On this sunny day, locals and tourists filled the beach: families on blankets; parents keeping watchful eyes on their children, some of whom were naked, all of whom were smiling brightly. There were men with long hair, wearing peace symbol necklaces, and several men in khaki shorts, their hair buzzed to regulation length, standing at a lava-rock beach bar with a thatched roof. SEASHELL SNACK BAR AND COCKTAILS read the sign.
Out in the ocean, she saw kids on surfboards, bobbing on the incoming swells. It made her think of Finley, made her miss him acutely. That’s your wave, doll. Paddle harder. She let out a long breath; it had become a kind of goodbye, her way of releasing her grief just enough to keep going.
She stripped down to her bathing suit and walked into the sea. The water was warmer than she was used to in California, but still cool. Sunshine sparkled on the surface. She swam beyond the low, incoming curl of surf and flipped onto her back in the calm swells.
Eyes closed, she felt almost young again, a girl floating on waves with the sun streaming down on her.
Finally, she left the water and staked out a patch of sand—all by herself, no one around—and laid out her towel.
Eyes shielded by her boonie hat and big round sunglasses, she drifted to sleep, slept deeply, and woke with the sun lowered in the sky. She sat up, brought her knees up, and stared out to sea. Treasured images came to her, of Finley paddling out on his surfboard, waving his hand, telling her to catch up. Of them on the beach, bouncing uncomfortably on the backs of their rental horses, Finley muttering something about the family jewels. And the sunsets they’d watched together as they spun out their childish dreams and talked about their future.
“Can I buy you a drink, ma’am?”
Frankie shook herself free of the memories and looked up. A young man stood in front of her, shirtless, wearing khaki shorts and a military belt. A SEMPER FI tattoo covered the top left quadrant of his chest. She could tell by his eyes that he’d been in-country, maybe in the bush. She wondered how long the men would wear that haunted, hunted look. She hated to let him down. “Sorry, Marine. I came here for the quiet. Stay safe.”
He turned away, no doubt scouting the beach for another girl to approach.
Frankie began to feel the sting of a sunburn and noticed how pink her legs were. How long had she been out here?
She heard someone else coming her way. She should have gone farther down the beach, away from the snack bar. This time she didn’t look up. “I’m fine alone, thanks.”
“Are you?”
She slowly looked up, lowered her big round sunglasses.
Rye.
He stood at ease, his hands clasped behind him. He wore multicolored shorts and a pale blue T-shirt that read LIVE TO SURF, but no one would mistake him for a surfer, not with his military posture and built-up muscles and unfashionably short hair.
“This is quite a coincidence,” Frankie said.
“It’s no coincidence. I worked hard to get you to take R and R.”
“So you’re the little bird who ratted me out. Why?”
“To see you.”
“Rye, I told you—”
“I broke off my engagement.”
That stopped her. “You did?”
“I couldn’t pretend anymore, not after Tet. Life is short, and…” He paused. “There’s something between us, Frankie. Tell me you don’t feel it and I’ll walk away.”
Frankie stood up to face him.
“Say you don’t want me.” The way he said it revealed an unexpected vulnerability.
There was no way in the world she could flirt with him or lie. “I can’t say that,” she said evenly.
He finally released a breath. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
She knew it wasn’t just dinner he wanted; she wanted more, too. Still, he was Rye Walsh, the rule-breaker who’d pushed her brother into trouble more than once （not that Finley needed much help in that regard）， and she knew she wouldn’t be safe with a man like him. But he was still an officer, and hopefully a gentleman. “You broke off your engagement? You swear it?”
“I swear I’m not engaged.”
Frankie stared at him, felt a spark of excitement, like coming alive after a long hibernation. “Dinner sounds great.”
* * *
Frankie stood in line at the pay phone for thirty minutes. In the past year, she’d called stateside only twice: on Christmas and her mother’s birthday.
Barb answered on the second ring, sounded harried and distracted. “Hello?”
“Barb! It’s me.”