Page 13 of Message in a Bottle

"I didn't mean to come off sounding like I did." He spoke as if he'd done something wrong. Theresa's reaction was almost instinctive.

Stepping toward him, she reached for his hand. Taking it slowly in hers, she squeezed it gently. When she looked at him, she saw surprise in his eyes, though he didn't try to pull away.

"You lost a wife--something that most people our age don't know anything about." He lowered his eyes as she struggled for the right words.

"Your feelings say a lot about you. You're the kind of person who loves someone forever.... That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know. It's just that it's been three years..."

"Someday you'll find someone special again. People who've been in love once usually do. It's in their nature."

She squeezed his hand again, and Garrett felt her touch warm him. For some reason he didn't want to let go.

"I hope you're right," he said finally.

"I am. I know these things. I'm a mother, remember?"

He laughed under his breath, trying to release the tension he felt. "I remember. And you're probably a good one."

They turned around and started back to the pier, talking quietly about the last three years, still holding hands. By the time they reached his truck and headed back to the shop, Garrett was more confused than ever. The events of the past two days were just so unexpected. Theresa wasn't just a stranger anymore, nor was she just a friend. There was no question he was drawn to her. But then again, she'd be gone in a few days, and he knew that it was probably better that way.

"What are you thinking?" she asked. Garrett shifted the truck into a higher gear as they made their way over the bridge toward Wilmington and Island Diving. Go ahead, he thought. Tell her what's really going through your head.

"I was thinking," he finally said, surprising himself, "that if you don't have plans tonight, I'd like to have you over for supper."

She smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He was still surprised at himself for asking as he turned left onto the road that led to his shop.

"Can you come by my place about eight? I have some things I have to do at the shop, and I probably won't be able to finish until late."

"That's fine. Where do you live?"

"On Carolina Beach. I'll give you directions when we get to the shop."

They pulled into the lot and Theresa followed Garrett into the office. He scribbled the directions on a slip of paper. Trying not to look as confused as he felt, he said:

"You shouldn't have any trouble finding the place--just look for my truck out front. But if you have any problems, my number's at the bottom."

After she left, Garrett found himself thinking about the upcoming evening. As he sat in his office, two questions plagued him without answer. First, why was he so attracted to Theresa? And second, why did he suddenly feel as if he were betraying Catherine?

CHAPTER 8

Theresa spent the rest of the afternoon exploring while Garrett worked in the shop. Because she didn't know Wilmington well, she asked for directions to the historic district and spent a few hours looking through the stores. Most of them catered to tourists, and she found a few things that Kevin would like, though nothing that suited her tastes. After buying him a couple of pairs of shorts he could wear once he got back from California, she went back to the hotel to catch a quick nap. The last couple of days had taken their toll, and she fell asleep quickly.

Garrett, on the other hand, faced one small crisis after another. A shipment of new equipment arrived just after he got back, and after packing up what he didn't need, he called the company to make arrangements to send back the rest. Later in the afternoon he found out that three people who had been scheduled for dive classes this weekend would be out of town and had to cancel. A quick check of the waiting list proved fruitless.

By six-thirty he was tired, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally closed up for the night. After work he drove first to the grocery store and picked up the items he needed for dinner. He showered and put on a pair of clean jeans and a light cotton shirt, then went to the refrigerator to get a beer. After opening it, he stepped out onto the back deck and sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs. Checking his watch, he realized that Theresa would be here soon.

Garrett was still sitting on the back porch when he finally heard the sound of a slowly idling motor making its way down the block. He stepped off the deck and went around the side of the house, watching as Theresa parked on the street, right behind his truck.

She stepped out wearing jeans and the same blouse she had worn earlier, the one that did wonderful things for her figure. She looked relaxed as she walked toward him, and when she smiled warmly at him, he realized that his attraction had grown stronger since their lunch this afternoon, and it made him a little uneasy for a reason he didn't want to admit.

He walked toward her as casually as he could, and Theresa met him halfway, carrying a bottle of white wine. When he got close to her, he smelled the scent of perfume, something she hadn't worn before.

"I brought some wine," she said, handing it to him. "I thought it might go well with dinner." Then, after a short pause: "How was your afternoon?"

"It was busy. Customers kept coming in until we closed, and I had a load of paperwork I had to get through. In fact, I just got home a little while ago." He started toward the front door, Theresa right beside him. "How about you? What did you end up doing the rest of the day?"

"I got to take a nap," she said as if teasing him, and he laughed.

"I forgot to ask you earlier, but do you want anything special for dinner?" he asked.

"What were you planning on?"

"I was thinking of cooking some steaks on the grill, but then I got to wondering if you ate things like that."

"Are you kidding? You forget I grew up in Nebraska. I love a good steak."

"Then you're in for a pleasant surprise."

"What?"

"I happen to make the best steaks in the world."

"Oh, you do, huh?"

"I'll prove it to you," he said, and she laughed, a melodic sound.

As they approached the door, Theresa looked at the house for the first time. It was relatively small--one story and rectangular shaped--with painted wooden siding that was peeling badly in more than one place. Unlike the homes on Wrightsville Beach, this home sat directly on the sand. When she asked him why it wasn't raised like the other houses, he explained that the house was built before the hurricane building codes went into effect. "Now the houses have to be elevated so that the tidal surge can pass under the main structure. The next big hurricane will probably wash this old house out to sea, but I've been fortunate so far."

"Don't you worry about that?"

"Not really. There's not much to the place, and that's the only reason I could afford it. I think the former owner finally got tired of all the stress every time a big storm started moving across the Atlantic."

They reached the cracked front steps and walked inside. The first thing Theresa noticed upon entering was the view from the main room. The windows extended from the floor to the ceiling and ran along the entire back side of the house, overlooking the back deck and Carolina Beach.

"This view is incredible," she said, surprised.

"It is, isn't it? I've been here for a few years now, but I still don't take it for granted."

Off to one side was a fireplace, surrounded by a dozen underwater photographs. She moved toward them. "Do you mind if I look around?"

"No, go ahead. I have to get the grill out back ready anyway. It needs a bit of cleaning."

Garrett left through the sliding glass door.

After he left, Theresa looked at the pictures for a while, then toured the rest of the house. Like many beach houses she had seen, there wasn't room for more than one or two people to live here. There was only one bedroom, reached by a door off the living room. Like the main room, it also had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the beach. The

front portion of the house--the side closest to the street--contained a kitchen, a small dining area (not quite a room), and the bathroom. Though everything was tidy, the house looked as though it hadn't been updated in years.

Returning to the main room, she stopped at his bedroom and glanced inside. Again she saw underwater photographs decorating the walls. In addition, there was a large map of the North Carolina coast that hung directly over his bed, documenting the location of almost five hundred shipwrecks. When she looked toward his nightstand, she saw a framed picture of a woman. Making sure that Garrett was still outside cleaning the grill, she stepped in to take a closer look.

Catherine must have been in her mid-twenties when it was taken. Like the photos on the walls, it looked as though Garrett had taken it himself, and she wondered whether it had been framed before or after the accident. Picking it up, she saw that Catherine was attractive--a little more petite than she was--with blond hair that hung to midshoulder. Even though the picture was slightly grainy and looked as if it had been reproduced from a smaller photo, she still noticed Catherine's eyes. Deep green and almost catlike, they gave her an exotic look and almost seemed as if they were staring back at her. She put the photo down gently, making sure it was set in the same angle it was before. Turning around, she continued to feel as if Catherine were watching her every move.

Ignoring the sensation, she looked at the mirror attached to his chest of drawers. Surprisingly, there was only one more photo that included Catherine. It was a picture of Garrett and Catherine smiling broadly, standing on the deck of Happenstance. Because the boat looked as if it had already been restored, she assumed the picture must have been taken only a few months before she died.

Knowing he could enter the house at any time, she left his bedroom, feeling a little guilty about poking around in the first place. She walked to the sliding glass doors that led from the main room onto the deck and opened them. Garrett was cleaning the grill top and smiled at her when he heard her come out. She strolled to the edge of the deck where he was working and leaned against one of the rails, one leg over the other.

"Did you take all the photos on the walls?" she asked.

He used the back of his hand to wipe the hair from his face. "Yeah. For a while there, I took my camera out on most of my dives. I hung most of them at the shop, but because I had so many, I thought I'd put some up here as well."

"They look professional."

"Thanks. But I think their quality had more to do with the sheer volume I took. You should have seen all the ones that didn't come out."

As he spoke, Garrett held up the grill top. Although it was charred black in places, it looked ready, and he set it off to one side. He reached for a bag of charcoal and dumped some into a grill that looked thirty years old, using his hand to make sure they were spread evenly. Then he added a bit of lighter fluid, soaking each briquette for just a moment.

She spoke in the same teasing voice she had used before. "You know, they have propane grills now."

"I know, but I like to do it the way we did it growing up. Besides, it tastes better this way. Cooking with propane is just like cooking inside."

She smiled. "And you did promise me the best steak I've ever had."

"And you'll get it. Trust me."

He finished with the lighter fluid and set it by the bag of charcoal. "I'm going to let this soak for a couple of minutes. Do you want anything to drink?"

Theresa asked, "What do you have?"

Garrett cleared his throat. "Beer, soda, or the wine you brought."

"A beer sounds good."

Garrett picked up the charcoal and lighter fluid and put them in an old sea chest that sat next to the house. After dusting the sand off the bottoms of his shoes, he went inside, leaving the sliding glass door open.

While he was gone, Theresa turned and looked up and down the beach. Now that the sun was going down, most of the people were gone, and the few that were left were jogging or walking. Even though the beach wasn't crowded, more than a dozen people went past the house in the short time he was gone.

"Do you ever get tired of having all these people around?" she asked when he returned.

He handed her the beer. "Not really. I'm not here all that much anyway. Usually by the time I get home, the beach is pretty much deserted. And in the winter, no one is out here at all."

For just a moment, she imagined him sitting on his deck, watching the water, alone as always. Garrett reached into his pocket and took out a box of matches. He lit the charcoals, stepping back when the flames shot up. The light breeze made the fire dance in circles.

"Now that the coals are started, I'm going to get supper going."

"Can I give you a hand with something?"

"There's not much to do," he answered. "But if you're lucky, maybe I'll share my secret recipe with you."

She cocked her head and looked at him slyly. "You know you're setting a pretty high standard for these steaks."

"I know. But I have faith."

He winked at her and she laughed before following him inside, to the kitchen. Garrett opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a couple of potatoes. Standing in front of the sink, he washed his hands first and then the potatoes. After turning on the oven, he wrapped the potatoes in foil and set them on the rack.

"What can I do?"

"Like I said, not much. I think I've got it pretty much in control. I bought one of those prepackaged salads, and there's not anything else on the menu."

Theresa stood off to one side as Garrett put the last of the potatoes in the oven and got the salad out of the refrigerator. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at her as he emptied the salad into a bowl. What was it about her that made him suddenly want to be as close to her as possible? Wondering, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out the steaks he'd had the store cut just for tonight. He opened the cabinet next to the refrigerator and found the rest of the items he needed. After collecting them, he set everything down next to Theresa.

She shot him a challenging smile. "So, what's so special about these steaks?"

Clearing his mind, he poured some brandy into a shallow bowl. "There's a few things. First, you get a couple of thick filets like these. The store doesn't usually cut them this thick, so you have to ask for it special. Then you season them with a little salt, pepper, and garlic powder, and you let them soak in the brandy while the coals are turning white."

He did this as he spoke, and for the first time since she'd met him, he looked his age. Based on what he'd told her, he was at least four years younger than she was.

"That's your secret?"

"It's only the beginning," he promised, suddenly aware of how beautiful she looked. "Right before they go on the grill, I'll add some tenderizer. The rest of it involves how you cook them, not what they're flavored with."

"You sound like you're quite a cook."

"No, not really. I'm good with a few things, but I don't prepare many meals these days. By the time I get home, I'm usually in the mood for something that doesn't take much effort."

"That's how I am. If it wasn't for Kevin, I don't think I'd cook very much at all anymore."

Since he was finished with the steaks for now, he went to the drawer again and found a knife, returning to her side. He reached for a couple of tomatoes that were on the counter and began dicing.

"It sounds like you have a great relationship with Kevin."

"I do. I just hope it continues. He's almost a teenager now, and I worry that when he gets older, he's going to want to spend less time with me."

"I wouldn't worry too much. From the way you talk about him, I would think that you two will always be close."

"I hope so. Right now, he's all I have--I don't know what I'd do if he started to shut me out of his life. I have some friends with boys a little older than he is, and they tell me it's inevitable."

"I'm sure he's going to change somewhat. Everyone does, but that doesn't mean he won't talk to you."

&nbs

p; She looked over at him. "Are you talking from experience or just telling me what I want to hear?"

He shrugged, again noticing her perfume. "I'm just remembering what I went through with my father. We'd always been close growing up, and it didn't change when I started high school. I started doing different things and seeing my friends more, but we still talked all the time."

"I hope it's the same way for me," she said.

With the preparation under way, a peaceful silence descended upon them. The simple act of cutting tomatoes with her by his side eased some of the anxiety he'd felt up to this point. Theresa was the first woman he'd invited to this house, and Garrett realized there was something comfortable about having her here.

When he finished, Garrett put the tomatoes in the salad bowl and wiped his hands on a paper towel. Then he bent over to remove his second beer.

"Are you up for another?"

She drained the last of her bottle, surprised she had finished so quickly. She nodded, setting the empty bottle on the counter. Garrett twisted off the bottlecap and handed her another, opening one for himself. Theresa was relaxing against the counter, and when she took the bottle, something about the way she was standing struck him as familiar: the smile playing across her lips, maybe, or the slant of her gaze as she watched him lift his own bottle to his mouth. He was reminded again of that lazy summer afternoon with Catherine, when he'd come home to surprise her for lunch--a day that in retrospect seemed so fraught with signs... yet how could he have foreseen everything that would happen? They had stood in the kitchen, just as he and Theresa were doing now.

"I take it you've already eaten," Garrett said as Catherine stood in front of the open refrigerator.

Catherine glanced at him. "I'm not very hungry," she said. "But I am thirsty. Do you want some iced tea?"

"Tea sounds great. Do you know if the mail came in yet?"

Catherine nodded as she pulled the pitcher of tea from the top shelf. "It's on the table."

She opened the cupboard and reached for two glasses. After setting the first glass on the counter, she was pouring the second when it slipped from her hand.

"Are you all right?" Garrett dropped the mail, concerned.

Catherine ran her hand through her hair, embarrassed, then bent to pick up the glass shards. "I just got a little woozy there for a second. I'll be okay."

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