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Beach Scene


Gretchen M. Cupp

    She waited until the front door closed, quietly as always, to slip out of bed and throw on her long raincoat and sneakers. Giving him a few minutes head start, she followed turned toward the beach. She waited until he started over the sand to sit down on the steps. She watched him.

    He jogged along the beach, hair platinum in the early sunshine, arms pumping rhythmically as his sides, long legs flying over the sand. He was focussed and graceful now, not the klutz he could be sometimes. He kept going until she wondered if he would vanish into the mists.

    Eventually, he returned. She waved to him as he drew almost even with her. He turned toward her, head down, and she wondered if she had made a mistake to follow him. Was she intruding?

    He looked up when he reached the bottom of the steps. "Are you following me, lady?" The amusement in his voice took the bite out of his words. "If I'd known you would come here at this hour, I'd have asked you to join me on my run."

    She shook her head. "If you see a bear behind me, tell me. Then I'll run."

    Stretching forward to ease his muscles, he grinned. "I'd like to see a bare behind."

    Leaning down so her face was even with his, she countered, "Frisk me."

    His eyes grew wide with surprise, and he blushed. "You're a brazen hussy." He stood joined her on the sidewalk, slipping his hand around her waist and into the pocket of her coat. "It's true!" He exclaimed.

    "Of course. Mother told me never lie to a policeman," she laughed, lacing her fingers through his hand and snuggling closer for the walk home.