They stand there and talk. Stormy’s body language is stiff, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted. Benji’s hands are moving. The conversation lasts five minutes. Then Stormy turns and walks back toward the building. His head is down and his steps are quicker than before. He disappears into the building. We watch and wait for him to come upstairs and tell us what’s going on.
“Wonder what’s taking so long?” Tex asks. He’s leaning forward in the armchair now, the pork rinds forgotten.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s been inside long enough. Maybe I should text him.”
“Give him a minute,” I say. “He’ll be up in a second.”
Then we see Stormy walking back out on the beach. He’s changed clothes and now he’s wearing pink swim trunks.
Tex leans forward in the armchair. “That’s weird,” he says. “Those are his pink trunks. The ones he almost drowned in when he got caught in the rip current. I thought he threw those away.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to get him back in the water for a year. Begging, bribing, standing in the surf holding out my hand to him. He won’t go past his ankles for me. He’s still too scared.”
Stormy walks across the sand. Benji sees him coming. He jumps up from the towel, runs toward him and throws his arms around him again. Dante watches from the towel butdoesn’t get up. Then Benji runs into the water. He’s waist-deep, laughing, waving Stormy in. Dante is still on the towel. He pours himself more rosé and leans back on his elbows to watch.
Stormy stands at the edge of the surf. The water touches his feet and he doesn’t move back. He stands there for a long time. Benji doesn’t reach for him. Then Stormy walks in.
One step at a time, the water rising from his ankles to his shins to his knees to his waist, until he’s standing next to Benji in the Gulf of Mexico in the pink trunks he almost drowned in. Benji doesn’t grab his hand. Benji just grins at him and then lightly splashes water at his chest. Stormy flinches and then splashes back laughing.
I look at Tex. His eyes are wet. The pork rind bag is being crushed in his fist and he doesn’t know he’s doing it.
“Hey, Tex?”
He doesn’t turn from the window.
“Who’s laughing now, huh?”
He wipes his face with the back of his hand. Fast, like he’s ashamed of getting emotional over Stormy being brave.
“Not a word, Mickey.”
“I’ve sat through an hour of David Attenborough commentary. An hour of pork rinds and nature documentaries. And now you’re crying into the jalapeño bag because Stormy’s in the water?”
“I’m not crying.”
“Your face is wet.”
“It’s the humidity.”
“Your face was dry when you were making fun of me.”
“That’s because your situation was funny. My situation is not funny. My situation involves Stormy in the water for the first time in a year. And he’s being playful. He’s laughing and playing with a new friend. Stormy never got to play when he was kid. There was no playing going on in Stormy’s life. And now I’m watching it happen from a window and I can’t be down there and—” He stops. He looks at me. “Oh.”
“Yeah.Oh.”
“So, this is what it feels like,” he says.
“This is exactly what it feels like.”
He sits back in the armchair. He looks at the crushed pork rind bag in his fist, opens it and a crumble of jalapeño dust falls on his jeans.
“Mickey, I owe you an apology for the last two hours.”
“You owe me several apologies. But we can start with one.”
Dante sets down the rosé, stands up from the towel, and walks into the water. Benji and Stormy are laughing. Dante is floating on his back nearby in those swim shorts. They’re on my beach being exactly who they are.
“So, what are we going to do about Dante?” I ask.
