Chapter Twenty-nine
~
When Alder piled out of the back, he was sans shoes and socks. Couldn’t ever remember seein’ a human without ’em on. Even on the East Coast, the few I’d ever come ’cross wore those odd, think they called ’em water socks. So today I got to see ugly, really ugly feet, for the first time. No hair. Ick. Feet with no hair.
I questioned the wisdom of gettin’ out of the OM. It was hot. Never experienced this kind of heat before. I hadn’t even thought about how dark the front glass was in the SUV. The sun now bore down, a physical pressure on my face. I could barely open my eyes.
Maybe the bit of higher elevation, over the Coast, left less atmosphere to block out the rays. That would mean the UV would be a considerable amount harder on our skin. Should mention that to Cordiz, who was rushin’ with Alder toward the water. What happened to her body guardin’?
Had to grin. The human was dancin’. Evidently the sand was toastin’ his feet. Guess spendin’ his life in shoes, avoidin’ calluses, is a detriment, here. Funny.
Maybe I studied Cordiz and Alder a bit without movin’. Didn’t notice Hale had bared directly right. Ah. For the bushes. Alder had called ’em trees. Snort. Hale carried one of his larger sketch pads, his pouch of doodad-tools. Had the right idea. Shade.
Alder sprinted ahead, past the other few folk, mostly layin’ out on big-stinkin’ towels. I should warn them about the dangers of UV. If those slips of material the hens-women wore were meant to protect ’em, they were sorely misinformed.
Hittin’ the wet sand, Alder’s bizarre dancin’ ended, his arms quit flappin’. He stepped into the water, and even from fifty feet away I heard his sigh. He turned as Cordiz crossed her arms, hands grippin’ the hem of her tank, and lifted—two distinctly different flavors washed over the bull’s, uh, man’s face. The second one had him sprintin’ back to Cordiz.
“No. No. No,” he screeched.
The folk between me and my friends—I guess I can call Cordiz my friend, since I enjoy her company so much, and we’ve shared a lot of ourselves at night—were reactin’ too.
“Back on,” he hissed. “Put it back on. You want to get arrested?”
Arrested? What? Didn’t notice any signs indicatin’ appropriate decorum. Cordiz turned toward me, her face plasterin’ a question. Like I was gonna explain it to her. She’s the one who likes to act all worldly.
By the reactions of the various bulls, men, they weren’t feelin’ assaulted. Actually saw a lot of blossomin’ smiles. Heard a couple, wows, even. The females, not exactly showin’ the same positive attitude.
The hens layin’ about certainly hadn’t taken an enormous amount of effort to cover their chests. Those strips of cloth were nothin’ but a tease, for goodness sake.
Maybe the swimmin’ attire was the real draw to this little beach.
~
Hale
~
By the time I found a soft spot in the shade for my posterior in the sand, I looked up to watch Alder tryin’ to dress our bodyguard. Seemed to be quite the commotion eruptin’ on the beach around ’em, too. Were the two connected? Maybe they thought he was molestin’ Cordiz, or somethin? By his manic body motions, somethin’ was bitin’ ’im in the butt, or somethin’.
Once she’d pulled her tank back on, thin’s seemed to calm down. Somethin’ else I’d have to ask Bele about tonight.
The next ten minutes I soaked in the view. Eleven humans lay straggled over the white sand. I imagined the amazin’ contrast, glare off the sand, bodies interruptin’ it. Eleven. A good odd number. But way too many. I considered the ambiance of only seven for my sketch. Even that seemed too busy.
I mentally placed five randomly in the scene, with an odd bull strollin’ away in the distance, flippin’ an ugly human foot in the water. Holy moly, humans have ugly feet. Should I implement that in charcoal, or turn them into giants? Hm. I knew I was already gonna take huge liberties in the actual scene. Capturin’ the flow of the green-brown water was gonna be the toughest job. But I imagined the great leadin’ lines, away from the inconsequential actors.
Bele wrestled her butt into the sand next to me. I like to work in peace. But I decided not to shoo her away. I sensed her glance down at my empty canvas, turned to study what I might be seein’.
I spent another five minutes imaginin’ the space.
Bele musta reached her limit of quiet. “Why’re ya so mean to Ale—Alexander?”
I sighed hard. I think Mama uses that as a hint. To pay close attention to her next words.
“He’s very nice,” she said. “Not what I expected for a Northerner.”
The scene in my head was turnin’ foggy. That’s why I like peace when I work.
“We might be goin’ in different directions after this trip,” she said softly. “So I don’t mind if I’m botherin’ ya.”
Different directions?
“Pretty certain, no way I’m doin’ year two of med school up here.”
First time she’d shared anythin’ like that, one way or the other, since Uncle Ike blasted us with the—opportunity.
“And all ya can think about is gettin’ back and visitin’ Beky.”
True. But I hadn’t written off livin’ here for a year. Beky seemed to even hint she’d love to spend some more time up here. Though honestly, I don’t see the allure of the North.
“Are ya aware—” Her voice trailed away, as she searched for somethin’ down on the beach. She must have found it—her expression changed, her eyes focused. “Cordiz is crazy about ya.”
Phft.
“No. Really. She’s down there flirtin’ with Alder, hopin’ to make ya jealous.”
I followed the direction of her sight. The hen appeared to like to touch the human, some. She cackled more than the typical troll hen. I asked Bele, how she came to this conclusion.
“Her eyes, mostly,” she said. “That, and she asks me a lot of questions about ya. Last night we stayed up late talkin’. About a thousand thin’s. She shared somethin’, that was hard for her to share. Guess she needed to unload.”
I waited.
“She’s decided law enforcement isn’t for her. She wants another life. Doesn’t know what to do. Her parents spent a lot for her to attend TIT.”
Wow. She was pretty proud of her university accomplishments. Relationship with Uncle Jam.
Bele continued, “I think she’s decidin’ she’d rather raise a passel of younglings.”
Hadn’t Papa worked hard to explain to us, that confidences are important?
“I’m tellin’ ya, ’cause I didn’t know what to tell her.”
I’ve never not known what I wanted, as long as I can remember.
“Me either,” Bele said.
One day, she’d need to get out of my head.
“Why?” She smiled—maybe smirked. Not that I can much tell the difference. “The only way I’ll ever know what’s on yar mind.”
True, prolly.
“Dang right. Ya share less than Papa does.”
That was mean.
Bele laughed. That moment, I realized somethin’ I may have missed since we were knee high to an orc. I sensed her joy. Like it tickled inside my chest.
She finally stopped studyin’ Cordiz, and looked at me. “I’m glad.”
I sighed. Maybe a sense of peace, like I feel when I’m in front of granite.
“I’m glad I can—” She didn’t finish the thought.
~
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