Shell Game
by
Owlcroft

Late that morning, Lydia looked up from her accounting ledgers to see her husband waiting silently in the office doorway. To her dismay, Beetlejuice was wearing a bright purple and lime green Hawaiian shirt and his trademark striped Bermuda shorts.

"Oh," she said, "I forgot we were going to Maliboo Beach today."

He sighed and shrugged. "I made you egg salad sandwiches and everything. And I even shelled the eggs first! But . . . if you're really busy, I guess . . ."

It was Lydia's turn to sigh. "I have to get these numbers straight, Beej. It should only take another hour or so."

"An hour? Or so?" Beetlejuice looked at her in disappointment.

"I know and I'm sorry. Honestly, I am." She cast a disapproving look at the paperwork on her desk. "Look, maybe I can be done sooner than that. It's not even noon yet, right?"

"But the beach will be packed by then –" he interrupted himself. "Doesn't matter. It's okay. I'll check on you in an hour."

Lydia frowned and bit her lower lip as he disappeared into the kitchen. Then she took a deep breath and went back to balancing the shop's accounts.

An hour later, Beetlejuice found her gritting her teeth and tugging at her hair in frustration and he immediately said, "That's it! Picnic on the beach!"

Lydia closed her eyes and grimaced. "It was the perfect day to go to the beach, but by now it'll be so crowded and parking will be such a problem because it's so late and I am sorry, my darling. Have I ruined your whole afternoon?"

"Nope." He grinned at her. "Everything's all set. On the roof."

She looked at him blankly. "The roof?"

The next instant they were standing on the Scarabée roof, where a large beach blanket was spread out next to a pail of greasy sand, and a big beach umbrella shaded the blanket. There were piles of seaweed and an enlarged photo of ocean waves facing the blanket. Small patches of grass dotted the area and there were clams trying to bury themselves in crabgrass and crabs clambering across the clamgrass.

Beetlejuice clicked his fingers and Lydia was suddenly wearing her favorite spider patterned t-shirt, black shorts, and sandals. "So," he asked with a grin, "what do you think?"

Lydia took it all in with a wondering smile. "Oh, my darling Beej. There's everything but the sounds of the waves," she exclaimed.

"Well, if you want to hear the ocean –" he held a shell up to her ear. "Anything?"

"Beej, it's a peanut shell." She listened anyway and heard a faint version of 'Carry Me Back to Ol' Virginny'. Wordlessly, but smiling, she shook her head.

"Hmm," he said, inspecting the shell then tossing it aside. "How about this one?"

Listening closely, Lydia could clearly hear 'buk, buk, buk'. Pulling her ear away, she laughed at him. "An eggshell? Really?"

"Okay, here's a sea shell," he said in resignation. "Try it."

She recognized an abalone shell and held it to her ear, only to hear a thin voice repeating, "Ah, baloney," over and over.

This time he laughed first and finally handed her a conch-shaped radio. Somehow it was playing the sounds of surf crashing on a beach.

At this point, the clams were trying desperately to get to the clamgrass, while the crabs had already settled into the crabgrass.

"Now sit your pretty self down and relax, okay? I've got the picnic basket right here and we can pretend we're at the beach the whole rest of the afternoon."

"You are," she broke off to kiss her husband soundly before lowering herself to the blanket, "the most thoughtful, amazing person. Thank you!"

He smiled modestly and gave her a nonchalant shrug. "No big deal. Just a little something I put together to get your mind off business for a while." He settled next to her on the blanket and handed her a pair of sunglasses. "You needed a break, babes. That's why we thought about going to Maliboo today in the first place."

Lydia shook her head at him. "You know, you could have just asked me to stop working. Beej, you were really looking forward to the beach and you let me almost mess up the afternoon for both of us."

"Well, but I didn't want to be shellfish." He grinned at her in expectation. "I wanted to be a real ray of sunshine for you."

She groaned and gently punched his arm. "Must you?"

"Nah," his grin broadened. "But you could try to tuna that radio a little. Not that I'm carping about it, you know."

"Oh, please." She hid her face in her hands so he couldn't see her smile.

"Come on, Lyds. Try a different channel just for the halibut." He cackled as she raised her head to look right at him.

"Beej, please stop. You're giving me a haddock." She grinned at him as he took only a moment to absorb the joke and then fell over howling. "And you're making me crabby."

Beetlejuice clutched his ribs and screeched with laughter.

Lydia reached for an arm to pull him upright again. "Are you okay? I wasn't sure you were herring what I said." She ran her hand appreciatively up and down his arm. "Ooh, and you've been working out. These mussels are new."

He fought to speak, still cackling. "I was going to . . . to use crappie," he wheezed, "but I can't even talk right now."

"Holy mackerel! Have I actually out-joked you?"

He nodded, still laughing, then kissed her, trying to catch his breath. "So, now," panting just a bit, "that you seem to be somewhat out of your shell," he grinned at her, "I have to ask you something." He took a breath, grin fading, and asked, "Just what are you trying to prove by working so hard all the time? Who are you trying to prove it to?"

"Myself, I guess." She thought for a few seconds. "Or maybe . . . Beej, maybe I'm trying to prove something to myself, but it might also be that I'm trying to live up to you."

"Wha –" His mouth fell open and he floundered for a moment. "But that's . . ."

"I mean, I want to make you proud of me." She looked at him a little shyly.

He looked back, astonished. "Me? Be proud of you?" He reached for her and pulled her into his arms. "I've always been proud of you! Been proud that you wanted me for a friend, proud of your gift for design, proud of your intelligence and personality and of the person you became." He shook his head in wonderment. "Didn't you know I've always – always – been proud of you?"

Lydia snuggled her head under his chin. "Of course I knew that, but . . . sweetheart, maybe I don't think I'm enough to be proud of. I have to keep doing more, to prove – I don't know – maybe to prove to myself that you didn't make a mistake."

Beetlejuice stared at her in silence for a moment, then finally said, "You know how I feel about you. I am yours and you are mine. There is nothing else." He blinked a few times, took a deep breath, and added, "If you ever doubt I'm proud of you, of being yours, ask me to show you my heart, with your name written on it."

"Oh, Beej, you know I feel the same way, and maybe that's all I needed to hear. You know my sole desire is to make you happy." She strove mightily to keep a straight face, but failed. "I just hope I can."

"And there's my chance to use that last fish," he murmured, "because you know that's just a load of –"

She forestalled him with a kiss.