There it is, in front of us: the Pacific Ocean.
The huge, roaring expanse of blue water and gray sky is nothing like my familiar Southern California coastline, with its powdery sand and rolling surf and volleyball nets placed every one hundred yards or so.
Here, the beach is as wild as the forest, as primitive, too. Waves crash onto the shore, sounding like a lion’s roar, even from the distance of our car.
“Wow,” I say, sitting back.
“Dad’s never done beach night before either,” Bobby says. “Mommy and me did it every Tuesday night, after t-ball. ”
“I’m glad to be here,” Daniel says. I can’t tell if it’s wistfulness in his voice or regret, or if he’s missing his ex-wife. “How about your Joy? Is she a beach gal?”
Bobby turns to me. “Well?”
“I love the beach,” I answer, looking at Daniel’s profile.
“I knew it,” Bobby says, bouncing in his seat. “She loves the beach. ”
I feel lit up inside. I don’t know how else to put it. Daniel grabs his backpack and helps Bobby out of the car. The boy immediately runs on ahead, across the sand.
“Not too close to the water, boyo,” Daniel calls out.
I slip into place beside him.
The beach is beautiful. A full, fiery sun hangs in the teal blue sky. Golden streamers light the waves. I have never seen so much driftwood on a beach before, and it is no ordinary collection of sticks. It is a heaping, jumbled mass of silvery logs, shorn of branches and polished to white perfection. Many of them are more than one hundred feet in length. The trees along the road have been sculpted by the wind. They look like giant bonsai.
“Dad, my kite!” Bobby yells, running back at us.
“Just a second,” Daniel answers, bending down to make a fire. Within moments, the small circle of wood and newspaper is aflame. I sit on a log by the fire, watching Daniel teach his son to fly a kite. By the time Bobby gets it, the afternoon is fading. Neon orange clouds streak across a midnight blue sky.
“Look, Dad! Look, Joy! I’m flyin’ it!”
“That you are. Run faster,” Daniel says, laughing as he sits down beside me. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of him beside me.
“I wish I’d brought my camera,” I say.
Bobby runs toward us, dragging the kite behind him. It flaps against the heavy sand. “Didja see me?”
“I did,” I say. “It’s the best kite flying I’ve ever seen. ”
His smile is so bright it lights his dark eyes. He flops to sit on the sand beside us. Gradually, though, his smile fades.
Silence falls, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the whooshing of the waves.
“Have you got something on your mind, boyo?” Daniel asks.
Bobby kicks at the sand before he finally looks up. “How will we have beach night in Boston?”
“Ah. So that’s what you’re thinking about. Moving. ”
Bobby glances quickly at me. I nod encouragingly. He takes a deep breath and says: “I want to stay here, Dad. ”
“I know you do, Bobby. ”
“You were the one who picked it. ”
“Aye. Things were different then. ”
At that, the reminder of how their lives have changed, they fall silent. After a long pause, Bobby says, “Tell Joy how you found this place. ”