by Leanne Davis
“Angie Peters. Vanessa Peters’ daughter.”
Jerry’s head snapped back in surprise, he knew Vanessa, probably knew her like Sean did. Most guys around here at some point did. Vanessa liked her lovers young.
“She doesn’t look a thing like her. No way.”
Sean took a long drink of his beer. Of course, Jerry would look his fill. Who wouldn’t? She was hot. And she was so damn different. Unapproachable. Unconsciously lovely, she was hard to ignore. Other women tried so hard to be liked, to be noticed, to be desired. Angie just was. Totally clueless that she was.
Sean paused before adding, “Angie is Amy’s mom.”
Jerry physically stepped back. “That’s her?” Jerry knew all about Amy. Everyone in Seaclusion did. But Jerry was about the only one who knew how Sean felt. Jerry was about the only one he told anything real to. Jerry was one of those friends, who would stand by you through a boat sinking and say here, take my life jacket.
Jerry didn’t want anything more from life than what he had. He liked his low stress job, his quiet, small apartment. He liked to play pool every Saturday night at The Oyster, and spend every other spare moment fishing.
Jerry rarely had dates. He was completely hopeless around girls. But Jerry was the only loyal, real person Sean knew. He loved him like a brother. And he protected him like one too.
Jerry looked at him. “How you doing, man?”
“I’m okay.” Sean shrugged while finishing his fourth beer.
“Wanna do the beach tonight? Some of us are thinking bonfire. Rachel was asking about you.”
Sean smiled; sure that Jerry had organized it for him. Particularly today, to keep his mind off his father.
He nodded. “Sure, I’ll be there.”
“Okay. Good.”
Jerry stayed near Sean, drinking beer. Always just there. That’s what Sean liked about him, he never required anything, no maintenance, no pretending. Jerry just was, and let Sean be.
“You should invite her.”
It had been ten minutes since Jerry had spoken. Sean glanced down at him. “Who?”
“Angie. You should invite her. Might be fun for her to get to know people in town. You know younger people.”
“She’s not really into the younger crowd,” Sean mumbled thinking about her professor. And thinking he’d never seen Angie Peters enjoy anything close to a party. Or drinking. Or even giggling with a girlfriend.
“Can’t hurt to invite her.” Jerry shrugged and walked over and started talking with Angie. Sean turned away. He preferred women who didn’t look like they were chunks of glaciers anytime he looked their way. Women like pretty, former-cheerleader Rachel.
Sean started on his fifth beer, hoping that this day would finally end.
Chapter 6
The last of the guests finally trickled out of the house at nearly eight o’clock. Sarah’s eyes were ringed in exhaustion. Scott sent her to bed, while he and Angie cleaned up. Sean was nearly passed out in a recliner in the den. He was staring at the TV. His friend Jerry was laid out on the couch.
Angie forgave Sean for looking like a lazy reprobate, leaving her to do all the work in the Delano house. She forgave him only because she really believed he was grieving his dad today, no matter how much he claimed otherwise. He had to feel something about this. About the man who raised him, but did it as if he couldn’t stand the sight of him.
Sean grieved the lack of relationship with Denny Langston, as much as the loss of the man. Sean’s anger in the hospital was Sean’s real feelings. Decency had required her to walk past it, but instead she’d stood there, fascinated, into this rare look into Sean’s actual feelings about something.
So, while he was drunk and surly, tonight of all nights, she forgave him.
She was tired. She finished cleaning the last platter, dried it, and put it away. She kissed Scott on the cheek and started down the hall to her bedroom. She unzipped the side of her skirt and started to step out of it when she heard a whistle from her doorway. Whirling around she found Sean standing there.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
“I’m not in here. I’m in your doorway, not my fault you don’t shut it. Jus’ going to ask if you wanted to come to the beach tonight.”
“Why would I go to the beach tonight?”
“To a party. And I asked you because it’ll be a short walk down the trail here to the beach. Seems kinda rude with you right here and all not to invite you. You know what a party is, don’t you? Young people, booze, a bonfire, fun. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”
She clutched her skirt to her waist. “I’ve been to parties before. But why would you ask me?”
“I don’t know, you’re under the age of sixty. Thought you might like to know other people your own age. Or are forty-five year olds as young as you can go?”
“No, thanks.”
“Oh, come on. I buried my dad today. Give a guy a break. Besides, poor ol’ Jerry seems smitten with you.
Throw him a bone.”
“Since when do you want to hang around me?”
He shrugged. “Since Sarah loves you so much. She wants you to come home more. She asked me to be nice to you, for her sake. So here’s me trying.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m not. I’m happy. Give me another few hours and then I’ll be drunk.”
“It won’t change you buried him today.”
“No. But it sure makes it feel better. Come on, take the stick out of your ass. You’ll know some of the people we went to high school with. Or are you too chicken to face them?”
The last thing she wanted was to face everyone in the world who knew everything she’d done wrong as a teenager, and who had made her so miserable for it.
“Fine. I’ll come. Leave my room, so I can change.”
She came out to the back deck and found Sean and Jerry sprawled on lawn chairs, drinking, laughing, and nearly howling at the moon in stupidity. Her determination to be nice to Sean started to dip. He seemed like he wanted her to come tonight, but now that he was sure of her, he had to hide it behind all his cocky attitude.
But still, she sensed loneliness in him, a loneliness that only she ever seemed to notice. And she sensed it tonight. Now, however, she was beginning to think she’d given him too much credit. Maybe Sean Langston really was the idiot he pretended to be and that getting drunk, getting laid, really was the content of his life’s goals.
“Ah…damn, you got rid of the skirt, huh? Back to the combat khakis. Wonderful. You know how to live it up, don’t you?”
She glared at him. She wanted to kick his chair out from under him. He finally, ungracefully rose to his feet. He’d made the long walk to his trailer and changed into disrespectful looking jeans, with a chain dangling from a pocket to the back. He wore a striped flannel shirt, and white t-shirt. His hair was coming out of his infantile pony tail in scraggly pieces he tucked behind an ear. Like a girl.
He came beside her, grabbed the center of her pony tail and gave it a tug. “I liked the hair down though, made you almost look like a girl. Wouldn’t want that, huh?”
“Better than looking like I’m fresh from prison. Ever think about cutting your hair to look like a boy?”
He laughed. “Thought you didn’t want to upset me today?”
She nearly groaned as she told him to shut up. He always managed to turn her back into about sixteen years old in their interactions. And he also managed to outwit her, out insult her, and usually he even got the last clever derogatory word in. All of which infuriated her.
Jerry ambled over to them. He smiled up at her. She was taller than him by a few inches. He looked up at her with adoring eyes. She sighed. Why did she so attract all the idiots?
She followed them, Sean first, down the dark, gravel trail. There were about twenty houses that shared this private beach access. Scott, Sarah, and the girls came here nearly nightly. Even in the winter, they put on rain clothes to face the ceaseless wind, rain, and gray of the Pacif
ic Coast.
Angie rarely went down the path and could care less about visiting the beach. It was prettier than most she supposed, because it had this big, dramatic rocky wall that dropped to the beach. It had big island-like rocks dotting the beach that tide pools gathered in when the tide was low. The Delano girls loved it, and thought they owned the beach.
Tonight, however, it was for the young and reckless. The February night was cold, clear, stars overhead, and air foggy to the breath. She pushed her hands deeper into her fleece-lined jean jacket. She pulled out a stocking cap and stuck it on her head. She rounded the corner; and there was a bonfire, glittering and shifting through the trees. Great. Drunk idiots playing with a big fire. What a fantastic idea. It reminded her of freshman year when in attempts to make friends and “join” in she’d gone to several frat parties. She’d soon realized she couldn’t fake it, she wasn’t into that. Crazy acting, young acting, partying, or whatever it was supposed to be, didn’t do it for her. She finally quit trying and made her own circle of friends. Friends who weren’t idiots.
She walked up to the crowd of people, most her age, as they milled about the beach which was strangely lit with the orange and shadows shifting shapes before the fire. The ocean lapped nearby, dark and silky against the night. It should be beautiful: clear stars, pristine ocean, the dark only interrupted by the light of fire and some wayward flashlights.
All that the setting did for Angie was make her glad she no longer lived here. It merely reminded her of when she was fifteen and making out with some boy she didn’t even remember the name of now, in order to try and fit in. She and her friend Cecily, had been so excited they had been invited to a senior beach party. She’d drank enough to have her throwing up all night as she’d tried to wash out the taste of that now faceless boy who’d never again talked to her.
There was laughter, music playing from someone’s iPod hooked to a speaker. It was loud, thumping music that fit this crowd. Beer sat in ice chests littering the beach. Sean walked up. There was ripple of exclamations at his presence. Sean now was one of them. The them who had always had bonfires on the beaches. The they who were popular and excluded people like her and the Sean of old.
Sean grabbed a beer, and pulled on her sleeve to bring her into the ring of people.
“Have a beer.”
“No thanks, Sean.” She kept her tone neutral.
“Don’t be such a prude, Peters. Have a drink.”
“I don’t drink.”
“You don’t drink?” Sean’s gaze narrowed on her face. She looked out toward the party as if interested and not trying to hide her blush. There was no way Sean could guess she didn’t drink because she was pregnant. There was no way he could see through her to know that. She only had to hold onto her cool.
“No. I don’t. Not a crime. Let me be.”
He started to answer, but someone came up to them. Angie recognized the girl as Rachel Winters, former head cheerleader of Angie’s class. She finally glanced at Angie.
“Angie Peters? Is that really you? I swear I haven’t seen you since graduation.”
“Yes, it’s me. How are you, Rachel?”
Rachel was just drunk enough to ramble on about her return to Seaclusion after going to San Francisco State University for a few years, but now she was back and managing the hair salon off main street. Angie didn’t care now what Rachel was doing any more than she had eight years ago. She had never belonged in high school. She had never wanted to belong. She’d loved getting out, moving on, and finding people who weren’t hung up on popularity contests and gossip.
She had thrived going on to college with its knowledge, and deep thinkers, with clubs that wanted to save the planet, and the world from poverty. She’d loved fitting into the culture of Western Washington University.
But now here she was back. Right back to the unhappiest point in life.
Sean was well liked. He eventually wondered off, standing in groups, talking, laughing, drinking more. Jerry as it turned out, wasn’t like Sean. Jerry stood near her, smiling awkwardly when she looked his way. He was tongue-tied when he tried to answer her generic questions. He didn’t seem to know what to say or do around her, but he stayed there anyway. She eventually grew comfortable letting it be silent between them and accepting Jerry’s presence as a comfort. At least she wasn’t alone.
She talked to classmates, who, the drunker they got, finally started getting confident enough to come up to her. It got easier the more she did it, and the drunker they became. Being sober became a kind of power. She was sane and rational, while they were sloppy and easy to control.
Sean eventually disappeared with Rachel Winters.
Angie sighed. Mistake. Coming here was not for her. She’d never fit in. It was worse now. She was too old. Had too much on her mind for this.
And she was way too aware of Sean.
The night got cold. Her breath steamed around her. Finally, she crept slowly away from the firelight. She faded into the shadows of the beach, and finally turned her back on her past and started walking down the beach alone. She was half way to the trail back to her uncle’s house when she heard him.
“Had enough?”
She jumped; she hadn’t seen Sean just off the right of her. He sat on the beach, his back leaning against a big, thick log of driftwood. His long legs were before him, his heels planted in the sand, a beer bottle resting between his thighs. He raised it to his lips as he contemplated her.
“What are you doing over here alone?”
“Where should I be?”
“I thought you wondered off with Rachel.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To have sex with her, I thought.”
“Direct. Not so shy as you once were, are you, Angie?” he said, shrugging, looking past her. “Rachel was acting stupid. I wasn’t in the mood tonight.”
“Imagine that, bury your father and you don’t feel like a good giggle. What made you think you would? You totally underestimate yourself. Always have. Always act like you don’t care, that you’re immune, when you’re not. Your father died, you buried him today. You shouldn’t be okay.”
“On the other hand, at least Rachel is fun. God, you’re so serious. Do you ever stop?”
She buried her hands into her jacket. “Come on, let’s go back to the house. You’re done for tonight. You’re drunk and you’re sad. You need to sleep it off before you do something you’ll regret.”
He glared at her, as he scowled and grumbled about what a downer she was, that it was no wonder her boyfriend was forty, she didn’t know how to relate with anyone her own age. On and on he grumbled at her, as he stumbled to his feet and finally shuffled after her. He wasn’t even wearing a coat, he had to be freezing.
Eventually he halted. She turned to see what the problem was. Only to find he’d stopped and was looking out at the beach from the lookout on the trail.
There was outcropping here that Scott had put an old wood bench on. Sean had dropped down on it; he was staring at his feet. It was only after a long moment that he raised his face, and she saw the tears in his eyes, glinting in the moonlight. He dropped his face. His shoulders didn’t move. His entire body remained still.
She stood there awkwardly for a moment. She hadn’t expected him to actually show her what she knew, or at least hoped, was inside him, human emotions about what today was to him; the burial of his father. She sat next to him. She didn’t touch him. She just sat there next to him as he stared at his feet.
After a while she put her hand on his thigh. She didn’t squeeze, she didn’t rub, she merely set her palm there in support. He didn’t move or acknowledge her at first. Then his fingers crept from his knee to grip hers. His hands were freezing to her warm-from-her pocket ones. He finally clasped her hand as if it were his link to sanity.
She didn’t say anything. She knew he didn’t want anything said. Somehow she understood some grief was too complicated, too impure to explain. It wasn’t just normal sa
dness over a father’s death that Sean would feel. It was the anger, the rage, the resentment of a lifetime of being blamed for being the result of a rape he had nothing to do with. It was grief over what he should have had, to what he’d had. It was grief over the fact that he’d never have the kind of father-son relationship with the man who was supposed to love him as such.
And even drunk, Sean was hurting.
Angie’s hand was on his leg! She never touched him. She always made sure to stay clear of him, never bump into him as they moved around the Delano house or rode in a car together. She made sure to keep her circle of “no entry” glaring toward him that she wanted nothing to do with him. That her hand had come willingly to his leg said how sorry she was for him. A mercy affection, about as hesitantly given as someone else would give a mercy lay. That Sean knew for sure about Angie.
He hadn’t meant to break down in the middle of the beach with Angie of all people as a witness. He wanted to ignore her and get home. But his feelings had overwhelmed him. And it was her fault. She was so quiet, so serious, it was hard to ignore what he’d been trying to ignore in her presence. Rachel, or Jerry, or any other person knew to keep things talking, keep things light. They tried to make him feel better. Not Angie. She’d been nearly radiating her disapproval at him that he wasn’t more upset. Wasn’t crying his eyes out or something.
So shit, he’d followed her up from the beach and look what happened. He’d been walking fine. The buzz helping his thoughts stay unfocused. But walking all quiet, in the dark of the night, it was hard not to notice those things swirling in his head. In his gut. It was hard to ignore it when he was with someone who didn’t even try to help.
So here he was suddenly all torn up like some jackass. Until this moment he’d been unable to cry for his own father. He could not cry. But then, he couldn’t feel as blasé, as okay, as he wanted to feel, as he was trying to pretend. And now he was clutching Angie’s hand. Angie who he tried to mock and annoy like some dumbass boy who pulls a girl’s pigtails to get her to notice him. That’s about what he turned into with Angie. And it pissed him off beyond belief, that now he had it; he had her attention, and he’d done it by falling into the grief he was determined to ignore.
