Because I know his work will take a while, I turn my kayak and paddle farther up the shore. We’re alone today, having driven several hours north, and the solitude is like balm to my spirit. My new kayak splits the water with ease, and I’m so glad I decided to buy my own rather than always depending on Ford’s shitty spare. I’ve become adept at working the waves, and rolling is practically second nature to me now. Ford is amazed with how quickly I’ve taken to the sport, and, quite frankly, I am, too.
Conquering fear is fiercely intoxicating, and I find myself wanting more and more of that heady feeling. The wild rush it brings, whether it’s fighting waves or stealing a dog right out of someone’s yard or having sex in front of my neighbor… Flirting with risk, dancing with danger? It makes me feel alive.
I roll my kayak now, just because I can, and when I pop back up and swipe the water from my eyes, I see Ford bobbing along the surface, his camera trained my way. He motions for me to come back, and then starts for the shore. By the time I pull my kayak out of the water, he’s already got a fire going and is busy unpacking our lunch. Gus, whose long lead was tied to a large piece of driftwood, has been let loose and is prancing at his feet.
“That was quick,” I say, peeling off my wetsuit. Gus notices me and rushes over, starts licking the water dripping down my legs. I nudge him away with my foot.
Ford pauses in his task, watching me undress and then arching a brow at my skimpy bikini. Clearing his throat, he pries the lid off the container of sandwiches he made before we left and waits while I slip into a pair of jean shorts before offering me one. I take it, and he grunts, shrugging. “Just didn’t feel like working today.”
“Is that so?” I sink down onto the blanket he laid out, cross my legs, and take a bite. “Mmm, these are amazing. What’s the dressing? It tastes like…” I lick my lips, trying to decipher the flavor.
“It’s a special sauce. My mom’s secret recipe. So basically, if I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He takes a bite of his own sandwich and smirks, and I roll my eyes, which makes him laugh. “But seriously, I just figured why work when I could be spending this beautiful day with my gorgeous, sexy, amazing girlfriend.”
My insides swell so much at this that I’m surprised I don’t burst, bloody guts everywhere. I remain calm, however. Calm, cool, and collected. “Well,” I say, tearing off a piece of my sandwich, “I, for one, thoroughly support that idea.”
We spend the rest of the day in the water and lounging on the beach, drinking and eating and making out like we’re twenty instead of (well, in my case) nearing forty. The lake is cold, but the sun is hot, and when it starts to dip below the horizon, I coax Ford back to our blanket and tug off his shorts, taking him into my mouth and making him moan. By the time the stars make an appearance, we’re out of breath, exhausted but satisfied, and the sweat coating our bodies reflect their subtle shine. The temperature has dipped, but pressed skin to skin, we’re warm.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy.
It’s so deserted up here, in this northern territory that’s so wild it’s like humanity doesn’t exist, has never existed. Though, remarkably, nothing about it is lonely. The isolation is soothing, comforting, and it’s as if something inside of me has been subdued. The urge to pursue, to rush, to devour and consume, consume, consume has been numbed, sedated entirely, and if I could spend the rest of my days here on this beach with Ford – and hell, even Gus – and never run the risk of seeing another soul, I would. In a goddamn heartbeat.
People, man. They’re so overrated.
My stomach pulls a little when I realize that this would also include Hollis. That by wishing away society, I would also be banishing any chance of reuniting with him. Granted, I know there’s really no possible way that Ford and I could stay here forever, alone in a bubble unpierced by the outside world. It was only a musing, a whimsical fantasy based on an amazing day and the promise of an even more amazing night.
But really, who of us doesn’t wish that, when away on vacation, we could stop time altogether, thus escaping the humdrum monotony of our daily lives? The few vacations that Nicholas and I have taken together have felt more like everyday life than not; he spent half of the day working and the other half thinking about work. Rarely was I allotted even an hour of his undivided attention, and asking him to turn off his phone or sign out of his laptop would have invited an argument. So, no. While traveling with my husband, I never once felt the unbridled sensation of complete escape.
And in all the years that Hollis and I were together, we could never afford to take a real, honest-to-goodness vacation. Every now and then, we’d take a road trip, driving a few hours to a neighboring town where we’d visit the local dive bar, eat too much greasy food and drink too much watered-down beer, and then drive back, buzzed and content.
Those times were fun, sure. But they were child’s play, the misadventures of a couple of teens who’d barely breached adulthood. And while I remember each trip, each jaunt, it’s hard to invoke the carefree feelings that went along with them.
But I’m feeling so much now. So much right now, more than I’ve felt in years. It’s pain turned to numbness turned to…peace. And that void that’s been sitting inside of me for so long, containing nothing and everything at the same time, is slowly being consumed by it.
But the fact that I can remember Hollis, call him up at all right now, tells me that this thing with Ford is simply a crush and nothing more. That even though it may feel like I’m teetering on the brink of love, it’s just my deprived imagination running away with me.
I’m needy. Desperately needy after being ignored for so long.
And I need to watch that. Desperate people do, well, desperate things, and I can’t afford to fuck this up.
But I can afford to relax and enjoy myself.
Self-care, ladies. It’s important.
I kick my leg over his and nuzzle my cheek deeper into his chest, appreciating the way it rises and falls with each breath. Ford is life, and I want to suck as much of it from him as I can. Lifting my head, I reach up and nibble at his ear. But I can tell, in the delicate way he slants away from my lips, that he’s in a talking mood rather than a fucking mood.
I prefer the latter. But if I have to indulge one to get the other, I’ll do it.
The man is just that good.
And me? A fifteen-year dry spell has turned me into an addict. One taste of the good stuff and I can’t get enough.
I bite back a sigh and settle in for the long haul, reeling in my urges and preparing for quality time. Ford loves quality time, loves connecting. He’s the most curious man I’ve ever met, always wanting to know about me, more about me, everything about me. And it’s disconcerting, because I’ve bounced back and forth between truths and falsehoods, fibs and confessions so much that it’s hard keeping it all straight. With Ford, I’m the Becca Cabot that both was and never was, along with the Rebecca Cabot Crane I wish I could be.
Tonight, he’s asking me about my family, a topic that throws me off guard, and before I can fabricate something better, the truth slips out. “We’re not close.”
I feel a sting when I say this, a sharp pinch deep in my gut. It’s not regret. Nor is it sadness. But there’s always a feeling of, just, wrongness when I think of my family, of the living ones and the dead. And the missing one. Can’t forget about him.