Page 99 of Our Last Resort

But there was no time on the first day. Not after driving out, missing our exit a couple of times on the highway, unpacking, and going to the grocery store. (“Do we have to go now?” I asked, desperate to make it to the beach. To which Gabriel replied: “Do you want to eat tonight?”)

After dinner, once Gabriel and Annie went to bed, I walked down our empty street. It was quiet, dark, stunningly suburban.The good people of Spring Lake kept the most beautiful lawns I had ever seen.

On the streets of Spring Lake, I was alone. The quietude was broken only by the slap of my flip-flops against the sidewalk. I crossed a small park, walked over a bridge, made a right turn, went a few more feet.

And there it was. The ocean.

I got closer. Removed my flip-flops, stepped onto the sand. I registered its grit between my toes, the way in which it yielded under the arches of my feet.

I felt like the only person on earth. By myself on the darkened beach, the moon glowing just for me. The ocean was calm; it produced only small waves, accompanied by faint lapping sounds.

I walked to the edge of the water, let it lick my feet. My toes flexed. I waded farther in, up to my knees.

Out of nowhere, I was pulled in. The water had seemed so flat, so peaceful—I didn’t expect it to drag me forward. As quickly as I could, I retreated to the shore.

But I wasn’t done. Absolutely not.

I wanted more of it. A real swim, a full beach day. I wanted waves and seagulls. I wanted to nap in the sun, read a book, get sand stuck in its pages.

The next day, I was ready.

“Beach?” I asked after Gabriel wrapped up a call with Howard.

“Let’s do it,” Annie said.

We lugged three beach chairs up from the basement and carried them, backpack-style, to the sand.

“We can sit here,” Annie said, pointing to an empty patch next to the lifeguards’ giant chair.

A problem suddenly occurred to me.

We’d brought things with us. Wallets, books, phones. And in order to go into the water, we’d need to leave those things behind.

“Go ahead,” I told Annie and Gabriel. “I’ll look after our stuff.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that here, Frida,” Annie said.

Technically speaking, I knew that was true. I’d seen our fellow Spring Lake residents. It didn’t take a detailed examination to confirm that Gabriel and I were the most broke people in a ten-mile radius. Well,Iwas—Gabriel’s status had of course changed when he’d married Annie. Still. Whatever we had, it was hard to imagine that anyone in town would find it worth stealing.

Yes, and. There are fears you can’t intellectualize. Old reflexes you let go of only when the world has shown you, over and over again, that you are safe.

I wasn’t there yet. My phone, my wallet, my credit card, even my ID: They all felt infinitely precious to me.

Gabriel considered me, then the ocean.

“You’ve got your book, right?” he asked.

I pulled it from the pocket of my chair-backpack. Out of the two of us, Gabriel was the more voracious reader, but I wasn’t too far behind. That book—I still remember it—was a novel calledThe Beginner’s Goodbye.It was about a man with a sister and a dead wife, and I didn’t know to find it foreboding.

“Yup,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

Gabriel gave his bride a gentle nudge. They walked toward the water.

I’d read five pages ofThe Beginner’s Goodbyewhen a shadow fell on the paper, along with fat drops of water.

“Come on,” Annie said, out of breath. “It’s really fun in there.”

“I’m good.”

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