A Stranger on the Beach

I was so happy I laughed. His skin was warm and slick with sweat. I breathed in the musky scent of sex, closed my eyes, and sighed. The perfect one-night stand, to distract me from my marriage troubles.

“That was great. Thank you,” I said.

“I love you,” he whispered, as he kissed my neck.

My eyes flew open.

12

I woke in semidarkness to feel the room spinning and vomit rising in my throat. Aidan had flung his arm across my chest as he slept, pinning me to the bed. I threw it off and ran to the bathroom, where I spent the next five minutes on my knees on the cold tile floor, heaving into the toilet. When I was finished, I went to the sink and rinsed my mouth. I’d woken up hungover more than once in recent days, after drinking myself senseless to forget Jason’s betrayal. But this was the mother of all hangovers. My skin was clammy, my legs were shaking, and my whole body ached. There was a throbbing behind my left eye so bad it felt like someone had plunged an icepick in there. I gulped down some Advil, drank an entire glass of water, then stood completely still, waiting to see if they would stay down. When it seemed likely I wasn’t going to hurl again, I took a deep breath, and only then did I realize how much I reeked. Of sex.

The gravity of the situation hit home. I’d picked up the local bartender and brought him to my house, to my bed, for a one-night stand, and everybody in the bar saw me do it. I barely knew this man, and he was still here, fast asleep and snoring. I wished to God this hadn’t happened. But it had, and now I had to face him—in my bedroom. At least I wasn’t worried that he was dangerous. But the shame of it made me feel like jumping out of my skin. Ugh, I wanted him gone, out. I wanted to take a shower, talk to my daughter on the phone, drink a cup of tea, pretend everything was normal and that I hadn’t just violated every rule of decent behavior that my Italian Catholic mother raised me with. I wanted to get rid of this guy—now.

Wait. Did he say he loved me last night?

The thought was crazy. I must’ve hallucinated it in a drunken stupor.

Okay, deep breath. I’d wake Aidan up and ask him to leave. Simple. No problem. Working in that bar, I imagined he was the king of the casual hookup, going home with a different woman every night. He wouldn’t expect breakfast and sweet nothings. Not even a kiss goodbye. Just a pat on the butt, a thank-you, maybe a cup of coffee in a to-go mug if he was on his way somewhere.

I could handle that.

Wait. He drove here in my car. How would he leave?

I would call him an Uber.

None of my credit cards worked.

Fuck.

I needed to take a shower before I could solve this problem. Right now, my body felt like it was held together with Scotch tape and rubber bands, and my fuzzy tongue could barely form words. The hot water would revive me. There was a pink glow around the bathroom blinds. The sun was rising, and if I wanted to get Aidan out of here without being seen, I needed to do it in the next half hour. After that, the gardeners and caretakers and housekeepers would start showing up. Any stray neighbor who’d happened to venture out here past Labor Day would be heading into town for their morning Starbucks and a copy of the Times. And Mrs. Eberhardt, the neighborhood busybody, would be sure to look out her window at the least opportune moment. Francine Eberhardt was a retired school teacher who lived in the one old-time beach shack on the bluff that hadn’t been pulled down and replaced with a palace yet. When my house was under construction, Francine called often to complain about the noise, or how many vehicles were parked on the street, or the fact that the construction workers were smoking in public. I did my best to handle her complaints with good grace, but we didn’t have an easy relationship. The thought of Francine knowing my darkest secret made me distinctly uncomfortable.

I flipped the lights on, then winced and turned them off again. The master bath was massive, with acres of shining white tile, gleaming glass, brushed nickel—altogether too much glitter for my tender eyes at the moment. I turned the shower to full force, made it as hot as I could bear, then stepped through the glass door into the deluge. There was an enormous rain showerhead and jets spraying from both sides. I let the water pound me, but it couldn’t wash away what I’d done last night, or how much my life had changed in the space of a week. My marriage had imploded. My husband took our money and ran. And I morphed into some drunken cougar who picked up men in bars and brought them home for sex. Panic overwhelmed me. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I started to cry, the harsh sound of my sobs filling the steamy stall. Then, with a sudden rush of cold air, Aidan stepped into the shower, naked, and pulled me into his arms.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry. What’s the matter, baby? I’m here. Everything’s okay,” he whispered, pushing my sodden hair back from my face, looking down at me tenderly. His body was sleek and hard under the rush of water. In that moment, even though I wanted him gone, I wanted him to stay even more. At least somebody was here, to hold me, to listen to my troubles.

“What is it? You can tell me anything,” he said.

I was crying so hard that I could barely force the words out.

“My … husband … left me.”

God, it hurt to admit that. Aidan was the first person I’d told other than Lynn. I cried even louder.

“I know,” he said.

He kissed my forehead and stroked my back.

“How did you know?”

“I heard it at your party. People were talking. Look, you’ll be fine. I promise. I’m gonna take care of you.”

“How can you say I’ll be fine? We’ve been married twenty years. Out of the blue, he left me for some Russian whore. She’s not even pretty. He broke my heart. And took all my money.”

“He took the money?”

“Yes.”

“Well, shit. That is a problem. We have to get that back.”

We? I let the weirdness of that slip by, so desperate was I to believe it was possible to get my money back. I imagined he had some legitimate plan in mind, involving lawyers and court orders and such. Why I thought that, I can’t explain. I was assuming he was normal, I guess. In fact, Aidan’s experience with the law was all from the wrong side, but I didn’t know that then.

“How?” I asked. “How can you get it back?”

“Don’t worry. I know what to do. I’ll take care of your husband for you,” he said.

I’ll take care of your husband. Those words should have terrified me. But they went right by me, because of what he did next.

Aidan kissed me deeply, his tongue finding its way into my mouth. Then he took me by the shoulders and spun me around, so I faced the tile wall. The water cascaded over us as he grabbed my hips and thrust into me from behind. I should have known that Aidan was bad news. I should have heard the meaning behind his words. Not, I’m sorry to hear about your problems. Not, I sympathize, or even, I have a smart lawyer friend you can call. But, I want you, I want your money, and I’ll kill your husband to get it if that’s what it takes. I didn’t hear any of that. I couldn’t, over the sound of rushing water, of my own moans of pleasure. There’s no pretty way to say this. I wanted to feel better. I wanted the sex. At that moment, nothing else mattered.

13

She looked beautiful wrapped in a bathrobe, sitting at the kitchen table, so beautiful it was a crime. Even the bathrobe was beautiful. White terry cloth, thick as a rug, like you’d get in a five-star hotel. Not that Aidan had ever stayed in such a place, but he could imagine. The kitchen table was beautiful, too. Rustic oak, built by a skilled carpenter, with a sparkly chandelier hanging over it, and a view of the ocean waves rolling in the distance. And not just any view, but the view he’d loved since he was a little kid and first realized that the world could be beautiful. So, yeah, the robe and the table and the view of the ocean had moved him this morning. But it was the woman who made the real magic. Caroline. She was his good-luck charm, come to rescue him, and he loved her for it. Hell, he plain loved her, as she sat there laughing, her skin glowing, tendrils of golden hair curling around her face.

“I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” she said, and he leaned down to kiss her on the mouth.

They’d had sex in the shower, then fallen back into the big bed, with the down comforter, and done it for a long time. Every position. He made her come three times, screaming like a banshee. She was starved for it. Then they slept till noon, and he woke up with her tangled in his arms, her hair cascading onto his chest, and he thought, This is what I’ve been waiting for. He loved this place, this house, this woman—completely. It scared him how much. He was almost embarrassed to think it, but meeting Caroline felt like destiny. The bad times were a trial, a test that he must’ve passed, or how else would he have graduated to this incredible reward.

He lived it again in his mind. Watching her sleep. How she woke up and smiled. And how they made love again, till his cock was raw, and his heart so full that he didn’t know how he could ever pay her back. He’d worked as a short-order cook before the bartending gig. He learned at the halfway house, and he was damn good at it, would’ve kept at it except it was hard work and the pay wasn’t as good as tending bar, where he made mad tips. But cooking was one way he could thank her. He was hungry anyway, after all the sex. When he offered to make breakfast, she lit up at the idea, and they wound up down here in the kitchen with Aidan standing at the fancy stove.

“You like your eggs scrambled or fried?” he said.

“Mmm. Scrambled. Thank you for taking care of me. You make me feel good, Aidan.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he said, and she blushed adorably. In the misty morning light, she looked like a girl, like they could have been the same age.

He got out a pan and took the eggs from the giant Sub-Zero fridge. Even the eggs were magical here. Blue-green beauties from the organic farm, they shone like jewels. He cracked one into a bowl. The yolk was vivid orange, and Aidan thought, Take me out in a box, I’m never fucking leaving this place.

He brought plates to the table. She smiled up at him, grabbed his hand, kissed it, and he thought about having sex with her again. But this thing between them was more than sex. He didn’t want her to think of him as just some stud. He wanted to get to know her, and for her to know him. Well, not everything about him, not yet. He’d be nervous telling her about his past. He would start with the good things, and there were good things. He’d make her see.

He turned on the burner, and the blue flame was beautiful to him. Scrambled eggs and toast—simple, you’d think, but he had a special technique involving butter and a long, slow cook over low heat that made them extra creamy. He took his time, humming as he worked, enjoying the feel of her eyes on him. When the eggs were perfect, he carried the pan over to the table and turned them out onto her plate.

She took a bite and closed her eyes, savoring.

“Mmm. These are the best eggs I’ve ever had,” she said.

He served himself, sat down and tasted. He couldn’t disagree.

“I’m all right at a couple of things,” he said, ducking his head modestly.

“All right? More like amazing.” She raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Now it was his turn to blush. But he couldn’t stand it if this was only about sex for her. People refusing to take him seriously was the story of his life. He wanted more from Caroline, and she kind of owed him, didn’t she? After the way he took care of her last night. Maybe she didn’t owe him love, or even gratitude, but she owed him respect. He hoped she wouldn’t turn into some stuck-up bitch, or he’d be really sad. He ate his eggs in silence, staring down at the plate, until she teased him with her bare foot on his leg.

“Cat got your tongue? I didn’t take you for the silent type,” she said, nudging him playfully. Her toes were painted the color of blood.

Her legs where they emerged from the bathrobe were perfect and shapely. An hour ago, those legs had been wrapped around his neck. He could take her back to bed and make her beg for it. He had power here. He needed to be more confident, and not be cowed by her beauty or her money.

“I’m feeling cooped up,” he said. “It would be nice to get outside. What if we went for a walk on the beach?”

“Oh.” She put her fork down. “That’s not such a good idea.”

Figures, uh-huh. Should he be surprised if she was like everyone else?

“You’re embarrassed to be seen with me,” he said.

“No. If I was, would I have been hanging all over you in the bar last night?”

“Maybe. You were pretty drunk.”

She leaned toward him, taking his hands and looking into his eyes. “Stop it, okay? I want to be with you. I want us to go places together. Just not right in front of my house where my neighbors can see. I’m married, you know.”

He had this funny buzzing feeling in his head. He got it sometimes, like a warning bell, a bullshit detector. Was she playing him somehow? But she was saying all the right things. Things he wanted to hear.

“All right. Where, then?” he asked.

“What about your place? I’d love to see where you live.”

He turned away, so she wouldn’t see how her request unnerved him. The two of them lived in different worlds, and he’d been ignoring it, hoping she would, too, or better yet, that she hadn’t noticed. He was working on changing his situation. Taking her to that shithole would blow the illusion, would make her see him for someone he wasn’t—or someone he was, but only temporarily, because of a string of rotten luck that she was going to help him reverse.

“Ah, it’s messy. You know, guy living alone, and all,” he said.

That was a lie. Aidan was a neat freak who cared for his few possessions meticulously. He did his laundry at the Wash N’ Go every Monday like clockwork, and never left a dirty dish in the sink. But his run-down studio apartment near the edge of town wasn’t much better than an SRO, with a hot plate and a mini-fridge standing in for a real kitchen, and a cramped bathroom with a cheap plastic shower. The furniture consisted of a sofa he got for free off Craigslist, a plastic table and chairs from Walmart, and a twin bed from his mother’s attic that smelled like piss and mothballs. Aidan’s paycheck went to his clothes and his car, the restitution payments from his conviction, and the rent. When he got done with all that, he was so broke that he scrounged his meals at work.

Caroline would hate him if she knew how he really lived, and he’d hate her right back for knowing. He was already walking that thin line with her, the one between love and hate. He loved Caroline, but he hated city people. They were the reason guys like him couldn’t live in this town anymore. Coming in with their millions, buying up every shotgun shack to build their mega-mansions. Gramps saw how it was going and sold, but that was years ago, and the land changed hands two or three times since then. It made the speculators rich, and Aidan and his brother never saw a penny. Then Caroline came in like a queen, riding in her golden carriage. Aidan was the guy running along behind, cleaning up the horse shit. If she didn’t know that, he wasn’t about to enlighten her by letting her see his crappy apartment.

“I know somewhere better,” he said. “A place you would never find on your own, that’s really special. Come on, get dressed, I’m taking you out.”

14

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” Aidan said, his mouth set in a hard line.

We were in my car, speeding along the main road. Aidan was driving. The sky had clouded over. The wind had picked up, and the trees swayed. In the gaps between the houses, the surf pounded the beach like it was angry. A storm was coming.

“I thought you needed to go back to the Red Anchor to pick up your car. But we’re headed in the opposite direction,” I said.

He stared out the window, stone-faced, and didn’t reply. A cold knot of fear gathered in my stomach. The first time I saw Aidan, I knew he was trouble. But I was so desperate for distraction, and he was so tempting, that I ignored the warning signs. When we were in the shower together, and he said he’d take care of Jason for me, I knew I should have kicked him out. But I wanted the sex. When he offered to make me scrambled eggs for breakfast this morning, I should have asked him to leave instead. But the sight of him, standing shirtless and barefoot in my kitchen, the morning sun illuminating his perfect body, silenced my doubts. After breakfast, when he leaned over to kiss me, I should have pulled away. Instead, my lips parted, and I kissed him back. He drew me to my feet and pulled me tight against him. We were on the verge of going to bed again when he said something that made my blood run cold.

“Once your husband’s out of the picture, we can do this all day.”

I pulled back.

“Out of the picture? What’s that supposed to mean?” I’d said, looking him in the eye.

“Nothing,” he replied.

His arms tightened around my waist. It took an effort to break loose from that grip.

“Nothing? Aidan, I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but you have no right to get involved in my marriage.”

“Too late. I’m already involved.”

“No, you’re not. You barely know me.”

His eyes narrowed, and his entire body tensed.

“We spent the night in bed together. I’d say I know you pretty well. You think you can use me and show me the door? Well, I got news for you. That’s not gonna happen.”

“You’re scaring me,” I said, and backed away. “Please leave.”

His face changed. “Hey, I’m sorry. That was dumb. I say stupid things sometimes. I apologize. Forgive me, okay?”

I didn’t entirely trust the change in his tone, not after that display. But I wanted to end this quickly, with a friendly goodbye, and Aidan out of my house—and my life. So, I appeased him. It’s what women do.

“Apology accepted. But I do have a busy day.”

“C’mon, Caroline, lighten up. It was a joke.”

“Okay. So … we should get together again soon. Let me call you an Uber—”

“An Uber? If you insist on making me leave because I said one wrong thing—”

“No, no, not at all. I accept your apology, totally. But I’m going through a divorce. I have to see the lawyer today.”

“At least give me a ride back to my truck. Like I did for you. Is that too much to ask?”

If I gave him a ride to the restaurant, he’d be gone, and we’d be done. That seemed like a reasonable price to pay to get rid of him.

“I’d be happy to. Get dressed. I’ll get the keys,” I said.

While Aidan went upstairs to get his clothes, I looked everywhere for my car keys but couldn’t find them. I heard a jingling sound and turned around. He stood there holding the keys by a fingertip, a sly grin on his face.

“Looking for these?” he said.

The grin that had struck me as so laid-back, so surfer-cool last night, gave me a chill in the light of day. But, I told myself, the keys were in his coat pocket from before. That’s all. I walked toward him, holding out my hand. He just laughed and shook his head and ducked out the door. By the time I got to the car, he was in the driver’s seat. When he headed in the opposite direction from the Red Anchor, there was nothing I could do but try to remain calm and look for my cue to exit.

Aidan turned at the sign for Glenhampton Town Beach. At least he was taking me to a public place, I thought. Then I saw that the ticket booth at the entrance was deserted, with a sign posted that said, CLOSED FOR SEASON. Aidan pulled into a spot up front, near the boardwalk, and turned off the car.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“I have a hankering to walk on the beach with you.”

There was a note of sarcasm in his voice that made me wonder if he was playing with me. His hands on the steering wheel looked coiled and tense.

“Not today, Aidan. The beach is closed. The weather’s awful. And like I said, I have a lot to do.”

“You don’t have anything that can’t wait. Let’s go.”

That was a command, not a request. He got out and slammed the door. He had my car keys, so I didn’t have much choice. My chest tight with anxiety, I followed him.

The parking lot was built on top of a rocky outcropping that overlooked the ocean. We walked past bathrooms and a snack bar locked up tight for the season and descended a rough wooden staircase down to the beach. The wind pressed against me, whipping my hair into my face and making the descent precarious on the slippery steps. The beach was deserted, studded with rocks and driftwood, backed by rugged cliffs. A red flag snapped in the wind, signaling dangerous conditions. A couple of surfers tempted fate out on the water. I kept expecting them to go tumbling and get sucked under. But they were remarkably resilient, disappearing behind a wave only to reappear moments later closer to shore.

Taking my hand, Aidan led me down the beach, away from where the surfers were coming ashore. His face was determined, his eyes fixed on the far distance, his grip on my hand so tight that it hurt. A fine spray of sand blew into my eyes, and I had to raise my voice to be heard over the wind.

“I don’t like this. Let’s go back.”

“There’s something I want to show you. Come on.”

He nodded toward the horizon and kept marching. We came to a second rock outcropping that jutted into the water. At low tide, you could presumably walk around it and continue down the beach without getting your feet wet. But now, with the surf pounding, the rock divided the beach in two, leaving only a thin sliver of sand exposed to walk on. If you tried to go around the rock, you might get hit by a wave and pulled under. But Aidan headed right for it.

“Is this safe?”

“I wouldn’t take you here if it wasn’t. Come on, it’s worth it.”

A wave crashed against the rocks, foaming and swirling. Aidan watched it, and, timing the movement precisely, pulled me forward into the receding water. It came up to my ankles, soaking through my suede boots. We rounded the rock, reaching the other side just as the next wave hit. The spray from it hit me in the face, soaking my hair and my clothes, the cold such a shock that I gasped.

A new stretch of beach spread out before us, magnificently empty under the cloudy sky. But Aidan ignored it and made a beeline for a large boulder that rose from the sand, close up against the rock outcropping. He ducked behind the boulder, which was as tall as a man. When he didn’t reemerge after a minute or two, I walked up to it. No Aidan. He’d disappeared into thin air. With my car keys.

“Aidan?”

The boulder was blocking an opening in the rock. The mouth of the cave was narrow, its sandy floor covered with an inch or so of seawater and speckled with foam and bits of seaweed. A strong smell of brine and damp emanated from inside.

I had a bad feeling about this place.

15

Caroline offered to give him a lift home. On the way, he would show her a special place. There were things he knew that she didn’t. Things only a local would know, someone who lived closer to the ground than she did. Maybe he was rough around the edges, but she liked that, or else, why be with him? He suspected it was nostalgia. The harshness of her accent in unguarded moments gave her away. She hadn’t always been the lady of the manor.

They got all the way to the cave, and she didn’t want to go inside.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, as they stood side by side, staring into the entrance.

He could understand why she’d hesitate. It was dark in there, and she didn’t have the history with the place that Aidan did. He used to run away to there when things were hard at home, pretending he was like Butch Cassidy at the hole in the wall. The first time he got drunk, the first time he got high, and the first time he had sex were all in that cave. Good times. Bad times, too. The one girl he’d ever loved had spent time with him in there. Then she’d shared the place with someone else, and the aftermath was so ugly that Aidan was paying for it to this day. But that wouldn’t happen with Caroline. She was better than Samantha. She was a lady.