Chapter Two #2
The road follows the crescent-shaped bay, and halfway along, I turn left onto another road. Just two doors down is The Driftwood, its windows spilling golden light onto the pavement.
I pause outside and scan the interior. It’s busy because it’s Valentine’s Day, and the tables are filled with couples and groups. I can’t see Beth. Frowning, I push open the door and go inside.
The chatter of voices, the clink of glasses, and the background music are a stark contrast to the peace and quiet outside.
The bar’s theme matches its name—the bar itself, the tables, and chairs are constructed from wood weathered to look like driftwood, with fishing nets hung on the walls and over the bar, and driftwood-and-shell mobiles.
It offers a less formal atmosphere than the restaurant a few doors down, and serves lots of fresh fish and seafood, as well as platters to share.
I pause and search the room again, then head over to the bar.
The bartender finishes serving someone else, then comes over with a smile.
His name’s Tyr Donovan, and he’s a Lieutenant in the Navy.
He’s a tall, rugged-looking guy with dark hair and dark-blue eyes.
I know him fairly well because he was one of my patients a year ago, when he took an extended period of leave.
“Hey Tyr,” I say.
He gives me the Northland welcome—a quick lift of his chin—and says, “Hey Archer.”
Usually, I never mention that I know a patient outside of the clinic, but Tyr and I got on very well, and so I’m comfortable saying, “On leave at the moment?”
“Nope. I resigned from the Navy.”
“Oh…” Tyr had PTSD from an incident that happened a few months before I saw him, and we discussed him leaving the service, although I wasn’t sure he’d go through with it.
Still, I’m surprised to see him behind a bar.
He’s a Maritime Logistics Officer with sound skills, and very employable.
And although he’s brusque and gruff, he has a good heart, and he’s dependable and hardworking.
But there are many reasons people take jobs like this.
“Enjoying pulling pints?” I say with a smile.
He shrugs. “I only came out a week ago. Not yet found anything permanent.”
I tip my head to the side, studying him. “What are you like with animals? Dogs, specifically.”
His eyebrows rise. “Ah… yeah great. Love them.”
I take a business card out of my back pocket and hand it to him. “I’m setting up an animal-assisted therapy center at the old Hemsworth farmstead. I’m looking for staff in a few areas. Come and see me, and we’ll have a chat.”
“Okay, I will. Thanks.” He clears his throat as he pockets the card. “What can I get you?”
“I’m looking for a girl.” When his eyebrow rise, I quickly correct myself. “Sorry, I mean someone in particular. Average height, Māori, brown hair in a ponytail, blue top, cut-down jeans.”
“That her?” He gestures with his head to the end of the bar.
I follow his gaze to my left and only then do I see Beth tucked right in the corner, sitting on a stool with her back to the wall. She’s nursing a glass of wine, her chin propped on her hand, and she looks so sad it makes me ache.
“Yeah,” I murmur, “thanks. Oh, I’ll have a JD on the rocks, please.”
Tyr makes the drink and slides the tumbler over to me, and I nod to him, then take it along the bar, pull up a stool, and sit beside Beth.
She looks up, frowning at the appearance of someone in her personal space, and then her eyes widen as she sees it’s me.
“Archer!” She inhales. “Oh… I didn’t mean for you to come all the way down here.”
I show her my glass. “I’m joining you for a drink. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She meets my eyes. Then her own fill with tears, her face crumples, and she covers her mouth with her hand.
I shift my stool a little closer, ostensibly to shield her from the rest of the room, but to my surprise she leans against me and rests her forehead on my shoulder, so I lift my arm around her.
We hug occasionally as friends, when we’re saying hello or goodbye, because it would be noticeable if I refused, so I’m used to the feel of her narrow shoulders.
The scent of her perfume that rises up to ensnare me.
The smoothness of her light-brown skin. How, when her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, it reveals a small mole behind her left ear.
Today, though, she seems even smaller and more fragile. Or perhaps that’s because I know she’s upset. I keep my body angled away from her and continue to hold my glass with my other hand, but I rub her back and murmur, “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right.”
She sits stiffly, her chest heaving and her body trembling, obviously fighting not to cry. I look at the top of her head, at her dark-brown hair, fighting the urge to wrap my arms around her and pull her close to me, to kiss her hair. To kiss her.
Eventually, she moves back a little, and I lower my arm. She wipes beneath her eyes and turns back to her drink, not looking up at me.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s been a helluva day, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry.”
She has a mouthful of wine. The glass is nearly full and she must have been here a while, so it must be her second. Like Jude, she’s a light drinker, so this is unusual for her and illustrates how upset she is.
“What did Jude say when you spoke to him?” she asks.
“Not much. He was pretty drunk. He said you’d had a couple of arguments today, and that you’d broken up.”
She wipes at a smudge on the glass. “Yeah.”
“Did he break up with you? Or did you break up with him?”
She just shrugs. “Does it matter?”
Yes, Beth, it matters. I think it, but I don’t say it.
“He said he can’t be what you want,” I say instead. “What did he mean by that?”
She brushes a hand over her face. Then she says, “He told me he doesn’t want children, so if I want them, I’ll have to find someone else to have them with.
” She gives a short, bitter laugh and shakes her head.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she says, lifting the glass with a toast before having another large mouthful.
Ohhh… I think I know what this is about.
Beth is very open about her family’s history of endometriosis.
She’s told me that her mother had to have IVF each time to conceive her three children, and that Simon and Kim have had trouble getting pregnant.
She’s mentioned that Kim is struggling to deal with her infertility.
I also know Beth is concerned about her own ability to conceive.
Jude is a nice guy, and he does his best to be supportive.
But it’s clear he doesn’t understand Kim’s obsessive desire for a baby, and he told me it’s destroying her marriage to Simon.
I could see the fear in his eyes that something similar might happen to him down the line.
He’s obviously told Beth his thoughts, and it’s led to him stating that he doesn’t want kids.
“I’m sorry he chose today to tell you that,” I say with feeling. “The guy’s an idiot.”
That makes her give a tired snort. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Well, he is. On Valentine’s Day, honestly. But look, he was just being clueless. I’m sure he’ll calm down soon, and then he’ll admit he spoke without thinking.”
She shakes her head. “He meant every word.”
“You don’t know that. He was drunk and obviously frustrated.”
“You’re being very kind, and you’re a good friend.
But he meant it. I could feel it in my bones.
He’s tried to tell me several times—not in so many words, but in his body language and the way he’s reacted when I’ve told him what’s happening with Kim.
” She has another mouthful of wine. “It’s over.
He made it very clear.” She rests her elbows on the bar and covers her face with her hands.
I glance at my watch. It’s past eight thirty, and it’s dark out. Jude didn’t say he wasn’t going home tonight, just that he was getting Bran to pick him up. Maybe after a chat with his brother, he’ll ask Bran to drop him back at their house.
“You should go home,” I urge her. “He might already be there. You need to talk this through.”
“I don’t want to,” she says from behind her hands.
I lean on the bar beside her. “This is fixable. You love each other.”
She lowers her hands. Her eyes shine, but she’s not crying. “It’s not enough,” she says simply. “It’s so much more complicated than that.”
“I know…”
She fiddles with her wine glass. “Can I admit something to you?”
“Of course.”
“It’s just… I know Jude is your friend.”
“So are you. And I want to help.”
She sips the wine. “Lately… I’ve been thinking that maybe I went out with Jude because I had stars in my eyes.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re going to disagree because you’re a nice guy, but he’s a ten, and I’m only a six at best.”
I’m aghast. “Beth!”
“It’s true,” she protests. “He’s like a movie star.
I met him at a party, and I knew nothing about him.
But I was attracted to him, and I was incredibly flattered when he asked me out.
” I swear under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear, and her lips curve up.
“I said you’d disagree,” she says with amusement.
“I disagree because you’re wrong. Only a six.” I glare at her.
She meets my eyes and holds my gaze for about six seconds before lowering hers. I shouldn’t have been so obvious, but I’m not having her implying she’s so far beneath Jude that she should be thankful he even noticed her.
“Does he look at other women when you’re around?” I ask.
“No, of course not.”
“You’ve been going out with him for over two years, haven’t you? There must be something right for it to last that long.”
“I don’t know. Relationships are about compromise, right?”
“I guess. I don’t have a huge amount of experience.”
“Well, neither do I, but that’s what I’ve been told. But I feel that I compromise a lot more than Jude does.”
She’s never said anything to me like this before. Neither has Jude, apart from his brief fears about the fertility issue. I thought the two of them were happy.
I feel completely torn. Jude is my best friend.
But I’ve been in love with his girl since the moment I met her.
Completely, hopelessly, deeply in love. I’ve fought it with every ounce of strength I possess, and I will continue to do so, all the while I think there’s hope that the two of them will get back together.
I’m not going to take advantage of the situation to turn comfort into something else.
As much as I long to do just that.