Jonathan and Suzette beat us to the beach. Even though we were likely driving faster, they didn’t get pulled over by the cops on the way over.
We park in the special fancy lot for the private beach, and when I get out of the car, Jonathan and Suzette are making their way to the entrance, which is guarded by a tough-looking guy in a black wife- beater T-shirt and swim shorts. He’s like the private beach equivalent of a bouncer.
Jonathan is carrying two beach chairs and an umbrella, while Suzette just has a small tote bag slung over her shoulder. Jonathan looks like the typical beachgoer at the beginning of the season—a little too pale, a bit of a gut hanging over his swim trunks, his white feet shoved into a pair of flip-flops, a baseball cap covering his thinning hair. Suzette, on the other hand, looks like she has been going to the beach all winter. She is perfectly tanned, her Cartier sunglasses perched on her nose, and she is wearing a tiny bikini that shows off a spectacularly fit body.
After two children and forty-plus years of gravity taking its toll, my body doesn’t look like that. It can’t. But even when I was twenty-five, I never felt comfortable prancing around the beach in a bikini the size of a handkerchief, so today I am wearing a modest one-piece bathing suit with a cover-up over it. And much like Jonathan, I am painfully pale. I probably won’t take the cover-up off the whole time, since I’m not much of a swimmer.
The beach bouncer is checking out Suzette in her teeny tiny bikini. Actually, a lot of people are checking out Suzette. Even I’m having
trouble not staring a bit. When does she have time to get her belly that firm? And I’m guessing she doesn’t have any C-section scars or stretch marks she needs to cover up.
Enzo has his T-shirt and trunks on, and he is wrangling our own beach furniture he pulled from the trunk. To be honest, I wouldn’t have blamed him if he were checking Suzette out in that tiny bikini—he’s only human—but I don’t catch his gaze dipping below the neckline.
“Millie!” Suzette says. “What an interesting cover-up you have on. I love how you don’t feel like you need to spend a ton of money on a beach outfit. That is so you.”
That was a backhanded compliment if there ever was one. But I can’t really argue with it. I got the cover-up from the discount rack.
And while Enzo has not been checking out Suzette, I can’t say the same for her. Her cool blue-green eyes rake over his body, and her lips curl. And he hasn’t even taken his shirt off yet.
We’re not even on the beach yet, and suddenly I want to go home. But I suppose it’s better I’m here instead of leaving him alone with Suzette in her tiny bikini.
“Did you have trouble finding the beach?” Suzette asks. “We were wondering if you guys got lost along the way.”
Nico quickly spills the beans. “Dad got pulled over by the cops.” Enzo laughs. “I was going too fast, they said.”
“I’m sure you weren’t.” Suzette shakes her head. “The police around here are so overzealous.”
“Well, we’re glad you could make it,” Jonathan says. Unlike his wife, there doesn’t seem to be any overtone in his statement. He seems genuinely glad to see us. “How are you doing, Nico? We miss you coming over to do chores.”
It’s kind of Jonathan to say that, even though really I know they were sick of having Nico over at their house and breaking half their living room.
Nico shrugs.
I want to tell him he’s being rude, but it feels like there’s almost no point. His moodiness has gotten even worse lately. I finally called his pediatrician and took him in for a visit, but after listening to his heart and lungs, she didn’t have much else to add. She didn’t recommend
therapy. In fact, she said the same exact thing Enzo said: Boys can be aggressive sometimes. He’s probably still adjusting to the move. Just give it time.
“Where are the clients we’re meeting?” I ask Suzette. “Oh.” She shrugs. “They canceled.”
Enzo doesn’t seem the slightest bit surprised, which makes me wonder if there was ever a client to begin with. I mean, a beach meeting? That sounded so made up.
But no, I’m being paranoid. I’m sure there was a client. People do cancel.
Suzette leads us to the beach to find the perfect spot to set up. Except she can’t seem to decide on the perfect spot. We tromp through half the beach, past several spots that seem perfectly fine. Poor Jonathan is struggling with carrying the two chairs and umbrella, so I offer to grab the umbrella for him in addition to our own. Suzette could offer to carry at least one thing, but she doesn’t seem inclined to do so. Jonathan is pretty good-natured about the whole thing though.
“Okay,” she finally says when it feels like my arms are about to fall off. “This seems good.”
Jonathan drops the two chairs on the ground, but just as he’s flexing his arms, she says, “Wait, maybe we should go down that way. The sun is better over there.”
Jonathan is ready to pick up the chairs again, but I’ve had enough. “Suzette,” I say, “this is perfect. And I’m not walking one more step.”
She rolls her eyes. “All right, all right. But, Millie, walking is good for you. It’s slimming.”
Would punching her in the face be slimming? Because that might happen today.
After we get our chairs and towels set up, I grab the spray bottle of sunscreen from my tote bag. Enzo always refuses it, but I like to spray it on the kids and definitely on myself. I’m the only one who ever gets sunburned, but isn’t sunscreen supposed to prevent cancer or something like that? Anyway, the kids don’t have a choice.
“Oh, Millie,” Suzette gasps as she watches me spray down Ada. “You’re not actually spraying sunscreen on your children, are you?”
I obviously am. “Yes ”
“Well, you know the spray has all sorts of toxic chemicals in it,” she says. “And it’s all in the air now. We’re basically all inhaling sunscreen now.”
Should I be more bothered about the fact that I might be inhaling sunscreen? Somehow, I’m not. “Uh-huh ”
“Also,” she adds, “it’s flammable.”
Nico’s eyes widen. “You mean we could catch on fire?”
“You’re not going to catch on fire from your sunscreen,” I tell him. He looks disappointed.
Suzette reaches into her own bag and pulls out a white tube. “This is the best sunscreen on the market. It’s all natural ingredients, and it has SPF 200! You can’t find SPF 200 anywhere.”
Why on earth would we need sunscreen that is SPF 200? Does she think we’re going to be running through a circle of fire to get to the water?
Enzo has taken off his T-shirt, and I can’t help but notice the way Suzette’s eyes bulge as she looks over his dark, sculpted chest. I love that I have a handsome, muscular husband. But also, sometimes I wish he would let himself get fat and out of shape.
“Enzo,” she says, “would you like to try my sunscreen?” He laughs. “I do not need. I never get burns.”
“Yes, but this is good for you even if you don’t get burned,” she says. “It prevents skin cancer, you know.”
“Yeah?” Enzo says with interest, although I have been saying the exact same thing to him for the last decade.
“Yes, of course it does,” she says eagerly. “You should at least put it on your shoulders. Here, let me help you.”
My mouth falls open as Suzette squeezes some sunscreen onto her palm and then starts rubbing it onto my husband’s shoulders. Is she really doing this? Is she really rubbing sunscreen all over my husband? This seems wildly inappropriate.
I look over at Jonathan, expecting that he will seem as horrified as I feel. But he has his own tube of obscenely expensive sunscreen that is apparently made for people who will be vacationing on the sun, and he’s rubbing lotion onto his arms. Then he tries to get some on his back,
but he can’t quite reach, and of course, his wife is busy rubbing her hands all over my husband.
“I am good,” Enzo says after this goes on for far too long. “I have enough. Will come off in the water anyway.”
“Oh no,” Suzette says, “this stuff is waterproof. You could swim all day, and you will still have SPF 200 protection.”
Enzo’s eyes widen. “Yeah?”
I am so sick of hearing about this stupid sunscreen.
“Ada,” Suzette says. “Would you like to try this sunscreen?”
Ada looks down at the tube but then shakes her head. I don’t blame her. She never burns, like Enzo, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to smear that white cream all over herself.
“Nico?” Suzette asks.
Nico just stares at Suzette. He doesn’t answer, but he gives her this really cold look. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him look at someone that way before, and the truth is, it sends a chill down my spine. But then he looks away, and I’m not sure if I imagined the whole thing.
The kids want to go in the water, and Enzo is happy to take them. I would have thought Suzette would be the kind of person who would want to sunbathe on the beach all afternoon, especially after the fuss she kicked up about where we were going to park ourselves. But as soon as Enzo says he wants to go in the water, she quickly agrees to follow.
“You want to come, Millie?” Enzo asked me.
I shake my head. “I’m just going to relax over here.”
Jonathan rubs at a glob of sunscreen that is still intact on the bridge of his nose. He starts to follow Suzette, but before he can take more than a couple of steps, she turns to look at him. “No,” she says. “You stay here. I’m going for a swim.”
He nods and, without question, turns around to go back to his beach chair. He settles down and picks up a paperback. I crane my neck to look at the title. Madame Bovary.
“You don’t want to go for a swim?” I ask him. He waves a hand. “Not really.”
“Because it looked like you were going to go in the water before Suzette told you not to.”
“I don’t mind.”
Maybe he doesn’t mind, but I find Suzette’s bossiness infuriating, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “It just seems like it shouldn’t be Suzette’s decision whether you go swimming or not.”
Jonathan shrugs and smiles. “She likes to have her space sometimes. I don’t mind, like I said.”
I’ve asked around, and it turns out Suzette isn’t that successful as a real estate agent. Yet she has the biggest house by far in our cul-de-sac, in a town where housing prices are very high. Clearly, Jonathan is the one making all the money to support her lifestyle. Yet she’s the one who gets to boss him around. I mean, he isn’t even allowed to go in the water at the beach? That’s nuts.
“It’s a huge body of water,” I point out. “It’s the Atlantic Ocean. It seems like both of you could swim in it without bothering each other.”
He rests his book down on his lap. “Do you want to go swimming, Millie?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
Jonathan looks at me blankly. Does he really not care at all how much Suzette bosses him around? I’d like to think that Enzo and I are equal partners in all our decision making, but from what I’ve noticed, it seems like Suzette is making every important decision in the Lowell household.
Then again, Enzo did take $1,000 out of our joint bank account without telling me. But he’s already put the money back. I’m sure he was telling the truth that it was for equipment for his business. Like, ninety-nine percent sure.
The clear blue water is glistening under the sun. Both my kids are strong swimmers like Enzo—he used to take them to the YMCA when they were little, and he taught them both to swim before they could walk. I take stock of both of their dark heads bobbing in the water. Ada is near Enzo, and then Nico is a bit away from them and he’s
Huh. Why does it look like he’s talking to Suzette?
What could Nico possibly have to say to Suzette? It seems strange, especially after that seething look he gave her earlier. I wish I knew what they were talking about, but I’m not anywhere close to being in earshot.
“Anyway,” Jonathan is saying, “we’re not leaving any time soon. I can swim later. This sunscreen will last for hours. Days, actually, if I needed it to.”
I manage to tear my gaze away from the water. “Does it really?”
“Oh yes, it’s great stuff.” He digs into Suzette’s tote and pulls out the tube. “Do you want some?”
“Sure,” I say.
Jonathan hands it over to me. He doesn’t try to rub it into my back and shoulders, which is very appropriate, given he’s not my boyfriend or husband. It looks like a pretty ordinary tube of sunscreen, although I have to admit, it smells nice.
I’m about to squeeze some of this magical sunscreen onto my palm when I get interrupted by a sound coming from the direction of the ocean.
Someone is screaming.
