Sea Glass by Anita Shreve Read Free Book Online

know. Marvelous enterprise too. Never a complaint from anyone on the beach, even though the place was full of what you would call high-spirited girls. Closed down four years ago.”
    Sexton pulls to the side of the road to let a beach wagon pass. “The home was a convent?”
    “Years ago. French nuns from Quebec.”
    Beyond the wild growth of beach roses, the ocean spreads to the horizon. A deep twitchy blue with whitecaps. Sexton reaches for a new pack of Luckies from his pocket and expertly tears it open even as he drives. “You want one?” he asks Jack Hess.
    The old man sighs and shakes his head. “Under doctor’s orders now. Had to give it all up — this, that, and the other thing.”
    Sexton puts the cigarettes back in his pocket.
    “My wife died in twenty-four,” Hess says. “Haven’t been the same since. I don’t eat right, and I don’t sleep right. A good marriage, Mr. Beecher, that’s all you need in life. I envy you just startin’ out. I do. Some fun to be had you keep your head on straight. And times is good now, aren’t they? Boom times, so they say.”
    “We’re trying to save up for a place of our own,” Sexton says.
    “What do you get for them typewriting machines of yours?”
    “Depends. Sixty-five dollars for the Number Seven.”
    “And how much of that do you get to keep?”
    “Eight percent, five dollars and twenty cents for the Seven.”
    “Gonna take you a while, Mr. Beecher.”
    Sexton smiles. “Of course we’ll get a mortgage.”
    “Them banks,” Hess says. “They whistle a good tune, but they’re out to make money, pure and simple. It’s no service they’re offering. They’re selling a product just like you are with them typewriters. Best not to forget that.”
    Sexton nods politely.
    “Tell you something else,” Hess says. “Don’t take your boots off in a house you owe money on. Renting or caretaking, whatever you’re doing now, that’s different. You’re saving up, and that’s respectable.”
    Sexton nods again. These old duffers, he thinks. They can’t catch up. Full of advice from another era.
    “So that’s my speech for today,” Hess says. “Sometimes an old man, he just don’t know when to shut up. You come back to the store now. We’ll get you and that bride of yours all fixed up. She a good cook?”
    Sexton shrugs. “I have no idea,” he says.

  Vivian
    Vivian draws her baku as close to her head as it will go. The straw hat has a wide brim, but she wears her colored glasses anyway. She has managed two aspirin, which haven’t so far made a dent in her headache. Lying on her bed earlier, she thought that what she really needed was fresh air. Bravely, she decided to make peace with the smug sunshine on the beach.
    A waiter brings her a canvas chair and a striped umbrella, and she sits gingerly, each movement a painful jar. She should have eaten, she thinks. If the man comes back, she will order something sugary. Tea with sugar. Yes, that might be just the thing.
    The tide is out, the beach flat for a good distance. The air is cool and moist, and if she shuts her eyes and sits perfectly still, the pain is almost bearable. What she should do, she knows, is dive into the ocean. It’s the best cure for a hangover she’s ever known. But to do that, she’d have to go back into the hotel and change into her bathing suit, and she doesn’t have the necessary stamina. She can smell coconut oil, and around her there are voices, punctuated by children’s squeals. On the porch, the pre-lunch crowd sips martinis behind the railing. Just the thought of a martini makes her put a hand to her stomach.
    She opens her eyes a fraction and squints, and, oh God, there’s Dickie Peets walking a dog at the shoreline, holding his shoes, getting his feet wet, his white flannels rolled. She bends as if to search for something she’s dropped in the sand, hoping that he won’t glance up and recognize her. She stays in that position until she thinks it is safe, even