the moment, reach out and take Danny’s. He, in kind, grasps hold of Christine’s free hand.

And we stand there.

Holding hands in the dark.

Billions of white-hot stars blaze in the infiniteness of the night sky overhead, making untold formations that defy definition, but that are eternal.

And wondrous.

And impossibly beautiful.