“Hey, love-birds, you guys want some?” The rowdy crowd is offering bottles, to which both Justin and Elizabeth quickly say no. “All right, more for us!!! You guys wanna come try skinny dipping?”
Elizabeth yells no back to the crowd, blushing and hiding behind Justin.
“You don’t drink?” Justin asks, curious.
“No, I don’t want to. You?” She asks, peeking out from behind his shoulder.
“No, there’s no need, not tonight.”
She wonders what in his past would warrant surrendering to the clutches of alcohol on some nights. What makes tonight any different? I probably shouldn’t ask, she thought, looking away and searching for nighthawks.
“A few years ago, my mom... She, em, she passed away, suddenly, and I didn’t quite know how to deal with it. My dad left when I was little; I didn’t really have anyone else to turn to. So I... I turned to alcohol, a lot. I’ve been sober for a year and half. Sometimes it’s really hard to be strong, especially when I’m lonely.”
“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth said as she hugged him.
“That was probably too much to share so soon, huh?”
“No, no, it’s okay. Do you want to talk about something else?” she says as she brushes his brown hair tenderly out of his eyes.
“Well, you never did get around to telling me your favorite directors.”
“Easy, Joss Whedon, Charlie Chaplin, Michael Powell for The Red Shoes, Ashley Pearce of Downton Abbey. Let’s see, who else.”
“Wait. Joss Whedon? As in director of The Avengers and Firefly?” Justin asked, astonished.
“Yes, why? Do I not seem like the type of girl to like those movies?”
“Not at all. You really are full of surprise, and, by the way, did you know Mike Newell is directing a new screen adaptation of Great Expectations?”
Elizabeth’s eyes light up and she bounces in excitement. Justin smiles at her reaction
.
“I had hoped that would make you happy. I had you picked out as a fellow Dickens fan.”
“Fellow? I take it you’re dying to see it too? Who’s playing Ms. Havisham?”
Lost in their conversation, Elizabeth tries to reconcile the image of Justin playing his guitar solos during the rock concert and the person whose eyes widen when talking about Charles Dickens. Maybe Janet is right about how great a guy Justin is.
“Did you know the some of the girls wanted to take you guys clubbing tonight?” Elizabeth says.
“But we’re having such a good time here on this amazing lake.”
“Do you really think it’s amazing, Justin?”
“Lakes back home in Ireland are usually in the valleys of mountains, fed by glaciers, so they’re usually unswimmable and frigid. Your lake is perfect. These trees and the stars? Perfect.”
Elizabeth takes a look around and realizes he notices the beauty of the Georgia lake she had been admiring. She sees a nighthawk leave its nest on the ground and fly over their heads, gliding through the starry sky. Smiling in spite of herself, she stares after the nighthawk and watches it glide into the massive branches of the largest oak. A branch hangs down low, and she imagines herself sitting on it to read; it looks like the perfect reading spot, just feet from the water’s edge and shaded by the higher branches. She turns back to him, catching a glimpse of a smile meant for the stars above.
“Wouldn’t your bandmates have rather experienced American culture through the typical college bar?”
“There’s the key: typical. Nothing about tonight is typical, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, talking to a pretty girl.”
“You really think so?” Elizabeth’s eyes widen.
“I really do.”
“Well, then, I guess you’re right. We couldn’t be having this conversation in a bar.”
“Mmhmm, it’s so peaceful out here,” he whispers with awe near the sensitive shell of her ear as the rowdy crowd intermittently explodes with laughter.
Whether it is humor- or alcohol-related is irrelevant now, she thinks as his intoxicating breath wraps her in a fog.
“Mmmm, it really is. I could stay out here forever and just look at the stars. To think that after we leave tonight, you’ll be gone and I have to go to classes. Normal life...”
Justin sighs in her ear and begins to hum a tune. As soon as she recognizes the song, Elizabeth begins to sing along.
“Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me, my lover...” she stops singing, all too aware of that word on her lips.
Justin picks up the song in a deep baritone, holding her slender hands and attempting to slow dance in the chest-deep water.
“...stands on golden sands and watches the ships that go sailin'.”
Elizabeth smiles in spite of herself and allows her limbs to be awkwardly twirled in the water, laughing at how foolish they must look dancing in the water- him in his green-striped boxers and her in her little white dress clinging to her wet body - as they slip around on the mossy rocks on the bottom of the lake. Cocooned by nature, she loses herself in his embrace.
Resting her head on his chest, she discovers that it vibrates as he hums and that his heartbeat is comforting and reassuring. She begins to relish the warmth of his calloused hand on her hip and the feel on their hands interlaced as they dance.
“My mom used to sing this song to me when I was younger.”
Elizabeth smiles at his sweet confession and, together, they begin singing the second verse: “It's far beyond the star, it's near beyond the moon.”
I don’t behave like this. What’s happening? Why can’t I stop smiling?
“You know, I love to stare at the stars,” she says suddenly, breaking the skin-to-skin contact and turning her back to him.
