The shadows lengthened and the sun sank beneath the ocean in a slow-motion display that was over if you blinked. The sand glittered in a burnt golden glow and the water turned into a still cobalt sheet, undisturbed except for the small water insects that danced here and there across its surface. There was no wind, not at sunset, and the palm trees hung over the inlet in silent watch.

Jalkland sat there staring at the expanse, kept contemplating the clouds on the horizon set ablaze by the fading light. Everything sat still, frozen, momentarily outside of time unless you blinked. He fingered the smooth piece of granite that he had found on the shore. Black and smooth, thin and cool, like a guitar pick. He absently held it in his palm and almost forgot it was there.

A small noise off to his left drew his attention. Just a mouse maybe, or a seagull pecking about for the remains of the day’s picnics.

He was thinking about his move. He would have to do it soon if he was to do it at all. Varla wasn’t pressuring him, but he knew she wanted to. She probably was in small unconscious ways, how she mentioned the city and her voiced dislike of this small beach town. He was perceptive and she was immature, but he still liked her and he still wanted to make something work.

Maybe he should just do it. He didn’t like thinking about the future. It gave him anxiety. In a weird way he always dissociated when he thought of the future. He wondered whether he deserved to make a decision like this. Some people did and some people didn’t, and it was easier to think he was one of those who didn’t. It would be way easier to float around in the bay again and imagine that was all there was. The ocean did stuff like that. There was no ocean in the city, 70 miles inland. An hour’s drive, but it was more than simple distance. He was just afraid. Afraid of moving and afraid of what his family would say. He was afraid of Varla. He was afraid his life would move too fast and it would be over before he blinked.