Summer Thaw

I knew it was going to happen.

The little boy looked at his popsicle slowly sliding off the wooden stick, purple liquid dripping over his hand.  A man rushed over to the boy with a wad of napkins, but it was too late.  The chunk of ice tipped and plopped into the sand.

The little boy looked down at it, his lip quivering, but he didn’t say a word.  The man looked like he wanted to cry.  He stuffed the napkins into the pocket of his shorts and knelt, heedless of the hot sand.

“I’m sorry, baby boy.  I’m sorry that happened. I wish I could get you another one.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Let’s just go on our walk.”

It hurt watching them.  The man and his son weren’t rich, you could tell that.  The boy had on worn, fraying sandals, and the man held out a hand to him stained with something that didn’t wash off.  They left the sand and started down the boardwalk, away from the ice cream truck.

Watching them had hurt, stirring up memories I’d wanted to forget: evenings without supper, Christmases without presents, clothes that the kids at school had made fun of.  At least they looked like they had something else I didn’t - at least one person who gave a crap.

 I was alone and it worked for me.  You couldn’t be hurt if no one was there.

But…. The look of love and sadness in the man’s eyes cracked something inside of me.  How would my life be if someone looked at me the way he looked at that little boy?

I ran to the ice cream truck and bought two sundaes.   I hurried to catch up to the man and the boy and handed them the sundaes.

“Don’t worry, they’re not poisoned or anything.  Enjoy the rest of your day.”

I hurried away to finish my walk but soon felt a small tug on my hand.

The little boy stood there with his ice cream cup in his hand, looking up at me with huge brown eyes. “Thank you for the ice cream.”

“You’re welcome.  It’s too hot of a day to be without some ice cream.”

“I had an ice pop, but it melted and fell in the sand.” I managed to not smile at the outrage in his voice.

The man rushed up to us.  “You didn’t have to-”

“No, I didn’t.  I wanted to.”

The man placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked down at him. “Did you say thank you, Dylan?”

“Yes, Uncle Tommy.”

Oh.  So, not a dad.  And no wedding ring. Interesting.

“Yes, Dylan was very polite, and did indeed say thank you.”

“Good.”   ‘Uncle Tommy’ was staring at me, his head tilted to the side as if he was trying to place me.

“Well, thank you for the ice cream.  You didn’t have to, but we appreciate your generosity.   Enjoy the rest of your day.”  They walked away.

I saw ‘Uncle Tommy’ and Dylan along the boardwalk the next week also.  The red popsicle Dylan had this week was managing to stay on the stick.  He gave me such an enthusiastic “Hi!”, I worried about the life of his treat. I got a “Good Morning” and a long, appraising glance from ‘Uncle Tommy’.

It was almost the same the next week, except it was a yellow popsicle clinging to the stick for dear life and a longer look from ‘Uncle Tommy.’

The next week, I stopped for a moment to enjoy the ocean breeze when somebody leaned on the railing next to me. I looked over and ‘Uncle Tommy’ stood next to me.

“Hi.  Thanks again for the ice cream.”

“You’re welcome again.” I looked around.  “No Dylan today?”

He pointed to my left.  Dylan stood at a bank of coin-operated binoculars, slowly panning across the beach and ocean.

“He’s a nice young man.”

Tommy’s eyebrow drew together and his mouth fell into a frown. “He’s the best little kid in the world.”

“Are you-” I paused, looking over Tommy’s pinched face.  “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“Sorry, no. It’s nothing you said.” He turned and looked toward the ocean. “Dylan’s mom and dad were killed a few months ago.  Drunk driver.  Sometimes...it all just catches up with me, you know?   I didn’t mean to dump my baggage on you.”

“It’s alright, dump away.”

The corner of Tommy’s mouth lifted.  “Maybe I just thought the man who wrote ‘Sedona Blossom’ would get it.”

I  was staring at him, wide-eyed.

The slight smile got bigger. ‘You are Edward Vignier, right?”

“You recognize me?  I don’t have my picture on my books.”

“I was at one of your signings a few years ago. You...haven’t changed much.”   His glance, filled with more than a little bit of heat, slid up my body.  I could feel my face heating. It had been a long time since a man - anybody  - had looked at me like that.

I had to clear my throat before speaking.  “I feel like I’m at a disadvantage.  You know all about me and I only know that you’re ‘Uncle Tommy’  and you like literary fiction.”

He held out his hand.  There were dark stains under his nails and embedded in his cuticles, but I didn’t hesitate to grasp his hand.  His palm was big and calloused, and as I touched him, it felt like all the heat of this late-July afternoon came from him, rather than the sun.

“It’s Thomas, actually.  Thomas Parker.”

“Hi, Thomas Parker.  It’s nice to meet you.”   

I finally let go of his hand when I heard Dylan’s voice coming closer to us “Uncle Tommy!   I saw a ship!   A big one, with tons of containers on it!”

“That’s awesome, baby boy!”

“But my quarter ran out.”

“I see.” Uncle Tommy - Thomas - dug in his pocket and gave Dylan two more quarters. 

“Dylan, can you say hello to Mr. Vignier?”

Hi Mr. Vign- Vagn-”

“Ed is fine.

“Mr. Vig- I mean, Ed, is a writer.”

“Oh, yeah?  Did you write ‘Tim and the Flea’?

No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”

“Oh.  Well, that’s okay. Maybe one day you can write something that good!” And with that, Dylan ran off.

“I’ve got some change if he wants it.”  I laughed. God, when was the last time I’d done that?  “I feel like I owe him for the writing advice.”

“Thanks, but I’m trying to teach him about living on a budget.”  Thomas looked down, then back up at me.  “You’ll probably think I’m nuts, but I’m trying to adopt him.  It’s been hard - and expensive - but we’re getting there.”  Thomas gestured around him.  “Our boardwalk stroll is our big weekly outing until we get where we’re going. You taught me that, you know.”

“I did? “

“Yeah.   Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re books aren’t easy. They’re cold and harsh the first time you read them, but then you reread them and you find a sliver of sunlight and everything changes and gets turned topsy-turvy, you know?  You taught me to keep an eye out for that sunlight.”

Dylan ran up to us. “That was so cool!  That ship was huge!   Maybe I’ll sail a ship like that one day!”

“No reason you can’t, baby boy.”

“Are we still going to see the people drawing down the boardwalk, Uncle Tommy?”

“Sure thing, baby boy.”  Thomas turned to me.  “Thank you, Edward.  For the chat, for… a lot of other stuff.  Have a good day, okay?”

Thomas took Dylan’s hand and turned away, and I realized, I didn’t want him to go.  I hadn’t seen it, but Thomas was right - you could always find sunlight to turn things topsy-turvy. I felt as wobbly as Dylan’s first popsicle, but I had to decide if I wanted to hold tight or melt away into the sand.

“I have a pool!” I blurted out. They both turned to look at me, Dylan intrigued and Thomas, puzzled.

“Sorry, that was weird.”  I took a deep breath.  “I mean, I know we don’t know each other well yet, but if you ever wanted to try a different outing, I have a pool you can use.  I don’t use it much.  I promise it’s not anything weird.  I just thought you might like to use it.  Something different, you know. Any time you want.  I’m always home writing something.  So, any day is good.”  I knew I was babbling. I knew it and couldn’t stop.  Both of them were looking at me as if they were trying to figure something out. 

Dylan spoke first.  “Are there popsicles there?”

“Ice cream, but I could get popsicles.”

“What kind of ice cream?”

“Fudge Ripple.” Dylan nodded in approval.

“Pool toys?”

“That could be arranged.”

“Do you have a dog?”

“No. But there’s a stray cat that likes to hang around a lot.”

Dylan didn’t say anything for a moment, then a smile that hit me in the chest broke out on his face. “I like pools.  You don’t get sand in your butt when you swim.”

I looked to Thomas and my breath caught in my throat at the look he was giving me. I fumbled my wallet out and dug out a card. 

Our fingers brushed when I handed it over, and dear God, I didn’t feel like a wobbly popsicle anymore.  I felt like a breaching iceberg, the cloudy opaque tip disappearing as the clear, glittering underside, hidden for far too long, made its way topside to be kissed by a sliver of sunlight for the first time.