In This Wondrous Place

The first time that I felt sand crunch beneath my toes, I fell in love.

The summer heat was beginning to wane at that time, but my affection for the beach only grew with each passing day that I walked along that water-kissed shore. Even as the sun set over the horizon and the light that had illuminated the beach disappeared, I would lay on my back and trace each and every star until my father called me in for dinner.

We had moved to a small coastal town on the east coast the summer before I entered the eighth grade. It was a big change for my father and I, but he was determined to chase a professional sailing career and I refused to live with my mother and her husband in L.A. It was a difficult decision to leave my two closest friends behind, but they promised to keep in touch and I promised to visit.

I remember the day he began to teach me about the ins and outs of sailing. Before that point, I hadn’t asked him to explain it to me because I was not nearly as interested as him. But after I realized that he was just trying to find things in common with me, I made it my mission to learn all that I could.

He would often get frustrated before turning my mistakes into teaching moments. I remember him saying things like “Emery, baby, watch the boom before you get tossed out,” and then after a sigh he would follow it with “you can’t sleep on the job, love. Now, come ‘ere and drive this thing.”

It’s been ten years since we came here and not a day goes by that I don’t think about those first few memories. They are even more precious now that my father is gone.

I leaned my upper body against the worn porch railing and folded my arms over one another as I remained deep in thought. The view from the house is just as incredible as it was ten years ago and today was turning out to be perfect for enjoying all that the beach had to offer. I couldn’t have asked for a better scenario to bring family and friends to the house.

A knock on the front door pulled me from my thoughts. I wrapped the light blue shawl around myself and stepped inside my house.

My house. It was still strange to think that such a simple phrase could have so much meaning. Everything here is mine now.

I swung open the screen door to reveal my brother dressed in his typical distressed jeans and a white button up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. He usually greeted me with a witty insult, but today he didn’t seem to have the energy for it.

“Hey, Em,” Mason leaned in and enveloped me in a bear hug, “how are you holding up?”

I shrugged my shoulders.
“I don’t know, it’s all kind of surreal at the moment. Do you want some tea?”

Mason nodded and slipped off his flip-flops, leaving them in a cubby by the door.

“You know, you should really stay with Isabelle and me in Massachusetts. I don’t like the idea of you being here by yourself.”

I dipped tea bags into two steaming mugs of water and reached for the sugar under the counter.

“This isn’t exactly Detroit, Mason, I’ll be just fine here alone. Three spoons of sugar, right?”

“Two, please. Isabelle says I need to cut back on calories.”

I laughed at the thought of Isabelle telling my stubborn brother to do anything he didn’t want to do. She was so small in comparison to him that the idea of it was comical. Sometimes I truly think she wears the pants in their relationship. I’m glad he chose her, though. I can’t see him being with anyone else.

I topped off my tea with a stick of cinnamon and went to join my brother on the suede sofa. He smiled as I handed him his tea and soon sipped delicately at its hot contents.

We could see an extensive pier from the couch. The very same one my father used to house the sailboat. Memories of our adventures on that boat flooded my mind as my eyes drifted over it.

“What are you going to do with the boat?” Mason inquired, stirring mindlessly at his tea.

“He loved that thing,” I began to tear up, “I’m sure he would want me to keep it.”

“Don’t do that, Em. He wouldn’t want you to take on that kind of responsibility.”

I shrugged, attempting to end the conversation before the flood gates opened up. It was then that I was saved by the sound of the front door creaking open and my best friends from L.A. striding in as if they owned the place.

“Emmie!” Grace sauntered over and practically tore me away from the sofa. Luckily I had managed to set my tea down before she did any damage.

Lucas came in closely behind her, following her hug with one of his own.

“Hey, Emery.” He sighed, pulling me close to him. He looked at me pitifully.

“How was the flight? I hope it wasn’t too long.” I motioned for them to sit down as I asked about their trip.

“The Dallas airport had Starbucks, so I was good,” Grace laughed, “but Lucas over here was dead to the world the whole flight.”

He threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Well what was I supposed to do when the in-flight movie was Robin Hood….the Russel Crowe version.”

I gasped in mock horror.

“Oh, no, not Crowe!”

The four of us laughed and continued to talk about everything that had happened since we last saw each other. I could tell they were doing their best to distract Mason and I, and we appreciated the effort. Without some sort of relief, I didn’t know how I would make it through the next week of everyone being here.

My mother and her husband were the next to arrive. They said their greetings and scurried upstairs to put away their suitcases before offering suggestions for dinner. I suddenly realized that I had not eaten since the night before and my stomach gurgled at the thought of going out to dinner.

“It’s settled, then,” Mom clapped her hands together, “we’re going to Ronnie’s.”

Grace interlaced her arm with mine as we exited the beach house and shuffled into my stepfather’s SUV. I hopped up first and slid into the very back row, soon accompanied by Grace. Once everyone was seated and buckled, I laid my head tiredly on my friend’s shoulder, taking comfort in her presence. She smiled and ran her well-manicured fingernails through my hair.

This is what having a sister must feel like.

As we pulled in to Ronnie’s, an old seafood bar on the other side of town, we were surprised at how busy it was for a Thursday night.

“I guess the party is here tonight.” Mason joked, stepping down from the vehicle. He helped Grace and I exit by offering up his hand for us to use.

A chilly breeze swept through the parking lot and I retreated farther into my shawl. I regretted not bringing something a little bit warmer to dinner, but it was too late now.

As we stepped inside, one of the hostesses greeted us with a warm grin.

“Hey guys! Table for six?”
My stepfather confirmed and we were lead to a large rounded booth in the corner of the bar which overlooked the bay area. I remained standing and cleared my throat before speaking.

“I think I’m going to go grab drinks. Any takers?”

The guys ordered beers, while my mother ordered a water and Grace ordered a mojito. I made my way over the bar and attempted to wave down the bartender, with no success. A man to my left, noticing my struggle, decided to interject.

“Jon! You have someone waiting.”

“Whaddaya talkin’ bout, kid?” The bartender turned toward the man and then suddenly noticed that I was standing there. I gave a polite wave and a small smile.

“What can I do ya for, miss?” He asked, tossing a dirtied rag onto his shoulder.

I stated the order and collected the drinks as he placed them on the counter. Before heading back to the table, I looked over at the man from before.

“Thank you,” I said gratefully, “I’m Emery, by the way.”

Upon seeing his face fully, I realized that his features were familiar to me.

“Not a problem, Emery, I’m Chris.”

I glanced over at my table before turning back.

“I would shake your hand, but..” I held up my filled hands, still trying to figure where I knew him from.

“Don’t worry about it,” He said politely, a distinct Australian accent spattering his words.

I nodded and began to walk away. It took a few moments before it dawned on me who he is.

The actor himself. Chris Hemsworth.