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“I spoke too bluntly,” Lyle says.
I shake my head. “‘s fine.”
He rubs my back like he did on the beach the day of the wedding.
My body shudders. My laughter is thinly disguised sobs. “He was just a young boy. He went in to play.”
I’m shaking. Lyle squeezes in behind me and wraps his arms around my waist as the thin disguise dissolves. The silver sea and white skies blur. Lyle holds me closer. It’s awkward; the space is small, his leg is half over mine, his sympathetic sighs are funnelling down my neck. But it’s tight, and warm, and safe.
I’m telling him over and over again what happened, like it’s still a puzzle I haven’t solved yet, but the end picture is always the same. The small body on the sand staring vacantly at a blue sky.
We sit there a long time, Lyle listening, tightening his hold, murmuring into my hair. The sea outside is no longer silver but a deep turquoise and the sky has hints of blue between thinning clouds.
We shift apart when I flex my leg and rub out a cramp. Lyle returns to the driver’s seat, starts the engine, and cranks up the heating.
I palm my eyes, tired. I let out a small laugh. “You see all my ugly sides.”
“This is true.”
“That was your cue to say something comforting.”
Lyle smiles and exaggeratedly pats my hand. “I prefer the tears and snot to your mooning over Robin.”
“Too uncomfortable to see a reflection of yourself?”
“Ha! Something like that.”
I shift in my seat and eye him as he backs the car out and sets off around the coastal road. “How did you manage to get over it? It seemed so effortless.”
Lyle concentrates on driving. “I let myself look around and realised . . .”
“What?”
“There are more fish in the sea.”
I scoff. “It’s not about finding any fish. It’s about finding the right fish. About there being a connection, and—”
“Magic?”
I sigh. “I think I’ll take a break from men altogether.”
Lyle casts me a quick look.
“Work on myself for a while,” I clarify.
“Mmm.”
I look at him. “I think we should hang out more. You’ll keep me level-headed.”
“What are you asking, exactly?”
“It’s not like we’re rivals anymore. We can be friends.”
He considers this. Hesitates.
My stomach drops to my knees and I flush as I stare out over the ocean. “Have I misinterpreted this?”
He’s quiet for a few bends in the road, and then, “Let’s trial it.”
I laugh in disbelief. “Will I get performance reviewed?”
I expect a laugh as he hears himself, but instead he nods. “We both will. If it’s unhealthy, I’ll have to let you go.”
Chapter Twelve
“What do you keep shaking your head about?” Mr Cole hefts the fir out of the ground. The pot is brown and sticky with dirt, and a crack runs down one side. Really, a tree this size wants to be in the ground for real. “Someone on your mind?”
“Not the way you’re thinking.” I shake my head again. “Do you ever performance-review potential friendships?”
My boss carefully sets the tree down next to a lazing Tool and gives the dog a quick pat. “Fir guy?”
“No. Lyle.”
“Ah, the love-rival you can’t stop complimenting.”
I laugh in outrage.
“Slip of the tongue. The love-rival you can’t stop complaining about.”
I pick up a shovel and widen the hole where the new fir will go.
Mr Cole looks over at me and the third-to-last Douglas fir, this one in a big woven-plastic planter bag. “You’re still planting firs for a guy who rejected you in hopes you can be friends again. I’d say you’re pretty dedicated friend material.”
With a hum, I heft the fir and move it to the hole. Mr Cole grabs the handle on the other side of the bag, and we gently lower it into the ground. I thank him for his help, wiping the dirt off my hands onto my pants.
Mr Cole gets to work pressing soil around the base of the tree. “If I didn’t know better . . .”
“What?”
He takes in the thick tree with its bushy needle-branches. “I’d think this fir was magic.”
I smile. “That’s what I’m after.”
Mr Cole lands a firm hand on my back. “Go hang out with your friend.”
I grab some beers from the store and rock up to Lyle’s for an impromptu visit. Down-to-earth and friendly. At my knock, Lyle opens the door, eyes widening at my presence on his front porch. I hold up the beverages but instead of inviting me in, he steps out. “This is unexpected.”
He looks furtively over his shoulder, as if he heard someone move about in the hallway.
Realisation hits me and a flush creeps over my cheeks. I grip the cardboard handle of the beers. “That’s why people call first.” I laugh awkwardly and step backwards off the porch. “Another time. Have fun.”
Lyle chases me up the path in his socks. “Wait.” He rounds me until he’s caught my gaze. “It’s not a good time right now.”
