* * * *
“You see them?” I ask Douglas, pointing out to the rolling seas.
“Yeah!” he screams, jumping up and down, his fists thrusting back and forth with some kind of sound effect. “Dolphins! Dolphins! Dolphins!”
What’s he doing? Is he pretending to kill them? Was I like this as a child? So violent and gross? Must get it from Sam’s parents. Yuck.
There’s at least six of the rubbery mammals breaking the surface in rainbow arcs. I bring the coffee to my mouth, enjoying the morning breeze and the empty beach. And my son, of course. As he chops Flipper to pieces in his young and impressionable mind. Suddenly, I wonder if I did this to him somehow. Foul mouth aside, I don’t think I’m that much of a barbarian.
Nah, blame it on the in-laws.
Though I am enjoying the moment, part of me misses the concrete bed I’m paying a small fortune to sleep in for the week. I get up for work every day at the crack of dawn. It would be nice to sleep in just one time this year. Just one stinkin’ time. But I don’t anticipate that card being in my deck any time soon. Samantha gets that privilege. She’s still in bed when I leave every day, Douglas having eaten his cereal with me and waving goodbye out the window. Then, after I’m gone, he climbs back in bed with Sam, and both of them sleep ’til 8 or 9. Must be nice.
Another sip of coffee.
Then again, I do enjoy the time with Douglas. He makes me smile.
“Can I ride them, Daddy?”
It’s a step up from eating them. Maybe there’s hope. “The dolphins?”
“Yeah, like the movie!”
I have no idea what movie he’s referring to. “I don’t know if you can swim out that far without your swimmies, buddy.”
He frowns, as if he hadn’t considered that. “Can you whiddle for me?”
It’s funny how a parent can interpret the two-year-old language so effortlessly while those nearby look at you like you’re some crazy Star Trek fan insisting that Klingon alone be used in the house. I’m sure it will only get worse when he tries to tell them to “sit,” calls them “funky,” or needs a “stick.” I smile. “I think you’re gettin’ confused with horses.” I don’t know if you can really whistle for a horse to come to you, but it always seems to work in the movies. He tries to whistle anyway, but he just spits all over the place. I laugh.
A dolphin jumps out of the water. Doug claps, and I kneel down and wrap an arm around him.
“That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” I ask him.
“Yeah! This is supa, supa, supa coo!”
Another sip. Coffee’s pretty good, which is fortunate since the choices this early are pretty slim. As in none. Most places won’t be opening for another half hour.
Movement to my left catches my eye and distracts me from the pervert porpoises. Two old people armed with metal detectors. They’re walking slowly, sweeping the wand back and forth, and I wonder if they’ve done this before—like in World War I.
The two old-timers pass by without giving any indication that they were even aware of our presence, despite their close proximity to us. Part of me wonders if they’d even notice a land shark sprinting up the beach after them. Probably not. I can’t believe that I’ll be that old someday. I look at my son and try not to think about it. There’s too much to do before then, and I’m here right now to do it.
4
The lifeguard’s whistle goes off in my head. My eyes snap open, and I look around, franticly scanning the waves. Just a few kids drifting too close to the jetty. Not a shark attack. I look to my left and find Samantha staring at me, eyes dark with subtle accusation. It’s amazing how familiar you can get with a person’s eyes. But then eyeballs don’t really change, do they? I suppose it’s really the skin around the eyes that scrunches, stretches, and pulls in order to transmit all those microscopic messages. Doug is sitting next to her, digging a hole and talking to himself.
“What’s the problem?” I don’t dare say it. I know what her problem is. I want to tell her that I was up and watching dolphins with Douglas while she was still dreaming of whatever was responsible for the smile that was on her face when I left the bedroom. Probably wasn’t me. Though after last night, I guess it was possible. I move my eyes away from her. What’s the point? I don’t want to fight. I just want to sleep. I fell asleep on my watch, so execute me. At least I’d get some rest.
A boat comes motoring through the waves. It’s got a huge TV on it, flashing advertisements to all us sun-bathers. “Never seen that before,” I mutter.
“Unbelievable,” my wife utters in agreement, her eyes off me and on the 1-800 number for hair growth.
Airplanes pulling phone numbers is one thing, but this… People don’t come down here in hopes of catching a glimpse of some floating billboard cutting a path through their view. The next advertisement from the boat is for a book, The Cape May Diamond by Larry Enright. Says it’s available for instant download for my e-reader. I shrug. Why not? “You have my reader?”
Sam looks out at the boat in time to see a local restaurant replacing the red-orange hues of the book’s cover. “You serious?” she asks.
“About wanting to read a novel about Cape May while I’m in Cape May? Yeah.”
She digs into our beach bag. Five minutes later, I’m reading A Cape May Diamond.
“If you’re gonna be reading, do you mind if I take a nap?”
The only reason I’m reading instead of sleeping is because she doesn’t want me to sleep. She wants to sleep. I recall the days before Douglas. And then try to forget them. It’s too painful. “Nope.” I move my chair closer to Doug while Sam positions herself on her back, arms down at her sides, and closes her eyes. I can tell she’s gone in seconds. Sweet dreams.
Two hours later, I’m a good way into the novel. The history of this place I’ve been coming to my whole life is fascinating, and I’m already filling Christmas stockings with the paperback.
By now, Douglas has a moat dug around our claimed territory and something beside me that I guess is supposed to be a castle. When I ask him about it, however, he says it’s poopy.
Nice.