Message in a Bottle (16 page)

Theresa shook her head. “No. I only got here the day before yesterday. This is the first time I’ve been on the beach here.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Is it like the beaches up north?”

“Some of them, but the water’s a lot warmer here. Haven’t you ever been to the coast up north?”

“I’ve never been outside North Carolina.”

She smiled at him. “A real world traveler, huh?”

He laughed under his breath. “No, but I don’t feel like I’m missing that much. I like it here and couldn’t imagine a prettier place. There’s no place I’d rather be.” After a few steps, he glanced at her and changed the subject: “So, how long are you staying in Wilmington?”

“Until Sunday. I have to go back to work on Monday.”

Five more days, he thought.

“Do you know anyone else in town?”

“No. I came down here on my own.”

“Why?”

“I just wanted to visit. I’d heard some good things about the place, and I wanted to see it for myself.”

He wondered about her answer. “Do you usually take vacations alone?”

“Actually, this is my first time.”

A female jogger appeared, moving quickly toward them with a black Labrador retriever by her side. The dog looked spent in the heat, his tongue hanging out too far. Oblivious of the dog’s condition, she kept going, eventually veering around Theresa. Garrett almost said something to the woman about it as she passed but didn’t think it was his business.

It was a few moments before Garrett spoke again. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“It depends on the question.”

He stopped walking and picked up a couple of small seashells that caught his eye. After turning them over a few times, he handed them to her. “Are you seeing anyone up in Boston?”

She took the shells as she answered. “No.”

Lapping waves collected at their feet as they stood in the shallow water. Though he had expected the answer, he couldn’t understand why someone like her would spend most of her evenings alone.

“Why not? A woman like you should have your pick of men.”

She smiled at that, and they slowly started walking again. “Thanks, that’s nice of you to say. But it’s not that easy, especially when you have a son. There are a lot of things I have to consider when I meet someone.” She paused. “But what about you? Are you seeing anyone right now?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then it’s my turn to ask—why not?”

Garrett shrugged. “I guess I haven’t met anyone I’d really like to see on a regular basis.”

“Is that all?”

It was a moment of truth, and Garrett knew it. All he had to do was affirm his earlier statement and that would be the end of it. But for a few steps he didn’t say anything.

The beach crowd had thinned as they moved farther away from the pier, and the only sound now was that of the crashing waves. Garrett saw a group of terns standing near the water’s edge, already moving out of their path. The sun, almost directly overhead now, reflected off the sand and made them both squint a little as they strolled along. Garrett didn’t look at her as he spoke, and Theresa moved closer so that she could hear him over the roar of the ocean.

“No, that’s not all. It’s more of an excuse than anything. To be honest, I haven’t even tried to find someone.”

Theresa watched him carefully as he spoke. He was looking straight ahead as if gathering his thoughts, but she could sense his reluctance as he went on.

“There was something I didn’t tell you last night.”

She felt something tighten inside, knowing exactly what was coming. Keeping her face neutral, she said simply: “Oh?”

“I was married once, too,” he finally said. “For six years.” He turned to her with an expression that made her flinch. “But she passed away.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Again he stopped and picked up some seashells, only this time he didn’t hand them to Theresa. After inspecting them casually, he threw one into the oncoming waves. Theresa watched it disappear into the ocean.

“It happened three years ago. Ever since then, I haven’t been interested in dating, or even looking.” He stopped for a moment, uncomfortable.

“It must get lonely sometimes.”

“It does, but I try not to think about that too much. I keep busy at the shop—there’s always something to do there—and it helps the days go by. Before I know it, it’s time for me to go to bed and I start the whole thing over the next day.”

When he finished, he glanced at her with a weak smile. There, he’d said it. He’d wanted to tell someone other than his father for years, and he’d ended up telling it to a woman from Boston he barely knew. A woman who had somehow been able to open doors that he himself had nailed shut.

She said nothing. When he didn’t add anything else, she asked: “What was she like?”

“Catherine?” Garrett’s throat went dry. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said in a gentle voice.

He threw another shell into the surf, gathering his thoughts. How could he hope to describe her in words? Yet part of him wanted to try, wanted Theresa of all people to understand. Despite himself, he was drawn back in time once more.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Catherine said as she looked up from the garden. “I didn’t expect you home so soon.”

“It’s been pretty slow in the shop this morning, and I thought I’d pop home for lunch to see how you were doing.”

“I’m feeling a lot better.”

“You think it was the flu?”

“I don’t know. It was probably something I ate. About an hour after you left, I felt good enough to do a little gardening.”

“I can see that.”

“How do you like the flowers?” She gestured at a freshly turned patch of soil.

Garrett surveyed the freshly planted pansies lining the porch. He smiled. “They’re great, but don’t you think you should have left some of the dirt in the flower bed?”

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and stood, squinting up at him in the bright sunlight. “Do I look that bad?”

Her knees were dark from kneeling in the dirt, and a streak of mud ran across her cheek. Her hair was escaping from a messy ponytail, and her face was red and sweating from exertion.

“You look perfect.”

Catherine took off her gloves and tossed them on the porch. “I’m not perfect, Garrett, but thanks. C’mon, let me get you some lunch. I know you’ve got to get back to the shop.”

He sighed and finally turned his head. Theresa was staring at him, waiting. He spoke softly.

“She was everything I ever wanted. She was beautiful and charming, with a quick sense of humor, and she supported me in everything I did. I’d known her practically my whole life—we went to school together. We got married a year after I graduated from UNC. We were married for six years before the accident, and they were the best six years I ever had. When she was taken away . . .” He paused as if he were at a loss for words. “I don’t know whether I’ll ever get used to being without her.”

The way he spoke about Catherine made Theresa hurt for him more than she would have imagined. It wasn’t just his voice, but the look on his face before he described her—as if torn between the beauty of his memories and the pain of remembering. Though the letters had been touching, they hadn’t prepared her for this. I shouldn’t have brought it up, she thought. I already knew how he felt about her. There wasn’t any reason to make him talk about it.

But there was, another voice in her head suddenly chimed in. You had to see his reaction for yourself. You had to find out whether he was ready to put the past behind him.

After a few moments, Garrett absently tossed the remaining shells into the water. “I’m sorry about that,” he said.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have told you about her. Or so much about me.”

“It’s okay, Garrett. I wanted to know. I asked you about her, remember?”

“I didn’t mean to come off sounding like I did.” He spoke as if he’d done something wrong. Theresa’s reaction was almost instinctive.

Stepping toward him, she reached for his hand. Taking it slowly in hers, she squeezed it gently. When she looked at him, she saw surprise in his eyes, though he didn’t try to pull away.

“You lost a wife—something that most people our age don’t know anything about.” He lowered his eyes as she struggled for the right words.

“Your feelings say a lot about you. You’re the kind of person who loves someone forever. . . . That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know. It’s just that it’s been three years . . .”

“Someday you’ll find someone special again. People who’ve been in love once usually do. It’s in their nature.”

She squeezed his hand again, and Garrett felt her touch warm him. For some reason he didn’t want to let go.

“I hope you’re right,” he said finally.

“I am. I know these things. I’m a mother, remember?”

He laughed under his breath, trying to release the tension he felt. “I remember. And you’re probably a good one.”

They turned around and started back to the pier, talking quietly about the last three years, still holding hands. By the time they reached his truck and headed back to the shop, Garrett was more confused than ever. The events of the past two days were just so unexpected. Theresa wasn’t just a stranger anymore, nor was she just a friend. There was no question he was drawn to her. But then again, she’d be gone in a few days, and he knew that it was probably better that way.

“What are you thinking?” she asked. Garrett shifted the truck into a higher gear as they made their way over the bridge toward Wilmington and Island Diving. Go ahead, he thought. Tell her what’s really going through your head.

“I was thinking,” he finally said, surprising himself, “that if you don’t have plans tonight, I’d like to have you over for supper.”

She smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He was still surprised at himself for asking as he turned left onto the road that led to his shop.

“Can you come by my place about eight? I have some things I have to do at the shop, and I probably won’t be able to finish until late.”

“That’s fine. Where do you live?”

“On Carolina Beach. I’ll give you directions when we get to the shop.”

They pulled into the lot and Theresa followed Garrett into the office. He scribbled the directions on a slip of paper. Trying not to look as confused as he felt, he said:

“You shouldn’t have any trouble finding the place—just look for my truck out front. But if you have any problems, my number’s at the bottom.”

After she left, Garrett found himself thinking about the upcoming evening. As he sat in his office, two questions plagued him without answer. First, why was he so attracted to Theresa? And second, why did he suddenly feel as if he were betraying Catherine?

Theresa spent the rest of the afternoon exploring while Garrett worked in the shop. Because she didn’t know Wilmington well, she asked for directions to the historic district and spent a few hours looking through the stores. Most of them catered to tourists, and she found a few things that Kevin would like, though nothing that suited her tastes. After buying him a couple of pairs of shorts he could wear once he got back from California, she went back to the hotel to catch a quick nap. The last couple of days had taken their toll, and she fell asleep quickly.

Garrett, on the other hand, faced one small crisis after another. A shipment of new equipment arrived just after he got back, and after packing up what he didn’t need, he called the company to make arrangements to send back the rest. Later in the afternoon he found out that three people who had been scheduled for dive classes this weekend would be out of town and had to cancel. A quick check of the waiting list proved fruitless.

By six-thirty he was tired, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally closed up for the night. After work he drove first to the grocery store and picked up the items he needed for dinner. He showered and put on a pair of clean jeans and a light cotton shirt, then went to the refrigerator to get a beer. After opening it, he stepped out onto the back deck and sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs. Checking his watch, he realized that Theresa would be here soon.

*  *  *

Garrett was still sitting on the back porch when he finally heard the sound of a slowly idling motor making its way down the block. He stepped off the deck and went around the side of the house, watching as Theresa parked on the street, right behind his truck.

She stepped out wearing jeans and the same blouse she had worn earlier, the one that did wonderful things for her figure. She looked relaxed as she walked toward him, and when she smiled warmly at him, he realized that his attraction had grown stronger since their lunch this afternoon, and it made him a little uneasy for a reason he didn’t want to admit.

He walked toward her as casually as he could, and Theresa met him halfway, carrying a bottle of white wine. When he got close to her, he smelled the scent of perfume, something she hadn’t worn before.

“I brought some wine,” she said, handing it to him. “I thought it might go well with dinner.” Then, after a short pause: “How was your afternoon?”

“It was busy. Customers kept coming in until we closed, and I had a load of paperwork I had to get through. In fact, I just got home a little while ago.” He started toward the front door, Theresa right beside him. “How about you? What did you end up doing the rest of the day?”

“I got to take a nap,” she said as if teasing him, and he laughed.

“I forgot to ask you earlier, but do you want anything special for dinner?” he asked.

“What were you planning on?”

“I was thinking of cooking some steaks on the grill, but then I got to wondering if you ate things like that.”

“Are you kidding? You forget I grew up in Nebraska. I love a good steak.”

“Then you’re in for a pleasant surprise.”

“What?”

“I happen to make the best steaks in the world.”

“Oh, you do, huh?”

“I’ll prove it to you,” he said, and she laughed, a melodic sound.

As they approached the door, Theresa looked at the house for the first time. It was relatively small—one story and rectangular shaped—with painted wooden siding that was peeling badly in more than one place. Unlike the homes on Wrightsville Beach, this home sat directly on the sand. When she asked him why it wasn’t raised like the other houses, he explained that the house was built before the hurricane building codes went into effect. “Now the houses have to be elevated so that the tidal surge can pass under the main structure. The next big hurricane will probably wash this old house out to sea, but I’ve been fortunate so far.”