Chapter 12
12
D ean felt good, as if they’d resolved something major. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think this would be the end, that he and his girls would immediately have the relationship he’d always wanted. His workaholism would rear its ugly head again. But at least he’d won a small skirmish. It gave him hope for winning the war.
His gaze drifted to Greer on her lounge chair, her eyes closed as she soaked in the rays. She’d said just the right thing to defuse the tension, and he was grateful. He allowed himself the pleasure of letting his gaze travel the length of her when no one was watching. When she wouldn’t see. Would a woman actually mind a man admiring her perfection? As long as he wasn’t leering with drool at the corner of his mouth.
That made him laugh, because he was close to drooling as he appreciated her shape, her beautiful breasts, her taut thighs and calves, her smooth skin. Her lips.
Which made him think of last night’s luscious kiss. And how badly he’d wanted more.
Before he embarrassed himself, he damn well better stop right there, especially with his daughters nearby.
Sitting up, he asked, “Anyone want to walk down the beach, then take a swim?”
Cynthia raised her head. “But I just put on all my sunscreen.”
Lisa, without looking at him, at least as far as he could tell behind her sunglasses, said, “A little later maybe.”
But Greer said, “It’s a perfect time for a walk and a swim.”
Gracefully, she sat up to set her feet on the sand and grabbed her cover-up and wriggled it over her head. Too bad. He would have loved to watch her walking beside him in that pretty one-piece swimsuit.
Cynthia said, “Put your T-shirt on, Dad, or you’ll burn.” As if she had become the adult, and he was a demented old man.
But he grabbed his T-shirt, saying, “You’re so right,” and bunched it around his arms, pulling it down over his head.
Greer slipped on her water shoes. “The sand’s probably hot, especially when we have to run back here from the water.”
It was a long expanse of beach down to the water’s edge. “I’ll have to brave it. I don’t have any water shoes.”
When she stood, he wanted to take her hand, but he was conscious of the girls. And though he’d been divorced for five years, he didn’t want to advertise his prurient thoughts to his daughters.
Sunbathers laid out their towels, children were busy building sand castles or splashing in the waves. The sand was warm, but not scorching. Yet. By the time they got back, though, he’d have to race across the beach to avoid burning the soles of his feet.
He spoke once they were out of earshot. “Thank you for your comments about how lovely Heidelberg will be. The moment was tense, but you defused it.”
“I meant it. She’ll have an amazing time. It’s funny how you get to be our age, and you wish you’d done all those exciting things you never thought of when you were young. I was all about getting into university, taking my classes, finding a job, climbing the ladder. It seems like we always think we can do those things later. And then we’re too busy with our jobs.” She shrugged. “Or our plans don’t work out the way we wanted them to.”
He wanted to grab her, kiss her, show her how young at heart she was. “You’re not old. You can still do all the things you want to.”
“You’re right.” Then she laughed. “I just have to figure out what those things are. I’ve always been so focused on work, I haven’t given much thought to anything else. Like traveling. Or maybe even a hobby.” She looked at him as they reached the water’s edge and walked along the densely packed wet sand. Teenagers bodysurfed, and kids shrieked in the water as waves crashed over them. “What about you?” she asked. “What do you want to do that you’ve put off all your life?”
He was silent a long moment, the question deserving thought. “All I can think about right now is fixing things with my daughters.” He glanced down at her. “But if you didn’t have work consuming you, what do you think you’d do?”
She let a wave run over her water shoes, giggling as the soft sand sucked on her feet. “Standing here right now…” She smiled, shading her eyes from the sun even though she wore sunglasses. “I’d like to travel more. I could almost imagine taking six months off and spending them in Italy, immersing myself in the culture and learning the language. Or maybe a cruise around the world, one that went to Antarctica as well.”
“So many possibilities.”
She put her hand on his arm, her touch heating him. “Or even working in my garden. Learning about all the flowers and what will grow best. Making it a showpiece.” She smiled. “I love working in my garden, but I only get a couple of hours on the weekend. It’s not enough. Or at least I used to do that.”
“And you don’t anymore?”
He knew there was more to the story, but she didn’t answer right away, bending down to pick up a shell. The farther down the beach they walked, the fewer numbers of people, and not a lot of walkers.
Finally, she said, “I moved into a condo.”
They walked in silence as she seemed to think about what she wanted to say. Then she’d worked it out in her mind. “I told you I had a fight with my boyfriend?” Her voice rose as if it were a question. “Well, currently I’m living with him. I had to rent out my house because I couldn’t stand to have it sitting vacant. He was supposed to come on this vacation with me, but we broke up the night before. At least it feels like a break-up because he changed his flight and flew off to Wisconsin to see his parents. But I don’t really know what his plans are. Except that he walked out and said we’d talk about it later. And I didn’t want to waste the money I’d put down on this vacation, so I came here.”
He chuckled softly. “Such an accountant. You couldn’t waste the money.” That made her laugh. He liked to make her laugh. “But walking out on you right before vacation sounds like a breakup.” Or was he trying to assuage his own guilt because he was dying to touch her, to kiss her, to make love to her?
“You could be right. And being here,” she said, head down, water shoes scuffing the sand. “It’s made me realize things were far from perfect in our relationship. That maybe I want to be back in my house working in my garden.” She laughed softly, looked up at him. “Spring is coming. Right now I’d be preparing the ground, weeding, getting ready for spring planting.”
“Maybe that should be your goal. To get back in your house and your garden.”
She shrugged, walked faster, maybe trying to walk away from her thoughts. “Unfortunately, I have tenants in my house, and I’ve got to give them notice. It’ll take time.” She gazed at him for a long moment in which his heartbeat doubled. “But you make me think. Maybe that’s exactly what I need to do. Go home.”
“In the meantime,” he said with a laugh. “You can work in my garden. It’s badly neglected.”
She laughed with him.
Yet in his gut, he felt the seriousness of his suggestion. He couldn’t really mean it. He didn’t even know her. He couldn’t afford another relationship that would eventually sour.
And yet his heart trembled when she said, “I see you as a condo man. That you’d wouldn’t have a garden because you’d never have time to work in it.”
He wanted to take her hand in his. Yet, even after all the handholding they’d done yesterday, the time didn’t feel right when they were talking about her relationship. “You’ve certainly got me pegged. I was a condo man when my wife and I first split, but when the girls went to university, my ex-wife didn’t want the house anymore. And I decided I did. Maybe it was nostalgia.” He shook his head and added a shoulder shrug. “So we switched. I got the house, and she got the condo.” Then he laughed outright. “But I have a gardener.”
She bumped him with her shoulder. It felt like something a friend would do. And that was good. Friends first. Then something more later.
“You might need some garden time too.” A wave rushed over her feet, and she shook the sand out of her shoes as it retreated. “It’s like meditation. Sometimes I take out my earbuds and hear the birdsong and the squirrel chatter.”
“It sounds idyllic.”
She gave him a shining smile. “Then you need to try it.”
“Maybe I should,” he agreed.
He would have said more, but a young man building in the sand interrupted the conversation. Seeing them, he jumped to his feet, racing toward them and stopping only a foot short, almost invading their personal space.
In rushed, excited words, he said, “I’m making a turtle. You need to see it. It’s perfect. I love it. I’m laying out shells to make the lines on its carapace.” Then he raced back to his sand turtle, turning to say loudly, “Did you know turtles are attached to their shells?”
Dean mock-gaped. “I thought they could come out of them.”
The young man shook his head vigorously. “They can’t. I love turtles. They’re my favorites.” Then he waved a hand, gesturing them over. “Come see.”
Greer smiled at him, and Dean took her hand, taking advantage of an excuse to touch her.
“See?” The young man pointed to the small shells he’d placed to make the lines of the turtle’s carapace. “I’ve been searching for shells.” His smile was dazzling. “My name’s Ryan. What’s yours?”
Dean tapped his chest. “I’m Dean.” He raised Greer’s hand clasped in his. “And this is Greer.”
“Here.” Greer held out her hand. A shell she’d found sat on her palm. “You can have this one.”
“Wow, cool.” The boy took it, placing it carefully on his turtle. Though he sounded like a ten-year-old, he looked to be in his late teens.
Then Ryan ran to the shoreline, turning back to them as he pointed. “When the water goes out, you see all the shells, and you have to grab big handfuls of sand with all the shells in it and take it back up where we can sift through it.” As the water receded, he rushed forward, crying out, “Now.”
Greer tucked her cover-up out of the way and bent down, cupping a handful of wet sand, carrying it back to Ryan’s turtle. Dean did the same, dropping beside her.
Ryan dumped his sand, then sat back on his haunches. “Wow. Look at all those shells.”
Dean thought about asking Ryan if he had a bucket, but that might have spoiled the kid’s fun.
Ryan explained exactly what they needed to do. “Now, you spread the sand out just like this.” He swiped a hand across the pile he’d brought in. “Then you pick out all the little shells. And you put them in a pile over here.” He sifted through his sand mound, putting the shells aside. “And when we’re done, we wash them off again.” When he’d uncovered a handful, he rushed back to the water to wash them.
While Dean and Greer were still sifting, Ryan ran back with the clean shells, dropping to his knees. “Then you put them on the turtle.” He stopped suddenly, jerking his head to look at them. “But maybe I better put the shells on. Or it’ll be your turtle and not mine.”
“It’ll be your turtle no matter what,” Greer told him. “After all, you built it. We’re just adding a couple of shells to help you out. But it’s still yours.”
His face lit up like a sunbeam. “Yeah. It’s still mine.”
Plucking out the small shells, they washed them, and let Ryan tell them exactly how to place each on the turtle’s back. They completed the task in fifteen minutes, and after washing their hands off in the water, they stood back to admire Ryan’s turtle.
Four feet wide, it was impressive. Ryan had dug a trench around it, fashioned sand feet, scratched lines for its toes, and laid shells for its eyes.
“Now that is an amazing turtle, Ryan.” Dean meant it sincerely.
Excited, the kid begged, “Do you want to take a picture of me with my turtle?”
“Of course we do.” Dean took his phone out of his board shorts, and Greer fished in her cover-up pocket. They snapped pictures while Ryan held his arms wide.
When he jumped in the air, Greer called out, “I got that too.”
He ran to her. “That’s great. Will you send it to me?” His words came out in a rush.
Finger poised over her phone, Greer asked, “What’s your phone number?”
He stopped then, sticking his tongue between his teeth. He breathed hard for a moment, then pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. And finally he said, “Okay, here it is.” He said the numbers as if he had a special way of memorizing them.
Greer tapped them into her phone. “Here it comes.” She pushed Send. As if he couldn’t hold back, Ryan threw himself at Greer, hugging her tight, crying out, “Thank you, thank you.” Then he stepped back to catch his breath. “And if any of the other pictures are really great, will you send them to me?”
Greer laughed. “Of course I will.”
Smiling, Dean told the boy, “I’ve got some good ones too. Greer can give me your number and I’ll send them as well.”
Then Ryan backed up the beach. “Okay. I gotta get my mom and show her my turtle. Will you be here when I get back?”
Greer shook her head. “I don’t think so. We’re going for a walk. But we’ll see your turtle on the way back.”
“Okay.” Ryan ran up the sand, turning halfway to shout again, “Thank you.” And he raced to a couple seated higher up the beach.
Dean took Greer’s hand as they headed off. “That was sweet of you to send the photo.”
“That was sweet of you to be so enthusiastic about his turtle.”
“Ryan made my day.” He felt as if his chest had lightened.
Greer squeezed his hand. “You know how they say you need to stop and smell the roses?” She pointed to Ryan’s turtle. “That’s exactly what they mean. We could’ve walked right by him. But we stopped and were treated to that very special moment. Months from now—” She looked at him. “Maybe even years,” she added, a smile on her lips. “That’s what I’ll remember. How happy we made Ryan by helping him finish his turtle.”
Not even trying to stop himself, Dean threw an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in tight, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life.”
And not just because of Ryan and his turtle.