had a stalker, but she’d hung
those panties on the line in the backyard earlier, he must have stolen them.
“Step
back.” There was a container of walking sticks and umbrellas just inside the
front door. As the stranger’s eyes widened and he did as she asked, she grabbed
the first thing that came to hand, a knobbly stick, and brandished it in the
air. “Adam!” She called behind her as loudly as she could.
“Ah,
Jaysus. No, you’ve the wrong idea.” His face turned red, and he dabbed his
sweaty forehead with her panties, then gasped in horror when he realized what
he’d done.
Adam
came up behind her. “What’s going on here?” His hand curled around Stacy’s
shoulder moving her back out the way.
The
stranger focused all his attention on Adam. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
He spoke fast, stammering with nerves. “Ask the lady to lower the shillelagh.”
Adam
stared back, and didn’t answer.
“I’m
Paddy Twohig, from the farm.” He waved a hand to the right. “Our family were
friends with your grandmother. You’re Adam Logan, aren’t ya?”
Adam
nodded. “Do you want to explain why you’re holding my wife’s knickers, Paddy?”
Paddy
swallowed. “ It
was Jack.” He proffered the panties Adam’s direction, waggling them in the air
as if he was desperate to get rid of them. “The donkey. He must have leaned
over the back fence and grabbed them. He came home with them in his mouth. He
was always doing that with your grandmother’s things.”
Stacy lowered the walking
stickShe fought back the urge to giggle,and snatched her underwear from Paddy’s
hand.
“I’m sorry, Miss, er, Mrs
Logan. He can’t resist pink. I’ll be going then.” Before either of them had a
chance to respond, he hiked up his dirty jeans, turned on his heels, and
scurried away along the path.
*****
Dogs
Bay was everything a beach should be. A curving crescent of white sand, with
turquoise sea beyond, and even a heather-purple lump of mountain in the
distance.
“Shoes
off.” Adam extended his arm so she could grab it while unsteadily slipping off
her sandals. The sand was warm and gritty. She curled her toes in, leaving soft
indentations. “Dry sand feels different to wet sand.” Adam scooped up a handful
to show her. “This sand is formed from shell and other marine detritus. There’s
a miniature world in every handful.”
She
peered at it, noting the differing shapes and textures.
“Try
walking.”
Up
at the far reaches, away from the water, the sand was piled into dunes with
scrubby plants growing on top. Stacy took a step, then two, her feet forming
deep gouges as the ground flowed and moved under her. “So this is what shifting
sands means.” She slipped, ran a couple of steps, then stopped on the flat.
“I
can’t remember the first time I came to the beach. We spent weeks staying with
my grandparents every summer. A couple of days after we broke up from school,
Ma would pack us into the car and we’d be off. Dad stayed home.” He took her
hand as they trekked across the sand to a spot sheltered by an outcropping of
rock. “Here’s good.” He laid a towel onto the sand, then removed his T-shirt
and toed off his shoes.
Stacy
unfastened the wraparound dress, and placed it carefully on the towel, then placed
her sandals below it. There were only a handful of other people on the beach,
but she felt exposed and awkward.
“I
never went on vacation when I was a kid. I had no other relatives than my
parents, and neither of them was inclined to go anywhere. When Lester became my
manager, I worked all the time. I had one burst of rebellion when I sneaked out
and went to the convention and checked into a hotel under a fake name without
anyone knowing my whereabouts.” She grinned. “And you know what happened then.”
“You
married me.”
They
were at the boundary of beach and sea, and Adam stepped in, the clear water
pooling around his ankles.
She
took a tentative step, and
those panties on the line in the backyard earlier, he must have stolen them.
“Step
back.” There was a container of walking sticks and umbrellas just inside the
front door. As the stranger’s eyes widened and he did as she asked, she grabbed
the first thing that came to hand, a knobbly stick, and brandished it in the
air. “Adam!” She called behind her as loudly as she could.
“Ah,
Jaysus. No, you’ve the wrong idea.” His face turned red, and he dabbed his
sweaty forehead with her panties, then gasped in horror when he realized what
he’d done.
Adam
came up behind her. “What’s going on here?” His hand curled around Stacy’s
shoulder moving her back out the way.
The
stranger focused all his attention on Adam. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
He spoke fast, stammering with nerves. “Ask the lady to lower the shillelagh.”
Adam
stared back, and didn’t answer.
“I’m
Paddy Twohig, from the farm.” He waved a hand to the right. “Our family were
friends with your grandmother. You’re Adam Logan, aren’t ya?”
Adam
nodded. “Do you want to explain why you’re holding my wife’s knickers, Paddy?”
Paddy
swallowed. “ It
was Jack.” He proffered the panties Adam’s direction, waggling them in the air
as if he was desperate to get rid of them. “The donkey. He must have leaned
over the back fence and grabbed them. He came home with them in his mouth. He
was always doing that with your grandmother’s things.”
Stacy lowered the walking
stickShe fought back the urge to giggle,and snatched her underwear from Paddy’s
hand.
“I’m sorry, Miss, er, Mrs
Logan. He can’t resist pink. I’ll be going then.” Before either of them had a
chance to respond, he hiked up his dirty jeans, turned on his heels, and
scurried away along the path.
*****
Dogs
Bay was everything a beach should be. A curving crescent of white sand, with
turquoise sea beyond, and even a heather-purple lump of mountain in the
distance.
“Shoes
off.” Adam extended his arm so she could grab it while unsteadily slipping off
her sandals. The sand was warm and gritty. She curled her toes in, leaving soft
indentations. “Dry sand feels different to wet sand.” Adam scooped up a handful
to show her. “This sand is formed from shell and other marine detritus. There’s
a miniature world in every handful.”
She
peered at it, noting the differing shapes and textures.
“Try
walking.”
Up
at the far reaches, away from the water, the sand was piled into dunes with
scrubby plants growing on top. Stacy took a step, then two, her feet forming
deep gouges as the ground flowed and moved under her. “So this is what shifting
sands means.” She slipped, ran a couple of steps, then stopped on the flat.
“I
can’t remember the first time I came to the beach. We spent weeks staying with
my grandparents every summer. A couple of days after we broke up from school,
Ma would pack us into the car and we’d be off. Dad stayed home.” He took her
hand as they trekked across the sand to a spot sheltered by an outcropping of
rock. “Here’s good.” He laid a towel onto the sand, then removed his T-shirt
and toed off his shoes.
Stacy
unfastened the wraparound dress, and placed it carefully on the towel, then placed
her sandals below it. There were only a handful of other people on the beach,
but she felt exposed and awkward.
“I
never went on vacation when I was a kid. I had no other relatives than my
parents, and neither of them was inclined to go anywhere. When Lester became my
manager, I worked all the time. I had one burst of rebellion when I sneaked out
and went to the convention and checked into a hotel under a fake name without
anyone knowing my whereabouts.” She grinned. “And you know what happened then.”
“You
married me.”
They
were at the boundary of beach and sea, and Adam stepped in, the clear water
pooling around his ankles.
She
took a tentative step, and
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