Page 2 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

It occurs to me that I’m going to need something to do while Laurel works on her dissertation. The beach is amazing, but I only brought four books, and I’m a quick reader. I’ll blast through those by the end of the week, especially if I’m sitting on the sand by myself every day. We’ve rented the cottage for a full six weeks, until the end of August.

“Want to hit up the bookstore in town later? I need to get a few more beach reads.”

I hear Laurel’s melodic laugh from the other room. “How many did you bring?”

“Only a couple.” I pause. “Plus two.”

She chuckles again, coming to lean against the doorframe of the all-blue bedroom I’ve selected for myself. “I’ll admit, I expected this from you, Ivy. I’m surprised you didn’t stop at the bookstore on the way into town.”

I toss a pillow at her, but I know she’s right. The bookstore here is among my favorite places on the planet.

Unfortunately, it was also my grandmother’s favorite. And there are a lot of memories tied up among its mahogany shelves, so it’s going to require effort not to cry when we visit later.

Laurel looks around us at the ancient scrolly bedroom set and the suspiciously flat mattress, the latter looking like it’s been squished within an inch of its life through decades of use. “Wow. This is some room.”

I chuckle. “So you see why I’ll need something to do outside of it.”

Laurel purses her lips and nods. “Sure, we can swing by the bookstore later. But not until we’ve hit up the beach.”

“Oh, absolutely,” I agree.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re dropping our towels in the sand and jogging awkwardly toward the waves, silly smiles on our faces. It feels like our inner children want to break into an excited run at top speed, but we somehow think we shouldn’t. After all, we’re adults who should be long over the joy of splashing into the eddying bubbles at the edge of the shore.

When my feet hit the water, I realize that my inner child is alive and well. I don’t even care that the water is only 62 degrees and is quickly making my toes feel like they don’t exist.

Laurel turns toward me, a huge grin on her face. “This is awesome.”

I’m pretty sure I’m reflecting her ballooning happiness back when I say, “It really is.”

But we contain our excitement, walking reservedly along the edge of the ocean, letting the waves lap up against our numb feet. We don’t say a whole lot, but we don’t really have to. I know we’re both feeling the same thing.

This is our place, the place where we grew up. The place where I can still see my grandparents, smiling at us while we play in the sand. My parents, holding hands on their towels when they think no one is looking. My heart lurches. These waves have watched the formation of our family, all the way from the beginning. And now they’ve watched it fall apart.

But somehow, standing here now, I feel like all of those timelines are mixed up, swirling together like the tiny waves that mix and reform on the edge of the beach. It’s like my parents are still happy. Like Laurel and I are still young and carefree, and the world hasn’t beaten us down yet. Like my grandparents are still here, sitting right behind us.

The waves are a constant heartbeat, no matter what’s happening on the shore. Steady, all-seeing, all-knowing. It makes the past feel like it’s all around us. And I don’t think I knew how much I needed that until this very moment.

When the sun starts to dip in the sky and most of the beach-goers head out to ready themselves for hard-won dinner reservations, Laurel and I begrudgingly gather our towels and traipse back to the cottage.

“We’re lucky this is so close,” she remarks. “I actually can’t feel my feet.”

I nod. “I think mine lost sensation a good 20 minutes ago.”

“Want to get cleaned up, then head to the bookstore?” Laurel punches in the security code, which I’m frankly shocked she remembers, and the smell of the past overtakes my nostrils as the door swings open.

“Sounds like a plan. Want the first shower?”

She nods eagerly. “Thanks. I need to remind my feet that I still love them.”

Snorting, I head to my room. “The ocean isn’t cold. It’s refreshing.” This is something Grandpa Charlie used to say.

I can hear her laughing as she heads into the bathroom.

While Laurel showers, I get unpacked. I toss the casual outfits I brought into the monstrous carved dresser, then hang several dresses and a jacket I hope I won’t need in the closet. I line my makeup, toiletry bag, and bottles of shampoo and shower gel up on top of the bookshelf in the corner. Then, my hand stumbles on a small black book at the bottom of my suitcase.

Removing it gingerly, I take in a small breath. It’s my grandmother’s diary, and, while I did pack it, I’m somehow startled to find it. Like I’m not entirely ready to face what its presence means.

Seeing it on a day when the air is so thick with memories is making me feel things. Things that are also making my eyes more than a little bit foggy all of a sudden. I sink onto the edge of the bed, being careful to keep my sandy feet away from the dust ruffle.