A strange distance continued to permeate between us, courtesy of me. See, I was in a bit of a rut. A rut of my own making, where I laid in dirty thoughts of self-doubt, guilt, and disgust. Guilt that there was anything other than hatred or friendship between Beau and me. Disgust that, perhaps, our parents would find out and the family that we had would be torn to shreds because of me, because of my feelings. Doubting these moments meant anything, or if they should, after all, wasn’t this meaningless?

Beau would be gone by the end of August. Attending college ten hours away where he would meet new people, go on new adventures, start a new life without me. What started here would end before we even got a running start so why bother? Why start what we know will fail?

And yet, even with such thoughts, Beau and I still held hands during the car ride to Silver Sands the following morning, we had said nothing last night, and nothing this morning, again.

“How beautiful,” said Aunt Zoey when we pulled into the parking lot for Silver Sands, which was drastically different from Old Orchard Beach.

“That’s quite a walk,” added Uncle David, groaning.

“Oh, shush, we’ve been lazing around all week! We all need a little walk.”

“I don’t want a walk,” Uncle David groaned louder.

Outside of the car, I got a view of the boardwalk that stretched over high grass to a beach on the horizon. The beach was no more than a speck with the ocean blending into the sky so one couldn’t even guess a beach was there.

Mom clapped. “There’s meant to be a lot of seashells here!”

“Like the--” I held out my hands, mimicking what I thought the size would be. “Big ones?”

“Conch seashells,” Beau elaborated.

“Ah, no, those are south. These are small shells that we’re hoping to collect for some crafts later!” Mom grabbed Aunt Zoey, who had retrieved two buckets from the trunk.

“If you two see any that you think are neat, pick them up and bring them to us,” Aunt Zoey requested, patting Beau’s arm. Then they were off, getting a head start on the rest of us.

I followed, pretending Beau’s presence wasn’t lagging behind me. The boardwalk was busy with beach goers dressed in bathing suits, sunglasses, and hats. We weren’t any different, carrying our belongings under our arms or over our shoulders across the walkway. I was actually shocked by how long it took us to reach the end where the path led us to a literal silver-ish sandy beach.

I balanced on the balls of my feet, pushing through to find scattered pieces of multi-colored shells that, when crushed up, did sparkle silver in color. One couldn’t run around barefoot here because there were shells and rocks everywhere, although some chanced it, not me though. My feet would not be torn to shreds, thanks!

The sands along the shoreline were more of a murky brown with green moss, shells that swayed with the waves, and mounds of rock. That didn’t make the sight any less striking. Beau agreed in that regard, seeing as he was continuing with his pictures. I caught him again though, focusing on me rather than the beach. I should have told him to pay me for being a model, but all that left my lips was a quiet breath. He froze, slowly lowering his camera. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I walked away.

“Let’s hurry and take the path out to the island,” Dad suggested, gesturing to a stretch of sand that did lead out to an island. “We can’t walk across once the tide comes in.”

“I wonder if anyone got stuck out here before?” asked Mom, giggling.

“Probably, but let’s not add our names to the list!” said Aunt Zoey.

I was up for an adventure, especially when my head had been spinning since yesterday. Anything to distract me was a blessing. The water here was darker, more murky, although the beach wasn’t as crowded as the last. Either way, the view was gorgeous, surrounded by sea on either side while heading out to the small island.

Beau was never far behind. A shadow. My shadow, as he always had been, but wouldn’t always be.

“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath, willing the thoughts away. Thoughts didn’t care about will though. They lingered.

On the island, there was a patch of wooded area at the center, some grass, brush, and trees encircled by sand. I meandered away from the group, resting along the shore where the ocean came up to drift over my ankles. The water was warm, tickled my toes while the seabreeze sprinkled water against my warm cheeks. Apparently my plan was popular because Beau sat next to me.

Out of my peripheral, I noted his gaze that alternated between me and the ocean. He swayed slightly. Our arms brushed; warmth reminding me of our kiss in bed where all I wanted was another moment.

Disgust festered once more. Last night was a joke, one we spoke to one another a thousand times, but there was a sudden change that I wished hadn’t occurred, or at least, I thought I wish the change hadn’t occurred. Confused, always confused, going back and forth over what I wanted.

“Nice view,” said Beau, making me chuckle. Reminded me of the lighthouse. Of another kiss.

“Yeah, nice.”

“Do...do you want to explore the island?” Beau nervously twisted his nose ring when met with my scrutinizing gaze.

“What are you playing at?” I asked, suspicious.

“Nothing, why?”

“You don’t need to act like you want to spend more time with me.”

“I’m not acting,” he hissed, offended. “Is it a problem if I want to be with you?”

He paled as quickly as I did. Yet more proof of change. Of something new overtaking what once always was. During a time in our lives when all was unstable, even the one monument we thought was steady had crashed to the ground. What the hell was I meant to do with the pieces?

“Is it a problem?” I shot back, stumping the both of us.

He wanted to be with me. I wanted to be with him too. Wasn’t that always the case? Wasn’t Anthony right? We used our parents as excuses to see each other, claiming that it was forced when, deep down, we knew it wasn’t. This vacation proved as much.

But was Beau thinking of our parents too? Did he imagine our conjoined family dinners that, maybe, could still be family...or this vacation could lead to what shattered them completely? Then drift to the end of August, to move in day, to Beau packing his bags to go to school ten hours away where he’d meet some guy that would make him smile, laugh, blush, and our vacation would be little more than a memory.

I would be no more than a past memory.

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