Page 73 of Second Tide's the Charm
Marissa: Now you’re just doing it on purpose.
Hope: Maybe so.
I show Adrian the messages, and he lets out a soft laugh, reading over my shoulder. “I shouldn’t aggravate her when she’s just looking out for me, but it’s so much fun.”
“I fully support it,” he says. “She did invite you here on false pretenses, after all.”
“And hid it from you. A few two-word texts are totally called for.”
He bites his lip. “We really ought to be more upset at her for that.”
“You’re not?”
He shakes his head. “Not anymore.”
His words hold the promise of what we started in the condo, and of conversations a long time coming, but for now, I’m ready to find some air-conditioning and a hot shower.
I stretch, muscles aching from sleeping on the couch. My clothes are plastered to my body from the sweaty work of cleaning out the refrigerator and climbing around the boat.
“My next stop is home,” Adrian says. “If you’re not sick of me yet, you’re welcome to come along. I’d offer you a hot shower, but I’m not sure I have power either.”
Sick of him, after three years apart? “Guess we’d better check.”
Adrian’s electricity is on, and from the state of his microwave clock and freezer, he never lost power. Not only that, he has an outdoor shower, which means no waiting to take turns. He points out the bathroom, then pulls open the hall cabinet to show me where the towels are.
“Try not to run off with any of them,” he says with a grin, before heading outside.
Despite the relief of hot water on my sore muscles, I shower quickly, feeling surprisingly at home in what is so clearly Adrian’s space. His shampoo, his bar soap, the cedar scent enveloping me in the steamy room like his embrace. Wrapped in a familiar striped towel, I stoop to rummage in my overnight bag, pushing aside the hoodie he insisted I keep, no longer embarrassed about holding on to it.
I make my way out to the screened-in deck, halting when I realize the shower is right below. Before I can backtrack, the deck wobbles with footsteps and Adrian comes into view on the stairs, carrying a caddy, a towel tossed over one shoulder. His face breaks into a smile when he sees me. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to give you.”
He disappears into the house and reappears a moment later. “Well, not give to you.” He squeezes the back of his neck, a sheepish grin on his face. “More like, return to you.” He extends his hand, palm down, and a thin strand falls from it, the pendant at the end jerking to a stop and swaying slightly in the breeze, like a spider on a thread.
I step closer to get a good look, then smile wide. “My necklace!”
I reach out and he drops it into my hand, the chain spiraling into my palm, barely a weight. “I thought I’d lost it.” The gold manta ray pendant is a memento he gave me to commemorate diving with real manta rays during a research trip in Mexico.
Unhooking the clasp, I slide the necklace around my neck, glowering with mock-accusation. “I can’t believe you’ve had it all this time. Who’s the bandit now?”
He laughs out loud. The sound is mellow and husky in the evening stillness. When he notices me fumbling, he steps around behind me, gathering my curls in his hands to leave my neck exposed, and tingles dance up my spine.
Hands trembling, I work to fasten the clip, hyperaware of his presence behind me, his grip on my hair a welcome pressure. Evening is a warm shell around us, the loamy scent of the river drifting upward, punctuated by the sharp scent of cypress leaves.
“I should’ve returned it to you before now.” The words are just above a whisper, stirring the fine hairs at my nape. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. Finders keepers.” After all, I left it behind, just like the rest of the life I didn’t come back for. My voice is hoarse, and I clear my throat, but the emotion remains lodged in place, clogging my windpipe.
“Not just about the necklace,” he says, releasing my hair now that the clasp is fastened. I shake my head to settle the curls, then reach for the ever-present hair tie on my wrist.
“Don’t.” His eyes fly to mine. “Sorry... It’s your hair, so you can do what you like. But it’s beautiful like this. So full.” I washed my hair in the shower and without my usual products it’s expanding in the heat, the curls less defined than I’m used to. “I like it,” he says. “I always like it. But I don’t always get to see it this way.” His voice is almost reverent, and I slide the hair tie back on my wrist, feeling suddenly beautiful.
He pulls his towel off his shoulder and drapes it over the back of one of the Adirondack chairs. “I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am for not trying harder to fix things. For not calling, or texting, or checking in on you.” One of his hands is clenched on the back of the chair, as if for support.
I twist my lips. “Pretty sure we were both in the same boat with that one.” The words remind me of a question I’ve been too nervous to ask, but darkness is falling fast, and with it comes the sensation of anonymity.
Aiming for nonchalance, I take a seat in the other chair. “Speaking of boats...you named yours after me?” He might have bought it with the name already on it, and not known, but the coincidence doesn’t seem likely. Neither does him naming a boat after me when we hadn’t spoken for over a year.
Adrian lets his head flop down, his hair falling along his cheeks. “Yeah, I was wondering when you were going to ask about that.” He peeks up at me, bites his lip. “I kind of showed my cards with that one.”
