Theresa spent the rest of the afternoon exploring while Garrett worked in the shop. Because she didn't know Wilmington well, she asked for directions to the historic district and spent a few hours looking through the stores. Most of them catered to tourists, and she found a few things that Kevin would like, though nothing that suited her tastes. After buying him a couple of pairs of shorts he could wear once he got back from California, she went back to the hotel to catch a quick nap. The last couple of days had taken their toll, and she fell asleep quickly.
Garrett, on the other hand, faced one small crisis after another. A shipment of new equipment arrived just after he got back, and after packing up what he didn't need, he called the company to make arrangements to send back the rest. Later in the afternoon he found out that three people who had been scheduled for dive classes this weekend would be out of town and had to cancel. A quick check of the waiting list proved fruitless.
By six-thirty he was tired, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally closed up for the night. After work he drove first to the grocery store and picked up the items he needed for dinner. He showered and put on a pair of clean jeans and a light cotton shirt, then went to the refrigerator to get a beer. After opening it, he stepped out onto the back deck and sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs. Checking his watch, he realized that Theresa would be here soon.
* * *
Garrett was still sitting on the back porch when he finally heard the sound of a slowly idling motor making its way down the block. He stepped off the deck and went around the side of the house, watching as Theresa parked on the street, right behind his truck.
She stepped out wearing jeans and the same blouse she had worn earlier, the one that did wonderful things for her figure. She looked relaxed as she walked toward him, and when she smiled warmly at him, he realized that his attraction had grown stronger since their lunch this afternoon, and it made him a little uneasy for a reason he didn't want to admit.
He walked toward her as casually as he could, and Theresa met him halfway, carrying a bottle of white wine. When he got close to her, he smelled the scent of perfume, something she hadn't worn before.
I brought some wine, she said, handing it to him. "I thought it might go well with dinner." Then, after a short pause: "How was your afternoon?"
It was busy. Customers kept coming in until we closed, and I had a load of paperwork I had to get through. In fact, I just got home a little while ago. He started toward the front door, Theresa right beside him. "How about you? What did you end up doing the rest of the day?"
I got to take a nap, she said as if teasing him, and he laughed.
I forgot to ask you earlier, but do you want anything special for dinner? he asked.
What were you planning on?
I was thinking of cooking some steaks on the grill, but then I got to wondering if you ate things like that.
Are you kidding? You forget I grew up in Nebraska. I love a good steak.
Then you're in for a pleasant surprise.
What?
I happen to make the best steaks in the world.
Oh, you do, huh?
I'll prove it to you, he said, and she laughed, a melodic sound.
As they approached the door, Theresa looked at the house for the first time. It was relatively small-one story and rectangular shaped-with painted wooden siding that was peeling badly in more than one place. Unlike the homes on Wrightsville Beach, this home sat directly on the sand. When she asked him why it wasn't raised like the other houses, he explained that the house was built before the hurricane building codes went into effect. "Now the houses have to be elevated so that the tidal surge can pass under the main structure. The next big hurricane will probably wash this old house out to sea, but I've been fortunate so far."
Don't you worry about that?
Not really. There's not much to the place, and that's the only reason I could afford it. I think the former owner finally got tired of all the stress every time a big storm started moving across the Atlantic.
They reached the cracked front steps and walked inside. The first thing Theresa noticed upon entering was the view from the main room. The windows extended from the floor to the ceiling and ran along the entire back side of the house, overlooking the back deck and Carolina Beach.
This view is incredible, she said, surprised.
It is, isn't it? I've been here for a few years now, but I still don't take it for granted.
Off to one side was a fireplace, surrounded by a dozen underwater photographs. She moved toward them. "Do you mind if I look around?"
No, go ahead. I have to get the grill out back ready anyway. It needs a bit of cleaning.
Garrett left through the sliding glass door.
After he left, Theresa looked at the pictures for a while, then toured the rest of the house. Like many beach houses she had seen, there wasn't room for more than one or two people to live here. There was only one bedroom, reached by a door off the living room. Like the main room, it also had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the beach. The front portion of the house-the side closest to the street-contained a kitchen, a small dining area (not quite a room), and the bathroom. Though everything was tidy, the house looked as though it hadn't been updated in years.
Returning to the main room, she stopped at his bedroom and glanced inside. Again she saw underwater photographs decorating the walls. In addition, there was a large map of the North Carolina coast that hung directly over his bed, documenting the location of almost five hundred shipwrecks. When she looked toward his nightstand, she saw a framed picture of a woman. Making sure that Garrett was still outside cleaning the grill, she stepped in to take a closer look.
Catherine must have been in her mid-twenties when it was taken. Like the photos on the walls, it looked as though Garrett had taken it himself, and she wondered whether it had been framed before or after the accident. Picking it up, she saw that Catherine was attractive-a little more petite than she was-with blond hair that hung to midshoulder. Even though the picture was slightly grainy and looked as if it had been reproduced from a smaller photo, she still noticed Catherine's eyes. Deep green and almost catlike, they gave her an exotic look and almost seemed as if they were staring back at her. She put the photo down gently, making sure it was set in the same angle it was before. Turning around, she continued to feel as if Catherine were watching her every move.
Ignoring the sensation, she looked at the mirror attached to his chest of drawers. Surprisingly, there was only one more photo that included Catherine. It was a picture of Garrett and Catherine smiling broadly, standing on the deck of Happenstance. Because the boat looked as if it had already been restored, she assumed the picture must have been taken only a few months before she died.
Knowing he could enter the house at any time, she left his bedroom, feeling a little guilty about poking around in the first place. She walked to the sliding glass doors that led from the main room onto the deck and opened them. Garrett was cleaning the grill top and smiled at her when he heard her come out. She strolled to the edge of the deck where he was working and leaned against one of the rails, one leg over the other.
Did you take all the photos on the walls? she asked.
He used the back of his hand to wipe the hair from his face. "Yeah. For a while there, I took my camera out on most of my dives. I hung most of them at the shop, but because I had so many, I thought I'd put some up here as well."
They look professional.
Thanks. But I think their quality had more to do with the sheer volume I took. You should have seen all the ones that didn't come out.
As he spoke, Garrett held up the grill top. Although it was charred black in places, it looked ready, and he set it off to one side. He reached for a bag of charcoal and dumped some into a grill that looked thirty years old, using his hand to make sure they were spread evenly. Then he added a bit of lighter fluid, soaking each briquette for just a moment.
She spoke in the same teasing voice she had used before. "You know, they have propane grills now."
I know, but I like to do it the way we did it growing up. Besides, it tastes better this way. Cooking with propane is just like cooking inside.
She smiled. "And you did promise me the best steak I've ever had."
And you'll get it. Trust me.
He finished with the lighter fluid and set it by the bag of charcoal. "I'm going to let this soak for a couple of minutes. Do you want anything to drink?"
Theresa asked, "What do you have?"
Garrett cleared his throat. "Beer, soda, or the wine you brought."
A beer sounds good.
Garrett picked up the charcoal and lighter fluid and put them in an old sea chest that sat next to the house. After dusting the sand off the bottoms of his shoes, he went inside, leaving the sliding glass door open.
While he was gone, Theresa turned and looked up and down the beach. Now that the sun was going down, most of the people were gone, and the few that were left were jogging or walking. Even though the beach wasn't crowded, more than a dozen people went past the house in the short time he was gone.
Do you ever get tired of having all these people around? she asked when he returned.
He handed her the beer. "Not really. I'm not here all that much anyway. Usually by the time I get home, the beach is pretty much deserted. And in the winter, no one is out here at all."
For just a moment, she imagined him sitting on his deck, watching the water, alone as always. Garrett reached into his pocket and took out a box of matches. He lit the charcoals, stepping back when the flames shot up. The light breeze made the fire dance in circles.
Now that the coals are started, I'm going to get supper going.
Can I give you a hand with something?
There's not much to do, he answered. "But if you're lucky, maybe I'll share my secret recipe with you."
She cocked her head and looked at him slyly. "You know you're setting a pretty high standard for these steaks."
I know. But I have faith.
He winked at her and she laughed before following him inside, to the kitchen. Garrett opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a couple of potatoes. Standing in front of the sink, he washed his hands first and then the potatoes. After turning on the oven, he wrapped the potatoes in foil and set them on the rack.
What can I do?
Like I said, not much. I think I've got it pretty much in control. I bought one of those prepackaged salads, and there's not anything else on the menu.
Theresa stood off to one side as Garrett put the last of the potatoes in the oven and got the salad out of the refrigerator. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at her as he emptied the salad into a bowl. What was it about her that made him suddenly want to be as close to her as possible? Wondering, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out the steaks he'd had the store cut just for tonight. He opened the cabinet next to the refrigerator and found the rest of the items he needed. After collecting them, he set everything down next to Theresa.
She shot him a challenging smile. "So, what's so special about these steaks?"
Clearing his mind, he poured some brandy into a shallow bowl. "There's a few things. First, you get a couple of thick filets like these. The store doesn't usually cut them this thick, so you have to ask for it special. Then you season them with a little salt, pepper, and garlic powder, and you let them soak in the brandy while the coals are turning white."
He did this as he spoke, and for the first time since she'd met him, he looked his age. Based on what he'd told her, he was at least four years younger than she was.
That's your secret?
It's only the beginning, he promised, suddenly aware of how beautiful she looked. "Right before they go on the grill, I'll add some tenderizer. The rest of it involves how you cook them, not what they're flavored with."
You sound like you're quite a cook.
No, not really. I'm good with a few things, but I don't prepare many meals these days. By the time I get home, I'm usually in the mood for something that doesn't take much effort.
That's how I am. If it wasn't for Kevin, I don't think I'd cook very much at all anymore.
Since he was finished with the steaks for now, he went to the drawer again and found a knife, returning to her side. He reached for a couple of tomatoes that were on the counter and began dicing.
It sounds like you have a great relationship with Kevin.
I do. I just hope it continues. He's almost a teenager now, and I worry that when he gets older, he's going to want to spend less time with me.
I wouldn't worry too much. From the way you talk about him, I would think that you two will always be close.
I hope so. Right now, he's all I have-I don't know what I'd do if he started to shut me out of his life. I have some friends with boys a little older than he is, and they tell me it's inevitable.
I'm sure he's going to change somewhat. Everyone does, but that doesn't mean he won't talk to you.
She looked over at him. "Are you talking from experience or just telling me what I want to hear?"
He shrugged, again noticing her perfume. "I'm just remembering what I went through with my father. We'd always been close growing up, and it didn't change when I started high school. I started doing different things and seeing my friends more, but we still talked all the time."
I hope it's the same way for me, she said.
With the preparation under way, a peaceful silence descended upon them. The simple act of cutting tomatoes with her by his side eased some of the anxiety he'd felt up to this point. Theresa was the first woman he'd invited to this house, and Garrett realized there was something comfortable about having her here.
When he finished, Garrett put the tomatoes in the salad bowl and wiped his hands on a paper towel. Then he bent over to remove his second beer.
Are you up for another?
She drained the last of her bottle, surprised she had finished so quickly. She nodded, setting the empty bottle on the counter. Garrett twisted off the bottlecap and handed her another, opening one for himself. Theresa was relaxing against the counter, and when she took the bottle, something about the way she was standing struck him as familiar: the smile playing across her lips, maybe, or the slant of her gaze as she watched him lift his own bottle to his mouth. He was reminded again of that lazy summer afternoon with Catherine, when he'd come home to surprise her for lunch-a day that in retrospect seemed so fraught with signs . . . yet how could he have foreseen everything that would happen? They had stood in the kitchen, just as he and Theresa were doing now.
I take it you've already eaten, Garrett said as Catherine stood in front of the open refrigerator.
Catherine glanced at him. "I'm not very hungry," she said. "But I am thirsty. Do you want some iced tea?"
Tea sounds great. Do you know if the mail came in yet?
Catherine nodded as she pulled the pitcher of tea from the top shelf. "It's on the table."
She opened the cupboard and reached for two glasses. After setting the first glass on the counter, she was pouring the second when it slipped from her hand.
Are you all right? Garrett dropped the mail, concerned.
Catherine ran her hand through her hair, embarrassed, then bent to pick up the glass shards. "I just got a little woozy there for a second. I'll be okay."
Garrett moved toward her and began to help clean up. "Are you feeling sick again?"
No, but maybe I spent too much time outside this morning.
He was quiet for a moment as he picked up the glass.
Are you sure I should go back to work? This last week's been pretty tough on you.
I'll be fine. Besides, I know you've got a lot to do there.
Though she was right, when he finally started back to work, he got the feeling that maybe he shouldn't have listened to her.
He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the stillness in the kitchen. "I'm going to check the coals to see how they're doing," he said, needing something, anything, to do. "Hopefully, they're getting close."
Can I set the table while you're checking?
Sure. Most of the things you'll need are right over here.
After showing her where to find what she needed, he headed outside, forcing himself to relax and clearing his mind of the ghostly memories. Once he reached the grill, he checked the coals, putting his mind to the task at hand. Almost white, they had another few minutes, he figured. Again he went to the sea chest, and this time he removed a small, handheld bellows. He set it on the railing next to the grill and took a deep breath. The ocean air was fresh, almost intoxicating, and for the first time, he suddenly realized that despite his vision of Catherine just moments ago, he was still pleased that Theresa was here. In fact, he felt happy, something he hadn't felt in a long time.
It wasn't only in the way they got along, but it was little things Theresa did. The way she smiled, the way she looked at him, even the way she'd taken his hand earlier this afternoon-it was already beginning to feel as if he knew her longer than he actually did. He wondered whether it was because she was similar to Catherine in so many ways or whether his father had been right about him needing to spend some time with another person.
While he was outside, Theresa set the table. She put a wineglass beside each plate and sorted through the drawer for some silverware. Beside the utensils were two candles with small holders for each. After wondering whether it would be too much, she decided to put them on the table as well. She would leave it to him whether or not to light them. Garrett came in just as she was finishing up.
We've got a couple of minutes. Would you like to sit outside while we wait?
Theresa picked up her beer and followed him out. As it had the night before, the breeze was blowing, but it wasn't nearly as strong. She sat in one of the chairs, Garrett right beside her, his legs crossed at the ankles. His light shirt brought out his deeply tanned skin, and Theresa watched him as he stared out over the water. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling more alive than she had in a long time.
I bet you don't have a view like this from where you live in Boston, he said into the sudden silence.
You're right, she said, "I don't. I live in an apartment. My parents think I'm crazy for living downtown. They think I should live in the suburbs."
Why don't you?
I used to, before the divorce. But now, it's just a lot easier. I can get to work in just a few minutes, Kevin's school is right down the block, and I never have to take the highway unless I'm going out of town. Besides, I wanted something different after my marriage ended. I just couldn't handle the looks my neighbors gave me after they found out that David had left.
What do you mean?
She shrugged, and her voice softened. "I never told any of them why David and I separated. I just didn't think it was any of their business."
It wasn't.
She paused for a moment, remembering. "I know that, but in their minds, David was a wonderful husband. He was handsome and successful, and they didn't want to believe that he did anything wrong. Even when we were together, he acted as if everything were perfect. I didn't have any idea he was having an affair until the very end."
She turned toward him, a rueful look on her face. "As they say, the wife is always the last to know."
How did you find out?
She shook her head. "I know it sounds like a clich? but I found out from the dry cleaner, of all people. When I picked up his clothes, the cleaner handed me some receipts that had been in his pocket. One was from a hotel downtown. And I knew from the date that he had been home that evening, so it must have been for just an afternoon. He denied it when I confronted him, but by the way he looked at me, I knew he was lying. Eventually, the whole story came out, and I filed for divorce."
Garrett listened quietly, letting her finish, wondering how she could have fallen in love with someone who would do that to her. As if reading his mind, she went on:
You know, David was one of those men who could say anything and make you believe it. I think he even believed most of the things he told me. We met in college, and I was overwhelmed by how much he had going for him. He was smart and charming, and I was flattered that he was interested in someone like me. Here I was, a young girl straight from Nebraska, and he was unlike anyone I'd ever met before. And when we got married, I thought I'd have a storybook life. But I guess it was the furthest thing from his mind. I found out later that he had his first affair only five months after we were married.
She stopped for a moment, and Garrett looked toward his beer. "I don't know what to say."
There's nothing you can say, she said with finality. "It's over, and like I said yesterday, the only thing I want from him now is for him to be a good father to Kevin."
You make it sound so easy.
I don't mean to. David hurt me pretty badly, and it took me a couple of years and more than a few sessions with a good therapist to get to this point. I learned a lot from my therapist, and I learned a lot about myself along the way. Once, when I was babbling about what a jerk he had been, she pointed out that if I kept holding on to my anger, he'd still be controlling me, and I wasn't willing to accept that. So I let it go.
She took another sip of her beer. Garrett asked: "Did your therapist say anything else that you remember?"
She thought for a moment, then smiled faintly. "As a matter of fact, she did. She said that if I ever came across someone who reminded me of David that I should turn around and run for the hills."
Do I remind you of David?
Not in the slightest. You're about as different from David as a man can get.
That's good, he said with mock seriousness. "There aren't many hills in this part of the country, you know. You'd have to run a mighty long way."
She giggled, and Garrett looked over at the grill. Seeing that the coals were ready, he asked, "Are you ready to start the steaks?"
Will you show me the rest of your secret recipe?
With pleasure, he said as they rose from their seats. In the kitchen he found the tenderizer and sprinkled some on the top of the steaks. Then, removing both filets from the brandy, he added some to the other sides as well. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a small plastic bag.
What's that? Theresa asked.
It's tallow-the fatty part of the steak that's usually trimmed off. I had the butcher save some when I bought the steaks.
What's it for?
You'll see, he said.
After returning to the grill with the steaks and a pair of tongs, he set them on the railing beside the bellows. Then, taking the bellows he'd removed earlier, he began to blow the ashes off the briquettes, explaining to her what he was doing.
Part of cooking a great steak is making sure the coals are hot. You use the bellows to blow off the ashes. That way, you don't have anything blocking the heat.
He put the grill top back on the barbecue, let it heat for about a minute, then used the tongs to put on the steaks. "How do you like your steak?"
Medium rare.
With steaks this size, that's about eleven minutes on each side.
She raised her eyebrows. "You're very precise about all this, aren't you?"
I promised you a good steak, and I intend to deliver.
In the little while it took to cook the steaks, Garrett watched Theresa out of the corner of his eye. There was something sensual about her figure, outlined against the setting sun. The sky was turning orange, and the warm light made her look especially beautiful, darkening her brown eyes. Her hair lifted tantalizingly in the evening breeze.
What are you thinking?
He tensed at the sound of her voice, suddenly realizing he hadn't said anything since he'd started cooking.
I was just thinking about what a jerk your ex-husband was, he said, turning toward her, and he saw her smile. She patted his shoulder gently.
But if I was still married, I wouldn't be here with you.
And that, he said, still feeling her touch, "would be a shame."
Yes, it would, she echoed, their eyes lingering for a moment. Finally Garrett turned away and reached for the tallow. Clearing his throat:
I think we're ready for this now.
He took the tallow, which had been cut into smaller pieces, and put the pieces on the briquettes, directly beneath the steaks. Then, he leaned over and blew on them until they burst into flame.
What are you doing?
The flames from the tallow will sear in the juices and keep the steak tender. That's the same reason you use tongs instead of a fork.
He threw a few more pieces of tallow onto the briquettes and repeated the process. Looking around, Theresa commented:
It's so peaceful out here. I can see why you bought the place.
He finished what he was doing and took another drink of beer, wetting his throat. "There's something about the ocean that does that to people. I think that's why so many people come here to relax."
She turned toward him. "Tell me, Garrett, what do you think about when you're out here alone?"
A lot of things.
Anything in particular?
I think about Catherine, he wanted to say but didn't.
He sighed. "No, not really. Sometimes I think about work, sometimes I think about the new places I want to explore on my dives. Other times, I dream about sailing away and leaving everything behind."
She watched him carefully as he spoke the last words. "Could you really do that? Sail away and never come back?"
I'm not sure, but I like to think I could. Unlike you, I don't have any family except for my father, and in a way, I think he'd understand. He and I are a lot alike, and I think that if it wasn't for me, he would have taken off a long time ago.
But that would be like running away.
I know.
Why would you want to do that? she pressed, somehow knowing the answer. When he didn't respond, she leaned close to him and spoke gently.
Garrett, I know it's not any of my business, but you can't run away from what you're going through. She gave him a reassuring smile. "And besides, you've got so much to offer someone."
Garrett stayed silent, thinking about what she'd said, wondering how she seemed to know exactly what to say to make him feel better.
For the next few minutes, the only sounds around them came from elsewhere. Garrett turned the steaks, and they sizzled on the grill. The gentle evening breeze made a distant wind chime sing. Waves rolled up on the shore, a soothing, continuous roar.
Garrett's mind drifted through the last two days. He thought about the moment he'd first seen her, the hours they'd spent on Happenstance, and their walk on the beach earlier in the day when he'd first told her about Catherine. The tension he'd felt earlier in the day was almost gone now, and as they stood beside each other in the deepening twilight, he sensed that there was something more to this evening than either of them wanted to admit.
Just before the steaks were ready, Theresa went back inside to get the rest of the table ready. She pulled the potatoes out of the oven, unwrapped the foil, and placed one on each plate. The salad came next, and she set it in the middle of the table, along with a couple of different dressings she had found in the refrigerator door. Last, she put down salt, pepper, butter, and a couple of napkins. Because it was getting dark inside the house, she turned on the kitchen light, but that seemed too bright. She switched it off again. On impulse, she went ahead and lit the candles, standing back from the table to see if it was too much. Thinking it looked about right, she picked up the bottle of wine and was placing it on the table just as Garrett came inside.
After closing the sliding glass door, Garrett saw what she had done. It was dark in the kitchen except for the small flames pointing upward, and the glow made Theresa look beautiful. Her dark hair looked mysterious in the candlelight, and her eyes seemed to capture the moving flames. Unable to speak for a long moment, all Garrett could do was stare at her, and it was in that moment that he knew exactly what he'd been trying to deny to himself all along.
I thought these would be a nice touch, she said quietly.
I think you're right.
They continued to watch each other from across the room, both frozen for a moment by the shadow of distant possibilities. Then Theresa glanced away.
I couldn't find a wine opener, she said, grasping for something to say.
I'll get it, he said quickly. "I don't use it very often, so it's probably buried in one of the drawers."
He carried the plate of steaks to the table, then went to the drawer. After sorting through the utensils toward the back, he found the opener and brought it to the table. In a couple of easy moves, he opened the bottle and poured just the right amount into each glass. Then, sitting down, he used the tongs to put the steaks on each of their plates.
It's the moment of truth, she said right before taking her first bite. Garrett smiled as he watched her try it. Theresa was pleasantly surprised to find out that he had been right all along.
Garrett, this is delicious, she said earnestly.
Thank you.
The candles burned lower as the evening wore on, and Garrett twice told her how glad he was that she had come this evening. Both times Theresa felt something tingle in the back of her neck and had to take another sip of wine just to make the feeling go away.
Outside, the ocean slowly rose toward high tide, driven by a crescent moon that had seemingly come from nowhere.
* * *
After dinner, Garrett suggested another walk along the beach. "It's really beautiful at night," he said. When she agreed, he picked up the plates and silverware from the table and put them in the sink.
They left the kitchen and walked outside, Garrett closing the door behind him. The night was mild. They stepped off the deck, making their way over a small sand dune and onto the beach itself.
When they reached the water's edge, they repeated their actions of earlier that day, slipping off their shoes and leaving them on the beach, since no one else was around. They walked slowly, close to each other. Surprising her, Garrett reached for her hand. Feeling his warmth, Theresa wondered for just a moment what it would be like to have him touch her body, lingering over her skin. The thought made something inside her tighten, and when she glanced over at him, she wondered if he knew what she'd been thinking.
They continued strolling, both of them taking in the evening. "I haven't had a night like this in a long time," Garrett said finally, his voice sounding almost like a remembrance.
Neither have I, she said.
The sand was cool beneath their feet. "Garrett, do you remember when you first asked me to go sailing?" Theresa asked.
Yes.
Why did you ask me to go with you?
He looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"
I mean that you looked almost like you regretted it the moment you said it.
He shrugged. "I'm not sure that regret is the word I'd use. I think I was surprised that I asked, but I didn't regret it."
She smiled. "Are you sure?"
Yeah, I'm sure. You have to remember that I haven't asked anyone out in over three years. When you said that you had never gone sailing before-I think it just sort of hit me that I was tired of always being alone.
You mean I was in the right place at the right time?
He shook his head. "I didn't mean it to sound like that. I wanted to take you out with me-I don't think I would have offered if it had been someone else. Besides, this whole thing has turned out much better than I thought it would. These last couple of have been the best days I've had in a long time."
She felt warm inside at what he'd said. As they walked, she felt him slowly moving his thumb, tracing small circles on her skin. He went on.
Did you think your vacation would be anything like this?
She hesitated, deciding it wasn't the right time to tell him the truth.
No.
They walked together quietly. There were a few others on the beach, though they were far enough away that Theresa couldn't make out anything but shadows.
Do you think you'll ever come back here again? I mean for another vacation?
I don't know. Why?
Because I was kind of hoping you would.
In the distance, she could see lights along a faraway pier. Again she felt his hand moving against hers.
Would you make dinner for me again if I did?
I'd cook you anything you want. As long as it's a steak.
She laughed under her breath. "Then I'll consider it. I promise."
How about if I threw in a few scuba lessons as well?
I think Kevin would enjoy that more than me.
Then bring him along.
She glanced over at him. "You wouldn't mind?"
Not at all. I'd love to meet him.
I bet you'd like him.
I know I would.
They walked along in silence, until Theresa blurted out, "Garrett-can I ask you something?"
Sure.
I know this is going to sound strange, but . . .
She paused for a moment, and he looked at her quizzically. "What?"
What's the worst thing you've ever done?
He laughed aloud. "Where did that come from?"
I just want to know. I always ask people that question. It lets me know what people are really all about.
The worst thing?
The absolute worst.
He thought for a moment. "I guess I would say that the worst thing I've ever done is when a bunch of my friends and I went out one night in December-we were drinking and raising hell when we ended up driving by a street that was totally decorated in Christmas lights. Well, we parked and right there and then proceeded to unscrew and steal every light bulb we could."
You didn't!
We did. There were five of us, and we filled the back of the truck with stolen Christmas lights. And we left the strands-that was the worst part. It looked like the Grinch had come wandering down the street. We were out there for almost two hours, laughing uproariously about what we were doing. The street had been featured in the newspaper as one of the most decorated streets in the city, and when we were done . . . I can't imagine what those people thought. They must have been furious.
That's terrible!
He laughed again. "I know. Thinking back, I know it was terrible. But at the time, it was hilarious."
And here I was, thinking you're such a nice guy. . . .
I am a nice guy.
You were the Grinch. She pressed on, curious. "So what else did you and your friends do?"
Do you really want to know?
Yeah, I do.
He began to regale her then with tales of other teenage misadventures-from soaping car windows to tepeeing the houses of former girlfriends. Once, he claimed, he saw one of his friends driving alongside him while he was on a date. After his friend motioned for him to roll down the window, he did-and his friend promptly launched a bottle rocket into his car that exploded at his feet.
Twenty minutes later he was still telling stories, much to her amusement. When he finally finished, he asked her the same question that had originally started the conversation.
Oh, I've never done anything like you, she said almost coyly. "I've always been a good girl."
He laughed again then, feeling as if he'd been manipulated-not that he minded-and knowing full well that she wasn't telling the truth.
* * *
They walked the full length of the beach, exchanging additional stories from childhood. Theresa tried to imagine him as a young man while he spoke, wondering what she would have thought about him had she met him while she was in college. Would she have found him as compelling as she did now, or would she have fallen for David again? She wanted to believe that she would have appreciated the differences between them, but would she? David had seemed so perfect back then.
They stopped for a moment and looked out over the water. He stood close to her, their shoulders barely touching.
What are you thinking? Garrett asked.
I was just thinking how nice the silence is with you.
He smiled. "And I was just thinking that I've told you a lot of things I don't tell anyone."
Is that because you know I'm going back to Boston and I won't tell anyone?
He chuckled. "No, it's not that at all."
Then what is it?
He looked at her curiously. "You don't know?"
No.
She smiled when she said it, almost daring him to continue. He wondered how to explain something he had difficulty understanding himself. Then, after a long moment in which he gathered his thoughts, he spoke quietly:
I guess it's because I wanted you to know who I really am. Because if you really know me, and still want to spend time with me . . .
Theresa said nothing but knew exactly what he was trying to say. Garrett looked away.
I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.
It didn't make me feel uncomfortable, Theresa began. "I'm glad you said it. . . ."
She paused. After a moment they slowly started walking again.
But you don't feel the same way I do.
She looked over at him. "Garrett . . . I . . ."She trailed off.
No, you don't have to say anything-
She didn't let him finish. "Yes, I do. You want an answer, and I want to tell you." She paused, thinking of the best way to say it. Then, taking a deep breath: "After David and I split up, I went through an awful period. And just when I thought I was getting over it, I started to date again. But the men I met . . . I don't know, it just seemed like the world changed while I was married. They all wanted things, but none of them wanted to give. I guess I got jaded about men in general."
I don't know what to say. . . .
Garrett, I'm not telling you this because I think you're like that. I think you're the furthest thing from it. And it scares me a little. Because if I tell you how much I care for you . . . in a way, I'm telling myself the same thing. And if I do that, then I guess I'm opening up myself to get hurt again.
I'd never hurt you, he said gently.
She stopped walking and made him face her. She spoke quietly.
I know you believe that, Garrett. But you've been dealing with your own demons for the past three years. I don't know if you're ready to go on yet, and if you're not, then I'm going to be the one who gets hurt.
The words hit hard, and it took a moment for him to respond. Garrett willed her to meet his eyes.
Theresa . . . since we met . . . I don't know . . .
He stopped, realizing that he wasn't able to put into words the way he was feeling.
Instead he raised his hand and touched the side of her face with his finger, tracing so lightly that it felt almost like a feather against her skin. The moment he touched her, she closed her eyes and despite her uncertainty let the tingling feeling travel through her body, warming her neck and breasts.
With that, she felt everything begin to slip away, and suddenly it felt right to be here. The dinner they had shared, their walk on the beach, the way he was looking at her now-she couldn't imagine anything better than what was happening at this very moment.
Waves rolled up on the beach, wetting their feet. The warm summer breeze blew through her hair, heightening the sensation of his touch. The moonlight lent an ethereal sheen to the water, while the clouds cast shadows along the beach, making the landscape seem almost unreal.
They gave in then to everything that had been building since the moment they met. She sank into him, feeling the warmth of his body, and he released her hand. Then, slowly wrapping both arms around her, he drew her run up along her back and settle into her hair, burying his fingers in it.
They stood with their arms around each other, kissing in the moonlight for a long time, neither of them caring if anyone could see them. They had both waited too long for this moment, and when they finally pulled back, they stared at each other. Then, taking his hand again, Theresa slowly led him back to his house.
It seemed like a dream as they moved inside. Garrett kissed her again immediately after closing the door, more passionately this time, and Theresa felt her body tremble with anticipation. She walked to the kitchen, picked up the two candles from the table, and led him to the bedroom. She put the candles on his bureau, and he pulled the matches from his pocket, lighting them as she walked to the windows and began to close the curtains.
Garrett was standing by the bureau when she returned to him. Standing close again, she ran her hands over his chest, feeling the tight muscles beneath his shirt, giving in to her own sensuality. Looking in his eyes, she untucked his shirt and slowly began to pull it up over his torso. Raising his arms, she slipped it over his head and leaned into him, listening as it dropped to the floor. She kissed his chest, then his neck, shivering as his hands moved to the front of her blouse. Giving him room, she leaned back as he slowly worked his way downward, unbuttoning each button carefully.
When her blouse fell open, he slid his arms around her back and pulled her to him, feeling the heat of her skin against his. He kissed her neck and nibbled on her earlobe as his hands traced the outline of her spine. She parted her lips, feeling the tenderness of his touch. His fingers stopped at her bra, and he unfastened it with an expert twist, making her breath catch. Then, continuing to kiss her, he pulled the straps over her shoulders, freeing her breasts. He bent down and kissed them tenderly, one at a time, and she leaned her head back, feeling his heated breath and the moisture from his mouth wherever it touched her.
She was short of breath as she reached for the snap on his jeans. Meeting his eyes again, she unsnapped them, then slowly slid the zipper down. Still watching him, she ran her finger across his waist, skimming her nail softly against his navel before tugging on the waist of his pants. They loosened slightly and he stepped back for a moment, removing them. Then, stepping in to kiss her again, he lifted her in his arms and gently carried her across the room, putting her on the bed.
Lying beside him, she ran her hands over his chest again, now damp with perspiration, and felt his hands gently move on to her jeans. He unsnapped them, and lifting her bottom slightly, she took them off, one leg at a time, while his hands continued to explore her body. She caressed his back and bit softly on his neck, listening as breathing quickened. He began to take off his boxer shorts while she slipped off her own panties, and when they were finally naked, their bodies pressed together.
She was beautiful in the candlelight. He ran his tongue between her breasts, down her belly, and past her navel and up again. Her hair caught the light, making it sparkle, and her skin was soft and inviting as they clung to each other. He felt her hands on his back, pulling him closer.
Instead he continued to kiss her body, not rushing the moment. He put the side of his face to her belly and rubbed gently. The stubble on his chin felt erotic against her skin, and she lay back on the bed, her hands in his hair. He went on until she couldn't take it anymore, then he moved up and did the same thing to her breasts.
She pulled him back to her, arching her back as he slowly moved atop her. He kissed her fingertips one at a time, and as they finally joined as one, she closed her eyes with a sigh. Kissing softly, they made love with a passion kept stifled for the last three years.
Their bodies moved as one, each of them fully aware of the other's needs, each trying to please the other. Garrett kissed her almost continually, the moistness of his mouth lingering wherever it touched, and she felt her body began to tingle with the growing urgency of something wonderful. When it finally happened, she pressed her fingers hard into his back, but the moment it ended another one started to build again and she began to climax in long sequences, one right after the next. When they finished making love, Theresa was exhausted, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. She relaxed by his side, his hands still gently tracing her skin, and she watched as the candles slowly burned toward their base, reliving the moment they had just shared together.
They lay together for most of the night, making love again and again, holding each other tightly afterward. Theresa fell asleep in his arms, feeling wonderful, and Garrett watched as she slept beside him. Just before he fell asleep, he gently brushed her hair from her face, trying hard to remember everything.
* * *
Right before daybreak, Theresa opened her eyes, realizing instinctively that he was gone. She turned in the bed, looking for him. Not seeing him, she rose and went to his closet, finding a bathrobe. Wrapping it around her, she left the bedroom and glanced toward the darkness of the kitchen. Not there. She looked in the living room, but he wasn't there, either, and suddenly she knew exactly where he would be.
Stepping outside, she found him sitting in the chair, wearing only his boxers and a gray sweatshirt. Turning around, he saw her and smiled.
Hey there.
She stepped toward him, and he motioned for her to sit in his lap. He kissed her as he pulled her to him, and she put her arms around his neck. Then, pulling back when she sensed that something was wrong, she touched his cheek.
You all right?
It took a moment for him to answer.
Yeah, he said, quietly, without looking at her.
You sure?
He nodded, again without meeting her eyes, and she used her finger to make him face her. She said gently:
You look sort of . . . sad.
He gave a weak smile without answering.
Are you sad about what happened?
No, he said. "Not at all. I don't regret any of it."
Then what is it?
He didn't answer, and again his eyes shifted away.
She spoke softly. "Are you out here because of Catherine?"
He waited for a moment without answering, then took her hand in his. Finally he met her gaze.
No. I'm not out here because of Catherine, he said, almost whispering the words. "I'm out here because of you."
Then, with a tenderness that reminded her of a small child, he gently pulled her close and held her without saying another word, not letting go until the sky began to lighten and the first person appeared on the beach.
What do you mean, you can't have lunch with me today? We've been doing this for years-how could you forget?
I didn't forget, Dad, I just can't do it today. We'll pick it up again next week, okay?
Jeb Blake paused on the other end of the phone, drumming his fingers on the desktop.
Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me something?
There's nothing to tell.
You sure?
Yeah, I'm sure.
Theresa called to Garrett from the shower, asking him to bring her a towel. Garrett covered the mouthpiece and told her he'd be right there. When he returned his attention to the phone, he heard his father inhale sharply.
What was that?
Nothing.
Then, in a tone of sudden understanding: "That Theresa gal's there, isn't she?"
Knowing he couldn't hide the truth from him now, Garrett replied: "Yeah, she's here."
Jeb whistled, obviously pleased. "It's about damn time."
Garrett tried to downplay it. "Dad, don't make a big deal out of this. . . ."
I won't-I promise.
Thanks.
But can I ask you something?
Sure. Garrett sighed.
Does she make you happy?
It took a moment for him to answer. "Yeah, she does," he said finally.
It's about damn time, he said again with a laugh before hanging up. Garrett stared at the phone as he replaced it in its cradle.
She really does, he whispered to himself with a small smile on his face. "She really does."
Theresa emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, looking rested and fresh. Smelling coffee brewing, she went to the kitchen for a cup. After putting a piece of bread in the toaster, Garrett walked to her side.
Good morning, again, he said, kissing the back of her neck.
Good morning again to you, too.
Sorry about leaving the bedroom last night.
Hey, it's okay. . . . I understand.
You mean that?
Of course I do. She turned and faced him with a smile. "I had a wonderful night."
So did I, he said. Fishing a coffee cup out of the cupboard for Theresa, he asked over his shoulder, "Do you want to do something today? I called the shop and told them I wasn't coming in."
What did you have in mind?
How about showing you around Wilmington?
We could do that. She didn't sound convinced.
Did you have anything else you wanted to do instead?
How about we just sort of hang around here today?
And do what?
Oh, I can think of a couple of things, she said, putting her arms around him. "That is, if you don't have a problem with that."
No, he said with a grin. "No problem at all."
* * *
For the next four days, Theresa and Garrett were inseparable. Garrett ceded control of the shop to Ian, even allowing him to teach the dive classes on Saturday, something he'd never done before. Twice, Garrett and Theresa went sailing; on the second night they stayed out all night on the ocean, lying together in the cabin, rocked by the gentle swells of the Atlantic. Later that evening she asked him to tell her more adventure stories about early sailors, and she stroked his hair as the sound of his voice reverberated against the interior of the hull.
What she didn't know was that after she'd fallen asleep, Garrett left her side as he had their first night together and paced the deck alone. He thought about Theresa sleeping inside and the fact that she would be leaving soon, and with that thought came another memory from years before.
I really don't think you should go, Garrett said, looking at Catherine with concern in his eyes.
She stood beside the front door, her suitcase beside her, frustrated with his comment. "C'mon, Garrett, we've already talked about this. I'm only going to be gone for a few days."
But you haven't been yourself lately.
Catherine felt like throwing up her hands.
How many times do I have to tell you that I'm fine? My sister really needs me-you know how she is. She's worried about the wedding, and Mom isn't much help at all.
But I need you, too.
Garrett-just because you have to be at the shop all day long doesn't mean I have to stay here, too. We're not joined at the hip.
Garrett took an involuntary step backward, as if she'd struck him. "I didn't say we were. I'm just not sure whether you should go when you're feeling this way."
You never want me to go anywhere.
Can I help it if I miss you when you're gone?
Her face softened just a little. "I may leave, Garrett, but you know I'll always come back."
When the memory faded, Garrett walked back inside the cabin and saw Theresa lying under the sheet. Quietly he slipped in beside her and held her tightly against him.
* * *
The following day was spent at the beach, sitting near the pier where they'd first had lunch. When Theresa got sunburned by the early morning rays, Garrett walked to one of the many shops right off the beach and brought back some lotion. He applied it to her back, rubbing it into her skin, as gently as if she were a child, and even though she didn't want to believe it, deep down she could feel that there were moments when his mind was drifting somewhere else. But then, just as suddenly, the moments would pass and she would wonder whether she'd been mistaken.
They had lunch at Hank's again, holding hands and staring at each other from across the table. They talked quietly, oblivious to the throngs around them, neither one of them noticing when the check was brought to the table and the lunch crowd emptied out. Theresa watched him carefully, wondering if Garrett had been as intuitive with Catherine as he seemed to be with her. It was as if he could almost read her mind whenever they were together-if she wanted him to hold her hand, he reached for it before she said anything. If she just wanted to talk for a while without interruption, he listened quietly. If she wanted to know how he was feeling about her at any particular moment, the way he looked at her made it all clear. No one-not even David-had ever understood her as well as Garrett seemed to, yet how long had she known him? A few days? How, she wondered, could that be? Late at night, she thought about the answer as he lay sleeping by her side, and the answer always came back to the bottles she had originally found. The more she had come to know Garrett, the more she believed that she was destined to find his messages to Catherine, as if there were some great force that had directed them to her, with the intention of bringing them together.
On Saturday evening Garrett cooked another dinner for her, which they ate on the back deck under the stars. After making love, they lay in his bed, holding each other. Both of them knew that she had to return to Boston the following day. It was a subject they had both avoided talking about until now.
Will I ever see you again? she asked.
He was quiet, almost too quiet. "I hope so," he said finally.
Do you want to?
Of course I do. As he said it, he sat up in the bed, pulling slightly away from her. After a moment she sat up and turned on the bedside lamp.
What is it, Garrett?
I just don't want it to end, he said, looking down. "I don't want us to end, I don't want this week to end. I mean, you come into my life and turn it upside-down, and now you're leaving."
She reached for his hand and spoke quietly.
Oh, Garrett-I don't want it to end, either. This has been one of the best weeks I've ever had. It seems like I've known you forever. We can make it work, if we try. I could come down here or you could come up to Boston. Either way, we can try, can't we?
How often would I see you? Once a month? Less than that?
I don't know. I think that depends on us and what we're willing to do. I think if we're both willing to give a little, we can make it work.
He paused for a long moment. "Do you really think it's possible if we don't see each other very much? When would I get to hold you? When would I be able to see your face? If we only see each other once in a while, we won't be able to do the things that we need to . . . to continue feeling the way we do. Every time we saw each other, we'd know it's only for a couple of days. There wouldn't be time for anything to grow."
His words stung, partly from the truth and partly because he seemed to want to simply end it here and now. When he finally turned to her, a regretful smile on his face, she didn't know what to say. She released his hand, confused.
You don't want to try, then? Is that what you're saying? You just want to forget everything that's happened-
He shook his head. "No-I don't want to forget it. I can't forget it. I don't know. . . . I just want to see you more than it sounds like we'll be able to."
So do I. But we can't, so let's just make the best of what we can. Okay?
He shook his head almost dismissively. "I don't know. . . . "
She watched him closely as he spoke, sensing the presence of something else.
Garrett, what's wrong?
He didn't answer, and she went on. "Is there a reason you don't want to try?"
Still he remained quiet. In the silence, he turned toward Catherine's picture on the nightstand.
How was the trip? Garrett grabbed Catherine's bag from the backseat as she stepped out of the car. Catherine smiled, though he could tell she was tired.
It was good, but my sister's still a wreck. She wants everything flawless, and we found out that Nancy is pregnant and her bridesmaid's dress isn't going to fit.
So what? She'll just get it adjusted.
That's what I said, but you know how she is. She's making a big deal out of everything.
Catherine put her hands on her hips and stretched her back, making a small grimace as she did so.
You okay?
Just stiff, is all. I was tired the whole time I was there, and my back's been kind of achy for a couple of days.
She started toward the front door, Garrett right beside her.
Catherine, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about the way I acted before you left. I'm glad you went, but I'm even happier that you're back.
Garrett, talk to me.
She stared at him, concerned. Finally he spoke:
Theresa . . . it's just so hard right now. The things I've been going through . . .
He trailed off, and Theresa suddenly knew what he was talking about. She felt her stomach tighten.
Is this about Catherine? Is that what this is about?
No, it's just that . . . He paused, and she knew with a sudden sinking sureness that she'd been right.
It is, isn't it? You don't want to even try with us . . . because of Catherine.
You just don't understand.
Despite herself, she felt a flash of anger. "Oh, I understand. You were able to spend time with me this week, simply because you knew I'd be leaving. And then, once I was gone, you could go back to what you had before. I was just a fling, wasn't I?"
He shook his head. "No, you weren't. You weren't a fling. I really care about you-"
She stared hard at him. "But not enough to even try to make this work."
He looked at her, pain evident in his eyes. "Don't be like this. . . ."
How should I be? Understanding? Do you want me to simply say, 'Oh, okay, Garrett, we'll just end it here because it's difficult and we won't be able to see each other very much. I understand. It was nice meeting you.' Is that what you want me to say?
No, that's not what I want you to say.
Then what do you want? I've already said I'm willing to try . . . I've already said that I'd like to try-
He shook his head, unable to meet her eyes. Theresa could feel tears beginning to form.
Look, Garrett, I know you lost a wife. I know you suffered terribly for it. But you're acting like a martyr now. You've got your whole life ahead of you. Don't throw it all away by living in the past.
I'm not living in the past, he said defensively.
Theresa fought back her tears with effort. Her voice softened.
Garrett . . . I may not have lost a wife, but I did lose someone I really cared about, too. I know all about pain and hurt. But to be quite frank, I'm tired of being alone all the time. It's been over three years for me-just like you-and I'm tired of it. I'm ready to go on now and find someone special to be with. And you should, too.
I know that. Don't you think I know that?
Right now, I'm not so sure. Something wonderful has happened between us, and I don't want us to lose sight of that.
He paused for a long moment.
You're right, he began, struggling with his words. "In my mind, I know you're right. But my heart . . . I just don't know."
But what about my heart? Doesn't that matter to you at all?
The way she looked at him made his throat tighten.
Of course it does. It matters more than you think. When he reached out to take her hand, she flinched and he saw how much he had hurt her. He spoke gently, trying to control his own emotions.
Theresa, I'm sorry for putting you-putting us-through this on our last night. I didn't mean for it to happen. Believe me, you weren't a fling for me. God-you were anything but that. I told you I really care about you, and I mean that.
He opened his arms, his eyes pleading with her to come to his side. She hesitated for a second, then finally leaned into him, myriad conflicting feelings rushing through her. She lowered her face onto his chest, not wanting to see his expression. He kissed her hair, speaking softly as his lips fluttered over her.
I do care. I care so much that it scares me. I haven't felt like this in so long, it's almost like I've forgotten how important another person could be to me. I don't think I could just let you go and forget you, and I don't want to. And I definitely don't want us to end right now. For a moment there was only the soft, even sound of his breathing. Finally he whispered, "I promise to do everything I can to see you. And we'll try to make it work."
The tenderness in his voice made her tears begin to fall. He went on, almost too quietly for her to hear. "Theresa, I think I'm in love with you."
I think I'm in love with you, she heard again. I think . . .
I think . . .
Not wanting to respond, she simply whispered: "Just hold me, okay? Let's not talk anymore."
* * *
They made love first thing in the morning and held each other until the sun had risen high enough to let them know it was time for Theresa to get ready. Even though she hadn't spent much time at all at the hotel and had brought her suitcase over to Garrett's house, she hadn't checked out, just in case Kevin or Deanna called.
They showered together, and after dressing, Garrett made Theresa breakfast while she finished packing her things. Zipping her suitcase, Theresa heard the sound of sizzling in the kitchen as the smell of bacon wafted through the house. After drying her hair and putting on some makeup, she walked into the kitchen.
Garrett was sitting at the table, drinking coffee. He winked at her when she entered. On the counter he'd left a cup by the coffeemaker, and she poured herself some. Breakfast was already on the table-scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Theresa sat in the chair closest to him.
I didn't know what you wanted for breakfast, he said, motioning toward the table.
I'm not hungry, Garrett, if that's all right with you.
He smiled. "That's fine. I'm not that hungry, either."
She got up from her chair and went to him, sitting in his lap. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. He held her tightly in return, running his hands through her hair.
Finally she pulled back. Their time in the sun this week had left her tanned. In her jeans shorts and clean white shirt, she looked like a carefree teenager. For a moment she stared down at the small flower designs stitched into her sandals. Her suitcase and purse stood waiting next to the bedroom door.
My plane leaves soon, and I've still got to check out of the hotel and return the rental car, she said.
Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?
She nodded, her lips pursed. "No, I'll be rushing just to catch my flight as it is, and besides, you'd have to follow me in your truck. We can say good-bye just as easily here."
I'm going to call you tonight.
She smiled. "I was hoping you would."
Her eyes began to well with tears, and he pulled her close.
I'm going to miss having you here, he said as she started to cry in earnest. He brushed away the tears with his fingers, his touch light against her skin.
And I'll miss having you cook for me, she whispered, feeling foolish.
He laughed, breaking the tension. "Don't be so sad. We're going to see each other again in a couple of weeks, aren't we?"
Unless you're having second thoughts.
He smiled. "I'll be counting the days. And this time you're going to bring Kevin, right?"
She nodded.
Good, I'd like to meet him. If he's anything at all like you, I'm sure we'll get along great.
I'm sure you will, too.
And until then, I'll be thinking about you all the time.
You will?
Absolutely. I'm already thinking about you.
That's because I'm on your lap.
He laughed again, and she gave him a watery smile. Then she stood and wiped the wetness from her cheeks. Garrett moved to her suitcase and picked it up, and they both left the house. Outside, the sun was already climbing in the sky, and it was warming up quickly. Theresa retrieved the sunglasses she kept in the side pocket of her purse, holding them in her hand as they walked to her rental car.
She unlocked the trunk, and he placed her things inside. Then, taking her in his arms, he kissed her once gently and released her. After opening her car door, he helped her inside and she put the key in the ignition.
With the door open, they stared at each other until she started the car.
I've got to go, if I'm going to catch my plane.
I know.
He stepped back from the door and closed it. She rolled down the window and put her hand out. Garrett took it in his for just a moment. Then she shifted the car into reverse.
You'll call tonight?
I promise.
She pulled her hand in, smiling at him, and slowly started forward. Garrett watched her as she waved one last time before driving off, wondering how on earth he'd get through the next two weeks.
* * *
Despite the traffic, Theresa made it to the hotel quickly and checked out. There were three messages from Deanna, each seemingly more desperate than the last. "What's going on down there? How did your date go?" read the first one; "Why didn't you call? I'm waiting to hear all about it," read the second; and the third said simply, "You're killing me! Call me with the details-please!" There was also one message from Kevin-she'd called him a couple of times from Garrett's house-and it seemed to be at least a couple of days old. She returned the rental car and reached the airport with less than a half hour to spare. Luckily the line to check her bags was short, and she made it to the gate just as they were boarding. After handing her ticket to the stewardess, she boarded the plane and took her seat. The flight to Charlotte was only partly full, and the seat next to her was vacant.
Theresa closed her eyes, thinking back on the amazing events of the past week. Not only had she found Garrett, but she had come to know him better than she would ever have imagined possible. He had stirred deep feelings in her, feelings she had long thought were buried.
But did she love him?
She approached the question gingerly, wary of what an admission like that would mean.
Idly she ran through their conversation of last night. His fears of letting go of the past, his feelings about not seeing her as much as he wanted to. These things she understood completely. But . . .
I think I'm in love with you.
She frowned. Why did he add the word "think"? Either he was in love or he wasn't . . . wasn't he? Had he said it to appease her? Or had he said it for another reason?
I think I'm in love with you.
In her mind, she heard him say it over and over again, his voice edged with . . what? Ambivalence? Thinking about it now, she almost wished he'd said nothing at all. At least then she wouldn't be trying to figure out exactly what he'd meant.
But what about her? Did she love Garrett?
She shut her eyes tiredly, suddenly unwilling to confront her warring emotions. One thing was for sure, though-she wasn't ever going to tell him that she loved him until she was certain he could put Catherine behind him. That night, in Garrett's dreams, a violent storm was well under way. Rain pelted hard against the side of the house, and Garrett ran frantically from one room to the next. It was the house he lived in now, and though he knew exactly where he was going, the blinding rain coming in the open windows made it difficult to see. Knowing he had to close them, he rushed to the bedroom and found himself entangled in the curtains as they blew inward. Fighting them off, he reached the window just as the lights went off.
The room went black. Above the storm, he could hear the sound of a distant siren, warning of a hurricane. Lightning illuminated the sky as he struggled with the window. It wouldn't budge. Rain continued to pour inward, wetting his hands and making it impossible to get the grip he needed.
Above him, the roof began to creak with the fury of the storm.
He continued to struggle with the window, but it was jammed and wouldn't move. Finally giving up, he tried the window beside it. Like the first window, it was stuck as well.
He could hear the shingles being torn from the roof, followed by the crash of shattering glass.
He turned and ran to the living room. The window there had exploded inward, spewing glass over the floor. Rain blew sideways into the room, and the wind was horrific. The front door was shaking in the frame.
Outside the window, he heard Theresa begin to call for him.
Garrett, you've got to get out now!
At that moment, the bedroom windows crashed inward as well. The wind, gusting through the house, began to tear an opening in the ceiling. The house wouldn't be able to stand much longer.
Catherine.
He had to get her picture and the other items he kept in the end table.
Garrett! You're running out of time!Theresa shouted again.
Despite the rain and blackness, he could see her outside, motioning for him to follow her.
The picture. The ring. The Valentine's Day cards.
C'mon! she continued to shout. Her arms were waving frantically.
With a roar, the roof separated from the frame of the house and the wind began to tear it away. On instinct, he raised his arms above his head just as part of the ceiling crashed down on him.
In moments everything would be lost.
Not caring about the danger, he started toward the bedroom. He couldn't leave without them.
You can still make it!
Something in the sound of Theresa's cry made him stop. He glanced toward Theresa, then toward the bedroom, frozen. More of the ceiling fell in around him. With a sharp, splintering crack, the roof continued to give way.
He took a step toward the bedroom, and with that, he saw Theresa stop waving her arms. To him it seemed as if she'd suddenly given up.
The wind gusted through the room, an unearthly howl that seemed to blow through him. Furniture toppled over throughout the room, blocking his path.
Garrett! Please! Theresa shouted.
Again the sound of her voice made him stop, and with that he realized that if he tried to save the things from his past, he might not make it out at all.
But was it worth it?
The answer was obvious.
He gave up his attempt and rushed toward the opening where the window had been. With his fist, he pounded out the shards and stepped out onto the back deck just as the roof was completely torn away. The walls began to buckle then, and as he jumped onto the deck, they crumbled into a pile with a thunderous boom.
He looked for Theresa to make sure she was okay, but strangely, he couldn't see her anymore.
Early the next morning, Theresa was sleeping soundly when the sound of a ringing phone jarred her awake. Fumbling for the phone, she recognized Garrett's voice instantly.
Did you make it home okay?
Yeah, I did, she replied groggily. "What time is it?"
A little after six. Did I wake you?
Yes. I stayed up late last night waiting for your call. I started to wonder if you'd forgotten your promise.
I didn't forget. I just figured you needed a little time to settle in.
But you were confident I'd be up at the crack of dawn, right?
Garrett laughed. "Sorry about that. How was the flight? How are you?"
Good. Tired, but good.
So I take it that the pace of the big city has already worn you out again.
She laughed, and Garrett's voice turned serious. "Hey, I want you to know something."
What?
I miss you.
You do?
Yeah-I went in to do work yesterday even though the shop was closed, hoping to get some paperwork done, but I couldn't do much because I kept thinking about you.
That's good to hear.
It's the truth. I don't know how I'm going to get any work done over the next couple of weeks.
Oh, you'll manage.
I might not be able to sleep, either.
She laughed, knowing he was teasing. "Now, don't go that far. I'm not into those superdependent guys, you know. I like my men to be men."
I'll try to keep it in check, then.
She paused. "Where are you now?"
I'm sitting on the back deck, watching the sun come up. Why?
Theresa thought about the view she was missing. "Is it beautiful?"
It always is, but this morning, I'm not enjoying it as much as I usually do.
Why not?
Because you're not here with me to enjoy it.
She lay back on the bed, making herself comfortable. "Hey-I miss you, too."
I hope so. I'd hate to think I was the only one who felt this way.
She smiled, holding the phone to her ear with one hand and absently twirling a strand of her hair with the other, until they finally said a reluctant good-bye twenty minutes later and hung up the phone.
* * *
Entering the office later than usual, Theresa felt the effects of her whirlwind adventure finally catching up with her. She hadn't slept much, and when she'd looked in the mirror after talking to Garrett on the phone, she'd felt sure that she looked at least a decade older than she was. As usual, the first place she went once she got to work was the break room for a cup of coffee, and on this morning she added a second packet of sugar to give her an extra jolt.
Well, hello, Theresa, Deanna said happily, striding in behind her. "I thought you'd never get here. I've been dying to hear everything that happened."
Good morning, Theresa mumbled, stirring her coffee. "Sorry I'm late."
I'm just glad you made it at all. I almost ran over to your apartment last night to talk to you, but I didn't know what time you got in.
I'm sorry for not calling, but I was a little worn out from my week, she said.
Deanna leaned against the counter. "Well, that's not a surprise. I've already put two and two together."
What do you mean?
Deanna's eyes were bright. "I take it you haven't seen your desk yet."
No, I just walked in. Why?
Well, she said, raising her eyebrows, "I guess you must have made a good impression."
What are you talking about, Deanna?
Come with me, Deanna said with a conspiratorial grin as she led her back into the newsroom. When Theresa saw her desk, she gasped. Next to the mail that had accumulated while she was gone stood a dozen roses, beautifully arranged in a large clear vase.
They arrived first thing this morning. I think the delivery man was a little shocked that you weren't there to receive them, but I went ahead and said I was you. Then he really looked shocked.
Barely listening to what Deanna had said, Theresa reached for the card leaning against the vase and opened it immediately. Deanna stood behind her, craning over her shoulder. It read:
To the most beautiful woman I know-Now that I'm alone again, nothing is as it once was. The sky is grayer, the ocean is more forbidding. Will you make it right? The only way is to see me again.
I miss you,
Garrett
Theresa smiled at the note and slipped it back inside the envelope, bending to smell the bouquet.
You must have had a memorable week, Deanna said.
Yeah, I did, Theresa answered simply.
I can't wait to hear about it-every spicy detail.
I think, Theresa said, glancing around the newsroom at all the people watching her discreetly, "that I'd rather talk to you about it later, when we're alone. I don't need the whole office gossiping about it."
They already are, Theresa. It's been a long time since flowers have been delivered here. But all right-we'll talk about it later.
Did you tell them who they were from?
Of course not. To be honest, I kind of like leaving them in suspense. She gave a small wink after looking around the newsroom. "Listen, Theresa, I've got some work to do. Do you think we could have lunch today? Then we can talk."
Sure. Where?
How about Mikuni's? I bet you didn't find much sushi down in Wilmington.
That sounds great. And Deanna . . . thanks for keeping it a secret.
No problem.
Deanna patted Theresa's shoulder gently and headed back to her office. Theresa leaned over her desk and smelled the roses again before moving the vase to the corner of her desk. She began to sort through her mail for a couple of minutes, pretending not to notice the flowers until the newsroom resumed its chaotic patterns. Making sure that no one was paying attention, she picked up the phone and dialed Garrett at work.
Ian answered the phone. "Hold on, I think he's in his office. Who's calling, please?"
Tell him it's someone who wants to schedule some dive lessons in a couple of weeks. She tried to sound as distant as she could, not sure if Ian knew about them.
Ian put her on hold, and there was silence for a short moment. Then the line clicked and Garrett came on.
Can I help you? he asked, sounding a little frazzled.
She said simply: "You shouldn't have, but I'm glad you did."
He recognized her voice, and his tone brightened. "Hey, it's you. I'm glad they arrived. Do they look okay?"
They're beautiful. How did you know I loved roses?
I didn't, but I've never heard of a woman who didn't, so I took a chance.
She smiled. "So you send lots of women roses?"
Millions. I have a lot of fans. Dive instructors are almost like movie stars, you know.
They are, huh?
You mean you didn't know? And here I thought you were just another groupie.
She laughed. "Thanks a lot."
Sure. Did anyone ask who they were from?
She smiled. "Of course."
I hope you said good things.
I did. I told them you were sixty-eight and with a horrible lisp that made it impossible to understand you. But since you were so pitiful, I went ahead and had lunch with you. And now, unfortunately, you're stalking me.
Hey, that hurts, he said. He paused. "So . . . I hope the roses will remind you that I'm thinking about you."
They might, she said coyly.
Well, I am thinking about you and I don't want you to forget it.
She glanced at the roses. "Ditto," she said quietly.
After they had hung up, Theresa sat quietly for a moment, reaching for the card again. She read it once more, and this time, instead of putting it back with the flowers, she placed it in her purse for safekeeping. Knowing this crowd, she was sure someone would read it when she wasn't looking.
* * *
So, what's he like?
Deanna sat across from Theresa at the table in the restaurant. Theresa handed Deanna the pictures from her vacation.
I don't know where to start.
Staring at a picture of Garrett and Theresa on the beach, Deanna spoke without looking at her.
Start at the beginning. I don't want to miss a thing.
Since Theresa had already told her about meeting Garrett at the docks, she picked up her story from the evening they spent sailing. She told Deanna how she had purposely left her jacket on board as an excuse to see him again-to which Deanna replied, "Marvelous!"-moving on to their lunch the next day and finally to their dinner. Recapping the final four days they spent together, she left very little out as Deanna listened with rapt attention.
It sounds like you had a wonderful time, Deanna said, smiling like a proud mother.
I did. It was one of the best weeks I've ever spent. It's just that . . .
What?
It took a moment for her to answer. "Well, Garrett said something toward the end that got me wondering where this whole thing was going to go from here."
What did he say?
It wasn't just what he said, but how he said it. He sounded as if he weren't sure he wanted us to see each other again.
I thought you said that you were going down to Wilmington again in a couple of weeks.
I am.
Then what's the problem?
She fidgeted, trying to collect her thoughts. "Well, he's still struggling with Catherine and . . . and I'm not exactly sure whether he'll ever get over it."
Deanna laughed suddenly.
What's so funny? Theresa asked, startled.
You are, Theresa. What did you expect? You knew he was still struggling with Catherine before you went down there. Remember, it was his 'undying' love that you found so attractive in the first place. Did you think that he'd completely get over Catherine in a couple of days, just because you two hit it off so well?
Theresa looked sheepish and Deanna laughed again.
You did, didn't you? That's exactly what you thought.
Deanna, you weren't there. . . . You don't know how right everything seemed between us, up until the last night.
Deanna's voice softened. "Theresa, I know there's a part of you that believes you can change someone, but the reality is that you can't. You can change yourself, and Garrett can change himself, but you can't do it for him."
I know that-
But you don't, Deanna said, gently cutting her off. "Or if you do, you don't want to see it that way. Your vision, as they say, has become clouded."
Theresa thought for a moment about what she'd said.
Let's take an objective look at what happened with Garrett, shall we? Deanna asked.
Theresa nodded.
Though you knew something about Garrett, he knew absolutely nothing about you. Yet he was the one who asked you to go sailing. So something between you two must have clicked right away. Next, you see him again when you pick up your jacket, and he asks you to lunch. He tells you about Catherine and then asks you to come over for dinner. After that, you spend four wonderful days together getting to know-and care for-each other. Had you told me before you'd left that this is what would have happened, I wouldn't have believed it possible. But it did-that's the thing. And now, you two are planning to see each other again. To me, it sounds like the whole thing was a smashing success.
Then, you mean I shouldn't worry about whether he'll ever get over Catherine?
Deanna shook her head. "Not exactly. But look-you've got to take this one step at a time. The fact is, you only spent a few days together so far-that's not enough time to make a decision about something like this. If I were you, I'd see how you both feel over the next couple of weeks, and when you see him the next time, you're bound to know a lot more than you know now."
Do you think so? Theresa eyed her friend worriedly.
I was right about twisting your arm to get you down there in the first place, wasn't I?
* * *
While Theresa and Deanna were eating, Garrett was working in his office behind a giant stack of papers when the door opened. Jeb Blake entered, making sure that his son was alone before closing the door behind him. After taking a seat in the chair across from Garrett's desk, Jeb pulled some tobacco and rolling paper from his pocket and began to roll his cigarette.
Go ahead and sit down. As you can see, I don't have much to do. Garrett gestured toward the pile.
Jeb smiled and continued rolling. "I called the shop a couple of times and they said you hadn't come in all week. What have you been up to?"
Leaning back in his chair, Garrett eyed his father. "I'm sure you already know the answer to your question, and that's probably the reason you're here."
You were with Theresa the whole time?
Yeah, I was.
Continuing to roll his cigarette, Jeb asked nonchalantly, "So, what did you two do with yourselves?"
We went sailing, walked on the beach, talked. . . . You know, just got to know each other.
Jeb finished with his cigarette and put it in his mouth. He pulled a Zippo lighter from his front shirt pocket, lit up, and inhaled deeply. Exhaling, he gave Garrett a roguish grin.
Did you cook those steaks like I taught you?
Garrett smirked. "Of course."
Was she impressed?
She was very impressed.
Jeb nodded and took another drag from his cigarette. Garrett could feel the air in the office beginning to grow stale.
Well then, she has at least one good quality, doesn't she.
She's got a lot more than one, Dad.
You liked her, didn't you?
Very much.
Even though you don't know her very well?
I feel like I know everything about her.
Jeb nodded and said nothing for a moment. Finally he asked, "Are you going to see her again?"
Actually, she's coming down in a couple of weeks with her son.
Jeb watched Garrett's expression carefully. Then, standing, he started toward the door. Before opening it, he turned and faced his son. "Garrett, can I give you some advice?"
Startled at his father's abrupt departure, he answered: "Sure."
If you like her, if she makes you happy, and if you feel like you know her-then don't let her go.
Why are you telling me this?
Jeb looked directly at Garrett and took another drag on his cigarette. "Because if I know you, you're going to be the one who ends it, and I'm here to try to stop you if I can."
What are you talking about?
You know exactly what I'm talking about, he said quietly. Turning around, Jeb opened the door and left Garrett's office without another word.
* * *
Later that night, with the remnants of his father's comments rolling through his head, Garrett couldn't sleep. He rose from his bed and went to the kitchen, knowing what needed to be done. In the drawer, he found the stationery he always used when his mind was conflicted, and he sat down with the hopes of putting his thoughts into words.
My darling Catherine,
I don't know what's happening to me, and I don't know if I ever will. So much has happened lately that I can't make sense of what I'm going through.
Garrett sat at the table for an hour after writing those first two lines, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of anything else to say. But when he woke the following morning, unlike most days, his first thought wasn't about Catherine.
Instead it was about Theresa.
* * *
Over the next two weeks, Garrett and Theresa spoke on the phone every night, sometimes for hours. Garrett also sent a couple of letters-short notes, really-to let her know that he missed her, and he had another dozen roses delivered the following week, this time with a box of candy.
Theresa didn't want to send him flowers or candy, so instead she sent him a light blue oxford shirt she thought would look good his jeans, along with a couple of cards.
Kevin arrived home a few days later, and it made the next week pass much more quickly for Theresa than for Garrett. His first night home, Kevin ate dinner with Theresa, telling her about his vacation in fits and starts before collapsing into a deep sleep for almost fifteen hours. When he woke, there was already a long list of things that needed to be done. He needed new clothes for school-he'd already outgrown most of what he'd worn the previous year-and he had to sign up for fall league soccer, which ended up taking almost an entire Saturday. In addition, he'd come home with a suitcase full of dirty laundry that needed to be washed, he wanted to develop the pictures he'd taken on his vacation, and he had a Tuesday afternoon appointment with the orthodontist to see if he needed braces.
In other words, life was back to normal at the Osborne household. On Kevin's second night back, Theresa told him about her vacation at the Cape, then about her trip to Wilmington. She mentioned Garrett, trying to convey how she felt about him without alarming Kevin. At first, when she explained how they were going to visit him the following weekend, Kevin didn't sound so sure about it. But after she told him what Garrett did for a living, Kevin began to show some signs of interest.
You mean he might teach me how to scuba dive? he asked as she was vacuuming the house.
He said that he would, if you wanted to.
Cool, he said, returning to whatever he'd been doing before.
A few nights later she took him to the store to get him a few magazines about diving. By the time they were ready to leave, Kevin knew the name of every piece of equipment it was possible to own, obviously dreaming about his upcoming adventure. Garrett, meanwhile, plunged ahead with work. He worked late, thinking about Theresa while he did so, acting much the same way he had after Catherine's death. When he mentioned to his father how much he missed Theresa, his father only nodded and smiled. Something in his father's assessing gaze made Garrett wonder what exactly was going through the old man's mind.
By prior agreement, both Theresa and Garrett had decided it would be best if she and Kevin didn't stay at Garrett's house, but because it was still summer, nearly every room in town was booked. Luckily Garrett knew the owner of a small motel a mile up the beach from Garrett's house, and he had been able to make arrangements for their stay.
When the day finally came for Theresa and Kevin to visit, Garrett bought some groceries, washed his truck inside and out, and showered before heading to the airport. Dressed in khaki pants, Top-Siders, and the shirt that Theresa had bought him, he waited nervously at the gate.
In the last two weeks his feelings for Theresa had grown. He knew now that whatever happened between him and Theresa wasn't based simply on physical attraction-his longing hinted at something much deeper, more lasting. As he craned his neck for a glimpse of her among the passengers, he felt a pang of anxiety. It had been so long since he'd felt this way about anyone-and where was it all going?
When Theresa stepped off the plane with Kevin beside her, all his nervousness suddenly faded away. She was beautiful-more so than he remembered. And Kevin-he looked exactly like his picture and a lot like his mother. He was a little over five feet, with Theresa's dark hair and eyes, and gangly-both his arms and his legs seemed to have grown a little faster than the rest of him. He was wearing long Bermuda shorts, Nike shoes, and a shirt from a concert by Hootie and the Blowfish. His choice of apparel was clearly inspired by MTV and Garrett couldn't help but smile to himself. Boston, Wilmington . . . it really didn't matter, did it? Kids would be kids.
When Theresa saw him she waved, and Garrett moved toward them, reaching for their carry-on bags. Not sure whether he should kiss her in front of Kevin, he hesitated until Theresa leaned over and gaily kissed him on the cheek.
Garrett, I'd like you to meet my son, Kevin, she said proudly.
Hi, Kevin.
Hi, Mr. Blake, he said stiffly, as if Garrett were his teacher.
Call me Garrett, he said, holding out his hand. Kevin shook it, a little unsure. Until this point, no adult other than Annette had said that he could use their first name.
How was your flight? Garrett asked.
Good, Theresa responded.
Did you get anything to eat?
Not yet.
Well, how about we grab a bite before I take you to your motel?
Sounds good.
Do you want anything in particular? Garrett asked Kevin.
I like McDonald's.
Oh, honey, no, Theresa said quickly, but Garrett stopped her with a shake of his head.
McDonald's is fine with me.
You sure? Theresa asked.
Positive. I eat there all the time.
Kevin looked delighted at his answer, and the three of them started walking toward the baggage claim area. As they left the gates, Garrett asked:
Are you a good swimmer, Kevin?
Pretty good.
Are you up for some scuba lessons this weekend?
I think so-I've been reading up on it, he said, trying to sound older than he was.
Well, good. I was hoping you'd say that. If we're lucky, we may even be able to get you certified before you head back.
What does that mean?
It's a license that allows you to dive whenever you want-kind of like a driver's license.
You can do that in a few days?
Sure. You're required to take a written test and spend a few hours in the water with an instructor. But since you'll be my only student this weekend-unless your mother wants to learn, too-we should have more than enough time.
Cool, Kevin said. He turned toward Theresa. "Are you gonna learn, too, Mom?"
I don't know. Maybe.
I think you should, Kevin said. "It would be fun."
He's right-you should learn, too, Garrett added with a smirk, knowing she would feel cornered by the two of them and probably give in.
Fine, she said, rolling her eyes, "I'll go, too. But if I see any sharks, I'm quitting."
You mean there might be sharks? Kevin asked quickly.
Yeah, we'll probably see some sharks. But they're little and they don't bother people.
How little? Theresa asked, remembering the story he'd told about the hammerhead he'd encountered.
Little enough that you won't have anything to worry about.
Are you sure?
Positive.
Cool, Kevin repeated to himself, and Theresa glanced at Garrett, wondering if he was telling the truth.
* * *
After picking up their bags and stopping for a bite to eat, Garrett drove Theresa and Kevin to the motel. Once their things were inside, Garrett went back to his truck, returning with a book and some papers under his arms.
Kevin-these are for you.
What are they?
It's the book and the tests you need to read for your certification. Don't worry-it looks like there's more to read than there is. But if you want to head out tomorrow, you have to have the first two sections read and complete the first test.
Is it hard?
No-it's pretty easy, but you still have to do it. And you can use the book to find the answers you're not sure about.
You mean I can look up the answers while I take the test?
Garrett nodded. "Yeah. When I give these to my classes, they're supposed to do them at home and I'm sure almost everyone uses the book. The important thing is that you try to learn what you need to know. Diving is a lot of fun, but it can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing."
Garrett handed Kevin the book as he went on.
If you can finish by tomorrow-it's about twenty pages to read, plus the test-we'll head to the pool for the first part of your certification. You'll learn how to put on your equipment and then we'll practice for a while.
We're not going in the ocean?
Not tomorrow-you have to spend some time getting comfortable with the equipment first. After we spend a few hours doing that, then we'll be ready. We'll probably hit the ocean on Monday and Tuesday for your first open-water dives. And if you get enough hours in the water, you'll have a temporary certification by the time you step on the plane to go home. Then, all you have to do is mail an application, and you'll get the actual certification in the mail in a couple of weeks.
Kevin began to flip through the pages. "Does Mom have to do it, too?"
If she wants to be certified, she does.
Theresa walked over, peeking over Kevin's shoulder as he glanced through the book. The information didn't look too daunting.
Kevin, she said, "we can do it together tomorrow morning, if you're too tired to start now."
I'm not too tired, he said quickly.
Then would you mind if Garrett and I talked on the patio for a while?
No, go ahead, he said absently, already turning to the first page.
Once outside, Garrett and Theresa sat across from each other. Glancing back at her son, Theresa saw that Kevin was already reading.
You're not cutting any corners to get him certified, are you?
Garrett shook his head. "No, not at all. To get a PADI certificate-the certificate for recreational divers-you need to pass the tests and spend a certain amount of time in the water with an instructor-that's all. Usually we pace it out over three or four weekends, but that's because most people don't have time to do it during the week. He'll get the same number of hours-it's just more condensed."
I appreciate your doing this for him.
Hey-you forget this is what I do for a living. After making sure that Kevin was still reading, he scooted his chair a little closer. "I missed you these last couple of weeks," he said quietly, taking her hand in his.
I missed you, too.
You look wonderful, he added. "You were easily the prettiest woman who got off the plane."
Despite herself, Theresa blushed.
Thanks. . . . You look good yourself-especially wearing that shirt.
I thought you might like it.
Are you disappointed that we're not staying at your place?
Not really. I understand your reasons-Kevin doesn't know me from Adam, and I'd rather let him get comfortable with me on his own terms than push it on him. Like you said, he's been through enough already.
You know that it means we won't be able to spend much time alone this weekend, don't you?
I'll take you any way I can get you, he said.
Theresa glanced inside again, and when she saw that Kevin was immersed in the book, she leaned over and kissed Garrett. Despite the fact that she wouldn't be with him all night, she found herself surprisingly happy. Sitting beside him and seeing the way he looked at her made her heartbeat surge.
I wish we didn't live so far apart, she said. "You're kind of addicting."
I'll take that as a compliment.
* * *
Three hours later, long after Kevin was asleep, Theresa quietly led Garrett to the door. After stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind them, they kissed for a long time, both of them finding it hard to let each other go. In his arms Theresa felt like a teenager again, as if she were sneaking a kiss on her parents' porch, and it somehow added to the excitement she was feeling.
I wish you could stay here tonight, she whispered.
I do, too.
Is it as difficult for you to say good night as it is for me?
I'd be willing to bet it's a lot more difficult for me. I'm going home to an empty house.
Don't say that. You'll make me feel guilty.
Maybe a little guilt is a good thing. Lets me know you care.
I wouldn't be down here if I didn't. They kissed again, hungrily.
Pulling back, he mumbled, "I should really be going." He didn't sound as if he meant it.
I know.
But I don't want to, he said with a boyish smile.
I know what you mean, she said. "But you have to. You've got to teach us how to dive tomorrow."
I'd rather teach you a couple of other things I know.
I think you did that the last time I was here, she said coyly.
I know. But practice makes perfect.
Then we'll have to find some time to practice while I'm here.
You think that might happen?
I think, she said honestly, "that when it comes to us, anything is possible."
I hope you're right.
I'm right, she said before kissing him one last time. "I usually am." She gently pulled away from him and backed toward the door.
That's what I like about you, Theresa-your confidence. You always know what's going on.
Go home, Garrett, she said demurely. "And do me a favor?"
Anything.
Dream about me, okay?
* * *
Kevin woke early the next morning and opened the curtains, letting sunlight flood into the room. Theresa squinted and rolled over, trying to get a few more minutes' rest, but Kevin was persistent. "Mom-you've got to take the test before we go," he said excitedly.
Theresa groaned. Turning over, she checked the clock. A little after six A.M. She'd been in bed less than five hours.
It's too early, she said, closing her eyes again. "Can you give me a few more minutes, honey?"
We don't have time, he said, sitting on her bed and nudging her shoulder gently. "You haven't even read the first section yet."
Did you finish it all last night?
Yep, he said. "My test is over there, but don't copy, okay? I don't want to get into trouble."
I don't think you'd get in trouble, she said groggily. "We know the teacher, you know."
But it wouldn't be fair. And besides, you have to know this stuff, just like Mr. Blake . . . I mean Garrett . . . said, otherwise you could run into trouble.
Okay, okay, she said, sitting up slowly. She rubbed her eyes. "Do they have any instant coffee in the bathroom?"
I didn't see any, but if you want, I'll run down the hall and get you a Coke.
I have some change in my purse. . . .
Kevin jumped up and began rummaging through her handbag. After finding a few quarters, he ran out the front door, his hair tousled from sleeping. She heard his feet thumping as he raced down the hall. After standing and stretching her arms above her head, she made her way to the small table. She picked up the book and started in on the first chapter just as he returned with two Cokes. "Here you go," he said, putting one on the table beside her. "I'm going to shower and get ready. Where'd you put my swimsuit?"
Ah, the endless energy of childhood, she thought. "It's in the top drawer, next to your socks."
Okay, he said, pulling the drawer open, "got it." He went to the bathroom and Theresa listened as the shower was turned on. Opening her Coke, she returned to the book.
Luckily Garrett had been right when he'd told her that the information wasn't difficult. It was easy reading with pictures describing the equipment, and she was finished by the time Kevin was dressed. After finding her test, she set it in front of her. Kevin walked over and stood behind her as she glanced at the first question. Remembering where she'd read about it, she began to flip back through the book to the appropriate page.
Mom, that's an easy one. You don't need the book for that.
At six in the morning, I need all the help I can get, she grumbled, not feeling the least bit guilty about it. Garrett had said she could use the book, hadn't he?
Kevin continued to look over her shoulder as she answered the first couple of questions, commenting, "No, you're looking in the wrong place," or, "Are you sure you read the chapters?" until she finally told him to go watch television. "But there's nothing on," he said, sounding dejected.
Then read something.
I didn't bring anything.
Then sit quietly.
I am.
No, you're not. You're standing over my shoulder.
I'm just trying to help.
Just sit on the bed, okay? And don't say anything.
I'm not saying anything.
You're talking right now.
That's because you're talking to me.
Can't you let me take the test in peace?
Okay. I won't say another word. I'll be as quiet as a mouse.
And he was-for two minutes. Then he started whistling.
She put her pen down and faced him. "Why are you whistling?"
I'm bored.
Then turn on the TV.
There's nothing on. . . .
And so it went until she finally finished. It had taken almost an hour to do something she could have done in her office in half the time. She took a long, hot shower and dressed, putting on her swimsuit beneath her clothes. Kevin, now famished, wanted to go to McDonald's again, but she drew the line and suggested that they have breakfast at the Waffle House across the street.
But I don't like their food.
You haven't ever eaten there before.
I know.
Then how do you know you don't like it?
I just know.
Are you omniscient?
What does that mean?
It means, young man, that we're going to eat where I want to eat for once.
Really?
Yes, she said, looking forward to a cup of coffee more than she had in a long time.
* * *
Garrett knocked at the front door of their motel room promptly at nine, and Kevin raced to the door to answer it.
Are you two ready? he asked.
We sure are, Kevin answered quickly. "My test is over there. Let me get it for you."
He skipped over to the table as Theresa rose from the bed and gave Garrett a quick kiss good morning.
How was your morning? he asked.
It already seems like afternoon. Kevin got me up at the crack of dawn to take the test.
Garrett smiled as Kevin returned with his test.
Here it is, Mr. Blake. Garrett, I mean.
Garrett took it and began to look through his answers.
My mom had some trouble with a couple, but I helped her out, Kevin went on, and Theresa rolled her eyes. "Ready to go, Mom?"
Whenever you are, she said, picking up the room key and her purse.
Then c'mon, Kevin said, leading the way down the hall, toward Garrett's truck.
* * *
Throughout the morning and early afternoon, Garrett taught them the basics of scuba diving. They learned how the equipment worked, how to put it on and test it, and finally how to breathe through the mouthpiece, first on the side of the pool, then underwater. "The most important thing to remember," Garrett explained, "is to breathe normally. Don't hold your breath, don't breathe too quickly or slowly. Just let it come naturally." Of course, nothing seemed natural about it to Theresa, and she ended up having more trouble with it than Kevin. Kevin, always the adventurer, thought that after a few minutes underwater he knew all there was to know.
This is easy, he said to Garrett. "I think I'll be ready for the ocean this afternoon."
I'm sure you would, but we still have to do the lessons in the proper order.
How's Mom doing?
Good.
As good as me?
You're both doing great, he said, and Kevin put the mouthpiece back in. He went back underwater just as Theresa came up and took out her mouthpiece.
It feels funny when I breathe, she said.
You're doing fine. Just relax and breathe normally.
That's what you said the last time I came up gagging.
The rules haven't changed in the last few minutes, Theresa.
I know that. I just wonder if something isn't wrong with my tank.
The tank is fine. I double-checked it this morning.
But you're not the one using it, are you?
Would you like me to test it out?
No, she muttered, squinting in frustration, "I'll manage." Underwater she went again.
Kevin popped up and took his mouthpiece out again. "Is Mom okay? I saw her come up."
She's fine. Just getting used to it, like you are.
Good. I'd feel really bad if I got my certification and she didn't.
Don't you worry about that. Just keep practicing.
Okay.
And so it went.
After a few hours in the water, both Kevin and Theresa were tired. They had lunch, and once again Garrett told his diving stories, this time for Kevin's benefit. Kevin asked what seemed like a hundred wide-eyed questions. Garrett answered each one patiently, and Theresa was relieved at how well they seemed to get along.
After stopping at the motel to pick up the book and the lesson for the following day, Garrett brought them both to his house. Though Kevin had planned on starting the next few chapters right away, the fact that Garrett lived on the beach changed everything. Standing in the living room and looking toward the ocean, he asked:
Can I go down to the water, Mom?
I don't think so, she said gently. "We've just spent all day in the pool."
Ah, Mom . . . please? You don't have to go with me-you can watch me from the deck.
She hesitated, and Kevin knew he had her. "Please," he said again, giving her his most earnest smile.
All right, you can go. But don't go out too deep, okay?
I won't, I promise, he said excitedly. After seizing the towel Garrett handed him, he ran down to the water. Garrett and Theresa sat on the deck and watched him as he began to splash around.
He's quite a young man, Garrett said quietly.
Yes, he is, she said. "And I think he likes you. At lunch when you went to the bathroom, he said you were cool."
Garrett smiled. "I'm glad. I like him, too. He's one of the better students I've had."
You're just saying that to please me.
No, I'm not. He really is. I meet a lot of young kids in my classes, and he's very mature and well-spoken for his age. And he's nice, too. Too many kids are spoiled these days, but I don't get that sense about him.
Thank you.
I mean it, Theresa. After hearing about your worries, I wasn't sure what to expect. But he's really a great kid. You've done a good job raising him.
She reached for his hand and kissed it gently. She spoke quietly. "It means a lot to me to hear you say that. I haven't met many men who want to talk about him, let alone spend time with him."
Then it's their loss.
She smiled. "How come you always know exactly what to say to make me feel good?"
Maybe it's because you bring out the best in me.
Maybe I do.
* * *
That evening Garrett took Kevin to the video store to pick up a couple of movies he wanted to watch and ordered pizza for the three of them. They watched the first movie together, eating in the living room. After dinner Kevin slowly began to fade. By nine o'clock he'd fallen asleep in front of the television. Theresa nudged him gently, telling him it was time to leave.
Can't we just sleep here tonight? he mumbled, only half-conscious.
I think we should go, she said quietly.
If you want, you two can sleep in my bed, Garrett offered. "I'll stay out here and sleep on the couch."
Let's do that, Mom. I'm really tired.
Are you sure? she asked, but by then Kevin had already begun to stagger in the direction of the bedroom. They heard the springs squeak as Kevin plopped down on Garrett's bed. Following him, they peeked in the door. In a moment he was sleeping again.
I don't think he's giving you much choice, Garrett whispered.
I'm still not sure it's a good idea.
I'll be a perfect gentleman-I promise.
I'm not worried about you-I just don't want to give Kevin the wrong impression.
You mean you don't want him to know we care about each other? I think he already knows that.
You know what I mean.
Yeah, I know. He shrugged. "Look, if you want me to help you get him out to the truck, I'd be glad to do it."
She stared at Kevin for a moment, listening to his deep, even breaths. He looked dead to the world.
Well, maybe one night wouldn't hurt, she relented, and Garrett winked.
I was hoping you'd say that.
Now don't forget your promise to be a perfect gentleman.
I won't.
You sound so sure about it.
Hey . . . a promise is a promise.
She gently closed the door and put her arms around Garrett's neck. She kissed him, biting him teasingly on the lip. "That's good, because if it was just up to me, I don't think I could control myself."
He winced. "You really know how to make it tough on a guy, don't you?"
Does that mean you think I'm a tease?
No, he said quietly. "It means I think you're perfect."
* * *
Instead of watching the second movie, Garrett and Theresa sat on the couch, sipping wine and talking. Theresa checked on Kevin a couple of times, making sure he was still asleep. He looked as if he hadn't moved at all.
By midnight Theresa was yawning steadily, and Garrett suggested that she get some sleep.
But I came down here to see you, she protested drowsily.
But if you don't get your sleep, I'll look blurry.
I'm fine, really, she said before yawning again. Garrett rose and went to the closet. He pulled out a sheet, blanket, and pillow and brought them to the couch.
I insist. Try to get some sleep. We have the next few days to see each other.
Are you sure?
Positive.
She helped Garrett get the couch ready and went to the bedroom. "If you don't want to sleep in your clothes, there are some sweats in the second drawer," he said.
She kissed him again. "I had a wonderful day today," she said.
So did I.
I'm sorry for being so tired.
You've done a lot today. It's completely understandable.
With their arms entwined, she whispered in his ear, "Are you always this easy to get along with?"
I try.
Well, you're doing a heck of a job.
* * *
A few hours later Garrett woke to the sensation of someone nudging him in the ribs. Opening his eyes, he saw Theresa sitting next to him. She was wearing the sweats he'd mentioned earlier.
Are you okay? he asked, sitting up.
I'm fine, she whispered, stroking his arm.
What time is it?
A little after three.
Is Kevin still sleeping?
Like a rock.
Can I ask why you got out of bed?
I had a dream and I couldn't fall back to sleep.
He rubbed his eyes. "What was the dream about?"
You, she said in hushed tones.
Was it a good dream? he asked.
Oh, yes . . . She trailed off. She leaned over to kiss his chest, and Garrett pulled her closer. He glanced toward the bedroom door. She had closed it behind her.
Aren't you worried about Kevin? he asked.
A little, but I'm going to trust you to be as quiet as possible.
She reached under the blanket and ran her fingers across his belly. Her touch was electric.
Are you sure about this?
Uh-huh, she said.
They made love tenderly, quietly, and afterward they lay beside each other. For a long time, neither of them spoke. When the faintest hint of light began to brush the horizon, they kissed good night and she returned to the bedroom. Within a few minutes she was sleeping soundly, and Garrett watched her from the doorway.
For some reason, he found it impossible to fall asleep again.
* * *
The following morning, Theresa and Kevin did the workbook together while Garrett ran off to pick up some fresh bagels for breakfast. Again they headed off to the pool. This time the lessons were a little more advanced, covering a number of different skills. Theresa and Kevin practiced "buddy breathing" in the event that either one of them ran out of air when underwater and had to share one tank, and Garrett warned of the dangers of panicking while diving and rushing to the surface too quickly. "If you do that, you'll get what's called 'the bends.' It's not only painful-it can be life-threatening."
They also spent time in the deep end of the pool, swimming underwater for extended periods, getting used to the equipment and practicing how to clear their ears. Toward the end of their lesson, Garrett showed them how to jump off the side of the pool without having their masks come off. Predictably, both of them were tired after a few hours and ready to call it a day.
Will we go into the ocean tomorrow? Kevin asked as they were walking back to the truck.
If you'd like to. I think you're ready, but if you'd rather spend another day in the pool, we could do that instead.
No, I'm ready.
Are you sure? I don't want to rush you.
I'm sure, he said quickly.
How about you, Theresa? Are you ready for the ocean?
If Kevin's ready, then I'm ready.
Am I still going to get certified by Tuesday? Kevin asked.
If the ocean dives go well, you both will.
Awesome.
What's up for the rest of the day? Theresa asked.
Garrett started loading the tanks in the back of the truck. "I thought we'd go sailing. It looks like it's going to be great weather."
Can I learn how to do that, too? Kevin asked eagerly.
Sure. I'll make you my first mate.
Do I need to be certified for that, too?
No-that's up to the captain, and since I'm the captain, I can do it right now.
Just like that?
Just like that.
Kevin looked at Theresa with wide eyes, and she could almost read his thoughts. First I learn how to dive, then I become a first mate. Wait until I tell my friends.
* * *
Garrett was accurate in predicting ideal weather, and the three of them had a wonderful time on the water. Garrett taught Kevin the basics of sailing-from how and when to tack to anticipating the direction of the wind based on the clouds. As on their first date together, they had sandwiches and salads, but this time they were treated to a family of porpoises that frolicked around the boat as they ate.
It was late by the time they made it back to the docks, and after Garrett showed Kevin how to close up the boat to protect it from unexpected storms, Garrett brought them back to their motel. Since all three of them were exhausted, Theresa and Garrett said good-bye quickly, and both Theresa and Kevin were in bed by the time Garrett arrived back at his house. The following day, Garrett took them out for their first ocean dive. After the initial nervousness wore off, they began to enjoy themselves and ended up going through two tanks each over the course of the afternoon. Thanks to the calm, coastal weather, the water was clear, with excellent visibility. Garrett took a few photos of them as they explored one of the shallow-water wrecks off the North Carolina coast. He promised to have them developed that week and to send them up as soon as he could.
They spent the evening at Garrett's house again. After Kevin fell asleep, Garrett and Theresa sat close to each other on the deck, caressed by the warm, humid air.
After talking about their earlier dive, Theresa was quiet for a little while. "I can't believe we'll be leaving tomorrow night," she said finally, a trace of sadness in her voice. "These last couple of days have flown by."
That's because we've been so busy.
She smiled. "Now you have a sense of what my life is like in Boston."
Always racing around?
She nodded. "Exactly. Kevin is the best thing that ever happened to me, but he sometimes wears me out. He always has to be doing something."
You wouldn't change it, though, would you? I mean, you don't want to raise a TV junkie or a kid who sits in his room listening to music all day, do you?
No.
Then count your blessings. He's a great kid-I've really enjoyed spending time with him.
I'm so glad. I know he feels the same way. She paused. "You know, even though we haven't spent much time alone on this trip, it seems like I know you a lot better now than when I first came down here by myself."
What do you mean? I'm still the same guy I was before.
She smiled. "You are and you aren't. The last time I was here, you had me all to yourself, and we both know it's easier to get involved with someone when you can spend a lot of exclusive time together. This time, you saw what it would really be like with Kevin around . . . and yet you handled the whole thing better than I could have imagined."
Well, thanks, but it wasn't that hard. As long as you're around, it doesn't matter what we do. I just like spending time with you.
He put his arm around her, pulling her close. She rested her head on his shoulder. In the silence, they listened as the waves rolled up along the beach.
Are you going to stay over again tonight? he asked.
I was giving it some serious consideration.
Would you want me to be a perfect gentleman again?
Maybe. Maybe not.
He raised his eyebrows. "Are you flirting with me?"
I'm trying, she confessed, and he laughed. "You know, Garrett, I really feel comfortable around you."
Comfortable? You make it sound like I'm a couch.
I don't mean it like that. I mean I just feel good about myself when we're together.
You should. I feel pretty good about you.
Pretty good? That's it?
He shook his head. "No, that's not all." He looked almost bashful for a second. "After you left the last time, my dad came in and lectured me."
What did he say?
He said that if you made me happy, that I shouldn't let you go.
And how do you intend to do that?
I guess I'll have to bowl you over with my charisma.
You've already done that.
He glanced at her, then looked out over the water. After a moment he spoke quietly. "Then I guess I'll have to tell you that I love you."
I love you.
Overhead, the stars were out in full, twinkling in the darkened sky. Distant clouds rode the horizon, reflecting the light of a crescent moon. Theresa listened as the words rolled through her head again.
I love you.
No ambivalence this time, no doubt about what he'd said.
Do you really? she whispered finally.
Yes, he said, turning to face her, "I do."When he answered, she saw something in his eyes she hadn't seen before.
Oh Garrett . . . , she began uncertainly, before Garrett interrupted her with a shake of his head.
Theresa, I don't expect you to feel the same way. I just wanted you to know how I feel. He thought for a moment and found himself remembering the dream he'd had. "Over the last two weeks, a lot of things have happened. . . ." He paused.
She started to say something, but Garrett shook his head. It took a moment for him to continue.
And I'm not sure I understand everything, but I do know how I feel about you.
His finger gently moved across her cheek and lips. "I love you, Theresa."
I love you, too, she said softly, trying out the words and hoping they were true.
They held each other for a long time afterward, then went inside and made love, whispering to each other until the early morning hours. But this time, after Theresa went to the bedroom, Garrett slept soundly while Theresa stayed awake, thinking about the miracle that had brought them together.
* * *
The next day passed wonderfully. Whenever they had a chance, Garrett and Theresa held hands, stealing a few furtive kisses when Kevin wasn't looking.
They spent their day practicing as they had before, and once they had finished their final diving lesson, Garrett gave them their temporary certificates right on the boat. "You can dive whenever and wherever you want now," he said to Kevin, who handled the certificate almost as if it were gold. "Just send this form in and you'll have your PADI certificate in a couple of weeks. But remember-it's never safe to dive alone. Always go with someone else."
Since it was their last day in Wilmington, Theresa checked them out of the motel, and the three of them went to Garrett's house. Kevin wanted to spend their last few hours on the beach, and Theresa and Garrett sat with him near the water's edge. For a while Garrett and Kevin played Frisbee, and realizing it was getting late in the afternoon, Theresa went inside and found something to eat.
They had a quick dinner on the back deck-hot dogs on the grill-before Garrett drove them to the airport. After Theresa and Kevin had safely boarded, Garrett stayed a few minutes, watching until the plane finally began to back out of the gate. When it drew out of sight, he walked back to the truck and returned home, already watching the clock to see how long it would be until he could call her that evening.
In their seats, Theresa and Kevin thumbed through magazines. Halfway through the first leg of their trip home, Kevin suddenly turned to her and asked:
Mom, do you like Garrett?
Yes, I do. But more important, do you like him?
I think he's cool. For a grownup, I mean.
Theresa smiled. "You two seemed to have hit it off. Are you glad we came?"
He nodded. "Yeah, I'm glad." He paused, fidgeting with the magazine. "Mom, can I ask you something?"
Anything.
Are you gonna marry Garrett?
I don't know. Why?
Do you want to?
It took her a few moments to answer. "I'm not sure. I do know that I don't want to marry him right now. We're still getting to know each other."
But you might want to marry him in the future?
Maybe.
Kevin looked relieved. "I'm glad. You seemed like you were really happy when you were with him."
Could you tell?
Mom, I'm twelve. I know more than you think.
She reached over and touched his hand. "Well, what would you have said if I'd told you I did want to marry him now?"
He was quiet for a moment. "I guess I'd wonder where we were gonna live."
For the life of her, Theresa couldn't think of a good response. Where indeed?
Four days after Theresa left Wilmington, Garrett had another dream, only this time it was about Catherine. In the dream they were in a grassy field bordered by a cliff overlooking the ocean. They were walking together, holding hands and talking, when Garrett said something that made her laugh. All at once she broke away from him. Looking over her shoulder and laughing, she called for Garrett to chase her. He did, laughing as well, feeling much as he had the day they were married.
Watching her run, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was. Her flowing hair reflected the light of the high yellow sun, her legs were lean and moving rhythmically, effortlessly. Her smile, despite the fact she was running, looked easy and relaxed, as if she were standing still.
Chase me, Garrett. Can you catch me? she called.
The sound of laughter after she said it floated in the air around him, sounding musical.
He was slowly gaining on her when he noticed that she was heading toward the cliff. In her excitement and joy, she didn't seem to realize where she was going.
But that's ridiculous, he thought. She has to know.
Garrett called for her to stop, but instead she began to run faster.
She was approaching the edge of the cliff.
With a feeling of certain dread, he saw that he was still too far behind her to catch her.
He ran as fast as he could, screaming for her to turn around. She didn't appear to hear him. He felt the adrenaline rush through his body, fed by a paralyzing fear. "Stop, Catherine!" he shouted, his lungs exhausted. "The cliff-you're not watching where you're going!" The more he shouted, the softer his voice became, until it turned into a whisper.
Catherine kept on running, unaware. The cliff was only a few feet away.
He was closing ground.
But he was still too far behind.
Stop! he screamed again, though this time he knew she couldn't hear it. His voice had diminished to nothing. The panic he felt then was greater than anything he'd ever known. With everything he had, he willed his legs to move faster, but they began to tire, turning heavier with every step he took.
I'm not going to make it, he thought, panicking.
Then, just as suddenly as she had broken away, she stopped. Turning to face him, she seemed oblivious of any danger.
She stood only inches from the edge.
Don't move, he shouted, but again it came out in a whisper. He stopped a few feet from her and held out his hand, breathing heavily.
Come toward me, he pleaded. "You're right on the edge."
She smiled and glanced behind her. Noticing how close she was to falling, she turned toward him.
Did you think you were going to lose me?
Yes, he said quietly, "and I promise not to ever let it happen again."
* * *
Garrett woke and sat up in bed, staying awake for several hours afterward. When he finally fell back to sleep, it was fitful at best, and it was almost ten o'clock the next morning before he was able to get up. Still exhausted and feeling depressed, he found it impossible to think about anything but the dream. Not knowing what to do, he called his father, who met him for breakfast in their usual place.
I don't know why I feel this way, he told his father after a few minutes of small talk. "I just don't understand it."
His father didn't answer. Instead he watched his son over his coffee cup, remaining silent as his son went on.
It's not like she did anything to upset me, he continued. "We just spent a long weekend together, and I really care for her. I met her son, too, and he's great. It's just that . . . I don't know I don't know if I'm going to be able to keep this up."
Garrett paused. The only sound came from the tables around them.
Keep what up? Jeb Blake finally asked.
Garrett stirred his coffee absently. "I don't know whether I can see her again."
His father cocked an eyebrow but didn't reply. Garrett went on.
Maybe it's just not meant to be. I mean, she doesn't even live here. She's a thousand miles away, she's got her own life, she's got her own interests. And here I am, living down here and leading an entirely separate life. Maybe she'd do better with someone else, someone she could see on a regular basis.
He thought about what he'd said, knowing that he didn't quite believe himself. Still, he didn't want to tell his father about the dream.
I mean, how can we build a relationship if we don't see each other very often?
Again his father said nothing. Garrett carried on, as if talking to himself.
If she lived here and I could see her every day, I think I'd feel differently. But with her being gone . . .
He trailed off, trying to make sense of his thoughts. After a while he spoke again.
I just don't see how we can make it work. I've thought about it a lot, and I don't see how it could be possible. I don't want to move to Boston, and I'm sure she doesn't want to move here, so where would that leave us?
Garrett stopped and waited for his father to say something-anything-in response to what he'd said up to that point. But for a while, he didn't make a sound. Finally he sighed and looked away.
It sounds to me like you're making excuses, Jeb said quietly. "You're trying to convince yourself, and you're using me to listen to yourself talk."
No, Dad, I'm not. I'm just trying to figure out this whole thing.
Who do you think you're talking to, Garrett? Jeb Blake shook his head. "Sometimes, I swear you think I just fell off the turnip truck and bumbled through life without learning anything along the way. But I know exactly what you're going through. You've gotten so caught up in being alone that you're afraid of what might happen if you actually find someone else that can take you away from it."
I'm not afraid, Garrett protested.
His father cut him off sharply. "You can't even admit it to yourself, can you?"
The disappointment in his tone was unmistakable. "You know, Garrett, when your mom died, I made excuses, too. Over the years, I told myself all sorts of things. And you wanna know where it got me?"
He stared at his son. "I'm old and tired, and most of all, I'm alone. If I could go back in time, I'd change a lot about myself, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you do the same things I did."
Jeb paused before going on, his tone softening. "I was wrong, Garrett. I was wrong not to try to find someone else. I was wrong to feel guilty about your mom. I was wrong to keep living my life the way I did, always suffering inside and wondering what she would have thought. Because you know what? I think your mom would have wanted me to find someone else. Your mom would have wanted me to be happy. And you know why?"
Garrett didn't answer.
Because she loved me. And if you think that you're showing your love to Catherine by suffering the way you've been doing, then somewhere along the way, I must have messed up in raising you.
You didn't mess up. . . .
I must have. Because when I look at you, I see myself, and to be honest, I'd rather see someone different. I'd like to see someone who learned that it's okay to go on, that it's okay to find someone that can make you happy. But right now, it's like I'm looking in the mirror and seeing myself twenty years ago.
* * *
Garrett spent the rest of the afternoon alone, walking on the beach, thinking about what his father had said. Looking back, he knew he'd been dishonest from the start of the conversation and wasn't surprised that his father had figured it out. Why, then, had he wanted to talk to him? Had he wanted his father to confront him as he had?
As the afternoon wore on, his depression gave way to confusion, then to a sort of numbness. By the time he called Theresa later in the evening, the feelings of betrayal he'd felt as a result of the dream had subsided enough to speak with her. They were still there, though not as strong, and when she answered the phone, he felt them diminish even further. The sound of her voice reminded him of the way he felt when they were together.
I'm glad you called, she said cheerfully, "I thought a lot about you today."
I thought about you, too, he said. "I wish you were here right now."
Are you okay? You sound a little down.
I'm fine. . . . Just lonely that's all. How was your day?
Typical. Too much to do at work, too much to do at home. But it's better now that I've heard from you.
Garrett smiled. "Is Kevin around?"
He's in his room reading a book about scuba diving. He tells me he wants to be a dive instructor when he grows up.
Where could he have gotten that idea?
I haven't the slightest, she said, amusement in her tone. "How about you? What did you do today?"
Not much, actually. I didn't go into the shop-I sort of took the day off and wandered the beaches.
Dreaming about me, I hope?
The irony of her comment was not lost on him. He didn't answer directly.
I just really missed you today.
I've only been gone a few days, she said gently.
I know. And speaking of that, when will we get to see each other again?
Theresa sat at the dining room table and glanced at her Day-Timer.
Umm . . . how about in three weeks? I was thinking that maybe you could come up here this time. Kevin has a week-long soccer camp, and we'd be able to spend some time alone.
Would you like to come down here instead?
It would be better if you came up here, if that's okay. I'm running low on vacation days, and I think we'd be able to work around my schedule. And besides, I think it's about time you got out of North Carolina, just so you can see what the rest of the country has to offer.
As she spoke, he found himself staring at Catherine's picture on the nightstand. It took him a few seconds to respond. "Sure . . . I guess I could do that."
You don't sound too sure about it.
I am.
Is there something else, then?
No.
She paused uncertainly. "Are you really okay, Garrett?"
* * *
It took him a few days and several phone calls to Theresa to feel somewhat normal again. More than once he found himself calling her late in the evening, just to hear her voice.
Hey, he'd say, "it's me again."
Hi, Garrett, what's up? she'd ask sleepily.
Not much. I just wanted to say good night before you crawled into bed.
I'm already in bed.
What time is it?
She glanced toward the clock. "Almost midnight."
Why are you awake? You should be sleeping, he'd tease, and then he'd let her hang up the phone so she could get her rest.
Sometimes, if he couldn't sleep, he'd think about his week with Theresa, remembering how good her skin felt to his touch, overwhelmed by his desire to hold her again.
Then, walking into the bedroom, he'd see Catherine's picture by his bed. And at that moment the dream would rush forward with crystal clarity.
He knew he was still unsettled by the dream. In the past he would have written a letter to Catherine to help him get it into perspective. Then, taking Happenstance out on the same route he and Catherine had sailed for the first time after Happenstance had been restored, he'd seal it and toss it into the ocean.
Strangely, he wasn't able to do it this time. When he sat down to write, the words simply wouldn't come. Finally growing frustrated, he willed himself to remember, instead.
Now there's a surprise, Garrett said as he pointed at Catherine's plate. On it, she was piling spinach salad from the buffet in front of them.
Catherine shrugged dismissively. "What's wrong with wanting a salad?"
Nothing's wrong with it, he said quickly.
It's just that this is the third time you've eaten it this week.
I know. I've just been craving it. I don't know why.
If you keep eating it like you do, you're going to turn into a rabbit.
She laughed and poured on the salad dressing. "If that were the case," she said, looking at his plate, "if you keep eating that seafood, you'll turn into a shark."
I am a shark, he said, raising his eyebrows.
You may be a shark, but if you keep teasing me, you'll never get the chance to prove it with me.
He smiled. "Why don't I prove it this weekend?"
When? You'll be working this weekend.
Not this weekend. Believe it or not, I've cleared my schedule so that we can spend some time together. We haven't spent a whole weekend alone since I don't know when.
What did you have in mind?
I don't know. Maybe sailing, maybe something else. Whatever you want to do.
She laughed. "Well, I did have big plans-my trip to Paris for a little shopping, a quick safari or two . . . but I guess I can rearrange things."
Then it's a date.
* * *
As the days passed, the image of the dream began to fade. Each time Garrett talked to Theresa, he found himself feeling a little more renewed. He also spoke to Kevin a couple of times, and his enthusiasm for Garrett's presence in their lives helped him regain his footing as well. Even though the heat and humidity of August seemed to make time pass more slowly than usual, he kept himself as busy as he could, doing his best not to think about the complexities of his new situation.
Two weeks later-a few days before he was leaving for Boston-Garrett was cooking in the kitchen when the phone rang.
Hiya, stranger, she said. "Got a few minutes?"
I always have a few minutes to talk when it comes to you.
I was just calling to find out what time your flight is coming in. You weren't sure the last time we talked.
Hold on, he said, rummaging through the kitchen drawer for his itinerary. "Here it is-I'll be getting into Boston a few minutes after one."
That works out perfectly. I've got to drop Kevin off a few hours earlier, and it'll give me time to get the apartment in shape.
Cleaning up for me?
You get the full treatment. I'm even going to dust.
I feel honored.
You should. Only you and my parents get that kind of attention.
Should I pack a pair of white gloves to make sure you've done a good job?
If you do, you won't live to see the evening.
He laughed and changed the subject. "I'm looking forward to seeing you again," he said earnestly. "These last three weeks were a lot harder than the first two."
I know. I could hear it in your voice. You were really down for a few days, and . . . well, I was beginning to get worried about you.
He wondered whether she suspected the reason for his melancholy. Clearing his mind, he went on. "I was, but I'm over it now. I've already packed my bags."
I hope you didn't take up any space with unnecessary items.
Like what?
Like . . . I don't know . . . pajamas.
He laughed. "I don't own any pajamas."
That's good. Because even if you did, you wouldn't need them.
* * *
Three days later, Garrett Blake arrived in Boston.
After picking him up from the airport, Theresa showed him around the city. They had lunch at Faneuil Hall, watched the skullers gliding on the Charles River, and took a quick tour of the Harvard campus. As usual, they held hands most of the day, reveling in each other's company.
More than once, Garrett found himself wondering why the last three weeks had been so difficult for him. He knew that part of his anxiety stemmed from the dream, but spending time with Theresa made the dream's troubling feelings seem distant and insubstantial. Every time Theresa laughed or squeezed his hand, she reaffirmed the feelings he'd had when she was last in Wilmington, banishing the dark thoughts that plagued him in her absence.
When the day began to cool and the sun dipped below the trees, Theresa and Garrett stopped for some Mexican food to bring back to her apartment. Sitting on her living room floor in the glow of candlelight, Garrett looked around the room.
You have a nice place, he said, forking up some beans with a tortilla chip. "For some reason, I thought it would be smaller than it is. It's bigger than my house."
Only by a little, but thanks. It works for us. It's real convenient to everything.
Like restaurants?
Exactly. I wasn't kidding when I told you I didn't like to cook. I'm not exactly Martha Stewart.
Who?
Never mind, she said.
Outside her apartment, the sound of traffic was clearly audible. A car screeched on the street below, a horn blared, and all at once the air was filled with noise as other cars joined in the chorus.
Is it always this quiet? he asked.
She nodded toward the windows. "Friday and Saturday nights are the worst-usually it's not so bad. But you get used to it if you live here long enough."
The sounds of city living continued. A siren blared in the distance, growing steadily louder as it approached.
Would you like to put on some music? Garrett asked.
Sure. What kind do you like?
I like both kinds, he said, pausing dramatically. "Country and western."
She laughed. "I don't have anything like that here."
He shook his head, enjoying his own joke. "I was kidding, anyway. It's an old line. Not too funny, but I've been waiting for my chance to say it for years."
You must have watched a lot of Hee-Haw as a kid.
Now it was his turn to laugh.
Back to my original question-what kind of music do you like? she persisted.
Anything you have is fine.
How about some jazz?
Sounds good.
Theresa got up and chose something she thought he might like and slipped it into the CD player. In a few moments the music started, just as the traffic congestion outside seemed to clear.
So what do you think of Boston so far? she asked, reclaiming her seat.
I like it. For a big city, it's not too bad. It doesn't seem as impersonal as I thought it would be, and it's cleaner, too. I guess I pictured it differently. You know-crowds, asphalt, tall buildings, not a tree in sight, and muggers on every corner. But it's not like that at all.
She smiled. "It is nice, isn't it? I mean, it's not beachfront, but it has its own appeal. Especially if you consider what the city has to offer. You could go to the symphony, or to museums, or just stroll around in the Commons. There's something for everyone here-they even have a sailing club."
I can see why you like it here, he said, wondering why it sounded as if she were selling the place.
I do. And Kevin likes it, too.
He changed the subject: "You said he's at soccer camp?"
She nodded. "Yeah. He's trying out for an all-star team for twelve and under. I don't know if he'll make it, but he thinks he has a pretty good shot. Last year, he made the final cut as an eleven-year-old."
It sounds like he's good.
He is, she said with a nod. She pushed their now empty plates to the side and moved closer. "But enough about Kevin," she said softly. "We don't always have to talk about him. We can talk about other things, you know."
Like what?
She kissed his neck. "Like what I want to do with you now that I have you all to myself."
Are you sure you just want to talk about it?
You're right, she whispered. "Who wants to talk at a time like this?"
* * *
The next day, Theresa again took Garrett on a tour of Boston, spending most of the morning in the Italian neighborhoods of the North End, wandering the narrow, twisting streets and stopping for the occasional cannoli and coffee. Though Garrett knew she wrote columns for the paper, he didn't know exactly what else her job entailed. He asked her about it as they made their way leisurely through the city.
Can't you write a column from your home?
In time, I suppose I can. But right now, it's not possible.
Why not?
Well, it's not in my contract, for starters. Besides, I have to do a lot more than sit at my computer and write. Often, I have to interview people, so there's time involved in that-sometimes even a little travel. Plus, there's all the research I have to do, especially when I write about medical or psychological issues, and when I'm in the office, I have access to a lot more sources. And then there's the fact that I need a place where I can be reached. A lot of the stuff I do is human interest, and I get calls from people all day long. If I worked out of my home, I know a lot of people would call in the evenings when I'm spending time with Kevin, and I'm not willing to give up my time with him.
Do you get calls at home now?
Occasionally. But my number isn't listed, so not all that often.
Do you get a lot of crazy calls?
She nodded. "I think all columnists do. A lot of people call the paper with stories they want printed. I get calls about people who are locked up in prison who shouldn't be, I get calls about city services and how the garbage isn't being picked up on time. I get calls about street crime. It seems like I've gotten calls about everything."
I thought you said you write about parenting.
I do.
Then why would they call you? Why don't they call someone else?
She shrugged. "I'm sure they do, but it still doesn't stop them from calling me. A lot of people begin their calls with, 'No one else will listen to me and you're my last hope.' " She glanced at him before going on. "I guess they think I'll be able to do something about their problems."
Why?
Well, columnists are different from other newspaper writers. Most things printed in the newspaper are impersonal-straightforward reporting, facts and figures, and the like. But if people read my column every day, I guess they think they know me. They begin to see me as a friend of sorts. And people look to their friends to help them out when they need it.
It must put you in an awkward position sometimes.
She shrugged. "It does, but I try not to think about it. Besides, there are good parts about my job, too-giving information that people can use, keeping up with the latest medical data and spelling it out in laymen's terms, even sharing lighthearted stories just to make the day a little easier."
Garrett stopped at a sidewalk store selling fresh fruit. He picked out a couple of apples from the bin, then handed one to Theresa.
What's the most popular thing you've ever written about in your column? he asked.
Theresa felt her breath catch. The most popular? Easy-I found a message in a bottle once, and I got a couple of hundred letters.
She forced herself to think of something else. "Oh . . . I get a lot of letters when I write about teaching disabled children," she said finally.
That must be rewarding, he said, paying the shopkeeper.
It is.
Before taking a bite of his apple, Garrett asked: "Could you still write your column even if you changed papers?"
She considered the question. "It would be hard to do, especially if I want to continue to syndicate. Since I'm so new and still establishing my name, having the Boston Times behind me really helps. Why?"
Just curious, he said quietly.
* * *
The next morning Theresa went into work for a few hours but was home for the day a little after lunchtime. They spent the afternoon at the Boston Commons, where they ate a picnic lunch. Their lunch was interrupted twice by people who recognized her from her picture in the paper, and Garrett realized that Theresa was actually more well-known than he had thought.
I didn't know you were such a celebrity, he said wryly after the second person walked away.
I'm not really a celebrity. It's just that my picture appears above my column, so people know what I look like.
Does this sort of thing happen a lot?
Not really. Maybe a few times a week.
That's a lot, he said, surprised.
She shook her head. "Not when you consider real celebrities. They can't even go to the store without someone taking their picture. I pretty much lead a normal life."
But it still must be odd to have total strangers coming up to you.
Actually, it's kind of flattering. Most people are very nice about it.
Either way, I'm glad I didn't know you were so famous right off the bat.
Why?
I might have been too intimidated to ask you to go sailing.
She reached over and took his hand. "I can't imagine you being intimidated about anything."
Then you don't know me very well.
She was quiet for a moment. "Would you really have been intimidated?" she asked sheepishly.
Probably.
Why?
I guess I'd wonder what someone like you could possibly see in me.
She leaned over to kiss him. "I'll tell you what I see. I see the man that I love, the man who makes me happy . . . someone I want to continue to see for a long time."
How come you always know just what to say?
Because, she said quietly, "I know more about you than you would ever suspect."
Such as?
A lazy smile played over her lips. "For instance, I know you want me to kiss you again."
I do?
Absolutely.
And she was right.
* * *
Later that evening Garrett said, "You know, Theresa, I can't find a single thing wrong with you."
They were in the tub together, surrounded by mountains of bubbles, Theresa leaning against his chest. He used a sponge to wash her skin as he spoke.
What's that supposed to mean? she asked curiously, turning her head to look at him.
Just what I said. I can't find a single thing wrong with you. I mean, you're perfect.
I'm not perfect, Garrett, she said, pleased nonetheless.
But you are. You're beautiful, you're kind, you make me laugh, you're intelligent, and you're a great mother as well. Toss in the fact that you're famous, and I don't think there's anyone who can measure up to you.
She caressed his arm, relaxing against him. "I think you see me through rose-colored glasses. But I like it. . . ."
Are you saying I'm biased?
No-but you've only seen my good side so far.
I didn't know you had another side to you, he said, squeezing both of her arms simultaneously. "Both sides feel pretty good right now."
She laughed. "You know what I mean. You haven't seen my dark side yet."
You don't have a dark side.
Sure I do. Everyone does. It's just that when you're around, it likes to keep itself hidden.
So, how would you describe your dark side?
She thought for a moment. "Well, for starters, I'm stubborn, and I can get mean when I'm angry. I tend to lash out and say the first thing that pops in my head, and believe me, it's not pretty. I also have a tendency to tell others exactly what I'm thinking, even when I know it would be best just to walk away."
That doesn't sound so bad.
You haven't been on the receiving end yet.
It still doesn't sound so bad.
Well . . . let me put it this way. When I first confronted David about the affair, I called him some of the worst names in the English language.
He deserved it.
But I'm not sure he deserved to have a vase thrown at him.
Did you do that?
She nodded. "You should have seen the look on his face. He'd never seen me like that before."
What did he do?
Nothing-I think he was too shocked to do anything. Especially when I started in with the plates. I cleaned out most of the cupboard that night.
He grinned in admiration. "I didn't know you were so feisty."
It's my midwest upbringing. Don't mess with me, buster.
I won't.
That's good. I'm much more accurate these days.
I'll remember that.
They sank deeper into the warm water. Garrett continued to move the sponge over her body.
I still think you're perfect, he said softly.
She closed her eyes. "Even with my dark side?" she asked.
Especially with your dark side. It adds an element of excitement.
I'm glad, because I think you're pretty perfect yourself.
* * *
The rest of their vacation flew by. In the mornings Theresa would go into work for a few hours, then come home and spend the afternoons and evenings with Garrett. In the evenings they would either order something in or head to one of the many small restaurants near her apartment. Sometimes they rented a movie to watch afterward, but usually they preferred to spend their time without other distractions.
On Friday night Kevin called from the soccer camp. Excitedly he explained that he'd made the all-star team. Though it meant more games would be played outside of Boston and they'd have to travel most weekends, Theresa was happy for him. Then, surprising her, Kevin asked to speak to Garrett. Garrett listened as he described what had happened that week and congratulated him. After hanging up, Theresa opened a bottle of wine and the two of them celebrated Kevin's good fortune until the early morning hours.
On Sunday morning-the day he was leaving-they had brunch with Deanna and Brian. Garrett saw immediately what Theresa loved about Deanna. She was both charming and amusing, and Garrett found himself laughing throughout his meal. Deanna asked him about diving and sailing, while Brian speculated that if he owned his own business, he'd never get anything done because golf would simply take over his life.
Theresa was pleased that they seemed to get along so well. Excusing themselves after they'd eaten, Deanna and Theresa headed together into the bathroom to chat.
So, what do you think? Theresa asked expectantly.
He's great, Deanna admitted. "He's even better looking than he was in the pictures you brought back."
I know. My heart skips a beat whenever I look at him.
Deanna primped her hair, doing her best to add a little body to it. "Did your week turn out as well as you hoped?"
Even better.
Deanna beamed. "I could tell by the way he was looking at you that he really cares about you, too. The way you two act together reminds me of Brian and me. You seem like a good match."
Do you really think so?
I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it.
Deanna took some lipstick out of her purse and began to apply it. "So, how did he like Boston?" she asked offhandedly.
Theresa took out her own lipstick as well. "It's not what he's used to, but he seemed to have enjoyed himself. We went to a lot of fun places."
Did he say anything in particular?
No . . . why? She looked at Deanna curiously.
Because, Deanna answered evenly, "I was just wondering if he'd said anything that might make you think he'd move here if you asked him to."
Her comment made Theresa think about something she'd been avoiding.
We haven't talked about it yet, she said finally.
Were you planning to?
The distance between us is a problem, but there's still something else, isn't there? she heard a voice inside her whisper.
Not wanting to think about it, she shook her head. "I don't think it's the right time-at least not yet." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I mean-I know we have to talk about it sometime, but I don't think we've known each other long enough to start making decisions about the future. We're still getting to know each other."
Deanna eyed her with motherly suspicion. "But you've known him long enough to fall in love with him, haven't you?"
Yes, Theresa conceded.
Then you know that this decision is coming, whether you want to face it or not.
It took a moment for her to answer. "I know."
Deanna put her hand on Theresa's shoulder. "What if it comes down to losing him or leaving Boston?"
Theresa pondered the question and its implications. "I'm not sure," she said quietly, and looked at Deanna uncertainly.
Can I give you some advice? Deanna asked.
Theresa nodded. Deanna led her out of the bathroom by the arm, leaning toward Theresa's ear so that no one could overhear them.
Whatever you decide to do, remember that you have to be able to go forward in life without looking back. If you're sure that Garrett can give you the kind of love you need and that you'll be happy, then you have to do whatever it takes to keep him. True love is rare, and it's the only thing that gives life real meaning.
But doesn't the same thing apply to him? Shouldn't he be willing to sacrifice as well?
Of course.
Then where does that leave me?
It leaves you with the same problem you had before, Theresa-one that you're definitely going to have to think about.
* * *
Over the next two months, their long-distance relationship began to evolve in a way that neither Theresa nor Garrett expected though both should have foreseen.
Working around each other's schedules, they were able to get together three more times, each time for a weekend. Once, Theresa flew down to Wilmington so they could be alone, and they spent their time holed up in Garrett's house, except for an evening they spent sailing. Garrett traveled to Boston twice, spending much of his time on the road for Kevin's soccer tournaments, though he hadn't minded. They were the first soccer games he'd ever attended, and he found himself caught up in the action more than he thought he would.
How come you're not as excited as I am? he'd asked Theresa during one particularly frenzied moment on the field.
Why don't you wait until you've seen a few hundred games, and then I'm sure you could answer your own question, she'd replied playfully.
When they were together during those weekends, it was as if nothing else mattered in the world. Usually Kevin would spend one of the nights at a friend's house so they could be alone, at least for a little while. They spent hours talking and laughing, holding each other close, and making love, trying to make up for weeks spent apart. Yet neither of them broached the subject of what was going to happen to their relationship in the future. They lived moment to moment, neither of them exactly sure of what to expect from the other. Not that they weren't in love. Of that, at least, they were certain.
But because they didn't see each other very often, their relationship had more ups and downs than either of them had experienced before. Since everything felt right when they were together, everything felt wrong when they weren't. Garrett, especially, found himself struggling with the distance between them. Usually the good feelings he'd had when they saw each other lasted for a few days afterward, but then he'd find himself growing depressed as he anticipated the weeks before he saw her again.
Of course, he wanted them to spend more time together than was possible. Now that summer had passed, it was easier for him to get away than it was for her. Even with most of the employees gone, there wasn't much to do around the shop. But Theresa's schedule was completely different, if only because of Kevin. He was in school again, he had tournaments on the weekends, and it was difficult for her to break away, even for a few days. Although Garrett was willing to visit Boston to see her more often, Theresa simply didn't have the time. More than once he'd suggested another trip up to see her, but for one reason or another, it hadn't worked out.
True, he knew there were couples who faced living situations more difficult than theirs. His father told him stories of how he and his mother hadn't spoken for months at a time. He'd gone to Korea and spent two years with the marines, and when times were tough in the shrimping business, he used to find work with passing freighters on their way to South America. Sometimes those trips lasted months. The only thing his parents had during those times were letters, which were infrequent at best. Garrett and Theresa had something less difficult, but that still didn't make it easy.
He knew the distance between them was a problem, but it didn't seem as if it were going to change anytime in the near future. As he saw it, there were only two solutions-he could move, or she could move. No matter how he looked at it-and no matter how much they cared for each other-it always came down to one of those two choices.
Deep down, he suspected that Theresa was having the same thoughts he was, which was why neither of them wanted to talk about it. It seemed easier not to bring it up, since it would mean starting down a path that neither was sure they wanted to follow One of them was going to have to change his or her life dramatically.
But which one?
He had his own business in Wilmington, the kind of life he wanted to live, the only life he knew how to live. Boston was nice to visit, but it wasn't home. He'd never even contemplated living somewhere else. And then there was his father-he was getting up in years, and despite the strong exterior, his age was catching up with him and Garrett was all he had.
On the other hand, Theresa had strong ties to Boston. Though her parents lived elsewhere, Kevin was in a school he liked, she had a blossoming career with a major newspaper, and she had a network of friends she'd have to leave. She'd worked hard to get where she was, and if she left Boston, she'd probably have to give it up. Would she be able to do that without resenting him for what he'd made her do?
Garrett didn't want to think about it. Instead he focused on the fact that he loved Theresa, clinging to the belief that if they were meant to be together, they would find a way to do it.
Deep down, however, he knew it wasn't going to be that easy, and not just because of the distance between them. After he'd returned from his second trip to Boston, he had a picture of Theresa enlarged and framed. He set it on the bedstand opposite Catherine's picture, but despite his feelings for Theresa, it seemed out of place in his bedroom. A few days later he moved the picture across the room, but it still didn't help. Wherever he put it, it seemed to him as if Catherine's eyes would follow it. This is ridiculous, he told himself after moving it yet again. Nonetheless he found himself finally slipping Theresa's picture into the drawer and reaching for Catherine's instead. Sighing, he sat on the bed and held it in front of him.
We didn't have these problems, he whispered as he ran his finger over her image. "With us, everything always seemed so easy, didn't it?"
When he realized the picture wouldn't answer, he cursed his foolishness and retrieved Theresa's picture.
Staring at them both, even he understood why he was having so much trouble with it all. He loved Theresa more than he ever thought he could . . . but he still loved Catherine. . . .
Was it possible to love them both at once?
* * *
I can't wait to see you again, Garrett said.
It was the middle of November, a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving. Theresa and Kevin were flying home to see her parents for the holidays, and Theresa had made arrangements to come down the weekend before to spend some time with Garrett. It had been a month since they'd seen each other.
I'm looking forward to it, too, she said. "And you promised that I'd finally get to meet your father, right?"
He's planning on cooking an early Thanksgiving dinner for us at his place. He keeps asking me what you like to eat. I think he wants to make a good impression.
Tell him he doesn't have to worry. Anything he makes will be fine.
That's what I keep telling him. But I can tell he's nervous about it.
Why?
Because you'll be the first guest we've ever had over. For years, it's just been the two of us.
Am I interrupting a family tradition?
No-I like to think that we're starting a new one. Besides, he was the one who volunteered, remember?
Do you think he'll like me?
I know he will.
* * *
When he found out Theresa was coming, Jeb Blake did some things he hadn't ever done before. First, he hired someone to come in and clean the small house where he lived, a job that ended up taking almost two days because he was so adamant that the house be spotless. He also bought a new shirt and tie. Emerging from his bedroom in his new clothes, he couldn't help but notice the surprise in Garrett's eyes.
How do I look? he asked.
You look fine, but why are you wearing a tie?
It's not for you-it's for dinner this weekend.
Garrett continued to stare at his father, a wry smile on his face. "I don't think I've ever seen you in a tie before."
I've worn them before. You just haven't noticed.
You don't have to wear a tie just because Theresa is coming.
I know that, he replied tersely, "I just felt like wearing one to dinner this year."
You're nervous about meeting her, aren't you?
No.
Dad-you don't have to be someone you're not. I'm sure Theresa would like you no matter how you were dressed.
That doesn't mean I can't look nice for your lady friend, does it?
No.
Then I guess it's settled, isn't it? I didn't come out here to get your advice about it, I came out here to see if I looked okay.
You look fine.
Good.
He turned and started back to the bedroom, already untucking his shirt and loosening the tie. Garrett watched him vanish from sight, and a moment later he heard his father call his name.
What now? Garrett asked.
His father peeked his head around the corner. "You're wearing a tie, too, aren't you?"
I wasn't planning on it.
Well, change your plans. I don't want Theresa to find out that I raised someone who didn't know how to dress for company.
* * *
The day before her arrival, Garrett helped his father finish his preparations. Garrett mowed the lawn while Jeb unpacked the wedding china he seldom, if ever, used anymore and washed the dishes by hand. After searching for matching silverware-easier said than done-Jeb found a tablecloth in the closet, deciding it would be a nice touch. He tossed it into the washing machine just as Garrett came inside after finishing the yard. Garrett walked to the cupboard and pulled a glass from the shelf.
What time is she coming in tomorrow? Jeb asked from around the corner.
Garrett filled the glass with water and answered over his shoulder. "Her plane gets in about ten o'clock. We should be here around eleven or so."
What time do you think she'll want to eat?
I don't know.
Jeb walked into the kitchen. "You didn't ask her?"
No.
Then how will I know when to put the turkey in the oven?
Garrett took a drink of water. "Just plan on us eating sometime in the middle of the afternoon. Anytime is fine, I'm sure."
Do you think you should call and ask her?
I really don't think it's necessary. It's not that big of a deal.
Maybe not to you. But it's the first time I'll be meeting her, and if you two end up getting married, I don't want to be the subject of any humorous stories later on.
Garrett raised his eyebrows. "Who said we're getting married?"
No one.
Then why did you bring it up?
Because, he said quickly, "I figured one of us had to, and I wasn't sure you were ever going to get around to it."
Garrett stared at his father. "So, you think I should marry her?"
Jeb winked as he answered. "It doesn't matter what I think, it's what you think that's important, isn't it?"
* * *
Later that evening, Garrett opened his front door just as the phone began to ring. After rushing to the phone, he picked it up and heard the voice he expected.
Garrett? Theresa asked. "You sound out of breath."
He smiled. "Oh, hey, Theresa. I just walked in. My father had me over at his house all day getting the place ready-he's really look ing forward to meeting you."
There was an uncomfortable pause. "About tomorrow . . . ," she said finally.
He felt his throat tighten. "What about tomorrow?"
It took a moment for her to answer. "I'm really sorry, Garrett . . . I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm not going to be able to make it down to Wilmington after all."
Is something wrong?
No, everything's fine. It's just that something came up at the last minute-a big conference that I've got to go to.
What kind of conference?
It's for my job. She paused again. "I know it sounds terrible, but I wouldn't go unless it was really important."
He closed his eyes. "What's it for?"
It's for bigwig editors and media types-they're meeting in Dallas this weekend. Deanna thinks it would be a good idea if I met some of them.
Did you just find out about it?
No . . . I mean, yes. Well-I knew there was going to be a meeting, but I wasn't supposed to go. Usually, columnists aren't invited, but Deanna pulled some strings and arranged for me to go with her. She hesitated. "I'm really sorry, Garrett, but like I said, it would be wonderful exposure, and it's an opportunity of a lifetime."
He was silent for a moment. Then he said simply, "I understand."
You're angry with me, aren't you.
No.
Are you sure?
I'm sure.
She knew by his tone that he wasn't telling the truth, but she didn't think there was anything she could say that would make him feel any better.
Will you tell your father that I'm sorry?
Yeah, I'll tell him.
Can I call you this weekend?
If you want to.
* * *
The next day he ate dinner with his father, who did his best to play down the whole affair.
If it's like she said, his father explained, "she had a good reason. It's not like she can put her job on the back burner. She has a son to support, and she's got to do her best to provide for him. Besides, it's just one weekend-not much in the grand scheme of things."
Garrett nodded, listening to his father but still upset about the whole thing. Jeb went on.
I'm sure you two will be able to work it out. In fact, she's probably going to do something real special the next time you two are together.
Garrett said nothing. Jeb took a couple of bites before speaking again.
You've got to understand, Garrett-she's got responsibilities, just like you do, and sometimes those responsibilities take priority. I'm sure that if something happened in the shop that you had to take care of, you would have done the same thing.
Garrett leaned back, pushing his half-eaten plate to the side. "I understand all that, Dad. It's just that I haven't seen her for a month now, and I was really looking forward to her visit."
Don't you think she wanted to see you, too?
She said she did.
Jeb leaned across the table and pushed Garrett's plate in front of him again. "Eat your dinner," he said. "I spent all day cooking, and you're not going to waste it."
Garrett looked at his plate. Though he wasn't hungry anymore, he picked up his fork and took a small bite.
You know, his father said as he picked at his own food, "this isn't the last time this is to happen, so you shouldn't get so down about it now."
What do you mean?
I mean that as long as you two continue to live a thousand miles apart, things like this are going to come up and you won't see each other as much as either one of you wants.
Don't you think I know that?
I'm sure you do. But I don't know if either one of you has the guts to do something about it.
Garrett looked at his father, thinking, Gee, Dad, tell me how you really feel. Don't hold back.
When I was young, Jeb continued, oblivious of his son's sour expression, "things were a lot simpler. If a man loved a woman, he asked her to marry him, and then they lived together. It was as simple as that. But you two-it's like you don't know what to do."
I've told you before-it's not that easy. . . .
Sure it is-if you love her, then find a way to be with her. It's as simple as that. That way, if something comes up and you don't see each other one weekend, you don't end up acting like your life is over.
Jeb paused before continuing. "It just isn't natural what you two are trying to do, and in the long run, it isn't going to work. You know that, don't you?"
I know, Garrett said simply, wishing his father would stop talking about it.
His father cocked his eyebrow, waiting. When Garrett didn't add anything else, Jeb spoke again.
'I know'? That's all you have to say?
He shrugged. "What else can I say?"
You can say that the next time you see her, you two are going to figure this out. That's what you can say.
Fine-we'll try to figure it out.
Jeb put his fork down and glared at his son. "I didn't say try, Garrett, I said that you two are going to figure this out."
Why are you so adamant about it?
Because, he said, "if you two don't figure it out, you and me are going to keep eating alone for the next twenty years."
* * *
The following day, Garrett took Happenstance out first thing in the morning and stayed on the water until after the sun went down. Though Theresa had left a message for him with her hotel information in Dallas, he hadn't called last night, telling himself that it was too late and that she was already asleep. It was a lie and he knew it, but he simply didn't feel like talking to her yet.
The fact was, he didn't feel like talking to anyone. He was still angry at what she'd done, and the best place for him to think about it was out on the ocean, where no one could bother him. Most of the morning he found himself wondering if she realized how much this whole thing bothered him. More than likely she didn't-he convinced himself-otherwise she wouldn't have done it.
That is, if she cared about him.
By the time the sun rose higher in the sky, however, his anger began to fade. As he thought more clearly about the situation, he decided that his father had been right-as usual. Her reason for not coming didn't reflect on him as much as it reflected on the differences in their lives. She did have responsibilities she couldn't ignore, and as long as they continued to live separate lives, things like this were going to keep coming up.
Though he wasn't happy about it, he wondered if all relationships had moments like these. If truth be told, he didn't know. The only other real relationship he'd ever had was with Catherine, and it wasn't easy to compare the two. He and Catherine were married and living under the same roof, for one thing. Even more, they'd known each other most of their lives, and because they were younger, they didn't have the same responsibilities that either Garrett or Theresa had now. They were fresh out of college, they didn't own a home, and there certainly weren't any children to care for. No-what they had was completely different from what he and Theresa had now, and it wasn't fair to try to link them.
Still, there was one thing he couldn't ignore, one thing that nagged at him throughout the afternoon. Yes, he knew there were differences-yes, he knew it wasn't fair to compare them-but in the end, what stood out for him was the fact that he had never questioned whether he and Catherine were a team. Never once did he question the future with her, never once did it enter his mind that either one of them wouldn't sacrifice everything for the other. Even when they'd had their fights-about where to live, whether to start the shop, or even what to do on Saturday nights-it wasn't as if either one of them doubted their relationship. There was something long-term in the way they interacted with each other, something that reminded him that they would always be together.
Theresa and he, on the other hand, didn't have that yet.
By the time the sun went down, he realized it wasn't fair to think this way. He and Theresa had known each other only for a short period of time-it wasn't realistic to expect it so soon. Given enough time-and the right circumstances-they would become a team as well.
Wouldn't they?
Shaking his head, he realized he wasn't exactly sure.
He wasn't sure about a lot of things.
But one thing he did know-he hadn't ever analyzed his relationship with Catherine the way he was doing with Theresa, and this wasn't fair, either. Besides, analysis wasn't going to help him in this situation. All the analysis in the world didn't change the fact that they didn't see each other as much as they wanted-or needed-to.
No-what they needed now was action.
* * *
Garrett called Theresa as soon as he got home that evening.
Hello, she answered sleepily.
He spoke softly into the phone. "Hey, it's me."
Garrett?
I'm sorry for waking you up, but you'd left a couple of messages on my answering machine.
I'm glad you called. I wasn't sure you were going to.
For a while, I didn't want to.
Are you still mad at me?
No, he said quietly. "Sad, maybe, but not mad."
Because I'm not there this weekend?
No. Because you're not here most weekends.
* * *
That night he dreamed again.
In his dream Theresa and he were in Boston, walking along one of the busy city streets, crowded with the usual collection of individuals-men and women, old and young, some dressed in suits, others in the baggy clothing typical of today's youth. For a while, they window-shopped just as they had on one of his previous visits. The day was clear and bright, without a cloud in the sky, and Garrett was enjoying spending the day with her.
Theresa stopped at the window of a small craft store and asked if Garrett wanted to go inside. Shaking his head, he said, "You go ahead. I'll wait for you here." Theresa made sure he was certain, then stepped inside. Garrett stood outside the door, relaxing in the shade of the tall buildings, when he saw something familiar out of the corner of his eye.
It was a woman, walking along the sidewalk a little distance away, her blond hair just brushing her shoulders.
He blinked, glanced away for a moment, and turned back quickly. Something in the way she moved struck him, and he watched her as she slowly moved away. Finally the woman stopped and turned her head, as if remembering something. Garrett felt his breath catch.
Catherine.
It couldn't be.
He shook his head. At this distance he couldn't tell if he was mistaken or not.
She started to walk away again just as Garrett called to her.
Catherine-is it you?
She didn't seem to hear him above the noise of the street. Garrett glanced over his shoulder and spotted Theresa in the shop browsing. When he looked back up the street, Catherine-or whoever she was-was turning the corner.
He started toward her, walking quickly, then he began to jog. The sidewalks were becoming more crowded by the second, as if a subway had suddenly opened its doors, and he had to dodge around throngs of people before he reached the corner.
He turned where she had.
Once around the corner, the street grew steadily-menacingly-darker. He picked up his pace again. Though it hadn't been raining, he felt his feet splashing through puddles. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. As he did so, fog began to roll in, almost like a wave, and soon he couldn't see anything more than a few feet away.
Catherine-are you here? he shouted. "Where are you?"
He heard laughter in the distance, though he couldn't make out exactly where it was coming from.
He started walking again, slowly. Again he heard the laughter-childlike, happy. He stopped in his tracks.
Where are you?
Silence.
He looked from side to side.
Nothing.
The fog grew steadily thicker as a light rain began to fall. He started moving again, unsure where he was going.
Something darted into the fog, and he moved quickly toward it.
She was walking away, only a few feet in front of him.
The rain began to fall harder now, and suddenly everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. He began to jog . . . slowly . . . slowly . . . he could see her just ahead . . . the fog growing thicker by the second . . . rain coming down in showers . . . a glimpse of her hair . . .
And then she was gone. He stopped again. The rain and fog made it impossible to see anymore.
Where are you? he shouted again.
Nothing.
Where are you? he shouted, even louder this time.
I'm here, a voice said from the rain and mist.
He wiped the rain from his face. "Catherine? . . . Is it really you?"
It's me, Garrett.
But it wasn't her voice.
Theresa stepped out of the fog. "I'm here."
Garrett woke and sat up in bed, sweating profusely. Wiping his face with the sheet, he sat up for a long time afterward.
* * *
Later that day, Garrett met with his father.
I think I want to marry her, Dad.
They were fishing together at the end of the pier with a dozen other people, most of whom seemed lost in thought. Jeb looked up in surprise.
Two days ago, it didn't seem like you wanted to see her again.
I've done a lot of thinking since then.
You must have, Jeb said quietly. He reeled in his line, checked the bait, then cast again. Even though he doubted he'd catch anything he wanted to keep, fishing was, in his estimation, one of life's greatest pleasures.
Do you love her? Jeb asked.
Garrett looked at him, surprised. "Of course I do. I've told you that a few times."
Jeb Blake shook his head. "No . . . you haven't," he said sincerely. "We've talked about her a lot-you've told me that she makes you happy, that you feel like you know her, and that you don't want to lose her-but you've never told me that you love her."
It's the same thing.
Is it?
* * *
After he'd gone home, the conversation he'd had with his father kept repeating itself in his mind.
Is it?
Of course it is, he'd said right away. "And even if it isn't, I do love her."
Jeb stared at his son for a moment before finally turning away. "You want to marry her?"
I do.
Why?
Because I love her, that's why. Isn't that enough?
Maybe.
Garrett reeled in his line, frustrated. "Weren't you the one who thought we should get married in the first place?"
Yeah.
So why are you questioning it now?
"Because I want to make sure you're doing it for the right reasons. Two days ago, you weren't even sure if you wanted to see her again. Now, you're ready for marriage. It just seems like a mighty big turnaround to me, and I want to make sure it's because of the way you feel about Theresa-and that it doesn't have anything to do with Catherine.
"Bringing up her name stung a little.
Catherine doesn't have anything to do with this, Garrett said quickly. He shook his head and sighed deeply. "You know, Dad, I don't understand you sometimes. You've been pushing me into this the whole time. You kept telling me I had to put the past behind me, that I had to find someone new. And now that I have, it seems like you're trying to talk me out of it."
Jeb put his free hand on Garrett's shoulder. "I'm not talking you out of anything, Garrett. I'm glad you found Theresa, I'm glad that you love her, and yes, I do hope that you end up marrying her. I just said that if you're going to get married, then you'd better be doing it for the right reasons. Marriage is between two people, not three. And it's not fair to her if you go into it otherwise."
It took a moment for him to respond.
Dad, I want to get married because I love her. I want to spend my life with her.
His father stood silently for a long time, watching. Then he said something that made Garrett look away.
So, in other words, you're telling me that you're completely over Catherine?
Though he felt the expectant weight of his father's gaze, Garrett didn't know the answer.
* * *
Are you tired? Garrett asked.
He was lying on his bed as he spoke with Theresa, with only the bedside lamp turned on.
Yeah, I got in just a little while ago. It was a long weekend.
Did it turn out as well as you hoped it would?
I hope so. There's no way to tell just yet, but I did meet a lot of people who could eventually help me out with my column.
It's a good thing you went, then.
Good and bad. Most of the time, I wished I'd gone to visit you instead.
He smiled. "When do you leave for your parents'?"
Wednesday morning. I'll be gone until Sunday.
Are they looking forward to seeing you?
Yeah, they are. They haven't seen Kevin for almost a year, and I know they're looking forward to having him around for a few days.
That's good.
There was a short pause.
Garrett?
Yeah.
She spoke softly. "I just want you to know that I'm still really sorry about this weekend."
I know.
Can I make it up to you?
What did you have in mind?
Well . . . can you come up here to visit the weekend after Thanksgiving?
I suppose so.
Good, because I'm going to plan a special weekend just for the two of us.
* * *
It was a weekend that neither of them would ever forget.
Theresa had called him more than usual in the preceding two weeks. Usually it had been Garrett who called, but it seemed that every time he'd wanted to talk to her, she had anticipated it. Twice, while he was walking to the phone to dial her number, it started ringing before he got there, and the second time it happened, he simply answered the phone with, "Hi, Theresa." It had surprised her, and they joked for a while about his psychic abilities before settling into an easy conversation.
When he arrived in Boston two weeks later, Theresa met him at the airport. She had told him to wear something dressy, and he walked off the plane wearing a blazer, something she'd never seen him in before.
Wow, she'd said simply.
He adjusted the blazer self-consciously. "Do I look okay?"
You look great.
They went straight from the airport to dinner. She'd made reservations at the most elegant restaurant in town. They had a leisurely, wonderful meal, and afterward Theresa took Garrett to Les Misérables, which was currently showing in Boston. The play was sold out, but because Theresa knew the manager, they found themselves seated in the best section of the house.
It was late by the time they got back, and to Garrett, the following day seemed just as rushed. Theresa took him to her office and showed him around-introducing him to a couple of people-and afterward they visited the Museum of Fine Arts for the rest of the afternoon. That evening they met Deanna and Brian for dinner at Anthony's-a restaurant on the top floor of the Prudential Building that offered wonderful views of the entire city.
Garrett had never seen anything
Not knowing where else to go, Garrett caught a cab to the airport after leaving Theresa's apartment. Unfortunately no flights were available, and he ended up staying in the terminal the rest of the night, still angry and unable to sleep.
Pacing the terminal for hours, he wandered past shops that had long since closed up for the evening, stopping only occasionally to look through the barricades that kept nighttime travelers at bay.
The following morning he caught the first flight he could and made it home a little after eleven and then went straight to his room. As he lay in bed, however, the events of the evening before kept running through his head, keeping him awake. Trying and failing to fall asleep, he eventually gave up. He showered and dressed, then sat on his bed again. Staring at the photograph of Catherine, he eventually picked it up and carried it with him into the living room. On the coffee table he found the letters where he'd left them. In Theresa's apartment he'd been too shocked to make sense of them, but now, with her picture in front of him, he read the letters slowly, almost reverently, sensing Catherine's presence filling the room.
Hey, I thought you'd forgotten about our date, he said as he watched Catherine walking down the dock with a grocery bag.
Smiling, Catherine took his hand as she stepped on board. "I didn't forget, I just had a little detour on the way."
Where?
Actually, I went to see the doctor.
He took the bag from her and set it off to one side. "Are you okay? I know you haven't been feeling well-"
I'm okay, she said, cutting him off gently. "But I don't think I'm up for a sail tonight."
Something is wrong, isn't it?
Catherine smiled again as she leaned over and pulled a small package out of one of the bags. Garrett watched as she began to open it.
Close your eyes, she said, "and I'll tell you all about it."
Still a little unsure, Garrett nonetheless did as she asked and heard as tissue paper was unwrapped. "Okay, you can open them now."
Catherine was holding up baby clothes in front of her.
What's this? he asked, not understanding.
Her face was buoyant. "I'm pregnant," she said excitedly.
Pregnant?
Uh-huh. I'm officially eight weeks along.
Eight weeks?
She nodded. "I think I must have gotten pregnant the last time we went sailing."
Hesitating from the shock, Garrett took the baby clothes and held them delicately in his hand, then finally leaned forward and gave Catherine a hug. "I
can't believe it. . . ."
It's true.
A broad smile crossed his lips as the realization finally began to sink in.
You're pregnant.
Catherine closed her eyes and whispered in his ear, "And you're going to be a father."
Garrett's thoughts were interrupted by the squeaking of the door. His father peeked his head into the room.
I saw your truck out front. I wanted to make sure everything was okay, he said in explanation. "I didn't expect you back here until this evening." When Garrett didn't respond, his father walked in and immediately spotted Catherine's picture on the table. "You okay, son?" he asked cautiously.
They sat in the living room while Garrett explained the situation from the beginning-the dreams he'd been having over the years, the messages he'd been sending by bottle, finally moving on to the argument they'd had the night before. He left nothing out. When he finished, his father took the letters from Garrett's hand.
It must have been quite a shock, he said, glancing at the pages, surprised that Garrett had never mentioned the letters to him. He paused. "But don't you think you were a little rough on her?"
Garrett shook his head tiredly. "She knew everything about me, Dad, and she never told me. She set the whole thing up."
No, she didn't, he said gently. "She may have come down to meet you, but she didn't make you fall in love with her. You did that on your own."
Garrett looked away before finally returning his gaze to the picture on the table. "But don't you think it was wrong of her to hide it from me?"
Jeb sighed, not wanting to answer the question, knowing it would lead Garrett to retread old ground. Instead he tried to think of another way to get through to his son. "A couple of weeks ago, when we were talking on the pier, you told me you wanted to marry Theresa because you loved her. Do you remember that?"
Garrett nodded absently.
Why has that changed?
Garrett looked at his father, confused. "I've already told you that-"
Jeb gently cut him off before he could finish.
Yeah, you've explained your reasons, but you haven't been honest about it. Not with me, not with Theresa, not even with yourself. She may not have told you about the letters, and granted, maybe she should have. But that's not why you're still angry now. You're angry because she made you realize something that you didn't want to admit.
Garrett looked at his father without responding. Then, rising from the couch, he went to the kitchen, suddenly feeling the urge to escape the conversation. In the refrigerator, he found a pitcher of sweet tea and poured himself a glass.
Holding the freezer open, he pulled out the metal tray to crack out a couple of cubes. In a sudden spurt of frustration, he pulled the lever too hard and icecubes flew over the counter and onto the floor.
As Garrett muttered and cursed in the kitchen, Jeb stared at the picture of Catherine, remembering his own wife from long ago. He put the letters beside it and walked to the sliding glass door. Opening it, he watched as cold December winds from the Atlantic made the waves crash violently, the sounds echoing through the house. Jeb contemplated the ocean, watching it churn and roll until he heard a knock at the door.
He turned, wondering who it could be. Strangely, he realized that in all of his visits here, no one had ever come to the door.
In the kitchen, Garrett apparently hadn't heard the knock. Jeb went to answer it. Behind him, the wind chimes hanging over the back deck were ringing loudly.
Coming, he called out.
When the front door swung open, wind gusted through the living room, scattering the letters to the floor. Jeb, however, didn't notice. All his attention was focused on the visitor on the porch. He couldn't help but stare.
Standing before him was a dark-haired young woman he'd never seen before. He paused in the doorway, knowing exactly who she was but finding himself at a loss for words. He moved aside to make room for her.
C'mon in, he said quietly.
As she entered, closing the door behind her, the wind abruptly died. She glanced at Jeb, uncomfortable. For a moment, neither spoke.
You must be Theresa, Jeb finally said. In the background, Jeb could hear Garrett mumbling to himself as he cleaned up the ice in the kitchen.
I've heard a lot about you.
She crossed her arms, hesitating. "I know I'm not expected. . . ."
It's okay, Jeb encouraged.
Is he here?
Jeb nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen. "Yeah, he's here. He's getting something to drink."
How is he?
Jeb shrugged and gave her a slow, wry smile. "You'll have to talk to him. . . ."
Theresa nodded, suddenly wondering whether coming down was a good idea. She glanced around the room and immediately spied the letters spread around the floor. She also noticed Garrett's bag sitting by his bedroom door, still packed from his visit. Other than that, the house looked exactly the same as it always did. Except, of course, for the photograph.
She spotted it over Jeb's shoulder. Normally it was in his room, and for some reason, now that it was in plain view, she couldn't take her eyes off it. She was still staring at the picture when Garrett reentered the living room.
Dad, what happened in here-
He froze. Theresa faced him uncertainly. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Then Theresa took a deep breath.
Hello, Garrett, she said.
Garrett said nothing. Jeb picked up his keys from the table, knowing it was time to leave.
You two have a lot to talk about, so I'll get out of here.
He went to the front door, glancing sidelong at Theresa. "It was nice meeting you," he murmured. But as he spoke, he raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly, as if to wish her luck. In a moment he was outside, making his way down the walk.
Why are you here? Garrett asked evenly once they were alone.
I wanted to come, she said quietly. "I wanted to see you again."
Why?
She didn't answer. Instead, after a moment's hesitation, she walked toward him, her eyes never leaving his. Once she was close, she put her finger to his lips and shook her head to stop him from speaking. "Shh," she whispered, "no questions . . . just for now. Please . . ." She tried to smile, but now that he could see her better, he knew she'd been crying.
There was nothing she could say. There were no words to describe what she'd been going through.
Instead she wrapped her arms around him. Reluctantly he drew his arms around her as she rested her head against him. She kissed his neck and pulled him closer.
Running her hand through his hair, she moved her mouth tentatively to his cheek, then to his lips. She kissed them lightly at first, her lips barely brushing against them, then she kissed him again, more passionate now. Without conscious thought, he began to respond to her advances. His hands slowly traveled up her back, molding her against him.
In the living room, with the roar of the ocean echoing through the house, they held each other tightly, giving in to their growing desires. Finally Theresa pulled back, reaching for his hand as she did so. Taking it in hers, she led him to the bedroom.
Letting go, she crossed the room as he waited just inside the door. Light from the living room spilled in, casting shadows across the room. Hesitating only slightly before facing him again, she began to undress. Garrett made a small movement to close the bedroom door, but she shook her head. She wanted to see him this time, and she wanted him to see her. She wanted Garrett to know he was with her and no one else.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she shed her garments. Her blouse . . . her jeans . . . her bra . . . her panties. She removed her clothing deliberately, her lips slightly parted, her eyes never leaving his. When she was naked, she stood before him, letting his gaze travel over all of her.
Finally she approached him. Standing close, she ran her hands over him-his chest, his shoulders, his arms, touching him gently, as if she wanted to remember the way he felt forever. Stepping back to allow him to undress, she watched him, her eyes taking everything in as his clothes fell to the floor.
Moving to his side, she kissed his shoulders, then slowly worked around him, her mouth against his skin, the wetness of her lips lingering everywhere she touched. Then, leading him to the bed, she lay down, pulling him with her.
They made love fiercely, clinging desperately to each other. Their passion was unlike any time they'd made love before-each painfully conscious of the other's pleasure, every touch more electric than the last. As if fearful of what the future would bring, they worshiped each other's bodies with a singleminded intensity that would sear their memories forever. When they finally climaxed together, Theresa threw back her head and cried aloud, not attempting to stifle the sound.
Afterward she sat up in the bed, cradling Garrett's head in her lap. She ran her hands through his hair, rhythmically, steadily, listening as the sound of his breathing gradually deepened.
Later that afternoon, Garrett woke up alone. Noticing that Theresa's clothes were gone as well, he grabbed his jeans and shirt. Still buttoning his shirt as he left his bedroom, he quickly searched the house for her.
The house was cold.
He found her in the kitchen. She was seated at the table, wearing her jacket. On the table in front of her, he saw a cup of coffee, nearly empty, as if she'd been sitting there for some time. The coffeepot was already in the sink.
Checking the clock, he realized he'd been asleep for almost two hours.
Hey there, he said uncertainly.
Theresa glanced over her shoulder at him. Her voice was subdued.
Oh, hey . . . I didn't hear you get up.
You okay?
She didn't answer directly. "Come sit with me," she said instead. "There's a lot
I've got to tell you."
Garrett sat down at the table. He smiled tentatively at her. Theresa fidgeted with the coffee cup for a moment, her eyes downcast. He reached over, brushing a loose strand of hair away from the side of her face. When she didn't respond, he pulled back.
Finally, without looking at him, she reached into her lap and removed the letters, laying them on the table. Apparently she'd gathered them up while he slept.
I found the bottle when I was jogging last summer, she began, her voice steady but distant, as if recalling something painful. "I didn't have any idea what the letter inside would say, but after reading it, I started to cry. It was just so beautiful-I knew it had come straight from your heart, and the way it was written . . . I guess I related to the things you wrote because I felt so alone, too."
She looked at him. "That morning, I showed it to Deanna. Publishing it was her idea. I didn't want to at first . . . I thought it was too personal, but she didn't see the harm in it. She thought it would be a nice thing for people to read. So I relented, and assumed that would be the end of it. But it wasn't."
She sighed. "After I got back to Boston, I got a call from someone who'd read the column. She sent me the second letter, one that she'd found a few years ago.
After I read it, I was intrigued, but again, I didn't think it would go any further."
She paused. "Have you ever heard of Yankee magazine?"
No.
It's a regional magazine. It's not well-known outside of New England, but it publishes some good stories. That's where I found the third letter.
Garrett looked at her in surprise. "It was published there?"
"Yes, it was. I tracked down the author of the article and he sent me the third letter, and . . . well, curiosity got the best of me. I had three letters, Garrett-not just one but three-and every one of them touched me the same way the first one had. So, with Deanna's help, I found out who you were and I came down to meet you.
"She smiled sadly. "I know it sounds like you said-that it was some sort of fantasy-but it wasn't. I didn't come down here to fall in love with you. I didn't come down here to write a column. I came down to see who you were, that was all. I wanted to meet the person who wrote those beautiful letters. So I went to the docks and there you were. We talked, and then, if you remember, you asked me to go sailing. If you hadn't, I probably would have gone home that day."
He didn't know what to say. Theresa reached over and placed her hand carefully over his.
"But you know what? We had a good time that night, and I realized I wanted to see you again. Not because of the letters, but because of how you treated me. And everything just seemed to grow naturally from there. After that first meeting, nothing that happened between us was part of a plan. It just happened.
"He sat quietly for a moment, looking at the letters. "Why didn't you tell me about them?" he asked.
She took her time answering. "There were times when I wanted to, but . . . I don't know . . . I guess I convinced myself that it didn't matter how we met.
The only thing that mattered was how well we got along." She paused, knowing there was more. "Besides, I didn't think you'd understand. I didn't want to lose you."
If you'd told me earlier, I would have understood.
She watched him carefully as he answered. "Would you, Garrett? Would you really have understood?"
Garrett knew it to be a moment of truth. When he didn't respond, Theresa shook her head and glanced away.
Last night, when you asked me to move, I didn't say yes right away because I was afraid of why you'd asked. She hesitated. "I needed to be sure you wanted me, Garrett. I needed to be sure you asked me because of us , and not because you were running from something. I guess I wanted you to convince me when I got back from the store. But you found these instead. . . ."
She shrugged, speaking more softly now. "Deep down, I guess I knew it all along, but I wanted to believe that everything would work itself out."
What are you talking about?
She didn't answer directly. "Garrett-it isn't that I don't think you love me,
because I know you do. That's what makes this whole thing so hard. I know you love me, and I love you, too-and if the circumstances were different, perhaps we could get through all this. But right now, I don't think we can. I don't think you're ready yet."
Garrett felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. She looked directly at him, meeting his eyes.
I'm not blind, Garrett. I knew why you would get so quiet sometimes when we weren't together. I knew why you wanted me to move down here.
It was because I missed you, he interjected.
That was part of it . . . but not all of it, Theresa said, pausing to blink back tears. Her voice began to crack. "It's also because of Catherine."
She dabbed at the corner of her eye, clearly fighting tears, determined not to break down.
"When you first told me about her, I saw the way you looked . . . it was obvious that you still loved her. And last night-despite your anger-I saw the same look again. Even after all the time we've spent together, you're still not over her. And then . . . the things you said . . . She took a deep, uneven breath. ""You weren't angry simply because I found the letters, you were angry because you felt I threatened what you and Catherine shared-and still do.""
"Garrett looked away, hearing the echo of his father's accusation. Again she reached over and touched his hand.
You are who you are, Garrett. You're a man who loves deeply, but you're also a man who loves forever. No matter how much you love me, I don't think it's in you to ever forget her, and I can't live my life wondering whether I measure up to her.
We can work on it, he began hoarsely. "I mean . . . I can work on it. I know it can be different-"
Theresa cut him off with a brief squeeze of his hand.
I know you believe that, and part of me wants to believe it, too. If you put your arms around me now and begged me to stay, I'm sure I would, because you added something to my life that was lacking for a long time. And we'd go on again like we had been, both believing everything was okay. . . . But it wouldn't be, don't you see? Because the next time we had an argument . . . She stopped. "I can't compete with her. And as much as I want it to go on, I can't let it, because you won't let it."
But I love you.
She smiled gently. Letting go of his hand, she reached up and softly caressed his cheek. "I love you, too, Garrett. But sometimes love isn't enough."
Garrett was quiet when she finished, his face pale. In the long silence between them, Theresa began to cry.
Leaning toward her, he put his arm around her and held her, his arms weak. He rested his cheek against her hair as she buried her face in his chest, her body shaking as she cried into him. It was a long time before Theresa wiped her cheeks and pulled away. They looked at each other, Garrett's eyes issuing a mute plea. She shook her head.
I can't stay, Garrett. As much as we both want me to, I can't.
The words hit hard. Garrett's head suddenly felt woozy.
No . . . , he said brokenly.
Theresa stood, knowing she had to leave before she lost her nerve. Outside, thunder boomed loudly. Seconds later a light, misty rain began to fall.
I have to go.
She slipped her purse over her shoulder and started for the front door. For a moment, Garrett was too stunned to move.
Finally, in a daze, he rose from his seat and followed her out the door, the rain beginning to fall steadily now. Her rental car was parked in the driveway.
Garrett watched as she opened the car door, unable to think of anything to say.
In the driver's seat she fumbled with the key for a moment, then put it in the ignition. She forced a weak smile as she shut the door. Despite the rain, she rolled down the window to see him more clearly. Turning the key, she felt the engine crank to life. They stared at each other as the car idled in his driveway.
His expression as he looked at her cut through all her defenses, her fragile resolve. For just a moment she wanted to take everything back. She wanted to tell him that she didn't mean what she had said, that she still loved him, that it shouldn't end this way. It would be easy to do that, it would feel so right-
But no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't force herself to say the words.
He took a step toward the car. Theresa shook her head to stop him. This was already painful enough.
I'll miss you, Garrett, she said beneath her breath, uncertain whether he could even hear her. She slid the transmission into reverse.
The rain began to fall harder: the thicker, colder drops of a winter storm.
Garrett stood, frozen. "Please," he said raggedly, "don't leave." His voice was low, almost obscured by the sound of the rain.
She didn't answer.
Knowing she would start to cry again if she stayed any longer, she rolled up the window. Looking over her shoulder, she began to back out of the drive. Garrett put his hand on the hood as the car started to move, his fingers gliding along the wet surface as it slowly backed away. In a moment the car was on the street, ready to roll, the windshield wipers flapping back and forth.
With sudden urgency, Garrett felt his last chance slipping away. "Theresa," he shouted, "wait!"
With the rain coming down steadily, she didn't hear him. The car was already past the house. Garrett jogged to the end of the drive, waving his arms to get her attention. She didn't seem to notice.
Theresa! he shouted again. He was in the middle of the road now, running behind the car, his feet splashing through the puddles that had already begun to form. The brake lights blinked for a second, then steadied as the car came to a halt. Rain and mist swirled around it, making it look like a mirage. Garrett knew she was watching him in the rearview mirror, watching him close the distance. There's still a chance. . . .
The brake lights suddenly flicked off and the car started forward again, picking up speed, accelerating more quickly this time. Garrett kept running behind the car, chasing it as it made its way down the street. He watched as the car moved farther into the distance, becoming smaller with each passing moment. His lungs burned, but he kept on going, racing a sense of futility. The rain began to come down in sheets, storm drops, soaking through his shirt and making it difficult for him to see.
Finally he slowed to a jog, then stopped. The air was dense with rain, and he was breathing heavily. His shirt clung to his skin, his hair hanging in his eyes. While the rain came down around him, he stood in the middle of the road, watching as her car turned the corner and vanished from sight.
Still, he didn't move. He stayed in the middle of the road for a long time, trying to catch his breath, hoping she would turn around and come back to him, wishing he hadn't let her go. Wishing for one more chance.
She was gone.
A few moments later a car honked its horn behind him and he felt his heart surge. He turned quickly and wiped the rain from his eyes, almost expecting to see her face behind the windshield, but immediately saw he was mistaken. Garrett moved to the side of the road to let the car pass, and as he felt the man's curious stare upon him, he suddenly realized he'd never felt so alone.
* * *
On the airplane, Theresa sat with her purse resting in her lap. She'd been one of the last to board, making her way onto the plane with only a few minutes to spare.
Looking out the window, she watched the rain coming down in blowing sheets.
Below her, on the tarmac, the last of the luggage was being loaded, the handlers working quickly to keep the bags from getting soaked. They finished just as the main cabin door closed, and moments later the boarding ramp pulled back to the terminal.
It was dusk, and there were only a few minutes left of waning gray light. The stewardesses made their final run through the cabin, making sure everything was stored properly, then headed for their seats. The cabin lights blinked and the plane began its slow reverse drift, away from the terminal, turning in the direction of the runway.
The plane stopped, waiting for clearance, parallel to the terminal.
Absently she glanced out at the terminal. From the corner of her eye, she saw a solitary figure standing near the terminal window, his hands pressed against the glass.
She looked closer. Could it be?
She couldn't tell. The tinted windows of the terminal coupled with the pouring rain obscured her view. Had he not been standing so close to the glass, she wouldn't have known he was there at all.
Theresa continued to stare at the figure, her breath catching in her throat.
Whoever it was didn't move.
The engines roared, then quieted as the plane began its slow roll forward. She knew there were only a few moments left. The gate fell farther behind them as the plane gradually picked up speed.
Forward . . . toward the runway . . . away from Wilmington . . .
She turned her head, straining for one last glimpse, but it was impossible to tell whether the person was still there.
While the plane taxied into final position, she continued to stare out the window, wondering whether her sighting had been real or if she'd imagined it.
The plane turned sharply, rotating into position, and Theresa felt the thrust of the engines as the plane made its way down the runway, the tires rumbling loudly until they lifted from the ground. Squinting through her tears as the plane rose higher, Theresa watched as Wilmington came into view. She could make out the empty beaches as they passed over them . . . the piers . . . the marina. . . .
The plane started to make its turn, banking slightly, turning north and heading for home. From her window all she could see was the ocean now, the same ocean that had brought them together.
Behind the heavy clouds, the sun was going down, drifting toward the horizon.
Just before they soared into the clouds that would obliterate everything below, she put her hand against the glass and touched it gently, imagining the feel of his hand once more.
Good-bye, she whispered.
Silently she began to cry.
Winter arrived early the following year. Sitting on the beach near the spot where she'd first discovered the bottle, Theresa noted that the cold ocean breezes had grown stronger since she'd arrived this morning. Ominous gray clouds rolled overhead, and the waves were starting to rise and crash with greater frequency. She knew the storm was finally getting close.
She'd been out here for most of the day, reliving their relationship up until the day they'd said good-bye, sifting through memories as if searching for a grain of understanding she might have missed before. For the past year she'd been haunted by his expression as he stood in the driveway, the reflection of him in her rearview mirror chasing her car as she drove away. Leaving him then had been the hardest thing she'd ever done. Often she dreamed of turning back the clock and living that day over.
Finally she stood. In silence she started walking along the shore, wishing he were with her. He would enjoy a quiet, misty day like this, and she imagined him walking beside her as she looked toward the horizon. She paused, mesmerized by the churning and rolling of the water, and when she finally turned her head, she realized his image had left her as well. She stood there for a long time, trying to bring him back, but when his image didn't return, she knew it was time to go.
She started walking again, though this time more slowly, wondering if he could have guessed at her reason for coming here.
Despite herself, she felt her thoughts returning to the days immediately following their last good-bye. We spend so much time making up for things we failed to say, she mused. If only, she began for the thousandth time, the images of those days beginning to flash behind her eyes like a slide show she was powerless to stop.
If only . . .
* * *
After arriving back in Boston, Theresa had picked up Kevin on the way home from the airport. Kevin, who'd spent the day at a friend's house, excitedly recounted the movie he'd seen, oblivious of the fact that his mother was barely listening.
When they got home she ordered a pizza, and they ate in the living room with the television on. When they finished, she surprised Kevin by asking him to sit with her for a while instead of doing his homework. As he rested against her quietly on the couch, he occasionally sent her an anxious glance, but she merely stroked his hair and smiled at him abstractedly, as if she were somewhere far away.
Later, after Kevin had gone to bed and she knew he'd fallen asleep, she slipped on some soft pajamas and poured herself a glass of wine. On her way back to the bedroom, she turned off the answering machine by the phone.
On Monday she had a long lunch with Deanna and told her everything that had happened. She tried to sound strong. Nonetheless Deanna held her hand throughout, listening thoughtfully and barely speaking.
It's for the best, Theresa said resolutely when she finished. "I'm okay with this." Deanna gazed at her searchingly, her eyes full of compassion. But she said nothing, only nodding at Theresa's brave claims.
For the next few days Theresa did her best to avoid thinking about him. Working on her column was comforting. Concentrating on research and distilling it into words took all the mental energy she had. The hectic atmosphere in the newsroom helped as well, and because the conference call with Dan Mandel had turned out to be everything Deanna promised it would, Theresa approached her work with renewed enthusiasm, preparing two or three columns a day, faster than she'd ever written them before.
In the evenings, however, after Kevin went to bed and she was alone, she found it difficult to keep his image at bay. Borrowing her habits from work, Theresa tried to focus on other tasks instead. She cleaned the house from top to bottom during the next few evenings-scrubbing the floor, cleaning the refrigerator, vacuuming and dusting the apartment, rearranging the closets. Nothing was left untouched. She even sorted through her drawers for clothes that she didn't wear anymore, with the plan of donating them to charity. After boxing them up, she carried the clothes to the car and loaded them in the back. That night she paced through the apartment, looking for something-anything-else that needed to be done. Finally, realizing she'd finished but still unable to sleep, she turned on the television. Flipping through the channels, she stopped when she saw Linda Ronstadt being interviewed on the Tonight show. Theresa had always loved her music, but when Linda later walked to the microphone to perform a dreamy ballad, Theresa nonetheless began to cry. She didn't stop for almost an hour.
That weekend she and Kevin went to see the New England Patriots play the Chicago Bears. Kevin had been pressing her to go as soon as soccer season ended, and she finally agreed to take him, though she didn't really understand the game. They sat in the stands, their breaths coming out in little puffs, drinking syrupy hot chocolate and rooting for the home team.
Afterward, when they went to dinner, Theresa reluctantly told Kevin that she and Garrett wouldn't be seeing each other anymore.
Mom, did something happen when you went to see Garrett last time? Did he do something that made you mad?
No, she answered softly, "he didn't." She hesitated before glancing away. "It just wasn't meant to be."
Although Kevin clearly seemed baffled by this answer, it was the closest she could bring herself to explaining it right then.
The following week she was working at her computer when the phone rang.
Is this Theresa?
Yes, it is, she answered, not recognizing the voice.
This is Jeb Blake . . . Garrett's father. I know this is going to sound strange, but I'd like to talk to you.
Oh, hi, she stammered. "Um . . . I've got a few minutes now."
He paused. "I'd like to talk to you in person, if it's possible. It's not something I'd be comfortable with over the phone."
Can I ask what it's about?
It's about Garrett, he said quietly. "I know it's asking a lot, but do you think you could fly down here? I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."
Finally agreeing to go, Theresa left work and went to Kevin's school. After picking him up early, she dropped him off with a friend she could trust, explaining that she was probably going to be gone a few days. Kevin tried to ask her about her sudden trip, but her odd, distracted behavior made it clear that her reasons would have to be explained later.
Say hi for me, he said, kissing her good-bye.
Theresa only nodded, then went to the airport and caught the first flight she could. Once in Wilmington, she went directly to Garrett's house, where Jeb was waiting for her.
* * *
I'm glad you could come, Jeb said as soon as she'd arrived.
What's going on? she asked, scanning the house curiously for signs of Garrett's presence.
Jeb looked older than she remembered. Leading her to the kitchen table, he pulled out the chair so she could sit with him. Speaking softly, he began with what he knew.
From what I could gather from talking to different people, he said quietly, "Garrett took Happenstance out later than usual. . . ."
* * *
It was simply something he had to do. Garrett knew the dark, heavy clouds on the horizon presaged a coming storm. They seemed far enough away, however, to give him the time he needed. Besides, he was only going out a few miles. Even if the storm did hit, he would be close enough to make it back to port. After pulling on his gloves, he steered Happenstance through the rising swells, the sails already in position.
For three years he'd taken the same route whenever he went out, driven by instinct and memories of Catherine. It had been her idea to sail directly east that night, the first night Happenstance was ready. In her imagination they were sailing to Europe, a place she'd always wanted to go. Sometimes she would return from the store with travel magazines and look through the pictures as he sat beside her. She wanted to see it all-the famous chateaux of the Loire Valley, the Parthenon, the Scottish highlands, the Basilica-all the places she'd read about. Her ideal vacation ran from the ordinary to the exotic, changing every time she picked up a different magazine.
But, of course, they never made it to Europe.
It was one of his biggest regrets. When he looked back on his life with her, he knew it was the one thing he should have done. He could have given her that much, at least, and thinking back, he knew it would have been possible. After a couple of years of saving, they'd had the money to go and had toyed with travel plans, but in the end they'd used the money to buy the shop. When she realized the responsibility of the business would never leave them with enough time to go, her dream eventually began to fade. She began to bring home the magazines less frequently. After a while she seldom mentioned Europe at all.
The night they first took Happenstance out, however, he knew her dream was still alive. She stood on the bow, looking far into the distance, holding Garrett's hand. "Will we ever go?" she asked him gently, and it was that vision of her he always remembered: her hair billowing in the wind, her expression radiant and hopeful, like that of an angel.
Yes, he promised her, "as soon as we have the time."
Less than a year later, while pregnant with their child, Catherine died in the hospital with Garrett at her side.
Later, when the dreams began, he didn't know what to do. For a while he tried to push his tormented feelings away. Then in a fit of desperation one morning, he tried to find relief by putting his feelings into words. He wrote quickly, without pausing, and the first letter was almost five pages long. He carried the finished letter with him when he went sailing later that day, and reading it again suddenly gave him an idea. Because the Gulf Stream, which flowed northward up the coast of the United States, eventually turned east once it reached the cooler waters of the Atlantic, with a little luck a bottle could drift to Europe and wash up on the foreign soil she had always wanted to visit. His decision made, he sealed the letter in a bottle and threw it overboard with the hopes of somehow keeping the promise he'd made. It became a pattern he would never break.
Since then he'd written sixteen more letters-seventeen, if you counted the one he had with him now. As he stood at the wheel, gliding the boat directly eastward, he absently touched the bottle nestled in his coat pocket. He had written it this morning, as soon as he had risen.
The sky was beginning to turn leaden, but Garrett steered onward, toward the horizon. Beside him, the radio crackled with warnings of the coming storm. After a moment's hesitation, he turned it off and evaluated the sky. He still had time, he decided. The winds were strong and steady, but they weren't yet unpredictable.
After writing this letter to Catherine, he had written a second one as well.
That one, he'd already taken care of. Because of the second letter, though, he knew he had to send Catherine's letter today. Storms were lined up across the Atlantic, moving slowly westward in a march toward the eastern seaboard. From the reports he'd seen on television, it didn't look as if he'd be able to get out again for at least a week, and that was too long to wait. He'd already be gone by then.
The choppy seas continued to rise: the swells breaking higher, the troughs bottoming out a little lower. The sails were beginning to strain in the steady, heavy winds. Garrett evaluated his position. The water was deep here, though not quite deep enough. The Gulf Stream-a summer phenomenon-was gone, and the only way the bottle stood a chance of making it across the ocean was if it was far enough out to sea when it was dropped. The storm might otherwise wash it ashore within a few days-and of all the letters he'd written to her, he wanted this one to make it to Europe most of all. He had decided that it would be the last one he'd ever send.
On the horizon, the clouds looked ominous.
He pulled on his rain slicker and buttoned it up. When the rains came, he hoped it would protect him for at least a little while.
Happenstance began to bob as she moved farther out to sea. He held the wheel with both hands, keeping her as steady as he could. When the winds shifted and picked up-signaling the front of the storm-he began to tack, moving diagonally across the swells despite the hazards.
Tacking was difficult in these conditions, slowing his progress, but he preferred to go against the wind now rather than attempt to tack on the way back if the storm caught up to him.
The effort was exhausting. Every time he shifted the sails, it took all the strength he had just to keep from losing control. Despite his gloves, his hands burned when the lines slid through his hands. Twice, when the wind gusted unexpectedly, he almost lost his balance, saved only because the gust died as quickly as it came.
For almost an hour he continued tacking, all the while watching the storm up ahead. It seemed to have stalled, but he knew it was an illusion. It would hit land in a few hours. As soon as it hit shallower water, the storm would accelerate and the ocean would become unnavigable. Now, it was simply gathering steam like a slowly burning fuse, getting ready to explode.
Garrett had been caught in major storms before and knew better than to underestimate the power of this one. With one careless move, the ocean would take him, and he was determined not to let that happen. He was stubborn, but not foolish. The moment he sensed real danger, he'd turn the boat around and race back to port.
Overhead, the clouds continued to thicken, rolling and twisting into new shapes. Light rain began to fall. Garrett looked upward, knowing it was just beginning.
Just a few more minutes, he muttered under his breath. He needed just a few more minutes-Lightning flashed across the sky, and Garrett counted off the seconds before he heard the thunder. Two and a half minutes later it finally sounded, booming over the open expanse of the ocean. The center of the storm was roughly twenty-five miles away. With the current wind speed, he calculated, he had over an hour before it hit in full force. He planned to be long gone by then.
The rain continued to fall.
Darkness began to settle in as he forged ahead. As the sun dropped lower, impenetrable clouds above blotted out the remaining sunlight, quickly lowering the air temperature. Ten minutes later the rain began to fall harder and colder.
Damn! He was running out of time, but he still wasn't there.The swells seemed to rise, the ocean churning, as Happenstance cut forward. To keep his balance, he spread his legs farther apart. The wheel was steady, but the swells were beginning to come diagonally now, rocking the boat like an unsteady cradle. Resolutely he pressed on.
Minutes later lightning flickered again . . . pause . . . thunder. Twenty miles now. He checked his watch. If the storm progressed at this rate, he'd be cutting it close. He could still make it back to port in time, as long as the winds continued blowing in the same direction.
But if the winds shifted . . .
His mind clicked through the scenario. He was two and a half hours out to sea-going with the wind, he would need an hour and a half to get back at the most, if everything went as planned. The storm would hit land about the same time he did.
Damn, he said, this time out loud. He had to drop the bottle now, even though he wasn't as far out as he wanted to be. But he couldn't risk going out any farther.
He grasped the now shuddering wheel with one hand as he reached into his jacket and removed the bottle. He pressed on the cork to make sure it was wedged in tightly, then held up the bottle in the waning light. He could see the letter inside, rolled tightly.
Staring at it, he felt a sense of completion, as if a long journey had finally come to an end.
Thank you, he whispered, his voice barely audible above the crashing of the waves.
He threw the bottle as far as he could and watched it fly, losing it only when it hit the water. It was done.
Now, to turn the boat around.
At that moment, two bolts of lightning split the sky simultaneously. Fifteen miles away now. He hesitated, concerned.
It couldn't be coming that fast, he suddenly thought. But the storm seemed to be gaining speed and strength, expanding like a balloon, coming directly toward him. He used the loops to steady the wheel while he returned to the stern. Losing precious minutes, he fought furiously to maintain control of the boom. The lines burned in his hands, ripping through his gloves. He finally succeeded in shifting the sails, and the boat leaned hard as it caught the wind. As he made his way back, another gust blew a cold blast from a different direction.
Warm air rushes to cold.
He switched on the radio just in time to hear a small-craft advisory being issued. Quickly he turned up the volume, listening closely as the broadcast described the rapidly changing weather patterns. "Repeat . . . small-craft advisory . . . dangerous winds forming . . . heavy rain expected."
The storm was gathering steam.
With the temperature dropping quickly, the winds had picked up dangerously. In the last three minutes they had increased to a steady gale of twenty-five knots.
He leaned into the wheel with a growing sense of urgency.
Nothing happened.
He realized suddenly that the rising swells were lifting the stern out of the water, not allowing the rudder to respond. The boat seemed frozen in the wrong direction, teetering precariously. He rode another swell and the hull slapped hard against the water, the bow of the boat nearly going under.
Come on . . . catch, he whispered, the first tendrils of panic unfurling in his gut. This was taking too long. The sky was growing blacker by the minute, and the rain began to blow sideways in dense, impenetrable sheets.
A minute later the rudder finally caught and the boat began to turn . . .
Slowly . . . slowly . . . the boat still leaning too far to its side . . .
With growing horror he watched the ocean rise around him to form a roaring, giant swell that was headed straight for him.
He wasn't going to make it.
He braced himself as water crashed over the exposed hull, sending up white plumes. Happenstance leaned even farther and Garrett's legs buckled, but his grip on the wheel was solid. He scrambled to his feet again just as another swell hit the boat.
Water flooded onto the deck.
The boat struggled to stay upright in the blasting winds, actively taking on water now. For almost a minute it poured onto the deck with the force of a raging river. Then the winds suddenly abated for a moment, and miraculously Happenstance began to right itself, the mast rising slightly into the ebony sky. The rudder caught again and Garrett turned the wheel hard, knowing he had to rotate the boat quickly.
Lightning again. Seven miles away now.
The radio crackled. "Repeat . . . small-craft advisory . . . winds expected to reach forty knots . . . repeat . . . winds at forty knots, gusting to fifty . ."
Garrett knew he was in danger. There was no way he could control Happenstance in winds that strong.
The boat continued to make its turn, battling the extra weight and the savage ocean swells. The water at his feet was almost six inches deep now. Almost there . . .
A gale-force wind suddenly began to blow from the opposite direction, stopping his progress cold and rocking Happenstance like a toy. Just when the boat was most vulnerable, a large swell crashed against the hull. The mast sank lower, pointing toward the ocean.
This time the gust never stopped.
Freezing rain blew sideways, blinding him. Happenstance , instead of correcting, began to tilt even more, the sails heavy with rainwater. Garrett lost his balance again, the angle of the boat defying his efforts to get up. If another swell hit again . . .
Garrett never saw it coming.
Like an executioner's swing, the wave smashed against the boat with terrible finality, forcing Happenstance onto her side, the mast and sails crashing into the water. She was lost. Garrett clung to the wheel, knowing if he let go, he'd be swept out to sea.
Happenstance began taking on water rapidly, heaving like a great drowning beast.
He had to get to the emergency kit, which included a raft-it was his only chance. Garrett inched his way toward the cabin door, holding on to anything he could, fighting the blinding rain, fighting for his life.
Lightning and thunder again, almost simultaneously.
He finally reached the hatch and gripped the handle. It wouldn't budge.
Desperate, he placed his feet into position for greater leverage and pulled again. When it cracked open, water began to flood inside, and he suddenly realized he'd made a terrible mistake.
The ocean rushed in, quickly obscuring the interior of the cabin. Garrett immediately saw that the kit, normally secured in a bin on the wall, was already underwater. There was nothing, he realized finally, to prevent the boat from being swallowed up by the ocean.
Panicked, he fought to shut the cabin door, but the rush of water and his lack of leverage made it impossible. Happenstance began to sink quickly. In seconds half the hull was submerged. His mind suddenly clicked again.
Life jackets . . .
They were located under the seats near the stern.
He looked. They were still above water.
Struggling furiously, he reached for the side railings, the only handholds still above water. By the time he grabbed hold, the water was up to his chest and his legs were kicking in the ocean. He cursed himself, knowing he should have put on the life jacket before.
Three-fourths of the boat was underwater now, and it was still going down.
Fighting toward the seats, he placed hand over hand, straining against the weight of the waves and his own leaden muscles. Halfway there, the ocean reached his neck and the futility of the situation finally hit him.
He wasn't going to make it.
The water was up to his chin when he finally stopped trying. Looking upward, his body exhausted, he still refused to believe that it would end this way.
He let go of the side rail and began to swim away from the boat. His coat and shoes dragged heavily in the water. He treaded water, rising with the swells as he watched Happenstance finally slip beneath the ocean. Then, with cold and exhaustion beginning to numb his senses, he turned and began the slow, impossible swim to shore.
* * *
Theresa sat with Jeb at the table. Talking in fits and starts, he had taken a long time to tell her what he knew.
Later, Theresa would recall that as she listened to his story, it was not with a sense of fear as much as it was one of curiosity. She knew that Garrett had survived. He was an expert sailor, an even better swimmer. He was too careful, too vital, to be bested by something like this. If anyone could make it, it would be he.
She reached across the table to Jeb, confused. "I don't understand . . . Why did he take the boat out if he knew there was a storm coming?"
I don't know, he said quietly. He couldn't meet her eyes.
Theresa furrowed her brow, bewilderment making her surroundings surreal. "Did he say anything to you before he went out?"
Jeb shook his head. He was ashen, his eyes downcast as if hiding something.
Absently Theresa looked around the kitchen. Everything was tidy, as if it had been cleaned moments before she arrived. Through the open bedroom door she saw Garrett's comforter spread neatly across the bed. Oddly, two large floral arrangements had been placed atop it.
I don't understand-he's all right, isn't he?
Theresa, Jeb finally said with tears forming in his eyes, "they found him yesterday morning."
Is he in the hospital?
No, he said quietly.
Then where is he? she asked, refusing to acknowledge what she somehow knew.
Jeb didn't answer.
It was then that her breathing suddenly became difficult. Beginning with her hands, her body started to tremble. Garrett! she thought. What happened? Why aren't you here? Jeb bowed his head so she wouldn't see his tears, but she could hear his choking gasps.
Theresa . . . , he said, trailing off.
Where is he? she demanded, leaping to her feet in a surge of frantic adrenaline. She heard the chair clatter to the floor behind her as if from a very great distance.
Jeb stared up at her silently. Then, with a single deliberate motion, he wiped the tears with the back of his hand. "They found his body yesterday morning."
She felt her chest constrict as if she were suffocating.
He's gone, Theresa.
* * *
On the beach where it had all begun, Theresa allowed herself to remember the events from one year earlier.
They had buried him next to Catherine, in a small cemetery near his home. Jeb and Theresa stood together at the graveside service, surrounded by the people whose lives Garrett had touched-friends from high school, former diving students, employees from the shop. It was a simple ceremony, and though it began to rain just as the minister finished speaking, the crowd lingered long after it was over.
The wake was held at Garrett's house. One by one, people came through, all offering their condolences and sharing memories. When the last few filed out, leaving Jeb and Theresa alone, Jeb pulled a box from the closet and asked her to sit with him while they looked through it together.
In the box were hundreds of photographs. Over the next few hours she watched Garrett's childhood and adolescence unfold-all the missing pieces of his life that she had only imagined. Then there were the pictures of the later years-high school and college graduations; the restored Happenstance ; Garrett in front of the remodeled shop prior to its opening. In every one of them, she noticed, his smile never changed. Smiling with him, she saw that for the most part his wardrobe hadn't, either. Unless the photo had been taken for a special occasion, from early childhood on, it seemed he'd always dressed the same-either jeans or shorts, a casual shirt, and Top-Siders without socks.
There were dozens of photographs of Catherine. At first Jeb seemed uncomfortable when she saw them, but strangely, they didn't really affect her. She felt neither sadness nor anger because of them. They were simply a part of another time in his life.
Later that evening, as they sorted through the last few pictures, she saw the Garrett she'd fallen in love with. One shot in particular caught her eye, and she held it in front of her for a long time. Noticing her expression, Jeb explained that it had been taken on Memorial Day, a few weeks before the bottle had washed up at the Cape. In it Garrett stood on his back deck, looking much the same as he had the first time she'd come to his house.
When she was finally able to put it down, Jeb gently took it from her.
The following morning he handed her an envelope. Opening it, she saw that he'd given it back to her, along with a number of others. With the pictures were the three letters that had first enabled Theresa and Garrett to come together.
I think he would want you to have these.
Too choked up to respond, she nodded a silent thank-you.
* * *
Theresa couldn't remember much about her first few days back in Boston, and in retrospect she knew she didn't really want to. She did recall that Deanna was waiting for her at Logan Airport when her plane touched down. After taking one look at her, Deanna immediately called her husband, instructing him to bring some clothes to Theresa's because she planned to stay with her for a few days.
Theresa spent most of the time in bed, not even bothering to get up when Kevin came home from school.
Is my mom ever going to be okay? Kevin asked.
She just needs a little time, Kevin, Deanna answered. "I know it's hard for
you, too, but it's going to be okay."
Theresa's dreams, when she could remember them, were fragmented and disorienting. Surprisingly, Garrett never appeared in them at all. She didn't know if that was an omen of sorts or even if she should attach any meaning to it. In her daze, she found it difficult to think about anything clearly, and she went to bed early and remained there, cocooned in the soothing darkness for as long as she could.
Sometimes upon awakening, she experienced a split second of confused unreality when the whole thing seemed like a terrible mistake, too absurd to have actually occurred. In that split second, everything would be as it should. She would find herself straining for the sounds of Garrett in the apartment, sure that the empty bed meant only that he was already in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the paper. She would join him in a moment at the table and shake her head: I had the most terrible dream . . .
Her only other recollection about that week was her relentless need to understand how this could have happened. Before she left Wilmington, she made Jeb promise to call her if he learned anything else about the day Garrett had gone out on Happenstance . In a curious twist of reason, she believed that knowing the details-the-why -would somehow lessen her grief. What she refused to believe was that Garrett had sailed into the storm without planning to return.
Whenever the phone rang, her hopes rose in the expectation of hearing Jeb's voice. "I see," she imagined herself saying. "Yes . . . I understand. That makes sense. . . ."
Of course, deep down, she knew that would never happen. Jeb didn't call with an explanation that week, nor did the answer come to her in a moment of contemplation. No, the answer eventually came from a place she would never have predicted.
* * *
On the beach at Cape Cod, one year later, she reflected without bitterness on the turn of events that had led her to this place. Ready at last, Theresa reached in her bag. After removing the object she had brought with her, she stared at it, reliving the hour in which her answer had finally come. Unlike her recollection of the days immediately following her return to Boston, this memory was still unshakably clear.
After Deanna had left, Theresa had tried to reestablish a routine of sorts. In her confusion over the last week, she'd ignored the aspects of life that nonetheless had gone on. While Deanna had helped with Kevin and kept the house up, she'd simply piled the mail that accumulated in the corner of the dining room. After dinner one night while Kevin was at the movies, Theresa absently began to sort through the pile.
There were a few dozen letters, three magazines, and two packages. One package she recognized as an item she'd ordered from a catalog for Kevin's birthday. The second, though, was wrapped in plain brown paper without a return address.
This second package was long and rectangular, sealed with extra tape. There were two "Fragile" stickers-one near the address and the other on the opposite side of the box-and another sticker that said "Handle with Care." Curious, she decided to open it first.
It was then that she saw the postmark from Wilmington, North Carolina, dated from two weeks before. Quickly she scanned the address scrawled on the front.
It was Garrett's handwriting.
No . . . She set the package down, her stomach suddenly tight.
She found a pair of scissors in the drawer and shakily began to cut the tape, pulling at the paper carefully as she did so. She already knew what she'd find inside.
After lifting out the object and checking the rest of the package to make sure nothing was still inside, she carefully loosened the surrounding bubble wrap. It was taped tightly at the top and bottom, and she was forced to use the scissors again. Finally, after prying off the remaining pieces, she set the object on her desk and stared at it for a long moment, unable to move. When she lifted it into better light, she saw her own reflection.
The bottle was corked, and the rolled-up letter inside stood on its end. After removing the cork-he'd corked it only loosely-she tipped it upside-down, and the letter spilled out easily. Like the letter she'd found only a few months before, it was wrapped in yarn. She unrolled it carefully, making sure not to rip it.
It was written with a fountain pen. In the top right corner was a picture of an old ship, sails billowing in the wind.
Dear Theresa,
Can you forgive me?
She laid the letter on the desk. Her throat ached, making it difficult to breathe. The overhead light was making a strange prism of her unbidden tears.
She reached for some tissue and rubbed her eyes. Composing herself, she started again.
Can you forgive me?
In a world that I seldom understand, there are winds of destiny that blow when we least expect them. Sometimes they gust with the fury of a hurricane, sometimes they barely fan one's cheek. But the winds cannot be denied, bringing as they often do a future that is impossible to ignore. You, my darling, are the wind that I did not anticipate, the wind that has gusted more strongly than I ever imagined possible. You are my destiny.
I was wrong, so wrong, to ignore what was obvious, and I beg your forgiveness. Like a cautious traveler, I tried to protect myself from the wind and lost my soul instead. I was a fool to ignore my destiny, but even fools have feelings, and I've come to realize that you are the most important thing that I have in this world.
I know I am not perfect. I've made more mistakes in the past few months than some make in a lifetime. I was wrong to have acted as I did when I found the letters, just as I was wrong to hide the truth about what I was going through with respect to my past. When I chased you as you drove down the street and again as I watched you leave from the airport, I knew I should have tried harder to stop you. But most of all, I was wrong to deny what was obvious in my heart: that I can't go on without you.
You were right about everything. When we sat in my kitchen, I tried to deny the things you were saying, even though I knew they were true. Like a man who gazes only backward on a trip across the country, I ignored what lay ahead. I missed the beauty of a coming sunrise, the wonder of anticipation that makes life worthwhile. It was wrong of me to do that, a product of my confusion, and I wish I had come to understand that sooner.
Now, though, with my gaze fixed toward the future, I see your face and hear your voice, certain that this is the path I must follow. It is my deepest wish that you give me one more chance. As you might have guessed, I'm hoping that this bottle will work its magic, as it did once before, and somehow bring us back together.
For the first few days after you left, I wanted to believe that I could go on as I always had. But I couldn't. Every time I watched the sun go down, I thought of you. Every time I walked by the phone, I yearned to call. Even when I went sailing, I could only think of you and the wonderful times we had. I knew in my heart that my life would never be the same again. I wanted you back, more than I imagined possible, yet whenever I conjured you up, I kept hearing your words in our last conversation. No matter how much I loved you, I knew it wasn't going to be possible unless we-both of us-were sure I would devote myself fully to the path that lay ahead. I continued to be troubled by these thoughts until late last night when the answer finally came to me. Hopefully, after I tell you about it, it will mean as much to you as it did to me:
In my dream, I saw myself on the beach with Catherine, in the same spot I took you after our lunch at Hank's. It was bright in the sun, the rays reflecting brilliantly off the sand. As we walked alongside each other, she listened intently as I told her about you, about us, about the wonderful times we shared. Finally, after some hesitation, I admitted that I loved you, but that I felt guilty about it. She said nothing right away but simply kept walking until she finally turned to me and asked, "Why?"
Because of you.
Upon hearing my answer, she smiled at me with patient amusement, the way she used to before she died. "Oh, Garrett," she finally said as she gently touched my face, "who do you think it was that brought the bottle to her?"
Theresa stopped reading. The faint hum of the refrigerator seemed to echo the letter's words:
Who do you think it was that brought the bottle to her?
Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears.
Garrett, she murmured, "Garrett . . ."Outside her window, she could hear the sounds of cars passing by. Slowly she began reading again.
When I woke, I felt empty and alone. The dream did not comfort me. Rather, it made me ache inside because of what I had done to us, and I began to cry. When I finally pulled myself together, I knew what I had to do. With shaking hand, I wrote two letters: the one you're holding in your hand right now, and one to Catherine, in which I finally said my good-bye. Today, I'm taking Happenstance out to send it to her, as I have with all the others. It will be my last letter-Catherine, in her own way, has told me to go on, and I have chosen to listen. Not only to her words, but also to the leanings of my heart that led me back to you.
Oh, Theresa, I am sorry, so very sorry, that I ever hurt you. I am coming to Boston next week with the hope that you find a way to forgive me. Maybe I'm too late now. I don't know.
Theresa, I love you and always will. I am tired of being alone. I see children crying and laughing as they play in the sand, and I realize I want to have children with you. I want to watch Kevin as he grows into a man. I want to hold your hand and see you cry when he finally takes a bride, I want to kiss you when his dreams come true. I will move to Boston if you ask because I cannot go on this way. I am sick and sad without you. As I sit here in the kitchen, I am praying that you will let me come back to you, this time forever.
Garrett
It was dusk now, and the gray sky was turning dark quickly. Though she'd read the letter a thousand times, it still aroused the same feelings she'd had when she'd first read it. For the past year, those feelings had stalked her every waking moment.
Sitting on the beach, she tried once again to imagine him as he wrote the letter. She ran her finger across the words, tracing the page lightly, knowing his hand had been there before. Fighting back tears, she studied the letter, as she always did after reading it. In spots she saw smudges, as if the pen were leaking slightly while he wrote; it gave the letter a distinctive, almost rushed
appearance. Six words had been crossed out, and she looked at those especially closely, wondering what he'd intended to say. As always, she couldn't tell. Like many things about his last day, it was a secret he'd taken with him. Toward the bottom of the page, she noticed, his handwriting was hard to read, as if he'd been gripping the pen tightly.
When she was finished, she rolled up the letter again and carefully wrapped the yarn around it, preserving it so it would always look the same. She put it back into the bottle and set it off to one side, next to the bag. She knew that when she got home, she would place it back on her bureau, where she always kept it.
At night, when the glow of streetlights slanted through her room, the bottle gleamed in the darkness and was usually the last thing she saw before going to sleep.
Next, she reached for the pictures Jeb had given her. She remembered that after she returned from Boston, she'd sifted through them one by one. When her hands began to tremble, she had put them in her drawer and never looked at them again.But now she thumbed through them, finding the one that had been taken on the back porch. Holding it in front of her, she remembered everything about him-the way he looked and moved, his easy smile, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps tomorrow, she told herself, she would take in the negative and have another one made, an eight-by-ten that she could set on her nightstand, the same way he had with Catherine's picture. Then she smiled sadly, realizing even now that she wouldn't go through with it. The photos would go back into her drawer where they had been before, beneath her socks and next to the pearl earrings her grandmother had given her. It would hurt too much to see his face every day, and she wasn't ready for that yet.
Since the funeral, she'd kept in sporadic contact with Jeb, calling every now and then to see how he was doing. The first time she called, she had explained to him what she had discovered about why Garrett had taken Happenstance out that day, and they both ended up weeping on the phone. As the months rolled on, however, they were eventually able to mention his name without tears, and Jeb would fall to describing his memories of Garrett as a child or relating to Theresa over and over the things he'd said about her in their long absences apart.
In July Theresa and Kevin flew to Florida and went scuba diving in the Keys. The water there, as in North Carolina, was warm, though much clearer. They spent eight days there, diving every morning and relaxing on the beach in the afternoon. On their way back to Boston, they both decided they would do it again the following year. For his birthday, Kevin asked for a subscription to a diving magazine. Ironically, the first issue included a story about the shipwrecks off the North Carolina coast, including the one in shallow water they had visited with Garrett.
Though she'd been asked, she hadn't dated anyone since Garrett's death. People at work, with the exception of Deanna, tried repeatedly to set her up with various men. All were described as handsome and eligible, but she politely declined every invitation. Now and then she overheard her colleagues' whispers:
I don't understand why she's giving up, or, "She's still young and attractive." Others, who were more understanding, simply observed that she'd eventually recover, in her own time.
It was a phone call from Jeb three weeks ago that had led her back to Cape Cod.
When she listened to his gentle voice, quietly suggesting that it was time to move on, the walls she'd built finally began to collapse. She cried for most of the night, but the following morning she knew what she had to do. She made the arrangements to return here-easy enough, since it was off-season. And it was then that her healing finally began.
As she stood on the beach, she wondered if anyone could see her. She glanced from side to side, but it was deserted. Only the ocean appeared to be moving, and she was drawn to its fury. The water looked angry and dangerous: it was not the romantic place she remembered it to be. She watched it for a long time, thinking of Garrett, until she heard the growl of thunder echo through the winter sky.
The wind picked up, and she felt her mind drift with it. Why, she wondered, had it ended the way it had? She didn't know. Another gust and she felt him beside her, brushing the hair from her face. He had done that when they said good-bye, and she felt his touch once more. There were so many things she wished she could change about that day, so many regrets. . . .
Now, alone with her thoughts, she loved him. She would always love him. She'd known it from the moment she saw him on the docks, and she knew it now. Neither the passage of time nor his death could change the way she felt. She closed her eyes, whispering to him as she did so.
I miss you, Garrett Blake, she said softly. And for a moment, she imagined he'd somehow heard her, because the wind suddenly died and the air became still.The first few raindrops were beginning to fall by the time she uncorked the simple clear bottle she was holding so tightly and removed the letter she had written to him yesterday, the letter she had come to send. After unrolling it, she held it before her, the same way she held the first letter she'd ever found.
The little light that remained was barely enough for her to see the words, but she knew them all by heart, anyway. Her hands shook slightly as she began reading.
My Darling,
One year has passed since I sat with your father in the kitchen. It is late at night and though the words are coming hard to me, I can't escape the feeling that it's time that I finally answer your question.
Of course I forgive you. I forgive you now, and I forgave you the moment I read your letter. In my heart, I had no other choice. Leaving you once was hard enough; to have done it a second time would have been impossible. I loved you too much to have let you go again. Though I'm still grieving over what might have been, I find myself thankful that you came into my life for even a short period of time. In the beginning, I'd assumed that we were somehow brought together to help you through your time of grief. Yet now, one year later, I've come to believe that it was the other way around.
Ironically, I am in the same position you were, the first time we met. As I write, I am struggling with the ghost of someone I loved and lost. I now understand more fully the difficulties you were going through, and I realize how painful it must have been for you to move on. Sometimes my grief is overwhelming, and even though I understand that we will never see each other again, there is a part of me that wants to hold on to you forever. It would be easy for me to do that because loving someone else might diminish my memories of you. Yet, this is the paradox: Even though I miss you greatly, it's because of you that I don't dread the future. Because you were able to fall in love with me, you have given me hope, my darling. You taught me that it's possible to move forward in life, no matter how terrible your grief. And in your own way, you've made me believe that true love cannot be denied.
Right now, I don't think I'm ready, but this is my choice. Do not blame yourself. Because of you, I am hopeful that there will come a day when my sadness is replaced by something beautiful. Because of you, I have the strength to go on..
I don't know if spirits do indeed roam the world, but even if they do, I will sense your presence everywhere. When I listen to the ocean, it will be your whispers; when I see a dazzling sunset, it will be your image in the sky. You are not gone forever, no matter who comes into my life. You are standing with God, alongside my soul, helping to guide me toward a future that I cannot predict.
This is not a good-bye, my darling, this is a thank-you. Thank you for coming into my life and giving me joy, thank you for loving me and receiving my love in return. Thank you for the memories I will cherish forever. But most of all, thank you for showing me that there will come a time when I can eventually let you go.
I love you,
T
After reading the letter for the last time, Theresa rolled it up and sealed it in the bottle. She turned it over a few times, knowing that her journey had come full circle. Finally, when she knew she could wait no longer, she threw it out as far as she could.
It was then that a strong wind picked up and the fog began to part. Theresa stood in silence and stared at the bottle as it began to float out to sea. And even though she knew it was impossible, she imagined that the bottle would never drift ashore. It would travel the world forever, drifting by faraway places she herself would never see.
When the bottle vanished from sight a few minutes later, she started back to the car. Walking in silence in the rain, Theresa smiled softly. She didn't know when or where or if it would ever turn up, but it didn't really matter. Somehow she knew that Garrett would get the message.