Janis Hubschman

A Day at the Beach

The teenage girl in the red bathing suit fastened the lime-green bands on their wrists without looking at either of them. She was younger than their daughter, but that didn’t stop Andrew from trying to get her attention. “Any sharks out there today?” he said.

“Give it up, old man,” Maddie said, loud enough for the girl to hear.

“What can I say? I don’t like sharks.”

“And, neither does she.”

He picked up the chairs and the umbrella and she picked up the cooler; they started down the short wooden walkway. When the walkway ended, they climbed a low sandy rise. He stopped short, and she stumbled into him. “What are you doing?” she said.

“Smell that salt air!” It was what he always said. She hoped he wasn’t going to treat this like any other trip to the beach. It would be just like him to pretend that she hadn’t just threatened to leave him.

He continued on, but she waited a moment before following him. She felt breathless and shaky though the walk up the path hadn’t been all that strenuous. It was her marriage that was wearing her out, or rather his refusal to be involved in it. Somehow he’d gotten the idea that funding the greater share of their material existence took care of his half of the relationship. Although he had finally—after tears and threats—consented to taking the day off, he’d conducted business all the way down the Turnpike. He shouted into his Bluetooth, gesticulating wildly, sometimes letting go of the wheel. To the other drivers, it probably looked like he was telling her an exciting story, but he was giving instructions to an engineer, a draftsman, and then to an excavator. It was all for her benefit, she figured. Look, he seemed to be saying. Look at the predicament you’ve put me in.

He didn’t travel far from the entrance before settling on a spot. It was still early in the season; great stretches of sand separated the sunbathers’ blankets, and there were only a few heads bobbing in the water. He put everything down and looked out at the ocean, rubbing his lower back. He’d put on weight in the last few years, since Robin’s departure for college. What he liked to call his winter berm was now a permanent physical feature.

She dropped the cooler then shook out the blue bed sheet. It billowed out over the sand before settling down. She went from corner to corner pulling it taut. As though on cue, he worked the umbrella pole into the sand. She placed the chairs side by side in its shade with the red cooler between them like an end table.

“Home away from home,” he said then plopped down into the newer more comfortable chair. It creaked under his weight. Exhausted, she sat down beside him in the older green and yellow mesh chair, and stared out at the sea. Neither of them removed their shorts or tee shirts, though the sun was hot, the breeze negligible. She felt like one of those ancient couples she used to see on the beach when she was a kid, dressed in their Sunday best, keeping up appearances despite the heat, despite the odds stacked against them.

“We need to talk,” she blurted.

“Now? Do we have to?” He opened the cooler, took out two peaches and handed her one. A seagull swooped down lured by the scent of the tuna sandwiches then hopped at the periphery of their blanket, keeping one beady eye on the scene.

“I think we do,” she said. She bit into the peach; it was hard and bitter, but she kept on eating it. He took one bite of his then dropped it back into the cooler. “We can’t just pretend that nothing’s happened,” she said.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m here, aren’t I?” He got up and walked behind the chairs to the beach bag. This was why she preferred talking to him on the phone. She could not help mistaking his fidgeting for inattentiveness when in actuality she knew he listened better when his hands were occupied.

“Yeah, sure, you’re here now,” she said, twisting to see him, “but look what it took to get you here. I had to threaten to leave you.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t fair.” He returned with a tube of sun block and began slathering it on his arms and legs.

“I was at the end of my rope. Anyway, what’s fair got to do with it? Our marriage isn’t some kind of game or race with a winner and a loser.”

“What I meant was your expectations are unrealistic. I don’t get the summers off like you. If I asked you to take a day off during the school year, you’d react the same way.” His patient tone carried the infuriating implication that he, alone, was being rational.

“I might keel over with shock, but I definitely wouldn’t get angry. I wouldn’t accuse you of giving me a heart attack—”

He talked over her. “The pressure of work is so overwhelming sometimes, I feel like I might explode. And then to have you pressuring me on top—”

“Okay, hold on,” she broke in. “Why are you always lumping me in with your problems? That really hurts. When did spending time with me become a problem, another one of your pressures?”

“You become a problem when you nag me. Of course I want to make you happy,” he said. “I want to make everyone happy. But it’s just not possible with the time I have available.”

She started to protest but stopped when a young couple entered what she had come to think of as their domestic space. They were so loaded down with belongings—these two young people—that they looked like refugees fleeing a war-ravaged country. The red-faced, shaggy haired man dragged a sort of overstuffed mesh laundry hamper on big black wheels. And the woman—she looked haggard and harassed—was bent under the weight of a bulging hiker’s backpack. In her arms, Maddie suddenly saw, was an infant so tiny it looked as if it had just been born. In fact, the woman still looked pregnant under her loose tie-dyed tee.

Maddie felt a sudden pang of empathy, knowing the long road that lay ahead of them. Just thinking about it exhausted her; Andrew looked tired, too. Maybe she was wrong when she’d said their marriage was not a race, because now she thought of it as one of those three-legged contests where a couple was bound together by their inside legs. There was no hope of winning, let alone advancing two steps, unless both partners were willing to cooperate. If just one of them stood still they would be forced to travel in a circle for eternity, just like she and Andrew were doing now with this tired old argument.

“Look, I love you,” she said, lowering her voice. “And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this marriage succeed, but I refuse to be the one doing all the work. For you to say it’s impossible to make me happy means you’ve given up. If that’s true then I think we should split up, because I’d much rather be lonely all by myself than be lonely in our marriage.”

“That’s the second time today that you threatened to leave me,” he said loud enough to draw the curious stares of the young couple setting up their blanket nearby. “I can’t believe you’re willing to just get up and walk away. If you ask me, that’s a pretty shitty attitude.” As he spoke, he scraped his heels back and forth in the sand, digging two deep trenches in front of his chair.

“You only heard half of what I said.” She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her sweaty thighs. “I also said that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make our marriage work. I just don’t want to be the only one trying. You can’t put our relationship on automatic pilot and expect it to thrive. You wouldn’t do that with your business, would you?”

“Those are totally different things.”

“No they aren’t. I—”

“Will you let me finish?” he said, between clenched teeth.

She flung her weight back against the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. She swallowed hard. It felt as though a lump of unripe peach was wedged halfway down her throat.

“I’m here with you now. I support the family. What do I have to do to make you understand that I’m committed to this relationship?” With the insides of his feet he pushed the sand back into the holes, refilling them. “I think of our marriage as a refuge from all the bullshit. It’s the one place where I feel—I don’t know—secure, or relaxed. I don’t understand why you can’t lighten up about stuff. Why do we have to analyze every little thing that happens between us? Why can’t we just be?”

She leaned forward so that her face was level with his ear; he was bent over, focused now on smoothing over the sand with the balls of his feet. “A marriage has to evolve,” she said. “We should be able to talk about what is and isn’t working. We’re not that young starry-eyed couple of twenty-four years ago, working around the clock for some imagined future. The future is here now, and unless we slow down and enjoy it, together, we’re going to miss it.” Why couldn’t he ever look at her when she was talking to him? Why did she always have to compete for his attention? Now he seemed more interested in his sand hills than in what she was saying.

“And, for your information,” she continued, “I compared our marriage to your business because I was trying to see the world through your eyes. To me, that’s what love is about. I wish you’d do that for me some time. Hell, I wish you’d just look at me!”
She bolted out of the chair and tramped down to the water’s edge. He was right behind her, calling her name. She waded out into the water but could go no farther than her knees because of her clothes. Part of her was relieved that he had followed her. But another part of her needed more time and space to fume. So he thought of their marriage as a place to relax like a pair of those loose-fitting jeans they sold to middle-aged people who’ve given up on staying in shape. She scooped up the water and splashed it on her arms and the back of her neck while keeping a watch on the incoming waves.

He called her name again—with a hint of desperation this time—but she fixed her gaze on the boundless sweep of ocean before her. It calmed her to look at the far horizon. Oh, maybe he had it right, she thought. All her life she had been searching for comfort and contentment. The breathless, heart stopping, head-over-heels part of a new relationship was exhausting, and a bit frightening too because there had always been the possibility that her love would not be returned. A wave swelled and crested perilously close; she scrambled backwards to avoid it and found herself standing next to him. He moved closer, and then stood in front of her as though to protect her from the surf. He took her face in his cool hands and looked into her eyes. Her impulse was to wriggle free, but she forced herself to stand still and submit to his gaze.

“Don’t leave me,” he said with a lopsided smile. The surf was crashing around them now. He stumbled sideways and his hands came away from her face. Pitched forward by the wave, she threw her arms around him to keep from going under. They staggered and lurched, clinging to each other in the churning white water, trying to stay upright.

Return to Volume 6.3

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