Page 31 of Out of the Shadow

Angie looks around and sucks in her breath. It’s as if she only now realized where we were going.

“Everything okay?”

She plays with her hair. “Yeah. I haven’t been to this beach in years.”

Grateful for the distraction from the raw conversation we just had, I pull into a parking spot. “Let’s go check it out. I’m sure things have changed since you were last here.”

Angie nods as if convincing herself to get out of the car and opens her door. I fling the towel she gave me over my shoulder and take the bag from her. “Let me carry this.” I point to a sign advertising beach chairs for rent. “Do you want an umbrella to go with the chairs?”

“No. That’s okay.”

I lead her over to the chair rental place and get us two. Carrying them over my back, I walk beside Angie onto the fine sand leading out to the ocean. I set up the chairs in an empty spot and throw my borrowed towel over one.

Angie claims the other chair, but she doesn’t sit. “I need to use the restroom,” she says. I’ll be back.” The way she stalks off to the pavilion makes me wonder if it’s true.

Shaking my head at her abrupt departure, I apply lotion, lean back, and soak up the sun. Waves crash on the beach. Seagulls fly by and down by the shoreline, a kid flies a kite. Inhaling, I let the salty air invade my senses. So different from the Pacific, yet so right. The nerves that built up during our car ride fly away with the breeze, leaving me with the troubling question of why I chose to share all of that with Angie.

When she still doesn’t reappear after several minutes, I pull out the paperwork Kaitlyn gave us. It says that tomorrow we’re going to be filming an episode around a new client. Both of us are going to meet with the couple, and then we’ll each “pitch” them a few available houses. The agent that the couple picks will “win.”

My mind flies around this scenario, picking it apart. What will the couple be like? What sort of property will they want? When my stomach rumbles, I decide to head up to the Pavilion to look for Angie. Maybe she’ll want something to eat, too, and I can pick her brain about how she approaches buyers.

So I can win tomorrow’s “game” and lose the feelings stirred by this afternoon’s conversation.

Angie

I SPLASH WATERon my face and let the coolness trickle down my chest.Deep breaths, Angie, deep breaths.I rip off a paper towel from the dispenser and dab the droplets off, missing at least half, and toss the half-wet paper into the bin anyway.

I check the mirror, and a younger Angie stares back at me, only eighteen years old, eyes brimming with love. A floral wreath rests on my head and I’m holding a bouquet of wildflowers.

My eyes slam shut.

I can’t do this.

I can’t be here.

I swallow gulps of air and try to stem the rising tide of hysteria. Why did King have to pick this particular beach out of the hundreds in the Hamptons? And why didn’t I figure it out before we parked?

Because you were so riveted by King, a voice says.You didn’t even notice what was going on around you.

Someone walks into the bathroom, and I spin around, pretending to head into a stall. The last thing I want to do is face anyone just now.

“Excuse me, are you Angie?”

I freeze. Who could this be? A client? I wipe off my cheeks and suck in a big breath. Without giving the woman the courtesy of turning around, I reply, “I am.”

“Your boyfriend asked me to see if everything’s all right?”

What? Mywhat? I turn and face the stranger. “I’m sorry?”

An older woman with short grey hair, holding a beach bag at least twice her size, points to the door. “A very handsome man outside asked if I could check on you.” She reaches out to me, but I flinch back. “Is everything all right?”

I stifle a crazed laugh. My chest expands on my inhale, and I manage to mumble, “Yes. Allergies.”

She fans her face. “Well, you don’t want to keep that man waiting, honey.”

My face doesn’t move, but my body leads me to the door. Without another word, I open it and step into the bright sunshine, where King awaits me in all his healthy, blond, ripped glory. As soon as the door closes, he walks right up to me and blocks the sun from my eyes. Which doesn’t prevent me from pulling my sunglasses down from my forehead.

“Are you all right?” King’s baritone voice slides down my spine.

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