What? “No. I put it on hold.”
“And I helped make it okay.”
The half-defeated, half-determined tone of her voice is making me nervous. “Addison—”
She’s already moving. “I have to go.”
“Wait.” Halfway down the stairs, she turns, framed by the foyer, chandelier above and a hand poised on the railing. I get this odd déjà vu feeling, like I’ve seen this image before. Or maybe I’ve dreamed it. “Yes?”
“When am I going to see you?” I’m shouting and I don’t care who hears me. “Or are you just cutting me off.”
“Even best friends don’t see each other every single day.” She laughs, but it falls flat. “Just…can I have a little time?”
Time to do what? After a dead string of seconds, I nod, no choice but to agree. When the door closes behind her, the energy in the house drops and scatters…and I can’t shake the certainty that nothing will be the same next time I see her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Addison
As we live and breathe.
Was that Getaway Girl getting cozy in the mayor’s house…without the mayor?
Looks like someone dug for gold and struck pay dirt.
—TheTea.com
I snag the canvas rope looped around the front of the kayak and tug it down the beach, toward the water of the Cooper River. With the oar in my other hand, I definitely look like a bowlegged penguin, but so does everyone else launching into the river today. So at least I’m in good company.
“You sure you know what you’re doing, now, ma’am?” calls the fortyish rental guy behind me. “I can take you out the first time, if you’re not sure.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say over my shoulder. “I’ve done this before.”
Okay, so I watched a YouTube tutorial, but it was really detailed.
I stop at the edge of the river and take a deep breath, trying to remember when kayaking went from potential future activity to my current situation. Probably around the four-day mark of not seeing Elijah. Sounds about right.
Upon calling the phone number written on the kayaking brochure I discovered in my grandmother’s copy of the The Remains of the Day, I found out it belonged to a rental hut at Remley’s Point. It took a little convincing to make them go through their records, but it had been worth it. I found out my grandmother had indeed rented from them frequently.
Check you out, woman. A secret kayaker.
The Christmas apartment makes me feel close to her. But it’s enclosed by walls and crammed so full of distractions and noise, I wondered if thinking of her would feel different in a wide open space, seeing the same sights she passed, listening to the water ripple.
It was the perfect chance to remember my grandmother and do something different, at the same time. Something that doesn’t involve my job, my old apartment or my new—temporary—mansion. All those things remind me of Elijah, though. And if I’m going to reclaim at least some of my heart from the man, I need new. I need exciting.
I need to risk injury or death.
Today, I’m marking a full week since I left Elijah standing on the staircase of his home, furniture that another woman picked out being positioned around him. There have been traces of him, of course. Such as my favorite foods showing up in the pantry. And my shoe shelf, which I hadn’t had a chance to detach and lug to the mansion yet, appearing beside the entry door.
Do I miss him?
No. No, I just feel like a field that hasn’t soaked in any rain or sunshine in a month. That’s all. I thought some time and distance might dull the effect of him, but it’s not helping. My mind keeps inventing excuses to show up with groceries at the apartment, cook dinner and pretend like nothing ever happened. Like I can’t still feel his mouth moving on mine, his hands all over my body. Or hear his warm voice, his wry jokes, the way he sometimes calls me sugar when he’s feeling sweet. Goose when he’s teasing me.
I place my backpack in the kayak, careful not to jostle the contents. I remove my shoes and socks, stowing them in the hull, as well. Then I push it out into knee-deep water and step inside, muttering a thank you when the rental guy appears beside me to study the vessel while I climb in. He gives me a push and…I’m off. I’m actually moving, cutting through the faint chop of blue. There’s hardly any wind today, but here and there, a breath will lift the hair off my neck. I’m just grateful it’s not enough to knock me off balance, because my body is already straining under the effort of not tilting the kayak too far in one direction. The sun beats down, occasionally blocked by puffy white clouds. And when I start to lose myself in the stroking rhythm of the paddle, I remind myself why I’m here.