I take a tentative step back, nearing her on the boardwalk. She focuses on the railing as her hands drift carefully, lazily over the banister. Instinctively, I want to warn her away. The wood is old and worn and splintering everywhere. My lips part but I snap my mouth shut, allowing her to explore the railing. Her eyes tell a story. It’s one that has me rapt.
There’s an anguish in her that I find so attractive. The look on her face, the way her body seems so…fragile…all of her draws me in. She pulls me. She had even before seeing her on the beach. I exchanged brief and to the point emails with a strange woman and I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I’ve been wondering who she is, how she’s coping with her loss, all the while wishing, deep down, that I could make it better, make it right. Now I can see how she’s handling her loss. It’s obvious to anyone that she’s suffering. It shreds me but I’d be a goddamn liar if I said it didn’t make me want her more. I haven’t done the girlfriend thing since Allison and what a misery that was. But Sadie Parker has lured me in with the prospect that I could help. Maybe I find her so attractive because a part of me wants to even the score, to make her better as payment for the heart that I feel unworthy of. I didn’t deserve it. I still don’t. But maybe if I could soothe and comfort her, I’d feel less guilty.
The uncertainty written all over her face makes me ache. I’m not an emotional man, but looking at her testing the integrity of my boardwalk is enough to drive me over the edge. Her eyes stay focused on the wood, looking almost disbelieving that it held beneath the weight of our feet. Maybe she wonders how she could be as resilient. I can’t blame her. I wonder the same thing all the time.
“Don’t worry. It’s solid. Doesn’t look that way to everyone else, but I know different.” I mean it too. I’m sincere and I hope she can hear that in my voice because I’m not sure what else to say right now. Seems like whatever that means to her, whatever that means to me—it’s the right thing to say at this very moment.
I watch as something burns in Sadie Parker’s eyes. It sparks then flickers just enough for me to see it. Hope? Relief? Whatever it was, I’m glad I’m the one who put it there. I wish, I hope that I can do so much more for her. So much more.
***
I turn on the tap and strip off my jeans and tee, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as the water runs in the sink. I’ve braced myself against the sink and do my best to dial myself down. I had to get in here in a hurry. Sadie standing in my house, admiring all the shit that my mom’s decorator had festooned the house with stirred something inside me.
Pride.
I haven’t felt proud of myself, my things, or my life in so fucking long and then here comes Sadie. Sadie Parker, the 26-year-old widow, walked up to the balcony with me and went to the railing. She took in my view, her eyes scanning out over the sea, and I don’t think she realized it, but her lips tilted up on one side, showing the ghost of what could be a smile. God, I wish she had given that to me. I’m sure that a full-on smile from her would break my heart into pieces. She’d wound me in the most perfect way. It would be a sweet agony. I can picture it in my head; I wish so badly that I could make it happen. I can think of no better sight. The little tinge of pride that she stoked in me makes me want more. I’ve not been proud of myself or my life, but seeing her taking in all the beauty that my isolated world has to offer drives me to show her more.
The connection I feel to this woman was so instant. I’ve never felt anything like it. Something about her, about me, about the situation that we find ourselves in—if I believed in fate, I’d say that’s exactly what it is. If fate exists, if it’s real, I would say that somehow our journeys are the same.
Chapter Seven
Tiny Sprig
Sadie
April 22, 2013
By the time I get to my motel, my t-shirt is soaked from clutching the wet clothes to my chest in an effort to hide my bare breasts. Door number four comes into view and I begin unraveling my wad of wet clothes in search of my surfboard keychain.
“Come on,” I mutter to myself, glancing around to see if anyone is witnessing this mess I’m in. I groan, knowing that I must have left my key at Zander’s beach house. My head drops back and I look up at the awning, wanting nothing more than to slap myself for being such a dumbass.
Yay. More ego-wounding embarrassment.
I drag myself into the small lobby and hurry to the desk where Dawn is standing, flipping through the pages of a magazine.
I clear my throat and work out a weak explanation. “Um, hey, Dawn, I uh, left my key at my friend’s house after I fell into his-her-their…pool. Can you let me into my room?”
Dawn gasps and bugs her eyes out at me. “You poor thing! You must be frozen! Let’s get you back into your room.” She grabs a wad of keys from the desk in front of her and rounds the counter, leading the way back to room four.