“Yeah. I’ve lived here my whole life, but I don’t come down to the beach nearly often enough. The ocean always seems so much bigger and louder up close.”
We stood there, side-by-side, admiring the vast sea for a long moment. I exhaled hard, letting a little more tension go. I still felt rather…fragile, but not quite so ready to shatter. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“Anytime.” Shifting the flashlight to his hand with the bag, Adam took my hand and gave it a firm squeeze right as my stomach growled even louder than the roar of the waves crashing against the rocks. I laughed, and so did he. “You sure you don’t want to try eating something?”
“I guess I could try.” I took a seat on a long piece of driftwood a ways back from the surf.
Handing me a wrapped package, Adam sat down next to me. “It’s a sandwich. One of Logan’s new specials. Lots of grilled vegetables. You’ll like it.”
“You take such good care of me.” I offered him what I hoped passed for a smile.
“I try. And that’s my job.” He bumped my shoulder. “The Daddy part of me never completely shuts off, especially around you.”
“Well, you’re good at it.” I took another small bite. The sandwich offered an explosion of flavors—tangy sourdough, sweet peppers and zucchini, savory pesto. I knew I’d feel better having eaten, even if I was struggling to fully appreciate Logan’s masterpiece. “Thanks for bringing the food. And thanks for not making me talk.”
“I’m here when you’re ready, but also if you’re not.” Adam leaned forward, hands on his knees and gaze on the ocean, not me. “I grew up with a mom and a sister always wanting me to air my feelings. I get that some things aren’t easy to talk about. Sometimes a person just wants to be not alone without a bunch of questions. I’ve been there.”
“Yeah.” That was it exactly. I didn’t want to be alone, but I also didn’t want to unpack everything in my head. Not yet. Maybe not at all.
After I finished eating, we slowly made our way back up the beach, light rapidly fading now. We didn’t hurry though. I had Adam and the flashlight. We could afford to go slow.
“If I was going to talk, I’d talk to you,” I said as we approached the trail. “You’re so easy to talk to. Even about the hard stuff.”
“It’s all that time hearing Mom and Ramona and their troubles. Good practice for all my time listening to our customers.” Adam laughed, then sobered and grabbed my hand again. “Seriously, though, I like listening to you way more than all the others, even the hard parts of your stories. You’re not going to scare me away with something too heavy.”
“I’m not worried about being too sad for you,” I admitted as we started the climb back up to the road. Having to concentrate on my footing made it easier, to be honest. “I’m not really sad.”
“No?” Adam didn’t sound particularly surprised. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay.”
“I’m more mad. So mad.” I grabbed at the scrubby grass as we scrambled up the path. “And I hate that anger. It’s…there’s no point.”
“Sure there is. It means you care.”
“Too damn much.” I skidded a little and Adam reached out to steady me.
“Your caring is one of the best things about you,” he countered, keeping a hand on my elbow. “But it’s totally okay to get angry. Sucks that they couldn’t get you a helicopter fast enough.”
I let out a raw sound, and suddenly the words that I’d held at bay tumbled free. “I shouldn’t be so mad. That’s just life out here in small towns. Sometimes someone else needs life flight first. Not enough resources to go around. No one’s fault. And sometimes we do everything right, and we still lose. Fuck. I hate when we lose.”
“I know. I hate it for you.” At the top of the trail, Adam peered deeply into my eyes, last of the light giving him a soft purple glow. “But you tried. That matters.”
“Yeah. There’s value in trying. I hate when it’s not enough, but I do think we make a difference. That’s a big part of why I practice medicine. Though I can’t help liking it more when we get a win.”
“Of course, you like to win. Everyone does,” Adam said as we picked our way back toward the condo complex.
“I’m sorry. That sounded like so much ego. But I like when I can tell death to fuck off. Not today, fucker.”
“That’s it. You tell death off.” Adam laughed hard, probably because I so rarely cursed, but there was a kindness to his voice too.
“Fuck. I probably sound like my cousin the SEAL with all the F-bombs in my head right now.”
“Ha. Go ahead and curse. Get mad. Go on.” Turning back toward the ocean, he made a sweeping gesture like I was supposed to yell it out right there. What the hell. Maybe I should try it.