“He told me today before you went to his house.”
“And?”
“Make sure you bring a jacket.”
I waited, but she added nothing else. “Are you mad at me for going out with him?”
“No.”
“But you don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“The real question is whether you think it’s a good idea.”
“We’re just friends,” I responded.
She said nothing, but then again, she didn’t have to. Because like me, I realized, she was nervous.
* * *
Confession time: This was my first real dinner date. Oh, I’d met a boy and some friends at a pizza parlor once, and the same boy had taken me to get ice cream, but other than that, I was pretty much a novice when it came to how to act or what I was supposed to say.
Fortunately, it took me all of two seconds to realize that Bryce hadn’t ever been on a dinner date, either, since he was acting even more nervous than I was, at least until we got to the restaurant. He’d splashed on an earthy-smelling cologne and he wore a button-up shirt, rolling the sleeves to his elbows, and—maybe because he knew my clothing options were limited—he was wearing jeans just like I was. The difference was that he could have strolled out of a magazine photo shoot, while I resembled a puffier version of the girl I wanted to be.
As for Howard’s Pub, it was pretty much as I expected, with wooden plank floors and walls decorated with pennants and license plates, and fronted by a crowded, boisterous bar. At the table, we picked up the menus, and less than a minute later, a waitress came by to take our drink orders. We both ordered sweet tea, probably making us the only two who hadn’t come for the pub part in the restaurant’s name.
“My mom says the crab cakes are good here,” Bryce remarked.
“Is that what you’re getting?”
“I’ll probably go with the ribs,” he said. “It’s what I always get.”
“Does your family come here often?”
“Once or twice a year. My parents come more often, whenever they need a break from us kids. Supposedly there are times when we can be a bit overwhelming.”
I smiled. “I’ve been thinking about that cemetery,” I commented. “I’m glad we didn’t take pictures.”
“I never do, mostly because of my grandfather. He was one of those merchant marines that the Bedfordshire was trying to protect.”
“Has he ever talked about the war?”
“Not much, other than to say it was the scariest time of his life. Not only because of the submarines, but also because of the storms in the North Atlantic. He’s been through hurricanes, but the waves in the North Atlantic were beyond terrifying. Of course, before the war, he’d never even set foot on the mainland, so pretty much everything was new to him.”
I tried and failed to imagine a life like that. In the silence, I felt the baby move—that watery pressure again—and my hand automatically went to my stomach.
“The baby?” he asked.
“She’s getting very active,” I said.
He set his menu aside. “I know it’s not my decision or even my business, but I’m glad you decided to put the baby up for adoption and not have an abortion.”
“My parents wouldn’t have let me. I suppose I could have gone to Planned Parenthood or whatever on my own, but the thought never crossed my mind. It’s a Catholic thing.”
“I meant that if you had, you never would have come to Ocracoke and I wouldn’t have had the chance to meet you.”
“You wouldn’t have missed much.”
“I’m pretty sure that I would have missed everything.”
I felt a sudden heat at the back of my neck, but thankfully the waitress arrived with our drinks, rescuing me. We placed our orders—crab cakes for me, ribs for him—and while we sipped our tea, the conversation drifted toward easier, less blush-inducing topics. He described the many places around the United States and Europe he had lived; I related the conversation I’d had with Morgan—which mostly revolved around the stress she was under—and shared stories about Madison and Jodie and some of our girlhood adventures, which really centered around slumber parties and occasional makeup fiascoes. Strangely, I hadn’t thought about Madison or Jodie since the conversation with my mom when we’d walked on the beach. Had anyone suggested before I’d arrived here that they would slip my mind for even a day or two, I wouldn’t have believed them. Who, I wondered, was I becoming?
Our salads arrived, then our meals, as Bryce discussed the grueling application process to West Point. He’d received recommendations from both of North Carolina’s U.S. senators, which sort of amazed me—but he said that even if he hadn’t gotten in, he would have gone to another university, then entered the army as an officer after graduation.
“And then the Green Beret thing?”
“Or Delta, which is another step up. If I qualify, I mean.”
“Aren’t you afraid of getting killed?” I asked.
“No.”
“How can you not be afraid?”
“I don’t think about it.”
I knew I’d think about it all the time. “What about after the military? Have you ever thought about what you want to do then? Would you want to be a consultant like your dad?”
“Not a chance. If it was possible, I’d follow in my mom’s footsteps and try to do some travel photography. I think it would be cool to go to remote places and tell stories with my pictures.”
“How do you even get a job doing that?”
“I have no idea.”
“You could always go into dog training. Daisy’s doing much better lately at not wandering off.”
“It would be too hard to give the dogs away over and over. I get too attached.”
I realized that I’d be sad, too. “I’m glad you’re bringing her to the house, then. So you can see her as much as possible before she leaves.”
He rotated his glass of tea. “Would you mind if I stopped to pick her up tonight?”
“What? For the surprise?”
“I think she’d have fun.”
“What are we doing? Can you at least give me a hint?”
He thought about it. “Don’t order dessert.”
“That doesn’t help.”
I saw the slightest of twinkles in his eyes. “Good.”
* * *
After dinner, we drove to Bryce’s house, where we found his parents and the twins watching a documentary on the Manhattan Project, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. After loading an excited Daisy into the bed, we were back on the road and it didn’t take long before I knew where we were going. The road led to only one place.
“The beach?”
When he nodded, I peered at him. “We’re not going in the water, right? Like that opening scene in Jaws, where the lady goes out swimming and gets eaten by a shark? Because if that’s your plan, you can turn around now.”
“The water’s too cold to go swimming.”
Instead of stopping in the parking area, he made for a gap in the dunes, then turned onto the sand and began driving down the beach.