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At last she came from the surf, gasping and shivering with the cold. She eyed Blake warily, waggled a finger to warn him from retribution, and then sat down, still laughing, still panting.
She saw Blake’s shadow loom over her. He was holding her purse. He dropped into the sand and they stared out at the ocean, laughs dwindling to happy smiles and finally a sigh of exhaustion and contentment.
Blake watched the horizon line for long minutes, feeling the warmth of Connie’s body brush against his. He glanced at her furtively. Connie had her eyes closed, and there were sparkling droplets of water hanging from her lashes.
She was beautiful, he decided.
He saw Connie’s eyes flicker open and his gaze darted guiltily back to the skyline. The gulls that had drawn Ned’s attention suddenly took to startled flight. They skimmed the surface of the waves and then went wheeling and dipping away across the ocean.
Blake heard Ned panting, and then the pad of his big paws on the sand. He glanced quickly over his shoulder – and caught Connie gazing at him with a captivated expression on her face.
She made a pretense of blinking sand from her eyes to conceal her fluster, but even to her own ears her voice sounded unnaturally breathless.
“Your dog is the devil,” she said
“He’s never done anything like that before,” Blake shook his head. “Maybe he doesn’t want you to go…”
Silence.
Blake could hear his own heart thumping, hear Connie’s steady breath. The words seemed to linger between them and he groped for something to say to salvage the moment.
“Your jeans are wet,” he said quickly. “You should take them off.”
Connie turned to him, her face a sudden pantomime of incredulous lady-like horror, but her eyes sparkling with glee. “I beg your pardon?” she rasped.
Blake looked baffled for a moment until he played the words back in his head. Then the blood drained away from his face and became white with dread. “Oh, God,” he said in alarm. “No! I didn’t mean that!”
Connie laughed and laid a casual, reassuring hand on his arm. Blake felt the skin beneath her touch catch fire. “It’s okay,” she grinned, and held the smile on her lips as they stared into each other’s eyes. Her expression became solemn. In an instant, the chasm between companionship and intimacy seemed to shrink to almost nothing. It would take just one small step...
Blake saw something move behind Connie’s gaze, some liquid stir of secret emotion. She parted her lips and the entire world seemed to go quite still. Blake clenched his jaw and leaned away from her, breaking the spell.
“It’s getting cool,” he said, his words hollow. His heart was beating as though it might break out of his chest. “And you should give yourself plenty of time to make Hoyt Harbor before nightfall.”
He got to his feet and she stood beside him, said nothing. They trudged back up the sand towards the house, the chasm between them widening again with every step.
15.
It was another hour before Connie was once again ready to leave. She had changed clothes, pulled her hair back in a ponytail. She stood on the driveway gangling and awkward as a teenage girl. Ned watched on, chastened and banished, from the porch.
Blake reached deep into his pocket and held out a bundle of cash. Connie frowned.
“When I went through your handbag looking for your phone, I noticed you had no money,” he said. “This is five-hundred dollars. It should be enough to get you home – or wherever you are going.”
Connie started to shake her head. “Blake… I can’t,” she said. “I can’t take money from you. You’ve done so much for me already.”
Blake shrugged. “Connie, it’s only money. If you won’t accept it as a gift, then consider it a loan. But either way, you’re not driving away from here without money for emergencies.”
Connie sighed. She was fighting back tears of gratitude. He had known that she was in trouble, yet he had offered this money without condition. She took the cash reluctantly, then her expression became fierce. “A loan only,” she promised. “As soon as I can I’m going to repay you.”
Blake shook his head. “It’s not –”
“Yes,” Connie insisted.
She carefully tucked the money into her purse and then looked past him, down to the lonely beach and the rolling crests that foamed white against the sand.
“I’m going to miss this place,” she said to Blake on a sudden impulse of emotion. “It’s a piece of paradise.”
Blake’s face remained impassive. “Not for me,” he said enigmatically. “I hate it.”
Connie looked shocked. She stared up into his eyes as though maybe he had been joking, but what she saw there left her flinching and troubled.
“You mean it,” she gasped.
Blake nodded his head. “I mean it. It might have been paradise once, but now…” he shrugged his shoulders with sadness. “It feels like a prison.”
She searched his eyes again, saw the change in his expression and knew enough about the man now not to ask more. A gull flew in from the beach and circled the house. Connie watched it for a moment.
“I wanted to be a famous artist,” she confided softly. “I wanted it so bad. I wanted to have the big exhibitions, hear the adulation of the critics… but I never had your talent,” her voice was small and shy again. “So I changed dreams. Now I want my own gallery – a place for great art. Nothing pretentious,” she flashed him an impish grin. “Just something I can be proud of.”
Blake inclined his head. “It sounds like a nice dream,” he said. “And if that’s what you want, then you should chase it, and never let anyone stand in your way. But be careful,” he raised a finger in sudden caution. “Sometimes the dreams we set for ourselves can turn into nightmares. Be careful what you wish for.”
Connie listened, watched Blake’s face, the way his mouth moved, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he turned and looked towards the sun – the minute facial expressions that were like gusts of wind or clouds that preceded a change in the weather.
“It sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” she prompted him gently.
Blake nodded, stared down at the ground for an instant, then looked back into her eyes. There was darkness in his face.
“My dream was always to paint,” he said softly, and his voice sounded suddenly far away, like a whispered echo. “I wanted to be the best – to make the kind of paintings that would touch people emotionally – turn art into an experience,” he said.
“And you did,” Connie said loyally.
The look in Blake’s eyes sharpened suddenly. “But when I got there – when I was finally at the top of my mountain, Connie, I realized too late that I had forsaken all the things that mattered in order to climb to the peak of my career.”
He looked into Connie’s eyes. “Don’t make my mistake,” he implored her with a desperate passion she hadn’t heard in his voice before now. “Don’t take your focus off what matters in life. Remember to never forget those you love or care for – don’t let fate make you regret your choices.”
Connie nodded solemnly, and then threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him chastely on the lips, felt the hardness of his chest press against her breasts. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for everything.”
She turned then and slid in behind the wheel of the car. Her cheeks were on fire, her hands trembling fiercely. Without daring to meet his eyes again, she turned the car around and went away down the driveway, her heart racing and her eyes just a little misted.
Blake stood in the silence until long after the car had disappeared. He touched his fingers gently to his lips. They were still moist from the kiss. He glanced at Ned, and the big dog pricked back his ears and looked up, puzzled.
“She was nice,” Blake said.
Ned yawned, then settled himself to the ground and propped his head between his paws, like he was waiting for her to return.
16.
Conni
e left the car with a mechanic on the outskirts of Hoyt Harbor and walked down to the foreshore. The afternoon had turned cool. The breeze across the harbor abraded the surface into dark ripples so that the boats nudged and bumped restlessly at their moorings, and the umbrellas over the café tables fluttered like war banners.
