We. He was sending her a message that he too knew about loss, that he knew what she was going through. But he didn’t. Even if he thought he did, he didn’t. And she resented the complicity he was forcing upon her.
As if sensing this, he changed the subject. He asked about Lillian, remarking that since she had been buried in East Hampton she must have loved the place. Gayle found herself warming to the conversation, eager to talk. There was nothing pushy about his questions; he drew responses from her effortlessly. At a certain moment it occurred to her that she was satisfying a need in him, that his desire to understand the person he had only ever known as a corpse was a necessary part of putting the experience behind him. Against his wishes he had been written into the last chapter of Lillian’s life, and he had a desire to know the details of the story preceding his involvement.
There was something calming about his presence. He was considered in his comments, articulate when he made them, and his attentive gray eyes never left hers, not even for a moment.
She felt a momentary twinge of disappointment when he suggested that she must have things to do. He got to his feet.
‘I’ll get a tow rope,’ he said.
‘How did you know?’
He smiled. ‘Happens all the time.’
As she followed him from the house he turned to her. ‘I want to show you something first.’
He struck out across the dunes towards the ocean. She followed, intrigued, the hot sand scorching the soles of her feet, obliging her to tread lightly and quickly behind him.
Along the beach a scattering of people were huddled beneath their sun shades, sheltered from the midday sun. A dog scampered to and fro at the water’s edge, barking at the gulls.
Gayle hurried to the wash and cooled her feet in the spent waves.
‘That’s where we found her,’ he said, pointing down the beach. ‘About a hundred yards along.’
Gayle stared at the spot, aware that he was watching her intently.
‘I’m not sure I wanted to know that,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you see her?’ he asked. ‘At the morgue?’
His tone had changed. In fact, his whole appearance had changed. He suddenly seemed very big. And very threatening.
‘I wanted to, but when it came to it, I couldn’t.’
He glanced back down the beach. ‘Maybe with time you’ll be glad you knew,’ he said, more gently.
She doubted it, but said nothing.
The rope was in the barn, coiled and hanging from a wooden peg.
‘You use all this…stuff?’ she asked, awed by the amount of equipment on display.
‘Pretty much.’
‘What’s this for?’
‘It’s a scallop dredge.’
‘And that?’
‘Eel trap.’
As he led her to the truck, he asked, ‘You eat fish?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you want, I’ll drop some by. Maybe a bluefish or two.’
‘That’s very kind, but you really don’t have to.’
‘I’d like to.’
He hauled open the passenger door, removed a sleeping cat from the seat and helped her climb up.
He only untied the tow rope once he’d seen her safely back to Montauk Highway.
‘Thanks for the Champagne,’ he said, then added with a smile, ‘I’ll try to remember Rollo gets his bottle.’
She found herself not wanting to leave, and watched as he swung the truck round on the highway, negotiating his way past her and back down the track.
A thought suddenly occurred to her and she punched the horn several times. He pulled to a halt, leaning out of the window.
‘How much do you know about game fishing?’ she called.
‘Game fishing?’
‘For tuna.’
Eighteen
‘You’re kidding me,’ said Abel.
