empty except for Colleen bending near the water’s edge. Her back is to me. She picks up something small and chucks it into the waves. Her blue dress whips around her, catching around her beautiful legs as she repeats the motion again and again. She’s barefoot. Her dark hair flies about her face. Her belly is really starting to swell now; it won’t be long until she’s holding a baby in her arms.
Zigzagging down the wooden stairs, I call her name into the wind.
She turns, her face glowing. Then her shoulders slump as if she’s disappointed that I’ve ruined her alone time. “Detective Shaw! I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I could say the same for you.” I stand firm on the bottom stair, mere inches from the sand. “Are you headed back up?”
Cradling a hand beneath her belly, she picks up a rock, analyzes its curves, then throws it into the sea. “I don’t think so. Michael called Dean in today, and he’s not finished yet. He’s roasting lamb for a late lunch. Joanna’s favorite, of course.”
There’s an unmistakable chill to her tone.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure,” she agrees easily. But she strides in the other direction, down the beach toward the tide pools.
“Damn it,” I mumble, staring at the sand.
With a groan, I heel off my shoes at the bottom of the stairs, roll off my socks, and shove them into the toes of the shoes. I fold up the bottom of my slacks until they’re bunched at the knees. And then I head down, letting my feet sink into the plush mounds of sand. It’s warm on my feet, and although the heat feels good, the damn sand has already worked its way between my toes.
I catch up with Colleen minutes later. She doesn’t seem bothered by the sand at all. It’s covering her feet and ankles, inching up her calves. Hand protectively cupping her stomach, she crouches at the water’s edge and picks up another rock. I stay quiet, watching her roll it in her palm. It’s white and smooth, with a faint purple marking around its edge.
“Purple is a strange color to find out here,” she says, looking up at me. I keep forgetting how very pretty she is. “What do you think caused it?”
“The algae. That rock was most likely chipped off a boulder, and it banged against another rock covered in the stuff. It’s smooth because of the beating it’s taken.” I’d learned that fact from Karen—she loved the beach. She found the ocean calming and peaceful. I’ve always found the sand a pain and the water too cold, too turbulent.
Colleen makes a small, satisfied sound. “Its beauty comes from its struggle.”
“I suppose you could look at it like that.”
Karen used to say the flattest, smoothest rocks skipped the best. I find a rock of my own to throw into the water.
“I can relate to this little guy.” She holds the purple-stained rock in her hand, stroking her fingers over its curves. She doesn’t look at me. “You’ve looked into my background, haven’t you? You know what I’m talking about.”
“I know you grew up in a series of foster homes. That’s about all.”
Even though I know a little bit more, I don’t divulge it now. I’d rather hear what she has to say about her past. People reveal the skeletons in their closets when they feel trusting and unguarded.
“It was hard without my parents,” she says. “It’s hard to explain to someone how important it is to feel wanted, to feel loved unconditionally, unless that person has felt the same void.”
“I’m sorry,” I offer, because I know too well the void she’s talking about.
I pick up another rock. This time, I hand it to her. A peace offering of sorts.
She smiles sweetly as the wind sweeps tendrils of hair back from her face. She’s definitely a beauty—I can see what Michael sees in her. There’s lightness to