Page 7 of The Beachgoers
four
— Then —
10 Years Ago
The Next Week in August
The Breakup
HOW ARE WE GOING TO make this work?”
After he asks the question, after the guy runs his hands through his rain-damp hair, silence fills the shadowed, musty back room in Foley’s. Silence seems easier than answering. Especially after the shocking, impatient—almost violent—past few minutes. The way the guy jimmied the lock on the door of this long-empty cottage. The way he paced the old teen hangout room. The way his hand swept across the dusty jukebox, the unplugged dorm-sized fridge. The way he flung a set of drumsticks against a far wall.
“You left. Fordays,” the woman quietly says. She’s leaning against the wall beside the jimmied door. A wide black headband holds back her wet hair. She’s breathless—her chest rising and falling—after running through a cloudburst from the beach to this illicit space. “Ilookedfor you, Neil, all over Stony Point. I even went to that flip cottage and found your father there. Instead ofyou.” She turns up her hands in the shadowed room. “I thought you let me go.”
“No. I had to think things through—thinkusthrough. And Idid.” Neil walks closer to her. His jeans are damp at the cuff; a leather journal shows in the kangaroo pocket of his pullover sweatshirt. He peels that sweatshirt off and tosses it on the pinball machine. Though probably in his late twenties, Neil’s seriousness ages him now. “But maybe I got it wrong. Maybe Ishouldhave let you go, Lauren. Maybeweshould break up, instead of you and Kyle.”
Lauren’s eyes fill with quick tears as she shakes her head, no.
“No?Why not?” Neil whispers, stepping closer. “You can get back to your wedding plans. Your flower choices. Cake tasting.” He walks closer—as close as he can get without touching her. His black eyes watch hers. “This isn’t fair. To you, to me. To Kyle. It’s time to end it.”
“I know. And Iwill. Soon,” Lauren says.
Again, silence. Neil still watches her in this forbidden room. As he does, Lauren watches him right back. Even after he takes a sharp breath, looks toward the rain-streaked windows, then back at Lauren, her eyes stay locked on his. The hiss of pouring rain outside is the only sound. It’s muffled, and soft—suited to the shadows around them. They still watch each other, until something seems to come over Neil. His face relaxes with some remorse.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, raising his hands and cradling Lauren’s neck beneath her wet hair. “I just want to be with you. To not hide what we have anymore.”
When Lauren nods, her smile slight, Neil’s thumb traces along leftover raindrops on her cheek. He leans close, too, and kisses her before taking her in his arms and slow-dancing to old jukebox songs. He tips his head down to hers as they barely move on the creaking wood floor. Floating dust particles spin like stardust, and more raindrops tap at the foggy windowpanes. Minutes pass, minutes they’ll no doubt recall on other rainy days—when water drizzles down windowpanes on still afternoons. The moment is that intimate.
Eventually, Neil lifts off Lauren’s cropped denim jacket and unbuttons her peplum white-eyelet blouse. His hands touch her, move her, lay her down, love her right there in the old Foley’s back room—the skies outside dark, the air damp.
* * *
Later, their talk follows them like a shadow. They keep the night going and drive to a dive bar two towns over. The bar’s nearly empty this Tuesday evening, with the rain keeping most away. Sitting close in a side booth, Lauren leans into Neil. She toys with the strings of his hoodie sweatshirt. She touches wavy locks of his dark hair. Their words are few, but there.
“You working with Jason tomorrow?” she asks.
“Yeah. All day. Doing more demo on our flip. It’s tough, because he just wants to flipmeoff.”
“What are you talking about?”
Neil shakes his head. “Just some brother shit. Jason’s having a hard time coming around tous. You know, and what it’ll do to Kyle. I’ll bring the boom box and tune him out.”
“Maybe if I talk to Jason,” Lauren suggests. “It might help? Because I don’t want him blaming you.”
“No. I’ll handle Jay. You talk to Kyle.”
In the dark bar, a moment passes before Lauren answers in the shadows. “Please be patient with me.”
“I will, sweetheart.” Neil leans over and kisses the side of her head. “But you’ve got to take care of things. Soon,” he says softly into her hair.
They’re quiet then, as a local bar band plays some honky-tonk number on a makeshift stage area. The song is bluesy and raw. In the back of the barroom, pool sticks clatter; voices rise.
“I know I picked out wedding cake with Kyle,” Lauren finally admits after sipping her wine. “Because I just couldn’t find awayto break up that night. But I will. I promise. Thursday.”
“What’s Thursday?”
“Kyle’s taking me out to dinner. I’ll tell him then. But God, it won’t be easy.” She rests her head against Neil’s shoulder beside her. She sighs, too. A long sigh almost indiscernible, but close enough to Neil that he hears it, or feels it.
