Page 5

It was colder at the beach despite the sun-dappled blue waves that flooded my senses: sight, sound, and smell. Jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt had been enough for the three-hour drive from our college and had certainly been adequate for hanging out in the warmth of Brett’s home, but as soon as we got out of the car at Breakwater Beach, it was like a whole different world. A different, windy, wonderful world.

I was glad he’d shoved my jacket at me before we left. I zipped it up as we lowered our heads and battled the wind to arrive on the boardwalk.

Home for me was a Milwaukee suburb, far enough from the city that we weren’t frequent visitors. Suburban communities peppered the map between us and the city and farmland spread out in the other direction. Sure, I’d visited Lake Michigan with my church youth group, but that was nothing like walking on the boardwalk and viewing the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean for the first time. I stopped when my feet hit the boards and looked out over the dunes. The sky was clear, a lighter blue to complement the shear vastness of the blue-green ocean below it. The sand was a dull beige, with greenery peppering the protective mounds on the far side of the boardwalk.

“Welcome to Breakwater.” Brett patted my back and stood quietly next to me as I took it in.

There was something about the salty air and the enormity of the horizon that was overwhelming. Just the thought of where that horizon led, what was underneath it and what was beyond, had me feeling dizzy as we approached. But as we walked the boardwalk, the grandness of the ocean to my left was in contrast to the charm of the boardwalk itself, running solid, sure, and parallel to the coastline, with shops and restaurants and a few homes lining the far side. The boardwalk was decorated for the holidays: green wreathes with cranberry-colored bows hanging from each pole light we passed. The shops and restaurants were all decorated as well despite the fact that there weren’t that many shoppers on a winter’s day at the beach, and that some of the shops appeared to be closed.

I was charmed by all of it. The boardwalk had a warmth to it despite the salty winter wind, and I realized that it was the place itself and not the atmosphere that had me feeling so welcome.

“You grew up here?”

My buddy shrugged and pointed to the one more-modern building, which stood out among the quaint beachfront stores and homes. Its sign featured the name of a well-known hotel chain, At Home Hotels and Suites.

“They renovated that one when I was seven. Dalton was a baby. We moved here for Dad to oversee the renovation, and Mom refused to leave when the project was done. Dad keeps getting promoted, but his main office is still in that building. Mom won’t have it any other way, but he does travel a lot.”

“And you guys go with him for Thanksgiving, right?”

“Yeah, we got to go to the Caribbean this year, so that was cool.”

Brett’s voice trailed off. But he picked back up, nodding toward the bright-white hotel that hovered over the historic-looking, two-story, cedar-shingled building next door. “I’ve worked there every summer since I was fifteen. Some years in the office, some years at the front desk. My first year I was part of the janitorial crew, cleaning up litter, wiping stuff down, and hauling trash all day.”

“And that’s where you’ll work when you graduate? Can’t beat the view, man. Might be worth it.” Brett was anxious about working with his father, but I could imagine being willing to put up with a lot if the view from my office included the Atlantic Ocean and the Breakwater Boardwalk.

Brett shrugged. “He thinks I can manage one of the hotels myself someday. He said all those different jobs were training me up. Not a beachfront one to start, though. I’ll probably start out inland.”

“So that’s why you majored in hospitality?”

Brett and I had been roommates freshman year, and it just so happened we were in the same Introduction to Hospitality Management course our first semester. I had taken it as more of a test, to see if it was something I’d be interested in doing, but Brett had ended up majoring in it. We were set to graduate in a few short months, and I still didn’t really know what I wanted to do with my business degree.

“Yeah, Dad’s pretty set on me working with him.”

“At least you have a job lined up for when we graduate.”

“Yeah. I know. But I’m not starting until after you and I take that road trip to New Orleans!” Brett punctuated those last words with punches to my arm, like I was one of his fraternity brothers. It was something I was still getting used to.

“Road trip!” he repeated, shouting it out over the crash of the waves.

Laughing, I repeated, “Road trip!” I couldn’t muster the same bellowing enthusiasm as my friend but yelling the words to the ocean felt like sharing a secret. Maybe that road trip would be the jump start my life needed, or maybe a visit to a quaint beach town was all the jolt I needed. My words were drowned out by the crashing of the waves, and it felt like the ocean could capture all my secrets and hold them, protect them for me until I was ready for them to wash ashore.

The salty wind whipped my hair into my face and made me realize how long I’d let it grow. I flicked my head to get it out of the way, and when I looked up, I found we were walking in front of a toy store, nestled between a clothing store and an ice cream shop, both of which were closed, though both had wreaths on their front doors. It was the cedar-shingled building that stood strong next to the much more modern-looking hotel next door.

“This used to be my favorite place when I was a kid. Come meet Miss Anita.”

I paused, took a step back, and stared at the inviting-looking building. It was clearly a commercial building surrounded by other businesses, and yet if felt like … home. I imagined, for a brief moment, waking up each day to the sound of ocean waves.

My revery was interrupted by another playful punch to the arm. “Come on, dude. It’s cold out here.”

A bell jingled as we entered the store, which was empty except for an older woman who sat in a chair on a small platform or stage, nestled in the corner of the store. She was surrounded by shelves of children’s books, a tablet in hand. She looked to be in her sixties, maybe older, and had long frizzy gray hair. She wore a bright, multi-colored skirt and a Christmas sweater that in no way matched it. An elegant snowflake broach tried hard to remain classy as it sparkled on her chest, but it was outnumbered by the sheer number of clashing colors. It should have been off-putting, and I hated that my first thought was that my parents would hate this woman. But the chaos of colors and Christmas cheer somehow worked. It made her seem warm, like she’d never met a stranger who didn’t immediately become a friend.

“Brett Garner! Well, if today isn’t the day. Your brother was in here just a little bit ago. Are you looking for a job too?”

The woman jumped up from the comfortable-looking chair and hugged Brett. She had to be a foot shorter than my lanky friend, but it still looked like the hug swallowed him whole, her skinny arms wrapping around him like a warm, holiday-themed blanket. That flyaway hair blocked his face as she leaned in, enveloping him.

Warm, I thought. Just like the breezy boardwalk and the home I was visiting, the store and the woman exuded warmth. Right then and there, I knew everything I needed to know about Breakwater: that it would be welcoming, accepting. I found myself sighing as if I were the one being enveloped by a kind, motherly character.

“Hi, Miss Anita. It’s good to see you.” She let him go. “What’s this about a job?” Brett started to ask.