“Morning, Iris.”
She holds up her hands, a pair of garden clippers in one, and a basket full of periwinkle hydrangeas in the other. “Seems I’ve got more blooms than I know what to do with. I can tie a bundle for your mother, if you think she’d like them.”
“She would. Her library could use some cheering up.”
“Has she locked herself in there again? Someone should remind her that soil and sunshine are good for the soul.” She adjusts her knitted cardigan and casts a disparaging glance at our yard, which, generously put, is overgrown.
“I’ll tell her, but do you know what she’ll say? ‘I’m on a deadline, Elise.’”
“We’re all on a deadline. Every day’s a step toward extinction. Why not make the best of our time?”
“Exactly. Why else would I be up before the birds, on my way to the beach?”
“You’re better for it. So is that darling pup of yours.” Bambi wags her tail as if she understands. Iris puckers her lips and blows my dog a gale of kisses before saying, “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got company arriving today.”
“Oh yeah? Family?”
“My grandson, Ryan. He lives in Dallas, but he’s coming to spend the rest of the summer with me. It’s been nearly a year since I last saw him. He’s a good boy, headed to Texas A&M this fall.”
“Impressive,” I say sincerely. I’ve had my sights on the SanFrancisco Art Institute for years, but everything I’ve heard about Texas A&M has been positive. “Maybe I’ll have a chance to meet him.”
“I bet you will. He’ll be excited when I tell him a pretty girl lives next door.”
“Oh, Iris. Don’t go getting his hopes up.”
We come spinning out of nothingness,
scattering stars like dust.
—Rumi
elise
The beach is deserted.
Just like yesterday, the sky is thick with clouds, the air cool but humid. Bambi chases her ball ecstatically. She’s got beach amnesia—for her, every morning is new and remarkable.
We play fetch long enough for the clouds to dissipate into tendrils of fog, and then other beachgoers begin to intrude on our solitude. Bambi makes all kinds of friends, human and canine, and I do my best to connect with the old people who stop to chat. Part of me wishes we would’ve moved to Cypress Valley, the town just east of Cypress Beach. It’s ten miles from the ocean, but it’s where the high school’s located, and where the bulk of the teenage population lives, according to Audrey, anyway. But she and Janie are here and it would’ve been counterproductive to settle more than a few minutes’ walk from their cottage.
Bambi starts to slow as we reach the end of the beach, walled off by an outcropping of jagged rocks that jut into the sky. There’s a set of wooden stairs just before the rocks, as there are sporadically downthe length of the shore. I can put on Bambi’s leash and take them up to town for a walk through the neighborhoods of Cypress Beach, or I can backtrack the way we came, to the stairs that are a few blocks from home. I’m debating, sand or sidewalk, when I see him—the boy from yesterday.
He’s wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head, and his hands are crammed into its kangaroo pocket. He’s got on workout pants again, lightweight and loose, and he’s trotting down the stairs I was considering—was, because now they’re a no-go.
I spin away from him, hoping he doesn’t spot me. Doesn’t recognize me. Though Bambi’s splashing around in the nearby surf, and she’s memorable. I pat my leg, hoping she’ll come running. She looks up at me, then beyond, to the stairs the boy has descended. Her ears perk and her tail wags and—damn it!—she darts toward him, barking jovially.
As much as I love my dog, I’m kind of wishing she’d vanish into a puff of smoke.
I take a breath, summon somecojones, and call her back. “Bambi! Come ’ere, girl!”
She might as well be deaf. She leaps, barreling into the boy, leaving two sandy paw prints on the front of his sweatshirt.
Oh God.
I chase after her, shouting her name as she jumps on him again and again. He keeps turning away, trying to block the brunt of her assault, but she thinks he’s playing and now she’s even more fired up. He’s saying something to her, a jumble of aggravated-sounding words set aloft in the wind.
As I get closer, though, I realize he’s not aggravated—he’slaughing. He’s pushing her away, but cheerfully. And she’s eating it up.
“Bambi,” I say sharply. She picks up on my exasperation and, finally, scuffles over to where I stand. I clip on her leash and snap, “Sit.”
