Page 8 of Light in the Dark
I also have a small cooler with a long strap that holds a few cans of sparkling water, a few individually packaged string cheese sticks, and some jerky.
To either side, the hill slopes to the shoreline; the stairs, it turns out, were built in a natural cut in the hillside. The sand expands away in both directions, and Lake Michigan is a rippling blue field of sparkling diamonds in the sun. Faye shuffles through the sand straight ahead and plops her bag down a few feet from the water's edge. I spread out my sand blanket and we arrange our things. Faye stares at her bag as if it has offended her. "Forgot a chair."
I frown. "Well shit, so did I." I cast an eye at the stairs, which seem rather far and steep from this end. "I have a couple beach chairs in my van. I'll go get them."
Faye snorts, waving off the suggestion. "Horseshit, missy," she snaps. "By the time you get back up that hill and down with the chairs, it'll be time to go. You'll just have help me lay down and then help my fat ass back up again when I wanna go swimming."
"Faye, you donothave a fat ass. You ought to be nicer to yourself.”
She turns away from me, grabs a double handful of her buttocks, and jiggles them at me. "This ain't nothin', sweetie." She wriggles out of the coverup, shoves it into her bag, and then faces me again. "Listen to me, now. I'm a billion years old. I've earned the right to call myself a fat ass if I want. When I was your age, I had curves like you wouldn't believe. I had to sleep with a stick next to me so I could fend off my husband long enough to get any sleep, and not a word of that is a lie. The man had an absolutely insatiable sex drive. He'd chase me around the house penis first. Course, I always gave the man what he wanted because he'd get so damned whiny if I didn't." She winks at me. "I'd be lyin' if I didn't say I let him catch me for my own purposes, too."
I laugh, shaking my head. "I love that."
Her eyes scan me as I peel my dress off, revealing my sapphire blue bikini—growing up the way I did, among Mom's free love hippy friends, I've always been comfortable with my body and with nudity. My bikini is…small. And let's be honest, I am not. I mean, I'm short, so I'm small in that sense. But the rest of me is decidedly…juicy. Big tits, a bit of a tummy, wide hips, big ass, big thighs. I keep in shape, despite living out of my van—I do a lot of yoga and Pilates, and a little bit of resistance work with Dutchie's adjustable dumbbells and my handful of kettlebells, and I walk a lot. So, I'm curvy, but I like to think it's a fit curvy.
Faye snorts and shakes her head. "Well now you're just showing off."
I frown at her. "Showing off?"
She gestures at me with a vague flip of a hand. "You. That ridiculous body of yours. That bikini that could fit in a cupholder."
I blush. "Oh, c'mon, Faye. You're being silly."
"Andshe blushes? My my." Faye reaches out and gives the underside of one of my boobs a playful tap. "With knockers like these, girlie? You better carry a big damn stick if you go to a public beach. What was it you said? The boys'll be swarming around you like flies on shit."
"I think I said flies on honey, actually," I say, laughing.
"I think you're mixing up your metaphors with that one, missy. It's bees to honey and flies to shit.”
I frown. “Oh." I burst into laughter. "You're right."
"Course I am." She waves both hands at me. "Help me sit my fat ass down. I wanna get some sun before I go for a dip."
I bite down on a comment about her self-denigration and hold her hands, helping her lower herself to the blanket. Once there, she fishes in her bag and comes up with a tube of sunscreen, which she applies liberally to her exposed skin. That done, she lies back, covers her eyes with her visor, and lets out a happy sigh.
I go through the same process, spraying sunscreen on myself and then arranging myself comfortably on the blanket, ereader in hand, a sweating can of sparkling water nearby.
Doesn't get much better, I'd say.
At some point, my eyes droop, and my ereader sags to my belly, and then my eyes close.
Three
FELIX
Treading water, I realize I may have swum a bit further from shore than was sensible. I'm tired, panting, and still have to swim back…and the shore looks alotfarther away than I feel comfortable with.
But I mean, what are you supposed to do at the beach by yourself? I tried my damndest to relax, really I did. I even read a few chapters ofThe Sackett Brandbefore I got too hot and restless, at which point I waded in and splashed around the shallows for a few minutes. Eventually, however, the drive toaccomplish things—that ceaseless, nagging, driving, frustrating engine inside me that rules my every waking moment—pushed me to swim away from shore. At first, it had been simply about moving my body, enjoying the cool, clear water, and the sunshine. But then, inevitably, it became a competition with myself.
And now here I am, a good half mile from shore, and I'm a bit concerned about my ability to make it back.
Like an idiot.
I roll to my back with my head facing shore and backstroke leisurely toward land. When I crane my head and twist to check my progress, however, not only have I not made forward progress, I've managed to travel sideways. I alternate between breaststroke and sidestroke. I try a regular crawl, but that's fuckin' exhausting, so I go back to alternating between breaststroke and sidestroke.
Eventually, the shore seems closer, and the vague burn of panic in my gut recedes to a nagging ache of embarrassment. I mean, shit, I'm a Three Rivers boy, born and raised. I grew up swimming in the big water, so you’d think I’d know better—and I do, intellectually. Distances are deceiving once you’re in the water: what seems like a short swim from shore or the deck of a boat is suddenly alotfucking farther once you're in the water with no one around to pick you up.
Every limb burning and weighing a thousand pounds, I finally feel lake bottom drag against my toes, and I gratefully slog the rest of the way to shore.
