The Last Summer At Chelsea Beach - Plot & Excerpts
A late-autumn breeze blew sharply and the sky above was a medium gray. Though it was still afternoon, lights burned yellow behind blackout curtains not yet closed for the night. A bit of foil that had escaped one of the collection bins for the war effort blew along the gutter. I started northeast toward Pennsport, a tingling anticipation rising in me. Tonight was Thanksgiving—Charlie was finally coming home.The actual moment he left was unemotional, an awkward kiss on the cheek in front of our families. Then he was gone. For me, the real goodbye had taken place at sunrise hours earlier. But it was still unbearable to watch him go, every step taking him farther from me and what we had just found between us. Take me, I had wanted to shout, as Charlie and his father drove away, headed for the city and the train at 30th Street Station. Of course I did not. Instead I stood silently with the rest of his family, understanding so much more than they did what this goodbye really meant.The three months since Charlie’s departure and our return to the city had passed slowly.
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