Page 72 of The Beachgoers
twenty-six
— Now —
AT THE CANOPIED TABLE ON the beach, every wineglass is held high. The crystal glimmers in candlelight. Voices cheer; arms are raised. Beyond the sheer curtains draped around the table, the waves of Long Island Sound gently roll ashore.
Jason sits with Maris at the far end of the table. Plates and silverware are set aside. Chairs are pushed back. And Jason watches as every guest toasts the bride and groom standing there in suit and gown. Kyle wraps an arm around his bride’s waist; Lauren presses close and rests a hand on his chest. Funny how they look more like newlyweds now than they did ten years ago, when they married with such trepidation.
“Best night ever with you guys.Cheers!” Lauren says. Her eyes sparkle. Her smile is wide.
When theWhoops!andHear, hears!die down, Kyle nods to them all. “And we want to invite you to close this epic night with a walk along the driftline. It seems really fitting to say our goodnights this way.”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Maris adds before sipping her wine.
“Definitely. And maybe you can work it into that novel of yours,” Kyle suggests.
“Hey, Kyle,” Shane calls out then. “I remember you telling me about the driftline years ago. In that little beach guidebook in the cottage our old man rented.”
“That’s right, bro. Read about it, and never forgot it.”
“I hear you folks talk about that.Driftline,” Mitch says. “What is it? Pretty much the seaweed edging the beach?”
“No sir, Professor,” Kyle explains. “Some call it the high tide line, but it’s more than that. It’s the stuff caught upinthe seaweed, too—shells and stones, driftwood and sea glass. All that good shit.”
“You know,” Lauren adds. “Whatever the sea tosses ashore and leaves tangled together.”
“Kind of like us tonight, no?” Elsa asks. “All connected?”
To which more wineglasses are raised to theotherStony Point driftline. The one about people, and friendships, love and histories.
Jason leans to Maris and kisses the side of her head. “Neil would so dig this,” he says, low enough for only her to hear. When he does, she reaches over and gives his hand a squeeze.
“So come on.” Kyle beckons them through the tied-back sheer curtains and onto the sand. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
When they all follow Kyle and Lauren along the beach, Jason and Maris hang back some. Up ahead, what the guests look like on the sand, with little moonlight, is this: shadows. Wavering shadows, walking, turning, pointing to a barge far out on the water. Shadows leaning in, sneaking a kiss, murmuring. They all make their way down the length of the beach and back. They swap places in the spontaneous procession. Some catch up to Kyle and Lauren to chat a little. One of the guys gives another a faux shove toward the water. Some fall behind, holding hands. Watching the distant horizon, far out over the sea.
To Jason, it feels good. He’s not sure why. Maybe it’s just that they’re all together without any conflict tonight. Without any angst. If there is any, it’s been set aside for the two people who deserve it to be shelved on this night.
Or maybe it’s just what it always is, walking on this beach at Stony Point. Maybe it’s that hard-packed sand just below the driftline that’s cradled his gait, cradled his worries, for years. It does it again, right now. His gait feels as smooth as if he had both his legs. And his mind is at ease with everything, especially with Maris at his side.
There’s a flurry of talk when they return to the dessert cabana. Carol and Mitch hug the bride and groom and bid their farewells before heading home—to the last-standing cottage right on the beach. Others wish the newly-vowed couple decades of happiness before veering off toward the inn’s secret path to leave. Vinny and Paige first tell Jason they have to hit the road, then head to Kyle and Lauren, and hug, and laugh as they slowly back away with a wave goodnight.
So that’s it.
Kyle and Lauren pulled it off with Elsa’s help.
Or vice versa. Or Elsa pulled off a night to remember with Kyle and Lauren’s help.
Either way, it was something else.
* * *
When Maris catches up with Eva near the water, Jason steps back and watches the night. Just the old crew lingers on the beach. Candles clustered around wine bottles burn low on the nearby dessert table. The sheer-curtain canopy drapes in folds. More candles flicker in Mason jars dangling from the canopy ceiling.
But the table is empty.
Everyone has gathered at the water’s edge. Beyond them, Long Island Sound is steel blue and calm. Small waves break, hissing softly onshore. In the shadows of that surrounding candlelight, the friends are black silhouettes against the sea.
