Cathryn Parry - Summer By The Sea

“Very well,” she said to Sophia, testing her new communicativeness. “I’ll be out on the beach. Please have Ms. Kimball come and find me when she gets here. Thank you. Have a nice day.”

* * *

I DON’T BELONG HERE, Sarah thought one hour later, gazing at all the serene, pleasant, happy people spread out on beach towels, lounging in sand chairs and meandering along the shoreline with the flowing tide.

Everybody within sight was either coupled up, with children or hanging with a group of friends. Sarah was the lone singleton. And her aloneness, combined with the uncomfortable memories of one perfect August summer, made her want to weep.

Again.

Until Richard had banished her, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried.

Swallowing, Sarah wrapped her arms around her knees. The beach was just as she remembered it, but smaller, maybe because she was no longer small. The air was cool with a salty sea breeze, different from the breeze in California. The sand was brown and soft like sugar. There used to be sand dunes between her aunt’s cottage and the sea, but sometime in the intervening years they’d eroded away, so now her aunt had a clear, direct view of the beach.

The tide was pushing her back—it was coming in fast. Sarah got up and moved her towel above the high-water mark. The waves were large today, larger than she remembered. A long time ago, her aunt had taught her to body surf. She’d taught her to stride into the water vigorously and without fear of the cold. To dive into a wave was preferred. Then, to wait for just the right one, at just the right time, and put her hands over her head and ride the wave face down in to shore.

Once she’d gotten the hang of it, it had been exhilarating. She’d felt such power in being part of nature’s force. Sarah felt herself smiling.

She glanced down at the one-piece bathing suit she’d changed into at the gas station down the street. The suit was red. Concealing. She would have no wardrobe malfunctions when she rode those waves again. No one was in the water right now, but Sarah was braver than most people—she’d had to be. She’d quickly learned not to shrink from a little frigid water, from hardship, from a challenge. It wasn’t in her nature anymore. She stretched, shifting her face away from the strong sun. Just then, a lifeguard in orange shorts and no shirt—just a whistle around his neck and a baseball cap on his head—pulled up on a single-rider all-terrain vehicle, about twenty feet in front of her. He lazily got off, sauntering to the tall lifeguard chair. He put his hands on his hips and peered up at the younger lifeguard occupying the seat.

Sarah took off her sunglasses to get a better look. The lifeguard who’d driven up was definitely older than the near boy on the chair. Perhaps he was a supervisor. Still, he was younger than she was, and once again, she remembered with gloom that she would be celebrating her fortieth birthday soon. Hopefully back at home rather than here with Cassandra.

But for now, Sarah didn’t mind looking at the man. He had a nice chest, tanned and buff, and she liked the look of his face, too. Intelligent and guarded.

The older lifeguard said something to the younger man that Sarah couldn’t hear. She sighed and forced herself to stop looking at them. A small plane flew overhead with a banner: Eat at Billy Joe’s. Fried Clams and Pasta. Family-Sized Dinners.

No, thank you, Sarah thought with a shudder. She worked hard to keep herself healthy. It was definitely harder these days than it had been at thirty, never mind twenty. And why was she looking at younger-than-her lifeguards without their shirts on, anyway?

That wasn’t what this week was for.

Shaking her head, she got up and wiped sand off her bottom. The breeze had stilled, and she was getting hot sitting on the sand. And it wasn’t good that she’d neglected her sunscreen. When she got back, she would cover up with the cheap towel she’d bought at the store beside the gas station.

The sand squishing between her toes, Sarah beelined toward the water. She was tired of being angry, upset, inconvenienced, out of sorts and shoved from her environment. For once, she wanted to feel fun again, young again.

Maybe it was being on this beach that had affected her. This was the last place she remembered enjoying herself before it had all turned to muck. The most fun thing she remembered from back then was running into the waves and bodysurfing with other kids she’d met at the beach.

Sarah decided to go for a swim. She wouldn’t mind that her limbs moved more stiffly, more heavily, than they had when she was a girl. The wind was still in her face and she would brace her body for the shock of the cold New England ocean when she felt it.

* * *

SAM WATCHED THE woman as she sprinted for the surf. He didn’t make a habit of checking out women while he was on the job, but there was something about this one that drew his eye.

He paused on the driver’s seat of the ATV. Duke had asked him to check in with the newer guards. For about half of them, it was their first summer, and Sam, at thirty-two, was an old hand. He was practiced at constantly scanning the water and the beach. He knew when swimmers ventured too far out; he would summon them in with a whistle and a wave.

Very few people were swimming today. In June, the water was frigid and the air wasn’t hot enough to drive people into the water seeking relief. Farther up the coast, the surfers would be wearing wetsuits. Here, at the fringes of the family beach, still not quite on the main boardwalk section, there was little incentive to wade in beyond one’s ankles.

It was a sleepy, easy day. Great for a lifeguard new to the job. Not too many kids—it was still early for family vacations, and school was still in session in some local towns. Midweek was prime time for retired couples, groups of moms with preschoolers and the odd pair of early vacationers relaxing here and there with their books.

When the woman appeared again in his peripheral vision, he couldn’t help turning to watch her pass. Of everyone on the beach, she stood out. It was the way she moved. One thing that had always fascinated Sam was watching the different people in the grand parade of humanity that passed up and down the shoreline in summer.

Some people strolled. Some marched. Some lolled. Some shuffled. Others strutted—the young, usually. Teens slunk along in too-cool-for-school groups. Little kids skipped or danced. Young couples walked hand in hand. His own daughter strode with purpose.

This woman—she commanded. It was the only word he could think of, the only action that described her.

He liked that she was confident and powerful. She strode toward that water like she wasn’t afraid of it. Like she was going to possess it and make it her own.

He paused, aware that he was smiling. The first lighthearted, happy moment he’d felt all day. His cares lifting, he leaned back and waited to see what she would do when her toes hit the frigid water. Her pale skin suggested she didn’t get much sun. The grim set of her jaw told him she was determined to bathe in the sea.

The foamy tide surged toward her. He watched, waiting. With her ankles submerged in the chilly surf, she paused. Where others shivered and hugged themselves, she was stoic. A look crossed her face, a small, sad smile. He wondered why.

She was someone he would like to talk to. Not here. Not now. But if he were across the world, in Scotland, say, hiking on the West Highland Way (as he had planned, but he wasn’t going to think of that), he definitely would have found an excuse to catch up with her. To match those powerful, determined steps. To walk beside her and make light conversation.

And later that night, to take her into his bed.