“I find it hard to be depressed when I come out here.”
I stare at the sun inching up. The water sparkles in a line from here to the horizon. “It’s beautiful.”
His jaw tightens and he lifts the camera again, taking a few more shots, moving wider. I step out of the frame. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want me in the photo.”
“Why not? I’m out here taking pictures of beautiful things. I’m pretty sure you count.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay sure. I’ve got red eyes, a runny nose and my hair looks like it lost a fight with a tiger.”
He shrugs. “Haven’t you ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just takes a few steps back down the pier. I try to ignore him but can’t help taking a final look over my shoulder. I catch him angling the camera to his eye and taking one last shot before walking away for good.
I face the water again, inhaling and exhaling the early morning air and watching the sun creep toward the sky. I realize on my way back to my car that maybe that guy is right, it’s hard to be depressed out here.
The first week goes slow,filled with a mixture of getting used to camp life (the laundromat), sharing a small space with my mother, investigating a decades-old killer, getting used to the sun on my face and sleeping soundly for the first time in ages, and I’m simply worn out.
Monday rolls around again and I can’t believe I’ve been here a week, yet at the same time, fall seems so far away. I’m eating a bagel and trying to decide if I should just go back to bed or maybe tackle some laundry when I hear a knock on the door.
My mother is on a pre-writing, brain-charging walk. I open the door and find Anita, kid on her hip, standing at the bottom of the metal step. “Hi,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Pack your beach bag, we’re going to the island.”
I look over the water and to the big houses and island where the Atlantic sits on the other side. I’ve only been over there the one time, to walk on the beach and pier. “To the beach?”
“Yep. It’s Monday. The boys have the day off and we’re going to have a picnic and play day. Plus, I promised to save you from another cocktail hour.” She doesn’t give me time to respond before she walks away and says over her shoulder, “Meet me in thirty minutes at my house.”
By the boys I assume she means Bobby and his friends. Maybe that guy Pete with the ice? She’s mentioned this group a few times, each as a collective, a unit that orbits in her life. I can’t imagine what that’s like. For so long it was just me and Mason and even then, no one knew we existed.
I gather my bag and chair and leave a note for my mother and set off for Anita’s camper. I wind through the campground paths until I reach her place. Her trailer is less like a trailer and morea house. It’s located under a big, shady tree near the back of the grounds. A pre-fab is what I heard someone call it. I’d seen the kids playing outside once when I was looking for the main office. It’s not water-front but the cool air under the massive, old trees felt nice, and it’s separated just enough from the other homes to give it a sense of privacy.
Anita and Sibley wait out front, a pile of toys, coolers, and chairs at their feet. Bobby walks back and forth to the truck loading it all in the back. I approach them and poke Sibley in the belly which gains a laugh. “I would’ve thought locals would take less to the beach.”
She smiles. “Back before I had kids all I needed was a surfboard and a towel. Now I know if we want to stay for more than an hour we have to take some supplies.”
“You can surf?” I ask in awe.
“Of course. That’s how I met Bobby way back. Well, it’s how I met his brother, who in turn introduced me to him.”
“And who’s his brother?” I keep trying to get it all straight.
Bobby walks behind us, lifting a cooler over his head and says, “My knuckle-headed younger brother, Justin. Stay away from him. He’s nothing but trouble.”
“The fun kind of trouble,” Anita whispers with a wink. “He’s a sophomore at Clemson.”
“Clemson?” That was my back-up school. I’d really wanted to go there but it was so far away from home and well…Mason.
“Business major. He’s planning on taking over the marina one day. Pete’s also there for engineering, but Whit and Nick are both headed to the Citadel.”
“The Citadel?”
“Yeah, the military academy in Charleston. All the men in their families go there.”
“Huh. Well I guess you can move out of your little town after all?”
“You can,” Bobby says, tossing the last of the stuff in the back of the truck, including my chair. “If you want to leave all of this. Just watch, at the end of the season we’ll have to kick you out of here.”
I check to see if he’s joking, like I expect, but the expression on his face is completely genuine. It’s obvious Bobby loves living in this tiny spot of heavenly-hell. Me? I’ll stick to vacationing.
“Summer, you can sit in the back seat with Sibley,” Anita says, and I pick up my bag and climb in the truck. Bobby has one of those huge trucks with a full front and back seat. I ignore the gun rack in the window and the ever-present scent of fish that seeps into every crevice around here. All-in-all though, the truck is pretty clean.
