Page 76 of The Beachgoers
twenty-nine
— Now —
SHANE ALMOST MISSES HER.
And it’s no wonder. That slice of moon hanging in the sky isn’t dropping much light on the inn’s lawn. The Mason jar candles have been snuffed, too, so Celia—in her black dress—blends in with the night. But when she passes glimmering solar garden lights, he sees her.
There have been nights out at sea like this. Dark nights. Black. Hours when you can’t see much and only feel the movement of the ocean, the movement of time. There’s something freeing and frightening about it, all at once. About one of the senses being diminished. This night feels like that now—in this quiet lull after the festivities.
Little by little, the guests went their separate ways: his brother and his bride, Jason and Maris, Eva and Matt. Cliff and Nick got the beach table cleared away, while Elsa, Celia and the catering staff got the inn grounds back in order. The least Shane could do was load the dishwasher, though Elsa—ever the gracious host—tried to protest. Shane wouldn’t hear of it.
That done, he stands near the veranda now. Hanging back a minute, he watches Celia from the shadows. A salty breeze lifts off the distant water. But Shane has to squint to see what it is Celia’s actually doing. Looks like maybe some more cleanup, extinguishing a tiki torch, pulling a few beach pointer signs out of the ground.
Quietly, he walks her way. “Come for a ride with me?” he calls out.
Celia looks over at him. “What?” As she asks, she pulls out another wooden sign and sets it on a pile there.
Shane walks closer. “Come on.” He takes her hand and starts a slow trot across the lawn.
“What are you doing?” Celia asks with an easy laugh. “Shane!”
He turns and walks backward, watching her. “Everyone’s gone. No one will see.” With that, he leads her through the secret path to the beach. The dune grasses, lush and sweeping this time of year, brush against them. When they emerge from the path onto the sand, Shane still holds Celia’s hand.
“Wait!” Celia says while half bending to take off her sandals.
Shane kicks off his boat shoes, too, and hooks them on his fingers. “This way,” he tells her then, crossing the beach toward the portable dock Elsa had brought in. “We’ll go for a paddle.”
“Aboatride?” Celia asks, slowing her step. She looks out at the little rowboat moored there. It’s still illuminated with twinkling lights strung around it. “But that’s Elsa’s boat.”
“She asked me to move it. The dock’s being taken away first thing in the morning.” As he says it, he guides Celia across the floating ramp and into the wooden rowboat. After he steps in behind her, he unties the vessel from its mooring, lifts an oar and pushes off. The rowboat moves easily through the darkness. Salt water laps at the hull as Shane pulls back on the oars.
“Look how pretty,” Celia says. She points to the white lights strung atop the gunwale. The lights reflect on the dark water and sparkle on the rippling sea.
Shane watches her, glad for her happiness now. She sits there barefoot in her black dress. Her sandals have been casually tossed aside; the gold chains around her waist shine in the glow of those twinkling lights. “Happy anniversary, Celia Gray,” he finally says as he pulls back on the oars again. They slosh through the water; the oarlocks creak with the strain.
“What?” Tipping her head, Celia looks at him with a small smile.
Shane nods. “I met you three weeks ago tonight. Remember? Met you and Aria at the inn, when I checked in for Kyle’s first vow renewal.”
“Oh, I remember. And the next night, we went for ourfirstrowboat ride.” She sits with her arms wrapped around her bent knees. “I didn’t know what to make of you that night.”
“AndIhaven’t stopped thinking of you since.” Shane leans forward and gives her a kiss. “Been waiting to dothatall night.”
“Hmm, I had my doubts when you were dancing with Carol Fenwick.” There’s a twinkle in her eye as Celia says it. “Carol likes you, you know.”
“Well, I’m taken.”
It’s Celia now who watches him. And what it does is it makes him self-conscious. Just a little, but enough. Maybe it’s because as she looks at him rowing, she’s not saying what she’s thinking. She just sits comfortably, dips a hand in the calm water, breathes in the salt air. And still watches him.
Water sloshes at the boat’s hull as Shane continues to paddle. The oars pull through the sea, and lift out, dripping. As they pass the beach, the long boardwalk stretches across the sand.
“Do you get it now?” Celia eventually asks in the darkness.
“Get what?”
“Before, when you brought my corsage. It wasn’tyouthat had me upset. That was bothering me. It was the stalled inn,” she explains. “Which stalls my whole life.”
“I do get it. And it’s not going to be easy for you, is it?”
