"What happens when you have something you want to do late in the evening—a party, or going to the theatre, or something?" Paul asked.
"Easy! I take a two-hour nap in the afternoon," Connor answered.
"Want to go see if the fog has lifted yet?" Paul suggested. "If I sit here any longer I may fall asleep."
"You didn't finish your pizza dog."
"Can't. Too much food. But it was good! Thank you for recommending it." He stood and picked up Connor's tray and his own two trays. Everything was disposable, and he headed for the nearest trash basket.
Connor stood up with a "Thank you" for clearing his tray, which Paul waved off with a dismissive gesture. Then they left the snack bar and headed outside.
The fog was as thick as before. They walked to the railing, but Connor couldn't see a thing beyond the boat. He could hardly make out the waters of the bay just off to the side of the ferry.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" Paul said with a hint of awe in his voice.
"I like the fog," Connor agreed. "I feel protectively wrapped—I guess that's the best way to describe it."
"I know what you mean," Paul said, putting a hand on top of Connor's hand as it rested on the railing. He patted the back of Connor's hand twice, then let his hand rest lightly on top of it. Once again, Connor was aware of the warmth and current that passed between them.
"I wish we had met at a different juncture in my life," Paul said with a huge sigh of regret.
"Me too!" Connor exclaimed forcefully. They stood side by side in silence for a few minutes then, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Paul moved slightly toward Connor, till their arms were lightly pressed together. Paul's hand remained on top of Connor's as it rested on the railing.
"I haven't had many regrets in my life," Paul began awkwardly, "but when I do, they're usually big ones."
"I guess I've had a fair number of regrets, but mostly smaller ones," Connor said. "What other regrets have you had?"
"I play the saxophone, and I think I'm not half bad. I wanted to join a band when I was younger, but I took the sensible route and got into high-end jewelry sales instead. I make a reasonable living at it, but I've always wondered what would have happened if I had pursued my dream."
"Is it too late?"
"I think so. I'm only thirty-four, but…." His voice trailed off.
Connor put his free hand on Paul's arm and squeezed it compassionately. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, from which he extracted one of his business cards. It had his cell phone number on it. "If—you know—if things change, or just if you want to talk, or—whatever. Anyhow, here's my card."
Paul took it, then replied in kind, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card case from which he removed one of his own cards. He proffered it to Connor. "Here's mine," he said. "I'd be happy to hear from you. There's no reason we can't have lunch sometime. Just as friends."
"Just as friends? I don't know. I admit I want more than that."
"I do too," Paul agreed, "but…" Once again he let his voice and the thought trail off.
"What do you like to do for fun?" Connor asked him.
"I like going to art galleries and the museum. I have a telescope, and I enjoy looking at the night sky. I enjoy the British comedies on TV. I like jazz and big band concerts. I'm not a big fan of rock. I can take it or leave it. And I can't dance to save my soul. I also like eating in restaurants that serve foods I've never had before. I guess I'm a culinary explorer. And you?"
"I do my culinary exploring at home. I like to cook, and I enjoy trying out new recipes. I enjoy art galleries too, and I'm with you on the British comedies. I've never looked through a telescope, though. And when it comes to dancing, I have two left feet. As for music, my tastes are eclectic. I do enjoy rock but also classical and bluegrass and jazz."
"Bluegrass, huh? I really don't know bluegrass at all."
"I have quite a collection. Come over some time and I'll—" Connor stopped as he realized what he was saying, and an awkward pause hung between them. "Well, anyhow, if you ever get the opportunity—if things change—I do have a lot of bluegrass recordings, and not just on CD. I still have quite a lot of vinyl, too."
"You have a working phonograph?"
"Uh-huh."
"I still have a bunch of thirty-threes myself," Paul said, "but I don't have anything to play them on."
"You're welcome to bring some over to my place."
The suggestion hung there.
"I guess maybe that's not such a great idea," Connor said lamely. "But you
would
be welcome."
Just then, a bell rang aboard the ferry. Paul looked at Connor questioningly.
"We're approaching the dock on the island," Connor explained.
"We'd better get back to our cars," Paul said in a voice draped with regret.
"Yes," said Connor, not moving.
Finally Paul withdrew his hand and turned to face Connor. "Well, I really enjoyed meeting you," he said.
"Look. The fog is starting to burn off. I enjoyed meeting you, too," Connor said. "Maybe we'll run into each other on the island."
"Yes—all three of us," said Paul with a tinge of irony in his voice. "That will be jolly!"
"Yes, well…."
"It's been great!" Paul said, squeezing Connor's arm hard. Then unexpectedly he embraced him, letting him go before Connor could hug him back. "I'd better get back to the van," he said.
"Me too. To my car, I mean. Well, see ya."
"I hope so!" Paul said fervently.
I doubt it,
Connor thought. Then he headed back to his Toyota, aware that the fog was lifting measurably. Good! It would be easier to find his way to the cabin once he drove off the ferry. And Paul, who wasn't at all familiar with the island, would be able to find the guest house.
He looked around to catch a last glimpse of Paul, wondering if he'd ever see him again, but Paul had already vanished among the rows of cars. Feeling his shoulders slump, Connor walked heavy-heartedly toward his own car.
Reaching the Toyota, he unlocked the door and let himself in, positioning himself behind the wheel and turning the key to Accessories. Now he could listen to music while waiting to drive off the ferry, without turning the car on. He heard the boat's horn and knew they must be approaching the ferry slip. Idly he wondered if Patrick, who had surely woken up between the bell and the horn, was asking Paul what he'd been doing while Patrick slept, and how Paul was answering him.
A
thud
told him the ferry was docking, and he turned the key in the ignition to start up the motor. Not too long thereafter, he saw slow movement in the line of cars ahead of him, and then the car directly in front of his began a careful crawl forward. As Connor got out into the open, he saw that the fog was dissipating more rapidly now.
Having no idea where on the boat Paul's van was parked, or what color or make it was, he looked around idly but didn't particularly expect to see him. Then it was his turn to drive off the ferry, and soon he was headed up the gravel road that led to the cabins.
He stopped at the main cottage, signed in, got his cabin assignment, then drove to "Meadowlark." Thankfully, the name was painted on a large plaque on the front of the cabin to identify it. Hauling out his large suitcase and one shopping bag, he hefted them into the cabin and consulted his watch. It was one o'clock. Dinner, he knew, would be served at six sharp in the dining hall, a large cabin near the main cottage. The two pizza dogs were still sitting heavily in his stomach, but by six o'clock he was sure he'd be ready for some more food. Meanwhile, he'd leave the unpacking for later and go and take a dip in the bay and maybe lie out on the beach for a while.
There were no lounge chairs provided, he knew, although guests could rent them for a nominal fee at the main cottage, but he was content to lie on a large beach towel. He had packed two, prudently leaving them in the top layer in his suitcase, and he unlatched it now to extricate one beach towel and his bathing trunks. Shortly he was on his way to the beach, wearing his swimsuit and carrying the beach towel, a bottle of sunscreen, a bottle of water, and a book.
He lay in the sun for perhaps twenty minutes, just soaking up the rays and relaxing, not even reading his book, before he sat up, rose to his feet, and trotted down to the water's edge. There was no other person in his immediate vicinity. Down the beach a ways to his left he could see a lounge chair and someone in it, and off to his right at an even farther distance he could see two people—a hetero couple?—lounging on a beach towel. He certainly had privacy, though he found he craved company at the moment.
No, that wasn't quite right. He craved
Paul's
company. But that, of course, was not available to him.
He dipped his right foot in the water. And shivered. Even in mid-July, the water of the bay was chilly, and it was with great hesitancy that his left foot joined his right one. But soon enough he became acclimated and he walked out bravely into the water till he was up to his waist. Then he dunked himself in the chilly bay, and splashed his face with the water too.
As he relished the feel of the water and the contrastingly warm sun, he thought of letting the sun warm his body all over, and soon enough he forsook the water for the comfort of his beach towel and the sun's penetrating rays. He slathered a fresh coating of suntan lotion all over, lay down, and picked up his book.
But he found himself unable to focus on a perfectly good locked-room mystery, one that he'd started reading at home the night before. His thoughts kept drifting to Paul. He wondered what Paul and Patrick were doing now and alternatively, what Paul and he himself would be doing if Paul were only there with him.
If only.
He had rented the cabin for only one, but it was clear to him now that there was more than one person present. The image, the specter, the what-if of Paul was haunting him, and clearly it would continue through the remainder of his stay on the island.
*~*~*
The next morning, Connor decided to hike around the island. The morning fog was still very much a presence so it was not yet beach weather, although he was sure the sun would burn through the fog as the morning progressed. The thought of fishing didn't seem that appealing, and he was reluctant to rent a boat lest he lose sight of the shoreline in the fog and become lost out on the bay. No, a walk seemed just the thing.
He told himself he was
not
trying to run into Paul, yet he found himself peering around intently wherever he walked, hurrying to catch up to figures in the distance 'til he could make out their faces, and lingering in the vicinity of the guest house. When he didn't encounter Paul, Connor wondered if Paul and Patrick were cozily ensconced in their guest house room in pursuit of more intimate pleasures, and he found himself growing jealous.
He tried to shake it off and decided a brisk run might clear his head of the unattainable. Sticking close to the shoreline he sped along the sand as quickly as his legs would carry him. Breathless and with his calves burning, he pulled up to a stop on a deserted part of the beach. Maybe he would cut through the woods and see if he could find his way back to his cabin by a more direct route than the circumference of the island. But first he had better sit down and rest his legs a bit.
When some ten minutes had passed, the burning sensation in his calves had abated and he had his wind back, so Connor scrambled to his feet and set out to cut through the woods. He hoped to come out at his cabin although he had no compass or other tool to guide him, and the sun was still obscured by the fog.
He made his way through the trees, bushes, and underbrush till a vine snagged his ankle and he felt himself pitching forward.
Oh, great!
he thought as he found himself face-down on the ground. Cautiously he pushed upward on his arms. They seemed undamaged except for a few scrapes and bruises. Next he pulled his right knee up and wiggled his right ankle. So far, so good. His left ankle, however—the foot that had been caught by the vine—hurt. He sat upright on the ground and probed at the ankle. It didn't seem broken, and the pain was far from excruciating, yet he had obviously twisted it.
He stood, intent on getting back to his cabin, and when he took a tentative step on the left foot, he found the pain was bearable. Hunting around for a suitable stick to utilize as a cane, he found a slightly crooked branch that he thought would do. Connor broke it off and experimentally put weight on it. It held. Now, which way had he been heading?
It took him a minute to get his bearings, but then he determined which way he needed to go and proceeded to strike out for his cabin. He winced with every step he took on his left foot but gamely continued. He chided himself for not bringing his cell phone with him on his walk, but he hadn't expected to get injured. Even if he'd called the main cottage and asked, "Can you come and get me?", how would he have explained to them just where in the woods he was?
Step by painful step he worked his way through the woods. Despite the injury, he was able to appreciate the stillness of the woods that was broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves when a breeze came though. He came to a blackberry bush and stopped to pick and eat some of the berries. Then he resumed his slow progress.
At last his persistence was rewarded. Up ahead, he could see that the woods seemed to peter out at what might be just a clearing but he hoped was the beach near his cabin. When he reached the spot, he saw that indeed it was the shoreline but not the one he was hoping for. Looking up and down the beachfront, Connor spotted some specks in the distance that he took to be the cluster of cabins. He still had a hike to get back to his cabin, but at least he had gained the shoreline. He decided to sit and rest on the sand for a bit.
He didn't have a beach towel with him, nor was he attired in swim trunks. Lying on the sand and getting his arms, legs, hair, and clothes all sandy was not the worst eventuality in the world, but going into the bay for a refreshing dip was certainly out of the question—unless he took his clothes off. As the thought hit him, he took a look around. There was no one in the area, and no one seemed to be approaching from either direction. Skinny-dipping suddenly seemed a real possibility.