Chapter 15 #3
So instead I told her that when we got married, I’d buy her a beach house in Rhode Island.
We had vaguely discussed getting engaged. There were veiled talks about the future, but this was different.
There wasn’t anything special about Rhode Island; neither of us had ever been. But when she turned to look at me, her eyes bright, I knew it meant almost as much to her as if I’d told her what she wanted to hear.
“With a yellow door?” she asked.
“You can have a yellow door,” I said.
“And a wraparound porch.”
“I’ll build it if we can’t find a house with one.”
We went on dreaming about the house and what it would look like. The tension from our fight resolved, and the rest of the night was good.
From then on, when we’d fight, or when I could see that Abby needed that emotional reassurance from me, we’d talk about our Rhode Island beach house.
It became a code phrase. A way for Abby to know that I cared so much about her and I wanted a future with her.
A replacement for “I love you” until I could say it.
And I promised her that one day I’d say it, and I wouldn’t use our code words forever.
I broke that promise.
For her to bring up a beach house right now, that knowing smile on her face… She remembers. I don’t know why I thought she would forget, but she didn’t.
“Yeah, it’s not Rhode Island, but it’ll do, I guess,” I say.
Our knuckles brush as we approach the water. The waves lap at our ankles. When she looks up at me, her eyes have a dreamy, unfocused look to them.
“Have you been?” she asks.
“To Rhode Island?”
She confirms with a nod, and I do the same.
“I’ve had a few clients there.”
“Is it nice?”
“Gorgeous,” I say.
Clear as day, there’s a flicker of sadness on her face. The ache of loss for the future we never had thrums in my chest, and I have to look away from Abby. The shame of my choice weighs on me.
Abby walks closer to the water. The air is salty, the wind picking up that specific beachy smell—sun-warmed sand, seaweed, and the coconut from Abby’s sunscreen.
It makes me forget for a moment that I’m at a house I’m working on as a contractor and not just a boy on the beach with a girl he has a crush on.
As Abby wades closer to the water, the waves splash over her ankles and then up to her calves. She yelps with each rush of water over her legs.
“Oh my gosh, look,” Abby says, pointing to the sand as a wave recedes. She scurries up a few steps and leans in to grab something, but as she does, the swell of a wave comes right toward her.
“Abby!” I shout and launch myself at her, grabbing her at the waist and twisting around and picking her up, lifting her so the wave hits the backs of my legs and doesn’t nail her straight in the face.
She screams, but it’s almost a laugh, and when I set her down, we assess the damage. I’m wet from the waist down, at least on the back side.
She holds up a pink, perfectly shaped shell, eyes sparkling, childlike joy radiating from her smile. I take a mental picture of this moment. I never want to forget this look on her face. I’m greedy for more. More of her wonder, more of her joy.
“I saved your ass,” I say, pointing a finger and stalking toward her. “That shell is mine.”
Abby yelps and starts to run from me, but even with the resistance of the sand, I catch her easily, ignoring a throb of pain in my knee.
She’s clutching the shell to her chest. I wrap both arms around her from behind, trying to pry her fingers off the shell.
She squeals and squirms, which makes it difficult.
She changes tack, holding the shell out in front of her, and I reach, almost getting my fingers around it, before she snatches it back, quick as lightning, stuffing it in the pocket of her shorts.
“Oh, like that’ll stop me,” I say, pinning her arms down to her sides with one arm and attempting to get into her shorts pocket with the other, but she’s squirming and bucking against me and I can’t quite get there. She laughs and gasps for air, but doesn’t seem to want to give up.
“Give it up, Ashe!”
“No! Finder’s keepers!”
She wiggles one arm out from under mine and starts slapping one of my arms and kicking me with her legs, so I use both hands to pin her arms again. I use my center of gravity to lower us to the sand. I kneel behind her with her legs tucked in between mine, squeezing to keep her legs from moving.
Pinning her arms with one hand again, I go for her pocket, but she bends at the waist, shoving her ass right against me.
I’m momentarily distracted by the way she feels against me, and she uses that to her advantage, whipping around and out of my arms. She untangles one leg from mine, and then my brain comes back online.
I release her and let her crawl away. She runs for her shoes, snapping them up and turning to stick her tongue out at me.
I let her get a head start and go after her, grabbing my shoes on the way in.
When I catch up to her, she’s standing at the back door to the house, waiting for me. I walk casually, to make her think I’m not chasing the shell anymore.
“I didn’t want to get sand in the house. Is there a foot shower thing to rinse?” She holds out a leg, her foot and most of her leg covered with sprinkles of sand.
“Yeah, it’s just over here,” I say and drop my shoes and phone by the back door. I tilt my head to gesture. She furrows her brow but follows my lead, dropping her own shoes next to mine.
I walk her closer to the edge of the pool, making it look like I’m heading toward the grill.
“Do you have your phone on you?” I ask.
“Left it in the truck, why?”
I whirl on her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and throw both of us into the pool.