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I waited, and then waited another five minutes, and then texted her again.
BECKETT: Hey, babe. I’m outside. Is everything okay?
Her response came a few moments later.
MIRANDA: Sorry… A bit delayed. Family matters…
I frowned and thumbed a text in response.
BECKETT: Dan’s parents there? Do you want me to come back later?
MIRANDA: That might be best. I’ll text you when the coast is clear.
BECKETT: Okay. Your knight on a chrome ride will be waiting impatiently…
MIRANDA: ?
So, I drove down the road that ran parallel to the ocean and parked at a small lot next to another restaurant and waited.
And waited.
About half an hour passed before I saw her walking down the street towards me, her backpack slung over her shoulders, her sunglasses under a wide-brimmed hat.
When she finally got to me, I opened my arms and pulled her into an embrace.
“Pesky in-laws wanting to hang out and talk?”
She laughed. “Yeah. I’ve been gone so much and Scott was curious about my whereabouts for the past few evenings. He tried to sound nonchalant, but he wasn’t fooling anyone but himself.”
I kissed her, pushing hair back from her cheek. “They just want to make sure you’re all right,” I said, trying to be supportive.
“I know,” she replied and forced a smile. “It’s just that I feel guilty…”
“You shouldn’t,” I said firmly, “and that’s not just me being selfish. You said it’s been almost a year.”
“I know.” She sighed and then smiled for real, the smile finally touching her eyes. “Let’s go. I want some of whatever you packed for lunch.”
“I didn’t,” I said and handed her the extra helmet. “I thought we’d do the tourist thing and buy something from a street vendor. You know – mystery meat and fries.”
She laughed and hopped on the bike behind me, her arms threading around my waist. We drove up the island to North Topsail Beach and found a spot to park, not far from a nice restaurant.
There was small public beach with an abandoned lifeguard tower. Once I parked the bike, we walked up to a beach front restaurant and ordered a couple of burgers and fries. We bought a portable beach umbrella from a vendor at the side of the road and then we walked past the small row of dunes to a spot where we set up the umbrella and spread the blanket. Once settled, we ate our lunch, talking about the proximity to Camp Lejeune where I once was stationed when I was with Special Operations Forces.
There weren’t many tourists around at that time of year and most of the beach front was private. Other than an older woman in a floppy hat walking along the edge of the surf looking for shells, we were alone. I took out my cell and put on some music, and we spent the afternoon in the warm sunlight, rubbing sunscreen on each other when the afternoon sun grew hot. When we got too hot, we ran into the surf and then laid on the blanket under the umbrella to get warm again. Luckily, some light clouds rolled in later in the afternoon and offered some respite from the incessant sun.
Miranda came back to my hotel room willingly every night for the rest of the week, and we made love twice or more, the two of us seemingly unable to get enough of each other. I was able to get enough work done on my computer each day while Miranda was working that I felt good about staying the extra week. By the time Saturday rolled around, I felt certain that we would continue the relationship once we were both back in New York. Although I’d be busy with Brimstone, and Miranda would be busy with classes, we would be able to continue to see each other.
Then reality struck home and I realized how unrealistic I was being.
Miranda still didn’t know the truth and each passing day made it all the harder for me to even consider giving her the letters, let alone revealing to her how I got them.
On the Saturday night before I was returning to Manhattan, I suggested coming back the following weekend for a few days so we could see each other before her classes started and enjoy the last week of the summer holidays together.
She said she couldn’t see me.
“I’ll be in Arlington,” she said. “It’s the one-year anniversary of Dan’s death. Scott, Jeanne and I will be driving up to Arlington on Thursday night, staying Friday, and driving on to Manhattan for the 21st. I have to check into my dorm at the New Yorker. Classes start on the 25th.”
I knew then that I couldn’t keep deceiving her. Even if I never outright told her a lie of commission, I was lying to her by omission. I should have told her that I knew all along who she was. I knew when I first saw her that she was Miranda Parker. I should have admitted I knew she was a widow and most of all, that I knew that her husband died.
