In The Sunshine (2 page)

"I'm flying solo today."

Connie led him to a section of high-topped tables, each protected by a Corona beer umbrella. Matt pointed to one facing the ocean.

"Regan will be your server. You enjoy, hun."

Matt watched her disappear back into the bar and wondered if all the locals were as friendly. He scanned the ocean and noticed the tide was slipping out to sea. People were hundreds of yards into the water and it still didn't rise above their chests. The late afternoon sun felt good on his arms as he stretched beyond the umbrella's shade. He stood and then stepped a few feet away. The warmth on his body felt like rays of rejuvenation.

"I wouldn't stand there too long, as pale as you are."

Matt turned and a young woman in jeans and a royal blue Sandbar t-shirt glared at him. "You must be--"

"Regan? And you are?

"Matt. Do you always ask the names of people you wait on?"

"Always, yes."

He let out a pfff. "Seriously?"

"It helps build a trust relationship that I find particularly useful."

"Bigger tips?"

She pointed her pin at his nose. "Now what can I get you, Matt."

"Do you have Bass Ale on tap?"

"Does this look like an English pub? How about a Corona with lime?"

"Well, Regan, I don't normally go for something so light, but I'll trust your judgment."

"Good idea, Matt. I'll be right back."

His eyes followed her back to the bar. He knew he couldn't be more than five or six years older than her, but she looked like a kid. Matt had seen too much of life for someone that hadn't yet hit thirty. That’s what being a cop did for you, he thought.

His iPhone vibrated. A text message from Wade.

"Burnt yet, Casper?"

"Working on it," he replied, his thumbs moving at less than lightning speed.

"Skipped out of town w/o your bud. Scum!"

Matt had been best friends with Wade McGrath since grade school. While they didn't share the same profession or even lead similar lives, they were still tight. Wade had pushed him to take the trip.

"What can I say?"

"Just givin ya some shit, dude. How's the 'scenery?'"

"Perfect. Not a cloud in the sky."

"U are hopeless. Stop moping about the ex already…"

Matt rolled his eyes and was about to type a reply when Regan returned with his beer.

"Why the sour face?" she asked.

He studied her for an instant. Her complexion was silky. Light freckles gave her that girl-next-door look and her blue-green eyes appeared kind.

"I'm smiling on the inside. That's what counts, right?"

"Around here? It's all about appearances. Do you know how hard it is to play nice with everyone that walks through our front door?"

"You mean your front mouth?"

Regan jabbed him in the shoulder. "Wise guy. You know what I mean. I swear if I see one more fake tan today --"

He held his pale right arm up to hers.

"See, now, I like that," she said. "You're not pretending to be something or someone you're not."

He shrugged. "What you see is what you get."

"I respect that, Matt, I really do. Now, what can I get you?"

AS SHE DID DOZENS OF TIMES EACH SHIFT, Regan called out her order to the kitchen and tacked the ticket to a wheel that hung above the grill where Sid stood guard most days at the Sandbar. He was as much a part of the woodwork as the various kinds of stuffed fish on the walls.

She turned back toward the bar, her hip bumping Connie's as she passed. These kinds of touches throughout the course of an eight hour shift were as unavoidable as a football player being hit during a game.

"You've got a brooder on the deck, eh?" Connie said.

"Sad eyes," Regan said. She scooped ice into a pair of cups and poured iced tea for an elderly couple that had just been seated. "Seems nice, though."

"We're getting a lot of those lately."

"It's the time of the year, isn't it Connie?"

"Sure. These yankees have been trapped inside all winter. They're depressed and don't even know it. That's why they come. The sun calls to them and then lifts their spirits."

Regan stuck a wedge of lemon in each glass of tea. "I never knew you were such an observer of human nature."

"Why else would I want to run this place?" Connie said. "It ain't for the money, honey."

Regan smiled. "I thought you and Sid were building a nice nest egg from this place."

"Huh? Yeah, right." Connie circled around Megan and went to the front of the restaurant to greet its newest guests.

Megan delivered the drinks and took Don and Mary's order. Before heading back to the kitchen, she went to check on the big guy sitting alone on the deck.

"Can I get you another, Matt?"

He was gazing out over the ocean, seemingly miles away in his thoughts. She wondered if he had even heard her or noticed her presence. "Matt?"

"I'll wait until my food comes out," he said.

Regan tapped her chin with the end of a pen, a nervous habit. She didn't give customers much thought generally, despite the trick of learning their first names and listening about where they were from and what they were doing in Florida. Even the cute guys - and there were plenty that came through the doors - didn't make much of an impression.

This one was different somehow. It wasn't his looks, which she considered average. It wasn't his burly build, which held a certain nice quality, but it wasn't the sculpted look she tended to opt for. There was another factor at play she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"It should be up in just a sec," Regan said.
 

He nodded a polite nod and refocused his attention on the sea. Regan took the drink orders for a family of four just sat in her section. Before filling their orders, she checked on Matt's food.

"How we coming on the fish tacos, Sid?"

The middle-aged man, who wore a double-breasted black chef's coat at all times, as if he were an artisan preparing gourmet meals, instead of burgers and other bar fare, took his glasses off.

"Perhaps you need a set of these, kid?" he smirked. Sid nodded at the counter above the grill, the "window," where he placed completed orders under heat lamps.

"Good thing it wasn't a snake," Regan said.

"Would have bit you right in the -- "

She snatched the dish, scooped up the drink platter and headed back into crowd before Sid could finish the sentence.

Matt had shifted positions, she noticed. He was typing something on his phone, though she imagined it must be difficult for a guy with such thick, stubby fingers.

"Fish tacos," Regan said. "I'm telling you, Matt, you're going to love them."

She sat the plate in front of him and then a second Corona. She lingered and found herself wanting to inch closer to him. Regan noticed the top of his buzz-cut head was already a little red.

He finally took a bite of one of the tacos and gave a thumbs up. She studied his face for any traces of dissatisfaction and saw none. He was honest.

"Told ya," she said. "Best on the entire Florida coast."

Matt took another massive bite and the first taco was all but gone. Regan patted him on the shoulder and, at a touch, felt the power of his body. The man was solid as granite.

"Can we get refills, hun," the overstuffed mom called out to her.

"Right there," Megan said. "Let me know if you need anything else, Matt."

He smiled and something inside of her tingled.

IT HAD BEEN A DECADE SINCE MATT SMELLED THE WARM SALT AIR OF A FLORIDA BEACH. Not since high school, not since the senior trip to Daytona when Jen had agreed to marry him one day.

The fish tacos were better than he thought they would be. He actually preferred them over the carne asada versions he ordered as a backup plan. Combined with the beer, both were sitting heavily in his stomach.
 

After leaving the bar, Matt reached the beach in seconds and slipped his sandals off to feel the sand on his skin. He ambled over to a van parked on Cocoa Beach and rented a chair and an umbrella. He searched for a spot away from the mom and kid brigade, but was only partially successful. He wound up a few hundred feet north of the Sandbar Sports Grill with a view of a long pier ahead of him.

His late lunch wasn't the only thing weighing him down. Wade was right, he needed to move on. Part of him wanted exactly that, to put Jen and their five-year marriage behind him. She certainly had. Engaged in less than a year?

It was as hurtful as the divorce itself. How could this woman he had invested so much into be ready to marry another guy? It was maddening and caused him equal fits of seething rage and self-loathing.

Matt set his chair to face the Atlantic. Screwing the 60-inch umbrella into the sand to anchor was harder than it looked and he chided himself on being so out of shape. He removed his white tank top, pulled out a tube of sun block and worked it into his arms, legs, chest and shoulders. More time in the weight room needed when he got home.

Properly oiled, he trained his view on a pair of children, brothers playing catch with a tiny football being winged at them by their father. The boys were barely above toddler stage. Matt smiled at their antics, how one tried to show he was the alpha and worthy of more tosses. In between catching passes, the boys leapt over a small pit dug into the sand. They acted as if it was a great cavern waiting to swallow them up, emitting something akin to a rebel yell with each successful hurdle.

A moment later, the younger boy tripped before jumping and went face first into the hole. His wails brought Matt out of his chair. Matt dropped to his knees and gently lifted the boy out. His father arrived a second later and the boy, with wet sand clinging to his face and hair, went immediately to him, throwing both arms around his neck.
 

Amid the boy’s cries, the father enveloped his son with his massive arms and hugged him tight. He then looked at Matt and nodded as if to say, ‘thank you.’ Matt returned the nod and was happy to have played a small part in their day.
 

He went back to his chair and looked up at the sun. Matt closed his eyes and wished being a hero was as easy in his everyday life. He knew the daily doses of contempt and outrage he faced as a cop had hardened him. Perhaps it was the walls he had erected to protect himself that had really cost him his marriage.

Matt shook the thought away and guessed it was pushing four in the afternoon. If he was actually going to taste some saltwater, now was the time. After thirty yards and with the waves finally slowing his progress, he dove like an oversized pelican in search of a meal from the Atlantic.

Air bubbles surrounded his skin as he submerged. They tickled him all over and it took just a flash for him to resurface. A wave knocked him backward as he did, saltwater splashing his face and stinging his eyes.

It felt good. It felt right, as if the ocean just might scrub the doldrums away. A young teenager on a wake board zipped past him with a toothy smile.

"This is awesome," he howled.

It was indeed. Matt tested his strength against the waves for another thirty minutes and then left the warm waters. He was surprised at how far south he had drifted during his play, but was able to find his lonely beach chair and umbrella. He checked to make sure his phone was still tucked underneath his tank top and then scolded himself for being so distrusting.

He swiped the phone to life and saw a pair of texts from good old Wade.

"Pics dude. I need pics."

"Hello..."

Matt smiled. "MILF's and teen agers," he typed back. "Not many co-eds."

A few minutes elapsed. "What? I love MILFs!!! Come on, I need some pics, dude. WTF?"

Wade was never going to grow up, that was for sure. His body almost dry, Matt put his tank back on. He laughed at himself, noticing the new pinkness of his skin despite the layer of SPF.

Looking south on the beach, he noticed a slender figure coming his way, a young woman with dark hair. As she came into focus, he saw it was the waitress from the Sandbar.

Emily was right. An evening on the Cocoa Beach Pier was exactly the tonic Regan decided she needed to forget about Eddie for awhile and spend a day's worth of meager tips.

Five hours of waitressing had produced just forty three dollars, but it was enough to have dinner and a few drinks. Before leaving the restaurant, Regan changed into a pair of capri pants and a sleeveless smocked neck blouse. Both were navy, a color that muted her rich tan and dark brown hair a touch.

It wasn't something she did regularly for a trip to the pier.
 

She usually just went and didn't mind talking with a few people that would inevitably recognize her after glancing at her Sandbar t-shirt. Tonight, she just wanted to blend. She left her work clothes in a small locker Sid and Connie provided each of the waitresses in a cramped back room.
 

Regan walked past the bar, winked at Connie then made her way across the deck and down to the beach. She scanned the expanse of sand between the restaurant and the pier. At half-past four, families and tourists were starting to peel away. Another wave of them would descend after dinner and stay until dusk. It was as predictable as the tide.

Cocoa had its regulars, too. Packs of local young guys constantly trolled the shore for easy scores with northern college girls, many of whom were easily dazzled by their gym muscles and deep tans. Older, grizzled men for whom the ocean seemed to be a place of daily worship. And the hustlers, like Tommy, peddling beach toys and trinkets.
 

Regan spotted Tommy a hundred yards ahead of her. As she approached, he was in mid-spiel. His black garment-like bag, filled with shark's teeth, ankle bracelets and glow in the dark sticks, was rolled out on the sand in front of a ghostly white woman. Her three children pointed to items Tommy apparently convinced them they had to have.

Regan had seen his act countless times. Tommy was the carefree spirit from Hawaii just looking to scrape together enough cash to get back to the north shore of Oahu. It was the story he sold along with the trinkets. Coupled with his charm, it was good enough to earn a steady stream of five and ten dollar bills.