To the Beach and Back

Chapter Two

I'm still numb while driving home after work.

A distracted young mother steps onto Main Street's crosswalk with a baby on her hip. I brake hard, watching a sulking little boy dragging his feet beside her, in no hurry. She snaps at him when he stoops down to pick up a discarded pen, her brow furrowed and tone sharp.

I can see her frustration, the overwhelm in her eyes, a heavy diaper bag digging into her shoulder as she takes him by the hand, half dragging him to the curb.

God. That was me back then.

Always anxious, always hassled, whereas Nick was calm, telling me to relax, to stop worrying so much.

I want to warn that young mother.

I want to tell her that life won't always be this hard ... that things will get easier, so in the meanwhile, try not to get upset. Because that's what her kids will remember. Not the good things you do like birthday parties and surprise cookies for breakfast and how you spent all weekend putting together a jungle gym by yourself while your husband golfed.

They won't remember any of that.

They'll only remember the bad.

And the beach house. Why does Nick want to sell it?

Having a home in Ocean City, Maryland on the bay was his dream, a goal he conjured up one rainy Sunday afternoon when I was at the kitchen table, helping Wesley finish a last-minute fifth-grade science project.

"You want to buy a beach house? Are you serious, Nick?" I had asked, glue sticking to my fingers and my mind immediately racing to the twelve years left on our mortgage, our two car loans, Wesley's college education to save for as well as our own retirement.

Wesley, however, was elated by the idea.

"That'd be so cool," he exclaimed, abandoning the solar system diagram we were making with Styrofoam balls and wooden dowels. Wesley bounded to the sofa where Nick had his laptop open and studied the screen with great curiosity after scooping up Sadie, who was just a puppy then. "Show me, Dad!"

I shot Nick an annoyed look for not discussing this with me in private first, just like he failed to do before buying a puppy. Although Sadie, admittedly, turned out to be lovely.

Nick looped an arm around his son. "Hold on, there, Wesley, this isn't a done deal yet. I'm just dreaming."

"Right, because buying a second home isn't logical right now," I added.

"Don't be a buzzkill, Mom."

"Yeah, Mom, don't be a buzzkill," Nick agreed, looking up at me with that sweet, boyish smile of his, eyes glowing with excitement as he patted the empty seat beside him. "Come on, come dream with us."

I reluctantly joined them; the word buzz kill feeling like a shot to the heart. I wasn't being a buzz kill.

I was just being logical.

"We rarely go to the beach, Nick. And what about Wesley's travel baseball? There will be tournaments and home games nearly every weekend in the spring and summer. Maybe even the fall."

I had hoped baseball, Wesley's passion, and a major time suck would bring Nick back to reality.

It didn't.

"Exactly, Marcie! Just think of how easy it'd be if everything we needed was already at Ocean City. Clothes. Dishes. Beach chairs and umbrellas. Towels. Whenever we do have a free weekend, all we'd have to do is pack some toiletries and groceries and go, getting there in no time!"

He made it sound so easy.

That was Nick's greatest talent. To simplify life down to the bare basics, never acknowledging the possibility of a negative outcome, or the work involved to get there. His glass was eternally half full, and tomorrow was only a day away.