The Beach In Winter

by Pike, Leslie

  “I’m sure Sam would love to have you come to the house. You could stay the night if your parents okay it.”

  I’m not sure what I expected in response, but it wasn’t this. He gets this pained look on his face. Before I have a chance to respond, he turns and walks away. My jaw drops as I watch him blend into the crowd and disappear around the corner.

  “Scarlett!”

  I turn to see Mrs. Clark.

  “Hi. I was just headed to your office,” I say.

  “I thought I’d head you off. We’re going to go to Mr. Paladino’s office. He’d like to speak with you.”

  “The principal?”

  “I asked for his input. This way,” she says guiding me to the last door on the right. His name is on the plaque hanging over the doorway.

  “Here we go. He’s expecting us.”

  She knocks and opens the door without waiting for an answer, allowing me to enter first.

  I kind of feel like I did back in nineteen ninety-six when I got sent to the principal’s office for laughing at Scott O’Neil’s jokes in class. It was the fact I couldn’t stop that sealed my fate.

  A younger than I imagined nice-looking man sits behind a modest desk. On the walls are pictures of Teachers of the Year.

  “Miss Grace. So happy to meet you,” he says rising and extending his hand.

  We shake. I think I recognize the look he’s giving me. It’s subtle but unmistakable. He likes what he sees. Sorry guy. I am otherwise engaged. But it won’t hurt to have Sam’s principal in our corner.

  “Nice to meet you as well, Principal Paladino. What’s this about?”

  “Sit. Please.”

  I take a seat and he and Mrs. Clark follow.

  “First of all, let me say I’m aware of your situation. It must be an overwhelming time for both you and Sam.”

  “Thank you. Yes, I’m new at it all. But we seem to be settling into our new normal.”

  “We understand it’s a process, but we just want to make sure you’re aware of some of Sam’s behaviors.”

  Uh oh.

  “And we also want to make sure we’re all on the same page, working together to make this transition as smooth as possible,” Mrs. Clark says.

  An uneasy feeling begins to rise.

  “What’s this about?”

  Mr. Paladino has a compassionate look on his face as he lays it all out.

  “The last day of school, before Thanksgiving break, Sam was walking with some boys in the corridor and bumped into a teacher. It was Mrs. Rogers, who teaches seventh grade.”

  “Yes,” I say waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “He started laughing and didn’t offer an apology. So she stopped him and let him know it was unacceptable.”

  “Well good. She did the right thing. I will definitely speak with him.”

  Mrs. Clark pats my hand. “That’s not all.”

  “Sam’s response was to tell her to fuck off.”

  I feel my face turning red. And I’m remembering saying fuck with him in my sister’s room. At my request.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Are you sure that’s what was said?”

  The principal stares at me like he must have a hundred other parents who doubt their sweet children could be guilty.

  “Yes. Many people heard it.”

  “I’m shocked. Sam barely talks at home. He’s mostly to himself. I work at engaging him every day. Really I do.”

  “I’ve no doubt you’re doing a good job, Miss Lyon. It’s such unusual traumatic circumstances. We need to work together here.”

  “Yeah, of course. What was his punishment? He never stayed after school that I was aware of anyway. I pick him up every day.”

  “We went another route. We had him meet with Mrs. Rogers and myself. We told him his behavior was unacceptable and would only be excused one time. We made sure he knew it was because we were mindful of his loss and its effect. He apologized and there were tears.”

  My shoulders slump with the image of the scene. Suddenly I’m tired, and it’s only two o’clock.

  “We want to keep you abreast of what we’ve noticed as far as Sam’s concerned,” Mrs. Clark says.

  “I need to know. Is there more?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since his return to school, his grades and compositions have reflected the harsh reality of his situation. He used to like writing stories and was a better-than-average student. But now there’s been changes. He does the bare minimum and sometimes less than that. Nothing we’ve done has made an impact. Do you work with him on his homework?”

  Shit.

  “Uh, he’s never asked me for help. I ask if he’s done his homework and he always says yes.”

  I hear how stupid that sounds as soon as the words leave my mouth.

  “And he’s gravitating toward new friends. Boys that he never befriended before. He’s ignoring the ones he had and trying to blend in with kids that are, well let’s just say troubled. Even in eighth grade Scarlett there are children on the wrong path or headed in the wrong direction. Those are the ones he’s seeking out,” Mr. Paladino says.

  Now I see why Pete looked sad. Sam’s abandoned the friendship.

  “He’s always been such a great kid,” Mrs. Clark says.

  “He’s never asked for my help. I just assumed he was handling everything. Oh God, I should have watched closer.”

  They both make appropriate responses that I’m not to blame, and that the important thing is we proceed together as a unit. But I’ve dropped the ball. I see it now.

  * * *

  All the way home and into the house, I’m trying to form a plan. I didn’t expect this sort of thing to come up so soon. If at all. Shouting expletives in grammar school seems so aggressive. But what do I know? I’ve been too busy taking charge of a thousand new jobs that don’t really matter. The cooking, the house, making sure he’s wearing clean clothes. There wasn’t time to look deeper.

  It’s taken every day being in this strange world to be aware of just the things on the surface. There’s so much information to take in. I don’t want to react too quickly and get it wrong. I’ve got to get this first disciplinary stance right.

  But if Sam’s really spiraling and hanging with shady kids that influence him there isn’t time to wait. And am I too quick to blame the other boys? It’s his own decisions that shape his life. My mother said that to me many times when I’d get cornered and try to blame my behavior on someone else.

  Her and my father’s words have played in my head over and over the last few months. You never know how deep-seated they are till you have a child to care for. My god. I’ve got a child.

  I need to get in the shower and wash away the dread. A brilliant idea occurs to me as I’m unbuttoning my pants and walking into the bedroom. Parish. I need his input. And not just verbally. In the back of my mind I hear Luther Vandross crooning Sexual Healing. I hereby declare it my new theme song. Clearly I’m a pervert.

  Grabbing my cell, I sit on the edge of the bed and make the booty call. He answers on the second ring.

  “It’s been five days since I’ve seen you naked,” he says with a serious tone. “Are you intentionally trying to kill me?”

  “Do you think you could come over? I’ve already got my pants off.”

  His answer is to disconnect.

  I kick off my shoes and strip off my pants but leave on my red thong. As I pass the mirror I fluff my hair and unbutton my shirt just far enough to show some lace.

  By the time I get to the slider, he’s jogging across the sand. He’s without coat or shoes, even though it’s fucking freezing. Not a minute was wasted getting his ass over here. I like watching when he doesn’t know I’m looking. There’s an awful lot to admire. The short-sleeved T-shirt showcasing his biceps and strong forearms is just one of them. Hubba hubba.

  I think he’s been lifting weights because they’re bigger than a few months ago. And I believe he’s healthier than those first days. The excessive
drinking and the cigarettes both were taking a toll. The difference in his face and eyes is obvious. But within, where it really counts, must be renewed. Please God make it so.

  He takes the steps two at a time. His cheeks are red with the cold and his nipples are hard. He looks up at me waiting and smiles. Thank you baby Jesus for this vision.

  “Get your ass in here, it’s freezing!” I say opening the slider just enough for him to step inside.

  He wraps his icy arms around me, drawing me against him.

  “Oh! You’re so cold!” I let out a squeal.

  “Kiss me warm,” he says putting his icy nose against mine. Then his lips take the kiss.

  Lord.

  “Come with me.” I crook my finger and head down the hallway.

  “You’re inviting me into the inner sanctum?”

  “And into my shower. Would you like to wash my back?”

  When I turn around he’s already removed his shirt, and he’s working on the pants. He sees my surprised expression and chuckles.

  “It’s been five long frustrating days and nights. You think it’s easy going without you?”

  There’s no answer for that rhetorical question, but it feeds my soul. It’s so powerful to feel the same. I could hardly stand not being with him.

  He isn’t wearing his boxer briefs today. And as his jeans slide down to reveal his already-hard cock I find myself biting my lip. We come together in an embrace. He takes my face and kisses me with meaning. This is no fast and furious run at each other.

  I melt into the softness of his full lips and feel his hands move down my back. They land squarely on my ass, which is a great place to start. Pulling me against his body I feel him hard against me. He kisses my neck and his eyes travel south to the first button blocking his path.

  “Let’s get rid of this,” he says using his hands to take the offending shirt off. He drops it to the floor.

  “My silk and laceable you.” He smiles.

  I reward the comment with a kiss.

  “As much as I love the red, the lace, your hot body wearing it, there’s nothing more beautiful than seeing you naked.”

  He takes both straps of my demi bra and slides them off my shoulders. It stays in place. His index fingers trace along the edges of the cups, and goosebumps rise on my skin.

  “Let me see,” he says softly.

  I undo the back clasp and drop the bra. My nipples are erect, waiting for his mouth. He sucks on one then the other and runs his hands over my breasts like a sculptor feeling his masterpiece. It’s almost reverent.

  My fingers reach for his cock and I play with the length of him.

  “Let’s get in the shower,” I say.

  “Let’s take off the thong.”

  I strip down to my birthday suit and the look on his face makes me giggle.

  “I can’t help it,” he says grinning.

  Then he picks me up in his arms and carries me into the bathroom. He sets me down gently and kisses my neck, right under my ear.

  Opening the glass door, I turn the water on and test its temperature. He turns me back around to face him, and a kiss so perfect it should be taught in school passes between us. When our lips part I hear his soft moan. How wonderful a sound can be.

  I step into the shower, toes flinching as they touch the cold tile floor. Back turned to the faucet thousands of warm drops trickle over my hair and down my back. A lively stream trails off my nipple, where Parish’s eyes have settled.

  He steps inside and puts his hands against the wall on either side of my body. Water washes over him. Wetting his hair, trailing down his face, even on his tongue as it follows the stream of water from my hair to the breast to the tip of my nipple.

  I’ll always remember this moment. The visual perfection. This ethereal state of mind.

  Kissing his way to my lips in sweet slow motion, my body naturally arches against his. Here under the water, with the sunlight coming through the little window, I sense something. There, only visible in the distance. It’s behind his eyes and hidden within the sound of his voice. It’s in every small piece of him, and it begs for acknowledgment. But before I can put name to feeling, I get lost in his touch.

  Chapter 11

  Parish

  Eyes closed, stretched out on the couch, I can’t stop thinking about the state of things. Sometimes in life you can feel the shift as it happens. One day you’re this version of yourself and the next someone you hardly recognize shows up. It’s happening to me.

  You hear people say good things come to those who wait. Maybe that’s what’s going on. My wait was so long and heartbreaking, the gods rewarded me with a woman like her. Because of Scarlett I feel like nothing is going to be the same anymore.

  The writer in me tries to find the right words to describe what’s occurred. I’ve whittled lit down to two sentences. I was lost. She appeared.

  But the realist in me isn’t completely dead, and he’s got a few questions. Where’s this going? Could she bear my sorrow and hers? I shouldn’t even be asking myself that when we’ve only just begun to know each other. Two and a half months is a ridiculously short amount of time to…to…to conclude how effortless it would be to love her.

  I’ve been avoiding that word. On the other hand, it seems I’m only stating the obvious.

  All these years and it’s the first time I’ve cared enough about someone to look toward the future. Other than early relationships, the ones before I had a child, my heart has steered clear of attachments.

  What I feel with her deserves a finer definition. Soulmate. I’m beginning to understand the concept.

  This is new territory. And I’m a blind broken man traveling through. What do I have to offer when my emotional state requires so much attention? A man needs to be able to have a steady strength for his woman and be able to protect.

  That last one I can do. It’s the first part I’m worried about.

  And then there’s Sam. Just his piece of the puzzle is a lot to consider. First off, they’re moving to Montana next year. I don’t even have a full year. Maybe eight, nine months. If I want things to progress with Scarlett I need to know and want to take on the child. It wouldn’t be right to build a deeper relationship with the boy only to have it lost. And who knows if she’s even going to succeed in her new role?

  Fuck. My head is throbbing with unending questions. I need an aspirin.

  Eyes open to the dappled light streaming in the windows. The fog cleared while I dissected my life. If only my emotional mist would do the same.

  A long sigh escapes as I rise, adjust my package, and head for the kitchen cupboard. While retrieving the Bayer bottle I look out the window. There’s a group of boys walking along the shore toward the caves. I think Sam’s among them. The red jacket’s hard to miss.

  Grabbing the binoculars from the timeworn rattan basket, I take a closer look. The stiff winds are making the boys hold their coats close. There’s four of them, two older. Sam looks out of place. But it seems he’s trying to fit in because one of the kids passes an e-cigarette to him and he takes a long unnatural pull. A steady stream of vapor trails from his mouth. It looks like it’s never going to stop. Shit.

  He’s trying to walk like they do. I only notice because it’s so unlike his own short steps. He hasn’t had his first big spurt of growth. But he’s trying on their lazy gait and long steps. All of them look like they studied at the same school populated with unimpressed teenagers. Devoid of energy or enthusiasm, life’s tired them already.

  A blurry figure passes quickly in front of my lenses. It’s too close to see who, so I adjust the distance. Scarlett. She’s trying to catch up with the boys and it looks like it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Her coat’s bunched in one of her hands. She didn’t have time to put it on. Can’t help noticing the bouncing boobs.

  Without any thought, I put the binoculars down, grab my hoodie and head for the door. She may need my support. Grabbing my dark glasses and a handful of butterscotch’s I�
��m out within seconds.

  I take the steps down to the sand and start for the retreating figure. The boys are almost around the jutting cliff.

  “Scarlett!”

  I try getting her attention, but between the roar of the sea and the howling wind there’s no chance. Now that she’s on the hard sand next to the crashing waves it’s impossible.

  When she gets close to disappearing from my view, I step up my pace. Just as she’s about to make the turn I give it one more attempt.

  “Scarlett!”

  She hesitates then turns around to find me waving. It only takes a minute to catch up.

  “Hey! Wait up,” I say taking the last few steps to her side.

  “Oh good. I’m glad you saw me.”

  “What’s going on?”

  This frustrated expression passes over her face.

  “I’m not sure but some fuckery is happening. Did you see the boys?”

  “Yeah, I was watching through the binoculars. I haven’t seen those kids before.”

  She starts walking and motions for me to follow.

  “I want Sam back at the house. I don’t know those boys and I told him he couldn’t go.”

  I make the appropriate concerned face. “That’s not good.”

  “I need to make a stand, otherwise he’s gonna walk all over me for the rest of our lives.”

  “I’ll be your backup in case he makes a run for it,” I tease.

  She gets serious. “It’s not funny, Parish. I’m his protector now.”

  She’s right. And I can see what a good one she’s going to make.

  We round the edge of the landmass and come face to face with the problem. Problems plural. The four boys stand in the entry to a shallow cove, lighting a blunt. Their flame protected by the rocky walls.

  “Sam!” Scarlett yells over the ocean’s roar.

  All eyes turn toward us, but only Sam’s look spooked. The other boys aren’t bothered in the least, even though one of them is as young as Sam. These kids’ faces tell a story. The adults don’t hold any power over them.

  Scarlett walks right up to the group without hesitation. I’m holding back a bit, just to show them who’s in charge here. But Sam’s eyes dart to me. Think he’s embarrassed I’m seeing this whole scene.