He reseated himself. A look of concern creased his features as he squinted against the bright sunlight. “You know, I don’t even know if you like to swim?”
So much you don’t truly know about me yet, Martin. And when you do know . . . will you still want to spend time with me?
“Do you?” he said. “Like to swim, I mean?”
I laughed uneasily. But the world had tilted sideways, and my own laugh sounded like an ugly little noise in my brain. A memory reared a demon head. It crashed in a salty wave through my being. I felt Chloe’s hand in mine. I felt her slipping. I cleared my throat. “I don’t feel like going in. But you go. I’ll watch.”
“It’s cooking hot,” he said. “Look at you. You’re glowing with sweat. Pink in the face. Tell me you don’t need to cool off?”
Conflict tangled with anxiety and a desire to please him. On the back of it rode a desperation to rid myself of these black thoughts that always came when I considered going back into the sea. I craved the freedom of swimming in the ocean again, yet I was terrified of the feelings and triggers that came with the notion.
“Come.” He reached for my hand and drew me to my feet, this solid, golden, naked man. “No waves. No currents. No sharks or anything. It’s a lagoon, El. It’s only waist-deep—shoulder deep at max. I’ll hold you if you’re scared.”
No waves. No waves, no waves, no strong currents.
“I . . . I used to swim,” I said. “A lot. I was a good swimmer. I was on a team at school . . .” My voice faded as I stared at the expanse of saltwater lagoon. I heard waves booming, but they were in the distance, way out at the reef. They were also in my memory, thundering away. He tried to lead me to the water, but I resisted. Couldn’t help it.
He frowned, hesitated, then said, “Okay. Sit. Talk to me, El.” He seated himself on the mat and drew me down next to him.
Thighs touching, we sat in silence for a long while. The sun rose higher, into its zenith. I sweated. He was patient. If I wanted to be with him—and I believed I did—I needed to tell him, because he’d find out eventually.
“I know, Ellie,” he said gently. “I know about Waimea Bay and what happened there.”
I closed my eyes. Emotion burned. Of course he fucking knew. I’d googled him after I’d met him. And after I told him I was a Hartley—who wouldn’t have pulled up some of the old news stories? He’d probably been waiting for me to tell him myself. On my own terms. Once more, I felt like a total stupid asshole of an idiot.
“There are no waves here,” he said again. “But I understand if you don’t want to go in.” He moved hair behind my ear because I’d allowed it to fall forward to hide my shame. “It’s the ocean that brings it back, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“Grief is a funny thing, you know.”
“I know. Except some people just seem to get over it and move on.”
“Sometimes it just appears that way on the outside.”
“Yeah. But . . . I . . . maybe it’s because I feel guilt. About not having been a better mother. My old therapist figured unresolved guilt sets us up for poor bereavement prognosis. So maybe that’s what happened.”
“Do you want to tell me in your words what happened?”
I looked out over the sun-sparkled water. So peaceful. Tranquil. “Her name was Chloe,” I said softly. I flicked him a glance. “But you know that, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“Then you know she was just three.” I paused. It was actually easier saying the words to Martin than I’d thought it would be. He had a way about him that made me want to give, to tell, to be open. He was a good listener and exuded no sense of judgment. “We—Doug, my ex-husband, Chloe’s father—went on a holiday to Hawaii. It was supposed to be one of those wonderful family times. My father and his then-new girlfriend were to join us, and Doug’s parents were already there. We—Doug and I and his parents—rented cars and drove around to the north side of Oahu, where we stopped at Waimea Bay, which is well known for surfing.”
He nodded. But let me work through it, word by word.
“The sea was this incredible indigo, flecked with white foam. Like scallops of lace on water.” I stared at the lagoon and listened to the distant boom of surf on the reef. Sweat pooled under my breasts, trickled down my sides. “Utterly cloudless sky. Hot. So hot. We’d bought a pineapple, and stopped at the beach to eat it. There was a fair-sized group on the beach. Lifeguards. People swimming between the flags. Swells big, but rounded and smooth. A small shore break.” I paused, gathering myself.
“Doug went in, bodysurfing. But someone needed to watch Chloe, so I stayed on the beach with her. It was nearing noon. Fierce sun. Too hot for Doug’s mom, so she and Doug’s dad drove on to find a place for lunch. Doug stayed out in the water forever. Chloe was getting irritable and I wanted to swim, too. It was always Doug who . . .” My words faded. I cleared my throat.
“I decided to take her in. There were others with children in the water. There were lifeguards. We stayed in the shallows. It was fun, floating, laughing, bouncing over the small waves. We went in a bit deeper. Then I suddenly lost my footing. There was a dip in the ocean floor, and I found myself treading water, out of my depth. I held Chloe afloat and began to scissor kick back to the beach, but I realized I was in the grip of a current. Powerful. It seemed to come out of nowhere. I kicked my legs harder while holding Chloe up. She was giggling but I’d
