A DAY AT THE BEACH

by Nancy

The City that never sleeps. 

“And every insomniac is out driving,” she grumbled at the dashboard clock. 

It presented very red, very annoying and tranquil numbers: 12:08 am.  Slowing to an impatient stop toward the rear of four lanes choked with sedans and SUVs, trucks, a half dozen of Manhattan’s daffodil-yellow taxis, a motorcycle, two buses … and that was only what she could see …  Catherine waited for the light, two blocks ahead, to glow green.  The streets, brilliant with rain-wash and billboard neon, reflected a prism of the ever-traffic-clogged distance. 

He’d suggested that she return to her apartment ‘to rest’.

“At least he no longer just sends me away.”  Mildly consoled by that thought, she eased onto the accelerator as brake lights up ahead blinked off. 

A weekend with him in Connecticut.  For one sweet moment, it shone … possible.

She’d get the van back to the rental office, catch a cab to her apartment. 

And unpack.

The hours dragged.

Below, Vincent roved night-silent tunnels.

Above, Catherine sat in her dark apartment.

A little after six o’clock she was on the next-to-last rung, being lifted off and into the welcome of his eager arms.  They held one another for a long time.

“I’m sorry.” 

She pulled back a little within his embrace.  “No, please don’t.  I’m sorry, Vincent, and I’m ashamed.  You were smart.  It was not a good idea.  I let myself get caught up in the moment and refused, ignored, any thought of the danger.  I’d have been a nervous wreck the whole time.”

“Because of what I am.”

“No.  Because the world Above can be so lacking in compassion.  So fearful.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you were forbidden something that any other … man … could have given you.”

“Vincent, I wanted it for you.  For us.  Maybe too much for me.  The thrill of a dawn we could greet together.  White clouds and blue sky shining in your eyes.  Perhaps a deer in that meadow I described.”  She paused.  Thoughtful.  “Just time in a new place.  And safety in the daylight.”  She took a breath edged in sorrow and new resolve.  “My world prevented it, not you.”

“Catherine.  It was a beautiful dream.  A. Very.  Beautiful.  Dream.  Another in an endless list of beautiful dreams that you can’t have … with me.”  He broke off, certain that now she would accept the reality of what he’d been telling her for months.

Determined green eyes stared at him.  Saw more, perhaps, than he wished to show. 

“I want your day.” 

“My day?”  He’d meant to make her think, realize how little, how … nothing …

“Yes, Vincent.  It’s surely a beautiful dream of mine to spend a whole day with you.  Give me your hours.  Share your duties.  Conversation.  Make my dream come true.” 

At the base of a rusted ladder, far beneath Manhattan, Catherine fisted his large hands, curled her slight fingers around them and smiled at him.  

“I have to prepare for a class later this morning.”  Not a complaint or excuse.  A delay.  Maybe.  Still trying to make her agree that he was not the stuff of which dreams are made.

“Perhaps I can help.” 

The prospect so delighted her that happiness shimmered toward him like … sunshine.  Surely sunshine felt like this, all warm and golden and promising.

“Hi, Vincent.  Hi, Catherine.  Thought you were going.  Are you going?”  It was Mouse, with Jamie, surprising them apart. 

Catherine sensed distrust in the young girl’s glance as it darted away from her to find Vincent.  “Yeah, aren’t you going to that cabin, Vincent?”

“No, Jamie, Mouse.  Catherine will spend the day here.  With me.” 

“Okay good.  Okay fine.”  Mouse, satisfied, was eager to continue on his way. 

But Jamie was not as easily appeased.  “Does Father know your plans have changed, Vincent?”  There seemed a-not-so-subtle spike of accusation in the question.

“We’ll stop and tell him, Jamie.”  He raised Catherine’s hand, settled it into the crook of his elbow, and wished his friends a good day.

Usually even holding hands was a private activity reserved for special moments.  This had been a very deliberate and public declaration of belonging.  She glanced up and decided he looked happy.  And confident.

“Who needs Connecticut?” she thought, as they walked along in a pleasant, easy silence. 

Nearer now to the home chambers, she wondered aloud, “How was it?” 

“Loud.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”  He winced at the memory.  “I think you should wait in my chamber while I speak to my angry parent, Catherine.  You can look over the texts that I’ll be using with the children, if you’d like.”

“I’d prefer to be with you.  It was, after all, my idea that caused all the upheaval around here.

“Hello, Mary.”  The older woman’s sudden appearance, from yet another tunnel, was greeted with a warm smile.

“Catherine, how are you, my dear?  Vincent …”

Into her hesitation, he explained, “Catherine will be spending the day Below.”

“Oh.  Perhaps it’s for the best then.”  She was disappointed for them.  “I will see you later, Catherine?”

“I’ll look forward to it.  We,” there was an emphasis not lost on him, “are going to stop and see Father.” 

Vincent looked a doubt at Catherine, but she smiled up at him with a jaunty determination.

Mary said something in farewell that they didn’t quite hear.  Perhaps it was a small prayer that Father would hold his tongue when he saw his son with Catherine.

He did.

They appeared, their arrival unannounced by step or sound, standing on the landing, holding hands.  Waiting to be invited in.  The handholding was not lost on him but prayer, Mary would be happy but not in the least surprised to see, does work wonders.

“Vincent.  Hello, Catherine.”  No edge in his voice.

“Father, we have changed our plans for today,” Vincent spoke as though there had been no argument earlier.  “Catherine will spend the day here with me and we will join you in the dining chamber for breakfast in an hour.”

“Oh?  Yes.  That would be fine.  Fine.”  The Tunnel Patriarch was trying very hard to contain a staggering relief.  Catherine almost giggled.

“That wasn’t so bad,” she whispered as they walked away, “especially considering every objection he raised was probably logical and correct and grounded in his love for you.”

“That … may … be.  But the fact is that Father knows, and sometimes manages, to graciously accept a gift.”

“Since when is having me around all day a ‘gift’?”

“He does care for you, Catherine.  He’s just afraid to let me see how much.”

All her disbelief was expressed in a mumbled, “Uh huh.”

“He worries.”

“Uh huh.”

Vincent stopped and drew Catherine to stand before him, his hands gentle on her arms. 

“Perhaps I am a little like him.”

“You worry?”

“I … have been … afraid.”

She couldn’t believe he’d accidentally choose a past tense for that declaration.   

“You must follow your heart.”  His own advice, spoken to her with love so many times, now presented to him.

“I should,” he said. 

She couldn’t have heard that correctly. 

“If Rebecca is willing, again,” he spoke hopefully, “to teach my class, would you come with me to a special place that I know?”

Her heart may have performed a spontaneous somersault in her chest as it yelled, “Will I?!!  Will I?!!”  But her lips spoke calm words.  Softly.  “I’d like that very much, Vincent.”

And so it was that they didn’t go to breakfast.  They left the lesson with a somewhat puzzled, but genially willing, Rebecca, and both thanked her.  Begging a lunch-to-go from William, and the favor of explaining their absence to Father, they set out.

If either worried about how their news would be received, neither cared enough to mention it.

The quiet tunnels that she’d not seen before, the occasional majestic chamber with its high, domed ceiling, even the dark passages that were less dark for Vincent’s presence, all seemed to invite wonder, and welcome their coming.  Perhaps no one traveled this way, or not often, and surely the sound of his voice, his voice, could charm even the stones.  She was positive that the walls were glad to see them.

Before he could identify the sound for her, Catherine asked, “Are we near a river?”  Excitement whispered her question, as though saying the words aloud would ruin the magic she imagined ahead.

“Yes, we are, and it has a small beach where we can have our picnic.  Please wait here a moment.”

He reappeared to lead her through the smooth cleft he’d used.  A tiny, glowing cavern opened before her, a fantastic sight!  It was a river and there was a patch of pearly sand, and the entire place was alight in torch glow!

“How wonderful!”  She turned to him, her delight a more brilliant shining than the half dozen flames clamped to the walls around them.  “It’s perfect, Vincent!”  She ran ahead of him to the water’s edge, looked back to ask, “Is it safe?  Can we swim, too?”

Sad to dampen her enthusiasm, he apologized, “We have no swimming attire with us, I’m afraid.”  It had never occurred to him to suggest such a thing.  And he was having a hard time seeing past pictures his imagination was too eager to show him.

“Oh.”  Only the river noticed her impish grin when she faced it to ask, “How many shirts are you wearing, Vincent?”

Catherine had never heard him cough so she counted the choking sound behind her as a first. 

“Three…but I …”

Without giving him a chance to continue she wondered, “Is it very cold?”

“No…but I …”

Now she stood before him, her palms warm against his chest.  “Oh, Vincent, let’s do it!  Let’s go swimming together.  It’s something we couldn’t even have done in Connecticut at this time of year.”

He looked all wide-eyed and panicked but she knew she’d won. 

He swam in one shirt and she in another.  Dry clothes lay in neat piles either side of the backpack.

She’d busied herself undoing the straps on their bag, pulling out the quilt that would have to serve as towel and blanket, arranging William’s picnic, all while encouraging him to ‘change first and test the water’.  She’d given him complete privacy.  Hard as that was.

He was underwater while she undressed. 

He was underwater as she smoothed his shirt down to her knees and rolled up the sleeves. 

He was still underwater when she came to join him. 

And he remained underwater while she waded in up to her neck.   

I have to look like a turn-of-the-century matron in a bathing dress and he’s afraid to look at me.  She sighed, thought bikini, grabbed a deep breath and dove under to find him.

Once the initial awkwardness had passed, they played.  Racing, splashing, laughing … she thought she had never seen him as carefree. 

“Connecticut would not have been as pleasant for me as this, Vincent.”  

Two wet shirts, stretched over uneven boulders, dripped crooked trails into the sand.  His hair, twisted mostly dry, hung over his shoulders, leaving darker spots where it soaked his last shirt.  Her hair was caught in a limp ponytail that now and then leaked cold droplets under her sweater and down her back.

Neither was aware of the slightest discomfort.

They’d eaten the ham and cheese sandwiches and finished the peanut butter brownies.

“Someday, Catherine, we’ll find a way to go there.  Someday…” 

She licked her fingers and lay back to rest on her elbows.  Studied his profile. 

“No, I think I don’t want us to go there.  It’s too far from … here.  Let this be our Connecticut, Vincent.  We could even camp here for a weekend.”

His thoughtful demeanor didn’t change, there was no tensing of his muscled length, but she noticed he didn’t agree, either.  It didn’t matter.  There was something more important, something that had occurred to her while they were in the water … he’d been having fun because she was with him.

She was responsible for his happiness.  Loving him made it so.  What a glorious vocation!

“Catherine, did you even go to bed last night?”

His question recalled her.  She shook her head. 

“I thought not.  Lie back.  Close your eyes.  There’s time.”

He was asleep beside her when she woke.  

She shifted close to him.  Sat up to watch him breathe.  Wondered what he dreamed. 

“I promise to cherish you, so that you may see how deserving you are of love.   

I promise you passion, so that you may know the joy of being loved. 

I will be your serenity and your exhilaration. 

Forever, you will have all that is in my power to give, Vincent.”

He stirred, settled, and slept on. 

She lay back to watch the watery shadows swirling on the ceiling.

“Ours is one heart,” he said, with a delicate touch of warm lips to hers.

The kiss woke her.  A sudden awareness.  A sense of something miraculous.  Near. 

Her eyes opened and he was there, close, leaning over her, smiling. 

“Was it a beautiful dream, Catherine?”

Promises on a sandy beach.

An always love.

Their … beautiful … dream.  Coming true.

thank you, H, for the inspiration