Of course nothing said we couldn’t climb out there. The French don’t care if you’re an idiot, risking your life scrambling over slippery, slime-covered rocks. And should you die, any French court of law would say it’s your own fault for being stupid.
“Cranwell…” I dug my heels into those rocks just as far as they would go.
“Freddie!” He let go of my hand in exasperation. “What are you afraid of?”
“Heights. Drowning. Strong tidal currents. Undertows. Hypothermia. Breaking my head open and having to watch my brains leak out.”
He broke into laughter, placed a hand behind my head, and pulled it close so he could kiss my forehead. “Is that all?” Then he pulled the tips of my coat collar up around my neck. “I’ll take care of you.”
And in that instant, he sounded so much like Peter that I couldn’t help but offer my hand when he extended his.
He was able to push and pull me over a trash heap of huge tumbled boulders before I balked at the sight of what lay ahead.
“Don’t look, Freddie.” The words were whispered in my ear.
Grasping at Cranwell’s hand, I gave it a violent squeeze. “If I don’t look, I’ll fall.”
“I mean don’t look at the waves, just look at the rocks below your feet. They’re not going anywhere.”
Ahead of us, the rocks abruptly gave way to the ocean, plunging downward at ninety degrees. In between the tip of the point and where I was standing was a half-cauldron filled with angry sea that crashed into the rocks sixty feet below us to send spray shooting up. Relentlessly, it fell back, gathered strength, to begin another assault. I could feel the vibrations of those onslaughts in my chest. The only way forward was to skirt the semicircle of the cliff. One misstep meant certain death or dismemberment… maybe both.
“Step where I step.”
“Cranwell-” Before I could stop him, he’d jumped forward onto another rock.
I looked back from where we’d come. Forward toward Cranwell. He was looking still forward to that beckoning jut of rock at the very tip of the point. Then his shoulders dropped and he hopped his way back to me. “Never mind.”
“Go. I’ll wait here.” I sat down, leaning back against the rock above me. “I’ll be fine.”
He helped me up by the elbow. “Let’s go back.”
As he raised me to my feet, I looked up into his eyes, and instantly, I knew I couldn’t, wouldn’t, turn back. So I let him help me up and then ducked around him and started picking my way forward along the edge of the cliff.
How I did it, I’ll never know, but the image of the top of my boots is indelibly etched in my memory. As I crested that final rock, a spray of salt water came spurting up from the sea.
Caught off guard, I threw up my hands against the cold wetness and teetered on the spine of the rock.
I felt strong hands grip my shoulders.
Turning, I saw Cranwell beside me. He slipped an arm around my waist to steady me. “We did it.”
“We did.”
We stayed there, enjoying the reward of our labor. Before us, beyond a lonely lighthouse, the sea stretched, endless, and merged with the mist. Somewhere out there was the Ile de Seine, portal to druidic paradise, but according to my eyes, before and beside us was nothing. We were truly standing on the last piece of continental soil. The last stanchion against the ocean. Several times we were drenched by spray, but the sensation of being the last two people in the world was so strong that we were powerless to turn back. And when the spell had finally dissipated, I found myself bound much tighter in Cranwell’s clasp than I would have chosen to be.
We turned around and headed back toward the mainland. The return seemed much easier than the hike out to the point had been.
When we’d passed the worst of the slippery boulders and when the danger of falling into the ocean had passed, Cranwell stepped up onto a boulder beside me and gave me a half hug. “Thanks.”
Not needing him to know that I’d almost had a heart attack from fear of heights, I shrugged as if it were nothing. Still, it had felt exhilarating to stand on the edge of the continent. If I’d had to decide right then, I would have said I was glad I’d done it.
As we sped back to the hotel, I began working on my hair. I figured it would take at least an hour to pull all the knots from it. Much as I had enjoyed the sea spray, it had only served to lacquer the tangles together.
Cranwell glanced over at me. “Don’t comb them out. Let’s go back tonight.”
Working on a particularly stubborn knot, I frowned. “I’m sure the park closes at sunset.”
“It doesn’t matter. We can hike in.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“Nonsense.”
Although I was proud of myself, as far as hiking out to the point went, once was definitely enough. “Why can’t we just go out for dinner like normal people?”
“Because there’s nothing to be gained by living an ordinary life.”
The knot wouldn’t budge. “I’m not hiking back out to the tip of the point.”
“I’m not asking you to. I just want to see what it looks like in the moonlight.”
Oh, please. I threw him a sharp glance. He wasn’t usually so cheesy.
Finally, I jabbed my fingers into the knot and pulled downward in desperation. It didn’t even budge. Cranwell had a point; if we went back out, it would be a waste of time to untangle everything.
“What do you say?”
“Fine. Let’s do it.”
Dressing warmly for our evening adventure, I wore nearly everything I’d brought: a cotton turtleneck under a jewel-toned wool crew neck. It was one Peter had bought for me in Peru. I pulled tights on before I slipped into wool flannel pants, then tugged on the same lug-soled leather boots I’d worn earlier that day. Gloves and a hat were tucked into the pockets of my pea coat.
Cranwell met up with me in the hallway. He had a wool scarf tossed around his neck and underneath his black coat, he wore a roll-neck sweater and those tight-fitting jeans.
“Don’t you think you’ll slip and slide in those?” I was looking pointedly at his black loafers.
He held up a pair of well-worn hiking boots he’d kept hidden behind his back. Smiling, he gestured me ahead of him and down the stairs.
We ate dinner at a creperie. Defying logic, this creperie, like all the others I’d visited in France, took forever to serve our dinner. I can make a crepe in three minutes; two crepes take me ten minutes at the most. And between the two of us, two crepes are all that we’d ordered.
Did I mention that we were the only customers in the restaurant?
It felt very naughty to step over the chain that roped off the park from the main road.
“Do you think there’s a guard?” His question might have sounded cautious, but Cranwell was already out in front, leading the way at a quick pace.
“No. This is Europe. If you want to be stupid and kill yourself, they don’t care.”
Cranwell broke his stride to look over his shoulder at me. “Then come on.”
At his prodding I started moving again, grabbing onto the hand he was holding out to me. It made me feel more safe. “Can’t we walk in the shadows?”
“Why? You just said there’s probably no one here.”
“Just in case.”
Cranwell relented, and we walked to the left toward the shade offered by the shelter of the restrooms. As we were engulfed by the shadows, I began to feel better. It was a beautiful night. We could hear the surf pounding the distant rocks, the full moon shone bright, and the stars were out in scores.
But then I heard something. Stopping suddenly, I pulled his hand to my side. Then I dragged him toward the building. “Someone’s coming.”
He stopped for a moment and listened, his eyes directed toward the left.
My loose hand found a fistful of his jacket.
He placed me behind his back, sheltering me against the wall.
Involuntarily, my hands wended themselves through his arms and around his waist. My eyes tightly shut, I tried to distinguish human sounds from the relentless assault of the surf. I could hear nothing but the beating of my heart.
