“It’s not supposed to last. Nothing lasts forever,” Jessica answered. “Just sit with me. You don’t have to help if you don’t want. Just sit with me for a while.”
The idea of just sitting in the sand while Jessica worked on her castle seemed like an even bigger waste of time, so Thomas contented himself with the menial task of sculpting windows in the towers of Jessica’s sandcastle.
* * *
Peter woke up late in the afternoon when the sun had circled the apartment building and found its way into his bedroom window. By the time he actually got out of bed the sun had sunk low enough to justify going out. He didn’t bother calling Stanly; he never had time these days. And he didn’t feel like going to Murphy’s. He decided to try one of those fancy places downtown. He drove himself to a parking garage where he left his car. As he walked down the street, he noticed a beggar packing up his belongings in a tattered sheet.
“Hey,” Peter called out. The beggar looked up to give him his attention.
“You look like you could use a drink as much as I do,” Peter said approaching the stranger.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m heading back home for the night,” the beggar replied. His words came out so naturally that Peter wondered how many times he’d received a similar invitation. “If you need a drinking partner though, there’s a guy who sits out about a block that way who’ll take you up on that offer any day. You should be able to find him because I don’t think he ever goes home, probably doesn’t have one.”
The beggar got up to walk away. Peter didn’t understand how a beggar could refuse him, and he burned with indignation.
“So you’re too good for me?” he shouted to the beggar’s back.
The beggar stopped walking long enough to look over his shoulder and answer, “No offense, but it looks like rain so I’m turning in early. Like I said, go about a block that way, and you’ll find someone to drink with.”
* * *
When Lewis finally reached the sandy beach next to the river the older boys had already started to set up camp. The designated camping area was further up, but the older boys had gotten permission from the adults to sleep by the river.
“I can’t feel my legs,” James Guthrie moaned as he collapsed on the soft sandy bank. Lewis wished that he couldn’t feel his legs, but the pain of exhaustion persisted as he began the process of setting up his tent. This time Michael came over to help him as soon as he’d gotten his own tent set up—before Lewis had to ask for help. By the time the two of them got Lewis’s tent set up, the older boys had taken out their fishing poles and gone down to the river.
“Come on,” Michael said to Lewis when they’d stored Lewis’s backpack inside the tent and zipped up the front door.
“That’s okay,” Lewis said. I didn’t bring a fishing pole.”
“Oh,” Michael said, and then crawled into his tent. He emerged with his fishing pole and rushed down to the river where the other boys had gathered.
* * *
Hannah spent all day thinking about Andy, about what he’d said, about counseling, about how he’d opened doors and pulled out her chair, and about whether or not to call him. She wanted to call him, but not because she wanted to go out again, though that would be necessary. She wanted to call him because she wanted him to take her to his place. She’d wanted the same thing the night before, and as she waited for the hour hand on her clock to make its rounds she tried to understand why she’d refused.
“It’s natural to feel these needs,” she told herself. “I’ve been alone for so long. Even when I was with Peter I was alone. In the end it comes down to biology, natural drives and desires.”
She still couldn’t convince herself. The part of her that insisted on believing in emotions, in feelings that ran deeper than chemical reactions in the brain, refused to be silenced.
“If he’d only been asking for a one night stand,” she said under her breath. “If he’d been looking for biology instead of love, or romance, or happily ever after.”
She needed to believe that all of those things couldn’t be found, that people had made them up along with unicorns and fairy godmothers. She needed to believe that those ideas had sprung up out of the need to believe that life didn’t come down to biology. She couldn’t admit the possibility of happily ever after being available because that would mean that she’d missed it, that somewhere along the way she’d made a mistake or a wrong decision.
“That can’t be,” she told herself. “They’re all right: Abigail, the doctor, and even Andy in a certain sense.” She didn’t think that Andy had been right about going to his place, but he’d been right about one thing. Hannah pulled out the card he’d given her and dialed the number.
* * *
Lewis sat by the river with a stick that two of the older boys had found for him. They’d tied some fishing line and a hook to it and even loaned him a lure, but Lewis still didn’t feel like he fit in as he sat on a large rock, holding his makeshift pole over the water while everyone else sat further down river fishing.
“It looks like rain,” one of the older boys said as he examined the sky.
“Make sure to put the rainfly on your tents before you go to sleep,” another of them cautioned. Lewis listened to their conversation but didn’t get too close because of the shame that he felt over his stick and string. The shame burned in him to such a degree that he didn’t know how to react when something jerked at the string. Lewis pulled back on the stick and tried to think of how he could reel in the line. By the time he’d thought to run further from the water, whatever it was that had pulled on the string had gotten away and taken the lure with it. Lewis stole a glance at the rest of the boys to make sure that no one had seen his failure and then put the string back in the river even though he had nothing on the end of it to attract the fish.
“It sure looks like rain,” one of the older boys repeated as he looked up at the threatening sky.
Chapter 12
He that has and a little tiny wit,
With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain,
Must make content with his fortunes fit,
Though the rain it raineth every day.
-William Shakespeare
“It looks like rain,” Andy said when Hannah opened the front door.
“The weatherman said last week that there would be a 90% chance of precipitation,” Hannah replied.
“Do you want to stay in tonight?” Andy offered.
“I’d like that. I’m glad that you could come over.”
“I’m glad you called.”
Hannah moved aside so that Andy could pass through the doorway. She told herself again that it was just biology, that she wouldn’t let emotions come into play, and that even if they did those too were only the results of chemical reactions. She offered Andy a seat in the living room while she went into the kitchen to boil water for tea. When she reentered the living room, he’d followed her instructions and made himself at home on the couch. He’d turned the television on to the local news, and he turned around when she walked into the room.
“It looks like we made the right decision staying in tonight,” he said, pointing to the screen where the local weatherman tried to explain the storm clouds that covered the gulf and all the area along the coast. Hannah sat down next to Andy, and he turned off the television. Leave it on a little longer,” she said. “My son’s out camping. I just want to see what the weather is like where he is.”
Andy turned the television back on and handed the remote to Hannah.
“I’ve got to be honest,” the weatherman said, “I can’t explain what’s going on with this storm system. Not too long ago it looked like it was going to die out as it moved inland and cause scattered showers from Florida to south Texas. Meteorologically speaking what it’s doing now doesn’t make any sense; it defies all logic. I mean there is no precedent for what it’s doing.”
The anchor cut in, “For those of us who aren’t meteorologists can you
explain in layman’s terms what we could expect to see?”
“Of course,” the weatherman responded. “While I can’t say with any certainty what this storm will do, I can say that if it continues to build like it’s building now that viewers should expect at least several inches of rain and probably severe thunder storms and very strong winds. If any of you have plans to go out tonight, I would certainly suggest that you stay inside, but like I said earlier, it’s impossible to be able to say for sure what this storm is going to do.”
Andy must have seen the worried look on Hannah’s face. He put his hand on her shoulder and said that he was sure everything would be okay.
“I’m sure your son will be just fine,” he added.
“Idiot local weatherman,” Hannah said, as if she hadn’t noticed Andy’s hand or his comment. She changed the station to the weather channel where another meteorologist stood in front of a regional map pointing to various locations.
“As I said this storm has sprung up very unexpectedly as a result of a variety of meteorological forces.” Hannah listened as the weatherman tried to explain exactly what was going on in layman’s terms, but she didn’t understand a word of what he said. While he agreed with the local weatherman in that viewers should expect severe storms along the coast, the fact that he could at least pretend to understand the storm in terms of fronts and pressure systems comforted her. She listened a little longer, forgetting all about Andy, who sat patiently on the couch next to her. After a few minutes, she changed the channel to CNN where yet another meteorologist explained the causes of the storm system as it moved further inland. Hannah understood just enough of his explanation to realize that his theory completely contradicted what she’d just heard from the weather channel, but he spoke just as persuasively, and the contradiction didn’t bother her in the least.
“Between the two of them one of them must be right,” Hannah said to no one in particular.
“Huh?” Andy asked. He obviously hadn’t been listening as closely as Hannah.
“Nothing,” Hannah said and turned the channel back to the local news. “There are several theories that might explain what’s going on here,” the weatherman continued, “but none of them can fully account for what we’re seeing here tonight.”
“Idiot,” Hannah repeated and turned back to the weather channel.
* * *
Thomas stayed with Jessica and helped her build the sand castle until sunset. Every time he thought they were finished she would find something else to add to the project. Thomas realized that she had no intention of getting up or doing anything more productive, and that he would spend the rest of the evening pouring all his energy into refining the frail piece of art. Clouds began to accumulate off the shore and threatened to destroy the tiny castle, but Jessica didn’t seem to notice. She carried on as if oblivious to everything except the drawbridge that she strove to perfect. Thunder clapped in the distance and the wind picked up. Thomas watched as families and couples evacuated the beach in search of shelter. Jessica didn’t show any sign of concern.
“Aren’t you ready to go?” Thomas asked.
“It’s not finished,” Jessica said pointing to the castle. “Let’s stay until it’s finished.”
“But the rain,” Thomas objected. “Everything’s going to get washed away in a few minutes.”
Jessica didn’t respond but continued sculpting each intricate detail. Thomas sat beside her waiting and looking at the sky. She was still working when drops of rain began to fall around them. Each droplet that found its way to the sand castle took its toll on the structure, erasing the texture even while Jessica strove to form it.
“Can we go now?” Thomas asked.
“Let’s stay and watch,” Jessica said, and she sat down a few feet from the castle. She motioned for Thomas to sit next to her and he complied.
“It makes you wonder what the point of all that work was since nobody’s ever going to get to see it,” Thomas said.
“It wasn’t meant to last,” Jessica answered. “If I’d wanted people to be able to enjoy it forever I’d have built it in a glass box and sealed it up so it wouldn’t ever be damaged by wind, or rain, or little kids who can’t resist the urge to knock down other people’s sand castles.”
“So why did we build it?” Thomas asked.
“For someone who talks about life not having any purpose or meaning you sure do spend a lot of time asking why. Can’t you just sit with me for a few minutes and at least pretend that you understand why this was so important to me?”
The rain began to fall harder, but Jessica didn’t seem to notice it soaking her hair. The barrage of droplets dissolved the turrets and windows before trickling down into the mud. Thomas couldn’t ignore the cold wet feeling of rain beating down on his bare shoulders, though the tiny beads of water failed to produce a reaction in his companion. He stared at the castle as the rain reduced it to a pile of wet sand. He stole a glance at Jessica who still hadn’t moved. Streams of water poured down her cheeks in such a way that Thomas couldn’t tell if they’d had their origin in her tear ducts or the dark clouds above.
“Do you want to go back to the hotel yet?” Thomas asked with cautions reservation.
“Just sit with me,” she pleaded and reached for his hand without turning her gaze from the muddy mound in front of her. Thomas looked out at the horizon where the billowing clouds showed no sign of relenting, reluctantly took her hand, and sat back down next to her while the rain fell down all around them.
“Maybe you’re right,” Jessica said. “Maybe it’s all pointless.” She turned her head to the side briefly to look at Thomas then back at the place where the sand castle had once stood. “But if that’s all life amounts to in the end, I’d rather spend it on the beach building sand castles.”
She sunk her fingers into the wet sand and pulled up a handful of it. “If you’re right, and this is what life comes to then,” she stopped talking in mid-sentence, as if she’d lost her train of thought or couldn’t find words to express what she felt. Thomas waited patiently as the rain continued to fall and made him shiver.
“I don’t want to be alone.” Jessica’s voice quivered. “Just sit with me.”
* * *
When the rain began to fall in Mexico the youth director announced that there had been a chance of light showers and that everyone should find some shelter while they waited for the storm to pass. Julia surveyed the sky. The billowing clouds showed no indication of passing after a light shower. She followed the family into the flimsy one room edifice that they knew as home. Not until she’d accepted a seat on one of the two rickety beds did she realize that everyone else had found shelter elsewhere, and that she was alone with the woman and her two children.
The woman, after making sure that Julia was situated, went back out into the rain that had begun to fall loudly on the tin room. The little boy made a fire in the clay stove that occupied one corner of the room. His younger sister clanged pots around preparing something inside of them. Julia surveyed her surroundings. She’d noticed the structure and noted how humble it seemed when she’d first gotten out of the van, but now that she found herself sitting inside the dwelling, she examined the rusted tin room that had been pieced together from scraps of metal that had probably been left over from other houses. In the places where the scraps didn’t cover, rain dripped in, creating muddy puddles in the dirt floor. The walls had been made out of oddly shaped scraps of plywood joined together with rusty nails. Either cardboard or plastic bags filled in the rest of the gaps.
The woman came back inside carrying a bundle of sticks that she placed next to the clay stove. She took a dinted black pot and set it under a rather large hole in the roof where the rain seemed to pour in rather than drip. A few moments passed, and then the woman took the pot that had collected a considerable amount of rainwater and set it over the opening in the clay stove so that the fire could heat it.
The woman sat with her children on the other b
ed facing Julia and peeled potatoes with an old knife. Occasionally she looked up and smiled at Julia who hadn’t moved. Julia smiled back. She looked intently into the face of the woman, trying to find the traces of self-pity, or frustration that surely dwelt below the surface. The woman looked up and smiled again, not making any attempt at communicating with words. Julia only saw joy and contentment in the woman’s eyes. When the woman finished peeling the potatoes, she sliced them, and put them in the pot of water that had begun to boil, and then went to work cutting up what looked like a cactus leaf.
The puddles on the floor got bigger, and by the time the woman had finished preparing the stew most of the floor had turned to mud. After thirty or forty-five minutes two men walked into the room. The rain had completely soaked their old dirty clothes. Both men greeted the woman as they shed their wet shirts and pants. The woman produced dry clothes from under the bed for the two men, who Julia realized must have been the husband and oldest son she’d heard about that morning. The two men got dressed in front of Julia without any sign of shame or even acknowledging her presence. When they’d finished they huddled around the clay stove.
The woman said something to them and pointed to Julia. The two men turned from the fire to look at her but didn’t say anything. The father nodded his head and grunted before turning back to the fire. The woman took the stew off the fire and scooped some out into a plastic bowl and served it to Julia. Julia accepted the bowl graciously. The smell that came up with the steam almost turned her stomach, but she forced herself to eat out of politeness as the woman served the rest of the family. Julia decided to consume the stew as quickly as possible to get rid of the stench that came up from it. When she’d finished she got up from the bed, walked across the muddy floor and said gracias as she handed the bowl to the woman. The woman nodded her head, poured what little was left of the stew into the bowl, and began to eat. Julia went back to the bed and sat down while the family huddled together with their bowls of stew.
As they talked back and forth, the gruffness disappeared from the father’s face, and at one point they all laughed. The father looked over at Julia and said, “Lluvia fuerte.” He spoke slowly so that she could make out the syllables.