Participants:
| Scene Title | Promises and Maybes |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Nick tries to check off a promise from the list of many he's made, but there are still too many uncertainties in the future. |
| Date | September 1, 2011 |
The storm of the past week is mostly forgotten; the day balmy but not hot, and when the passenger door is opened, Delia can not only smell but feel and taste the salt in the air, from a breeze coming off the Atlantic ocean.
Once, Coney Island was a popular resort, but now this bit of beach is forgotten and abandoned. It isn’t the most picturesque patch of sand, overlooking the gray and polluted waters, but it’s private and quiet.
The outing is not the most romantic, but it’s an effort on Nick’s part, an attempt to cheer up the sad and frightening events and dreams he can almost physically feel pressing down on Delia’s spirit. A cooler in the back of the truck holds their “picnic,” and a change of clothes is secreted away in a duffel bag behind Delia’s seat.
His lips graze her cheek before he unties the bandanna covering her eyes on this surprise. “I’d take you somewhere nicer, but at least we’re alone here,” he says, gesturing to the beach.
The old ferris wheel off in the distance brings a bittersweet smile to Delia's face as she climbs out of the car. "I came here a couple of times when I was little," she replies, almost praising his decision on location. "Mom brought us whenever our family vacations got cancelled, sort of like a really awesome consolation prize. You know?" The slight titter as she looks up at him sounds a little nervous, as though she's expecting something similar.
"I mean, I guess they never thought about it, you know? Amusement park or twelve hour drives to end up in the middle of nowhere…" Her hands are held out to each side, then raised and lowered in opposing motion. Just like a scale. Amusement park side wins. "Camping with Lucille isn't really fun," she explains further, though she doesn't expand on it more than the wasted jibe.
The man shakes his head as he pulls out the duffel bag of clothing from behind her seat, then moves to the cab to pull out the cooler. "Never took a 12 hour drive nowhere when I was a kid. The furthest we ever went was across the country to Cornwall, and that by train. Just a few hours, but that felt bloody long enough."
He offers her the bag. "There's a bathing suit in there if you wanna change in the truck, or you can just do in your knickers, if you wanna swim," he suggests. "Not like we're gonna be seeing anyone." He knows she's too modest to suggest anything skimpier — the woman still walks to the bathroom with a sheet wrapped around herself, after all.
"Well if you're sure we're not going to be seeing anyone else," Delia murmurs in a rather conspiratorial manner. Taking the bag, she bypasses the truck and begins walking out to the beach, leaving him behind by only a ten foot spread.
Once she's closer to the water than the truck, she drops the bag and begins pulling off her sneakers. They're worn through in more places than not, amazingly held together by a few stitches, the same with the shorts she's wearing. Even though they don't leave much to the imagination, they stay on. It's the shirt that comes off and is tossed onto the shoes. "How are you going?" The question sounds nonchalant but the furious blush that taints her cheeks and the way she crosses her arms over her chest screams of some semblance of self consciousness.
Raising a brow, he follows her out onto the sand. Having planned for the day, he's already in flip flops that are kicked off and then carried until he gets closer to the shore. "Bathing trunks," Nick points out, slipping out of jeans and then the gray t-shirt, baring too white flesh to the sun.
He reaches for the bag to pull out the towels stowed within so that they won't have to upon exiting the water. "So… after we check this off the list, what else have I promised you?" he says playfully, reaching for her hand to lead her to the water's edge.
It's a little bit of a wrestle to get her arm away from her chest, a limp wrist slap to the top of Nick's hand is precursor to Delia's fingers lacing through his. Soon after though, she's leaned up against him and almost completely wrapped around his arm. "You didn't promise but I definitely remember a dance for my birthday," she grins up at him as she rests her cheek on his shoulder.
When the surf bubbles over their feet, the redhead pauses. The water is New York City water, not as bad as the Hudson river by any means but she still gives Nick an uncertain glance before stepping a few paces further in. Delia's not as adventurous as she pretends to be sometimes. "If you see a body floating by, make sure it doesn't touch me!"
The tentative steps she takes makes Nick smile; without warning, he bends and scoops her legs out from under her to push forward into the gentle waves. Water splashes up from his long legs' strides, the cold droplets pricking at her toes and calves once Nick is in the water up to his thighs.
And moving deeper.
The joke is a double-edged sword however; Nick hisses out, "Fuck, that's cold… not as bad as Cornwall, though."
It's possibly the one time where Delia's strength hasn't failed her since her accident. She clings tightly around Nick's neck, kicking her legs up to keep them from touching the cold water. It doesn't save her backside, which freezes almost at first contact, earning a short but shrill squeal.
When he doesn't stop, she leans up to press her lips firmly against his cheek. A Princess Leia to Luke Skywalker kiss before she lets go and rolls out of his arms. Under the surface, her white wavy figure paddles away from him a good length before she finally comes up for air. "Oh my god… cold!!"
When she releases him, Nick grins and ducks into the water himself, long strokes with long arms taking his body to where she's strayed from him, then a few more arm lengths away. "It's not so bad once you're all the way under," he says, deep enough now that he needs to tread water to keep his head above water.
Despite his seemingly good mood, there is a solemnity that has crept back into his eyes, ever since the day in the tea shop; he watches her for a moment, that serious and pensive look pushing away the smiles of a moment ago. "Maybe you'll be out by your birthday," is offered, a small token of hope.
Delia doesn't venture out as far as Nick, her toes need to stay pointed in order to keep her chin above water. She doesn't tread, just bobs along the sandy bottom, paddling intermitently to keep herself up for more than a few seconds. It's a safe guess that she's not as strong a swimmer as he is.
"Maybe," she agrees, her smile dropping in favor of an expression of deep concentration. It's neither sullen nor hopeful, settling somewhere in between at neutral. "You'll be here either way though, right? Maybe we can do something anyway?"
"Maybe," he says, though it's not said flippantly, and he frowns at the uncertainty. "I'll try to be — and if I have to be away, I'll always come back for you." It's another promise to keep on the checklist.
He pushes forward, hands slicing through the saltwater before he comes to stand beside her. "The work I do — it's not always up to me, when and where I go. And it's … it's important." Nick shakes his head, knowing this probably sounds like so many excuses, especially given the dreams they've shared, the dreams sent to them from a child he abandons in the future that won't be.
"I haven't told you a lot about it, what I do, because it's … it's not pretty, and I was kinda forced to do it to keep myself out of trouble, but it's important."
He swallows, tendons tensing in his neck as he looks away. "It's hard to explain. But if I get put on another job, there's reasons I need to do it."
Instead of arguing, protesting, or spitting bitter retorts left over from dreams, Delia stares Nick in the eyes for the span of two blinks. Then, with a small splash, she pushes up from the bottom and tips her head back to float in the small surf. Battling the waves and Nick seems such a futile effort.
Both are forces much stronger than she feels right now.
The waves push her closer to the shore, until the toes attached to the cuffed foot drag along the silt. It's heavier than the other and gives her ample warning that she's about to hit bottom. When she finally stands again, she's up to her mid thighs and shivering.
He sighs and watches her drift, letting the distance and silence grow for…
… too long.
After a moment, Nick swims toward the shore until it grows too shallow, then wades to catch up with her, then passes her to make his way up to where the towels lie on the sand.
Grabbing one, he returns to wrap her in it, leading her toward the warm beach. "I will always come back for you," he repeats, watching the sand coat their feet. "But there are people who are being hurt… used… exploited… innocent people… kids." Nick's hands rest on her shoulders, but his face tips down, unable to meet her eyes.
"I can't change the past, Del, but I can try to… I can try to…" He shakes his wet head of hair with exasperation, lacking the proper words. "I won't leave you — think of it as business trips, if I leave and come back."
"I know, it's okay, really…" Pulling the towel tightly around her body, Delia huddles in it as she high steps toward the sand. One of her arms waves in a circle until her hand comes out from underneath, it's placed at the small of his back. "I just wish I could go places too, even if it isn't pretty." Places farther out than the edges of the five boroughs.
When they reach the piles of clothing, the towel is cast off in favor of the old t-shirt. It's pulled over her body, the length of it covering the shorts she wore into the ocean. Her long hair drips in heavy spirals, soaking the one dry piece of clothing until it's as wet as the rest of her. "Business trips… You could really make it like a business trip if you got me a present every time you're away." The grin comes back, wider than before serious conversation took over their outing. "You make great gift baskets."
"I'm sorry," he whispers into her wet hair. "I thought… I thought you were mad about…" he gestures. Benji. The future. That he leaves her when she needs him most — all for work. "You know. The dreams."
He lets go to lower himself onto a towel. "Most the places I go aren't really souvenir kinda places. Like Staten, you know? Liverpool. It's not like I'm seeing amazing places. Not most the time. And the things I've had to see… I wouldn't want you to see those either." His voice is tired.
Shielding his eyes from the sun, he peers up at her, letting one corner of his mouth crook into a smile. "I'll bring you presents anyway though. 'I heart New Jersey' t-shirts or sommat like?"
The quip is fleeting. "If you have to run — away, you know, to Europe — I'm going with you. You know that, yeah?"
"My boyfriend went to New Jersey and all I got was this lousy t-shirt?" She quips back with a smile, letting it fade as he asks his question. Kneeling down on her own towel, Delia lies on her back, letting the sun dry her too pale skin and wet clothing. Perhaps sunning herself with the small hope of a tan… or a beige.
Closing her eyes, she tilts her chin up to make certain there's no lines on her neck, just in case she does get a little color. "I know," the simple reply just doesn't do his reassurances justice. Taking a deep breath, lets it loose slowly before tilting her head in his direction. "I'm not worried about you, Nick, I mean— I'm always worried about you because you never take care of yourself… but I'm not worried about you, you know, leaving."
Letting his hand wander her way, Nick interlaces his fingers with her. "Okay," he says softly, eyes closing as he lets the sun's warmth wash over him. "If you won't worry, I'll try not to either."
It's only sort of a joke.