Dark Beach

TEN





Jenny glanced up to see Kurt, in his usual happy plaid, approaching up the beach. A tear stung her cheek in the salty wind. Wiping it away, she stood. “What are you doing here?”

“Come on, come with me,” he grabbed her hand, leading her down to the beach, into the wind. “I needed to talk to you. Where you been?” he asked.

They stood in silence and awe at the soft yellow sky lined with rippled, rapidly thinning charcoal clouds.

“In bed—resting.”

“I had to tell you.”

“What?” she turned to face him.

“The lawyer called, Gerry’s will—”

“I know.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I found the wills in the hex room. She wanted him to have it.”

He said nothing, just looked puzzled. His hair ruffled in the light breeze.

Jenny smiled and took Kurt’s strong hand in hers. “I have news for you.”

“What? You staying?”

“No … absolutely not.” They both laughed awkwardly.

“Then what?”

“Turn around.” Jenny pulled him around to look back at the beach house. “You see that little place there?” She pointed to the beach house. “It’s yours.”

He looked at it a minute. “I suppose so. Dad willed everything to me,” he said finally. “But I don’t want it. Do you think she’d mind terribly if—”

“It’s your house,” she interrupted.

“When you leave,” Kurt said quietly, gesturing to the house. “I’ll call the cops—tell them why he did it, what he said about Mom. They might want to talk to you. I imagine they’ll want those journals, and to search the house and yard for...”

She took up his hand again, squeezed it. “Here,” she said. Taking back her hand, she held it up and tugged the ruby ring off her finger. “It was your mother’s.”

“Keep it,” he said. “I want you to have to it.”

Jenny looked at him. “Kurt, I can’t. You know that.” She twisted her wedding ring subconsciously.

“Give it to Kip, then,” Kurt said. “When she’s older.”

Jenny smiled and slipped it back in her pocket. “That I can do.”

They sat in silence.

“I’m thinking of bulldozing the house,” Kurt said after a while. “Making a memorial garden; maybe with some sculpture. I was thinking a whale.” He winked.

“No way,” Jenny said.

“Way,” he said, his eyes crinkling into a smile.

She smiled back. “Ron and Rachael know it’s yours anyway. Not much to be done about it, I suppose. I need you to do one thing for me, though.”

“What?”

“Did you see Gerry’s will?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Only Dad’s.”

“Well, I want you take her will out to your father’s graveside. I want you to read it to him. He needs to hear what it said.”

“What did it say?”

“That he was loved.”

Kurt sighed and turned to face her.

“I see,” he said, taking her hand. “You want to move in with me, then?”

“Oh Kurt,” said Jenny, and hugged him tight.



* * *



Seven months later…



“Push! Push!”

A piercing cry rang out. “It’s a boy!”

“A boy!” cried Ron.

The baby, wrapped in a worn blue hospital blanket, was placed on Jenny’s heaving chest.

“A boy,” she said, tears misting her eyes.

She took the wet, blanket-wrapped boy in her arms and kissed his perfect upturned nose.

“What shall we name him?” Ron asked, leaning over her shoulder to get a good look at the little guy.

“What do you think?” she asked, examining the baby quizzically.

“You know what? I was thinking maybe Kurt?”

“Kurt?” Jenny looked up at Ron, startled.

“Yeah, Kurt. You know, the fisherman who saved Kip.”

“Kurt,” she said, slowly. It had been so long since she’d said his name.

“Yes, Kurt. It has to be.” Ron nodded.

“No,” Jenny said finally.

“Why not?” he asked, sounding miffed but too happy to argue.

“From death comes birth,” Jenny answered. “How about Jerry? Oh, but I like Kurt too. We’ll flip a coin.”



There once was a beach. . . and it was dark. . . but the sun rose.





Author Lauren Ash


Lauren Ash lives in Seattle spending her time exploring the Emerald City.

She enjoys writing dark poetry as well as novels. You will find her sitting by the fire, sipping on tea while brewing up a great tale.