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THE KITCHEN DOOR SWUNG OPEN AND DAVID ENTERED.
He carried a traveler's pack on his back, and his suitcase was still in his hand. It looked like he had stepped off the plane and come straight from the airport.
"Hey, David," Mara said, as if she wasn't at all surprised to find him in her kitchen instead of in Kiev. She kept her voice cool, but the sight of him looking so humbled and modest--David always looked confident and assured--moved her. "Aren't you supposed to be in the Ukraine by now?" And what made you think I'd even want to see you after that e-mail I sent? she added silently.
"I can explain," he said, casting nervous glances at her two friends. Jacqui and Eliza were studying him with hooded eyes from behind their glasses of wine. Mara knew they could be an intimidating pair.
"David, you've met Jacqui before, and this is Eliza," she said, remembering that it was her place to make the introductions. Both girls gave David a guarded smile.
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"Nice meeting you. Mara talks about you constantly. It's nice to put faces to names." David looked tan and weather-beaten, his eyes tired and red from lack of sleep, but he smiled politely.
"Nice meeting you too," Eliza drawled, eyeing him up and down as if she were taking inventory.
There was a short silence, and then David cleared his throat. He put his backpack down on the floor. "Mara, do you think we could, uh, go for a walk?"
They excused themselves and walked out the
back toward the beach trail. It was another cool night, and Mara shivered in her thin shirt. David offered her his jacket and she accepted it thankfully. They walked for a few minutes in silence. Finally David stopped, took a deep breath, and looked at Mara. "Listen, I know you're angry at me. I would be angry too. I feel terrible about what happened at the airport."
"So do I," Mara deadpanned. She dug a toe into the gravelly sand, not making eye contact. "And I haven't really been thrilled with the whole lack of response to my e-mail for two weeks. I didn't even think we were together anymore."
"I know." He looked out to the dark water and sighed, as if the endless ocean would grant him the forgiveness he was seeking. "I felt so guilty about leaving you the whole time I was there. It's just, I couldn't walk away from the job. Ever since I was little, I've always wanted to be a writer." He sat down on the cold sand, and Mara sat down beside him.
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"I know," she said quietly. She did know. She had always wanted the same thing.
"I should have just quit on the spot. But my family expected me to go. What would I tell my mom?" He picked a pebble up off the beach and tossed it into the water.
David's mother was Pinky Preston, the most famous--and most feared--literary agent in New York. Pinky had discovered all the biggest names in publishing: the literary brat pack of the eighties, the Gen-X memoirists of the nineties, the too-clever-for-their-own-good postmodernists of the twenty-first century. David hardly ever talked about his parents, and Mara had gotten the impression they were very cold.
He dug a heel into the damp sand. "I mean, I told you what she's like."
Mara nodded. She'd never met Pinky before, despite the fact that she'd once accompanied David to his parents' apartment in the famous Dakota apartment building to pick up some laundry. She'd stayed outside, too afraid to come in, figuring she'd meet his parents when he was ready to set up a formal introduction. "My dad's a writer, and she dumped him as a client when his books didn't become bestsellers." David sighed. "If I don't become a famous writer, she'll probably disown me."
Mara inched slightly closer to him on the clammy sand. Having such a demanding and overachieving mother explained a lot about David--the high standards he set for himself and for others.
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"Anyway, I just couldn't handle the idea of telling her I gave up the Lonesome Planet gig. If I'd told her I was just going to spend the summer bumming around Europe with my girlfriend, she'd freak." He shrugged helplessly.
"Well, why didn't you say so?" Mara asked pointedly. This information would have been helpful a month ago.
"I don't know. I didn't want you to think I was some kind of mama's boy, you know?" He turned to Mara and grabbed her hand, his blue eyes earnest. "But Mara, the minute I got on the plane, I knew I'd made a mistake. I got to Europe, and I missed you so much. But I knew if I called you and spoke to you, I'd just come back, so I e-mailed and texted instead. It was a total cop-out."
Mara listened quietly without interrupting. The waves crashed softly on the shore.
"But then when I got your e-mail, it hit me how much I'd really hurt you. I was so miserable. I cut myself off from everything. I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't write--at all. I quit the guide and just wandered the streets of Europe by myself. After two weeks, I knew the only thing I could do was come back here and try to get you to forgive me. I called Alicia to ask if she knew where you were, and she told me, so here I am." Alicia was Maras roommate, the Southern debutante.
"Here you are," Mara repeated quietly, still unable to believe that he really was here.
"You can hate me if you want," he offered, biting his lower lip. The air was chilly, but her hand was warm in his.
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"I don't hate you. I'm not even sure I can be angry at you anymore." As soon as she said it, she knew it was true. She wished she could be stronger and hold on to her anger, but seeing him made her realize how much she'd missed him. She'd missed him so much she'd even convinced herself she still had feelings for Ryan Perry.
