Walking on Sea Glass

by Julie Carobini

  “What’s got your face all screwed up?”

  Liddy blinked hard. “Huh?”

  “Well, for one thing, you’ve got a strange look on your face … like you’ve just been asked to the prom. Not that I would know what that felt like …”

  Liddy felt the red creeping through her skin. How dumb. “It was nothing.”

  “Okay, well then, here.” Trace tossed a roster onto the desk. “I’m leaving but wanted to give you this list of couples who would like wake-up calls tomorrow. And don’t give me that look—if I’d had to teach them all how to program their phones, I would’ve gone mad, mad I tell you!”

  Liddy chuckled. “Fine. No problem. I’ll program them all before I leave this evening.”

  Trace hurried out the front doors, stealing furtive glances over each shoulder as she did.

  * * *

  As it turned out, Beau was nowhere to be found at the service that night, so in between listening to a riveting sermon on the Beatitudes and greeting those around her, Liddy spent a good chunk of time resisting the temptation to dwell on being stood up. At church, no less. After all, she as well as anyone understood that last-minute emergencies do arise—say, a flat tire or broken heel or any number of unplanned and unwelcome events. At least she could say that she had spent the past hour plus in a healthy place, surrounded by people absorbed in prayer. Certainly this would make it easier for her to forgive Beau for this slight.

  She made her way out of the sanctuary and into the crowded hall where she found Beau standing against the wall, watching for her. He wore a white tee shirt, jeans low on his hips, and a smile on his face. “Ready to go?” he asked.

  Her mouth fell open, and her mind played backward. Maybe he hadn’t exactly said he would be attending the service as well. She had assumed that. He stood in front of her, looking fit and tan, his hair windblown and ruffled as if he had just pulled up in a convertible. She wanted to run her fingers through its waves. When he reached out to guide her toward the exit, she thought she might melt at his touch. So much for those worries of yours, Meg.

  “You know,” he said as he held the car door for her, “you don’t need to wear the hat on my account.”

  She had worn the black floppy one again because the time had changed and the sun would stay out longer—hazy as it may have been. “You don’t like it?” she asked.

  He slid into the driver’s seat. “I just thought you might be more comfortable without it.”

  She watched as he put the car in first gear and started her up. Going out without her hat was not yet an option. Her hair continued to grow in well, but what if the wind picked up and poor Beau caught a glimpse of her scars? True, the hat may have been a painful reminder of his wife’s illness, but what lurked beneath Liddy’s virgin hair would take them both to an entirely different level of intimacy.

  And she wasn’t sure either of them was ready for that.

  * * *

  Beau pulled the car into the lot behind Nocello’s Café and hopped out. “Would you like to wait here while I grab our pizza at the window? They’re usually fast.”

  Liddy nodded. “I would. Thanks.”

  He strode across the lot to the take-out window at the back of the café. When he arrived, the line was longer than he’d expected, so he glanced toward his car, hoping to catch Liddy’s eye to let her know it might be a few minutes. He stopped short, and winced. Liddy was peering into the mirror and adjusting her hat.

  He crossed his arms at his chest and stepped up the line. He’d wanted her to forget about her surgery, but somehow he had highlighted it instead. Good job making her feel uncomfortable about the hat, doofus.

  After he’d paid for their dinner, he put a smile back on his face and strolled across the parking lot. Inside the car he handed her the pizza. “Hold this for us?”

  She nodded, but was otherwise quiet. “I hope you’re okay with eating at my house rather than at the restaurant—even though I don’t live quite as close to the beach as you do,” he said, attempting to pry away at her thoughts. “Figured you might like some quiet.”

  Liddy sighed. “How’d you know?”

  “I’ve stayed in my share of hotels.”

  She laughed lightly. “It was crazy today. Fun, but crazy.”

  “How so?”

  “Tour bus of octogenarians.”

  He laughed deeply. “Enough said.”

  Liddy wandered into his home ahead of him, slipped out of her shoes, and slid them up against the wall. “You don’t mind, I hope? My feet aren’t used to shoes.”

  “Not at all. Shoes are overrated anyway.” He kicked off his own and plunked the pizza onto the table. “I’ll grab some plates.”

  “I’ll help,” she said, padding after him into the kitchen that he had shared with Anne. He set two glasses on the sink and Liddy filled them with filtered water, as if she had always done so. As she carried them to the table, she stopped and nodded at the bottle of red next to his fridge.

  He smiled. “What’s pizza without a glass of Cab?” Beau grabbed a corkscrew and a couple of wine glasses and followed her to the dining table. After he uncorked the wine and left it out to breathe, he went back to the kitchen for the plates and forks.

  Liddy stepped out of the kitchen, and when she returned, her wide-brimmed hat had been replaced with a turban-like black scarf. Seated, Liddy held up the fork he’d given her, examining it. “You really are quite formal, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Wouldn’t want you to think I was a caveman or anything.”

  She shrugged. “Hadn’t really thought that. Now, if we were having, say, filet mignon and you hadn’t brought out steak knives, well, then I might have wondered.” She winked at him before picking up a slice of pizza with her hands.

  Beau poured them each some wine and dug into the pizza himself. He’d hardly known how to anticipate this evening, though he had made the attempt. In the end, the idea of dating again after spending years rooted deeply in marriage, with all its mountains and valleys, had left him without a game plan. So he had decided to wing it. “By the way,” he said, wiping his hand on a napkin, “sorry about the hat comment.”

  Her fingers reflexively found the crown of her head, which was topped by the flimsy fabric. Her mouth and eyes formed a penetrating look and focused it on him. “Sorry? For what?”

  He took a deep breath and reached for the bottle on the table. He was so stupid. Why had he brought it up at all? Had he learned nothing? “More wine?” he asked.

  She dropped her hand into her lap and gave him what seemed a self-conscious laugh. “Wait … oh my gosh … are you trying to ply me with alcohol?”

  He straightened. “No. I wouldn’t—”

  She caught his hand as he set the bottle down. “I was kidding.”

  He grinned at her. “Oh.”

  She wrinkled her nose, still smiling at him. “I really don’t have much of a filter sometimes,” she said, obviously not too concerned about this. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I see. And have you always had this affliction?”

  She quirked her head to one side, those fiery eyes watching him. “Are you wondering if I was different before the surgery? Like maybe the surgeon cut out some of my good sense or something?”

  He coughed. “No! I’d never think something like that.”

  “You are so fun to tease.”

  Beau sat back. In a movement that took all of 1.5 seconds, he wadded up his napkin and pitched it at her.

  She laughed well and grabbed another slice of pizza.

  Man, she was fun to have around.

  They sat there and devoured the pizza, and the wine, and somewhere in the middle he switched on some smooth jazz to fill in the background. Together they washed the dishes and put them away, and then they found themselves sitting a respectful distance from each other on the couch.

  “Tell me about your wife,” she said at one point.

  “She was an artist. She was beautiful.” He pause
d, his voice thick. “She suffered … I hated that.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “How are you doing now?”

  “It was difficult … seeing her weak one moment and full of life the next. I held onto hope for years, often becoming deflated in the process—or at least battle weary—especially those times when her health took a dangerous turn.” A sigh escaped him from deep in his gut. “In the days after I lost her, I found myself becoming overwhelmed … first by grief and then by a kind of relief. The guilt over that latter emotion was treacherous.”

  “I can’t imagine, Beau. It must’ve been terribly difficult for both of you.”

  “Yeah.” Years of education, and that was all he could muster. Yet it didn’t matter. She didn’t ask for more, and at the moment, he couldn’t offer it.

  Instead, they settled into the cushions, leaning more comfortably into each other, becoming engrossed in the music filling the space, and, he thought, in each other. At some point, he pulled her into his arms and she allowed herself to be cradled against him. He sat there, listening to the rise and fall of her breathing, wanting for nothing else.

  Comfortable as they both were, he had no secret plans to ruin things by moving more quickly than was advisable. Beau liked Liddy. A lot. He’d known this for months—even sensing something special about her before they had formally met. Some might even have called it divine intervention.

  Still, why rush a good thing? That had always been his motto, and as he leaned his cheek against her temple, he saw no reason to make a change.

  Chapter 13

  It was all happening so fast. One minute she was committed to a man forever, digging in to a life in the desert, far away from the dreams that had long lay dormant, and the next she was recovering from unthinkable surgery and falling for a man she barely knew. Liddy stared at the ceiling in her bedroom, unable to sleep. Beau intrigued her. He made her think of new dreams, ideas she had barely touched on prior to now.

  Like having children someday.

  She laid a hand on her heart. Mercy. She’d been married to Shawn for long enough to have conceived a child … but never did. Truth was, she never wanted to be a mother. Not until … recently. On the fourth morning of her hospital stay, something profound had occurred. Until that day, she had not been alone in her room. Not one time. Although she had moved in for the week, her roommates had all been day-timers, women who had come for their regular chemotherapy treatments.

  She had never known a person with cancer before then. At least not very well. But each day a new patient would arrive and she, thankful to be alive, would chat with each of them. She’d tell these women about her surgery, and her budding faith, and often, they laid bare their deepest fears, and when they had gone for their treatments, she would pray. Unorganized, ragged prayers for women she had only known for hours.

  And then one day, she was alone. No cancer patient to share her room, nor nurse to fuss about her. She was content. New friends from church had brought her books. Stacks of them. She longed to dig in, but headaches brought on by trying to focus on words on a page prevented her from doing so. Instead, she reclined in her bed, allowing the dusting of leaves along the glass windows to cheer her.

  She heard a voice that day, clear and strong as the day was quiet, and she knew: she would be married again someday and have children.

  Funny how she never questioned that voice she heard, nor found herself afraid of it. Funnier still was that she found herself warming to the part about having children when, until now, little buggers of her own had never been part of her plans.

  She pushed the covers off the bed and padded to the sink for a glass of water, then made her way out onto the deck, exhaling into the night. The inky blue sky stretched out like a backdrop of velvet for diamond-studded stars. A cat molded itself to a downstairs neighbor’s fence. A couple of bats propelled themselves over rooftops. Liddy breathed in the sea air again and thought about Beau.

  Last night at her questioning, he touched on his relationship with Anne. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she recalled the things he’d said about her suffering, and the emotions that flitted across his face.

  The women Liddy had met in her hospital room that week had all been afraid and yet so eager to delve into chit chat, as if their banter could somehow put off the inevitability of treatment. The recollection caused her to shiver. She remembered the way their husbands tended to them. “Would you like a pillow, darling?” “Can I open the window for you, sugar?” Heroes, every one of them.

  A voice pierced her thoughts. “You’re up late.”

  At the sound, Liddy twisted her neck quickly, causing it to spasm. Zack stood on the path below her deck, like some kind of derelict Romeo standing in the moonlight. She only wished she knew where she had stashed her poison …

  “Can we talk?”

  Liddy shook her head, pushing away from the deck railing. He’d interrupted her musings while they were still so foreboding. She would add that to the things she would never forgive him for.

  “I’m leaving. Just wanted to say goodbye.”

  She wanted to wave him away with a single finger, but why meet him at his level? Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the path below. He looked small and bent over like an old man leaning on a cane.

  “It’s freezing out here,” he called up to her, his roughened voice scraping across her solitude.

  Somewhere a window slid open. “Shh!”

  Liddy rolled her eyes. “Hurry up.” On her way through her apartment and to the front door, she pulled a blanket off the couch and wrapped it around herself. She opened the door and let Zack in, watching as he limped toward a chair at her small dining table. “What happened to you?”

  “Too many hours spent leaning over a sandcastle. Kink in my back became a pulled muscle.”

  Good.

  “Doc has me on shots and muscle relaxers.”

  Liddy sat across from him, crossing her arms on the table. “Leave it to you to turn beachcombing into a lethal activity.”

  He eyed her, his expression pained.

  She blew out a breath. Her ill-advised dalliance with him already seemed like a distant memory. “What’re you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  “Could ask you the same.” He shrugged. “Why does the beautiful patient not slumber?”

  Liddy shook her head. Oh brother. “Zack, where’s your wife?”

  “Waiting for me to come home.”

  “Then, go.”

  “Yeah. Not sure why she’s taking me back, but God love her, she is.” He sighed and gave her a self-assessing nod. “Anyway, I wasn’t planning to bother you again, but I saw you up and thought this would be my chance to tell you that I regret having caused you pain.”

  Liddy tilted her head and watched him. He had weathered in the last week, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. She wanted to hate him, but somehow could not. She didn’t like him all that much, though.

  Zack braced a hand on the table—he was wearing a wedding band now—and pushed himself back up, groaning pathetically as he did. “And now I have said it.”

  Liddy continued to sit. “I found someone else, you know.”

  He turned to her. “I knew you would. Is he kind?”

  “Very.”

  Zack nodded as he made his way to the door. “No doubt, next time I see you, you’ll be with him.” He stopped before leaving her apartment. “I’ll steer clear. Wouldn’t want your man to take me down in a headlock or anything.”

  “Get out of here,” she said, only this time when she spoke to him her voice was lighter than it should have been. He looked like Father Time, for heaven’s sake.

  When he’d gone, she padded back upstairs, a million more thoughts in her mind. She’d told Zack that she’d found someone else.

  But had she really?

  * * *

  Liddy leaned her temple against one hand. Thomas zipped by on his way to pull a car around for a guest. “Hung over?” he asked.


  “I wish.” So tired. That’s what she got for staring into the sky in the middle of the night. Insomnia had shot her with its arrow last night, taking her captive until light had come. And then, of course, she fell asleep for less than an hour before the alarm rang.

  Hans approached her, his eyes agog. “Are you having a relapse?”

  She straightened. “Not at all. Just tired this morning. What can I do for you?”

  “Because if you’re not feeling well, I’ll call in Trace to help.”

  Liddy shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’m fine. Really.” Truthfully, lack of sleep combined with her recovery made for a fragile landing this morning. She hoped her health wouldn’t suffer from the day’s precarious start. Her doctor had already warned her that she may have gone back to work too quickly.

  Her boss blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m tired this morning, too.”

  “Insomnia takes no prisoners.”

  His chin lifted and he looked her in the eye, repeating the word “insomnia” as if unsure of what it meant. “Yes,” he finally said. “Insomnia. That was it. Now, while it’s quiet, call these guests and confirm their dinner reservations for tonight. While you’re at it, see if you can get some of them to take a harbor cruise or something.”

  “Got it.”

  He skittered away, passing Thomas on his way back inside from the valet desk. Thomas slapped his hands on the counter in front of her and lowered his voice. “He looks like he tied one on last night, too. Hey,” he shifted a look around, “you two weren’t out together, I hope.”

  Liddy recoiled. “Get lost. I have work to do.”

  Thomas laughed and held up both hands in surrender. “It was a joke, Liddy. Saw Hans last night, over in the bar. He was still there when I left long after happy hour.”

  Fatigue was causing her vision to tunnel. “Uh-huh,” she said, hoping he’d leave her alone to make her calls.

  “You know, now that I think of it there was some other guy with him. Was throwing all kinds of money around. Didn’t look like a local.”