House of the Blue Sea (34 page)

She looked up at the stars, the tears running down her neck and under the front of her collar.
Are you still out there somewhere?
Sandra wasn’t sure what she believed about life after death, but she knew that whatever connection Nick had to this life and to her was fading like an old photograph. In some ways it made day-to-day life easier, less painful, but there was a new sense of loss with his growing absence from her thoughts and feelings.

She felt Mark behind her before she heard him. “Paul said I might find you down here. Mind if I pull up some sand?”

Sandra wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I’m probably not the best company just now.”

He stepped up beside her and crouched down, his elbows resting on his knees. “Are you all right? Please tell me I didn’t do something that’s hurt you.”

She turned to him, her face still wet. “No, not at all. I just need some time ...”

“To?”

“I’m not sure. To think, maybe.”

“Can I sit, while you think?” He was still crouched next to her. “I’d rather not leave you alone on the beach if you’re upset.”

He really could be thoughtful. Pushy too, but this felt like genuine concern more than trying to get his way. She nodded toward the sand beside her, attempting a smile.

He sat down next to her and they faced the incoming waves in silence for a few minutes. “What have you got there?” He pointed to Sandra’s clenched hand.

She examined the ball her fist made, and then opened it to reveal the two silver rings, lying one on the other, one large, one smaller. The tears came again despite her attempts to stop them.

“Can I see?” He held out his hand.

Sandra looked at him then for the first time, his eyes reflecting a depth of caring she’d not seen there before. She turned her hand over and dropped the rings into his outstretched palm.

“They’re lovely. Wedding bands, I gather?”

She nodded.

“Yours?”

She nodded again.

“And ...?

“Nick’s.” His name came out strangled.

“The ex-husband you told me about.”

Sandra thought for a moment, going back over their conversations. She didn’t recall speaking of Nick and certainly wouldn’t have referred to him as her ex-husband. “No, I’ve not talked of him to anyone here in Baja. It seemed to make it easier.”

“But the high school sweetheart, the—wait, his name was Graham.”

“My first husband. Nick was my second.”

Mark’s eyes went to the rings resting in his hand. “And Nick ...”

“Nick is dead. He died four years ago.” The tears started to roll again. She couldn’t seem to stop them tonight.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t.” And then came the pain that stabbed at her chest and throat like a dagger. “He died of Lou Gehrig’s, ALS.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry. Such a merciless disease.” Mark looked out to sea and was silent for a time. “What was he like, your Nick?”

Sandra closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “He was funny. He truly missed his calling as a stand-up comedian. He claimed I was the only one who laughed at his jokes and that was why he married me.” She opened her eyes and lifted them skyward. There was no moon and the stars shimmered against the deep black of their canvas. She recognized the three bright points of Orion’s belt. “Of course that wasn’t true, he made everyone laugh, except his mother. Nick claimed she was born without a sense of humour.” Sandra smiled as she thought of Barbara’s blank expression whenever Nick was making fun. “I never met his father but Nick must have inherited the funny bone from him.” She looked back to the cresting waves. “He was a good and kind person, always giving a hand to someone, always fair. He gave me a job when I first moved out west, as much because he sensed I needed it as because he thought I was qualified. That’s how we met.” She glanced over at Mark and thought she saw tears gathering. Her focus returned to the surf. “Nick moved through life so smoothly, like butta’, I used to joke. It was like everything made sense to him, everything had a purpose and a reason for being, a reason for happening. I tried to remember that after he died. In the end his free spirit became a prisoner of his body. But even that he managed to reconcile, not at first, but over time.” She wiped at her eyes.

“And how long did he live, after he was diagnosed?”

“Almost six years. At first he went on with life as if nothing was happening, like he could will it away if he believed hard enough. If anyone could have done it, it was Nick. But when the symptoms started to increase, after about a year, he fell into as close a thing to depression as was possible for him and, when he came out of that a few months later, he decided we should go travelling and bought an RV.” She recalled the day he drove up in front of the house with the thirty foot motorhome and honked the horn until she appeared on the front step. “We drove all over the continent for nearly three years, until he was too sick for us to manage on our own, and on the road. It was time to go home. He seemed to fade more quickly once we were home again, like the adventure of the road had helped to keep the disease at bay.” She paused, the words catching in her throat. “During the final year and a half I watched him leave me, watched him fight, watched him lose. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.”

“And that’s what brought you here.”

She nodded, her body rocking forward and back, comforting her. “Yes ... well, not entirely. I could have holed up in my house with my dog and my paints, going for food when the fridge was empty, maybe visiting my friends’ ranch to ride a horse now and then. I think I could have healed that way.” She picked up a handful of sand and watched it run through her fingers. “This is going to sound terribly ungrateful, but what I couldn’t deal with was one more phone call, one more card, one more sympathetic pat on the shoulder, one more well-meaning friend unable to carry on a normal conversation. I needed to grieve in my own way and people seemed determined to help me do it. So, I ran away, drove south in a snow storm, without a destination, my little dog in the passenger seat wondering if I’d lost my mind. We ended up here at Mar Azul.”

Mark nodded, like a missing piece had fallen into place. “And so it’s a time of remembering.”

“It is, but not in the way you’d think. When I came here the first time I was running away from the loss, from the grief, from the community where everyone knew what had happened and approached me with that ‘I’m so sorry’ look I couldn’t stand anymore. I watched my mother fall apart when my father was killed, and I thought a sudden accident must be the worst way to lose someone; never having a chance to say goodbye. But to watch someone you love suffer and fade for years is incredibly painful. When you think you can’t take anymore, it keeps coming, day after day after day. You grieve for years before they die and then start all over again when they’re gone.

When I came to Baja I felt like I rediscovered myself; remembered the me before the identity of caregiver or grieving widow, the me without Nick. It’s why this place is so special.” She turned her head to look at Mar Azul. “It feels like it has magic in it.”

There was silence then, a long pause. Mark sighed and shook his head slowly, looking down at the sand. “I am such a selfish git. I’ve been unloading my poor washed-up actor woes on you since the day we met and didn’t make the effort to find out what might be troubling you, even though I sensed something now and then.”

“I’ve known Paul and Ian from the first year I came here and, although they might suspect, they don’t know about Nick. I didn’t want anyone here to know. I wanted to just be Sandra, not Sandra the grieving widow who everyone tiptoes around and is kind to because isn’t it so sad what happened to her husband. If you’d have asked, I wouldn’t have told you.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

Their eyes met and she held his gaze. “I don’t know. I guess I feel I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything. And you’ve already given me plenty.”

And then she knew, realized it in that moment. She didn’t feel  in debt to him. She wanted him to know who she was, where she’d come from, everything. Despite who he was, despite their differences, she wanted this man to know her. She trusted him, surprising as that seemed. “Okay then, because I wanted you to know.”

His face softened, little creases appearing at the corners of his eyes. He looked down at his hand and opened it, revealing the two rings. “Then there’s something else I’d like to know. What was your plan for these?”

She grabbed for the rings and he closed his hand around them. “Not so fast. First you have to tell me what you’re going to do with them.”

“Taking hostages, are we?”

“No, just protecting them from any ill-intent.”

“Well, if you must know, I decided it was time to let them go.”

“And you were going to toss them into the Sea of Cortez.”

She nodded.

“Since it sounds to me like your husband and marriage were precious to you, why would you throw away the symbols of that relationship?” Mark inspected the rings, the matching pattern of brush strokes etched into each one, the tiny sapphire in the smaller ring.

She felt the tears coming again and turned back to the water. “I hoped it might release me somehow.”

“I’m no expert on these things, far from it, but the way I see it, each person we meet weaves themselves into the fabric of our lives. You can throw the rings in the sea, but it won’t change your history, or your heart. You carry it all with you, into the rest of your life, into your next relationship. I know I would never ask you to forget your husband or dispose of things that were meaningful between you. I mean ... if I were in your life ... if you were open to having someone in your life ... again, at some point.”

Sandra suppressed a smile. “That’s deep stuff Mr. Jeffery, for a selfish git. And, by the way, I’m not sure I like you speaking of a friend of mine in such an unkind way.”

He smiled. “So do you promise not to throw them into the sea and instead put them in a safe and special place?”

“All right. I give you my word.” She held out her hand.

“You didn’t cross your heart or spit.”

She gave him a stern look but he continued to hold the rings in his clenched hand.

“Fine then.” Sandra crossed her heart with her right hand and turned her head to spit in the sand.

Mark was grinning as he pressed the rings into her outstretched palm, pausing as his fingertips brushed her skin. A tingle ran up the back of her arm at his touch. She placed the rings in the pocket of her shirt and buttoned it closed. “Will that do for now?”

“Right next to your crossed heart—seems appropriate.”

They both turned to face the water and sat without speaking, listening to the waves. Sandra could feel him next to her, like his heat was able to radiate through the space between them and warm the left side of her body.

Mark broke the long silence. “You’ve been a good friend to a ranting, thoughtless wank who has seen nothing but his own troubles. I feel like I can breathe again, thanks to you.”

“Now what did I tell you about speaking of my friend like that? I happen to know he has a good heart; he just needs to listen to it more often. He’s helped me too you know, more than he realizes, more than I realized until last night.” She turned her face to him then, knowing the tracks of tears were still visible on her cheeks.

“About last night, there is one thing I’m wondering about,” said Mark.

She waited.

“All evening it felt like, well, it felt like we were—but then when we said goodnight—I was going to kiss you and—you ran from me.”

“I did, but not from you really, more from what I was feeling, from a sudden rush of guilt, kissing another man, or wanting to, on the anniversary of Nick’s death. It just felt wrong.”

“Ah, it was the anniversary. If I’d known ... I’m sorry.”

She searched for the words, wondering how much to say, how much to risk. “Last night was such fun—dancing, laughing, singing. I had the best time, truly.” She looked away from the intensity of his expression. “I was feeling like our friendship was, maybe, moving in a new direction, and I couldn’t take that step on the anniversary of Nick’s death. This day has loomed so large every year for the past four and I realized at the end of the night that I needed to honour it. I’m sorry if I was abrupt or if you felt rejected.”

“Not at all, you had every right to act as you did. I would never have—if I had known your history and the significance of the day.”

“I didn’t see it coming myself until I felt I’d stepped into my own trap.”

“And when I asked about your painting, having someone in your life who encouraged you—”

“Nick was there, just like that.”

“I wondered about your answer but I couldn’t bring myself to ask,” Mark said. Again there was only the sound of the surf for a time. “But you wanted to.”

She immediately knew what he meant and felt the corners of her mouth lifting; she continued to face the sea. “I did.”

“So now ... with the anniversary behind you ... would I send you running for the hotel if I tried to kiss you again?”

Sandra could feel his eyes on her and she turned to meet them. “It’s hard to say for sure, but I’m feeling fairly rooted to this bit of beach.”

He reached out and touched her face, letting the backs of his fingers slide gently down her cheek, his warmth removing the last of the dampness from her skin. His hand made its way from her cheek to the base of her neck just under her ear and he pulled her toward him as he leaned in. This time there was no fear, no need to run, and no guilt, only the feel of his lips against hers, their softness, their heat. He kissed her gently and then pulled away a little, his eyes asking the question.

“I’m still here,” she whispered, as she placed her hand on his shoulder and drew him back to her.

***

T
he breeze lifted the hair from her shoulders and pushed it gently across her face. She tucked the stray strands beneath her wide brimmed hat and looked out at the sea. The sun was a hand width above the horizon now, lighting the tops of the waves with golden glitter that disappeared as the water reached the shore. She’d been walking for almost an hour, thinking over the events of the night before. She blushed as she thought of Mark and how they’d sat in the sand kissing and talking and holding each other for the better part of the evening. There had been moments of discomfort, moments of guilt, but they were fleeting, and she’d been determined to banish all such feelings to some faraway place.