Page 150 of Here & There

“What’s the first?” Nate asks.

“I’ll give you one guess.”

“Do you know how Shelby and I met?” I asked Annie on the boat ride down.

She’s the only person I know who hasn’t questioned why Shelby jumped into the water. “I can relate with wanting to ghost my own life,” she says.

By the time Stu reaches the beach, I’m sweating, and not just because I’m wearing long-sleeved flannel in the middle of summer.

The beach Deanie took Shelby to has to be the most popular beach in the whole damned city. It’s packed cheek to jowl with attractive sunbathers. Music carries from several spots over the water to where we stand out on the deck of Stu’s boat.

I text Deanie.

MAC: Are you serious?

DEANIE: As a sunburn.

I want to tell her sunburns aren’t always that serious. That this is the most important moment of my life—a heart attack would be the better metaphor. Then I realize I’m freaking out. I take a breath and type again.

MAC: Where are you?

DEANIE: Yellow umbrella. Shelby’s in a red bathing suit, looking like a sad million bucks.

I squint across to the beach. We couldn’t get all that close since Stu had to follow harbor rules.

Then I spot them. Two little stick figures about halfway up the beach. Shelby’s reading a book; Deanie’s standing up and stretching, not-so-subtly waving.

MAC: Okay. Now.

My stomach churns.

“You sure about this, MacGregor?” Stu asks.

“Yup,” I say. That’s not entirely true. I’m sure about Shelby. I’m sure about doing anything to get her back.

On the beach, I see Deanie sitting down on the lounge chair next to Shelby. I see Shelby lowering her book and propping her hand over her eyes.

I’m just not sure this is going to do it. But a man can pray.

A man can also lift those praying hands up and point them into the air.

And he can dive into the Pacific Ocean, fully clothed, on a hope and a goddamned prayer.

Chapter 36

Shelby

Istand up, wanting to laugh. “That’s not him.”

“Shelby, who the hell else dresses like that? And in the summer?”

I watch, agog, as the man in the red flannel and jeans does a beautiful arcing dive off the side of the boat way out there, landing in the water with next to no splash.

Diving seems like something Mac would be good at.

I nearly trip on one woman and accidentally step on a bag of someone’s chips as I walk down the beach, picking my way around the crowd. “Sorry,” I say, grimacing. But my eyes aren’t on my path of destruction.

They’re on him.

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