Enemies Abroad(43)
Finally, we make it back onto the main highway. We pass a city named Terracina, and then for the next twenty minutes, our drive is on a two-lane road right on the water. Little beaches pop in and out of view, disappearing behind crops of trees and waterfront houses.
The vans slow and then turn off into a small parking lot that’s about a quarter mile from the beach.
“We can’t get any closer. Not in high season,” Lorenzo tells me once we start to unpack the gear from the back of the van.
“No worries. This is great. It’s only a short walk.”
The kids are more excited than I’ve seen them the whole trip. They race out of the vans and gather around us, offering to help with bags and coolers.
Noah’s on the other side of the group—I know because it’s impossible to not constantly track his whereabouts. It’s habit at this point.
He’s laughing with Zach and then he just up and lifts a huge cooler like it’s filled with cotton balls. Underneath his t-shirt, his muscles bulge, and it feels R-rated. I should look away. I will. Then I walk straight into Gabriella and that does the trick. The spell is broken.
“Oops. Sorry.”
Sperlonga technically has two beaches, I find out from Lorenzo. Levante Beach has a more natural setting below hillsides with sand dunes and smaller coves that can only be reached by foot. Sounds romantic, but not something I’d sign up for with this many kids. Lorenzo takes us instead to Ponente Beach, which lies directly beneath the town. It’s backed by hotels and restaurants, and once we make it onto the sand, there are rows and rows of umbrellas and loungers neatly arranged in perfect lines. My OCD tendencies are having a field day.
We have a reserved space a few yards down the beach beneath a cluster of white umbrellas. Lorenzo fist-bumps the guy in charge of them and then we all fan out, claiming our spots for the day.
“Put on sunscreen! Drink water! Wear a hat!”
My motherly advice falls on deaf ears as the kids yank off their t-shirts, kick off their flip-flops, and run straight for the water. I can’t really blame them. The trek from the vans to the beach was enough to cover my entire body in a nice sheen of sweat. It’s just so hot and sunny and bright. All I can do is drop my stuff on a lounger before I follow the kids into the water, leaving my cover-up on.
The sand is fine and soft underfoot, hot, sure, but I keep moving so my toes don’t get burned.
The warm shallow water is crystal clear and I swim out far enough to get my whole body under, glad the water gets cooler as it gets deeper.
Either they discussed it on the ride down, or the kids just know not to go past a certain point in the water. They stay close to the shore and swim, splashing each other and showing off. The Trinity kids stay clustered together at first, but someone brings out water toys—beach balls, boogie boards, goggles, snorkels—and the cool act drops. Everyone just wants to have fun.
I dip under the water and swim out until my feet can’t touch. I do a few laps back and forth along our small stretch of beach, only stopping when my muscles start to ache. I come up for air and bob in the water, treading and swimming as I look back toward the beach. Noah’s still up near our loungers, setting up the coolers, laying out towels for the kids. I feel bad for not thinking to help. I make a mental note to make sure I’m the one who does most of the cleanup effort before we leave.
I watch as Noah takes a bottle of water out of one of the coolers and nearly drains it dry in one long swallow.
He drops it onto a lounger, reaches back for the collar of his t-shirt, and pulls it off over his head in one fell swoop. My lips part as I suck in a breath. This is only my second time seeing him shirtless. It’s not like there’s been a lot of opportunity for that sort of thing. Lindale has a dress code, after all.
My first instinct is to look away, give him a modicum of privacy. But I don’t. I take in every detail like it might be my last opportunity. I memorize the slight curve of his shoulders, his strong arms, toned stomach, tapered waist. He’s tan everywhere. Fit like he works out every day twice a day.
He heads toward the water and looks out to find me watching him.
I dip my head back under and go right back to swimming laps, trying to exhaust myself and kill the butterflies in my stomach.
When I’ve had enough, I head back up onto the beach, peeling my wet cover-up away from my body and trying to get it to do its job again. It’s pointless, but I don’t give in to the urge to just tug it off and be done with the damn thing. Gabriella and Ashley are both wearing one-pieces without cover-ups, but they’ve got less butt and less boobs than me, so it doesn’t seem as in-your-face. Besides, it’s not so bad now that I’ve had a chance to cool off in the water. If I get too hot again, I’ll just take another dip.
I check on the kids, bring them water and force them to drink it, spray a few of them with sunscreen when they stop moving for long enough, and then plop myself down under a lounger.
My top half is under the umbrella while my legs stick out into the sun. Since the kids are all in the water, I decide to be adventurous and hike up my cover-up until it’s around my waist so I’ll get an even tan on my bottom half.
For a few minutes, I close my eyes and listen to the waves crash against the shore. Before I accidentally fall asleep like that, I rifle through my bag for my book of crossword puzzles. I go for a medium difficult. Call me crazy.
Life is good for a while, and then Noah’s shadow falls over me, blocking the sun on my legs.