by Laura Briggs
“Ever build a sandcastle before?” Gavin asked him. Seeing Micah shake his head, he assured him, “No problem. A smart kid like you should be a pro in no time.”
Her son grinned, hugging the pail closer to his chest. Glancing around, Gavin asked him, “So what sounds good? Straight up sandcastle? Animal? Spaceship?”
“A seal,” Micah said, after thinking a minute. “Like the sled in the shop. Remember seeing it?” This was for Piper, who was surprised he even noticed the toys in the shop downtown. They had been waiting to see the local Santa at the time, the one Micah guessed right away hadn’t answered his letter.
“Seal,” Gavin confirmed. “Good idea. Have you seen one up close before?”
Micah nodded. “At the zoo, when my school went.” He had drawn pictures of the animals afterward, some of them still tacked on his bedroom wall. Piper remembered he gave the seal drawing big, watery eyes because he thought it had looked sad.
“We should fill that pail with some water,” Gavin said, tapping the plastic bucket. “It works like glue for holding the sand together.” As they strolled towards the water’s edge, he told Micah, “When I was your age, I went to a circus that had seals. Elephants and lions, too.”
“We’ve been to the circus!” Micah was clearly excited by this not-so-weird coincidence. “One of the tents caught on fire,” he remembered, “and then, later on, a clown at one of the shows gave Mom some flowers.”
“Not exactly,” Piper reminded him. “The fire was a cigarette in a trashcan. And the clown threw the flowers to the audience—I just happened to catch them.” She pulled a beach towel from her bag in preparation for finding a good spot to sit, wishing now that she had worn shorts and a t-shirt, and looked a little less — well, fun, as stupid as it sounded. The three of them together — it looked almost like an ordinary family playing together on the beach. That was a scenario foreign to Piper's experience these days.
“You should let your son tell it,” Gavin advised. “It’s more exciting that way.” He gave her a teasing grin as he filled the pail with water.
Micah’s grin widened, his fingers taking the pail Gavin held out to him. He was talking more than usual today, Piper had noticed. Smiling more, too.
Had he wanted to visit the beach all along? She couldn’t believe the truth about the Santa letter hadn’t dampened his interest in the Florida town. The fact he wasn’t getting his wish for Christmas, that Santa never even got his letter—these were things she thought would upset him. Instead, he was beaming with happiness as they walked along, drops of water escaping above the rim of the pail he carried.
“Thanks again for doing this,” she told Gavin. “It means a lot to Micah.”
He shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. After the trouble I caused you both.”
“That’s not what I meant —” she began. But he was turning away to answer a question Micah had about one of the bigger sand sculptures taking shape up ahead. A long, box-like foundation that more than a dozen kids and adults were assembling from bricks of sand.
“That’s the snow fort,” Gavin explained. “There’s one built every year. Sometimes people stage snowball fights with Styrofoam balls they’ve coated with glitter.”
She could tell from his voice that Gavin considered this last part kind of stupid. Still, he kept his smile hidden, as if realizing they might not feel the same. Especially Micah, whose enthusiasm was getting the best of his manners as he asked them, “Can we start the seal now?”
“Sure,” said Gavin, crouching beside him. “There’s plenty of sand for it right here.”
Across from them, a group of teenagers were making a penguin, a radio playing somewhere among the vendor's stalls. Christmas music, of course, the choice seeming out of place amid the sun and sand. She spread her towel out and perched on it, watching as Gavin and Micah began their creation.
Obviously, Gavin had done this before. He skillfully showed her son how to pack the sand together in layers to form the curve of the seal’s body. Micah copied his motions the way he did the art teacher in his favorite class. He wasn’t restless today, this kind of activity something he would be able to do for hours, like his drawings, or the clay figurines he’d made from a kit she bought for his birthday last year.
“This is better than clay,” he whispered to her, as if making the same connection. Then, louder, he told her, “You should try it.”
Gavin held out some of the packed sand to her. “Go ahead. You’ve done this before, right?”
“Nope.” She laughed at his surprise. “Hey, cut me some slack. It’s my first trip to the beach.”
His eyebrows went up. “Ever? I thought Delaware was famous for its summer beach resorts.”
“I didn’t always live there,” she answered. Taking a handful of sand, she knelt down at the base of their creation, pressing the sand carefully into place. “I grew up in Michigan.” She had met Nathan in college, their marriage ending two states and four jobs later.
“When I was real little,” Micah told Gavin, “like, too little to go to school even, we lived in Indiana.”
Piper knew he didn’t remember this very well. He liked to act as if he did, since it had been his dad’s favorite of their homes. If the factory where he worked hadn’t closed, they might still be living there. Even if it was only the two of them, and Nathan had still left.
“We had a big house there,” Micah told him. “There were plants in the back yard that were this tall.” He held his arm way above his head as he spoke.
“Corn,” Piper supplied. “It was an old farmhouse we rented for awhile.” She had loved it too, some of the pictures of it among the scrapbook that Micah liked to flip through from their bookshelves.
“Sounds like you miss it,” Gavin said. He didn’t ask why they had left, possibly sensing the reasons were unhappy ones. After all, he knew more about their lives than Piper had told him, thanks to the letter he wasn’t meant to read.
“Delaware’s good, too,” she assured him. “I have a stable job, and Micah likes his classes. So it all worked out.”
She didn’t want him to feel sorry for them. The house they rented was small and in disrepair; her job required more hours than she would like. These were things she had learned to deal with, since no amount of wishing could change them, whatever her son might think.
They kept packing sand together, the radio’s speakers blasting a version of ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’. The group of teenagers were shaping a beak for their penguin, two of them bursting into laughter when the first attempt crumbled in the builder’s hands.
“So how do you usually spend Christmas?” Gavin asked them. “Since you’ve never been to the beach, it can’t be anything like this. More along the lines of skating or sledding, I bet.”
Piper shook her head. Next to her, Micah said, “We don’t usually get cold enough weather for skating. Just for snowmen.”
“That’s more snow than I’ve ever seen,” Gavin replied.
“So that stuff about it not snowing here for twenty years is true?” Piper was thinking of the news article linked to the town’s website. Somehow, she’d thought it might be exaggerated, but Gavin seemed to think it was accurate.
“I was ten the last time it snowed here.” He paused. “Once before that, we drove to a town outside Orlando to see it. My sister wasn’t born at the time, so she only saw it once growing up.”
“You drove to see snow?” Micah looked as if he didn’t know whether to believe this or not, his eyes growing big with the notion.
“Eighty miles,” Gavin answered. “We loaded up the station wagon an hour after we heard the weather report. Christmas Eve in a motel was worth it to see those flakes drifting on the water. Kind of like a postcard come to life.”
Piper imagined a bronze-haired boy and his parents piling into a station wagon, talking and laughing as it coasted along the highway. A winter sky visible through the windshield; the promise of snow somewhere up ahead.
&n
bsp; It made her smile, but Gavin wasn’t doing the same. He looked almost sad remembering the long-ago event. When he spoke again, it was to change the subject back to their present surroundings. “Most folks around here get their snow from a can. Not exactly my idea of a white Christmas. Neither is making snowmen out of sand, though.”
“Don’t you like sandcastles?” Micah looked confused. “You’re real good at building them. So don’t you like them?”
“Yeah, sure I do.” Gavin packed more sand together, shaping the seal’s head. “I used to build these all the time. Before I got too old.”
A strange choice of words, given what they were doing right now. As if realizing this, Gavin quickly added, “You know, too old to build them by myself. Because you’ve gotta have help for stuff like this.”
She was glad to see that Micah accepted this, turning back to the sandcastle. But Gavin seemed lost in thought, strains of ‘Holly Jolly Christmas’ echoing from the radio in the background.
*****
That first time he saw snow had been Gavin’s best Christmas. The second time had been his worst.
This was something he didn’t mention as he worked beside Piper and her son. They were having a good time, after all. At least he hoped they were, since it was his fault they were here in the first place.
“Who else needs a snow cone?” he questioned, spotting the vendor’s stand for the local business. “Lemon lime’s my favorite, but they’ve got pretty much every flavor you can think of.”
“Raspberry,” said Piper. “But you don’t have to pay for ours—”
He waved her suggestion away, as Micah piped up, “I’ll have lemon lime, too.”
“A raspberry and two lemon limes coming right up,” Gavin winked, striking off in the vendor’s direction. The line was long, the people ahead of him chatting about the radio station’s latest weather update. Freezing temperatures on Thursday night with a wintry mix possible. Could that mean snow?
Don’t count on it, Gavin thought. When did anything change around here, especially the weather? Then again, his week had been anything but normal so far. Maybe there were more surprises in store besides the single mom and her son to challenge his Grinch-like attitude for the local festivities.
He placed his order for three snow cones, taking them back to Micah and Piper, now eager for their cool refreshments. Piper sampled hers, saying, “This is delicious. I haven’t tasted one of these since I was a kid.”
“One of my summer jobs in high school was working the vendor’s stand,” said Gavin, “so I kind of got my fill of free snow cones. Hard to believe I couldn’t stand the sight of these for awhile.”
“Sure is.” She dug in again with a grin.
Gavin studied her, trying to look as if he was only watching the water. She was pretty, he thought. It was surprising that no one was interested in her wherever they lived — or maybe they were, and she didn't notice.
Comfortable silence fell as they enjoyed the sweet treats. The group of teenagers had finished building their penguin, taking pictures of it with their cameras and phones. Surveying their own work-in-progress, Gavin decided, “Not bad. Think it looks like a real seal?”
Micah considered this. “Pretty close. But it doesn’t have a face. Or whiskers.”
“You’re right,” Gavin said. “Maybe I can help with that.”
He dug inside his jean’s pockets, producing a handful of buttons. Different colors, scratched up, and trailing loose threads. It was all he could find last minute, digging through his bedside table that morning. As a kid, he’d used marbles or bits of sea shell, whatever was on hand for the final touches.
“What do you think?” He offered Micah the buttons. “These could make eyes and a nose. As for whiskers, I’ve got no clue.”
Piper rummaged through her tote bag. “Try this.” She held up a black Magic Marker. “Micah can draw on just about anything. Right, kiddo?”
He looked uncertain, but Gavin offered an encouraging nod. Who said it couldn’t work?
It did work. Micah drew two perfectly spaced sets of whiskers on either side of the button nose. Gavin noticed he was careful, not putting too much pressure on the marker as it traveled over the fragile sand. “Good job,” he told him. “You’re a natural at this.”
The boy merely shrugged, but his eyes wore a pleased look. Piper took out her cell phone and held it out in front of them, saying, “Smile everybody.”
Gavin obliged as she took the photo. Looking over her shoulder, he saw the three of them appear on the screen, their smiles real and natural-looking. Like they were old friends, or a family even, though Gavin hadn’t known that kind of connection in years. It touched a raw spot inside him, one he quickly blocked before it could show on his face.
“Nice,” said Piper, checking the screen. Showing it to Micah, she added, “Maybe you can draw it later. Another picture for your wall.”
But Micah was looking at the figures approaching their work site, a couple of local kids that Gavin recognized as the nephew and niece of Bitty at the Reindeer Resort. They were close to Micah’s age, friendly smiles on their faces as they admired his sand sculpture.
“Cool seal,” the girl told him.
“Yeah,” her brother agreed. “You’re good at this.” Gesturing towards the beach’s biggest sculpture-in-progress, he said, “A bunch of us are working on the snow fort over there. Wanna help?”
Micah looked interested beneath his shy blush. He was hesitating, though, his mom prompting, “What do you think? Seems like a pretty nice offer.” She glanced at Gavin, as if seeking backup.
“The snow fort’s awesome,” he agreed. “If I were you, I’d go for it. The seal's pretty much finished, right?”
This brought a hint of determination to Micah’s face. His shoulders straightened a little as he told the other kids, “Okay, I’ll help.”
They grinned in response, waving him toward the beach sculpture. He ran after them, glancing back once to show his mom and Gavin a smile.
“Thanks for doing that.” Piper sank down beside him in the sand. “He seems to think you’re pretty cool," she added. "I think he didn’t want to let you down.”
“Glad to help,” Gavin said. “But I think Micah knew what he wanted to do already. He just needed a little push to get it done.”
“Maybe.” She smiled. “Still, he never picks any flavor but cherry for a treat, so you must’ve made a big impression on him.”
She had removed her sunglasses, the eyes beneath them a warm shade of brown. Hazel, Gavin thought, wondering if that was even remotely correct. Or why he kept staring into them, seeing little flecks of gold and green amid the brown.
“Anyway,” Piper continued, “it’s good to see him trying new things. For which you’re partly responsible, whatever you might say.”
“He seems like a great kid,” Gavin told her. “Really focused for that age, too. Bobby—that’s my oldest nephew—would never be able to sit still long enough to build a sandcastle.”
“Does your family live around here, then? You said this is where you grew up, so I thought maybe they did.”
He shook his head. “No family here at the moment. My sister married an army doctor, so they’re living overseas right now. My mom died four years ago.” His father—was he alive somewhere? Gavin didn’t know, though he pictured the man as still traveling, his beat-up suitcase and boxes in the back of their station wagon.
Piper was quiet for a moment. Then, she told him, “Both my parents passed away before I finished college. They were older when they had me, so I was kind of a surprise. No siblings either.”
“That’s rough,” Gavin agreed. “Not having family around.”
“It is. But at least I’ve got Micah.” She glanced towards the snow fort as she said this, where Micah was busy helping Bitty’s niece pack sand and water together. Gavin sensed the boy was happy to let his companion do most of the talking, his head bobbing every now and then in response to something she said.
“Micah’s not the best at social stuff,” Piper admitted. “But this trip has been good for him in a lot of ways. It’s showing him that art is something he can share. That it’s a good way for him to connect with others.” She glanced at him. "So I guess we have you to thank for that."
He felt himself blush at this unexpected compliment. Given how embarrassed he had felt when she confronted him, he couldn't accept it. “Well, he’s got the talent part down," he answered, brushing off her remarks. "And Bitty’s niece doesn’t seem to mind about the social stuff too much.” He said this with a half-grin for the girl’s exuberant, one-sided conversation taking place a few yards away.
Piper laughed. “She doesn’t, no.” Propping her chin on hers hands, she gave him a long look. “What really made you answer Micah’s letter? It’s not something most people would bother to do. I’m curious why you took the time for it.”
The answer was one he knew, but didn’t feel quite ready to share. Instead, he shrugged and told her, “It just seemed like the right thing to do. He needed some encouragement—and a reason not to lose hope if his wish didn’t come true.”
This made her blush, he noticed. Referencing Micah’s wish for her perfect match, a knight-like figure appearing to rescue his mom from loneliness. It was easy to see why she didn’t want a stranger involved in something like that.
“You know,” he began, “I should have let you handle it instead. Sent you his letter or maybe—”
She shook her head, saying, “You meant to help. Besides, after I cooled off, I reread what you wrote. It wasn’t all that bad. He was right. You were nice.”
“So you think Dear Abby would approve, then,” Gavin joked, relieved she wasn’t angry about it anymore. At least, she didn’t have the same look as when she confronted him in the post office that day, glaring and defensive with a bone to pick.
