Page 92 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

Simon was a few years younger than my grandparents, but he must be at least 80 by now. I’m amazed that he’s still involved in athletics of any kind. “I give you a lot of credit for staying fit,” I reply. “I’m ashamed to admit I haven’t been getting out for my morning runs most days this summer.”

“Do you still take your jogs on the beach?”

I’m touched that he remembers this habit of mine, which I’ve treasured since back when Laurel and I were teens and desperately needed something to do out from under the cloying gaze of our parents. We used to go running, then rest in the sand at the farthest point of our jog, about three miles down the beach. We’d people-watch and mock what we viewed as our parents’ overbearing rules until we got hungry and had to run back.

“I do,” I smile. “It brings back a lot of memories.”

Simon is silent for a moment. “I understand the allure of memories.”

I swallow hard. It’s probably difficult for him to talk to me without reliving the loss of his best friends. I decide to change the subject. “So, I’ve been working at Shoreline Books this summer. Just for something to do, and for a little extra cash.”

“Oh, Shoreline is lovely! Give my regards to Maisie the next time you’re in, won’t you?”

“I definitely will. That’s actually partly why I’m calling.” It’s pretty much the only reason I’m calling, but I feel guilty that I haven’t bothered to check in with him yet this summer. Simon has no one; it’s the least I can do to be social. “Maisie’s actually going to be having surgery,” I continue. “She’ll need some help in the shop this fall, and I’m hoping to stay in town a little longer. I have to check with my job back home to see if that will be a possibility, but I wanted to speak with you first in case renting Beach Haven a little longer wasn’t an option.”

Simon sounds elated. “Of course it’s an option! Anything for Charlie’s granddaughter. He and Eleanor did so much for me over the years; I’m happy to help.”

“Thank you so much; that’s very kind of you.”

“Of course. Check with your job, and let me know what you decide.”

My chest is full of nervous energy. Is this actually happening? With another domino in the pile on the floor, I’m running out of excuses not to call my boss at Farnsworth.

“I’ll do that, thank you. And, Simon?”

“Yes?”

I take a deep breath, seeing my grandparents’ smiles in my mind. “Could I come visit you sometime? While I’m here?”

I’m pretty sure he’s smiling, too. “I’d love it if you did,” he replies.

When we hang up, everything inside me feels tingly and energized. Thanks to my ever-simmering anxiety, tough conversations take up a lot of space in my mind before I have them. Once they’re in the rearview, I’m usually hit with a sense of elation—that I’ve tackled the challenge, that it’s in the past. It’s a bit of a high, if I’m being honest. Still, I could live without the racing heart and queasiness that typically precedes a situation I’m nervous about.

Right now, though, I’m high on the possibilities. Simon’s beach house with a view is apparently at my disposal. I need a new challenge, and Maisie wants me to stay. Hell, I think I want to stay. Not just as something to do to get away from Farnsworth. But as something worth leaving for.

And then there’s Oliver. I close my eyes, painting a picture of his smile against my cheek. The way his hand feels in mine; how he held me when we danced. How his body moved over mine in the flickering candlelight. The way he teases; the pride in his expression when he introduced me to his father.

I’m struggling to keep the elation inside now. I can’t think of another time in my life when things have lined up quite this seamlessly for me. I feel like the universe is trying to tell me something, and I’m pretty sure I owe it to myself to listen.

The joy bubbling in my chest is threatening to boil over. Shaking my head roughly, I attempt to bring myself back down to earth. I drop my phone on the bed, then grab my workout clothes from the dresser. I’m going to deal with this excitement the best way I know how—running on the beach.

twenty-six

Laurel doesn’t come back to Beach Haven until late Sunday afternoon. “Got caught up with some stuff,” she explains, barely looking at me when I meet her at the door.

Are we still fighting? Or maybe something happened? I think I have a duty to her, and our relationship, to try to be there for her and repair whatever schism seems to be forming between us.

So I follow her down the hallway. “Is everything okay?” My thoughts immediately jump to Uncle Gregory, who’s a Type 1 diabetic, or to Janie, whom Laurel might have gone to see while she was home.

Something could have gone wrong with Dr. Spillinger, also. When Laurel said “it went” about their conversation, I’d assumed she meant things shifted in her favor. But maybe that was the wrong conclusion to draw.

Laurel tosses her duffel on the floor of her bedroom and turns to face me. “It’s fine. How was your weekend?”

I take a beat, wondering how to explain the last few days. So much has happened that I’m not really sure where to start. “Great,” I say finally. “We had some bad storms on Friday. Maisie’s having surgery. I might stay here a little longer to help her out.”

My eyes dart over to the toiletry bag Laurel left here when she went home. I wonder how long it will take her to notice that several condoms are missing.

She’s barely paying attention right now, though, wavy hair falling over her face as she bends to unzip her bag. “How much longer?”