the spaces between their words seem less tentative than they are respectful. to interrupt the quiet of the sea and the sky above is nearly criminal; as such, it’s pleasant, and some part of him is oddly grateful, that the woman by his side is as soft-spoken as he is while they accompany the tide and everything it conceals. something about the isolation of the beach demands that quiet. even the gulls that tend to break that pleasant atmosphere prefer to congregate over the more populated, public stretches further along the cove, where they can scavenge hot dog buns and leftover fries.
his gaze lingers over her a few heartbeats longer once she’s turned hers away, and then it follows to the distant horizon, attempting to picture what she describes. he’s seen it once before as well, and it’s even more beautiful than he supposes the english language could ever convey. it’s calm, and yet silently threatening, in a way. its presence seems a reminder of the biblical flood that nearly put the entire earth at an end. look what i could do if i wished, it says, simply because i wished it.
‘ i moved close by, ’ he replies, ‘ just recently. ’ and he’s been coming down to the water often ever since, almost as though he’s waiting to tire of it, testing himself a handful of times a week to see if he can still appreciate the peace of this little escape. he can only hope he’ll never grow accustomed enough for it to numb him.
‘ and yourself? ’ will asks, offering her both a glance and a gentle smile. ‘ you can’t be a tourist. you look like you belong here. ’
“Ah.” she’d welcome him to the neighbourhood but the sea seems to be doing a decent enough job already and Annie’s never been much good at etiquette, prefers things that fall more naturally from her mouth. Instead she says, “You made a good move moving here. The sea has a home for everyone who needs one.”
( cryptic, but that’s always been her way. words disconnected until you learn to join the dots.)
Lips curve pleasantly at his statement, she does belong here. "My family owned the cottage, the little white one, above the cliffs, just behind those rocks.” A tiny gesture of the head although little effort is placed into it. It overlooks this this cove, waves lulled her to sleep each night with their lullaby, gulls called for her wake with the sun as a child. Memories of rock pool paddling and swimming until her parents called her in, late evenings, moon floating with her in the waters depth, mothers voice echoing from the cliffs. “I moved away for a short while but somehow the tide bought me home.” That and the need for familiarity, the need to HEAL after trauma. Expression falters for a moment, those peaceful memories tainted for a second before she recollects herself.
( here and now. here and now. fingers feel sand, let each grain fall between her fingers. )
A moment of silence, tide filling in the syllables for her before she finds he voice,
“Now it’s just my son and I.”
Smiling once more, warmer than before somehow, her child has that ability- can make sunbeams appear on the woman's face no matter of any storm. What better place to raise the boy? She brings him here often, raises him the same way she was raised- teaches him to weave netting, talks to him of the oceans tales and holds his little hands as he learns his way against the waves.
