Free Figment by Elizabeth Woods Page A

water foamed around our ankles. I shrieked as a big wave splashed me, soaking my jeans to the knees. “I’m already wet!”
    Davis snared one of the seaweed clumps and held it up, dripping, just over my head. “Here’s your wig, darling.” He grinned.
    “No!” I tried to run away, but the water caught at my calves. He grabbed me and plopped the seaweed onto my head. Cold water ran down my face.
    I shrieked again and snatched it off. “You’re so getting it!” I waved the seaweed at him. It was rubbery and sandy and smelled strongly of the ocean. Minuscule shells were caught in its fibers.
    Davis laughed, backing away, but a huge wave crashed over us then, and he lost his balance, pinwheeling his arms before sitting down hard in the surf. I laughed until my stomach hurt at the sight of him up to his armpits in the water, the waves lapping at the collar of his shirt.
    Later, we sat on our blanket, with the sun on our heads and the strong wind blowing in our faces, and fed each other hot, salty French fries with vinegar, which felt very British. I’d taken off my wet jeans, and Davis had changed into dry clothes in one of the handy little beach huts scattered all along the shore. When we were done, I put the empty fries container aside and lay back on the blanket with a sigh.
    “This is the most perfect day.” I crossed my arms over my eyes against the sun.
    “That’s what you said yesterday,” Davis teased, leaning over me. His shadow blocked the light. I opened my eyes to see him gazing at my abdomen where my shirt had ridden up.
    He trailed his fingers along the eight-inch scar, purplish-red, with little marks like pinpricks. “What was here?”
    “Stitches.” I pushed myself up on my elbows. The nerve endings must not have been healed—the scar tingled at his touch.
    He nodded, his face sober. “Was it . . . ?”
    “A piece of the hood pierced me there, they think.” Saying the words made me feel vaguely ill.
    “I can’t stand to think of you in pain like that.” Davis’s eyes were clouded over now.
    I twined my fingers in his blond hair. “It’s okay. Let’s not talk about it.” Something dark moved in my peripheral vision, and I looked around. A man was standing several feet away, partially hidden by a large beach umbrella. I got the impression he had been watching us, though he slipped behind the umbrella when I turned around. He was slender and obviously hadn’t planned for the beach, because he was wearing a gray suit. Something about his appearance clanged in my head. Then I realized—it was the same guy I’d thought was watching us at the Secret Cinema. “Davis, look, quick. Do you see that guy?”
    He twisted around, just as the sun moved out from the clouds, dazzling us with a single brilliant ray. We squinted, shielding our eyes with our hands. Then the sun slid behind the clouds again. “Who are you talking about, Zo?”
    The spot by the beach umbrella was empty. “Damn it!” I climbed to my feet and scanned the shore. “That man. I swear, he was right here.” I stared at the line of beach cafés and changing huts behind us. “It’s so weird—I think it was the same guy I saw in the Secret Cinema crowd.”
    “Oh, yeah?” Davis rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a book. He lay back on the blanket. “How much sleep did you get last night?”
    “Davis, seriously, do you think someone’s following us?” I sat back down. “I mean, that guy being at the movie thing and then here, too—it’s so weird. Who wears a suit at the beach?”
    “Zo, forget it, okay? No one’s following us. Jesus. You know how paranoid you sound?” He flipped the book open and held it up in front of his face.
    I subsided, but as we sat there, surrounded by happy beach-goers, I wondered why he was so quick to dismiss me. And as the minutes ticked by, I wondered, too, if there was more to Davis’s visit than he’d told me.

Ten
    I’m back in the car again, but this time we are not on