hand along the shore, like in the movies. Afterward we sat in the dunes for a while, watching the waves and the sinking sun while I sipped hot coffee from a flask Martin had brought in a small backpack. He didn’t want any.
“I had a mug before leaving home,” he said.
The surfers off the point were having a rough time in the crashing waves, most of them heading back into shore as the sun lowered. I thought of Chloe drowning at a famous surfing beach. Memories of Doug resurfaced. Our old life, the old me, seemed so far away. What had happened to me? Who was I now?
What had I come to?
It’s not forever, Ellie. You’re here for an adventure. You came because you fell in love with this man and want to share his dream.
I glanced at him. His profile. His strength. His substance. He turned to me and smiled, and I glimpsed his dimples, the Martin I loved again. Yet the eerie sensation lingered that I’d made a mistake.
My mind turned to the brochure with my dad’s name on it. The deception. I opened my mouth to mention it again, but bit back the words, preferring to avoid confrontation again, at least for now. I’d circle back later when I’d fully recovered from this weird jet lag and thickness in my head.
“What are you thinking?” he said.
“I . . . I was thinking about maybe trying to go back into the waves.” I surprised myself—the words just tumbled out of my mouth, and the idea took hold. “Perhaps if I did—if I faced my fear of rough water, it would clear some of the mental blocks I’ve got around losing Chloe. That swim in the Cook Islands was like a first step. Maybe . . . maybe I am ready for the next.”
He observed me intently. “Perhaps you’re right, El. Maybe you should try.”
I nodded. “Maybe. Eventually.”
“You might stop blaming yourself for Chloe’s death.”
My gaze flared to his. Acid burned into my throat. It was fine for me to say, but out of his mouth it veered toward accusatory.
“It must have been so awful when they found her little body . . . The police questioning you on top of it all, as if they thought you could be guilty. As if you could have let her go on purpose.”
Perhaps Martin did believe I was to blame.
“Yeah,” I said quietly, darkly.
He fell silent, and I sensed tension continuing to build around him. After a few moments: “I saw all the pills, Ellie.”
“You shouldn’t have gone through my things,” I said, facing the sea.
Waves crashed. The wind turned cool and blew harder.
“Is that why the wine went to your head so fast yesterday?” he asked. “Is that why you passed out—because you drank on top of more meds?”
I positioned my coffee cup in the sand. I wanted to come clean. I wanted nothing to hide between us. I glanced at him. His eyes were as blue as the sky behind him. It felt as though I were looking right through his head into the heavens. He looked worried, concerned.
“Look, maybe I shouldn’t have unpacked your things. I’m sorry. But I was just trying to help, trying to make you feel welcome. I thought you’d be grateful. And once I saw the pills I couldn’t unsee them.”
I nodded.
“That Ativan—it’s a benzodiazepine. Benzos are highly addictive. I mean, highly.” He paused. “Ellie, I know you’ve had problems in the past, but I thought you were good now.”
“I am. I stopped the pills. Honest. But my fear of flying remains a problem, and I need some meds to avoid a full-blown panic attack in the air.” I hesitated. “The last time I had an anxiety attack the pilot had to make an emergency landing. The crew thought I was having a heart attack. I just couldn’t have that happening again, especially while flying on my own.”
He regarded me in silence for a while. “You took benzos on our Europe and Vegas trips?”
I nodded. “Small doses. And only for flying. But I was worried about coming here with a new medical system and . . . having to go through a new doctor and . . .” My words faded.
“You were afraid of a relapse? And you wanted to feel secure, with a big backup supply?”
“Maybe. I think so. And in case we have to fly somewhere again.”
He pursed his lips and studied the sea for a long while. “What are the side