by Karen Booth
Once we began to descend and curve around the far side of the mountain, the ocean was finally visible ahead. Sweaty and overheated, I was relieved to see a discernable path to the water, but as soon as I saw the beach, I gasped.
Chris laughed. “See, I told you. I knew you’d recognize it.”
Seeing the beach in person caused a thrill, a flash; another of my teenage daydreams coming true. The familiar, sprawling white sand wrapped around a tranquil inlet with a dozen boats anchored, bobbing and floating with flags from different countries. A handful of people swam and waded in the crystalline water. One jump off a high sand dune and Chris and I were down on the beach.
“This is so amazing.” I looked in every direction, taking it all in. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Tell me where we are.”
“This is where you filmed the video for Love, Destroyed.”
“You really were the president of the Banks Forest fan club.” He put his arm around me, apparently pleased that his plan had worked.
Love, Destroyed had been far and away the biggest hit Banks Forest ever had, topping the charts in the U.S., England, and the rest of the world for months. Like many of their songs, Chris had written it, about whom I didn’t know. He was stunning in the video, dreamy and tan and bare-chested, of course. Banks Forest was one of the first bands to shoot their videos with film, making them seem visionary and groundbreaking, but I suspected they’d done it because they were known as much for their good looks as their music.
I’d watched the Love, Destroyed video hundreds of times on the VCR in my dad’s home office, so I had no problem recognizing the clusters of rock and the arc of the beach. Thinking about it forced me to take stock as we walked over every unbelievable grain of sand.
We found a private spot at the far end of the beach. It was hard to believe such a place existed, unspoiled, with no cars, no houses to be seen—as if the modern world didn’t exist. My first impulse was to kick off my sweaty running shoes and push my feet into the soft ivory, unworried about the pumice ruining my pedicure. I gawked as Chris took off his t-shirt, especially enthralling in navy blue board shorts with white topstitching.
He pointed at my chest. “Can I help you with that?” One of his smiles spread across his face, making it hard to say “no”. “It’s okay, Claire. No one will think anything of it.”
Feeling brave back at the house, I’d prepared ahead of time with sunscreen in the appropriate places although Chris had generously offered to tackle the job himself. Now I was feeling far less bold. A fleshy, wrinkled woman near the shore wasn’t shy about it at all. She solicited conversation from the people on the beach, casually standing knee deep in the water, bending to swirl her hands.
I decided that if I was going to get over one of my hang-ups, I might as well do it with Chris in a completely idyllic spot. “I got it,” I replied.
“Even better.” He stretched his wiry legs out on his beach towel, watching through sunglasses, holding his hand at his brow and shielding his eyes. I took off my bikini top with little fanfare and tossed it in the beach bag.
“Can you turn to the side?” he asked. “I can’t see anything with the glare.”
“Very funny.” I kneeled next to him and stretched out too, feeling better now that it was done. I rolled on to my back and bravely propped up on my elbows, exposing the ladies to the only natural light they’d seen since I was a little girl running through the sprinkler with my sister. My mom would’ve been so proud.
Chris removed his sunglasses and for the second time, I was in awe of the brilliance in his eyes today. His dazzling smile wore me down as he played with my hand in the sand, rubbing the tips of my fingers in tiny circles.
“Let’s cool off,” he said. He stood and tugged on my hand before he piloted me into the translucent sea, unmatched in its warmth, soft and pleasing. Comparing it to bathwater only would’ve cheapened the experience. It was a wonder, I felt as if I was immersed in a graceful, fluid extension of myself. Admiring the boats, some modest and others monstrous, I knew that if I ever had a life where I could flit around the world on a boat, I would always stop at this beach. I envied a young man on one of the decks, taking pictures from his unique vantage point.
We swam until it was over my head but Chris kept me afloat, holding me close. We kissed as if time meant nothing and I savored every subtle move of his lips while combing through his damp hair. Lightly drumming his fingers along my spine, Chris was quiet when we came up for air. I sensed something between us, making my heartbeat fitful.
“I want to tell you something,” he said. “I’m bollocks at this, so you’ll have to be patient.” He gazed at me, his face casting a shadow across mine as I clung to his neck. “The last few weeks have been great. You’re such an incredible woman. I’m so glad that we met.”
My breaths grew shallower. “It’s sweet of you to say that. The last few weeks have been amazing for me too.” I looked down into the water, worried that whatever I said would be inferior. “Most of the time I can’t believe this is happening.”
He cleared his throat. “The other thing I wanted to say is, well, I wanted you to know that you’re the first woman I’ve really wanted to spend any time with since my divorce.”
His words were sweet at first listen, but I didn’t want to take it the wrong way, nor did I want to think things that might later prove presumptuous.
“I, just,” he continued. “I want you to know that you aren’t just a hook-up.”
“Oh…” It hit me then. I’d thought we were embarking on a fairytale romance. Maybe to him, at least at first, I was nothing more than another girl in line. And everyone knew there was always another girl after that. “That’s good to know. I guess.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want you to misunderstand what I’m saying. It’s a compliment.”
I looked him in the eye, finding the color less enchanting than before. “It doesn’t really feel like a compliment.”
“We talked about this the day after the interview. In the cab on the way to the airport, about my spending all of my time with actresses and models. It’s no secret that I’ve been with some stunning women since I left Elise. None of them can hold a candle to you.”
I blinked, hoping this would somehow end up being a bad dream. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“I was trying to tell you that you’re important to me.”
“By reminding me that you’ve had your pick of women since you left your wife but I’m the first one that means something?” I felt my face grow hot with frustration, and it wasn’t all his fault. My reaction was partly born of an irrational wish to be the only woman he liked enough to be with.
“Yes, exactly.” He cocked his head to the side. “Although it sounds awful when you say it.”
“Am I supposed to feel good about that? I don’t want to think about all of the women you’ve been with over the last year.”
“It was just sex.”
I groaned and shook my head. “No woman wants to hear that. Do you have any idea how insulting that is?”
“And do you have any idea how bloody insane you sound? You don’t get to be angry for something that happened before I even met you.” He looked me right in the eye. “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had sex with anyone since we met. That wasn’t easy.”
I stared back. “Sorry to hear it was so hard for you to go without sex for a whole month.” He’d done an excellent job of burying his expression of affection. “Can we talk about this on dry land? I’m starting to prune.” I didn’t wait for a reply, breaking free of him and swimming back to shore. I grabbed my towel when I reached the beach, clutching it to my chest, no longer in the mood for being a purveyor of free peeks.
Chris trudged through the sand and I felt the force of every deliberate step, not knowing how mad he was. He fell to his knees and flopped down to his stomach, onto the towel, dripping wet. I peered over my shoulder and the water on his ba
ck sucked the breath out of me; hundreds of defenseless droplets popping in the gradual fade of the sun.
I shook out an extra towel and sat with my knees pulled to my chest, resting my head, feeling empty and torn. He was silent, turned away.
I watched him for a long time, thinking that nothing about the situation was right. We had so much unfinished business. My lungs ached with every breath. Sitting still, doing nothing, became uncomfortable. I found my top in the beach bag and put it on, just as he chose to turn back to me.
“Is that your way of getting even?” His annoyance had seemingly dissipated, but he certainly wasn’t smiling.
The strap snapped against my back. “No. You’ll know it if I’m trying to get even.”
He softened his eyes, leaving me hopelessly vulnerable. “Claire, I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt your feelings. I guess I didn’t do a very good job of saying what I wanted to say. I feel like a bloody jerk.”
I took a breath, making an unflattering sound like a hiccup. “I’m sorry too. You’re right. I don’t have the right to get mad at you about that stuff. But just so you know, no woman wants to hear those things. I don’t want to think about all of the women who could take my place.”
He groaned, quietly. “But that means nothing to me, seriously. You know, you don’t realize that you’re just as capable of breaking my heart as I am of breaking yours. We have to trust each other.” He granted me a fraction of a smile. “I would say more, but I’m afraid of digging myself a deeper hole.”
I had to cut loose everything swimming in my head if I was going to get back to where we’d been before. I stretched out next to him, fighting my feelings of unworthiness. “I don’t know if you’re capable of digging a hole with me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“I’m starving,” Chris muttered. He gnawed a hunk of day-old baguette and shook out the wet towels from the beach.
“Let me make you something. Eggs and toast?”
“Perfect. Can you make it four?”
“Sure.” I smiled and felt as though things were getting better.
I bungled my way about the unfamiliar kitchen, digging in drawers for a whisk when I caught a glimpse of Sam and Jean-Luc through the kitchen window and across the courtyard, outside her bedroom door. They were a confusion of lips with Jean-Luc sending his hand up the front of her shirt, a vision I could’ve lived without.
I whipped around, slamming the utensil drawer shut with my butt. “They’re outside her room, making out.”
“Sam and what’s-his-face?”
I loved Chris’s new pet name for Jean-Luc, but I cringed at the thought of being the mom who barges in on her daughter. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged and looked around the kitchen. “We could make some noise and hope they take the hint.”
I clanged pots and dishes together. Chris, seeming at a loss, turned on the empty blender without its lid. A horrendous scraping rang out. We both jumped and had to cover our mouths when we laughed, but his plan worked and they were in the kitchen in no time.
“Oh, hi, honey. Did you just get back?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said, avoiding eye contact.
“Did you have a good day?”
“We had fun. We went to lunch and the beach.”
“Great. I’m making eggs if you’re hungry.”
“No, thanks. I’m going to walk Jean-Luc out to his car.” He remained silent, which was as much as I wanted to hear from him, anyway.
“Okey-doke,” I said, sounding like I was Mrs. Cleaver while I finished Chris’s eggs. The courtyard door clunked. “I’m timing them. How long should I give her?”
Chris stared and shook his head. “Claire, honey, you’ve got to let this go. What are you going to do? Impose time limits on snogging?”
“But I don’t like the idea of those two together.”
“They’re teenagers. That’s what they do.” He came up behind me and placed his hand on my back. “I wouldn’t let Jean-Luc within a mile of Sam if I thought he was a bad kid.”
“Thank you.” I pushed his eggs on to the plate. “You’re right. I’m acting crazy.”
“It’s okay. I love your particular brand of crazy.” He pecked me on the cheek and took his plate to the kitchen table. He dug in while I sat with him and drummed my fingers on the table at full tilt.
Chris flattened my hand. “Say this after me. I will stop acting like a lunatic.”
I rolled my eyes. “I will. As soon as she’s done locking lips with the French kid.”
“You have to do everything your own way, don’t you?”
“Pretty much.” The door slammed upstairs and I let out my breath. “Okay, I’m better now.”
With the threat of teenage sex thwarted, I sequestered myself in my room to clean up and shake off the remnants of the day, spending plenty of time in the shower. I made an extra effort, dressing in my new black linen sundress with ivory embroidery at the hem, still feeling badly about the confusion at the beach.
Chris came in without knocking. “Damn. You’re already dressed.”
“Sorry you missed the show.”
He went to my neck as I put in an earring. “Mmm. You smell good, like waffles.” He was wearing a rumpled white shirt and long khaki shorts. His feet were bare and tan and his scrubby hair smelled sweet. “Are we okay after the beach today?”
I’d already replayed the entire fight, if it qualified for that designation, in my head several times. On paper, he hadn’t done a single thing he wasn’t entitled to do.
“Yes, we’re good. Other than the fact that you told me I smell like waffles.”
His finger landed on my nose and he focused. “How did I miss your freckles?”
My hand flew to my face. “It’s from the sun.” I wrinkled my nose and rubbed it. “I hated them when I was a kid.”
He pulled my hand away and smiled, his eyes glimmering. “I love them.” He grazed my nose with his pinky. “I think they’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
I wrapped myself around him, pressing my hands into his back and settling the side of my head against his chest. He squeezed me and I felt warm and protected, like nothing could ever hurt me. One short kiss and I knew two things—we were back to a good place and we had to get out of my room before we had the chance to undress each other.
I curled into Chris on the couch once we got to the living room, and we watched Marisol, a blur of cutting and chopping.
“I’d tell you about Graham and Angie but you probably know more about them than I do,” Chris said.
“Please don’t say anything about that stuff at dinner.”
“Got it. No embarrassing Banks Forest fan club comments.”
An unfamiliar voice bellowed, “Hello? Everybody decent?”
I’d seen countless pictures of Graham but like Chris, he was of a much different magnitude in person. His tan skin set off his golden brown eyes and his sharply receding hair was cut so short that I couldn’t tell what color it was anymore. He was dressed head to toe in wrinkly white linen, a pair of buttons fastened on his shirt. Angie had creamy flawless skin and a rolling shock of deep red hair, wearing an emerald green sundress and hefty diamond studs.
Chris’s face lit up when he saw them and he gave them both big hugs. He introduced me and in a flash, Graham assaulted me with a suffocating embrace.
“I can see why you actually told me about this one,” he said to Chris as he grabbed me by the shoulders, tilting me from side to side. He was a bit like my uncle, my aunt’s second husband, without kids of his own or any sense of personal boundaries.
“Graham, will you please leave her alone?” Angie nudged him out of the way and took my hand. “Claire, it’s so nice to meet you. Have you been enjoying your time on the island? I want to hear everything you lot have been up to.” Her accent was so prim and lovely that I had a sudden urge to have tea and ring my mum.
Graham interjected, “We don’t want to know about
everything.” He elbowed Chris in the stomach. It was hard to imagine Chris putting up with Graham on a daily basis for all of the years the band was together.
Angie whispered, “I’m sorry. I swear, he’s not always like this but I think he had a few nips while I took my shower. He’ll seem perfectly normal once we all catch up with him.”
In the kitchen, Marisol opened a bottle of wine and set out a plate of fruit and cheese. Angie and I sat while Chris and Graham stayed in the courtyard, talking with words flying.
“Claire, tell me how you and Christopher met.”
My heart raced. It was the first time I’d been asked to tell the story. Aside from Sam, nobody in my life knew about Chris and it had to stay that way until the Rolling Stone issue was on newsstands.
“Oh, it’s not much of a story really. I’m a music writer, and I interviewed him a few weeks ago. We hit it off and well, here I am.”
She smiled at me sweetly. “Christopher is very good at pursuing a woman he’s interested in.”
Graham and Chris joined us, putting an end to that thread of the conversation, one that I would’ve liked to explore further.
Graham sat and squeezed me closer with his arm, leaving Angie at the opposite end of the couch. “The P-Man tells me that you wrote the Rolling Stone cover story about him. Lucky bastard.”
So much for secrets.
“Graham suggested I play a small club in LA,” Chris said. “To let the fans know I have a new record.”
“Smart. Great idea,” I said, wishing I were exchanging body heat with Chris instead of Graham.
“Smashing. Claire’s on board,” Graham quipped as he tightened his grip on my shoulder.
Using only my eyes, I pleaded with Chris for a rescue from Graham. Chris crossed his legs and bobbed his foot in the armchair next to us, openly amused by our every interaction. He didn’t say a thing; he melted me down with his gaze instead.
The adults drank far too much during dinner, so much that I didn’t recall eating a meal and my wine glass seemed to magically empty and refill. It was plain after a while that it was an uncomfortable situation for Sam and she excused herself from the table before dessert, saying she was going to bed early.
