“You must be Brian’s wife,” one woman said to her. Meredith smiled and excused herself, pretending to see someone she knew—her gaze taking in everything around her, and searching for one familiar sight—her husband and son, enjoying their regular family Sunday afternoon at the beach.
* * *
UNLESS THERE WAS an emergency at the hospital, Sunday afternoons were family time. Max reflected that he and Meri had made it a point ever since Caleb was born to take him to the ocean, even if only for a brief visit that one day a week. Meri had insisted.
I want him to grow up with an ingrained sense of freedom, she’d said. She’d told him that it hadn’t been until she’d arrived in California, stood next to the ocean for the first time, that she’d really believed she could recover from her past.
Standing at the ocean, she’d said, put life in perspective. Possibilities were so much larger than the limitations others tried to place on people. She’d just needed to see to believe.
She wanted their son raised to believe that anything was possible.
Her insight had opened his eyes.
And that Sunday afternoon, Max was left caring for an out-of-sync two-year-old, and feeling blind as a bat.
As tempting as it was to just sit at home in front of the television and take the opportunity to introduce Caleb to football, he knew better.
He wasn’t giving in. Or giving up. They’d find Meri. She’d be back home soon.
Until then, he had to carry on with his life. Which meant taking his son to the beach as was their Sunday afternoon tradition.
And maybe some of the inspiration his wife seemed to get from being there would rub off on him, too.
Caleb sat quietly in his car seat as Max drove. At first Max thought he’d fallen asleep. But when he glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw his son staring out the window, a wide-eyed, serious expression on his face.
Max wished he could see into his son’s mind. To know what the boy was thinking. To know how best to help him.
“Sand!” Caleb squirmed in Max’s arms, wanting to be let down, as soon as they reached the section of public beach that had become their regular spot not only because it was next to the playground, but also because it provided the most unfettered view of the beach strip.
No hiding places, Meri had said.
“You want to play in the sand?” he asked Caleb, as he adjusted his step to keep his son within arm’s reach. Meri would be holding Caleb’s hand, but it was time for the boy to spread his wings. To find his wings and learn how to use them might be a better metaphor.
Because Meri kept them clipped and tied? Had she been right, that wise woman who’d so completely stolen his heart? Had she been telling the truth in the letter she’d left him? Had she believed that she’d been holding their son back with her paranoia?
Had he been so blind that he hadn’t recognized the extent of his wife’s personal struggles?
Max didn’t think so. Meri was careful. But she also gave in when Max put his foot down. They made a good team, she’d said. “Daddy, sand!” Caleb sat and pounded the ground beside him.
Though there were many people about, the beach wasn’t overly crowded that Sunday in September. The weather had cooled over the past week and even in the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts he’d dressed himself and his son in, he could feel the first hint of winter’s chill.
With a glance around, checking out the few people scattered across the beach and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he sat.
“Cassie, cassie,” Caleb said, pounding the ground again. Castle. The toddler wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t running and throwing sand and showing other signs that a happy, extroverted two-year-old might show, but he wasn’t whining, either, which was a blessing after four days of little else.
So Max dug his hands down to damp sand and did his best to form enough of a lump to satisfy his son that they had a castle in front of them.
“This is the moat,” he said, finding the sand sifting through his fingers therapeutic, and enjoying his son’s rapt attention. He dug a trench around the lump he’d built. “There’s pretend water running all around it here, see?”
“Fish!” Caleb said loudly enough for people several yards away to hear, as he picked a small piece of debris out of the sand at his side and threw it into the trench.
“Good!” Max said, smiling. “Fish are good. I think we need more.” He struggled to hold the smile. He wasn’t feeling it. But if collecting beach debris in a small circle around a nondescript mound kept his son occupied, he’d gladly force a lot more than a smile.
And would gladly stay on the beach as long as Caleb was happy there, too. The sand and the breeze, getting lost amongst people who were milling around as though the world was perfectly normal, was far better than facing a closet full of clothes that weren’t being worn and wondering if they ever would be again.
“Mama!” As though Caleb could read his father’s mind, he cried out.
“Mama’s not here,” Max said. “Look! A big fish. Maybe we should name him.”