get a little piece of it. Hans Christian Andersen’s
I have a whole notebook crammed with research, but I’ve never found anything that describes how I am. Nothing that describes the way I sing. It’s like . . . an overwhelming loneliness that can’t be contained. When I sing, it’s as if I let a little piece of that go, let it float away. It soothes me in a way that nothing in the daylight ever has. But when it’s over, reality screeches back, and I hate myself for needing that.
“I live right there,” Cole says, pointing behind me. His words jolt me back to reality.
I sit up and twist around, then realize with a sinking heart he’s right. I’ve lain down right in front of his house. I’d been so deep in thought I hadn’t even realized I was so far away from where I’d parked my car and that there Cole’s house was, tucked away on the other side of the dunes and reed grass. I must have walked for an hour.
“Oh. Right.”
I start to get up, but Cole puts a hand on my shoulder, and next thing I know, he’s sitting down next to me, kicking off his flip-flops and burrowing his toes in the sand.
I stifle another sigh and just stare out to the sea. Our sides are nearly touching, and if I sit very still, I can see the rise and fall of his shoulders. An odd sense of peace washes over me. There’s something calming about being near him, knowing he doesn’t blame me for what happened to Steven, even though I know he should.
I watch at least a dozen waves crash into the sand before he finally speaks. “I love the ocean,” he says.
I nod. I’m not so sure I do. My body loves it, but truth be told, most of the time I hate the ocean, the water, everything. The silence comes back.
Cole rolls up the sleeves of his button-down, exposing his forearms. Then he reaches down and picks up a handful of sand, lets it slip through his fingers. He’s not dressed for the beach. I’m surprised he even sat down in the sand. “Do you miss him?”
I watch the sand slip from his hands for a long moment. “More than anything.”
“He was going to ask you to homecoming.”
My stomach flips. “How do you know that?”
He smiles, picks up another handful of sand. “He told me. It was funny, really. He asked out girls all the time. But with you, it was different. He was nervous. He kept asking me if I thought you would say yes.”
I stare down at the sand between my feet. “I would have. Said yes, I mean.”
“I know. That’s what I told him.”
I chew on my lip for a second. I shouldn’t want to talk to him. I shouldn’t. But I do. “Why do you keep doing this?”
“Because I hate seeing you this way. I miss the girl you used to be. I miss that smile of yours.”
I shift in the sand, wishing he wouldn’t look at me so directly. “Do you think Sienna is going to be okay?”
He turns his attention back to the sand. “I don’t know. I hope so. It’s like . . . instead of dealing with losing him, she just blocks it out, so she’s never really gotten over it.”
I nod, swallow the lump growing in my throat. I
“Do you remember that barbeque, the summer before he died? With the croquet?”
I feel my lips curl, the tiniest ghost of a smile. “Yeah, and I was—”
“Terrible,” he says.
I try to look offended.
“Oh, come on, you know you were. But Sienna and Steven were laughing so hard it didn’t bother you.”
I nod. “And then they started moving all the little hoops, lining them up right in front of my ball, just so we could finish the game before it got dark.”
Cole gets a faraway look in his eyes, as if he can see the whole thing playing out again. “I had fun that day.”
“Me too,” I say, wishing I didn’t sound so wistful.
He looks over at me and for a fleeting second lets his hand rest on my knee. “Let me take you out. One night where you don’t worry about any of this.”
I close my eyes and concentrate on the feeling of his hand on my knee, remember what it felt like when he hugged me. When he sat by my side and let me cry. And I know I can’t resist him, not right now, not in this perfect moment. “Okay.”
The cell phone in Cole’s pocket chirps. I pull away from him, suddenly feeling sheepish.
“How about tomorrow? I can pick you up,” he says.
“No. Meet me at the theater. We can see a movie.” I get up, dusting the sand from my pants. “See you then,” I call over my shoulder, the soles of my shoes sinking into the sand as I rush away, fear and hope churning together in equal measure. I just agreed to a date. My first formal date, ever. I always dreamed it would be Steven, but instead it’s going to be Cole. What am I doing? All he had to do was
When I’m far enough down the coast that he won’t be able to see me, I wade into the surf, letting it lap at my calves. It’s cold. Too cold to be wading. But dusk is still an hour and a half away, and I never get this far into the ocean anymore. I avoid looking at it, being around it.
Too many people died in this ocean.
Steven’s not the only one. An hour down the coast, not far from our old home, is the marina where they found my mom’s body. And now, despite the risks, I’m letting Cole in, inch by inch.
And the scary thing is, this time I know what could happen.
Chapter Twelve
The rain has returned. It’s sprinkling, darkening the sidewalks and streets. I stand under the overhang at the movie theater in town, my hands crammed into the small pockets of my fleece jacket.
I almost didn’t show up. But I just . . . couldn’t seem to force myself to stay home. So, here I am, wearing my best-fitting jeans and a soft cream-colored turtleneck beneath my fleece. I even left my hair down today, falling in waves around my shoulders.
When a familiar black Range Rover pulls into the lot, all sparkle and shine, my nerves begin to dissipate. To my surprise, I calm down as I see him emerge from his car. And by the time he’s walking up to me, I feel my lips curl upward into a grin.
He smiles back at me and reaches out for my hand. “Ah. See, you always did have a devastating smile,” he says.
My cheeks flush, and I break eye contact, looking down at the toe of my scuffed black flats. He gives my hand a squeeze, and then we walk toward the entrance, where he buys two tickets to the comedy playing on the only screen in the place. He orders a huge tub of popcorn and some M&M’s and a soda, and we find a pair of seats in the darkened back corner of the theater. It’s nearly empty, except an older couple toward the front and two girls on the opposite corner.
I settle into my chair near the curtained walls and lean back. Our shoulders bump as the previews roll on- screen. Cole sets the big Coke in the cup holder between us.
“Thanks for showing up,” Cole says, leaning on an elbow as I sink further into my seat.
I nod. “Of course,” I say, as if I hadn’t even considered the idea of standing him up.
“I have to admit, I thought you’d be a no-show.” He grins, and there’s a tinge of nervousness to it.
I turn to him and raise an eyebrow as if I’m surprised, but I don’t think he buys it. “Okay, fine. Maybe I almost stayed home.”
He tips his head to the side, the faintest of smiles playing at the corners of his lips. “I’ll try to pretend that doesn’t kill my ego.”
And then I’m grinning again. Every logical shred of me knows this will never end with a happily ever after, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge that when all I want to do is sit here forever under the heat of his gaze.
Pop music blasts from the speakers, and I tear my eyes away from Cole to see an overarching shot of the
