Ever since they'd been small children, the two had romped and fought like caged tigers. Then, they'd make up, instantly forgetting the cause of their most recent scuffle. Although they enjoyed the scraps the two were so close that one could finish the other's sentence, invariably to the exact word.
They grew up the only children of double best friends. Ryan's mom Paulette went into labor only hours before Jody's mom. One more thorn Ryan often used to prick Jody's fifteen-year-oldfledgling male ego. He lost most battles to the raven-haired, green-eyed Ryan whose vocabulary was devoid of such terms as merciful, gracious winner, and defeat.
As usual, Jody had all but given up trying to start the campfire in deference to Ryan's insistence that they needed no fire on such a humid night. For emphasis, she languously rose from the fog-dampened sand, kicking loosened particles onto the straggling little flame Jody had been struggling to build. Once again she was the victor; he her unwilling victim.
On an elevated plane, above the beach, an architectural masterpiece dominated the landscape. From a distance, or even if observed from certain angles, it appeared to be a multi-leveled, cantilevered gigantic real estate development. What appeared to be one was actually two entirely unattached homes, each fronting on the beach from differing visual perspectives. The adjacent beach homes where Steve and David had installed their young wives, Paulette and Stephanie, respectively, the day they brought Paulette and Ryan home from the maternity ward at the community hospital.
The guys worked in the city, over a three-hour-a-day commute from home. They both gambled the peace, safety, clean air, and solitude would be more than worth the trip.
Then, Ryan's blood-curdling scream from the beach gave the long-term buddies pause for second thoughts.
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