Living.
Rob, her partner in crime, tickled her palm with his finger.
No wonder Luke had loved sneaking out at night. Under the cover of night, anything could happen.
You could hike into a closed-after-dusk conservation area and break the law.
You could escape out from under the yoke of a childhood dream and reach for something real.
You could risk your heart.
Rob stopped, dug a headlamp from his pack, tested it. Dead. “How’s your night vision?”
“Pretty good right now. But I heard clouds are heading in later tonight.” Abby smiled at the absurdity of her hiking in a sundress and without a headlamp. Of Abby Stone going out without making sure she was 100 percent prepared for every eventuality. As if you could ever prepare for the unknown.
She’d buried that notion with her son.
Rob put away the headlamp and reclaimed her hand. They started down the path, following moonlight through the thick woodland growth. “Another hailstorm?”
“You never know what you’re going to get.”
“True enough.” Rob’s voice trailed off, as if he were mulling over that particular thought.
He smacked his forearm.
“Wha—” A buzzing sounded against her ear, and then a prick behind the lobe. She slapped her neck. Her fingers came away tacky with blood. Mosquitoes swarmed in the light before them, one vibrating body. “Would you happen to have insect repellent in your bag of tricks?”
Another skin-on-skin smack, and then Rob’s voice skipped on a chuckle. “Nope.”
“Then I hope you’re ready for a two-mile run.”
How could she have forgotten insect repellent? She’d walked the trail enough times in the light of a humid day to know that even with a thick layer of protection, you came away scarred and itchy. She and Luke used to call the marsh-side trail the mosquito swamp, a nod to the fire swamp in The Princess Bride. In eighty-degree weather, nighttime would do little to hamper the insects’ appetites for blood.
But when she’d called Rob with her idea to go for their hike, she’d had two thoughts in mind: surviving the hike through the woods, and what she’d planned once they arrived at the beach.
Turned out when every moment dripped with potential, you didn’t waste precious time planning for an uncertain future.
“Rob?”
“Yeah, baby?”
Mosquitoes flitted around her grin. Last time he’d called her baby, they’d been making out on his bed. The details were dreamlike and sketchy. But the way she’d felt? Wide-awake double rainbow.
Abby grabbed Rob’s hand, infinitely grateful she was wearing sports sandals and not the teeter-totters she’d attempted on their dinner date. “Ready to make a run for it?”
“I was born ready.” Rob cracked up, Mr. Reserved laughing at his own joke.
Despite his attractiveness, Rob wasn’t a player. Not even a monogamous player, like Charlie. When she’d first spotted Rob, his energy had been directed at his daughter, Grace. Then his energetic field, or whatever Lily Beth called it, had reached out, tapped her on the shoulder, and pulled her in close.
Rob held his pack before him to secure the zipper, making Abby think of front-facing baby carriers. And then, strangely, a sea horse, the only creature where the male of the species carries the young. Weren’t sea horses also one of the few animals that mated for life?
Abby widened her smile long enough for a mosquito to sneak into her mouth.
She scraped the interloper off her tongue. “What are we waiting for?” Abby said, and they started off at a jog.
Their feet pounded on the asphalt and gravel. Moonlight cast the pines and low-lying shrubs into a black-and-white photograph. The wind of movement blew her hair behind her. Her legs pumped to keep up with Rob. Her heart pumped to keep up with her legs. No hope of turning back.
A memory bubbled up through the darkness, natural as a breath. She’d brought seven-year-old Luke on a daytrip to Whale’s Tale Water Park. And much to her horror, he’d been tall enough to ride on the Eye of the Storm, even though it was clearly meant for older kids.
Not wanting to let Luke go alone, she’d taken her turn in line before him, holding down her own fear. For Luke, she’d given over control to the Eye of the Storm and shot down a fifty-degree enclosed tube that shoved her out into the light, where she’d spiraled in circles before hitting the water.
Later, safe at a picnic table, Luke had scarfed down two burgers and a grape soda. Just watching Luke eat had upended Abby’s stomach. “Weren’t you scared?” she’d asked him.
Luke’s grin had stretched a purple mustache across his upper lip. “Yeah,” he’d said. “That was the best part.”
Abby and Rob shot out of the woods and onto the path that ran a straight line through the first of two salt marshes. A cement form-covered wooden bridge spanned the Sprague River. Tides moved beneath their feet. Her calf muscles burned, her lungs struggled for air. When was the last time she’d gone for a run, not counting a dash to Shaw’s to replenish the fridge and pantry or Reny’s to stock up on batteries and bulbs? When was the last time she’d given herself a day to just be?
Their feet pounded across the wooden bridge, padded back onto the path. Rob’s breath huffed beside her. The steady beat of their shoes fell in sync. Just when she thought she’d gotten the hang of it, the trail steepened, making her work for every step.
She paused at the top of the hill, hands on hips, breathing hard. “I need a break!”
Rob jogged in place, his breath only marginally affected. “How much farther, do you think?”
It amazed Abby that avid hiker Rob had lived forty-five minutes away for the last ten years, and yet never ventured the easy—if you were walking—stroll to Seawall Beach. It amazed Abby even more that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d carved out the time to make her way to the hidden gem.
A slap in the face to Luke, who’d reached for the world, and had it snapped from his fingers.
“ ’Bout halfway?” she said, sure of nothing.
“Great! Then we’re almost there!” Rob tugged her arm, pulling her along.
“Time out!” she said, but the words tangled in her throat, forced back down by the need to breathe.
Sooner than she’d remembered, the trail veered to the left, sloped gently downward, and crossed the second marsh. Through the last stretch of woods, she finally hit her stride.With Rob beside her, life surged through her muscles, and every responsibility fell away.
The path narrowed. Beneath their feet, the beat changed from the hard thud of gravel and asphalt to the soft give of sand. Then they ran through the roped-off dune grass and broke onto the wide-open expanse of Seawall Beach.
Not bright as day, but close enough.
The nearly full moon shone down from a clear sky, seeming brighter because of the threat of clouds. The ocean growled, roared, bellowed, so much louder than the gentle seaside lull that rocked her to sleep. The waves whipped the shore, evidencing the notoriously strong undertow. And when she tilted her head back, a few glittery pinpricks of stars greeted her, the rest obscured by the candle blaze of the moon.
Abby imagined Luke’s child as a full-cheeked three-year-old girl, kneeling on one of Abby’s dining room chairs, her face a study in concentration as she squeezed Elmer’s glue onto black construction paper and dumped a tube of glitter on its head.
If Abby got a second chance, she’d welcome the whole glorious mess of childhood with open arms.
Sweat cooled her face and trickled down her spine. She inhaled through her nose to catch her breath. Ocean air cooled the back of her throat.
Rob touched her shoulder, his voice clear, as if they’d gone for a casual stroll. “Fantastic.”
“Told you so.” Abby expected to see Rob’s face in profile as he gazed toward the ocean. Instead, he was looking her way, close enough to see inside her. He handed her a water bottle from his pack and then drank from the same bottle.
Rob zipped the water back in his pack and took her hand. He swung their hands between them, and they walked along the hard-packed sand. Roaring ocean, bright moonlight, and the right guy. All she needed was a dip in the Spirit Pond-fed Morse River and the guts to find her voice.
“Ex finally put the house on the market,” Rob said, beating her to it.
“Really?”
“Yup, looks like I won’t have to live in my office forever.”
“Time to look for something more permanent?” Abby’s mouth tingled, same as years ago when she’d readied herself to slide into the Eye of the Storm.
“Could be,” Rob said, as vague as Tessa’s ever-present shrugs. Clearly Rob’s ex was having trouble letting go of Rob. Was Rob having trouble letting go of his ex? Were both Tessa and Rob stringing Abby along? Reining her in so they could cut her loose?
At least she and Tessa had made their wishes clear to each other. Nothing more for Abby to do but wait and, like any good parent, hope and pray the child would do the right thing.
That was the hardest part.
Up ahead, their destination shimmered and snaked its way to the Atlantic Ocean. She shivered at the thought of baring herself and submerging.
She’d taken him this far, she might as well go all the way. She owed him that much.
She owed herself.
If they were going to have any sort of future, she had to chance telling him the truth. If she wanted him to understand she wanted a future, she had to tell him.
“I, um, spent some time with Charlie yesterday.”
Half a second passed, enough time for waves to rush the shore. Enough time for Abby’s blood to rush through her veins and crash through her ears.
“Oh-kay,” Rob said, but his tone begged to differ. His pace slowed, and his stomach muscles tensed beneath her fingers.
“He asked me to marry him.”
Rob stopped walking, and turned from her embrace. “If this is your idea of letting me down easy, it’s going to be a really looong walk b—”
“I’m not going to marry him,” Abby said, but Rob didn’t budge. “I mean, I can’t marry Charlie. He only asked me because of the baby, and because Luke always wanted us together. What child doesn’t want their parents together?”
“Can’t argue with that.”
Abby rolled her lips in between her teeth, glanced at the moon, and mentally kicked herself. They were supposed to swim first and then talk about how they felt about each other. She wasn’t supposed to dig into his soft places and draw blood.
Rob lengthened his stride and doubled his pace, putting quick distance between them. “Hey,” she said. “Hey! I don’t love Charlie!”
No, she loved Rob, the guy running away from her. Story of her life. She jogged through the color-softening moonlight, feeling like the sandpipers that chased the Seawall Beach tides dawn to dusk. The silly birds would scurry toward the ebbing current, and then turn on a dime and hurry away from the approaching swell.
Didn’t they ever get sick and tired of the game? Didn’t all the back-and-forth with no progress make them want to scream?
Abby sprinted up behind Rob and socked him in the arm.
“Ow!” he said, a chuckle in his voice.
So she punched him a second time.
“Okay, that one actually hurt.” He rubbed his arm, slowed his pace.
“What do you care if I marry Charlie? You’re the one who wants to just see what happens. You want us to continue dating, and then what? If I adopt Luke’s baby, you’re going to disappear from my life?” A dark current swelled in Abby’s belly. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned their conversation playing out, but she couldn’t stop herself, as if she were a deep-water wave, gathering energy and refusing to break. She deepened her voice. “Uh, sorry, lady, been there, done that, so through with the kid thing.”
The Morse River beckoned. At low tide, the waters were as gentle as a tidal pool. At high tide, more dangerous than the ocean into which it flowed. Her stomach tensed around the realization she hadn’t consulted the tide charts before embarking on this mission. Adrenaline rushed in with the clear understanding she couldn’t care less about the potential for disaster.
Rob eyed her, should-I-stay-or-should-I-go all over his face. “Abby—”
“You’re going to leave me for doing the right thing, because it doesn’t fit in with your life plan?” she said. “Well, I have news for you. Life is hard! You can do everything right, live your life for your son. Then one day while you’re paying the bills, the phone rings, and a stranger is telling you he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it. And none of it makes any sense! Day after day, it continues to not make sense. And you’re left all alone with your anger. But there’s nothing you can do about it, because the one person you really want to haul off and yell at is dead!”
Abby’s hands shook. Her fingers clasped the thin cotton of her sundress, digging into her chest. Her bottom lip hammered with the aftershock of her words.
They’d stopped walking. When had they stopped? Rob stared at her, a still presence, as though he were part of the beach itself, raised from the sand. His mouth worked around something unspoken, and he kept swallowing. He rubbed her arms with either hand, the tips of his fingers raising goose flesh.
She was sweating, her dress clinging to her body, but her teeth chattered. “What am I doing here?” Not here on Seawall Beach, but here on Earth. “Why am I alive while Luke—?”
Rob’s mouth pressed against hers, swallowing her hurt. She whimpered, and he kissed her harder, pulling an ache through her center. Tears swelled in her throat and leaked down the sides of her face, an endless stream.
“Don’t cry.” He kissed her cheek to ebb the flow, his face distorted and blurry.
The sand and the sea were all she’d ever known, her home base, touchstone, and guiding light wrapped up in a blue satin bow. After Luke had died, nothing felt quite the same, the beauty brushing the surface, but not sinking into her soul. She’d look past the sparkling sands with warm glints of glitter and see a landscape of crushed shells. The glorious waves went from comforting to repetitive. And the once-magical sky? The place she sought her son.
“I need this world to feel like home again,” she said, not caring if she sounded crazy, hoping against hope Rob would understand.
He brushed her hair from her face, and the swallow-sound came through his voice. “Tell me how I can help you. Tell me what you need,” he said, his tone reminiscent of the day they’d first discussed the labyrinth project and his eagerness to get to the center of what she really wanted.
The day she’d begun the sure, steady fall for Rob Campbell.
Today, she needed to wash clean. She needed to return to the sea. She needed to go home.
“Close your eyes,” she said. Rob flicked his gaze to the river, and a twinge at the corner of his mouth told her, yes, he understood.
Still smiling, Rob covered his eyes. She swiped the tears from her cheeks and slid the spaghetti straps from her shoulders, pushed the fabric past her hips. Stepped from her sundress, like a hermit crab vacating its outgrown shell. Abby had heard local lure about skinny dipping in the Morse River, even passed along the suggestion to the guests at Briar Rose. Yet, she’d warned Luke not to try it.
Probably making the notion all the more attractive.
She set her bra and underwear on her dress. “I’m swimming across, so as soon as you hear me splash the water, you can join me. I promise not to peek.”
His grin widened, a flash of white. “I’m not at all concerned.”
Low tide, and the river barely moved. She waded through the squishy, sucking sand that had reminded her and Luke of lightning quicksand from The Princess Bride. When the river hit her waist, she dove below the surface. A splash. A split second of panic. And then total sensory overload. The cold water numbed her skin, boxed her ears. Salt water clogged her sinuses, and she stared into the watery darkness. Nothing but life beating in
her throat, and the exertion of her arms pulling her upward, upward, until she broke through to the surface and swam for the opposite shore.
She gulped the air, called to the dark figure standing waist-deep in water. “Woo-hoo! Dunk in, the water’s fine!”
“Where are you?” A seed of panic rode on his voice, threatened to grow. She’d never heard him sound that way before.
Abby splashed the water before her, counting on her movement, the reflection of moonlight. “Swim toward my voice. I’ll meet you in the middle. Marco!” she called, instantly regretting her choice of a game where, after each shout-out, you were supposed to change your location to evade a closed-eyed pursuer. The game had caused her five-year-old son to melt down in swim class, after the closed-eyed kids had challenged the mothers and lost.
Hours later, Luke had refused to sleep alone, convinced if he shut his eyes, Abby would slip away from him.
Abby hadn’t thought of that day in years. Now, the memory felt as close as the salt water that buoyed her. The way Luke’s tears had molded the lashes on each of his eyes into three dark-blond spikes. The way his eyes had glistened, huge blue caricatures. Against the peach-soft curve of his cheek, the way his tears had tasted like the ocean.
Abby licked the salt from her lips.
“Polo!” Rob called.
Abby swam the rescue stroke, head up so she couldn’t miss him. “Marco!”
Rob approached, his head and torso cutting through the water, kicking up a blue-black wake.
Then, a few feet away, he surface dove. The water barely rippled in his place, making Abby wonder whether she’d dreamed him. Whether he was nothing more than a figment of her seawater imagination. The same imagination, sending her pulse into overdrive. Her—
A sharp tug on her leg. Abby yelped, and Rob’s head and shoulders sliced to the surface. “Shark attack!” Rob said, breathless.
She swam closer and came to standing in shoulder-deep water. When she touched his smile, he kissed her fingertips. Her mouth found his, and she closed her eyes. Pulled his lower lip into her mouth, nibbled. Let the gentle tides sway them ever so slightly. When she opened her eyes, he brushed his lips against the edge of her ear and she shivered. “Let’s warm up,” he said, his voice thick. “I’ll get a towel, and then leave one for you. Eyes closed, of course,” he said, without an ounce of sarcasm.
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