Page 22 of Love Always

She smiles at me. “I only argue the points that really matter.”

“Uncle Tavis!” says Cory, correcting himself, though dropping the “r,” his voice a little breathless as Travis flips him right side up and sets him on the sand.

When Travis glances at me and tosses a nod, his large brown eyes are flecked with green. He’s taller than me, maybe just over six feet and strong. Good looking kid. I feel a little guilty remembering the pictures of him coming home as an infant with him in Chloe’s arms while the rest of the children gathered round. Another picture of him at three or so with apparently many, and I mean many, pairs of underwear on his head, having tea with Laurel and Devon. Another, a little older, holding a tiny Christmas tree and looking very concerned about his sap-sticky fingers. High school graduation with a real, not-quite-full-grown-doe on stage with him.

Those photos are private. I had no right to intrude.

Another person, a young woman with a streak of pink in her short cropped bright blonde hair wanders down from The Inn.

I nod towards the building “I think you have your first guest for the Peeper Party.”

“That’s Colleen,” says Laurel quickly. “I’m going to pick you up,” she says before plucking Cory from the sand. Balancing Cory on a hip, she waves with her other hand. “She’s a classmate of mine.”

Laurel walks past me to greet Colleen and I catch her smell again: lavender, but this time it’s mixed with the brine of sea water and the smoke coming off the pit. I can tell right away she and Colleen are not close friends, but rather new acquaintances. There’s a good four feet between them and Laurel looks nervous, as if making sure Colleen feels welcome while still hoping everyone doesn’t blame her if her new friend drinks too much and dances on tables.

It only takes a few more minutes for people to come wandering down from The Inn. Fires and food have a tendency to do this. Though there’s already dozens of beach chairs, several people are bringing down more, weathered, folding wooden chairs. Older couples, young couples, children, one forties-something couple in expensive casual clothes and a wide-eyed au pair in tow. Finally, there’s a middle-aged gay couple from Norway who wander down in shorts with a higher tolerance for chilly weather and clearly after the last rays of sunshine, and a large family from Japan with their mother who looks as though she is about a thousand years old. Everyone is all very excited about the lobster and corn. The sun is starting to set and on the end of the peninsula, The Inn catches both the sunrise and sunset.

Ribbons of orange and red trail, knotting low across the sky against the horizon. The warm colors brush the surface of waves. Stiff paper cardboard plates are stacked on a table along with bamboo utensils. Bryce and I take pitchforks and remove the steaming seaweed, while Finn reaches down with long metal tongs and begins loading plates with lobster and corn. There’s purple coleslaw with sesame oil and carrots, a green salad, and milk cartons on ice for kids, sodas for teens, and three large metal pots to throw the shells away. People have to share nutcrackers and picks. As night settles, a few balance cell phone flashlights on their laps so they can break into the shells and dig out their meal.

Chloe and Bryce set up a huge cooler of ice with more cold sodas, waters, and beers on the back porch. There’s also a special table of various wines and, right next to that, the dessert table with samples.

I spend most of the time nursing a beer and watching Laurel. From a distance, she floats effortlessly between couples, families, talking, laughing, always animated and with Colleen in tow. Cory had attached himself to Uncle Travis who also had an uncanny way of just chit-chatting with complete strangers—this is a skill I have had to cultivate. It’s clear Colleen is shy, and she hangs with Laurel like she’s a lifeline.

Watching Laurel’s body language, she’s neither an extrovert nor introvert, both unhelpful terms in my line of work—people are far too nuanced for broad categories. She merely reflects what I saw in those family photos. She is as independent and as connected as her siblings. She is just this force of kindness, of goodness, making sure people are happy and feel at home, and every few minutes she circles around to check on Cory who is either balanced on his uncle’s broad shoulders, or dragging him to some other food station.

Once I saw the three of them—Cory, Travis and Laurel—together, the two adults talking calmly while both Colleen and Cory looked sullen, albeit for different reasons.

I almost stepped off the porch to help and at least relieve Laurel of Colleen, when Bryce claps me on the shoulder.

“One beer? What’s the matter with you?”

I grin. “I’m fine.”

“I’ve been watching whatever this is,” he says waving some fingers at my beer. “I’ve never met anyone who drinks beer by the teaspoon.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” says Chloe coming up behind him and then kissing him on his shoulder. She’s tallest of the girls and yet still comes just to his chin. Bryce is well over six feet, broad, and has massive thighs. I once saw him crush a bag of frozen ice between them at a party.

“You need dessert,” she adds, and nods in the direction of the table.

Sheepish, I admit the truth: “I haven’t eaten yet.”

Bryce looks authentically shocked. “Well you better get down there before all that’s left is a pistol.”

I look at Chloe for explanation.

“A lobster with no claws.”

“Look,” says Bryce pointing. “Everyone’s done except Finn and Claire and he’s the man with the tongs.”

I stroll down to the pit, careful not to twist my leg in the dark. It’s still wafting smoke and steam, and I’m glad the silicone cream works so well. Walking in sand is hard, but there’s no rubbing at all. Claire’s in Finn’s arms, her blonde hair catching ember-light and he’s holding her tight around the waist. He lowers his head and kisses her. I haven’t had a girl in my arms like that in a long time.

Finn releases her; she steps back for a moment, sipping a beer.

“I’ve been sent down to get food before all that’s left are something called ‘pistols.’”

Claire smiles. “You’re getting the lingo down.”

Finn grabs the tongs and fishes around in the pit for a moment. Despite Bryce’s warning, there’s still a half dozen or so left. “Have you ever had lobster in the shell?”