by Tiffani Lynn
I pay for my meal and walk toward the stairs. I do my best to ignore the group, but I can’t seem to help myself. I glance over one last time to see that he’s now staring at me, recognition in his expression. Quickly averting my eyes, I continue to and down the stairs, ready to catch a taxi back to the hotel. Then I spend the rest of the night lying in bed wondering what the ginger’s story is.
Devlin
How bizarre to see the woman from the beach at the same restaurant I’m at. It’s been a tough night. I haven’t been to a funeral since Briana’s and I’ll be damned if it didn’t feel like I was reliving hers all over again. It was at the same funeral home as hers and I swear the same people are working there. The only differences were the size of the coffin and the mood in the room. Everyone was sad to lose my grandma, but not destroyed. There were still small pockets of laughter as people stood around telling stories about her. There was more actual talking and less quiet murmuring, probably because she was eighty years old and Briana was only thirteen. Stories of a life well lived versus stories of a life not even fully begun.
Thoughts of Bri make my stomach turn unpleasantly. I take a swig of my beer and clear my throat. I’ve done my best for the last hour to be polite and make small talk with my family. Coming here was not my idea. In fact, I’d wanted to haul ass, but I knew it would make my mom happy so I just nodded when asked. Now I’m sitting between my uncle Joe—great guy, sarcastic dry humor, tough as nails, but heart of gold—and my uncle Harry, who can sometimes be cool but is mostly a horse’s ass. If someone is going to say something to offend someone, it will be him. If someone is going to bring up an uncomfortable subject, you guessed it, him. I avoid him like the plague but somehow, I got put in this position and can’t get out. Luckily my mom, my aunt Pat—Uncle Joe’s wife of 55 years, who has a heart of gold and a peace-keeper’s mentality—and my aunt Mary—who talks a lot, but is funny and positive—also get seated with us. Everyone else is at the two large booths nearby. Most of the conversation at dinner is centered around who came to the visitation tonight and who will be at the graveside service tomorrow. Then it shifts, as it always does, to Christmas dinner.
My hope was to be gone before Christmas, but my mom practically begged me to stay, and after all I’ve taken from her, I can’t take that too, so I’m staying. The women are talking about who is going to cook what, the men are discussing football, and my mind keeps wandering back to the woman from the beach. She was on the beach alone. She was at dinner alone. I wonder if she’s staying here alone. I’m kind of envious of her and the solitude she’s experiencing. I’d probably give my left nut to be sitting at a table alone right now or returning to a house or hotel alone. Instead I’ll be going back to my childhood room, which hasn’t changed a bit. With my trophies lining the shelves on the wall. A poster of the famous surfer Kelly Slater back when he was a teenager and had hair, and a corkboard of pictures of my high school friends. Most people I know think that going back home is comforting, encountering the same smells, the same furniture and decor, and the same people, but for me it’s a form of torture. Because I know that in the room next to mine is all of Briana’s stuff just as she left it the day we went to the beach together for the last time. The only thing my mom did was wash her dirty clothes and put them away. Other than that, she left everything as it was. I suspect she still goes in there and spends time; for her it’s a place of remembrance, a room stuck in time. For me it’s torture, thinking of all that she was and also what we missed because of that one moment in time.
Dinner is fine until Uncle Harry has one too many glasses of wine and mentions Briana on our way out of the restaurant. Everyone has avoided the subject all evening on purpose. They know why I don’t come home and I’m sure my mom threatened them to keep their mouths shut, but Uncle Harry lives by his own rules, especially when he’s drunk. He can’t seem to hold his tongue. It’s gotten him in more than one fight over the years, with strangers and friends alike.
“Briana loved Christmas,” he mumbles as we filter out the front door of the restaurant. Even for Uncle Harry that was random.
My dad grips Uncle Harry on the shoulder and squeezes. “She did, but we agreed not to talk about her right now.”
“Bullshit!” he shouts as he yanks out from under my dad’s grip. Uncle Joe and one of my cousins approach, ready to stop anything that might be coming. “I didn’t agree to anything. If y’all want to tiptoe around Dev, who by the way is a grown-ass man, be my guest, but I’m not going to. We’d still have her here if it weren’t for him!”
My mom gasps and my dad swings before anyone can react, catching Uncle Harry on the chin and sending him to the ground in a heap.
“Will!” Aunt Mary yells, shocked at my dad’s reaction. My mom rushes over to my dad to check his hand but he shrugs her off.
“Don’t ever talk about my son like that again,” he yells as he points at Uncle Harry, who is being helped up by the cousins. “You have no idea what you’re talking about and you have no reason to bring Briana into the conversation tonight.”
“You’re a dick!” Uncle Harry yells as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. My dad moves like he’s going after Uncle Harry again, making him flinch away. Uncle Joe and my mom grab my dad and pull him back. I need to stop this before it gets worse. We all have to see each other tomorrow at the funeral.
“Stop!” I shout, stunning everyone. “Uncle Harry’s right. It is my fault, but, Dad, you’re right too; he’s an ass for bringing it up right now.” I turn toward Uncle Harry. “You don’t think I live with the knowledge every day that she’s not here and it’s my fault? Well, I do. It’s why I haven’t been home in years. It’s why I won’t be back. But you’re an asshole for making this whole thing worse on my mom. She’s already dealing with losing her mother…your mother. Now you’ve opened those wounds and poured alcohol inside. What kind of man does that? Especially one who claims to love his sister and his family so much? You need to quit drinking and get your shit together. You’ve been starting crap in this family when you get drunk my whole life. Everyone else may be afraid to piss you off and say something but the gloves are off now. You need AA, Uncle, and you need to get a filter.”
With that, I spin on my heel and storm off toward the beach access in the dark. My dad shouts “Devlin!” My mom does the same. I pause and turn back, “I’ll be home in a little while. I need to cool off.” I raise my hand with a quick wave and walk away. When I reach the beach I pull off my suit jacket, tie, dress shoes and socks and leave them in a folded pile out of the way before I start walking. The air is a little cooler tonight, but my blood is still so hot from that altercation that it doesn’t bother me.
I avoided this beach for years and now here I am twice in one day. I’m a glutton for punishment, but I can’t fight the pull. There is no one on the beach tonight. Of course, it’s Christmastime at night so people have better things to be doing. There’s no moon tonight so it’s darker than usual close to the water. There are thousands of stars overhead and it would be peaceful here if it weren’t for the crash of the waves on the shore next to me.
All I can think about is Bri. Damn, I loved that kid. She could be a pain in the ass, just as any little sister could be, but mostly she was fun and light-hearted. Also smart as a whip and had the best giggle I’ve ever heard. Pictures of her run through my head on a reel and a tear slides out of my eye and over my cheek. My emotions are usually under lock and key. It’s part of what makes me a good SEAL, but tonight, being around family, my grandma’s visitation and spending time on the beach where I lost her are just enough to force the release of emotion again. A few more tears fall and I wipe them away. Finally, I roll up the bottoms of my slacks and wade ankle-deep into the surf. The water is cold this time of year, not as cold as the Pacific, which I’m used to, but cold enough I won’t be swimming.
I’m not standing there very long before I hear someone walking in the sand behind me. I turn to check them out and find the wo
man from earlier coming toward me. It’s windy so her hair is blowing all over the place. I don’t say anything; I wait for her to speak.
She walks up next to me and faces the water. It’s unsafe, when you think about it. A beautiful woman, who is curvy but small, out here alone after dark, approaching a large unknown man.
We stand there side by side, staring at the water. I wait to see if she will say anything first and eventually she does. “You’re here again,” she finally says quietly.
“Yeah, it’s been a long night,” I reply.
“Are you staying at a hotel here or something?”
“No, my parents live nearby. We just had a family blowout outside the restaurant and I needed a break.” I’m a little surprised that I’m sharing this much information because I’m not known for my communication skills. Once upon a time, conversing and communicating in general weren’t an issue, but after Bri died, I guess I stopped having things to talk about.
“That sucks. Are you okay?”
“Do you always talk to strangers on dark beaches?” I ask instead of answering.
“Nope. Never. You just looked really lonely standing here.”
“So you came to change that?” I turn toward her, my eyebrow lifted, wondering what her angle is.
“I just came to check on you. I think there’s something similar about us. I don’t know what, but I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I can leave you alone if you prefer.”
“No, because then I’ll worry about you walking this beach alone. At least I know I won’t hurt you.” I return my gaze to the sea; the only thing visible is the foam from the salt on top of the waves. The sound is soothing, just as it’s always been.
“Why are you out here alone?” I ask, wondering if she will answer.
“Couldn’t sleep. Figured the beach would be empty so it wouldn’t be a big deal. I lay down after dinner for a while, but I was staring at the ceiling so I thought I’d come out here.”
I glance at her. “How long are you here for?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. My car broke down on I-95 and Earl’s Auto is fixing it. When it’s done, I’ll be on my way.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Do you always ask this many questions to strange women on the beach?”
“Just making conversation.” It’s interesting that she’s not telling me where she’s going though.
“Have you done any sightseeing?” I figure she spent the day doing that.
“No, I just got here this afternoon. If my car isn’t ready tomorrow, I’ll probably spend the day doing that. Do you recommend anything specific?”
“The fort fires the cannon and that’s pretty cool. Also, I heard my cousins talking about the pirate museum. They said it’s pretty cool, but I haven’t been. That came in after I moved away.”
We go quiet for a long time after that, both of us just looking out into the dark night as the surf washes over our feet.
Finally, she says, “I’m going to head back and try to sleep. I hope things get better with your family.”
“I probably need to go back too; I’ll walk with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yeah, I do. It’s just who I am.”
“Well…thanks.” We walk in the direction of the big Embassy Suites and I accompany her all the way to the door.
“I appreciate you seeing me safely back to the hotel. Take care.”
“You’re welcome. You too.”
I wait until she disappears onto the elevator before I turn to leave. I have a weird sadness in my gut with her departure. It’s the first time in a long time I’ve had a conversation with someone that wasn’t based on family or any kind of expectation. The only person I could talk to about anything not surface-related is Wolf, my buddy from BUD/S—Navy SEAL training. But even that’s been a while. Occasionally I’ll see him and his wife, Caroline, in our local bar and we’ll shoot the shit and have a few beers, but an actual serious conversation? It’s been years. Although, I don’t leave myself open for those either. He was always good at reading me and knowing when the right time to talk was.
Once I collect my clothes, I call for an Uber and wait near the road. My mind is dead-tired and my body not far behind at this point. Who knew that funerals and family drama would be equal to a week of being out in the field on training exercises?
Lucianna
My sleep was restless last night. I kept waking up thinking of the man on the beach and the shadow of pain in his eyes. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of anyone else around me, cared what they were thinking or how they were feeling, so it’s odd to have that with a stranger. I’m curious about him. What makes a man like him stand motionless and stare out at the black ocean late at night? He appeared to be deep in thought, processing a lot. The fact that he was still in his dress pants should have tipped me off that there was something big going on.
It surprised me that he was such a gentleman, even walking me to the hotel and waiting for me to get safely in the elevator before he left. Most men don’t do those kinds of things anymore. Titus used to and probably still did, but I stopped paying attention a long time ago.
When the sun finally comes up, I slip on some leggings and a short-sleeve shirt before donning my sunglasses and pulling my hair back in a scrunchie. Then I grab a cup of coffee in the lobby and head for the beach. I must walk for a couple of miles before I decide to turn back because the sun is much higher in the sky than when I started. Although it’s windy, the air is fairly warm for this time of year and the briny scent that lingers in beach towns like this seems stronger today.
My phone rings and it’s my mom. I don’t feel up to having a conversation with her today. Not because I don’t love her, I do, but I’m not in the mood for a thousand questions and a bunch of pressure. Even being almost five thousand miles away, she still manages to be overbearing. It’s part of our culture. The mothers are all up in our business and constantly telling us how to live our lives, wanting the best for us, but at times it’s a bit much. In all fairness, my abuela, grandmother, was way worse than my mom. When I point out to Mamá that she is acting like Abuela, she usually settles down, but ever since I was shot, there has been no calming her down. In fact, I’m a little surprised she agreed to go to Italy and leave me here. Thank God my sister understood what I needed and put the pressure on from her side.
“Hola, Mamá!” I chirp, doing my best to sound happy and relaxed.
“Hija, daughter, don’t try to pretend everything is okay. I can tell it’s not. I’m your mother. You think I don’t know?”
“Know what? I’m good. I’m walking on the beach as we speak. The sun is shining, the seagulls are soaring overhead, the waves are crashing at my feet. You know how much I love the beach.”
She grunts. “Where are you?”
Crap. I don’t want to answer that. I should be north of Myrtle Beach by now. But just like when I was a kid, I still can’t lie to save my life. “St. Augustine. I heard it’s nice here at Christmas so I decided to check it out before driving north.” Not a total lie, I just omitted the fact that my car broke down. She would be panicking if she knew that, and I don’t want to ruin her vacation.
“St. Augustine? Really?” She doesn’t sound convinced that I chose this location.
“Yes, Mamá, you should see the lights. The entire town is lit up for the holiday, and it’s magical. If you go online and type in St. Augustine Christmas, you'll see some of it.”
“Nothing’s magical when you’re alone, hija. I don’t like you traveling by yourself.”
“Mamá! I’m an adult! I can take care of myself. Look, don’t be worried. I’m okay. I’m taking some time for myself. I’m in a nice town with nice people and everything is fine.”
“Dios Mío, hija. Oh, my God, daughter. You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Mamá, please enjoy your time with your other family and give them my love. I will check back in after a couple of days. I
love you.”
“I love you too, hija. Please be careful.”
We disconnect the call and I shove my phone in my back pocket and continue walking. My mind wanders almost immediately to my time standing on the beach next to the handsome man with the haunted eyes. What was he thinking so hard about, standing in the dark?
I finally reach my hotel and return to my room, take a shower and get dressed. Then I take an Uber to Earl’s Auto Shop.
When I get out of the Uber, I see the back of Earl’s sleeveless, faded flannel shirt and old baggy jeans, which I think he’s been wearing since the 1980’s, bent over the engine of a silver sedan.
“Hi, Earl.” He straightens and turns to see who is coming. I give him a little wave as I approach. He flashes his jack-o’-lantern smile at me and it strikes me that he’s probably lived a tough life.
“Hey there, Miss Luci. I have some bad news for ya,” he remarks as he wipes his greasy hands on a cloth he pulled from his back pocket.
“How bad?” I question as I pause and place a hand on my hip.
“Not terrible. The car can be fixed but the parts I need are delayed for a couple of days. They are coming in on a truck that’s stuck in a snowstorm in the Midwest.”
“Damn.”
“Sorry, girly. If I could get them here faster, I would. I called around and nowhere else has what I need any closer.”
Oh, hell. I glance around the parking lot and see my white Audi SUV sitting in a spot off to the side.
“She’ll be fine over there until we get the parts. Do you need to get anything out of her for now?”
I shake my head, disappointed that I can’t get back on the road. “No, I grabbed everything yesterday. Guess I’m going sightseeing today.”
“Good choice. Couple a good pubs down near the square.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Earl.” I smile at him and watch as the wind tosses his wiry gray hair around his face. “I’m gonna call for an Uber and head back. Can you call me when the parts come in so I have an idea of how much longer I’ll be here?”
