She took us to Galveston, where we spent all day playing in the ocean. She took at least three hundred photos. In the evening, we went to dinner. She paid in cash and treated us to the best meal we’d ever had, lobster, steak, breadsticks. Whatever we wanted, we had. The other bits and pieces of that day were long since lost on me, but I do recall turning in for the night at a cheap but clean motel a few blocks away from the beach.
While John read his comic books, Mom had sat on my side of the bed and stroked my hair. She’d asked me if I had fun, and I told her it was the best day I’d ever had. John had grunted beside me that he had fun, too. That had made her smile so big, the light that radiated off her reminded me of the sun. She’d never looked as beautiful as she did that night. She’d kissed my forehead, wished me goodnight, and slipped under her blankets in the bed beside us.
The next morning we’d had waffles at the motel restaurant, and we piled back into the station wagon and went home.
Four days later, my mother and the station wagon were gone.
To this day I still believe that trip to Galveston had been her farewell to her sons. As a boy, I hated her for leaving. As a man, I knew why she had to.
Gabi laid out her straw mat before fanning open a large picnic blanket and laying it on top of the mat. She anchored the corners down with rocks she found higher up the beach and set up our other items, like the beach umbrella. She left the cooler in the shade and dropped her sandals she’d been carrying onto the towels.
I removed my shoes and joined her while she unzipped her jean shorts and stepped out of them. I tried not to stare. It was damn hard. Her shirt came off next, and she settled into a cross-legged position on the towels in a sporty lime green bikini.
I removed my shirt and sat down beside her.
She leaned back on her elbows. The muscles in her stomach flexed. She crossed her ankles and turned her face to the sun. “This feels so good.”
Yes it does,I thought.
She cracked open one eye and smiled at me. “Are you hungry?”
“I’ve been wondering what’s in that cooler since you came out of your condo with it.”
Chuckling, she inched up the towels and opened the cooler. She tossed me a beer and pulled out several Tupperware containers. She laid them all out and removed the lids one at a time while announcing what was inside each one. “I made pinwheels. There’s turkey and cream cheese with cucumbers and dill, or ham and cheddar cheese with mayo and mustard, or veggie ones. And I cut up some fruit.” She revealed an overflowing container bursting with colors. Inside was fresh pineapple, strawberries, cantaloupe, watermelon, and blueberries. “And I made pasta salad. It’s Ainsley’s recipe, my soon-to-be sister-in-law, and it’s so freaking good. And lastly,” she said, grinning, “I brought dessert. Brownies.”
My mouth had started watering like crazy. “You’re a saint, Gabi St. Clair.”
She giggled. “I aim to please.”
“In that case, target acquired.” I helped myself to a pinwheel, a cute little wrap cut into bite-sized pieces, and popped it in my mouth. How could such a simple little morsel be so delicious? “These are so good.”
“You can’t go wrong with pinwheels. They were at every kids’ birthday party I ever went to. These and chocolate Betty Crocker mix cakes.”
“Never had one of those.”
“Shut up,” she said, leaning over and smacking my leg.
I laughed and rubbed at my knee as the skin burned. “Ow! What was that for?”
“No wonder you’re such a sour fart! You’ve never had a Betty Crocker mix cake? Okay, one of these days, I’m going to change your life and make you one. That’s the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard.”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “I’m not much of a cake guy.”
“Blasphemy.”
“It’s true. I like savory, not sweet.”
“You like me, and I’m sweet as hell.”
“Touché. Maybe you’re the one who likes salty since you keep putting up with me.”
She rocked back with laughter. It felt so good to see and hear her laugh again and to know I was the reason why. Our fight was beginning to feel like water under the bridge, and being out here in the sun with her, in such a mundane place, surrounded by normal people living their lives, felt right.
Peaceful.
Gabi helped herself to some fruit. A strawberry stained her lips pink, and all I could think about was kissing her and tasting the sweetness on her tongue.
“Did you have birthday parties when you were little?” she asked spontaneously.