1476797854 by Ariel S. Winter

Author:Ariel S. Winter [Winter, Ariel S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria/Emily Bestler Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

13.

MARY MOVED BEACHSTONE’S workbench down to the cabana piece by piece. Beachstone seemed to thrive living closer to the ocean. The cabana had everything he needed—a bathroom, a work space, shelter—and when Mary asked about a bed, he said that he was fine sleeping in a chair. In fact, Mary realized, Beachstone was barely sleeping at all. She worried about that given his weak health, but all he wanted was his tools, his computer, his parts. Kent allowed her to take things out to him, a sort of silent approval. But Mary was to spend the nights in the house. She accepted these terms in order to keep Beachstone at Barren Cove. Father would have wanted it that way. She wanted it that way. Beachstone seemed unconcerned.

One day, Beachstone was sitting in a chair at the edge of the open cabana door watching the ocean when Mary arrived. The sky was unmarred by cloud or bird. A faint breeze blew, just enough to offset the heat. “Hello,” Beachstone said as Mary stepped into the cabana with his lunch.

“Are you all right?” Mary said, concerned, so used to seeing him working.

He held his hand out to her. “More than all right.” He waved her over. “Come.” She came to him, and he pulled on her wrist. She realized that he wanted her to sit in his lap.

“I’ll crush you,” she said.

“No, you won’t.”

“I will,” she said, sitting anyway, relearning what he had taught her so long ago without even knowing, to ignore what her logic told her in order to meet his needs. Or her own.

He took the sandwich from the plate in her hands and began to eat. “I feel good,” Beachstone said. Neither of them mentioned Kent or Beachstone’s exile. They looked at the ocean as Beachstone ate.

“Many people have never seen the ocean,” Mary said.

“That’s true.”

“That’s sad.”

Beachstone ate. Then he raised his legs as best he could and pushed on her. “Okay, you’re right—you’re crushing me.”

Mary got up. “I told you I was too heavy.”

“You’re right,” Beachstone said, smiling.

“It’s not funny. I liked sitting on you.”

“What do you mean, ‘you liked’?” Beachstone said, still smiling, but then the sound of a wave crashing filled the silence after the question, and his smile faltered. He looked at the water. “Let’s go swimming,” Beachstone said. He stood up and grabbed her hand again and started to pull.

“Wait,” she said, reaching to put the plate down on the table.

“Come on,” Beachstone said, still pulling.

Mary allowed herself to be dragged. “You just ate,” she said.

“So?”

“You’re not supposed to swim after you eat.”

“No one ever told me that.”

“It’s common knowledge,” Mary said.

“No one ever told me.” They were in the water now, the waves fighting against their feet as they dragged themselves into the ocean.

Mary was able to access every time she had ever gone into the ocean—every time with Beachstone, and when she had gone into the water two weeks before with the two young boys. Now the sun was directly overhead. The surface of the water seemed to remain still, the water’s motion coming from below.

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