Moonglass

moon illuminating the beach, everything beyond our little ring of bonfire was black. On the highway above an occasional set of headlights cruised by and illuminated the white lines of breaking waves. It had a different feel to it from the beach in Pismo, with its pier lights and busy promenade. There was a quietness here that felt unique and special.
    I thought about the cottages lining the beach near my house, and of the one that sat alone on the sand. How they just sat in dark silence as the waves rushed up each night, probably all with stories to tell of perfect summer evenings. For a moment, when we’d first arrived, my dad had started to tell me about them. But I had been too mad at him about moving to listen, and since then they’d felt almost like a taboo topic. Like a lot of things were with him.
    Now I was curious about how it had all started, this little place that felt so separate from the rest of the world. I sat back down and asked no one in particular, “So what’s the deal with all of those empty cottages near the restaurant? The ones on my side of the beach are all fixed up, but those look like people just up and left twenty years ago or something.” Next to me James cleared his throat and sighed. “Ah, the history of the cove. Let me give you the short version. A long time ago—like, back in the thirties or something—the cove was owned by a guy who leased it out to families that started out as campers. From Memorial Day to Labor Day—the whole summer.” He took a swig of beer from his red cup and stifled a burp. “Eventually those people decided it was the best little piece of paradise around, and they got themselves long-term leases with him and started turning their camping spots into beach shacks. It was like a private little village with parties round the clock, and people just doing their thing—diving for dinner in the ocean, sharing everything with each other, being artsy … whatever. The rest of the world left them alone, and they liked it that way.” He paused. “How do you not know all this, Ryan? Your dad’s like a piece of living crystal Cove history.” Before I could answer, he took in a deep breath and went on.
    “Anyway, fast-forward to the seventies, when the state bought the land from this landowner guy. The families got eviction notices from the state and fought them for twenty or so years until they finally lost. When they did, it got real ugly down here.” Ashley had stopped listening and was complimenting the gum-chewing girl on her marshmallow-roasting ability. Everyone else had settled into two- or three-person conversations around the fire. James stopped for a second and stretched. “Am I losin’ you, Ryan?”
    “No, no,” I encouraged. “What do you mean ‘ugly’?”
    “I mean, they basically got kicked out of houses that had been in their families for generations. They were bitter, for sure. Some of ‘em refused to leave, even on the last night, and it got so out of hand that even the lifeguards had to help out the cops to get them out. Your dad’s probably got some crazy stories from that night.” He looked at me for confirmation. I hadn’t heard any. Couldn’t even think of over hearing any. I’d had no idea about any of it.
    I took a long drink of champagne and forced it down with a shiver. “So, then what?” Bubbles fizzed at the back of my throat.
    “By the time the state got the cottages, they were historical landmarks, so they started to fix ‘em up. They did all the ones on your side of the beach and up the bluff, and now they get rented out by vacationers from all over. Germans with a love for Speedos especially seem to like ‘em. You notice that?”
    “And the ones on the north side of the beach? And that one near my house? They look like they’re about to fall down.”
    “They probably are. But the money ran out. They’ll be fixed up one day, but not anytime soon.” A few beats passed between us, and I pictured the beach cottage next to mine, with its turquoise fence and hazy windows. Stuck in time, waiting.
    “Had your fill of history now? My cup’s about dry. You want a refill?”
    “Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. I mean, thanks.” James stood and brushed the sand off his legs. “Have you ever been in any of them?”
    “Your dad has the keys to all of them,” a familiar voice said from across the fire.
    My stomach flip-flopped, and I ceased to care about anything else James could tell me. He immediately understood and