that moon in the middle of it all.”
The woman smiled to herself, not wanting to share the whole story with the barista. There wasn’t many people she could tell the truth to, that the tattoo of the moon was not only for the man who inked it there but to cover up the scars of a bullet wound. The coast north of San Francisco wasn’t exactly known for high crime, unless you counted Eureka, but no one ever counted that.
“Where did you get the tattoos done?”
“I know a guy,” she said slyly. “Has a shop in Gualala. Only works part time though.”
“I love Gualala,” the barista exclaimed. “They have an amazing barbeque joint there. Really quiet though. You live near there?”
The woman nodded, eager to get away from the Chatty Kathy. “I do. But I work up and down the coast. Makes driving down to Bodega Bay worth it just to get Starbucks.”
She then thanked the barista and left before she had to start talking about her job. Not that she minded, but it always made her feel a bit edgy when people asked too many questions about her.
She got in her car, a sexy black 1973 Dodge Challenger that she drove way too fast up and down Highway 1, and looked over her shoulder to the back seat to make sure her photography equipment was still there. Satisfied, she gunned the car, taking it north. Today’s photography session was a pretty simple one, engagement photos on the beach, a happy young couple in love.
The woman felt a bit sad at the fact that she never got to have engagement photos. But then again, no one could do a better job than she could. She would have never been satisfied with them, and besides there was no point in photos when her wedding had been such a simple one. Just her, her husband and her father on the beach at Gualala State Park.
And their son and dog of course, two unreliable ring bearers.
She flipped through the radio stations, pausing when she heard Guano Padano over the air and grinned to herself. The little-known Italian band was finally getting some airplay in the States. She rolled down her window and stuck her head out, smiling like a fool into the waning sun.
When she finally reached the house, the sun was close to setting. She had to hurry. She hated missing sunsets.
She parked in the gravel driveway and grabbed her camera. She looked over the edge of the dunes in front of her house and saw two children chasing each other on the sand, a dog darting between them.
Gus was sitting down on a beach blanket, having a beer and trying to throw the ball for the dog. Sammy wasn’t having any of it, preferring to run down the kids instead, barking and wagging her tail.
In front of them, out in the surf, stood her husband and his strong, solid silhouette, ankle deep in the waves, watching the sun begin its descent.
Her heart bloomed and she ran down the wooden steps to the beach, her feet running through the warm sand, one of her most favorite feelings in the world.
She waved at her father as she passed him and then prepared for the onslaught of the dog as Sammy jumped up at her. The woman raised her camera in the air, knowing the dog’s tendency to slobber all over it and scratched her quickly behind the ears.
“Hey mom!” Ben yelled, a spritely eight-year-old with dark hair and a tall build. A short attention span too. He looked to Gus, “Grandpa, throw me the ball.”
Gus threw it underhead and Ben caught it, just as Violet came screeching toward the woman’s legs.
“Mommy!” Violet cried out, wrapping her tiny arms around her cherry blossom tattoo. “You almost missed sunset.” She was four years old and into keeping track of routine. If the slightest thing was out of place, everyone would hear about it.
“But I didn’t,” the woman explained happily, crouching low. She smoothed the fine blonde hair off of Violet’s head and peered at her. “How are you, baby? Almost bedtime soon.”
“No!” Violet screeched.
The woman laughed, used to this. “Yes. Now go say hi to Grandpa. I’m going to go take a few pictures and then we’ll put you to bed and read you a story.”
“No,” the girl still said but she giggled and ran away to Gus, flopping onto the towel beside him.
The woman watched her go, then straightened up and looked to the ocean.
Camden was staring at her, a big smile on his face.
She grinned right back and trotted up to him.
“Hey sweetheart,” he said to her, opening his arm for her. She snuggled right into it, not even feeling the sharp cold of the Pacific Ocean as it crashed around their feet, then raised her head for a kiss. Camden kissed her deep and long before pulling away.
He was all dimples and blue eyes. He still took her breath away.
“How was work?” he asked, putting his arm around her waist and holding her close.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Good. Couple in love. You know how that goes.”
“Uh huh,” he said. “Lots of blow jobs.”
She laughed and elbowed him. She looked over her shoulder at Ben throwing the ball for the dog, at Violet chatting Gus’s ear off. He was listening with utmost patience to whatever crazy story she was concocting next.
“How did dad’s date go with the woman from the bar?”
Camden grinned and looked at the sunset. “He won’t tell me. Which I think means it went well. I decided not to push it.”
“Good plan.”
“You going to take some photos?” he asked.
She gripped her camera, about to raise it up and capture the last sliver of sun before it disappeared, then hesitated and decided against it.
“Nah,” she said. “I’ll commit it to memory this time.”
They watched as the sun sank into the sea, as the waves crashed around them.
He squeezed her tight. She kissed his hand.
“You happy?” she asked him quietly.
“I am. Are you happy, Ellie?”
She nodded.
She was happy.
