Reading Book On Beach Novels & Stories

Anton murmurs to me as I sit next to him, facing Laila, who sits against the far arm of the L-shaped couch. I just pat Anton on the head before conjuring up a cup of coffee and reaching for a donut from the table. “What are you reading, Laila?” “A book on earth’s oceans,” she murmurs, flipping through the pages with wide eyes. “You have fascinating marine life.” “Good choice of distraction,” I say, grinning at Anton and taking a bite of my donut, enjoying myself even despite the rather harrowing start to the morning.

She looked pampered and polished and expensive, like a trophy on display. "There's a book on the nightstand," Lena said quietly as the others began packing up their supplies. "The boss thought you might want something to read while you wait." I walked back to the bedroom on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. The book was waiting for me on the nightstand, a novel I had never heard of with a cover that showed a woman standing at the edge of a cliff, looking out at a stormy sea. I picked it up and settled into the chair by the window, the silk of my dress rustling against the upholstery.

Gemma giggles. “Oh, it’ll survive… barely. But tonight? Definitely unforgettable.” The beach house was warm, the faint scent of salt and sunscreen lingering in the air. I pulled my damp hair back and shook off the last traces of water from the walk over, tugging at my outfit one last time.

She left the hotel and walked around the beach. Just like the day before, the beach was crowded and she had to walk further until she found a peaceful place with less people. She laid the beach towel on the sand and sat on it. Perhaps all she needed to concentrate was to be in a place where she had no memory of him. She pulled the book out and started reading again. It seemed to work the trick as she went pages over pages.

And now, it’s too late to change that. As I walk, I notice someone sitting alone on a beach chair, a woman with dark hair, reading a book. She looks up as I pass, and our eyes meet for a brief moment. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t quite place it. I give her a nod, and she smiles slightly before returning to her book. It’s a small interaction, but it sticks with me as I continue walking. I make my way to the edge of the water, the waves lapping at my feet. I stand there for a while, just staring out at the horizon, trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

Sometimes, tears came without warning—soft, silent ones that left her eyes red but her chest lighter. On the fourth day, she took a book from her suitcase, one she had brought months ago but never opened. She sat on the porch with a glass of lemon water and began to read. The story didn’t matter much; it was the feeling that did. The quiet turning of pages, the steady hum of life beyond her thoughts—it felt healing. Later that afternoon, she walked along the beach. The sand was warm under her feet, and the waves reached for her ankles again and again.

That was my form of encouragement. “My momma read a book to me once,” her voice squeaked. “It talked about beaches. Have you ever been to a beach?” I smiled. “Yes, I have actually. I find them very peaceful.” “What did you do there? In my books they build sand castles and found sea shells.” Her mind was curious. I realized that this may be what it’s like for a lot of the people here, being closed in, left with books about a place that you may never see.

June 5th, 1990 An old man walked by wearing a Speedo swimsuit that left nothing to the imagination. You've got guts, dude, I thought, and then snickered in my head. Yup. You’ve got guts- and that's the problem! The man continued to strut up the beach, but my eyes didn't follow him. I was pretending to read a book, laying on my stomach facing the ocean, but really I was just people watching. I had read the same paragraph four times and hadn't turned the page yet. The tourists were just too interesting.

Neither pulled away. Lunch was simple, fresh fruit, bread, cheese, olives. They ate on the shaded lower deck, legs stretched out on the cushioned bench. He asked about the book she had been pretending to read for weeks. “It’s about a woman who leaves everything behind,” she said. “She walks into the sea and disappears.” He looked at her. “Does she come back?” Elena shrugged. “The book ends before we find out.” He smiled. “I hate books that do that.”

But the idea stuck around in the back of my head long after I had turned out the lights. Roman accompanied Joemar to each of the meetings, but Andre was hit-or-miss. While one of these meetings was going on in the study, I walked down to the beach with a towel and my Kindle. To my surprise, Andre was already down there, sitting with a chair up near the water. The surf was gently rolling across his ankles while he read a paperback book. “Nothing to do?” I asked. Andre marked his place with a finger and lowered the book, smiling warmly at me. “Not when Joemar is with the investors.”