Brian's truck was surprisingly clean. For as many times as Cora had seen him pull beer out of it, she'd figured he'd be one of those people who smoked and drank and ate in his car, no concern for the upholstery or anything, trash all over the floor. But he'd been mildly surprising her since she'd met him. Pleasantly mildly surprising her, she mentally added.
She'd asked him where they were going, but he wanted to keep it a surprise. "What is this, a date?" she'd added in her natural sarcasm.
He'd not answered her right away, and suddenly Cora had thought she understood why he'd acted stupid the night before. But then he'd replied, "Not necessarily. I just thought you'd like this place. And you really need to get out of your house."
Being the over-thinker she was, Cora was still pondering his choice to throw in the word "necessarily" when they pulled off the highway and began driving through woodsy hills and houses until they were all at once in a charming town, passing things like cafés and gift shops and cute restaurants, holiday lights and decor adorning the lampposts and windows of every establishment. When they crossed a bridge and Cora saw water, a harbor, her excitement grew. She'd known they were within an hour's drive of the ocean, but her mother had literally had no time to do anything with her once she'd started her two jobs. Besides that one day they'd gone thrift shopping and the day Maeve had taken Cora to register at the school she was now attending virtually, they hadn't done anything together. Even finding a moment to talk to each other was difficult. But Cora had never seen the ocean—never even been to a lake!—and became visibly animated, gasping, turning to look out the window and watch for signs of water.
"You happy?"
"Yes! Oh my gosh, I've been wanting to go since we moved here!"
Brian turned to glance at her then looked back at the road. Cora felt her cheeks warm and wondered whether she was dressed properly. She'd not dressed any special way for the trip—just dark jeans and a black sweater, Doc Martens and a warm knit hat. Her jewelry was minimal, some silver cat earrings. She didn't feel the need or desire to do much around Brian. He didn't do anything special around her, either. It was nice not to have to worry. But maybe he should've told her where they were going.
"You're not swimming, all right? No getting in the water."
"Why would I? It's November."
"Ok, ok. I just don't know about you, that's all. You might do some crazy stuff."
"Me?" Cora scoffed but was secretly pleased by the comment. Maybe not so secretly.
Brian laughed a little as he turned into a near-empty parking lot. Cora caught sight of their destination beyond the wintry, leafless trees and started opening the door the minute the truck came to a full stop, but Brian took hold of her arm. "Hold up!"
Cora glowered at his hand on her and he immediately removed it.
"Sorry, sorry. I just don't want you to get more sick. Take your coat. Please? It's windy down by the water."
The girl huffed. "Fine, dad."
"That's right. Listen to your elders."
"Shut up."
They got out of the truck in good spirits, Cora actually glad to put her coat on. She pulled her hat down over her ears as well. The walk to the sand was brief, and within minutes there they were, looking right out at the ocean, beach stretching left and right. The water was deep gray, and a fine mist hung over everything in spite of the dryness of the cold air. Cora stared at the bright horizon, the meeting of dark water and white sky, her face all smiles.
"Before you go out there," Brian added, "I've got to tell you about this sand. It's special, all right?"
The girl lowered her brow. "What do you mean?"
"This is called Singing Beach."
Cora narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you joking?"
"No. Not at all. The sand makes noise."
"You're messing with me."
"No! Just, go on! Try it."
She gave him another dubious look before walking the short distance to the sand. Standing boulders separated the parking lot from the beach. To the right a small brown-grassy hill rose, stone steps embedded into it, leading up to a footpath and benches that moved off toward the rocky treeline. At the moment, nobody was nearby; as Cora descended warily onto the sand, she did catch sight of some people walking their dogs a ways off, though.
Taking a few gingerly steps in her boots, the girl waited for something to happen, something to sing, as Brian had said. When she got nothing, she took larger steps, spun in a circle or two, jumped up and down. Still not a note. She turned to look at Brian. He was sitting on a boulder about the size of a large cannonball, watching her in amusement.
Her shoulders fell. "You were messing with me, weren't you?"
"No! It's best if you're barefoot. Or use your hands. Here, I'll show you." He moved down onto the sand, passed Cora, moved a little closer toward the water but stayed where it was dry. Then he got down on his knees. "Listen," he said, glancing up at her to make sure she was paying attention before laying his palms onto the sand and beginning to move them in swirly back-and-forth motions. And his movements did assuredly produce noise, though it wasn't anything that sounded like singing. It was more squeaks and short yelps, like two rubber erasers being grated against one another.
Brian smiled up at her. Cora could only raise an eyebrow. "You're serious? That's it?"
"Yeah! You try." He stood up and shook the sand off his hands.
Cora found herself reaching toward him, brushing the extra off his sleeves to help, then realized what she was doing and abruptly stopped.
For a very brief moment, a strange expression flickered across Brian's face, but it was gone before Cora could understand it, and he said, "If you kind of slide along the sand, you know, don't take steps, but kind of like you're ice skating, that makes the sound, too."
"Should I take off my shoes?"
"If you want to be cold."
Cora sat down and unlaced her boots, removed them and her fuzzy purple socks. The sand was definitely chilly as she stood back up on it, but Brian was right--it was better barefoot. She'd been unimpressed with the sound at first, but the more she slid around on the sand, the more she actually began to enjoy the noise. It really wasn't anything phenomenal, but there was something about it, a certain satisfaction in knowing she could make those squeaks just by shuffling her feet along. She laughed at her own enjoyment, tried to make Brian join in, and, though he was difficult to persuade, she managed to get him to take off his shoes and slide around on the cold sand with her for a few minutes before they were sure their toes were beginning to freeze and hurried to bundle them back up.
Brian suggested they go closer to the water, so they did, he mock-threatening to push her in and she pretending to be worried. They must've spent an hour messing around, climbing on the rocks and building a terrible sandcastle (pile of sand, really) and taking videos of one another's hair being whipped around by the wind. A few other people came and went, but Cora didn't even see them; she was too wrapped up in her own happiness. She couldn't recall the last time she'd been so comfortable in someone's presence. Everything came so easy with Brian. She hadn't had a friend like him ever, really. And that's how her mind categorized him: friend. If she actually thought about it, the only other person she'd felt herself around was her Grandmother Luce. She pictured the woman for a moment, fleetingly, wondered how she was doing, before being distracted again by Brian.
"It's freezing. Come sit up here with me." The boy motioned up toward the parking lot, where that stone path led up over a grassy outcrop. There were benches, there. "I came prepared," he added when Cora had climbed up and sat down. He went to his truck and returned with two thermoses--one of coffee, one of cocoa--and a big wooly blanket. The girl took the cocoa and thanked him for it, unscrewed the cap and poured some of the steaming chocolatey liquid into it while Brian draped the blanket across their legs.
"This has been the best. Thanks for bringing me here," Cora said sincerely.
"You all right? Too cold? We can sit in the truck if--"
"Nope. I'm good. You need to stop worrying."
"Well then you need to get better."
Cora tilted her head, bit her lower lip in thought. "You know, I feel perfect right now. Not sick at all. I don't think I've coughed since we got here."
Brian lifted a hand and felt her forehead, then abruptly inhaled and pulled his hand away. "No fever, either," he hurried to say. The two fell silent for a moment, each beginning to wonder what the other was thinking, when Brian spoke again: "It's your house, Cora. I think it's your house that's making you sick."
She scrunched her features. "My house? No. No way. I love my house."
He was shocked. "What do you love about that place? I've already told you something's wrong with it, and--"
"I've never heard or seen anything at all about a baby, Brian. And if someone died in it, so what? People die places all the time. I mean, Mr. George just died in my backyard. Nothing in my house seems evil or anything. It's a little weird, maybe, but I think . . . I think it's friendly. When I'm in my room, alone--" She stopped herself, realizing where she was taking the conversation. Whatever happened in her room, whatever she felt and experienced there, it was hers and the room's. Talking about it would be . . . inappropriate.
"What? What about your room?"
The girl took a big breath, looked away and then back, and changed the subject. "You said you would tell me if we came out here."
Brian shook his head. "Tell you what?"
"You said you'd explain why you were a jerk last night, if I came here with you."
"Oh, yeah." Brian seemed suddenly interested in his hands, wrapped them tightly around the thermos, shifted a little. "I just said that to get you to come."
"No, I don't think so. You don't get out of it that easy. Go on. I'm waiting for the explanation." There was something mischievous in her tone, and it seemed to embolden him.
"Well, I . . . I guess I just didn't like seeing you with that guy. He . . . I don't think he had the best intentions, is all I'm saying."
Cora now knew that to be true but was too embarrassed at her own encouragement of Ben's behavior to say anything. "What did you say to him, after I went in the house?"
"You saw that?"
"Yeah, I saw the two of you talking."
Brian shrugged. Cora noticed he was looking around a bit, wondered if he was trying to evade her question. "I just asked him what was up. Told him he should probably leave."
"Did he?"
"Did he what?"
"Did he leave?"
"Yeah, he got in his car, drove away."
"Then why is it still parked outside my house?"
Brian was growing a little flustered, suddenly put his thermos on the ground. "Look, I don't know. He must've come back." He pushed the blanket off his lap and stood. "Hey, I'll be right back, ok? I have to take care of something real fast."
Perplexed and a bit annoyed, Cora watched as Brian left the path and went back onto the sand. He appeared to stand down there alone, and she was more than a little curious as to what was going on. But then something caught her eye, the figure of another person moving through the parking lot, some young guy, nondescript in appearance, bundled up against the chill. And this person headed down to the beach, approached Brian, who lifted an arm in possibly some kind of frustration, then began to converse with the person. The boys were too far away for Cora to hear, and even had they been closer, the wind would've taken their words. She saw them both turn her way, obviously talking about her, and then they moved off beyond some boulders, away from her vision.
As weird as it seemed at first, Cora knew all at once what was going on, and anger slowly but surely bloomed within. Her chin began to tremble; her hands felt cold. Had she been closer to home, she would've absolutely walked away, but he was her ride home.
Well, at the very least, he'd know she was upset.
By the time Brian returned, only about ten minutes later, Cora was in the passenger seat of his truck, buckled in and arms crossed, ready to go. He'd have to endure the silent treatment for the entirety of the return trip.