Chapter Ten
He wasn’t sure why he decided to head for the beach after work. The day had been warmer than usual, hinting at spring’s approach, but by the time he left his cramped office in the community center, the sun had set and the wind blowing off the water was blustery.
He needed that blast of cold. He needed the familiar, sour scent of the ocean filling his lungs. He felt restless, anxious. Like something was about to change.
Not him. He didn’t have to change. He was fine.
He parked just off Atlantic Avenue, crossed the street to the retaining wall and stared out at the ocean, nearly black but tipped with lacy whitecaps that remained visible even as the daylight faded away. The salty wind tugged at his hair and filled his lungs. He’d been born into the sound of the surf pounding the shore, and the deep ocean smell. Sometimes he wondered how people who didn’t grow up near a coast could stand breathing such bland, odorless inland air.
Maybe that was why he’d driven to the water’s edge—for the smell, or for the rhythmic hiss of the waves rolling in to lick the sand, or for the wind. Or for some other reason. Something had compelled him to come.
The moment he spotted Diana down on the beach, he knew why he was here.
She sat alone on the sand, wrapped in a coat and scarf, her knees drawn up to her chest and the sea breeze whipping her hair back from her face. He thought about shouting to her, but with the gusts blowing in from the ocean, his voice probably wouldn’t reach her. Besides, she seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. If he called to her, he’d startle her.
He should leave her alone. She had said she would call him when she got back from Boston, and she hadn’t called. That meant either she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, or she was done with him.
The hell with that second possibility. He wasn’t done with her. And if she wasn’t ready to talk…he’d just sit quietly beside her, and they wouldn’t talk.
He strolled to where the retaining wall ended at the jetty, picked a careful path over the rocks and down to the beach, and walked to her. She was so solitary and still, she might have been a statue. He slowed as he neared her, searching for any indication that she’d sensed his approach. But she was lost in thought, her eyes focused on the dark sky and the darker water.
When he was only a few steps away from her, she turned her head and peered up at him. “Hi,” she said. Calmly, quietly, as if she’d been expecting him.
He settled onto the sand next to her. “How was Boston?” he asked.
“Wonderful.” She sighed. “Horrible.”
Despite the rapidly fading light, he could see that her cheeks were pale and tracked with glistening streaks. She’d been crying. He guessed her trip was more horrible than wonderful. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I am. Really.” She turned back to stare at the water. “I broke up with him.”
Her fiancé. Well, that was good for Nick, but maybe not for her.
“I was going to phone you,” she said, speaking more to the ocean than to him. “But I didn’t want you to see me crying.”
He snorted and shook his head. Was she afraid he would think less of her because she was human? Did she think he’d condemn her for having feelings, for mourning the end of something significant in her life? He looped an arm around her and she rested her head against his shoulder. He could feel more than hear her sobs, faint tremors that rippled through her body.
He had no idea what to say, so he said nothing. He let her weep, let her grieve, let her lean on him.
After a while, the tremors stopped. He wished he was the kind of gentleman who always carried a fresh handkerchief in his pocket so he could hand it to her. He bet her fiancé would have produced a dainty, monogrammed square of linen for her to blow her nose into. “So much for the wonderful part,” he joked. “What about the horrible part?”
She managed a choked laugh. “I haven’t told my parents yet. They’re going to freak out. He’ll probably tell them before I have a chance to. He’ll probably recruit them to try to change my mind. They adore him.”
“That’s their problem,” Nick said simply.
She flickered a look at him, her eyes clear and wide. “You’re right.” Then she settled back against his shoulder and sighed again. “He was so angry. I hadn’t expected that. I thought he’d be upset, or maybe hurt. But all I saw was anger.”
“He was probably trying to cover up the hurt,” Nick said, donning his social-worker hat. “Men don’t like anyone to see them hurt. It makes them feel vulnerable and weak. So when they’re hurt, they sometimes lash out in anger.”
She mulled that possibility over, then nodded, her hair sliding against his neck with the motion of her head. “Is that what you do when you’re hurt?” she asked.
“I’m never hurt,” he said, another joke. “What do you think, I’m one of those weak, vulnerable guys?”
“You’re right,” she murmured. “About Peter, I mean. He was probably just hurt. I feel so bad. I never wanted to hurt him.”
“Only a sociopath wants to hurt others,” Nick pointed out. “I don’t know how he usually behaves when he’s hurt—”
“”The situation arises so rarely. People always let him have his own way. I guess I used to let him have his own way, too—until now. I didn’t mean to hurt him, though. That wasn’t my intention .”
“Of course not.”
“He’ll get over it,” she said, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself. “He’s got so much going for him. He’s smart, he’s handsome, he’s rich… Once word gets out that he’s available, women will be lining up outside his door.”
“You make him sound irresistible.” Nick’s tone was light, but he felt a twinge of insecurity. What could a guy like him possibly offer a woman like Diana, who’d been engaged to such a smart, handsome, rich man? An occasional lobster dinner? A middle-school b-ball game? Some hot sex? He could certainly offer her that.
“I hope someone does find him irresistible. I want him to be happy.”
“How about you? Are you happy?”
“Yes.” Again she sounded uncertain. “I’d be happy if I knew he was okay. And if I knew my parents would accept my decision.” She shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll be okay with it.”
“They don’t have much choice,” Nick pointed out. “It’s your life.”
She nestled more deeply into the curve of his arm and returned her focus to the water. The tide was coming in, the moon rising, a bright silver crescent the shape of a smile.
They sat in peaceful silence for a while, listening to the waves, feeling the wind caress them. Eventually, she stirred. “How did you find me? Did you know I’d be here?”
“How could I have known that? I left work and felt like coming down to the beach. I wasn’t looking for you.” He probably was, subconsciously. He’d been restless, edgy, wondering if he would ever see her again. For all he knew, she could have traveled down to Boston, seen her fiancé, and realized she really did love him, after all. The guy could have gotten appropriately excited about the big purchase she’d pulled off, and he could have swept her into his arms and charmed his way back into her good graces. He could have offered her the use of a monogrammed handkerchief, while he was at it.
A lot could have happened in Boston—wonderful for Diana and horrible, or at least not so wonderful, for Nick. During his turbulent childhood and adolescence, he had always biked to the beach when he needed to decompress. His mode of transportation may have changed since he’d reached adulthood, but the beach was still his destination when he needed to calm down and regain his perspective.
He hadn’t realized how much Diana’s trip to Boston and her failure to call had agitated him. Thoughts of her had been like a white noise inside his skull all day, barely perceptible but unsettling. So he’d come to the beach—and found her. And the moment he’d spotted her, the white noise had disappeared. More than the beach itself, seeing her had soothed him.
“Well,” she said. “Maybe you weren’t looking for me, but you found me.” She extricated herself from his embrace and turned to face him. “You must be hungry. I think it’s my turn to treat you to dinner.”
“That’s okay.”
“No. I mean it. I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat. You name the place. I’ll pay.”
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