As her thoughts continued to drift, she turned her attention to the island, noting the gnarled remnants of tree stumps, gray and salt-coated, their roots twisting like frayed yarn on a loosely twined ball. Curving pathways cut through the saw-grass-speckled dunes, shortcuts to the ocean side of the island, and driftwood, stained black from the marsh, collected at the water's edge.
"You're thinking about something," she heard him say. Without her noticing it, Colin had moved his board closer to hers.
"Just how much I love being out here."
"Do you come out every weekend?"
"Most weekends," she said, keeping her strokes steady. "Unless it's raining or the wind is gusting. Strong winds make it feel like you're not getting anywhere, and the water can get kind of choppy. I made that mistake once when I brought Serena out here. She lasted about twenty minutes before she insisted on heading back, and she hasn't come out ever since. When it comes to the ocean, she's more of the lay-out-in-the-sun or relax-in-the-back-of-the-boat type of girl. Even though we're close, we're not that much alike."
The curiosity in the way he watched and listened urged her on, and Maria drew her paddle through the water. "Serena has always been more outgoing and popular than I ever was. She's had one boyfriend after the next and has a zillion friends. Her phone never stops ringing, people always want to spend time with her. It wasn't like that for me. I was always quieter, shyer I guess, and I grew up feeling like I never really fit in."
"You don't seem shy to me."
"No?" she asked. "How do I seem to you?"
He cocked his head. "Thoughtful. Intelligent. Empathetic. Beautiful."
The certainty with which he spoke--like he'd reviewed the list beforehand--made her feel suddenly self-conscious. "Thank you," she murmured. "That was... sweet."
"I'm sure you've heard it before."
"Not really."
"Then you're hanging out with the wrong people."
She adjusted her feet on the board, trying to mask how flattered and flustered she felt. "So no girlfriend for you?"
"No," he answered. "I wasn't really boyfriend material for a while there, and lately I've been pretty busy. You?"
"Still single," she said. "I had a serious boyfriend when I was in college, but it didn't work out. And lately I've had a tendency to attract the wrong kind of men."
"Like me?"
She gave a sheepish grin. "I wasn't thinking of you when I said that. I was thinking about the managing partner at my firm. Who happens to be married and has a family. He's been hitting on me and it's been making work pretty stressful."
"I can imagine."
"But you don't have any advice for me, right? Since you don't give advice?"
"No."
"You do realize that having a conversation with you takes some getting used to, right? Serena, for instance, always has loads of advice."
"Is it helpful?"
"Not really."
His expression said she'd just proved his point. "What happened with your boyfriend?"
"There's not much to say. We'd been going out for a couple of years and it felt to me like we were moving toward something more serious."
"Marriage?"
She nodded. "I thought so. But then, he decided that I wasn't what he wanted. He wanted someone else."
"That had to be rough."
"At the time, it was devastating," she agreed.
"And no boyfriends since then?"
"Not really. I've dated a few guys, but nothing ever really materialized." She paused, remembering. "I'd go dancing with my girlfriends at this salsa club in Charlotte, but most of the guys I ended up meeting wanted only one thing. To me, sleeping with someone is an outgrowth of a commitment, and a lot of guys just want a fling or whatever."
"That's their problem."
"I know. But..." She tried to think of the best way to phrase it. "It's hard sometimes. Maybe it's because my parents are so happy and make it seem so easy, but I've always assumed that I'd be able to find the perfect guy without having to settle. And growing up, I had all these plans... I just knew that by now, at my age, I'd be married and we'd live in a restored Victorian and we'd be talking about kids. But those things seem further away now than they did when I was a little girl. They seem further away than they did even a couple of years ago."
When he didn't respond, she shook her head. "I can't believe I'm telling you all this."
"I'm interested."
"Sure you are," she said, dismissing his comment. "It sounds boring, even to me."
"It's not boring," he countered. "It's your story and I like hearing it." He let that sit before abruptly changing the subject. "Salsa dancing, huh?"
"That's what you heard? In everything I said?" When he shrugged, she went on, wondering why it seemed so easy to talk to him. "I used to go almost every weekend."
"But you don't go anymore?"
"Not since I've moved back. They don't have any clubs here. Not officially, anyway. Serena tried to drag me to this one place and I thought about it, but I begged off at the last minute."
"It sounds like it might have been fun."
"Maybe. But it's not even a real club. It's in this abandoned warehouse, and I'm pretty sure the whole setup is illegal."
"Sometimes those are the best places to go."
"I assume you're speaking from experience?"
"Yes."
She smiled. "Do you know anything about salsa dancing?"
"Is it like the tango?"
"Not really. The tango is kind of like ballroom dancing, where you move around the room. Salsa dancing is more of a party dance with lots of spinning and changing hands, and you stay in one place on the floor. It's a great way to spend a couple of hours with friends, especially if your partner is good. It was the only time I felt like I could really let go and be myself."
"Aren't you being yourself right now?"
"Of course," she answered. "But this is definitely the quieter version of me, the more typical one." She raised the oar overhead to stretch for a moment, then dipped the tip into the water again. "I have a question," she said. "And I've been wondering about it since you mentioned it." When he turned toward her, she went on. "Why do you want to teach the third grade? I'd think that most guys would want to teach at the high school level."
He pulled his oar through the water.
"Because at that age, kids are old enough to understand most everything an adult tells them, but still young enough to believe that adults tell the truth. It's also the year when behavior problems begin to really manifest. Taken together with all the testing the state requires, third grade is just a critical year."
They glided on water almost as still as glass. "And?" she asked.
"And what?"
"You said the same thing to me last night. When you thought I wasn't telling you the whole story. So I'll ask you again--what's the real reason you want to teach the third grade?"
"Because it was my last good year in school," he said. "Until a couple of years ago, in fact, it was my last good year, period. And it was all because of Mr. Morris. He was a retired army officer who got into teaching later in life, and he knew exactly what I needed. Not the mindless discipline I had later in military school, but a specific plan just for me. He didn't take any crap in class from the very beginning, and as soon as I began acting up, he told me that I'd have to stay after school. I thought I'd just sit in the classroom with a book or he'd have me clean up or whatever, but instead he had me run laps around the lower school and do push-ups every time I passed him. And the whole time, he kept telling me that I was doing great, that I was really fast or strong or whatever, so it didn't feel like punishment. He did the same thing at recess the next day, and then he asked if I could start showing up early every day because it was clear that I had a gift for running. That I was stronger than the other kids. Better than the other kids. Looking back, I know he was doing it because of my ADHD and other emotional crap, and that all he really wanted to do was bur
n off my excess energy so that I could sit still in class."
His voice grew softer as he went on. "But back then, it was the first time I could ever remember being praised, and after that, all I wanted to do was make him even more proud of me. I buckled down and school started to get easier for me. I caught up in reading and math, and I was better behaved at home, too. Fast forward a year to Mrs. Crandall's class, and all that went right out the window. She was mean and angry and she hated boys, and I went back to being the troubled kid I used to be. After that, my parents shipped me off, and you already know the rest of that story."
He let out a long breath before facing her. "That's why I want to teach the third grade. Because maybe, just maybe, I'll come across a kid like me and I'll know exactly what to do. And in the long run, I know how much that single year might mean to that kid. Because without Mr. Morris so long ago, I would never have considered going back to college now and becoming a teacher."
While Colin spoke, Maria kept her gaze fixed on him. "I know I shouldn't be surprised, considering everything else you've told me," she said. "But I am."
"Because?"
"It's inspiring. Why you want to become a teacher, I mean. I don't have any stories like that. Half the time, I'm not even sure why I became a lawyer in the first place. It just kind of happened."
"How so?"
"When I first got to college, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I thought about business school or getting a master's and I even debated whether or not to go to medical school. It was hard enough just to pick a major, and even in my junior year, I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. My roommate, on the other hand, was set on going to law school, and I sort of convinced myself that the idea was a lot more glamorous than it really is. The next thing I knew, I was applying to law school, and three years later, I had a job lined up with the DA and was studying for the bar. And now, here I am. Don't get me wrong--I'm good at what I do, but sometimes it's hard for me to imagine that I'll be doing it the rest of my life."
"Who says you have to?"
"I can't just throw my education away. Or the past four years. What would I do?"
He scratched at his jaw. "I think," he finally said, "you can do whatever you want. In the end, we all live the life we choose for ourselves."
"What do your parents think about you being back in school?"
"I think they're still wondering whether I've really changed, or whether I'll revert to being the guy I used to be."
She smiled, liking that he said what he thought without worrying what she might think.
"I don't know why, but it's hard for me to imagine the other Colin, the one you used to be."
"You wouldn't have liked him much."
"Probably not," she said. "And he probably wouldn't have stopped to change my tire, either."
"Definitely not," he agreed.
"What else should I know about the new Colin?" she asked, and her question gradually gave way to a meandering conversation about growing up in Raleigh and a bit more about his friendship with Evan and Lily. He told her about his parents and his older sisters, and what it had been like to grow up under the care of various nannies. He talked about the early fights he'd been in, the schools he'd attended, and offered more details about the years following high school, although he admitted that they'd largely blurred together. He talked about MMA, and when pressed, he recounted a few of his fights, including the most recent one with the marine, which had left him bruised and bloody. While many of the stories he told her underscored the rough edges of his past, they were of a piece with what she already knew.
As they talked, the tide began to roll in, propelling them forward side by side. The sun gradually bowed toward the horizon, the water beginning to gleam like old pennies. The thin cloud cover softened the glare and began to change colors--pinks and oranges and magentas.
"Would you like to check out the beach?" she finally asked. He nodded, and as they began paddling toward shore, Maria spotted the sleek, dark backs of three porpoises slowly approaching. They arced through the water, and when she pointed them out, Colin broke into a boyish grin. In unspoken agreement, they stopped paddling, allowing their boards to drift. To her surprise, the porpoises altered their course, gliding directly toward them. On instinct, Maria reached for the camera and began to snap photos, adjusting the framing with every shot. By some miracle, she captured an image of all three of the porpoises breaching the surface before they paraded past in single file, close enough to touch, their blowholes spraying water. Maria turned, watching them retreat toward the inlet and the ocean beyond, wondering what had brought them to this place in this exact moment.
When they finally vanished from sight, she noticed that Colin had been staring at her. He smiled, and on instinct, she raised the camera and snapped his picture, suddenly recalling the flash of vulnerability he'd shown a few minutes earlier. Despite the outward confidence he exuded, she understood that like her, Colin simply wanted to be accepted; in his own way, he was just as lonely as she was. The realization made her ache, and it suddenly felt like they were the only two people in the world. In this silent, intimate moment, she knew that she wanted to spend more afternoons with him just like this one, an ordinary afternoon that somehow felt magical.
CHAPTER 7
Colin
On the beach, Colin sat on a towel with Maria beside him, trying to ignore the way she looked in the black bikini that had been hidden beneath her clothing. Yesterday he'd viewed her as an intriguing stranger; while paddleboarding today, he'd come to view her as a friend; but now, he wasn't sure what might come next. All he really knew was that the black bikini was making it difficult to keep his thoughts straight. Maria, he decided, was beyond pretty, planted firmly in the stunning range, and although Colin sensed that something had changed between them over the course of the day, he couldn't quite put a name to it.
He didn't have much experience with women like Maria. Instead of college degrees and close-knit families, the women he'd dated tended to have numerous piercings and tattoos, angry facades, and serious daddy issues. They expected to be treated poorly, and he'd generally obliged. The mutual lack of expectation made for something resembling comfort when they hung out together. Damaged comfort for sure, but misery loves company. Only a couple of them had lasted as long as three months, but unlike Evan, having one special person in his life had never held much interest for Colin. He wasn't wired that way. He liked the freedom that came with being single, without having to answer to someone else. It was hard enough to keep his own life straight, let alone trying to meet someone else's expectations.
Or at least that was what he'd always believed, but now, as he surreptitiously admired Maria, he wondered whether he'd simply been making excuses. Whether maybe, just maybe, he hadn't cared about being in a relationship because he'd never given it an honest shot, or because he hadn't met the right person. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, but he couldn't deny the fact that he wanted to spend more time with her. Why she was still single was beyond him. He reminded himself that there wasn't a chance she'd be interested in a guy like him.
And yet...
In the hospital, he'd spent a lot of time in group therapy, where trying to figure out what made others tick was part and parcel of the exercise itself. Understanding others meant understanding yourself--and vice versa--and he'd long ago become attuned to body language and vocal cues people displayed as they shared their fears and flaws and regrets. And while he couldn't precisely read Maria, he suspected she was just as confused about what was happening as he was. Which made sense. Although he was doing okay now, she had to realize that the old Colin would always be part of him. That would be a concern for anyone; hell, he was concerned about it, too. While his explosive anger was dormant at the present time, it was like a hibernating bear, and he knew he had to structure his life a certain way to keep spring from arriving so the bear would stay asleep. Train hard to keep his anger in check; indulge in the occasional MMA
match to purge his aggression. Study hard and work long hours to fill his schedule and keep him from visiting the wrong places. Stay away from drugs and limit alcohol. Spend time with Evan and Lily, who not only were model citizens, but were always there to lend support and keep him out of harm's way.
There wasn't room in his life for Maria. There wasn't time. He didn't have the energy.
And yet...
They were alone together on an isolated stretch of sand, and he thought again that she was sexy as hell. Logically, Maria should have run for the hills by now, but she seemed to be taking his past in stride, and for the life of him, he couldn't stop thinking about her.
He watched as she leaned back in the glow of the late-afternoon sun, propping herself on her elbows. He thought again that she was as naturally beautiful as anyone he'd ever seen, and in an effort to distract himself, he rolled to the side and reached behind her, pulling the cooler toward him. He popped off the lid and retrieved two bottles of water, then handed one of them to her.
"Banana or orange?" he asked.
"Banana," she said. She sat up, languid and graceful. "Oranges get my hands all sticky."
He handed it over and pulled out a couple of baggies of mixed nuts.
"Do you want some of these, too?"
"Sure," she said. "Why not?"
She took the baggie and popped a couple of almonds into her mouth. "This is just what I needed," she said with a wink. "I can already feel my cholesterol dropping and my muscles getting bigger."
He smiled, beginning to peel his orange. She did the same with her banana and took a bite before leaning back again. "I never do this," she said. "Come to the beach when I'm here, I mean. I've paddled past it, but I've never actually come out here just to relax."
"Why not?"
"In the summer, there are always too many people around. I'd feel weird coming out here alone."
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