“HAVE YOU EVER not had a beard?” she asked, standing behind me in the bathroom while I brushed my teeth.
I spat toothpaste into the sink. “Sure. I wasn’t born with a beard. Nor was I one of those boys who had a mustache in the sixth grade.”
She swatted my ass with her towel. It stung. She had a crazy strong arm after physical therapy.
“No, I mean as an adult.”
“Sure. I’ve lost bets and shaved it off. I usually trim it shorter in the summer.”
“Any other time?”
Where was she going with this?
“A few times I’ve shaved it clean for no reason because the mood struck me.”
I turned to face her and she ran her nails through my beard. I knew I needed to trim it, but since her return a month ago I’d been distracted most mornings.
“I’m curious what you would look like without it.”
“You are?”
“I am. I feel like it’s part of you, but at the same time I can’t see your face, your whole face, underneath it.”
“Are you asking?” Would I shave my beard off for her? Sure.
“Maybe.” She stood on her toes and kissed me, running her cheek along my jaw. “It’ll grow back.”
“It will grow back. Pretty quick, too.” I kissed her again. “What are you doing right now?”
“Shaving off your beard?” She smiled. “Can I help?”
“Sure.”
I found the clippers under the sink and a new blade for my razor. Handing her the clippers, I showed her how to run them over my jaw.
A clump of dark hair filled the sink and small hairs littered her leg where she sat on the counter facing me with the clippers in her hand.
“You’re truly bad at this, you know?” I laughed, examining my face in the mirror when she paused. Areas of clearcut surrounded bigger patches of fully intact beard.
“I’ve never done it before. Hold still.” Her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth while she concentrated. As long as she didn’t cut me, I’d let her have her fun.
After a few minutes she declared me all done. I opened one eye to peer at my reflection. Not half bad.
Her hand stroked my jaw. “Where’d you get this scar?”
“Soccer. 7th grade. Took a header from Sam Carter straight to the chin. Fifteen stitches.”
She held my chin in her hand, turning my face back and forth, studying the newly exposed skin.
“Want me to go for the full monty?” I asked.
Her eyes bugged out and her gaze fell down below my waist.
“No, not down there. No way. I meant shave it smooth.”
A look of relief, or maybe disappointment, floated across her eyes before she nodded.
I let her lather my face, but after her less than stellar work with the clippers, I decided we’d both be safer if I used the razor myself.
She sat next to me, gazing at me while I slowly dragged the blade up my neck. When I rinsed off the last of the foam, her hands were immediately on my face.
I leaned close and kissed her, brushing my lips softly across hers.
“It’s like kissing you, but a different version of you.”
I kissed my way to her ear and then down her neck. “It feels the same to me.”
“You’re less pokey.”
“Give me a few hours and I’ll be scratchy again.”
“Maybe we should take this for a test run now before you regrow it.”
“Test run?” I asked, standing between her legs.
‘Uh huh.” Her legs wrapped around my waist. “I want to be able to make an informed decision on my preference.”
“Well, if that’s the case …” I swept her up in my arms and carried her to bed.
Turns out beards were good for many things, but sometimes bare skin made all the difference in the world.
I stood on my deck drinking coffee and enjoying the warmth of the July sun. After a long, rainy winter and spring, blue skies had returned. These were the days that made living here worth all the gray.
Facing the exposed tide flat and retreating water, I spotted a pair of horses and riders far out on the sand, well beyond boats stranded in the low tide. I tugged my newly grown beard and thought about going out this evening to see if the salmon were biting.
I turned to the left and spied Maggie out on her deck with her laptop, probably writing. She waved and raised her coffee cup in greeting. I echoed her gestured and smiled. It felt good to have my neighbor home. I’d even warmed to Gil. At least he no longer stared at me like he wanted to fight.
In the other direction, summer people in shorts and bathing suits dotted the beach and decks. Children ran up and down the sand, dogs played in the water, and the summer wives sunned themselves. A few houses down a woman practiced yoga in the sand. Her shorts were tiny, leaving little to the imagination about her legs and ass. With her ass in the air and her torso bent over at the waist, I couldn’t see her face.
I turned back around to see if Maggie caught me staring. From her grin it was clear she busted me. Laughing, she shook her head and mouthed, “Pervert.”
The laugh was on her though.
I knew that ass anywhere.
I watched while Diane slowly curled up from her pose and lifted her arms, her dark ponytail swinging down her back when she stood up.
Returning my gaze to Maggie, she called out, “You’re still a pervert, John Day!”
I winked at her, then focused on Diane again. She faced me and laughed.
Her mouth moved with words I couldn’t hear from the deck. Reduced to pantomimes, I explained I couldn’t hear her, then offered her coffee. I never did learn sign language, so I couldn’t say for sure what she meant by her hand gestures, but you wouldn’t make those gestures in church.
A few minutes later she strolled down the beach and joined me.
“How long did you stand there staring at my ass?”
“Not that long. Maggie busted me, though.”
“Did she know it was me?”
“Not at first.” I scratched at my new beard. “I, um, had a reputation for admiring women on the beach.”
“Had?”
“Before you.”
She echoed my words, giving me a sidelong glance. “Before me.”
“Yes, there’s my life now with you, and then everything else before.”
“I’m the dividing line?”
“In more ways than you’ll know.” I leaned over and pressed my lips to her forehead.
“I like that.”
“I like you.”
“I thought you loved me.” Her voice teased.
“I do, but I like you, too.”
“I’m glad. Do you like me enough to get me some coffee?”
“Not that much, no.” I was already heading inside to get her a cup when her hand hit my ass.
When I returned, she lay across the deck seat, her knees bent and her arm shielding her face from the sun. My shadow blocked the light, letting her know I was back. She sat up and took the mug from me.
“What do you want to do later?” I ran my hand up her leg and followed its path with my eyes. These shorts were illegal.
“Did you hear me?” she asked.
I had no idea she spoke, lost completely in my thoughts about her legs and hips wrapped around me.
“No.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Sex.”
“And?”
“And you shouldn’t wear these shorts out of the house.”
“Oh, really?”
“No.”
“I’ve worn them around clients when I’m training them.”
My growl rumbled low in my chest.
“It’s probably wrong, and I shouldn’t encourage you, but I love it when you act all caveman with the jealousy and growling.”
My eyes flashed to hers, which contained nothing but pure delight.
“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder and have my Neanderthal way with you in my cave. Cause I’d do it.”
“Oh, I know you would. You’ve done it before.”
“Damn right.” I flexed my pecs and shoulders.
Instead of dropping to her knees in front of me, she laughed so hard she rolled right off the bench and hit the ground with a thud.
“That’s great for my ego, you know.”
Through her giggles she wiped her eyes. “I think your ego is doing fine. In fact, I think you’re even more handsome than when I met you. Although I miss your winter beard.”
Her nails scratched the short scruff along my jaw. It wasn’t as thick as it had been, but it didn’t have the bare look from a few weeks ago. Despite her reassurances, she couldn’t convince me to keep it.
Two things I knew for certain. I would never live in the city. And second, I resembled a plucked chicken without my facial hair.
Donnely gave me shit for it and kept telling me I was whipped.
The things I did for love.
“How about a beach fire tonight?” I asked during dinner later that evening at Diane’s house.
“We could invite Maggie and Gil. Or maybe Donnely,” she suggested.
“Do we need chaperones?”
“I don’t know, do we?” She gave me her sultry smile.
“We haven’t done it on the beach yet. That’s all I’m saying.”
“It’s not even dark yet.”
“But it will be later.”
“True.”
“So yes?”
“Yes to the fire. Anyone could stroll up and see us having sex.”
“No one strolls up the beach at night. It’s not like there’s a boardwalk out there. We’ve done it outside before.” My mind brought up images of her pale skin in the woods and I smirked.
“All that sand though.”
“A blanket will solve that problem. Or even blankets if you’re feeling shy.”
“Since when am I shy?”
“Given the yoga shorts you’ve worn, more shy might not be a bad thing.”
“You like those shorts.”
“I like you naked, too, but no one else should be allowed to see that.”
She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You start the fire and I’ll grab the blankets.”
“I’ll take that as a yes then!” I shouted to her back when she headed down the hall.
She wouldn’t have believed me, but sex wasn’t on my mind when I suggested the fire. I wasn’t in the mood for company other than hers. The past week had been filled with family. Family included my father and Joyce. I needed alone time, which meant alone with Diane.
The fire sputtered and caught when I blew on the kindling. She joined me with her arms full of the blankets. When we shook them out, I noticed she had something stuck under her arm.
“What’s that?” I pointed to the blob of fabric.
She tossed a ball of gray fabric at me—the sweater from the winter.
I held it up and a mischievous grin spread across my face. “Really?”
“You’ve wanted to burn this thing since January. Here’s your chance.”
“Are you serious, Linus? I can?”
“Burn away, pyromaniac man. It was my security blanket. Now it reminds me of all the sad things.”
I dangled it over the flames, but didn’t dip it low enough to catch.
“Is this a symbolic gesture or is it necessary because it’s a biohazard?” I lifted it up, pretending to sniff it.
“Burn it or I’ll do it for you and steal your joy.” She moved to grab it, but I was faster.
“Bye.” The sweater fell on top of the logs and slowly caught fire.
We watched it burn, her arm around my waist and mine around her shoulders.
“We’re ridiculous. You agree, right?” I stared down at the fire.
“We are. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
“Tell them what? We ritually burn clothing?”
“That and that you’re a sentimental softie.”
“Am not.”
“Right. Like how you’re not a nice guy.”
“I’m not.”
“No one believes that but you.”
A few women’s faces flashed through my mind—a jury of people of my past who would disagree with her. The last face was Joyce.
“Quit trying to find evidence to support your twisted ideas.” She pinched my side. It tickled more than hurt.
“I haven’t been all that nice to my dad or Joyce.”
“True. But you made more of an effort last week during their visit.”
Diane and Helen had ganged up on me to hang out with my dad last Sunday. Soon after we arrived at the house they disappeared with Joyce down the road to pick berries for pie. I knew Diane didn’t bake, but she was in cahoots with my aunt and Joyce.
At first we’d sat in silence with Peter, watching the Mariners.
“What do you think their playoff prospects are this year?” my dad asked the room. Sports acted as the gateway to conversation with men of his generation.
“Probably the same as last year. Not great,” I answered.
“I’m always optimistic things will pull together for them.”
The metaphors of team work, wins, and hope in the face of loss communicated more than game stats. My father spoke in layers of sports jargon rather than express his fears and feelings.
Before the game finished, somehow we managed a conversation that didn’t turn into a fight for the first time in years.
Diane and I sat side by side facing the fire. I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “You know, I saw through the whole berry picking for pies scheme. Since when do you bake?”
“I don’t bake. I do eat pie and have two hands.” She waved her fingers at me.
Her bare ring finger caught my eye. I imagined it with my mother’s ring on it.
Wait.
Where did that come from?
No way we were ready for that. She’d only been officially divorced this year. Way too soon for rings and weddings.
Way too soon.
No one was thinking about rings on fingers.
Definitely not me.
I said a rude comment about eating pie, sending Diane into a fit of giggles. All thoughts of rings faded away when I pinned her on the blanket and unbuttoned her shirt.
She shivered when the cool night air hit her skin before I pulled the other blanket over us. I knew no one was on the beach. The lights were dark over at Maggie’s and no one else had a direct line of sight to the fire ring nestled near the driftwood and sea grass.
Diane was right about the sand. Despite the blankets, it got everywhere. Everywhere.
Luckily for me, I had a plan to deal with the sand.
Outdoor shower. Installed two days ago and yet to be christened. Set off to the side of the house away from windows and the road, the three sided structure hid our bodies from prying eyes, but I muffled Diane’s moans and cries with my mouth. Sound carried down at the beach.