Meg had discovered the beach the previous day and had simply refused to go home ever since. She liked the ocean. She liked the openness of it, and the sense of power it held. She’d often heard people claim that standing beside the sea made them feel small, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but Meg was the opposite. Standing here, she felt immense. Powerful. Capable of anything. The salty air blowing off the waves that stirred her hair made her want to run, and run forever, never looking back. Here, on the beach with the horizon stretching out miles and miles away from her, she felt truly free. After the past few years, feeling free was more than a momentary luxury for her. She craved it like a heroin addict. And so, when her feet had hit sand, she abandoned all thoughts of returning to the house she shared with Dean. She wondered if he’d worry. He knew her well enough, she thought, not to be surprised if she stayed away for a night or two. Still, she wondered. The little smile that accompanied the thought was unlike her and she shook it off, strolling down the beach a bit slower, and enjoying the warmth of the day.
Not far ahead, she caught sight of a young man sitting in the sand. For a moment, she considered turning around and walking away before he could see her, but old habits won out. It was clear to her, at this point, that they weren’t going anywhere. They were stuck here for the foreseeable future and, in such relatively close quarters, she wanted to stack the deck in her favor. She wanted allies. That meant playing nice with the locals, and it was an act she was very good at.
She didn’t greet the stranger as she walked towards him. Instead, she kept her head turned to the side, watching the waves, as she approached. Only when she was nearly on top of him did she turn to face the water and sit down in the sand with a sense of familiarity, as though she and this boy had arranged this meeting, and she was merely arriving a touch late. She took in his posture and the general air of solitude around him. He’d come here to be alone. Girl trouble? Guy trouble? Hardly mattered. She was a veteran of this sort of encounter.
“You know what this place needs?” she asked in conversational tone, as though picking up a discussion that they’d already begun. “It needs one of those tacky tiki bars. I’m not big on gaudy drinks with umbrellas or anything, but it would still be nice to have something to drink around here.”