{"id":5519,"date":"2022-05-23T12:02:24","date_gmt":"2022-05-23T18:02:24","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/?page_id=5519"},"modified":"2022-05-23T20:31:54","modified_gmt":"2022-05-24T02:31:54","slug":"brass-at-the-beach-finale","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/fiction-fridays\/brass-at-the-beach-finale\/","title":{"rendered":"Brass at the Beach: Finale"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\"><figure class=\"alignright size-medium\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"169\" height=\"300\" src=\"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/Brass-at-the-Beach-169x300.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-4996\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/Brass-at-the-Beach-169x300.png 169w, https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/Brass-at-the-Beach.png 506w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 169px) 100vw, 169px\" \/><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>Part 4<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Back at the hotel room, Etta stood with her swimsuit in hand. Nothing about this suited her\u2014the attire, or the idea of braving the ocean again. She sighed, then pulled it on. Hmm, maybe she\u2019d add her coverup, wide-rim straw hat, and red sandals. Perhaps those would draw attention away from her middle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She grabbed her beach bag, opened the door, and crashed into Terrence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He laid his hand on her arm. \u201cSorry about that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Her face flushed. \u201cNo problem.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>They walked side by side to the elevator, through the lobby, and out the door. The ocean\u2019s salty scent washed over her on the balmy breeze. As they strolled the narrow path, Etta immersed herself in the beauty of the resort\u2019s lush landscape. Palm trees overhead rustled in a lazy island breeze. Gerbera daisies, bright against a broad expanse of lawn, lined the walkway until it disappeared into the sand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Etta knelt to pull off her sandals. Other students splashed in the water several feet away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Terrence released his grip on her. \u201cRace you to the beach?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>After a moment\u2019s hesitation, she nodded. \u201cYou\u2019re on.\u201d In a flash, she sprinted over the hot sand. She clutched her sun hat with one hand and her beach bag and sandals with the other. Wind ripped through her hair and buzzed in her ears. Wet sand slowed her pace, and water pooled in her footprints. \u201cI won!\u201d she exclaimed, panting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<iframe loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/videoseries?list=PLUhhyFY2dpoP7S-hTPy2BEYTu4sfZnWr_\" title=\"YouTube video player\" allow=\"accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture\" allowfullscreen=\"\" width=\"560\" height=\"315\" frameborder=\"0\"><\/iframe>\n\n\n\n<p>As she pulled to a stop, Terrence slammed into her, and both sprawled into the water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She giggled as she pushed him off her. \u201cWhy\u2019d you do that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He fumbled around in the sand. \u201cWhy\u2019d you stop?\u201d His hands continued to pat the ground. \u201cWhere are my glasses?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She jumped up. \u201cYou lost them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThey fell <em>somewhere<\/em>.\u201d The intensity in his voice increased.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A wave crashed around them, and white foam bubbled at her feet. She shivered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Moments later, the wave subsided. She picked her way over the remnants of debris left by the tide scanning the beach in vain for any sign of glass or metal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A few feet away, Terrence crawled on all fours like a dog in search of a buried bone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo luck?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He raised his head in the direction of her voice but didn\u2019t meet her gaze. \u201cWhat should we do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She slipped her hand in his and pulled him to his feet. His fingers curled around hers, which warmed more than her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019ll have to lead me back to the hotel. What time is it, anyway? Do I have time to visit an eye doctor?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She shaded her eyes. The sun hung low in the sky. \u201cI doubt it.\u201d This time, it was<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>her turn to guide him along the path back to the hotel. The poor guy was as blind as she was without contacts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; When she stopped in her tracks, he bumped into her again. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to stop doing that, especially now that I\u2019m blind.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHow blind?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He rubbed his eyes. \u201cUhhh, pretty bad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI mean what\u2019s your prescription?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI think 20\/300. Something abysmal.\u201d He ran a hand across his forehead. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cGreat.\u201d With a quick tug, she yanked him forward again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He stumbled to keep up. \u201cHow in the world is that great?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She pushed the door open and guided him through the lobby. \u201cI have an idea. It\u2019s crazy, but worth a shot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>###<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Terrence held his breath as Etta helped him into the swivel chair at the hotel desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI hope you know what you\u2019re doing.\u201d He raked his hand through his hair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cTrust me.\u201d She rushed into the bathroom, then returned moments later with something in her hands. With a plop, she bounced on the bed and spun him to face her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m teaching you how to wear contacts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhat?\u201d His body turned rigid. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to be kidding. I\u2019ll never keep my eyes open. Besides, it can\u2019t be good to wear someone else\u2019s contacts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI agree with you. But we\u2019re in a foreign country, we don\u2019t have access to an eye doctor, and you can\u2019t see a thing. Do you want to spend the rest of the trip blind and miss the concert?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He slumped lower in the chair. \u201cNo. Vatchev would kill me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThen it\u2019s contacts for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhat if they\u2019re the wrong prescription? Besides, don\u2019t you need them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIn ordinary circumstances, I\u2019d never recommend this. But if your eyes are worse than mine, this is better than nothing. Also, I brought a couple of extra pairs. These are new.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI guess I\u2019ll give it a try.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cGreat.\u201d She bent toward him. The warmth of her skin melted him like chocolate on a hot day. Her cute mouth puckered, probably on autopilot from all those years working on her embouchure, as she leaned over him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Etta pulled his upper lid with her middle finger and his lower lid with her thumb. With her forefinger she pressed the tiny lens to his eye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He jerked his head back. \u201cWhat on earth?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cHold still.\u201d She pressed him against the chair with her other hand and leaned in again. Now was the time to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. But the moment her hand approached his eye, his head flinched away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cTerrence, don\u2019t move. I\u2019ve got to do this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He grabbed her wrist. \u201cThis\u2019ll never work. I can\u2019t let someone poke me in the eye.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She lowered her arm. \u201cYou give up?\u201d Her mouth intoxicated him with her minty breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cNo.\u201d He stroked the inside of her wrist. \u201cThat\u2019s not what I said. I <em>do <\/em>need to try. Myself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She pulled her hand away. \u201cYou think you can?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He stood up. \u201cLike you said, I don\u2019t have much choice. Now guide me to a mirror so I can figure this out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAll right.\u201d She picked up the contacts and ushered him into the bathroom. \u201cI\u2019ll wait for you to finish.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>###<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;\u201cI\u2019m headed to the balcony. Holler if you need me.\u201d Etta pulled open the sliding door and stepped outside. She needed fresh air to cool off. What had happened in there? For a moment, she\u2019d thought Terrence might kiss her. Their lips had almost met. But if he couldn\u2019t see, maybe he hadn\u2019t realized how close they were. Geeky Terrence had managed to weasel his way into her thoughts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>As she waited on the balcony, the scents of saltwater and seafood mingled in the breeze. The horizon resembled a canvas filled with brushstrokes and sunset pastels. The water glistened. Light blue became turquoise and darkened to midnight on the far sea. For a moment, the exquisite beauty of the setting drove all other thoughts from her mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>What would it be like to live this near the sea? She\u2019d spent her entire life in the Midwest, far from the ocean. This was another world. How she wanted to brave her fears and swim in these waters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A touch on her arm drew her back to the present. When she spun around, Terrence stood nose-to-nose with her, just like the dolphin a few hours before. Either the sharpness of his features without the glasses or the intensity of his gaze caused her breath to catch in her throat. She swallowed. \u201cDo you need more help?\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cPerhaps.\u201d A quirky smile played at the corner of his lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll take a look.\u201d She cradled the back of his head with her hands and examined his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He reached out to brush her cheek. \u201cNot that kind of help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A ripple of excitement flooded her body at his touch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The hotel door clicked, and the two jumped apart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Brooke dropped her beach bag on the bed and arched an eyebrow. \u201cWhat are you guys doing on the balcony?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Etta wiped her forehead. \u201cWell\u2026 umm\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI dropped my glasses in the ocean.\u201d Terrence rubbed his eyes again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Brooke gaped at him. \u201cThat\u2019s awful! What are you gonna do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cEtta taught me how to wear contacts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Brooke\u2019s eyes grew as wide as seashells. \u201cI thought there was something different about you. Nice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYeah, my vision\u2019s a lot clearer now.\u201d He winked at Etta.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Electricity pulsed through her veins. \u201cGlad I could help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>Part 5<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The night of the symphony concert, Etta and Brooke bustled around their hotel room. Brooke donned a floral sundress while Etta slipped into a golden dress she\u2019d purchased from the gift shop. First time she hadn\u2019t worn black to a concert in ages. Would Terrence notice?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI can\u2019t wait for the international buffet,\u201d Brooke said. \u201cI hope they serve lobster.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cIck!\u201d Etta wrinkled her nose. \u201cThat sounds awful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Brooke frowned. \u201cYou\u2019ve never tried it. How do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThose creepy creatures that stare at you from the plate? No thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll bet the desserts are to die for.\u201d Brooke grabbed her oboe case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s the best part.\u201d Etta beamed. \u201cThey might have French <em>mousse au chocolat<\/em> or whatever you call it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;\u201cNot the <em>best <\/em>part.\u201d Brooke flashed a knowing smile. \u201cThere might be a cute French horn player, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Etta\u2019s stomach flip-flopped. Of course, Brooke would have realized something was up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>When they reached the patio, the knot in Etta\u2019s belly unclenched. Twinkle lights hung from trees and the expansive gazebo set up for the orchestra. Illuminated by the pulse of underwater blue lights, the outdoor pool resembled a deep-sea world. A beautiful arrangement of tropical flowers adorned each white patio table. Fresh seafood, blackened under garlic butter with a hint of sage, mingled with the salty air of the beach. The retro music of the Beach Boys blasted through the sound system.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t you ladies look stunning?\u201d Matthieu smiled. The guide sported a fluorescent orange shirt and floral shorts. He extended his elbow. \u201cMay I have the privilege of escorting <em>la belle dame<\/em>, the pretty lady, to the party?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Brooke beamed. \u201cOf course.\u201d She looped her arm in his, and they strolled toward the buffet together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;\u201cNice evening, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Terrence\u2019s voice filled the night air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Etta\u2019s heartbeat quickened as she pivoted to face him. \u201cYes, it\u2019s a lovely night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A vibrant-colored island shirt hung low over his khaki shorts. Stripped of his glasses, he seemed different. Or their relationship was different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His blue eyes bore into hers. \u201cYou look beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Warmth spread to her face. \u201cThanks. You\u2019re not half bad yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He reached for her hand. \u201cWhat do you say we\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cEtta,\u201d Brooke called as she turned back toward them. \u201cYou must check out the buffet. You, too, Terrence. It\u2019s to die for.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His fingers tightened around Etta\u2019s. \u201cSounds great.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>###<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Terrence\u2019s mouth watered as he surveyed the spread. The buffet boasted food from all around the world\u2014Brazilian steak, Mexican tacos, chicken piccata, Italian Fettuccine Alfredo, stuffed mushrooms, and bacon-wrapped asparagus. The seafood table was laden with cocktail shrimp, honey-glazed salmon, mahi-mahi, crab bisque, and lobster tails.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>He handed Etta a plate. \u201cHard to decide with so many choices.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She popped a shrimp into her mouth. \u201cWant one?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She held up the shrimp and offered a bite. The garlic butter melted in his mouth. His brain turned fuzzy at her proximity. \u201cDelicious.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cCome join us!\u201d Brooke called from a nearby table where she sat with Matthieu.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Normally, he\u2019d have jumped at the chance to sit with Brooke. But tonight, Terrence only had eyes for Etta.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>With a little tug on his hand, Etta pulled him along&nbsp; and they sat down at Brooke\u2019s table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cWhich dish do you like best?\u201d Brooke forked a piece of fish into her mouth. \u201cI thought I\u2019d pick the lobster, but now I\u2019d vote for the mahi-mahi.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m partial to salmon.\u201d Matthieu raised a bite to his mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Terrence eyed Etta, who spread tuna over a slice of bread. \u201cI\u2019d say <em>tuba <\/em>fish.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Her cheeks turned as red as the lobster on her plate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>###<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>After Terrence had stuffed himself like a crab, he and the other musicians congregated in the gazebo for the concert. Mr. Vatchev had selected the top players of the Belton Symphony to perform for the Maritime Composers Festival. They\u2019d begin with a tribute to the French composer Joseph de Bologne, also known as <em>Le Chevalier de Saint-George<\/em>. A native of Guadeloupe, the eighteenth-century black composer had made a name for himself throughout Europe and the Caribbean. Tonight, the orchestra would perform his <em>Violin Concerto No. 9, Op. 8<\/em> with Belton\u2019s violin teacher as the soloist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"900\" height=\"506\" src=\"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Joseph-Bologne-de-Saint-George.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-5599\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Joseph-Bologne-de-Saint-George.png 900w, https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Joseph-Bologne-de-Saint-George-300x169.png 300w, https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Joseph-Bologne-de-Saint-George-768x432.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 767px) 89vw, (max-width: 1000px) 54vw, (max-width: 1071px) 543px, 580px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mr. Vatchev raised his arms to lead the opening bars of the violin concerto. Where was Etta? Oh, he\u2019d forgotten. She didn\u2019t play the first work. The tuba didn\u2019t exist in the eighteenth century. He attempted to focus his eyes on the score in front of him. His vision, while not perfect, was a significant improvement from his usual blind state. He could grow accustomed to this new way of viewing things: the music, the atmosphere, the people, Etta.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>###<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; After the final flourish of the violin soloist\u2019s bow, Etta climbed the stairs to her place under the gazebo. How wonderful to finally hear the orchestra perform a piece by a fellow black musician! About time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A moment later, Terrence caught her eye and looked right at her, through to her soul, as though the contacts painted her in a new light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Mr. Vatchev nodded to the musicians, and swirls of notes poured from the strings as Debussy\u2019s <em>La Mer<\/em> soared into the night air. This trip might change things for her. Maybe she\u2019d shed her cloak of obscurity, at last, and be noticed for who she really was: the girl behind the big brass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"900\" height=\"506\" src=\"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Claude-Debussy.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-5595\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Claude-Debussy.png 900w, https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Claude-Debussy-300x169.png 300w, https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Claude-Debussy-768x432.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 767px) 89vw, (max-width: 1000px) 54vw, (max-width: 1071px) 543px, 580px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p>After a half hour of glorious music, the notes died away. Applause erupted from the audience as Mr. Vatchev gestured for the musicians to stand. Etta beamed at her fellow brass players, proud to be a member of such a skilled section.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The orchestra members filed out of the gazebo, and a jazz combo took their place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>As the music started, Etta\u2019s foot tapped along to the beat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Terrence tipped his head at the group. \u201cThat\u2019s what it means to play brass.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cYeah.\u201d She took a deep breath and allowed the rhythm to pervade her senses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A small group of people congregated on the dance floor. Matthieu fawned all over Brooke as they danced together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Terrence traced a finger along Etta\u2019s arm. \u201cShould we join them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She shook her head. \u201cI don\u2019t dance.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cCome on, it\u2019ll be fun.\u201d He extended his hand to her. \u201cYou need to let loose once in a while.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cOh, all right.\u201d She allowed him to pull her up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>His grip tightened around her fingers as he escorted her to the dance floor. Brooke was teaching Matthieu a rousing line dance while the band played a fast song. She waved them over. \u201cCome on, I\u2019ll show it to you guys.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>After several tries, Etta got the hang of it\u2014clap, hop, repeat in another direction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Next, the band slowed into Bobby Darrin\u2019s classic \u201cBeyond the Sea.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cI need some water,\u201d Brooke gasped. \u201cAll this dancing makes me thirsty.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Matthieu motioned to the table. \u201cSit down. I\u2019ll grab glasses.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Terrence nudged Etta\u2019s arm. \u201cIt\u2019s stifling here. Let\u2019s find a less crowded place.\u201d They strolled away toward the beach. Despite the dark night, the sound of the surf crashing on the sand reminded her of the nearness of the ocean.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Terrence turned her to face him. \u201cWanna dance again?\u201d He slipped his arms around her back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Words failed her. She nodded, and her hands found their way to the nape of his neck. In his arms, she swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the music and the waves. The peaceful sound of the ocean rang in Etta\u2019s ears as she leaned her head against Terrence\u2019s cheek. His heartbeat thumped against her chest. He squeezed tighter,&nbsp; expelling the air from her lungs. One hand cradled her neck, and the other pressed tightly against her spine. A moment later, his lips brushed against hers. All fear receded as if with the tide. She surrendered to his kiss. His fingers stroked her hair. He kissed her deeper, as if to explore the depths of the ocean. He wasn\u2019t a <em>French<\/em> horn player for nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The fireworks exploding inside her mirrored those bursting over the water that same moment to the fanfare of the brass band. Balls of fire painted the sky in brilliant shades of silver and gold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>When they pulled apart, a sheepish smile graced his features. \u201cReady for your first swim lesson?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She gasped. \u201cNow?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cSure. Nothing beats a night swim.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cAll right.\u201d She succumbed as he pulled her toward the water. \u201cJust don\u2019t lose your contacts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>\u201cBelieve me, I\u2019m never going to lose my sight again.\u201d He squeezed her tight as they fell together into the waves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"900\" height=\"506\" src=\"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Band.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-5604\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Band.png 900w, https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Band-300x169.png 300w, https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/05\/Band-768x432.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 767px) 89vw, (max-width: 1000px) 54vw, (max-width: 1071px) 543px, 580px\" \/><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Part 4 Back at the hotel room, Etta stood with her swimsuit in hand. Nothing about this suited her&mdash;the attire, or the idea of braving the ocean again. She sighed, then pulled it on. Hmm, maybe she&rsquo;d add her coverup, wide-rim straw hat, and red sandals. Perhaps those would draw attention away from her middle. &hellip; <\/p>\n<p class=\"link-more\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/fiction-fridays\/brass-at-the-beach-finale\/\" class=\"more-link\">Continue reading<span class=\"screen-reader-text\"> &#8220;Brass at the Beach: Finale&#8221;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":4996,"parent":5532,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-5519","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"translation":{"provider":"WPGlobus","version":"3.0.2","language":"es","enabled_languages":["en","es","fr","de","it","br"],"languages":{"en":{"title":true,"content":true,"excerpt":false},"es":{"title":false,"content":false,"excerpt":false},"fr":{"title":false,"content":false,"excerpt":false},"de":{"title":false,"content":false,"excerpt":false},"it":{"title":false,"content":false,"excerpt":false},"br":{"title":false,"content":false,"excerpt":false}}},"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/5519","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5519"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/5519\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5614,"href":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/5519\/revisions\/5614"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/5532"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4996"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rescotcreative.com\/es\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5519"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}