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Chapter Eight
Wayne tied up the sailboatto the dock as Michael tidied up, zipped up his jacket again, then gave Wayne a large grin, one that reminded Wayne of a much younger Michael—a Michael who’d often fallen over with laughter when he, Tara, and Wayne had played Monopoly at their house.
Out there on the water, they had made the first steps toward reforming their relationship.
It was a gift that Wayne hadn’t thought he would have.
That moment, the dock he had attached the boat to shook with severe, stomping footsteps. Wayne turned quickly to find Cindy, glowering, her hands in fists. She stood over the boat, her eyes toward her son. Behind her, Tracey hustled up—and far toward the end of the dock, still on land, looking on the verge of running for it, stood Elise.
“Why don’t you just tell her how you feel? If there’s anything I’ve learned from the past three years, it’s that we don’t have that much time. We have to fight for what we want,” Michael had told him out on the water.
“Hey, Mom,” Michael started.
Wayne didn’t want to wait around to see what kind of interaction Cindy decided to have with Michael. Obviously, he hadn’t communicated his trip out on the sailboat—had probably scared her to pieces—and now had to face it.
Wayne hustled down the dock. When he stepped off, Elise turned her eyes toward his. They glinted beautifully, catching that somber, autumn sun. She wore a coat that Wayne might have said was a little overly-thick given the time of year.
A California girl.
Wayne stepped toward her. His tongue felt thick and unwieldy. Since the dinner the previous night, he hadn’t heard a single thing from her, and her demeanor had been anything but warm when he had appeared at the Bloomingfeld with Tracey earlier.
“Hello,” he said finally.
The word wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
How could he possibly explain himself?
“Hi.”
Her eyes escaped his and fell to the ground. Maybe the dinner had been the final nail in the coffin. Maybe it was the push she needed to get off the island.
We’re all looking for something. Maybe she found her family here; maybe she learned that even that wasn’t enough.
“Can I walk with you for a while?” he asked.
Elise turned her eyes toward Cindy, Tracey, and Michael, who remained out near the boat.
“Who is that guy?” she asked.
Wayne slipped his fingers through his hair. “It’s difficult to explain, I guess. There’s so much to explain. I don’t even know where to start.”
Elise’s eyes shimmered with tears. “You don’t need to explain.”
“I want to,” Wayne told her, his voice somber.
They fell into step alongside one another. Wayne glanced at her several times as they walked along Main Street, struggling to read her. After several moments of silence, Elise was the first to speak.
“Tracey is a wonderful person,” she said. “Kind and generous, creative and interesting. I can’t believe I went my whole life without knowing her.”
“I’ve known her almost my entire life,” Wayne said with a dry laugh. “And Cindy, well. She’s the reason I met my wife.”
They neared Bloomingfeld and passed right on by. Elise made no move to leave him. Her hand was just an inch or so to the left, away from his, and Wayne ached with desire to hold it.
Even throughout his bachelor days on the island— his playboy ways, he hadn’t wanted to hold someone’s hand. Not like this.
This was a feeling he hadn’t had since the early days with Tara.
“But that was a long time ago,” he continued, as they traced an easy path, past the road that led to his house, toward the Grand Hotel itself. “And now, my wife has been gone three years.”
