Genny sat in her beach chair, the ‘thing she had to do’, and stared out over the surface of the ocean. The restless water, silky and dark like polished obsidian, grew into tiny mountains covered by frothy, white peaks before releasing its fury on the sea-stained sand. An erratic breeze blew down the length of the shoreline and played games with her hair. Delicate fingers reached up to remove the blonde tresses from her eyes and tuck the loose strands away again.
Country positioned his chair in such a way that he could see to the end of the boardwalk. It was not a coincidence that Genny rested just outside his direct line of sight but well within his peripheral vision. From here, he could observe her without her knowing. She was beautiful. Another burst of air and the wind released her hair from its berth. Instinct returned it behind her ear. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to have hair like that, to have skin which didn’t automatically categorize him. To not have one group of people make assumptions and not have another group of people feel they had the right to tell him how he should think. To be seen as the God who created him did. With strengths and frailties, worthy but flawed. Made for a purpose he never seemed able to discern.
He had no desire to be anything else. God had made him perfect in his own way. He just wondered sometimes. At the same time, he wondered if anyone else experienced the same longings.
She was beautiful. He nodded in agreement with his own thoughts.
Genny noticed his head bobbing. “What is it?” she asked, too preoccupied to wait for an answer. Her attention returned to the surf, to the rise and fall of the water as it made its way towards shore. Life was like the waves, a series of ups and downs, good times and bad, except hers seemed to avoid the peaks and remain in the troughs.
His eyes followed hers out past the breakers for a moment but went back to watching her. Much about her remained the same. The athletic yet undeniably feminine figure she cut. Toned but with curves in the right places. Thoughtful eyes which searched for meaning. Soft lips which would kiss the man she loved someday. Not him, though. In his mind, she was his sister. At least in the conscious part.
A change had occurred in her, though, the boldness of youth replaced by the reticence that comes with age. Not that she didn’t talk a lot. She still did. It was that she filled her speech with trivialities and hoarded the things that mattered most deep in her heart.
A man and woman strolled down the shoreline. Between them walked a child, her tiny hands held by her parents. As the tide rushed in, they would lift and swing her upwards so her bare feet wouldn’t touch the foamy water. The girl giggled uncontrollably each time. A single sob burst out of Genny’s throat.
“You OK, Gen?” Country asked.
“Hmm? Yeah. I’m fine,” she said.
“What’re you thinking about?”
Her mind returned to the day her parents had taken her to Atlantic City. It was the only time she had gone to the beach with them. She had a faint recollection of walking hand in hand with both parents as they swung her above the retreating surf.
“Nothing,” she said. “Just admiring the view. It’s so beautiful here. So peaceful.”
Behind them, a car passed along the two-lane road. Its tires rasped along the pavement. To their right, a seal squawked a warning to an intruder.
“You sure?” Country asked. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that you’ve been … well, a little more pensive than usual.”
Genny cast a glance in Country’s direction. He continued to stare into the distance in such a way that she couldn’t tell if he was looking at her or not.
She gave a quick, dismissive shrug. “I’ve been tired,” she said. “Work. Studying online. And the storm last night woke me up.”
“There wasn’t a storm last night,” Country said.
“Oh.” Genny scrunched her lips. “I must’ve dreamt it.” She reached out and touched Country’s arm. “It was like that field trip we took in Mrs. Caldwell’s class. Remember? What was that? Fifth grade?”
“Sixth. Which field trip are you referring to? We took a few.”
“The one to Gettysburg. It took forever to get there. I don’t remember why, but right after we arrived, the rain started to come down in sheets. We sat on the bus for about two hours until Mrs. Caldwell canceled the trip. You were so mad.”
“I seem to recall you singing the whole time,” Country said.
“You do remember!”
“You drove me crazy.”
“Did I?” Genny said. “You never let on you were annoyed.” She paused. “Although, now that I think about it, I can remember a couple pieces of tofu sticking out of your ears. I thought you were trying to make me laugh, which you did.”
Country thought about her laugh. Pleasing, contagious. How she would lose it. Laughing so hard she had a hard time breathing. More than once, he prepared himself to do CPR, just in case. It had been a long time since he had heard her laugh like that.
“Just wanted to make you happy, Gen.”
“You always did that,” Genny said. She turned to him. “Still do.” There was something in the way she said it that sounded fearful. “Anyway. On the way home, it started to storm. It was so loud. I thought lightning hit the bus at least once.”
“You weren’t singing as much.”
Genny let out a short laugh. “No, I wasn’t.” Her face grew tense again. She put her hand to her face and pinched the lower lip. The silence between them continued long enough for a surfer to catch two decent waves. “When we got back, my father picked me up from school. My mother wasn’t there, though. At home, my father had my favorite dinner waiting on the table. That was the night he told me the cancer had returned.” Her voice faded, the last words dying away slowly.
Genny reached up and brushed a tear away from her eye.
“I miss my mom,” she said.
Country didn’t move or say a word, his outward appearance as calm as always. Inside, however, he felt the scar begin to tear.
“Well, that’s enough of that,” Genny said, dabbing the last bit of moisture from her face. She forced a smile. “You were telling me about your new job.”
Country shrugged with his eyebrows. “They offered me a role in a movie.”
“Really? For some reason, I thought you were helping build the set. I don’t know what gave me that impression. Doesn’t matter, though. That’s fantastic! I’m sure it’s a leading role. What’s the movie about? What part do you even play? How’d you even get it? Was this the role from the audition you told me about?” Apparently, Genny’s mood had done a pi (a one-eighty for those who don’t speak radian), and her chattiness had returned with a vengeance.
Country had no choice but to wait as the questions kept coming. Some more as the topics transitioned. A little longer while explanations were given, tangents were explored, paths wandered, and ways lost. By the time Genny arrived at how the Iroquois cured bacon (or bacón as she kept calling it), the brain cells Country dedicated to keeping track of Genny’s stories had tied themselves in a knot. Sometime later, during the rant on Sumerian grammatical structures, his soul became filled with such despair that it longed to read Albert Camus for a pick me up.
In an attempt to end the mental torture, Country pointed at the imaginary wristwatch on his arm, the universal sign for ‘Move it along, you slug.’ For some reason, she didn’t get the message. Not one to quit so easily, he stood up straight and made grandfather clock ticking noises, arriving at the hour and going gong seven times. No luck. A hastily constructed sundial with frantic pointing gestures failed to elicit the desired response. Finally, he grabbed Genny’s cheeks and pulled them apart with all his might. The cheek pockets made funny squishing sounds that delighted his ears. The word flow continued unabated, just at a slightly higher pitch.
Country sat down in the beach chair and felt his life force slipping away.
The sun started to descend below the surface of the earth. One by one, families shook out their towels and waddled like ducks with chafed thighs towards the showers at the edge of the sand. As the first starry lights winked at him from the heavens, Country decided he had lived a good life and willed his heart to stop.
“… And that’s how Satan became an editor at the Times.” Genny stopped.
Country hesitated to see if she would start up again. She didn’t but sat there with a giant grin. “So?” she said.
“To answer your first question …,” he said.
“What was the first question?” Genny asked.
His giant sigh sucked up so much oxygen that five wildfires immediately died out.
“You were asking me about the movie,” he said.
“Oh, yeah. Tell me about it. I’m all ears.”
“Not much to tell you at this point. I can’t tell you what the movie is about, other than it’s one of those, ‘save the planet from destruction’ types. Maybe from aliens. I couldn’t say. They didn’t show me the script or anything. I’m not even sure what role I’m going to get.”
Genny’s brows furrowed so deep it made it seem as if she had a pair of neatly trimmed, blonde moustaches. “That doesn’t make sense,” she said.
Country nodded in agreement, although he thought it was in reference to the moustaches. “Strangest thing,” he said. “They called me in and offered me the part without having to read.” He paused and corrected himself. “That’s not exactly true. Not the part about reading but about the offer. The agent there didn’t want to give it to me, but the actress – I got the feeling she was the star – demanded that I get the part. Just like that. She said, ‘I want him,’ and, next thing I know, I got an offer.”
“That’s really awesome,” Genny said, “and a little weird. Who was the actress? Is she famous?”
“Famous? I don’t think so. I’ve never seen her in a movie, not that I remember. In fact, I don’t know much about her other than her name’s Cherie.”
Genny’s moustache eyebrows perked up. “Cherie? What does she look like?”
“Short. No more than nine years old.”
“Curly, blonde hair,” Genny interrupted, “with a level of sass somewhere between ‘that’s cute’ and ‘I wanna slap your lips off’.”
“Mm hmm,” Country mm hmm’d. “You know her?”
“I do her hair,” Genny informed him with pride.
Country thought about the exquisite hairdo on the child, formed as though by the magical, golden hands of the leprechaun. Must be a different Cherie, he thought.
No. It’s the same Cherie, Genny replied in her mind.
What are you doing in my head? Country screamed.
Ha, ha, ha, Genny laughed mentally. “Ha, ha, ha,” she continued out loud.
Country gave her a peculiar look. “Where you in my … I mean … can you read my …?”
Genny’s expression was one of dumbfounded innocence as she closed the comic book. “What? Can I read your what?”
“Never mind,” he said. I must’ve imagined it, he thought.
That’s what you think, Genny’s mind whispered so Country’s wouldn’t hear it.
“By the way,” Country said. “How’s business at the Hairy Cherub?”
“Steady. Actually, better than that. I’ve got a ton of new customers.”
Country tried to hide his surprise. “How do you put up with all those bratty kids? I could never figure that out.”
“I love kids,” she said. “You know that. Besides, most of my new clients are ….” She stopped, knowing Country’s feelings about her environmental club friends.
“Are what?” Country pressed her.
“Um … well ….”
“Tortugas?”
Genny squirmed in the beach chair. “Yeah. I guess you can say that.”
“Genny. I told you not to get involved with those people. You don’t know ….”
Genny cut him off. “They’re my friends, Country Bivins, and I won’t hear you speak bad about them.”
“They are not your friends, Genny.”
Country was genuinely concerned. Genny turned so she couldn’t see his face.
“Yes, they are,” she said. Better than you’ve been recently, she thought. “They love me and help me not feel so … so alone.” Her face grew dim. “All of them except for …,” she accidentally said out loud.
“Except for who?” Country pulled on Genny’s arm to turn her face towards him. “Is someone giving you trouble?”
“No. No one’s giving me any trouble. Nothing I can’t handle anyway.”
Country knew when Genny was lying. Now was not an exception. “What’s going on?” he said.
She shrugged. “Nothing much. Just one of the club members threatened me.”
“What did he do? Who is he?” Country felt his worry manifest itself as anger. It took all he could to not yell at her. “If he hurts you, I swear I’m going to ….”
“It’s not a he,” she said. “It’s a she.”
Country’s lips pursed with such force that his moustache became eyebrows. “A she?”
“Siobhan O’Haggis. Looks like a cross between a pale gorilla and a ginger sasquatch. She gives me the willies.”
“What’d she say, Genny?”
“Nothing really.” She shrugged to play it off. “Something about entrails and dining. I don’t know. It’s not important.”
Country could no longer control his culturally appropriated ire. His lips began to tremble with the force of a 4.2 on the Richter scale. “I don’t care if it is a she,” he muttered. “If that woman lays a hand on you, it’ll be the last thing she does before she meets her maker.”
Genny’s laugh caught Country off guard.
“Something funny about that?” he asked.
“No. It’s just … it’s what my father would’ve said.”
“Your father.” Country’s words and mind drifted away.
Genny waited for him to finish his thought. When it was clear he wouldn’t, she prodded him. “What about my father?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Country Bivins,” she said softly. “What is it?”
He inhaled deeply and slowly let the breath out. “I guess there’s no point hiding it from you. I got an email last night,” he said.
“What’s an email?” she asked.
“Electronic mail,” he explained. “You get it on your computer.”
“You’re saying you got mail from my father on your computer?” A jolt of adrenaline flooded Genny’s body. “You found him? He wrote to you? So, he’s alive? Do you know where he is? Where is he?” Genny nearly jumped out of the chair. Her arms were shaking in the excitement.
“No. Nothing like that. It was about your father.” He hastily added a, “Sort of.”
The words punched her in the chest. The hope she didn’t allow herself to feel, she had felt, if only for a moment. It had escaped the dungeon in which she kept it locked and brought with it, not the joy it should have, but the acute pain of another disappointment. For a moment, she remembered why she buried the hope deep inside, beneath the laughter and the empty chatter and the hollowness and the meaningless tasks that occupied her every waking moment. Why she wouldn’t permit herself to think about the possibility of seeing her father again. Why nothingness had become the martinet of her emotions, subjugating and repressing all others. She did it because the only thing worse than not feeling was feeling. The only thing worse than no hope was a fool’s hope.
She clenched her jaw and held off the heartache, sending it back to her unconscious where it couldn’t hurt her. “What do you mean sort of?” she asked.
“It was from someone who said he knew him.”
“Who knew him? From where?” Genny asked.
“It didn’t say.”
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as her face turned red and her hands began to shake. She clasped them together so Country wouldn’t see them trembling. “What did it say, then?” The words were bitter.
“Not much, Gen. Just did I know a man named Parnell Haverford.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Country said. “Said he was an old friend looking to get in touch with him.”
“How’d he know to contact you?”
Country shrugged. “It didn’t say.” He looked at the anguish contorting Genny’s face and wished he had said nothing. “I’m sorry, Gen. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He tensed his jaws and stared down the beach.
The breeze kicked up again. Genny’s dress, which had been perfect during the warm, almost hot day, now couldn’t protect her against the chill. She crossed her arms and hugged them to her chest, resting them just beneath her breasts. A light somewhere in the distance spun in a slow circle. The beam crossed her face once and headed off to her right. She followed it until it disappeared in the gray haze which had started to creep in from the ocean.
Country watched Genny out of the corner of his eye. He wondered what she thought, how she felt. If she knew he had lied to her.
He re-read the email in his mind, skipping down to the one part that twisted his guts in a knot.
If you want to know what happened …
He clenched his fists so hard they started to hurt. If what the person said was true, if the person could even be believed. If …
He rubbed his face and stood up.
“Come on, Gen,” he said. “It’s time to go.”
Genny looked at him with the expression of a lost child. Reaching out, she took hold of his hand and allowed herself to be lifted to her feet.