Here is the first chapter of my novella Summer Evenings, coming Jan 3rd. Kindle pre-orders are available now on Amazon.
All Christina wanted to do was walk the beach alone. It wasn’t as if she was making an unreasonable request. After spending hours in the car listening to the same songs on the radio and hearing the same petty arguments, she needed the fresh air. This would be her first time, however. Although she and her family had been to Myrtle Beach every summer vacation since she was in diapers, she had never walked the shore alone in the evening. She understood why, now that she was eighteen, but that only reinforced her desire to do it.
She imagined that walking along the shoreline barefoot—feeling the wet sand and the waves grab her feet while watching the golden-orange sun paint the water—would be a life-changing experience. She was tired of her previous trips to the beach, where her parents rushed to secure a good spot among the hordes of people already there. Christina never liked huge crowds and didn’t enjoy sitting in the blazing sun with itchy sand all over her body. Her parents liked that kind of beach trip. Not her. From what she had seen before, the beach was empty by the time the sun set. That was her ideal trip.
Still, she hesitated. She felt a lingering sense that this would be a point of no return. As dramatic as it sounded, she wouldn’t just be taking steps on the beach; she would be taking steps into adulthood. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
That uneasiness accompanied her as she and her parents arrived at the hotel, the same one they had always visited for the past eighteen years: SeaGlass Tower. It got its name from being a tall, thin building covered from head to toe with spotless windows. At certain times of the day, the sun would shine on the tower, making it look like a beacon of pure light. It was hard to even look at the hotel at times. One year, when Christina was around six or seven, she had worried that one glance at the hotel’s radiant brightness would blind her, so she did everything she could to avoid looking in its direction. Looking at the hotel now, Christina found that early memory charming. She turned to her father as she placed their luggage on a bellhop cart.
“Remember that one year I kept my head down the whole time?”
“Huh?”
“You thought I was sick.”
As Christina explained, Father’s face grew more confused.
“That happened? When?” he asked.
Christina found that surprising, considering how observant her parents were—her mother more than her father, it seemed.
The family entered the hotel lobby, which was still the same as it had always been. SeaGlass Tower was her second home, one that she used to return to fondly each year. Things felt different now, though. When she was young, she used to burst through the front doors in excitement and awe. Not anymore. The nautical decor looked artificial, and the acrylic ship paintings felt ominous. She would much rather be home right now, but who was she to interrupt a family tradition? Besides, this trip was to double as a celebration, and it would be ungrateful of her not to accept it. The magic was fading, but she didn’t want it to.
As always, a familiar muggy air washed over Christina when they entered their hotel room. As always, Father went straight to the thermostat. As always, the room was the same as all the others: white stucco walls, whiter furniture, blue carpet in the bedroom, white tile in the kitchenette, and two large windows overlooking the beach and North Ocean Boulevard. As always, Christina was to take the pull-out bed. As always, they were all to rest after the long drive.
No, she wanted things to be different. Christina looked out the oceanfront window and saw how barren it was—the perfect opportunity. After unpacking all of her clothes and toiletries, she slipped the question to her parents.
“Alone?” Mother asked.
Christina nodded.
“You’re not mad, are you?” Mother continued.
“No,” Christina said.
Mother and Father exchanged concerned, puzzled looks. “Not too late,” Father said.
And at long last, she was doing it. With the waves crashing beside her, she walked along the shore, watching the footprints she made with each step and the millions of others that had been left behind. She wondered how many of those footprints belonged to someone like her who had walked alone on this beach for the first time. Whose footprints belonged to someone her age? Had she ever met any of these footprints’ owners? These musings filled her mind as she strolled, needing to distract herself somehow.
The sand beneath her, the waves’ melody, the breeze kissing her skin—these sensory experiences reminded her to enjoy this year’s summer trip, but she couldn’t. This might be the last one with her family for a while. Dwelling on what-ifs poisoned everything, but that was Christina for you—always the anxious one. It was a trait she felt she was cursed with, preventing her from enjoying many things in life: her recent graduation, for example. Or college applications. Or deciding on a career path…
Christina snapped out of her thoughts and tried to refocus on what was before her. Toes, ears, skin. The sand, the waves, the breeze—each still felt tainted by her worries. She stopped and looked out at the sea, watching the water roll up to her feet in an attempt to pull her in. Nice try, Christina thought. The tide receded, preparing another shot.
This wave was more forceful, extending far beyond where she stood. As it pulled back, her feet sank into the wet sand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something wiggling in the sand. She looked straight down and caught a glimpse of a purple shell, no bigger than a fingernail. By the time she spotted it, it was gone, disappearing so quickly it was as if it had never existed. It was getting late, after all, and a long car trip could make anyone hallucinate.
She turned toward Pier 14, the nearest pier to the hotel. On top of the pier was a seaside restaurant where Christina would no doubt be eating, just like every year. As much as she enjoyed the getaway, she wished she and her parents would branch out and find new things to explore. Something caught her eye again. This time, it was bright orange and visible under the pier. A bald man in an orange coat lay in a hammock, eyes closed. He rocked himself gently with his right leg stuck out, swinging the hammock in rhythm. A dirty, worn-out backpack was tied to his other leg. She studied the man’s subtle movements: the rise and fall of his chest, the occasional scratching of his beard, and the endless sway of the hammock matching the evening wind.
The man’s eyes blinked open as he looked right at Christina. From a distance, she could see that his eyes were as blue as the sea. Christina darted her eyes away and walked back to the hotel.
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