Part of me said to go literally anywhere else. The beach ended practically at his door. But there was nowhere else to go. I wasn’t confident enough to go into the woods myself with the vanishing trail, and the road into town didn’t have much of a shoulder. I just had to hope he wouldn’t be doing the same thing as me.
Or maybe hope he would. I didn’t know.
There was a fog on the beach, which should have burned off by then but lingered, mirroring the haze of my mood. Ducking into the Inn, I grabbed a to-go iced coffee and took it with me onto the deserted beach. I walked about halfway down the beach, carrying my shoes in one hand, the coffee in the other, until I was just past the island, then I sat in the sand. I put the coffee down and wrapped my arms around my raised knees, staring out at the fog-covered waves, the island barely visible, and wondered what was wrong with me.
I knew the answer better than anyone else did. I was terrified. If I didn’t let Joe in, he couldn’t hurt me. If I never got comfortable, no one could pull the rug out from under me again.
But had it really been Brad who set me adrift? Or had I done that to myself?
I put my head on my knees and sat like that for a long time, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when everything had gone wrong. Was it when Brad ended things? Was it when I let my friendships with people who weren’t “our” friends deteriorate? Was it even before that?
How did I go from that picture of me that Joe liked, happy and carefree, to this girl who was too scared to take a chance on someone incredible?
It was stupid. I was stupid. Sofia even told me he liked me. But what chance was there? I lived 475 miles away from him. I was still married. And there was the ghost, real or imagined, of his dead wife to contend with, even if we worked our way through unpacking my baggage. How could we possibly overcome all of that?
I didn’t come up with any answers.
But when I eventually rose, my legs stiff, and pulled my phone from my pocket, more than two hours had passed. Just like the previous six months. And the six years before that. My shoulders drooped as I picked up my shoes and the barely touched coffee, the ice melted and sand stuck to the condensation on the cup, to walk back toward the cottage.
I had just turned onto the cottage’s street when my phone vibrated. For a split second I let myself hope. Then I saw my grandmother’s picture on the screen.
“Hey. I’m almost back.”
“Jenna,” she panted. My eyes widened. “I—” She was breathing heavily, and I started to run up the hill.
“I’ll be there in a second. What happened? Are you okay?”
“Not—at the cottage—took the car.”
I stopped short as I reached the cottage. The car was nowhere to be seen. Oh no.
“Where are you?”
“Salem.”
“Salem! Okay. I—I’ll get there somehow.” I took a deep breath. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” she said finally. “I just had a little spell and don’t think I should drive back.”
You shouldn’t have driven at all, I thought. And a little spell could mean anything from dizziness to a stroke or a heart attack with her. And admitting she couldn’t drive back—she had to be in rough shape. I asked for exactly where she was, and she named the shops she could see around her.
Then I took another deep breath and called Joe.
He didn’t answer.
I tried again. Still no answer.
Then I texted him. My grandma drove to Salem, and something happened. She took the car. Need your help. Please.
The phone rang a moment later.
“Where are you?”
“At the cottage.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I ran inside to grab my purse, stopping to take her bottle of heart medication just in case, then jogged down the hill to meet him.
He stopped the car when he saw me, and I climbed into the passenger seat. He made a three-point turn and peeled out to get us to the main road. “Where in Salem?” I told him, and he nodded, knowing where he was going. “Is she okay?”
“She said yes. But she said she couldn’t drive back, so probably not. I don’t know.”
He drove a little faster.
“Joe, I—”
His head shook. “Please don’t.”
I stopped talking, and we rode in silence the rest of the way, me chewing on my cuticles out of fear of what condition we’d find her in.
When we arrived, she was sitting on a bench under a store awning, clutching her handbag and looking pale. I jumped out of the car practically before it had stopped, and Joe parked illegally at the curb, then came around as well.