Page 35 of That Birthday in Barbados
“Really.”
“You don’t sound sober.”
“I am sober. Very, I mean incredibly sober.”
Suddenly, I realize that she’s crying. A tear drops on my face, and I ease her to the sand. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
She looks down, shakes her head. “Nothing. I-” Her voice breaks, and she goes silent.
“I thought we were having fun.”
“We were. Am. Are.”
“Tears aren’t the thing that makes a guy think you’re having a good time.”
“I’m sorry. I never expected tonight to-”
“What?”
She’s quiet for long enough that I don’t think she’sgoing to tell me.
And then in a fast voice, she says, “I spent my honeymoon with my husband at this hotel.”
I admit this isn’t what I expected.“Husband?”
“Ex. Husband. We made out on the beach like you and I were-”
I feel as if a tsunami wave has just risen from the ocean floor and crashed down on top of me. “Ah. I get no points for originality then.”
“No. You were very original. It just . . . brought back memories I’d rather forget.”
I run a hand through my hair. “How long ago was that?”
“Ten years.”
“How long have you been divorced?”
“Three.”
“Mutual break-up?”
“Not exactly.”
She dropsonto the sand, pulling her knees up against her chest and staring out at the moon shining on the ocean’s surface.“He had an affair with my sister.”
The words appear out of the night, and it takes me a second to realize exactly what shesaid. “Oh. That-”
“-means there must really be something wrong with me.”
“Whoa,” I say, putting a hand on her arm. “That means there’s something wrong with the two of them.”
“Who does that?” she asks. “Even if I did have Grand Canyon size flaws. Who does that?”
I put a hand on her arm, pressing softly. “Hey. You don’t have to open all this up.”
“It’s never closed,” she says, the words barely audible.
I slip my arm around her shoulders and pull her up against me. “You know as well as I do there aren’t any words of comfort in the whole Oxford dictionary to address this one. How about I just hold you?”
