“I’m the same way,” she acknowledged. “I like my independence, but too much time alone makes me crawl the walls.”
“Yup. It’s a delicate balance.” Shane nodded extra slowly, as if there was something else on his mind. Finally, he said, “I should get to work, but, uh, just to confirm… it’s all good between us again, no hard feelings, right?”
“It’s all good—no hard feelings,” she repeated, and gave him a smile, which he returned.
I’m glad I don’t feel like I need to avoid him any longer, she thought as he pivoted toward the windmill. But their little rift—coupled with her recent encounter with Claire—had left Caitlin feeling shaken and vulnerable, as if she might be exposed at any moment.
I’ve got to be more careful about not letting my defenses down—which means being friendly with Shane is fine, but no more flirting, she resolved and firmly shut the door.
ELEVEN
By mid-November, when Caitlin still hadn’t heard anything from the agency director, Tobias, about an interview date, she decided to reach out and ask if the hospital had signed a contract yet. She also hoped to impress him with the prospective donor research she’d done. But when she called his work cell phone, his assistant, Max, picked up and told her Tobias was out of town.
“His mother’s been very ill. She just got out of the intensive care unit, so he won’t be back for at least a couple weeks.”
“Oh, no, I’m very sorry to hear about his mother,” Caitlin sympathized. “That must be so distressing.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is.” Max sounded rushed. “Is there something I can help you with while he’s gone?”
Because Tobias wasn’t supposed to tell her about the campaign before the potential client signed the contract, Caitlin couldn’t let on that she already knew about the possibility. So she said, “That’s all right. It’s nothing urgent. I’ll try again when he’s back.”
After hanging up, Caitlin paced from the kitchen to the living room, wondering if the hospital was still deliberating about whether to sign on as a client yet, or if they’d chosen a differentagency. Or could it be that they’d already signed, but Tobias had neglected to contact Caitlin about an interview?
Although she recognized there was little she could do except wait and try to reach Tobias in another week or two, Caitlin felt so apprehensive that she repeatedly paced from her tiny kitchen to her living room until she’d literally worked up a sweat.
I wish I could tell Shane about this, she thought. But since it wouldn’t be appropriate to interrupt his work to complain about her personal situation, she decided to walk to town instead.I’m bored with my usual route—this time, I’m hiking down the beach. When I get to the boardwalk, I’ll circle back to the cottage on the side streets.
The weather was so unseasonably warm—it must have been at least 65 degrees—and the tide was in, so as soon as she reached the sand, Caitlin took off her shoes and socks and rolled up her pant legs so she could tread along the water’s edge. Turning her back on the inlet, she headed north and didn’t break her stride until she reached the boardwalk.
Then she paused to take in the slightly weatherbeaten yet colorful facades of the eateries, shops, and recreation venues lining the waterfront. She immediately recognized her youthful favorites: Lucy’s Tees, Bleecker’s Ice Cream Parlor, The Donut Shanty, Sandy’s Souvenirs, and, of course, Pirate’s ARR-Cade.
Recalling that Albert used to treat her and Lydia to ice cream cones at Bleecker’s on the last day of each month, Caitlin was overcome with nostalgia—and with hunger.A double scoop of caramel sea salt and chocoloate-cranberry would really hit the spot right now, she thought, her mouth watering.
But Bleecker’s Ice Cream Parlor was boarded up until next summer, and so were most of the other establishments, except for a few cafes and coffee houses that she guessed remained open on weekends through the shoulder season. Although a handful of people were strolling the beach, and an elderly couplewas resting on a nearby bench, the waterfront was virtually deserted.
There aren’t even very many seagulls here today, thought Caitlin, stamping the sand from her feet on the wooden promenade.
Just then, she remembered she’d left her socks and shoes beside the staircase by the cottages. Because it would hurt to walk barefoot on the streets, she went back the same way she came. Her anxiety had significantly diminished, and she sauntered along at a leisurely pace, scouring the sand for beach glass.
By the time she neared the stairs to The Windmill Cottages, she was fatigued, as well as hot.Who can believe it’s November?she thought, sloshing shin-deep into the water. She stopped and stood still as the tiny swells nudged her legs, such a familiar, refreshing sensation. When she was a teenager, the first thing she’d do after finishing her morning chores was to hustle down to the beach and wade into the bay to feel the little waves lick her skin with salty kisses.
Since leaving Dune Island, Caitlin had waded and swum in freshwater lakes, rivers, hot springs, and waterfalls. But this was the first time in twenty years that she’d so much as dipped her toes in the ocean, and suddenly, her desire to immerse herself was irresistible.
She jogged up the incline to the dry sand, wiggled out of her jeans, and peeled off her hoodie. Then, wearing nothing but her T-shirt and underclothes, she ran into the water. When she was thigh-deep, Caitlin flung herself forward in a movement that was a cross between a dive and a belly-flop, with her abdomen absorbing most of the impact.
The water felt bitingly cold as it sprayed her hair and shoulders, but she forced herself to duck her face and head entirely beneath the surface. A few seconds later, she came upgasping, but after taking a deep gulp of air, she plunged in again and paddled toward the horizon.
By the time she ran out of breath, her body had already acclimated to the temperature, and she felt warmer submerged in the bay than when she surfaced and the air hit her body. She paddled until she couldn’t touch the seabed with her toes, and then she treaded water, slowly rotating her body to view the placid blue expanse, the boardwalk in the distance, the closer, golden dunes, and finally, without thinking about it, the marsh. Coming full circle, she treaded water for a few more minutes, and then she slowly rotated in the other direction, taking it all in until her teeth chattered and her fingers were prune-y.
One more time, she thought, and twisted in a final slow-motion pirouette before returning to shore.
Shivering, she pulled on her jeans and grabbed her shoes, socks, and hoodie, and took the stairs by twos. Caitlin reached the cottage just as Shane was exiting the windmill.
“November 14, good for you,” he said and it took a moment for her to realize he meant because she’d gone swimming so late in the year. Had he seen her from the window in the loft, or had he made a logical assumption because she was wet?
“Thank you.” She took an exaggerated bow, her dripping hair sliding across her shoulders.
“Yeah, way to go, but you haven’t beat my personal best,” he chided.
