Chapter 21 A LINE IN THE SAND
A LINE IN THE SAND
‘Nice toenails,’ said Lara as I kicked off my flip-flops and sat down next to her on one of the giant striped towels.
They’d been set out for the Sandy Balls soccer match that was happening today – an event I covered every year for Easterly Sports.
‘Do they have anything to do with this hangover I’m sensing? ’
She pointed at my enormous sunglasses, which I’d borrowed from Rosie under the guise of fashion. In reality, I’d chosen them because they managed to cover half of my face.
I groaned. My toenail-painting session with Finn had turned into a night of cider snuck from the drinks fridge and what we called ‘Wrong Karaoke’, where you made up deliberately terrible lyrics to whatever was playing.
I couldn’t for the life of me remember anything I’d sung, but I did have a sneaking suspicion that I owed Kate Bush an apology.
‘Finn and I had a big night,’ I explained, my voice hoarse.
Yep, I was definitely in debt to poor Kate.
And I probably needed to restock Rosie’s lavender painkiller bundles, which Mom was always getting into.
Her headaches were from stress and late work nights, which might actually be worse than hangover-induced ones.
I’d check with Soraya. She’d been a doctor before her career change into running an ice-cream parlour, and knew as much about healing through medicine as she did healing through chocolate syrup.
I groaned. The sangria and cider had seemed like a good idea last night, when I’d been flipping through Charlie’s record collection and – oh, that’s right – making up rude lyrics to ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’. Besides, as Finn had noted, the Sandy Balls match was a problem for future Molly.
Unfortunately, future Molly was now present Molly, and my head was pounding.
Lara raised a perfect eyebrow, her attention on a couple of visiting college kids as they set up the soccer goals on the sand, an endeavour that involved more trial and error than I’d expected.
‘Finn, hmm? So we’re leaning towards Finn in the game of Pick the Perfect Tucker Boy?’
I fiddled with a shell I’d found next to my towel. The college kids fumbled the PVC pieces of the goal they were working on and had to start over. ‘Maybe? I don’t know. He’s so easy to be around, and Rosie gave me a whole speech about why that’s important.’
Lara held out a tub of chopped watermelon. When I shook my head – ouch, bad idea – she took a piece for herself. ‘His mom gave you a speech about why her son being easy to be around is important?’
Even Rosie wasn’t that generous. ‘It was more of a general advice thing couched in stories about Charlie.’
‘That makes a bit more sense. I think. But?’ Lara took a bite from her watermelon as she cast an appraising eye over a guy jogging shirtless in the shallows. ‘I’m sensing there’s a but.’
‘Should there be something more than it being easy?’ The late-summer sun was biting at my shoulders, and I draped one of Alberta’s shawls around them to avoid burning.
Lara guffawed. ‘I hope not. What more could you possibly want?’
‘I don’t know … like Tiff and Damien. That’s clearly not easy. And yet they have something worth working for.’
‘Sure,’ said Lara. ‘And meanwhile she’s got a crush on the bookshop guy.’
She had a point.
‘So, how are things with Jack?’ I asked, as Lara waggled her fingers at the shirtless guy. ‘He seems like a catch.’
Lara balked as the shirtless guy pointed at the ring on his left hand.
‘Nope, not going there,’ she said, making a beat it gesture at the guy. Then she turned her attention back to our conversation. ‘I mean, sure. We’re having a good time.’
‘But it’s more than that, right?’ They’d been spending every spare minute together since the Summerween Festival. And they were staying together.
Lara let out a hoot so loud it scared a nearby seagull that had been nibbling on a discarded tray of French fries. ‘It’s never more than that. You know I don’t do relationships. Ugh, the thought of being answerable to someone.’
‘Ouch, who hurt you as a child?’
‘A gruesome parental divorce, remember?’ Lara said it lightly, but I knew the truth.
Her parents had separated when we were in middle school, and not amicably.
Lara’s dad had gone on to remarry three times, and her mom had decided to sit romance out for good, choosing instead to helm every non-profit board within a five-mile radius.
It was why she’d started spending Summerweens with us.
‘Yeah, but your parents are a unique case. They’re like Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling. There’s no one else out there like that.’
‘That does not make me feel better.’ Lara shrugged.
‘I dunno. It’s all so grim. Watching Tiff all googly-eyed over her internet boyfriend.
Seeing poor Rosie trying to come to terms with Charlie’s death.
At least your parents seem to have something good.
Even if your mom is the most Type A person I’ve ever met in my life. ’
Now it was my time to cackle. ‘So Type A. Thank goddess she didn’t pass it down to me.’
‘Super glad you missed that toxic trait.’ Lara grinned. ‘But yeah, this Jack thing is definitely just a fling. It’s the Lara Corman way. It’s better for everyone.’
‘So no feelings at all?’
‘In this stone-cold heart?’ Lara made a fist and tapped it to her chest. Although her gaze flickered away – hmm.
‘And if he catches feelings?’ I pressed.
‘Ugh.’ Lara made the expression of someone who’d just found a fly floating in their cardamom-spice latte. ‘I’ll just end it. I’m not going to pretend to be into some guy just to keep his ego all safe and protected.’
She rolled over to apply sunscreen, adding with a sing-song lilt to her voice: ‘Unlike some …’
I didn’t even have time to respond, because at that moment, Rosie, Mom, the boys and Tiff all showed up.
Mom carted a vast drink dispenser filled with some sort of fruity blend, and Rosie and Tiff were laden with towels and umbrellas.
The boys carried a cooler each, and were walking as far apart as possible down the boardwalk.
‘Wow, talk about human thunder-clouds,’ noted Lara. ‘What did you do, Miss Molly?’
‘Nothing,’ I promised. Though I hid my freshly painted toenails from view. ‘It was just some eighties karaoke. That’s it.’
‘Mm hmm. Hey, boys,’ she drawled, finishing up her sunscreen efforts. ‘I’m sensing there’s going to be some friendly competition today. May the best team – and the best man – take home the prize.’
Lara made a ta-da gesture in my direction, at which I managed to conjure a quick zap of magic that caused her umbrella to topple, covering her with its bright stripes. She squealed as she tried to fend it off.
‘Just ignore her,’ I said awkwardly, torn between the twin gazes of the brothers. Finn shrugged idly.
‘I’m not worried,’ he said easily. ‘I know my own power.’
He snapped his fingers, and a sand castle burst up from the ground around him, glimmering as he stepped through it and over to the ropes that marked the boundaries of the soccer pitch. A sandy crown gleamed on his head.
A couple of the college girls whooped at the sight, their phones flashing as they filmed their sand-covered prince approaching the pitch.
‘I think that says all you need to know,’ said Noah.
With a shrug, he went over to help out the college kids, who were still struggling with the goal.
Unlike Finn, who was happily flinging his magic all over, Noah helped them figure out the PVC pipes and attach the net manually.
Then he walked the boundaries of the pitch, making sure it was all in order.
‘Ugh, you can’t just magic your way out of a love triangle, Molly!’ Lara huffed, when she emerged from her umbrella situation. Which I’d admittedly hexed just enough to keep her nose out of my business for a minute or so.
‘Who said I was planning on doing that?’
Lara raised an eyebrow. ‘I meant the umbrella. But I guess you had something else in mind.’
I fiddled with my notepad, thinking. I hadn’t even thought of trying a love spell.
Love spells weren’t exactly uncommon, of course, but they were one of those things you were warned about.
They were up there with necromancy or fiddling around with gravity.
The results generally weren’t worth it: you ended up with all sorts of weird outcomes, and the police were almost always called.
Explaining why your dead cousin Boris was wandering around after being interred some fifty years before wasn’t much fun.
But my musings on love spells were interrupted by Mom, Tiff and Rosie, who had planted themselves on the towels on either side of us. They’d finally wrapped up the chit-chat they’d been having with Alberta, who opened late on Thursdays and was enjoying her usual stroll along the beach beforehand.
Alberta gave a wave and continued along the beach, her bangles jangling and the colourful scarf tied to her sunhat whipping about like a kite.
‘Who’s up for punch?’ asked Rosie, waving some melamine cups in our direction.
Rosie didn’t abide single-use plastic, and refused to purchase anything that was packaged in anything other than paper or tin.
Fortunately, Whisperwind Cove on the whole agreed with her.
Pretty much everything here was designed to be reused or composted.
‘Hair of the dog, Mol,’ said Lara, giving me a nudge. ‘Make hers a double,’ she added, making a more, more gesture as Rosie filled a cup. Lara passed the brimming cup to me, barely avoiding spilling it. ‘Here you go, babe.’
Mom absently took a similarly full cup, managing it handily as she typed an email on her phone with her free hand.
Tiff politely grabbed a half-serving, using the sand as a cupholder as she pulled out her current paperback – one that she’d purchased from Leon the other day.
Lara and Rosie giggled as they filled each other’s cups, then chugged a solid half of their drinks before plonking down on their seats.