He ordered them a bottle of crisp Chardonnay and they toasted their interview together.
“I hope everyone who listens runs out to buy your book,” she said.
“Thanks to you, they probably will,” he said. “You’re good at that…interviewing people. You are remarkably bright.”
They chatted over heaping plates of fried clams and tartar sauce and she was struck by how open he was about everything. He told her about finding his ex-wife’s diaries on the boat as he sailed across the ocean and how heartbreaking it had been to learn her true feelings.
“I can be extremely selfish,” he said, “and I saw that in her journals—how it had affected her. It was hard coming to terms with the part of myself that isn’t very nice. I had a lot of time to contemplate it.”
He asked her about herself next, how she’d come to live on Cape Cod.
“I basically married Cape Cod,” she said, explaining how she’d fallen in love in college with a man from the Cape. “He made it clear from day one that he was never going to live anywhere else.”
“You don’t sound as if you’re happy here,” he said.
“No, not really,” Casey answered. “Once Robert and I divorced, I realized how limiting the Cape could be, especially for a single woman. There’s not a lot of options for a roving reporter. I’m here for my daughters. They deserve to be close to their father. They didn’t ask for this divorce.”
“Can I ask what happened to your marriage?”
“He’s a functioning workaholic,” Casey explained. “He owns a chain of restaurants here and spends a lot of time at them, understandably. The thing is, his eateries are really successful, so it’s hard for him to admit that he has a problem setting his priorities.”
They each ordered a slice of key lime pie and watched as the sun set in the west. Casey was enjoying herself. It had been a long time since she’d been out on a date, but this man was extraordinary. She didn’t run into a lot of men who had such varied and interesting backgrounds.
He reached across the table as they enjoyed one last glass of wine. He took her hand and looked into her eyes.
“You know,” he said, “I’m really enjoying your company.”
“Me too,” she responded, a small smile and the tilt of her head revealing her shyness.
“I’m here for a few days doing book signings. I’d love to see you again,” he said.
“Okay, Captain,” Casey responded. “I’m on board with that.”
*****
When Casey walked into the newsroom the next morning, her steps were a little lighter. She seemed to be off in her own little world from the minute she sat at her desk.
“Why the big smile this morning?” Mark asked.
“No reason,” Casey responded, looking through a stack of news copy. “Or…it might have something to do with the big date I had last night.”
“Dish,” Mark said, hoping to hear the details.
“That book author I interviewed yesterday asked me out to dinner last night. We went to the Chart House.”
“Well, it’s nice to see you joining the human race,” Mark said smiling. “You’re all work and no play most of the time. Are you going to see him again? If you do, you better make plans soon because it looks like Hurricane Betsy is coming up the coast. Take a look at the forecast.”
He plopped the marine forecast down on her desk, showing the eye of the storm heading right for the Cape.
“It’s going to be a mess around here for weeks if that storm hits,” Mark said with a big sigh. “Plan to live in the newsroom for at least a week.”
Casey read the forecast and saw that the first winds of the storm were due to hit on Saturday or Sunday—tomorrow or the next day.
Mark agreed he’d cover the first few days and that Casey could come in on Tuesday to work the cleanup efforts. She’d be off until then.
After the 4:00 news was finished, Janette beeped in on the intercom to tell her that Paul Neal was on the phone. Her heart fluttered a bit as she picked up the call.
“This is Casey Larson,” she said out of habit.
“The invincible Casey Larson,” Paul said, happy to hear her voice. “Do we still have plans for tomorrow?”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”
“It’s a surprise,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at noon tomorrow.”
Casey called Robert to let him know about the hurricane forecast and explained she’d have to stay at the radio station for a few days if the storm hit. Robert agreed that the girls would stay with him. He’d probably be closing down the restaurants anyway if it looked like Hurricane Betsy was going to make landfall in the next few days.
As Casey drove home, she noticed people were beginning to make preparations. The marinas were bringing boats in from their moors and people were boarding up the windows in the front of their homes. She remembered that Paul was due to fly out of Boston on Sunday and she made a mental note to tell him to come up with another plan just in case.
For most people who lived along the coast, hurricanes were just one of the realities of life that had to be dealt with. Not many hurricanes made it to Cape Cod, though. It’s too far north, so most of the predictions about their landfall came as warnings. Casey wasn’t worried just yet.
What she couldn’t know was that Hurricane Betsy would be the backdrop of the two most romantic days of her life.
*****
When Paul picked her up the next morning, she was waiting on the steps for him. She was wearing a blue sundress that complimented her light brown hair and blue eyes, and she held a duffel bag with things she thought they might need for the day’s outing: sunscreen, bottled water, a blanket and a bag of trail mix.
“You look beautiful, Casey,” he said as she hopped into the front seat. “I think of you as a hidden gem just waiting to be discovered on the Cape.”
Casey blushed, pleased with the compliment but knowing that that she’d remain a “hidden gem” until the girls grew up and moved away. She’d never uproot them and steal them away from their father. She wanted them to have both parents in their lives, knowing that was best for them. Robert was a good father to them, even if his priorities sometimes got in the way.
“Where are we going, Captain?” she asked, smiling and happy to see Paul was still as attractive as she thought he was.
“I’m bringing you to a special place I used to go to as a boy when we visited my mother’s sister. It’s called The Knob and it’s a beautiful spot to spend the day.”
When he’d parked the car, he took her by the hand and led her down a shady path that eventually turned uphill, bringing them to a long, sandy inlet that ended with an upward climb to a small hill.
“I see why they call it The Knob,” Casey said. She was delighted. It was a sweet spot on the beach, and best of all, no one else was there.
They found a small patch of beach and Paul took a blanket out of his canvas bag. Then he produced the makings of a picnic, with cheese and crackers, chicken salad, a tray of cut-up vegetables, and a container of blueberries.
“You put on quite a show,” she said.
They spent the day swimming and sunbathing, and had great conversations about authors and movies that they liked. They talked about Casey’s two daughters and Paul’s own childhood.
At 5:00, he produced a bottle of cold chardonnay he’d stored in a special bag with ice packs. He uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass into a clear cup.
“You are amazing,” she said, laughing. “All I brought was a bag of trail mix.”
He took her hand just then and looked into her eyes.
“You know,” he said. “I feel like I’ve known you all of my life. I felt it the minute I walked into your newsroom the other day. It’s funny how that happens sometimes in life—these instant connections we have with people. It’s rare, but when it happens, it’s magical.”
Casey looked up and caught his gaze.
“This is the best afternoon I’ve had in years,” she said. “I feel like I’ve been whisked off to paradise…even though it’s in my own backyard.”
He reached over and kissed her, putting one hand on her cheek. They kissed for a long time, finally leaning back onto the blanket, lying in each other’s arms.
Up above, they could see the sun peeking through the clouds and they pointed out cloud shapes and birds that were flying overhead.
He told her stories about his childhood summers in Mallorca, about the beautiful beaches and people that he’d known. She was mesmerized with his past, and he was taken with her simplicity—the perfect complement to her elegant charm.
The wind began to pick up and Casey sat up to take a look at the sky. Towards the south, a wall of darkness straddled the horizon and Casey realized there were no boats out on the water. They’d all gone in to reach safe harbor. She lamented not keeping an eye on the forecast this morning, and for being so taken with her date that she hadn’t kept up with the threat of a hurricane.
“Paul,” she said, gathering her things, “we have to leave. I thought Hurricane Betsy was going to miss us, and she still might, but it looks to me as if it’s going to be a rough night here. I have to get home and check on the girls and then call the newsroom.”
Paul stood up and looked to the south. The wind blew his thick hair to the side and he smoothed it back with his hands.
“It doesn’t look like I’m going to be going anywhere tomorrow,” he said. “I have to check in on my aunt and then call about my flights.”
Hurricanes never reach the Cape, Casey thought as they headed back down the trail to the car.
She couldn’t help think of the irony that both a hurricane and a warm, sophisticated man had made landfall in the same week.
*****
Back at Casey’s apartment, Bill and Jennifer were preparing the yard for the storm. Bill was putting lawn furniture in the shed and Jennifer was carrying her plants in.
When she and Paul pulled up, Bill waved for them to roll down their windows.
“The eye of the storm is supposed to land in Connecticut,” Bill said as he leaned into the window. “But that’s close enough to give us a big whooping. We’re not going to board the windows this time, but I suggest you go out and get some supplies in a while. You’re going to want some gallon jugs of water and some meals you can make without power in the kitchen.”
“Thanks, Bill,” Casey said getting out of the car. “Let me know what we can do to help.”
She introduced Paul to her landlords and headed inside. They seemed surprised to see her with a man, and Jennifer gave her a little wink as she walked away.
Casey called Robert to see what his plans were with the girls. He lived further inland and they both agreed it would be safer at his house than it was along the coast. Then she called Mark to see what the status of the storm was.
“It’s a category 4 storm,” he said. “That’s a big one, and even though we won’t get a direct hit, prepare for a long couple of days.”
He explained that he was checking the generator at the radio station and that he planned to stay there for the first few days. He asked Casey to plan on coming in on Tuesday at the very latest.
“The wind will start tonight,” Mark said, “and the worst of it will be tomorrow.”
Paul had been on the phone with his aunt, who said she’d taken herself to her sister’s house, which was off Cape Cod and an hour west. She’d tried to reach him in the afternoon, but he’d explained he didn’t have service at the beach.
The only thing left to do was stand in the kitchen and look at one another, not sure whether to be frightened or excited for the time they were stealing together.
They went and gathered supplies at the local store and then went back to Casey’s apartment to settle in for the night. Neither of them discussed the fact that Paul was staying for the interim.
While Casey was preparing shrimp scampi in the kitchen, Paul put on some jazz in the living room and poured them each a glass of wine. In some ways, it felt to Casey like they were playing house, acting as if they’d been together forever. Over dinner, they talked about Casey’s job and her old dreams about working in New York.
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” he said. “I’m ten years older than you and while I do have a few regrets, if I died tomorrow I’d look back at my life with a sense of adventure. I’d feel as if I’d done many of the things I’d wanted to do.”
He took another sip of wine and stared out the window for a bit.
“Listen,” he said. “It’s very noble of you to want to give your daughters stability. But there’s not just one way to skin a cat. I’m sure if you and Robert were creative, you could find a way to let you pursue your dreams without damaging your daughters. You have to count too, Casey.”
Casey took in his words and let out a sigh.
“I’m not so sure you’re right,” she said, “but you’ve given me something to think about.”
They danced to the soft sounds of Ella Fitzgerald in the living room after dinner, holding one another close, watching the leaves dance on the trees. At midnight, the wind picked up and it wasn’t long after that the power went out.
Casey lit some candles and they sat on the porch together in one another’s arms, listening to the wind whistle through the trees.
He turned to kiss her and she was eagerly awaiting him. He was so gentle, and his kindness seemed to come across in everything he did.
“Let’s go to bed,” he said, after a time.
“The safest port in a storm,” Casey said, “is my bed.”
She led him into her room in the dark, blowing out candles as she moved. They lay down in bed together in their clothes, not wanting to take the time to fumble just yet.
For a long while they lay there, gently kissing one another, and after a time he quietly guided her dress over the top of her head.
“I can’t see how beautiful you are in the dark,” he said. “But I can certainly imagine it. I’ve thought of nothing else for days.”
He took off his shorts and his shirt and he found his way to her as the wind reached its highest peak. It sounded as if the storm were a train on its way through the house, rattling the windows as it sped by.
They made love to the symphony of Hurricane Betsy, their climax competing with the peak of the storm. They fell asleep, not afraid of anything in that moment.
This night, they had each other.
*****
She awoke to hear the rattling of pots and pans in the kitchen and noticed Paul was no longer in bed.
“I lit the stove with a match,” he told her. “You still have gas, just no electricity to light the burner. How do omelets sound?”
“That sounds perfect,” Casey said, looking out the window to survey the damage.
“I spoke to the airlines and delayed my flight until tomorrow,” he told her as he whisked a bowl of eggs. “I hear round two should start sometime this morning—the other side of the eye is coming through.”
They spent the morning doing crossword puzzles on opposite sides of the couch on the porch, their legs wrapped together.
The storm intensified once again and Paul went and grabbed a blanket from Casey’s bed. He wrapped her up to her chin and he settled in beside her, and they lay like that for a while, watching the wind whip through the trips, bending them in half.
It was a beautiful, quiet morning—at least in her head. She was so oddly content with this man.
They talked about when they would see one another again. He described his cabin in Northern California and asked if she could get away soon to visit him.
“I’m working on my next book,” he said, “but I can take a few days off to spend time with you. It’s beautiful where I live. We can take walks and go for a sail one day.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she said, “but I have no vacation time. I use the one week I get every year to visit my parents in Florida with the
girls.”
As the day wore on and they discussed ways that they could be in one another’s lives, it became apparent just how helpless their situation was. Their lives were so very different. She was raising children and trying to find a way off Cape Cod, and he was a best-selling writer who traveled often and lived up in the sticks in Northern California. The odd thing was that what they were feeling for another seemed to transcend the realities of life. It was quick and fleeting, yes, but deep and compelling at the same time, and yet, here they were, both reluctantly admitting how hopeless it all seemed.
“I’m not giving up,” he said as he left in the late afternoon. “I want to get to know you more and see where this takes us.”
Casey closed the door and watched him walk down the steps.
She had a feeling she would never see Paul Neal again.
*****
Ten years had passed when Casey saw a review for one of Paul’s new books in the New York Times. She had sporadically kept up with Paul’s life and writing career over the decade and knew he had published a total of five best-selling books.
She was still living on Cape Cod, having decided to put her dreams on hold, still working for WCCB. She had her own house now, though, and was dating a guy who owned a marina in Cataumet.
She and Paul had kept in touch for a few months, but her lack of vacation time and his adventurous life had prevented them from seeing one another again.
One day, several years earlier, she had looked Paul up on the Internet and found he’d written a chapter on being a father in an anthology of stories about parenthood.
She drove all the way to Hyannis to the closest bookstore to buy a copy. She knew that his chapter would describe how he found his way to fatherhood. He had been childless when she met him, having been only married once for a short time.
She still thought of him all of the time and it had broken her heart when their conversations ended.
Their last call he’d been on his way to London where his mother lived and he’d given her the address. She had a gift to send to him—some old poetry books she’d picked up at a used bookstore and some trinkets she’d found in several antique stores on the Cape that had reminded her of him. One was a small wooden boat, similar to the one he’d lost when he was crossing the Atlantic all those years ago.
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