the same alternative rock station I like; politics--we’re both liberals with a dash of conservatism; and mountain biking--he does it and I don’t, nor do I want to after he entertains me with his stories of terrifying near-misses.
We arrive at the beach just before noontime. The parking lot--several expansive dirt and stone fields--are filling fast, and we get a spot in one of the last open rows. The day is warm and humid, as predicted, but I can already feel the cool salty breeze coming off the ocean as we pile out of the car. Standing next to me now, Wes is about my height with lots of growing to do if his tremendous feet, encased in ripped basketball sneakers, are any indication.
Once the trunk is open, I realize how thorough Ryan has been in his beach preparations. He hands me my beach bag and then proceeds to withdraw three beach chairs, several towels, and a large cooler with a handle and wheels.
“You come prepared,” I comment, looking around at our supplies for the day.
“We’ve done this before,” Ryan deadpans. Then he smiles. “We actually grew up near the ocean. We went every weekend in the summer.”
“Whereabouts?” I ask.
“Stamford, Connecticut.”
Ryan gathers the beach towels and tows the cooler behind him, while Wes handles two chairs. When I reach down to pick up the last chair, it is quickly swept away from me. I glance up to find Ryan angling it beneath his arm where he is already balancing the beach towels.
“I can carry it,” I tell him.
He shakes his head at me. “I’ve got it.”
“You can take one of mine,” Wes offers.
Ryan narrows his eyes at Wes before turning back to me. “Ready?”
Wes sighs and turns toward the beach. I realize that I am not going to be allowed to carry anything. As ridiculous as that is since I’m perfectly capable of handling a beach chair, I find myself smiling at the way Ryan’s refusal makes me feel.
We follow the crowd along a path through the parking lot and over a grassy hill which opens up to an expanse of white sand and blue-green ocean. The beach is teaming with people, and Ryan and I exchange a look, wondering where we should plant ourselves for the day. Spotting something promising, Ryan leads the way with his cooler cutting a path through the warm sand behind him. I hitch my beach bag higher on my shoulder and follow while I scan my surroundings. There are lots of families with children digging holes and playing games with balls and Frisbees. There are also groups of teenagers, nearly all sporting at least one tattoo, with the girls in skimpy bikinis and the boys in swim trunks that are so big they seem in danger of falling down. We have been trudging through the sand for several minutes when Ryan claims a free spot on the far left side of beach. Because it’s so far from the parking lot, the crowd is much thinner here. Wes unceremoniously dumps the chairs in a heap and declares that he’s going for a walk.
“Not yet,” Ryan says in a firm tone, not even glancing at Wes.
Wes seems to want to argue, but instead he huffs in exasperation and begins to set up the chairs. With the cooler in the middle, we arrange the chairs around it so that we’re facing the ocean. Sail boats dot the horizon, and huge shingle and glass homes line an inlet along the right side of the beach. It’s an incredible day. The breeze keeps the air from becoming uncomfortably hot, and I can feel the tension easing away as the warm rays of sun pour down over my skin.
Wes kicks off his sneakers and sinks heavily into a chair, all attitude and discontentment. As he scowls, I try not to smile. It occurs me that this is an act, and he’s working a little too hard at it.
“Don’t you like the beach, Wes?” I ask, as I sit down in my chair which is placed between the two of theirs.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s me he doesn’t like right now,” Ryan states, lowering himself into the chair beside me.
“Well, that’s a shame,” I suggest casually. “It’s too nice a day to be so grumpy.”
“Absolutely,” Ryan agrees, stretching his legs out in front of him.
“Can I go for a walk now?” Wes asks, not giving an inch.
Ryan eyes his brother for moment and then nods. When Wes shoots up from his chair, Ryan adds, “But