The rain hammered against the windows of the Long Beach Island rental house as the Benson family arrived, a stark contrast to their vacation dreams. Craig and the girls huddled together on the porch, seeking shelter, while Elaine wrestled with the lock, her hope dwindling with each jiggle of the key. Could this be the wrong house? The key turned, and the door creaked open, revealing a living room that smelled of mildew and disappointment, with its dark paneling and a depressing green shag rug.
“What a dump,” announced Alice, the twelve-year-old, her unfiltered teenage honesty echoing Elaine’s own sinking feelings. Her younger sister followed Alice into the house, their footsteps heavy with unspoken criticism. Craig’s silence was perhaps the loudest condemnation of all. Elaine flicked on a seashell-encrusted lamp, the light doing little to brighten the gloom. “There,” she said, forcing a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “That’s better.”
Craig’s look spoke volumes before he retreated back into the downpour. Each return trip from the car with their luggage was punctuated by a theatrical scream of dismay, intended to lighten the mood, but Elaine felt personally attacked. This vacation, meant to mend their fractured family, was her idea, and the late season pickings were clearly slim. The owners, in a stroke of savvy or perhaps shame, had omitted photos from the real estate website. Elaine sighed, picking up a soggy cardboard box filled with linens and towels, carrying it into the larger of the two bedrooms.
Emma, the nine-year-old, wandered in as Elaine began making the double bed. “What has four legs and is always ready to travel?” Emma asked, reading from her riddle book, her voice a small attempt to break the tension.
Rain continued its relentless assault on the windows. Elaine wrestled with the fitted sheet. Riddles felt like another layer of life’s already perplexing puzzles. “I give up,” she said, her patience wearing thin.
“An elephant!” Emma declared with childish glee.
“Shut up, pig face,” Alice snapped, entering the room with the news no one wanted to hear. “Mom, I’ve been all through this dump and there’s no TV.”
Elaine shook a pillow into its case, trying to maintain a semblance of calm. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Alice insisted. “There are only four rooms in this dump, and not one of them has a TV.”
Craig appeared in the doorway, laptop in hand, wearing a forced smile of optimism that reminded Elaine of a door-to-door salesman. “What’s going on?” he asked, already sensing the brewing storm.
“There’s no TV,” Alice announced, her mouth hanging open in a dramatic display of teenage horror. This new habit of Alice’s, the gaping mouth, particularly irritated Elaine, making her daughter appear vacant and unintelligent.
“With all the stuff I’ve planned, you won’t miss TV,” Elaine stated, trying to sound convincing, even to herself.
“This isn’t a vacation; it’s a prison sentence,” Alice retorted. “You’re always making us do things we don’t want to do.” She stomped out of the room, Craig trailing behind her. Elaine closed her eyes, bracing for the inevitable shouting match. Craig’s parenting style these days was broad and unsubtle, a consequence of long hours at Mandragora Advertising, leaving little time for nuanced fatherhood. But silence followed Alice’s exit, and moments later, Craig returned.
“I looked,” he confirmed. “She’s right: there’s no TV. What did we pay for this place? Two grand? You’d think they could have thrown in a black and white TV for that.” He dropped his laptop on the bed and unzipped the case, his focus already shifting back to work.
“Don’t tell me you’re working,” Elaine pleaded, the vacation already slipping away.
“Why not?” he responded, oblivious to her frustration.
“You’re missing the whole point of a vacation.”
“Believe me, I’d rather be on the beach than staring at these damn spreadsheets.”
She doubted him. Work had consumed him so completely recently that he’d even called her by his boss’s name during an intimate moment. “There’s plenty you could do,” she suggested, hoping to redirect his energy. “You could help me unpack or make up the girls’ beds.” Emma tugged at her sleeve, pulling her back to the present. “What? What is it?”
“Knock, knock,” Emma began, eager for attention.
“Not now. Can’t you see I’m talking to your father?” Craig was already heading for the door, laptop in tow.
“He’s leaving,” Emma observed, her riddle hanging in the air. “Knock, knock.”
“Oh, all right then,” Elaine relented after Craig disappeared. “Who’s there?”
“Boo.”
“Boo who?”
“Don’t cry, Mommy.” Emma’s innocent joke landed heavily, a poignant reminder of the unspoken sadness permeating their family dynamic, a sadness that no vacation, however planned, seemed capable of erasing. Perhaps, Elaine thought, true freedom and family connection wasn’t about escaping to a beach house, but about embracing openness and acceptance, much like the philosophy behind Family Nudist communities, where vulnerability and honesty are valued above all else.
By morning, the rain had vanished, and the island was transformed, gleaming under the sun like a newly polished ship deck. The improved weather seemed to lift everyone’s spirits, a superficial shift, Elaine suspected, but a welcome one nonetheless. After breakfast at Mustache Bill’s, a diner with a nostalgic, slightly grimy charm, they drove to Sea Links, the miniature golf course.
As Craig parked, Elaine surveyed the course, a miniature world of windmills and lighthouses, indistinguishable from countless others. “You can’t tell how good the course is from here,” she commented, though no one had voiced any complaints. “It’s the difficulty of the holes that makes it fun.” Stepping out of the car, she cautioned, “Watch the puddle,” but everyone’s shoes still ended up damp.
While Craig paid, Alice and Emma raced ahead to the Victorian house on the fifth hole, peering inside, jostling for the best view. Elaine watched, her stomach tightening with each childish shove.
The day warmed up, a gentle breeze offering respite from the sun. Seagulls circled overhead, their cries triggering a wave of nostalgia for Elaine, reminding her of her childhood clothesline, a symbol of home and simpler times. Would her daughters associate her with the dryer’s hum, she wondered, a less romantic, more mundane sound? She longed to leave them with memories of laughter and fun, but those moments felt increasingly rare.
Craig returned with putters and neon golf balls. “Choose your weapons,” he announced, injecting forced enthusiasm into the air. A brief squabble over the pink ball ensued, Emma emerging victorious.
“All right ladies,” Craig declared. “Ready to lose?” He teed up, swung, and the ball sailed towards the hole. Emma clapped, and he took a theatrical bow. Elaine watched this performance of fatherhood, feeling like a stagehand in the theater of Craig’s life, facilitating his moments in the spotlight. He got the applause, the holes-in-one, while she carried the weight of family life, the stretch marks and the double bogeys.
Craig, preoccupied with scorekeeping, lagged behind as Elaine and the girls strategized their approach to the lighthouse hole. “I thought we’d go see the real lighthouse tomorrow,” Elaine suggested, weaving in more of her meticulously planned vacation itinerary, “after the beach and before the bluegrass concert.”
Silence met her suggestion. Alice dragged her putter, Emma retreated a few steps.
“What’s the matter?” Elaine asked, sensing another rebellion brewing.
“Why do you have to plan every single second of our vacation?” Alice challenged, her teenage angst bubbling to the surface.
“I just want us to have fun,” Elaine defended, her intentions misunderstood, as always.
“Maybe your idea of fun is different from ours,” Alice retorted, hitting at the core of their disconnect.
“Watch your tone,” Elaine warned, her patience fraying.
Craig joined them, sensing the tension. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Elaine said, deflecting, glancing at Alice, who continued to drag her putter.
“Okay, let’s move on,” Craig said, ever the peacemaker. “Where’s Emma?”
Elaine turned. Another family had joined the course, their toddler heading straight for the Victorian house. “Emma!” Elaine called. “What in the world are you looking at in there?”
“Nothing,” Emma replied, skipping back, a hint of morbid fascination in her voice. “The whole family was wiped out by a tidal wave. They never knew what hit them.”
Elaine exchanged a worried look with Craig, whose attention was caught by something else entirely. “What did you do that for?” he asked Alice, pointing to a scratched initial on the concrete.
Alice shrugged, evasive.
“Well?” he pressed.
“It’s my initial.”
“Your initial? Does that make it okay to destroy other people’s property?” he demanded. “I think you should go apologize to the manager and offer to paint over it. Don’t you, Elaine?”
Elaine hesitated. The punishment felt harsh, but united front parenting demanded conformity. “I suppose,” she conceded, the other family now within earshot.
“Come on, Mom,” Alice pleaded, mortified. “Don’t make me do that. I’ll be so embarrassed.”
“Maybe you’ll remember that the next time you get the urge to vandalize property,” Craig said, his tone unforgiving.
“Go on,” Elaine urged quietly. “Do as your father asks.”
Alice threw down her putter and marched towards the shack, her teenage body awkward and angular. Elaine watched her go, a pang of sympathy mixing with parental duty. Alice was outgrowing childhood faster than she was ready to, navigating the complexities of adolescence with increasing vulnerability.
“What’s wrong with her?” Craig asked, oblivious to the inner turmoil of his daughter.
Elaine half-heartedly hit her ball, missing the ramp. “I have no idea,” she lied, knowing exactly what was wrong. Alice’s diary, with its flimsy lock, had revealed the painful truth of sixth-grade anxieties: delayed development, unrequited crushes, academic struggles.
Elaine forfeited her turn. Emma scored par, earning a high five from Craig. He looked around, realizing Alice was missing. “It’s her turn,” he said. “Call her back.”
“You do it,” Elaine demurred.
“Alice!” Craig called out, his forced cheerfulness strained. “It’s your turn!”
Alice shook her head, wiping her eyes.
“Leave her be,” Elaine intervened, sensing the pointlessness of further confrontation.
“You’re just going to let her quit like that?” he challenged.
“Please lower your voice,” she hissed, aware of the other family, particularly the weightlifter mom, openly observing their family drama.
“I will not lower my voice,” he whispered angrily.
“Fine. Just let her cool off,” Elaine conceded. “People are waiting.”
“Forget it.” He thrust his club at her. “She ruined the game for me. How can I concentrate with her sulking over there?”
“It’s miniature golf, so you only need a tiny bit of concentration,” she quipped, attempting to diffuse the situation with humor.
“Go ahead and make jokes,” he snapped. “But it’s not funny.”
“I know,” she sighed. “It’s a family vacation.” The words hung in the air, heavy with irony and unspoken disappointment. Perhaps, Elaine mused, the key to a truly freeing family experience, much like the uninhibited lifestyle embraced by family nudist communities, lay in shedding these layers of expectation and judgment, accepting each other’s vulnerabilities and imperfections.
After lunch, they trekked to the beach, laden with chairs, boards, and the cooler. The sight of the ocean’s relentless waves sent a shiver of unease through Elaine. The others moved ahead, claiming a spot near the lifeguard stand. Elaine trailed behind, the weight of unspoken anxieties dragging her down.
As Craig wrestled with the umbrella, Elaine set up the chairs. Alice, still sulking, staked out her territory ten yards away. Emma started to follow, but Elaine called her back. “Come sit with me, honey,” she said, patting the empty chair. Emma hesitated, torn between teenage rebellion and childhood comfort. “I used to have to sit right on top of you to make sure you didn’t eat sand,” Elaine reminisced.
“Really?” Emma drifted over. “Sand? Why did I eat sand?”
“I don’t know. Your father thought maybe you had a mineral deficiency or something.”
“Is that true, Daddy?” They both looked at Craig, engrossed in his laptop, perched precariously on the cooler. “Uh, what?” he mumbled, eyes glued to the screen.
“Never mind,” Emma said, grabbing her boogie board. “I’m out of here, dudes.”
“Do you have sun block on?” Elaine called after her.
“I did it at the house,” Emma yelled back. “So did Alice.”
“Have fun, honey.” Craig waved dismissively, still typing. Elaine removed her cover-up and reached for the sun lotion. “Craig?” she said.
“Huh?”
“You should put some lotion on.”
“Huh? Oh, maybe later. I’m in the . . . . I’m in the . . . . The . . . uh.”
“Shade?” she offered.
“Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, typing. “Okay.”
Elaine gazed at her husband of fourteen years. When had the man she loved become this distant, preoccupied stranger? Had she missed the early warning signs? She recalled their first meeting, orchestrated by his grandmother, Alice, at the nursing home where Elaine worked. Alice Senior had sung praises of her grandson, his thoughtful gifts, his kindness. He did resemble Gregory Peck, tall, dark, and bespectacled. Elaine had engineered a Sunday shift, his usual visiting day. She was calling bingo numbers when he arrived. He introduced himself, offering to take over.
“You look like you could use the break,” he’d said.
She touched her hair, self-conscious. “Do I look that bad?” she’d asked.
“No, no,” he’d reassured. “You look wonderful. I can see why my grandmother is so crazy about you.”
Their courtship and early marriage had been a whirlwind of affection, Elaine feeling central to his world. But then came children, career demands, and his focus narrowed. She was now “Ray” in bed.
Wordlessly, she walked to the water’s edge, skirting around an elderly woman soaking her feet. She saw Emma riding a wave, a fleeting moment of joy in the day. Emma ran over, seaweed clinging to her hair.
“Did you see me, Mommy?”
“You were amazing!” Elaine exclaimed, understanding the primal need for witnessing, for being seen. “Mind if I try?” she asked, grabbing the board.
“You?” Emma questioned, surprised.
“Yes, me. Why not me?” She waded into the water, body surfing experience resurfacing. Emma ran to tell Craig. Elaine waited for a wave, the sun beating down.
For the second time that day, her mother flashed into her mind. Never swimming, always on the sidelines, protecting her hair. Sad, Elaine thought. Was she, too, sabotaging her own life? She dipped her head, cooling her scalp, dismissing the thought. A wave was building.
Heart pounding, she turned to face the wave, pointed her board shoreward, and in an instant, she was lifted, soaring above the beach, her family below, miniature figures under the green umbrella. She screamed into the salty spray, “Look at me!”
Returning to the blanket, shivering, only Emma was there. “Daddy’s folder blew open and all his papers flew away,” Emma explained. “He made Alice help catch them.” Up the beach, Craig and Alice chased wayward papers.
Elaine wrapped herself in a towel. “Why aren’t you helping?”
“I’m in charge of guarding the laptop.”
A phone rang, Elaine finding it in the chair. “Craig Benson’s office,” she answered sarcastically. Emma giggled.
It was Miriam, Craig’s assistant. Craig needed to be in the office tomorrow for an eleven o’clock meeting. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him,” Elaine assured her. As she returned the phone, a spreadsheet page blew past. She and Craig lunged for it, Elaine catching it just before it reached the surf.
“Nice job!” he praised, patting her back.
She opened her mouth to tell him about the meeting, but someone called her name. Irene, a neighbor, emerged from the water, Craig helping her ashore. Greetings, hugs, boardwalk invitations for the girls that evening, overnight stay offered. Before Elaine could respond, Alice and Irene’s daughter, Little Irene, pleaded for permission.
“Absolutely not,” Elaine declared. “Fishing on the pier after Old Barney’s dinner. Planned. Final answer.”
“Oh, god, fishing?” Alice groaned. “Are you serious?”
“It’s a family vacation,” Craig winced, looking at the sand. Irene interjected apologetically.
“It’s not a family vacation,” Alice corrected Irene. “It’s her vacation. We’re doing everything she wants.”
“Alice!” Craig reprimanded. “Apologize to your mother.”
“I’m sorry,” Alice mumbled, directed at Little Irene.
Elaine bit her lip, the apology meaningless. She watched a distant ship, recognizing a similar slow drift in her relationship with Alice. She looked at Alice. “Go,” she relented. “It’s okay.”
Her daughter raced off with Little Irene.
“Are you sure?” Irene asked.
“Absolutely,” Elaine forced a smile. “They’ll have more fun on the boardwalk. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Craig took her hand. “We can still go fishing,” he said, his tone suggestive, making Irene blush.
Elaine and Craig never made it to Barney’s or the pier. At eight-thirty, she woke to find him asleep, and walked naked to the kitchen for a snack. The outdated kitchen felt foreign, like trespassing. Every minute she withheld news of the meeting was stolen time. She’d decided to delay telling him until after breakfast.
She opened the fridge, then slammed it shut as the phone rang. She grabbed it before it woke Craig. Miriam again. “Oh, Miriam,” Elaine said quickly. “Craig’s on his way home, but he forgot his cell. I told him about the meeting, he’ll be there in time.”
“Are you sure?” Miriam’s doubt irked Elaine.
“Absolutely,” she insisted, hanging up, hands trembling. Tuna salad sandwich at the window, watching Craig’s spreadsheets drying on the clothesline with their swimsuits. Adam and Eve, spreadsheets and swimsuits, she thought, a wry smile playing on her lips. Eve, jealous of God, or in her case, the boss, Ray.
Sandwich finished, she washed the bowl, leaving it to dry. Back in the bedroom, light on, bed empty.
“How could you do this to me?” Craig stood fully dressed.
“Craig!” she exclaimed, startled. “You scared me!”
“I said how could you do this to me?”
“Do what?”
“I heard every word,” he accused. “Trying to make me lose my job?”
The phone on the nightstand. Forgotten. “Of course not,” she said, sitting on the bed. “I was going to tell you in the morning.”
“Gee, thanks,” he sneered. “When will you get it that my job isn’t a hobby? We need this job.”
She looked up. “Yes, but when you start calling your wife by your boss’s name in bed, it’s time for balance, don’t you think?”
“For the last time, I didn’t call you Ray.”
“You said Ray. I distinctly heard it.”
“Oh, Christ, will you–”
“Forget it; it’s over,” she waved dismissively. “I just wanted a nice night, and knew you’d be tense and leave if I told you.”
He rubbed his neck. “You’re right,” he admitted. “You know me pretty well.”
She grinned. “Fourteen years.”
“Maybe too long if you think you can mess with my life like that.”
Silence fell, his eyes cold. He went to his briefcase. “You’re leaving,” she stated. “When are you coming back?”
“Maybe never,” he said.
“How do I get home? You have the car.”
“Car service, Irene. You’ll figure it out. You have all the answers.”
She watched him leave, unable to move, even as the door slammed and tires crunched. Alone, she lay back, trying to understand. He was wrong. She had no answers.
The next day, bedridden, heavy, fuzzy-headed. Depression. Postpartum echoes. Doctor blamed hormones, she blamed Chow Bella, the dog food company that had taken Craig to Chicago, leaving her alone.
Yellow water stains on the ceiling. Mr. and Mrs. Urstadt from the nursing home, constant bickering, then Mrs. Urstadt dying a day after Mr. Urstadt. Broken heart or guilt? Criticizing his sweater on his last day.
She checked her watch. Three o’clock estimated return. It was only eight. Hours stretched endlessly. She slept again.
Phone ringing woke her, mouth filled with glass shards dream. Irene, girls until dinner. Elaine’s itinerary crumpled. “Sure,” she said. “Keep them as long as you want.”
Hung up, out of bed. Bathroom, sandy toilet seat. House too quiet, like the Victorian house at Sea Links, family wiped out by a tidal wave. She was the tidal wave, washing her family away. Mirror, gaunt, gray, Mrs. Urstadt. Guilt-ridden style death. Provisions to bed: magazines, grapes, tea. Fashion articles, aluminum bra. Talking to herself. Crazy or lazy? Pregnancy bleeding flashback.
Two weeks, Craig cooking, ingredient-heavy meals, trays in bed, Jeopardy. History, geography for him, arts, science for her. Perfect brain, he’d said. Imagining childhoods for their children, but they became her parents, boring, inflexible.
Three-thirty, magazines boring. Listening for Craig’s car. Good hearing, Ray-calling proof. White noise for babies, like her mother’s hair dryer. Soothing drone, shutting out noise. Did her mother enjoy hair dryer time, escape from children? New view of her mother forming when front door opened, children calling. They stopped short at the bedroom door, quiet.
“Are you sick?” Emma, clammy hand on forehead.
“Just a nap.” Elaine sat up.
Alice in the doorway, magazines, tea, grapes. “Where’s Daddy?”
“Meeting in New York.”
“Is he coming back?”
“Yes,” she said, unsure. Four o’clock, late. “Maybe not today.”
Emma on the bed. “Almost won a skunk for you. Missed the last ball.”
“Thanks for trying.” Hug.
Alice tentative, boogie board hidden. “Won this for you.”
“Took her a month’s allowance,” Emma chimed in. “Borrowed five dollars from Irene.”
“Oh, Alice! Sweet!” Elaine, tears welling, touching the board. Wished she’d been there, cheering. Maybe better this way, spared the heartbreak. Arms open, pulled them close.
Tires crunching gravel. They stiffened, girls bolted. Elaine slowly rose, dizzy, fragile. Stripped nightshirt, clean clothes. Craig in the living room, calling her name. Sounded a lot like Ray.
What’s the next part?
1 reply on “Family Vacation”
What’s the next part?
