Page 28 of Gulfside Girls
Ali had never been to this side of Florida. Bruce had no time for family vacations, and Ted insisted all their vacations were to visit “historical” sites. In his philosophy, the kids should learn something while on break. They couldn’t do that at Wally World, as he liked to call the entire state of Florida.
Ali wished she would have pushed; she knew both her kids loved Disney movies. But they’d never given them that as kids.
Maybe someday with the grandkids? Grandkids? Was that next? Ali had a lot to sort out before she went shopping for a grandma name. She had been to Orlando, on a conference, and once in college, Daytona. But this gulf side was new to her.
One beach after another stretched before her. She knew she was supposed to take Gulf Boulevard Drive. Hang a right. To the left, she’d be on Long Boat Key, to the right, Haven Beach, and if she went too far, she’d fall off the barrier island into the Atlantic.
Haven Beach was the tip of the strip, according to her map.
She wondered why she’d never heard of it. Although she had not been to this part of Florida, many of her Toledo friends had, from St. Pete to Treasure Island.
Haven Beach though? She’d never seen vacation pics or family portrait sessions from the place. It worried her a bit; what would she find?
Ali had booked a hotel room online at the Marriott Courtyard. The sun was setting, and she didn’t want to go to the property they allegedly owned in the dark. She didn’t know what she would find, but whatever it was, daylight was a better proposition than night.
Her hotel was across Gulf Boulevard. It was clean, easy to find, and she’d accumulate a few hotel points by booking it. Ali was tired, and her body ached a bit from gripping the steering wheel for two days straight.
She’d hauled in her small bag and sat on the hotel bed. It was almost dusk, but she wanted to be outside. She had the urge to stretch her legs a little. Maybe she’d just walk along Gulf Boulevard a bit and find a bite to eat.
She was still in leggings and a tunic, but every person she’d seen here had flip-flops on and shorts or a sundress. She didn’t own a single sundress. And her legs were whiter than the snow she’d left behind. Leggings it was. She switched out the tunic for a Mud Hens t-shirt. This was hardly fun-in-the-sun chic, but she wasn’t really on vacation either. She was on a mission.
By the time she’d changed, the sun had already gone down, though it wasn’t dark yet. Something about the vibe here was so different from any other place she’d been in this state.
The idea of donning a conference I.D. lanyard or getting in line for a ride? Nope. The vibe was flip-flop.
Ali grabbed her wallet and phone and double-checked that she had a room key. She’d just walk a little to loosen the stiffness in her bones.
The air was different here. She could almost taste the salt! And the congestion she’d seen along Gulf, at other points on the trip, had slowed to a trickle. There were only a few cars goingback and forth as she used the crosswalk to get to the beach side of the road.
At first, she couldn’t put her finger on what made this little stretch of road different, but it started to dawn on her as she walked. There weren’t any high-rise condos.
Almost every square inch of road on both sides along the coast, there were huge condo complexes five stories or more high. She supposed it made sense. It was to pack in as many vacationers or timeshares or whatever.
Here, there were condos, for sure, but also beach houses that weren’t brand new. Or if they were brand new, they were made to look lived in.
It felt cozy here. That seemed ridiculous. Skeptically, she wondered if it had been designed to make her feel like that by some Disney-esque Imagineer.
Ali had walked for about ten minutes when she realized she ought to probably turn around and head back to her room. But then an aroma caught her and seemed to pull her toward it.
She realized all she’d eaten in the last two days was food from gas stations and drive-throughs. The smell reminded her that an actual meal, sitting at a table would be a good idea.
She followed her nose, or her stomach, to the source. Several weathered wooden planks nailed to a post pointed the way—or rather, pointed the way for several options. On top of the sign sat an odd assortment of seashells for decoration. Ali decided to follow the painted red arrow that pointed from the parking lot to a small restaurant, which was conveniently right on the beach.
When in Rome, thought Ali,eat on the beach.
She did as the sign instructed:This way to the Seashell Shack.
There was a decided lack of gloss in this little stretch of Florida, and it turned out the Seashell Shack was aptly named. The restaurant had the trappings of a beachy shack, allweathered boards and sandy floors, but it was also fresh, clean, and inviting. A wall of windows looked out to the water, and beyond that, Ali could see a patio and the beautiful beach.
This will do just fine!
Ali also hoped they were still serving something. She’d noticed more people were heading out than in at the fairly early time of 6:30 pm.
But no one stopped her, so she walked further into the Seashell Shack. She continued through toward the porch. She was itching to take off even her flip-flops and get in the sand.
This really was seaside.
The smallest picnic table was a four-top and Ali felt a little guilty taking one all by herself. In fact, she felt a little self-conscious about having dinner at a restaurant on her own. For so long, she’d had a family of four, or Ted, or some combination of her sisters as dining companions.
