Page 39 of The Beachgoers
fourteen
— Then —
10 Years Ago
The Next Day in September
The Friend
THE WOMAN CROSSES THE LAWN to the front porch. Looking up at the gabled cottage, she slows her pace—but keeps walking, regardless. At the porch, she climbs one step at a time, holding the handrail and heading toward the big wooden front door. It’s closed tight. Even though the late-morning sun shines hazy, seemingly filled with the sweet salt of the sea, the house looks dark inside. On the porch, the woman sets a bag on a small table and tugs her lacy cardigan straight over her jeans. She appears to be in her late twenties. Her long blonde hair is twisted in a side braid; silver wire bracelets dangle on her wrist. It seems as though she prepped for this visit. There’s a little makeup on her face—mascara, some lip gloss. But none of it, not that makeup, or tended hair, can hide a certain sadness.
Picking up the bag, she walks to the front door, stops, clears her throat and knocks. A moment later, the door opens to a tall, older man inside. He looks to be in his fifties; his face is concerned, but weary.
“Lauren?” he asks upon seeing her.
She nods. “How are you, Mr. Barlow?”
“I’m okay.” He looks past her, then right at her face again. “You here to see Jason?”
Lauren shakes her head. “No. I’m actually here to talk to you.”
“To me?” Mr. Barlow asks as he steps out onto the porch. “Everything all right?”
“Yes.” Lauren briefly closes her eyes. “Well, no. You see,” she says, pulling something out of that bag she holds. “I painted this.” After looking at it for a long second, she gives it to Mr. Barlow.
“It’s beautiful,” he says. He’s holding a long piece of seaworn, pale brown wood. Dark grain lines cross it. But most noticeable is what’s painted on the wood: the rising moon in a deep blue sky. That silvery moon throws a swath of light onto the sea below. “Is this driftwood?”
“Yes. It’s what I do. Paint driftwood. That’s one of the few night seascapes I’ve done.”
“But I don’t understand. This is for me?”
She gives him a sad smile. “It was for your son. Neil. He was really taken with it, the way the moonlight falls on the sea. And I thought, well… it meant a lot to him and maybe you, well, it could stay here. Where Neil—”
“Thank you, Lauren.” Mr. Barlow lightly traces a finger over the driftwood’s grain. “It’s very thoughtful of you.”
She looks at the painting with him, and points to the beach’s tideline there. “I left that part unpainted. The wood’s natural shade of brown seemed the same as the night sand. But I added wisps of dune grass for depth.”
Neil’s father looks at her. And slightly nods.
“So anyway,” she tells him as her eyes tear up. “That’s why—”
“Listen.” The man glances at his wristwatch. “If you’re not busy, can you possibly stay awhile? For an hour or so?”
“Stay here?”
He nods. “My wife and Paige are out. They’re at the grocery story, then have to stop at the pharmacy, for Jason. And I’m late for an appointment. So it would help me out if you wouldn’t mind staying here until my wife or I got back.”
“Stay with Jason?” she whispers.
“Yes. So he’s not alone.”
Lauren takes a shaking breath. “I haven’t seen him yet. Since that day.”
“I understand. And he couldusea friend right about now.”
“Me?”
“Would you mind? If you’re not busy.” With that, Mr. Barlow opens the door and holds it for her to go inside.
