Written in the Sand

by D. B. James

  Getting up, I reach for my purse, pulling the letter from the inside pocket.

  “If you’d like to read it, it’s here. If not, you know where it is. He says they’ll be no more letters, but I may get more book flowers if I publish a new book again. He’s left instructions with the business owner, a lady named Gloria, to make me more flowers whenever I release a new book.”

  They both agree they’d like to read his letter; I take my glass of wine and walk toward the shore, giving them a few minutes of peace to read it alone. Process it. He was their son-in-law for quite a few years, meaning they lost someone close to them as well. It seems like I always forget Michael was a part of many people’s lives and not just mine. When my small world revolved around only him.

  Taking off down the shore line, I walk along the surf for around a mile as the tides drift in and back out again. The water is refreshing as it hits my feet every few seconds before flowing back out only to do it again. There are people’s lives going on all around me, but I feel like my world is at a standstill. Oddly, like every single person on this beach is moving while I stand and watch them pass me by. I know it’s ridiculous, and of course I’m moving, my footprints following along behind me are proof enough. But my mind is playing tricks on me. It’s only making me think I’m standing still while life moves on. While I’m standing here in deep concentration, I turn and see a beautiful man. The beautiful man from yesterday. Case, was it? The one who came into the bookstore. I don’t realize I’m staring until it’s too late for me to turn around without appearing rude. Shit. Another day it’s not great for me to be seeing him on. Why is it always horrible days when he’s put in my path? Days I’m always more likely to be a bitch.

  Thanks, God. Your timing is impeccable. Me and the Big Guy upstairs have lots of catching up to do.

  “Tenley, correct?” he asks.

  “Yes, it’s Tenley. What brings you to the beach, Case?”

  It’s as if until this moment I didn’t notice he’s only wearing royal blue board shorts, which leaves his chest bare. Truly, I didn’t notice. The shorts thing, at least. Obviously, I noticed the no shirt thing, I’d have to be blind to not see those hard-tattooed abs out and on display. If my mouth is watering, I can blame it on the wine and not on his bare chest.

  “It’s my day off. I wanted to combine my love of reading with my love of the ocean. I’ve heard this beach is nice, not as crowded as the one in town. I braved the thirty-minute drive to check out this stretch of beach. You?”

  What do I say? If I go with the truth, does it make me sound pathetic? Should I lie and tell him I’m here getting some sun with friends? Opting for the truth, I blurt it out. Why should I care? This guy already thinks I’m a rude bitch; now he can add in sad to the title.

  “It’s a bit of a long story. I’ll take it easy on you and make it a tad shorter. I’m here with my parents to celebrate what would have been my husband's thirty-seventh birthday. Having made a deal with my therapist to not spend it alone in my bed drinking wine, I’m spending it by celebrating him and doing something small with someone else. Which brings me here. My parents are over there somewhere,” I gesture to the blanket about a half a mile down the beach, “reading a letter my dead husband left me. I received said letter last night. It’s been one hell of a fun day. I’m being sarcastic by the way.” As if I needed to add the sarcasm comment. “I’d rather have spent it in bed with the wine.”

  Shit. Now he probably thinks I’m a rambling, crazy-ass lady. A drunk one, too. He should take this chance and run. Far away. Instead, he does the exact opposite of running. He steps closer to me.

  “Now, I don’t want to scare you or anything, it’s why I’m telling you first. I’m going to hug you, Tenley. I’m going to hug the fuck out of you. I’m going to give you the biggest teddy bear hug on the face of the planet because you need it. You deserve it,” he says.

  Without waiting for me to respond, he pulls me close and wraps me up in those muscled arms of his. Those tattooed muscled arms. Holy shit. Letting out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, I place my arms around him and hug him back. He still smells of clean linen but now there’s a hint of coconut. I’m not sure how long I stand here letting this virtual stranger hug me, but it’s the best damn hug in the history of teddy bear hugs. Exactly as he said it would be.

  We’re still standing here, hugging when mama comes over to us a few minutes later.

  “Baby girl, we’re ready to leave if you are. Unless you want to eat here. Or discuss the bombshell Michael left in the letter.”

  She’s still in shock. She has to be. She hasn’t asked one question about who Case is or why he’s hugging me.

  Slowly pulling out of his arms, I gaze up into his dark coffee eyes to find him already staring down at me. “Thank you, Case. You were spot-on, I did indeed need the hug. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my parents now. I’ll see you later?” Yes, I ask it as a question, not a statement because I find myself truly wanting to see this man again.

  “You can count on it. Goodbye, Tenley,” he says while we walk away, putting distance between him and mama.

  “Who was the young man, baby girl?” Mama questions as we walk back up the beach toward where we left daddy.

  “He’s a man who came into the bookstore yesterday. We exchanged a few words. Honestly, I thought he didn’t like me. I didn’t want to seem rude when I saw him today, therefore I didn’t turn away when I saw him because he had already seen me as well. When he asked what I was doing here, I blurted it all out. What you walked up on was his offering me comfort. I don’t know anything more about him other than his name.” And he’s gorgeous, gives great hugs, needs a haircut, has countless tattoos, and reads all genres.

  She doesn’t ask anymore and I don’t offer it, not wanting to get into how great his arms felt wrapped around me. Those are thoughts I can deal with at another time, a time when I’m alone.

  Taking a seat on the blanket, I open the cooler. I’m hungry and we may as well eat. They have questions, I’m not sure I have the answers, since they read the same letter I did. Michael and I may have shared a life together but obviously he had his secrets. If he was keeping something this huge from me, what else was he keeping hidden from me? Did he ever love me? Was our whole life a lie? Or only his sickness? Fuck, I hope all he was lying about was his illness. I’m not sure I could take knowing my whole life with him was a lie instead of merely a few months. Stop this nonsense, Tenley. Michael loved you. He only lied about his illness. He couldn’t fake his love for you. His passion. Love as strong as ours couldn’t be faked.

  “Well…y’all read his letter. He was dying and none of us knew about it. He hid everything from not only me, but you. The people he should have counted on when he needed them most. He must’ve felt incredibly alone in those last few weeks. I’ve been depressed and slowly killing myself over losing my husband, who it turns out killed himself. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  Grabbing a sandwich from the cooler, I pass it on to daddy, grab another, and hand it to mama before grabbing one for myself. No one has commented on my word vomit yet. Great. What did I say, but the truth?

  My sandwich is halfway gone before Daddy speaks. “He killed himself because he loved you too much, Tenley.”

  Excuse me? Rewind and say it again. He killed himself because he loved me too much. Yeah, sure, because it’ll make much more sense hearing it again.

  “He killed himself because he was a coward. He took the easy way out and crashed the plane into the ocean instead of facing his death head-on with me. Instead of loving me enough to face it with me. He killed himself and took the choice from me. The choice should have been mine to make. The choice to sit with him and love him like he deserved. The choice where I could have healed properly after he died instead of slowly killing myself with this darkness. But no…he took the fucking coward’s way out of this life. He left me, Daddy. He. Left. Me,” I rant.

  Grabbing a new bottle of wine from th
e cooler, I uncork it and start drinking it straight from the bottle. Mama makes a tsking noise, but I don’t care. She’s only voicing her displeasure of my not acting like a lady and drinking from a glass. Fuck it, this is another time calling for straight from the bottle drinking.

  Wishing I could erase the last twenty-four hours from my life, I get up and walk back toward where I left Case. Bottle of wine in hand and not a single fuck to be given.

  He’s sitting in a small beach chair he’s entirely too massive for, under an umbrella shielded from the sun, and he’s reading one of my books. Shit, shit, shit. I didn’t notice his choice of reading material earlier. My shadow covers his feet from the sun; it’s too late to turn back now, he knows I’m here. Again.

  “Hey, didn’t think I’d see you again this soon. What brings you by, beautiful?” he asks.

  Instead of answering, I sit down on the sand near his feet and take another swig of wine from the bottle.

  “Straight from the bottle bad, huh?” he asks.

  “You could say that.” Holding the bottle out toward him, I ask if he’d like any. Manners and all. “Want some?”

  “Nah, you drink it. I’m sure you need it more than I do. Your parents are staring over here. Would you like me to go over and tell them you’re okay?”

  He’s sweet. Not only does he give ah-maze-ing teddy bear hugs, but the guy is sweet. Not to mention sexy as sin.

  He laughs, a deep hearty full-on belly laugh. The sound is rich and fills my belly with warmth. Or maybe it’s the wine. It’s then I realize I must’ve said all of it out loud.

  “No, don’t you dare say you're sorry for saying it. I’m taking it all as a compliment.”

  “Oooookay, I won’t say I’m sorry. Which I wasn’t going to say by the way. Okay, maybe I was. But I can blame my loose tongue on the wine. Would you mind if I crashed your reading party? I won’t be a bother. I’d like to sit here and drink my wine, if it’s okay.”

  Apparently, I need to spend today with someone. If I sit here and drink my wine, I would be with someone. He’s here, I’m here. It’s technically with someone. And I did spend a few hours with my parents. All checks on the positive side as far as I’m concerned. Besides, it’s not like Dr. Beesley said I couldn’t spend the day drinking wine straight from the bottle sitting on the beach. Right?

  “Can’t say I’d mind at all. I’ll be back. I’ll go and speak to your parents and let them know I’ll get you home safely later. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  While he goes to talk to my parents for me like I’m a twelve-year-old girl, I drink more wine and burrow my toes deeper into the sand. His towel is lying next to his chair, I grab it to use as a makeshift pillow, placing it behind my head and lie back. It’s how he finds me when he comes back a few minutes later.

  “Your parents were worried, but I convinced them I’m not an axe murderer. They have my number, license plate, and last name. I believe they’re okay now. At least enough to leave. Your dad may be calling the police to run my plate, but overall I think we’re okay.”

  “You jest but he probably is. And I still don’t know your last name...” I leave it open for him to give me the information. He knows mine, he’s reading my book after all. Shit, he knows my middle name, where I grew up (here), and a few of my hobbies.

  “Yeah, but you know more important details. You know I’m sexy and give ah-maze-ing hugs, and it’s all that matters.”

  “No comment.” I’m blushing. I’d blame it on the wine and the sun, but I know it’s from his teasing comments. There’s no denying he heard me call him sexy, I tried blaming it on the wine once already, but he’s not going to believe it twice. He knows I think he’s hot. He had to have felt the way I was staring at him in the store yesterday. Not to mention the way my eyes hungrily ate him up this afternoon. On today of all days.

  “If it helps at all, I think you’re sexy as hell. My last name is Ballantyne and I’m from Austin, Texas. Where I was born and raised for a time. We moved around a bit, Michigan, Kentucky, before finally landing back in Texas. I’m here in the area for a few weeks as a guest artist at a local tattoo shop. If you haven’t already guessed, it’s what I do. I’m thirty-six as of yesterday. I’m an avid reader and lover of words. When I’m not drawing on people for a living or painting on canvas, I dabble with playing the guitar. I’ve never been married but came close once. And you’re more than welcome to have my number, Tenley Grace.”

  He’s given me more about himself in those few sentences than I’ve given him. He knows my husband is dead and today is his birthday.

  “I walked over here to drink my wine because I promised my doctor I wouldn’t spend today by myself. Michael died a little over two years ago, he would have been thirty-seven today. When he died, I thought the world fell out from under my feet. It’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling this second. It turns out everything I thought about his death was a lie. I’ve been living in a lie for two years and slowly killing myself over a man who did kill himself. My life is a mess, Case, and I don’t think you want to be involved in it. Maybe I should run and catch my parents before they’re too far and we can leave this where it is right now. We’re still basically strangers and it’s probably for the best we stay that way.”

  Making to get up, I feel his arms pushing me back down before I see them. “You’re staying right here where you are. I think I can make the choice of who I want as a friend for myself, Tenley. And it sure seems like you could use a friend. It just so happens I’m a kick-ass friend. That’s all I’m asking for anyway. Friends.”

  Alright then, he put me in my place. Literally. Lying back down, I make myself comfortable. He doesn’t say anything as he sinks back into his chair. We stay quiet for a few minutes, it seems the silence between us speaks volumes. Friends, I can do friends, at least I think I can. The few I had before Michael have faded away and the few we had as a couple have disappeared since he died, as well. One friend, Savannah, has stayed, but she’s away in France preparing for her new life with her husband. She’s only been available on the phone or via text. Last Christmas she left to spend the holidays there with her niece and returned engaged. It goes without saying our lunch dates have dwindled down to nothing. We’ve met up once in the last year. She’s now blending her life here with his life there and currently helping him move back to the states.

  After nearly an hour passes, I decide to fill him in a bit more on myself. Let him in a tad more. If we’re going to be friends, we may as well get to know one another.

  “I’m thirty-five and was married to Michael for twelve years. As you can tell, he committed suicide. But I didn’t find out about the suicide thing until last night. He left a letter for me to be opened today, with a few other gifts. I’m not entirely sure why he waited this long for them to be given to me, but he did. From what his letter says, he had an incurable brain cancer. He flew his brother’s plane into the ocean and his body has never been recovered. Today, I should be in the south of France with him celebrating his birthday, instead of drowning my sorrows in wine. Which is better than where I was this time last year, I guess.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Tenley. It sucks he put you through any of it. To think I was sitting here before you came along, thinking about how lonely I was. And how sad it was that all I received for my birthday this year was a signed book from a feisty author in a small bookstore. A few minutes later, you stumbled down the beach in front of me. It was like my lonely called out to you. Then you opened your mouth and out flew all your sad. I couldn’t help but hug you. In that moment, I knew I wanted to be your friend, Tenley. No matter what happens. Lonely recognizes lonely. Any way you spin it, you’re lonely, I’m lonely. We may as well be lonely together.”

  His hand reaches the short distance across the sand for mine and twines our fingers together. We don’t say another word for the rest of the afternoon. It’s the most un-lonely I’ve felt in over two years. I find he’s correct...lonely recognizes lonely.


  My alarm goes off the next morning and all I want to do is throw it across the room. Forget hitting snooze, it’s not good enough, only breaking it will do. If I didn’t have an appointment to keep, I would break it. Or turn it off and bury it under my pillows. Whatever, same difference.

  Groaning, I throw my blankets back and push myself out of bed. Might as well get this day started. Dr. Beesley would frown upon my cancelling an appointment. She’d probably make me book two to replace the one I’d miss.

  Yesterday wasn’t nearly as horrible as I made it out to be. Yeah, the whole letter thing sucked. It was made worse when daddy mentioned his thinking Michael killed himself because he loved me too much. After spending the day in comfortable silence with Case, I can see how maybe daddy was correct. He may have been onto something.

  Our love was all consuming.

  To outsiders observing, it may have looked like we loved each other too much. Maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. Who’s to say if how much a person loves another is too much? Did I love Michael with every fiber of my being? Yes, I loved him with all of my soul. It’s not a stretch for me to say he was my soul mate by any means. Hence why I felt like my world was ripped apart when he died. Why I feel like I died.

  When I arrived home last night, my parents were sitting in the living room waiting for me. They looked like they hadn’t moved since they walked in the door from the beach. The shock of reading Michael’s letter was still shining in their eyes. All I did was shake my head, letting them know I didn’t want to talk about it. Shortly after, I heard them talking amongst themselves through my bedroom door. They’re worried about me.

  I get it.

  Doesn’t make it any easier to talk about.

  Foregoing a shower, I dress quickly and make my way into the kitchen to consume a gallon of coffee. Today I’ll tell Dr. Beesley whatever she wants to hear, after she reads Michael’s letter. Any question she asks will be answered. And to prepare myself for it, I need coffee.