Dark Beach (2 page)

“It’ll be quick: fifteen minutes, tops.”

“It better be.”

He went through the drive-thru and pulled into a small parking lot packed with lunch-rush cars. Jenny climbed into the back with Kip, trying to help her tiny hands grip the cheeseburger.

“Mmm.”

“Good, huh?”

Kip’s blonde curls bounced as her burger slid out of its bun and plopped onto the beige car seat.
“Oops.” She giggled.

Jenny blotted at the red stain with the paper napkin,
pushing the burger back into the bun with her other hand.

The burger still looked good. Jenny bit into it—nausea. She tried to mask it with a sip of chocolate milkshake. “Gosh.”

“Mamma. More!”

“Here, have some apple.”

Fifteen minutes passed. The food was gone, leaving a lingering film of grease around her mouth. Jenny rolled down the window. “Ugh … Jesus.”

“Jeeeeesus.”

“Kip, don’t say that.”

Charlie barked, as if to agree.

Jenny concentrated on the line at the drive-thru, each car slowly inching by. The occasional driver glanced over at her. “What are you staring at?” she grumbled under her breath.

Charlie barked again.

“I hate this. Come on, let’s go inside. Mommy needs to use the bathroom.”

In the corner, Ron sat
with his feet up on one of the worn plastic chairs. He stared out the window, one ear to his cell phone, listening. Jenny sat across from him and motioned with open palms. “What’s taking so long?” she mouthed, not so quietly.

Ron gesticulated wildly for her to leave.

Turning, she grabbed Kip’s hand and stormed out, back to the car, slamming the door behind her. There was nothing to do except watch the cars, watch the clock, and tap.

“Unbelievable! Forty-five minutes.” She leaned back, tired from the aggravation.

Finally, Ron appeared and slid into the driver’s seat. “What’d you do that for? Why’d you come in? They could hear everything. Now I look like a fool.”

“Ron, you said fifteen minutes.”

“I told you, I can’t help this stuff. Now, please...”

“Please what … shut up?”

“No…” Ron shook his head and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to fight. Can we just stop?”

Jenny crossed her arms, already beginning to tune out. “Fine.”

The roads emptied as they exited Olympia, hitting the country highway west. The ominous clouds cleared and a ray of sunshine dashed through the windshield, flashing right in Jenny’s eye. She slid on her dark sunglasses and laid her blonde head back, drifting away to another place.

The water was murky, and she floated in it alone. There was no sky, just liquid warmth, tugging, directing her somewhere and nowhere at the same time.

She heard a roaring splash, and she flipped upside-down, sinking lower and lower, pressure increasing on every pound of flesh. Through the dark, it came—the whale, black and huge, long and
smooth. Her descent ended. Her body suspended. It opened its mouth and all she saw were bright-white, razor-sharp teeth.

Jenny gasped.

“Honey, what’s up?” Ron glanced over then returned his gaze to the road.

She ripped off her sunglasses,
a tear rolling down her cheek. “That dream—I had it again. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What?”

“The whale.”

“A whale?”

“It has teeth, hundreds of horrid teeth. It’s so awful.”

“I don’t think whales have teeth, maybe it’s a shark?”

“God, Ron! It’s a whale! It’s massive.”

“How long has this been going on for?”

“I don’t know, a few months … maybe.”

“It’s just a dream, honey. Don’t worry.”

“I have it almost every day, throughout the day. Like it’s lurking there, behind my eyes, behind my thoughts, in my breath—in me.”

Ron flicked the indicator on, checked his blind spot, and changed lanes. “I always have this dream that the dentist sits me in his chair, straps me down and removes too many of my teeth. And there’s the one where I’m falling and I land, and then I startle awake.”

“Let’s change the subject. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure there’s nothing else going on?”

Jenny put her sunglasses back on. “No. Not a thing.”

“Well, only another hour to go and then we’re there. Is there anything you need? I can stop at the next exit”—Ron pointed forward to a fast-approaching off ramp—“get you some tea, coffee, something sweet?”

“No.”

“I’m sort of hungry. I forgot to eat earlier. I was so wrapped up in that phone call. Would you mind if we stopped quickly?”

“Okay.”

They all piled into the cluttered quickie mart, Jenny refereeing Kip, who tried to pull everything of
f the shelves while Ron paid for his candy and chips.

“God, I love junk food; that’s one of my favorite parts about vacation.”

Beyond Ron’s chatter with the disinterested teenaged cashier, Jenny could hear a quiet, distant barking. Outside, a lanky man stood peering into the back of their car.

“What the...? Ron!”

Ron was still chatting—something about coastal weather patterns and La Niña.

The man just stood there, turning to stare into the quickie mart, right at Jenny. His face was shrunken, serious, and unshaven. In the back of the car, Charlie was going mental.

“Charlie!” Ron noticed the barking when it increased in volume. With a wave to the teen, he walked out to the SUV. Jenny bent down to pick up Kip, but stayed in the store.

“Who’s Daddy talking to?”

“I don’t know, honey.” She gazed at the man again, watching him gesture to the dog, and decided to go investigate.

“I used to have one just like him when I was a boy...” Jenny heard the man say in a hoarse voice as she approached.

“Well, we’ve had him a few years now. He’s a good dog.” Ron reached in through the back window to pat the dachshund.

Charlie barked.

“Come on. We must get going,” Jenny said, the noise getting to her.

The man just stared at the dog. “It was a sad day when we lost him.”

“Ron?” Jenny moved into his line of sight and raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, well, I’m sorry to hear that. We must get along now.” Ron followed Jenny around to her side and held the door open.

“He was a good dog… yes he was…” the man said again, shaking his head.

“Excuse me.” Jenny stooped and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Well, you folks enjoy Rocky Shores.” Leaning forward, the stranger put a hand on the roof and closed Jenny’s car door for her.

“Sure will,” Ron said, revving the engine. The man pulled his hand off the car as Ron let out the clutch and accelerated away.

“You told that guy our plans?” Jenny could barely contain her fury.

“No! Of course I didn’t”

“Mamma, man?” said Kip, pointing out the window.

“How did he know, then?”

“He probably saw our suitcases in the trunk. I mean, come on. There’s beach stuff back there and this is the main road out to the coast. Anyone can tell we’re on vacation.”

“He was looking
in our trunk? He looked totally psycho. How do you know he isn’t going to follow us?”

“He was just curious about Charlie. He didn’t mean any harm.”

“How do you know that? I have a bad feeling.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t be silly. I’ve been checking the rearview mirror. He’s not following us. People ask about Charlie all the time when we’re out, and you don’t bother with them.”

“Can we please not stop again? I just want to get there.” Jenny put her sunglasses back on and turned to check the mirror on her side.

“Yes. I’ll speed the whole way.”

She frowned at him. “Not with Kip in the car.”

“Okay, okay! Hey, can you open my candy bar for me? I’m driving here.” Ron tossed her a
Milky Way bar.

“Sure, may I have a bite?”

He laughed. “Now
you
want a bite?”

“Just a little one, please?”

“Okay.”

One bite turned into two.

“Come on! Come on!” Ron snatched it back.

* * *

They neared the ocean, billboards pointing the way to The Blue Sky Motel or recommending a spot for ice cream or kayaking. Under the cloudy sky, nothing looked appealing.

“You don’t think it’ll rain, do you?” She pulled her sunglasses off, folded the arms in, and placed them in the glove box.

“No. The forecast yesterday said partly cloudy and sunny.”

“Weathermen,” Jenny scoffed, “you know they’re only right half the time.”

“He’s half right. There are clouds.”

The billboards became even more worn as th
ey drove on. WHALE WATCHING blared at her. The bad image flashed again—a huge mouth opened, lined with pointed spears of teeth which formed around the road ahead, fading in and out even as Jenny shuddered and closed her eyes to avoid entering the malevolent maw.

“What?” Ron asked.

“Uh … just relaxing.” She fought the image away. One of her hands crept to her belly.

“Look!” Ron pointed
ahead to a sign that read ROCKY SHORES. “We’re here!”

“About time.” Jenny perked up. “I’m hungry again. I wouldn’t mind another smoothie
. Can we drive-thru some place?”

“Sure.”

There was no line this time. Jenny gulped down the thick strawberry ice. “This is good—just what I needed.” She scrunched up her nose, feeling the numb pain of an ice headache. “Maybe too good.”

The beach house cowered at the end of a long strip of road. It felt like an hour passed as Ron slowed down, crawling along to look at the other beach getaways, all different shapes, heights, and colors: yellows, creams, blues. Wooden sculptures—mostly seagulls, seals or ships—sat sun-bleached out front. Fences were made of buoys with rope. Old ship steering wheels studded the lawns. Most homes looked serene, as if they hadn’t been used in months, but a few teemed with people and cars.

“Aw, look at that one.” Jenny pointed to a circular, domed house.

“That’s a geodesic.”

“A geo what?”

“Geodesic—its shape and style.”

“Oh.”

“That one there is a partial spherical shell. See all the triangles.” He pointed. “Stress is distributed across the entire structure. What’s neat is it encloses the most volume for surface area. Although there are so many edges that sometimes they leak.”

“I’m lost.”

“The edges of all the triangles.”

“Oh.”

“They’re expensive to build, that’s why you don’t see very many of them. They look awesome.” Ron’s voice deepened.

“I’d like to go in.” Jenny wriggled in her seat, turning back to look at the geodesic house as they passed by.

Ron laughed. “Speaking of going in, do you have the key to the beach house?”

Jenny fumbled around in her pockets, her purse, under the seat. “Oh no,” she said, checking her pockets again, and then her purse—this time dumping the contents everywhere. “I don’t have it.”

“I don’t either.”

“Ron!”

“I was too busy looking for Charlie.”

Upon hearing his name, the dog barked.

“Me too. I was distracted.”

“Now what do we do?” Jenny asked, hands in the air. “We’ve come all this way. I don’t want to go back now. Jesus … and … well … crap!”

“Calm down. I’ve got this.”

“What? What are going to…?”

Ron wrenched the wheel into a fast, sharp right and the car coasted down a pebbled drive and slid to a halt in front of the beach house. He flung open the car do
or and hurried up the narrow grey wooden steps, almost tripping before steadying himself on the rickety rail. Kip still napped in the back of the car, open-mouthed, head slumped to the side.

I can’t leave her in here,
Jenny thought. No longer able to see Ron, Jenny hastily unbuckled her and scooped up the sleeping child, letting Charlie out of the back as she exited the car.

“These steps feel like they’re going to cave in any second,” Jenny called out to Ron, concerned.

There was no reply.

The dachshund whined at her feet. She looked up to see the tall, four-story beach house, topped with a hexagonal lookout, towering over her
and a single imported palm fighting the winds. “Neat. Ron, where are you?” Hearing a commotion brewing nearby, she followed the sounds.

The home was d
ue for a paint job—overdue. Grey paint peeled off like the scales of a gargantuan fish, more so on the deck than on the rest of the house. Jenny stopped to peel off a piece, flicked it away, and then stepped up to the newly blue-painted front door, deciding to try the silver knob—no luck. After rubbing a clean spot in the glass with one hand, she stuck her nose up to the small hexagonal window near the entranceway and looked in. She could see a hardwood hallway and a small white sign on the pale-blue wall. It read: “Fishermen are like the sea, rough around the edges, salty, and deep.”